Jupiter's Halo Book One: The Lies

Chapter Nineteen "The True Scale"

Aitkin didn’t even try to keep the smile from his face.

“I look ridiculous, sir.”

“I wouldn’t say that, Sergeant.”

He felt the look Johs gave him from over his shoulder but kept his eyes fixed straight ahead.

They were standing back to back, each facing one of the terminal’s doors with weapons held ready. The guards they’d killed had made the mistake of letting their concentration waver, Aitkin and Johs weren’t about to repeat that mistake.

“Seriously,” Johs continued. “You think this is gonna fool anyone?”

“Is it better or worse than being naked?”

"You tell me, sir," Johs replied with reproach.

Aitkin had to admit the look Johs had adopted was one to inspire mirth. Neither of the guards had even matched Aitkin in stature and his borrowed armour was uncomfortably tight. Outwardly he could just about pass it off as being his own, whereas Johs…

The breastplate was high, tiny and hanging loose on his massive chest, its straps unable to extend around the girth of his torso. The undershirt barely reached his navel and the accompanying trousers looked like long shorts, reaching a little beyond the bend of his knees as they did. They’d torn strips from the stolen robes as an improvised bandage for Johs’ still bleeding wound, which covered the remainder of his exposed stomach.

The overall impression was of a man trying to squeeze into the clothing of a child. Despite the blood soaking through the bandage, it was still too funny to completely ignore.

No doubt Johs would adjust the details in any retelling of this story but for now, Aitkin relished the lightness it brought to an otherwise entirely dark situation.

He had fought back his laughter when he’d seen his Sergeant fully garbed. The look of disgust on Johs’ face as he examined himself only made Aitkin’s task all the harder and he failed terribly, laughing so hard it left him breathless.

Using the helmets had been out of the question. One was smashed and the other had the arm of an auto-surgeon fusing it to its wearer’s head. It was a shame; the anonymity they would have offered could have helped aid their escape.

Aitkin glanced round at Johs.

Well, maybe they wouldn’t have been all that much help.

There were other pieces of armour; leg braces, arm guards and a large collar protecting the neck. None had been large enough for Johs to wear, but Aitkin had stripped everything he could find of use from the corpses and strapped on whatever would fit. Even if only one of them was fully protected it increased their chances of escape.

They'd left the bodies of the guards in the corridor outside the trans-terminal. Johs had suggested leaving them in one of the chambers so they were less likely to be discovered, but Aitkin had overridden him. Opening more doors was inviting more trouble and they were in deep enough already.

Their disguise, if it could be called that, was more for protection than concealment. Their only hope was to meet as little resistance as possible as they searched for a way out.

Of most use were the weapons. Each guard had carried a hard-round pistol with three ammo clips. They were of old design; Eagle pattern, with an option for semi-automatic fire. Aitkin had trained with similar weapons at the Academy and knew well enough how quickly the ammo would deplete in such mode. The pistols didn't carry large clips, but they had decent stopping power. They wouldn't last long in any extended firefight, but Aitkin was hoping they wouldn't have to.

They’d also carried a shock baton each, both in full working order. They were built to stun opponents for non-lethal submission, but if used right their charge was strong enough to kill.

Once they'd pushed the guards' bodies out they had to figure out where the terminal could go and what their most likely escape route might be.

There were a dozen or more options and Aitkin didn’t want to chance the doors opening onto a room filled with more security guards.

He examined the console's pictures. Whatever language their labels were written in was totally unfamiliar to him; all flowing lines and odd-looking pictures.

Those images were of little to no use. Most of them appeared to be completely alien in their depictions. There were two that seemed understandable though; one was a group of figures, possibly a mess hall or barracks. Whatever its designation it clearly meant more people so there was no question they would avoid it.

The other seemed to depict a row of what looked to him like overlapping shuttlecraft. It gave the immediate impression of a hangar and with no other realistic choices he chose that for their destination. The terminal doors had closed and the lights inside had dimmed as it began to move.

It was different from the terminals they were used to. On the Pride they made their way around the great ship in smooth silence, nothing but a low background hum and the feeling of motion to give away their mobility.

This one rumbled loudly as if it was running on badly maintained rails and shook every now and again as the direction of its movement changed. It was starting to make Aitkin feel nauseous.

As they moved through whatever place the Fatherhood occupied, Aitkin’s feeling of disquiet began to rise. There had been no time for introspection in that first dash from his chamber and when he had found Johs.

From leaving his chair to entering the trans-terminal, he guessed only ten minutes had passed. Now he had a moment of quiet if he ignored Johs’ incessant grumbling at the state of his attire.

Now he could think about what had happened and question the whys behind it.

Why had his restraints come loose? He’d thought maybe the auto-surgeon had been involved somehow, but that didn’t make sense. The machines were incredibly precise, they had to be otherwise every person the Fathers worked on would be dead in minutes.

It also seemed as unlikely that they were simply worn or kept in poor repair. An outfit like the Fatherhood didn’t build a reputation like they had by idly letting captives escape through lazy maintenance.

It was a puzzle. A piece missing that he didn’t like the shape of. If accident was ruled out it meant his restraints had been loosened on purpose. But why? And by whom?

Aitkin couldn’t shake the feeling he was being manipulated somehow, but he couldn’t understand why.

If someone wanted him to escape surely they would have revealed themselves by now. And how would they have reached him without Mylus noticing? How could they have known their efforts would have been enough for him to capitalise on?

He wanted answers. Maybe as much as he wanted his freedom. If there were other forces in play, any move he made could be compromised, could be leading him further into a trap than away from one.

And all the time, in the background of his mind he could feel the muffled voice of Itona calling to him.

He thought about mentioning his concerns to Johs, but the big Sergeant was clearly struggling. The blood loss from his wound was starting to take its toll and Aitkin wasn’t sure how much longer he would be effective.

There was no question of leaving him behind. He was Aitkin’s friend. His closest and they’d been like brothers since the Academy. If it came to a choice of leaving Johs or sacrificing them both in a last stand he knew without doubt the choice he would make.

The terminal jerked again as it changed direction and they both swayed with the motion. Johs threw out a hand, steadying himself against the wall for balance.

“You still with me, Johs?”

“Always, sir.” The reply was immediate, but Aitkin could hear the strain in his friend’s voice.

They had to find the way out soon or neither of them would see Luna again.

The terminal jerked again and came to a rest. Aitkin tensed, readjusting his grip on his pistol and sighting on the doors. Without comment, both of them lowered themselves to one knee and readied for whichever side of the terminal was about to open. The hissing they’d heard in the corridor started again and both sets of doors began to slide apart.

In front of Aitkin, the floor extended out onto a long walkway, its sides denoted by raised panels of glass in metal frames. There was no sign of any ships or shuttles or anything that looked like a hangar. It was empty, totally devoid of life.

He could see nothing beyond the glass sides and above the ceiling stretched away into the distance, dark and lined with long girders that made criss-cross patterns in the shadows.

“Contact,” Johs whispered behind him.

Aitkin turned to face the Sergeant’s open door. The picture on the other side of the terminal was a mirror of what he’d already seen. With one particular difference.

Along the walkway, maybe twenty metres ahead of them was another pair of guards. They were facing each other, both leaning against opposite sides of the walkway. Their body language relaxed as if they were engaged in idle conversation and neither appeared to have looked towards or even noticed the arrival of the terminal.

"Do we charge them, sir?" Johs said eagerly.

“No,” Aitkin replied in a low voice. He looked back over his shoulder to see the other walkway was still clear. “Let’s not draw any more attention than we already have. Come on.”

He turned, still crouching and made his way as quietly as his borrowed armour would allow from the terminal. At the doors, he ushered Johs to follow him. The Sergeant threw a disappointed look back at the guards, clearly hoping to exact a measure of vengeance on their captors, but he acceded to Aitkin’s command.

As he passed by Aitkin leaned back into the terminal and pressed at the console dials blindly. He didn't care where the terminal went next, he just wanted the doors closed so the guards' view of them would be obscured should they decide to glance in this direction.

With another hiss, the doors slid closed and he heard the gentle rumble of the terminal as it made it’s way to whatever destination he’d just given it.

"You might want to come and look at this, sir," Johs said from the side of the walkway.

He was standing, leaning over the top of the glass, it’s half-height giving him a clear view down to whatever lay beneath them.

Aitkin rose to his feet and joined the Sergeant. He gripped the metal rail that topped the walkway’s edge and leaned over to look down.

Below, stretching down into darkness were tier upon tier of transparent ceilinged chambers. Most were empty and dark, but in some he could see figures held stationary in bright circles of light.

His mouth dropped open at the scale of what he was seeing. There were hundreds of rooms, too many to count and he saw more and more of the lights that denoted occupants as his eyes searched the stacks.

‘Occupants’ was the wrong word. 'Victims’ was the word.

Below them, dozens, maybe tens of dozens of people were enduring terrible pain. Down there Fathers, like the ones he’d killed in their escape, were inflicting horrific agony without emotion or regret.

Down there people were suffering.

People just like him. Just like Johs.

He was glad of the distance. If the upper tiers had been closer he would have been able to see clearly the acts of torture he knew were being committed.

Memory and imagination served to fill in the gaps for him and he recoiled from the rail, sickened.

“Well I don’t see shuttles anywhere, but at least we’re not still stuck in the cells like those poor fuckers.”

Aitkin knew he was pale as he felt the blood drain from his face. He could feel the bile rising in his throat and the anger churning in his gut.

The things they did. Were now doing to those people…

He was disgusted by it, the revulsion going right to his core. He wanted to open every door below them and let the torturers take they turn in the chair. Itona’s voice echoed in his mind, fighting to be heard as the tide rose again.

He wanted to smash them to pieces with his bare fists. Hear them cry and scream and beg for the death they refused to grant their victims. A place like this was wrong. Everything about it was wrong and everyone who was a part of it deserved to die a terrible death. In his mind, Itona’s voice faded into the background roaring of his fury.

“You want to keep going? Maybe there’s something we can use further on… ?” Johs’ voice sounded distant, muffled.

Rage was filling him. A cold rage that burned through him, demanding he take action. Demanding he do something more than turn tail and run. He was a marine of the Deorum. More than that he was a Lieutenant. He had given his oath.

Aitkin didn’t know how many if any, of the poor souls down in those cells were Deorum citizens, but he was happy to see the whole place burn on the chances even one of them was.

He looked at Johs. Poor Johs, trying to hide his pain and failing. Trying to keep himself together and cover the damage they’d done to him with his smiles and his jokes.

Johs was a citizen of the Deorum.

Johs was someone who needed saving from this place. From these people.

"Do you want to keep going, sir?" Johs repeated.

“No.” Aitkin’s voice was cold steel.

Anyone who was a part of this place deserved to die.

In his mind, the anger burned everything. Everything except his desire to repay the pain he’d suffered.

They all deserved to die.

They all had to die.

He looked up to see the walkway curved in a wide circle, turning back to meet itself on the other side of the now-closed trans-terminal doors. There were other doors leading away at regular points. Any one of them could lead to their freedom, but Aitkin’s mind ignored each one.

His feet moved of their own accord, taking him around the curve of the walkway and towards the waiting guards.