Terminus Project: Jupiter (Child Prodigy SciFi) Read online

  Terminus Project: Jupiter

  Book 2

  Casey Herzog

  ***

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  Copyright © 2017 by Casey Herzog

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s permission.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America

  Other Books By Casey Herzog

  The Unmaker Series

  Tower of Ayia (Prequel) - FREE

  The Lucid Dreamer (Book 1)

  Fallen Angels (Book 2)

  Johnny Spaceway Series

  Johnny Spaceway and the Hooded Assassin (Book 1)

  Terminus Project Series

  Terminus Project: Mars

  Want a free book? Casey Herzog is giving away a free copy of Tower of Ayia, the prequel to The Lucid Dreamer (no strings attached). This book is exclusive to his VIP Reading Team.

  >>>Click Here<<<

  Chapter 1

  On any space faring vessel, noise was a fine thing. Jude liked it. The sound of footfalls on the corridor, the quiet breathing of his squad mates in their bunks around him, the occasional ping of ships instruments; all sounds helped soothe him at night, reassuring him it was safe to go to sleep. By contrast, the silence was terrifying. Silence was the sound of the universal void. It surrounded Jude's world, pressing against the hull of the Retribution and stretching out over boundless incalculable distances. Ten centimeters of hull protected and kept him cocooned and safe from the blackness that lurked outside, every day the void testing the vessel that was his home. He had walked across the hull many times and seen the dents and scratches left by meteoroids and other debris that hit the ship. Tiny fragments of rock propelled through space at speeds of over a thousand miles a second buffeted the ship daily, testing her.

  The two most common psychoses that could take an astronaut were claustrophobia, the fear of enclosed spaces brought on by months or years of living in an enclosed station, and astrophobia, the fear of outer space. The first was not a problem for Jude, but most astronauts who suffered the latter illness had been involved in an EVA accident at some point. For Jude, it had been when the sub systems of his suit had given out during a routine inspection of the Retribution's hull. The magnetic seals, propulsion jets, even his comms: all gone. All of a sudden, the void had gripped him and began to pull him away from the safety of the ship. He had flailed his arms in panic, trying to get a hold of something to anchor himself, but it was too late. He was pulled into the abyss, drowning in an ocean of darkness: no up, no down, no air. That accident had scarred him. Left to drift for over an hour, Jude learned to fear the void, learned to fear the silence and the infinite depth of space.

  Now, the Retribution was anything but silent. Sounds constantly came from the corridor outside his billet. Loud footsteps, muffled voices, and other uncertain noises could be heard and should have assured him of his safety in his bunk. They did not though. For the first time, the noise was not as good as the silence. Each carried its own dire weight and connotation. He turned his head to look at the other boys. Though they all lay still and silent in their bunks, he knew none of them were sleeping either. Their breathing was wrong and their bodies too rigid to be sleeping. Every time footsteps were heard near their door, the room seemed to take a collective breath. Jude could see the bodies around him grow rigid and knew they shared his fear. At any moment, their door might open and an armored giant might enter. The bald-headed Martian might stalk through, armed with a sharp sword. Or maybe they would do something more nefarious. They might throw in a couple of rubber grenades and let the rubber pellets tear through the sleepers in their beds. The worst part was that there was nothing any of them could do. If they wished it, those outside could kill Jude and his cohort in a hundred different ways without facing any opposition.

  With sleep denied him, Jude occupied his hours weighing which was worse, death drifting in the void, or death at the hands of those who now wandered his ship.

  The billet door slid open. A shaft of light filtered into the room, lighting up Jude's bunk and face. He squinted and held his hands up to shield his eyes. A tall slender finger was silhouetted in the doorway, arms crossed over her body. She didn't hold a weapon, not even a sword strapped to her slender hip. Jude still found his imagination expecting something though. He looked at her, imagining the grenades she had to be holding in her hand, ready to throw into the room with casual callousness. The others seemed to be waiting for the same thing. When Jude's eyes flicked to the bunk next to him, he could see Jenson lying stiff, eyes shut tight and hands balled into fists, awaiting death.

  Nothing came. After a moment of waiting, the shadowed figure in the doorway uncrossed her arms and beckoned Jude out into the corridor. He was more than happy to oblige. Even though he had no choices, he was happy to have his sleepless rest brought to an end. Even if meant more time alone with the enemy, it was better than waiting in darkness and doubt.

  Sliding out of his bunk, Jude slipped on his shoes and began to shuffle toward the light. He had kept his uniform on when he had gone to bed, just in case he would be called on at some unusual hour.

  Stepping out into the hall, he felt a shudder pass through him as the billet door shut behind him and he was cut off from his colleagues.

  “How did you sleep?” The Martian continued to show the same politeness and concern she had demonstrated when they had first met, and Jude continued to worry that this kindness was all an elaborate act.

  “I didn't really sleep at all.” He stretched and rubbed the back of his neck, imagining his eyelids were heavily rimmed with dark bags.

  “Sleeping as a prisoner is not an easy thing. You get used to it though.”

  “Speaking from personal experience, I assume?” Jude sensed another story in the Martian's words.

  She shrugged her shoulders and began to walk down the corridor, clearly expecting Jude to follow. “We should get you a coffee,” she said.

  Jude didn't like the constant courtesy his captor showed him. It unnerved him. He did not exactly want to be tortured, interrogated or threatened. Still, there was something about being shown kindness by his enemy that left him feeling uneasy. He expected a trick behind every offer made to him. His coffee cup would be poisoned, a firing squad would be waiting for him by the coffee machine, his Martian captor would turn suddenly turn and stab him in the gut with a concealed knife. Of course, the woman did none of these things.

  Minerva Tharsis was a complex woman, difficult to understand. She knew how to be pleasant, while keeping company at a distance. Her motivations were just as unknowable as her thoughts. Her mother had been killed by Secessionist terrorists when she just fourteen. After that day, she had dedicated the next five years of her life to fighting the forces that sought to divide humanity’s presence in the Outer Solar System. For five years, she had been at the forefront of Earth's battle to reclaim and reunify the planets. Then, inexplicably, something
had changed. For some reason, Minerva Tharsis, the so-called 'Huntress of Mars,' had joined the very terrorists she had sought to destroy. Along with her co-conspirators on the Unity, she worked to unravel the ties between Earth and the outer planets once again. She was a complex woman.

  The Martian held out a long, slender, bleach-white arm, and Jude took the black, steaming cup she offered him. He had watched her make the beverage. It hadn't been poisoned. Jude knew it wouldn't be, but he had scrutinized her to be sure. He stared down into the black viscous liquid. Why did she have to make it black? She had made it black the last time. He didn't really have the right as a captive to complain, so he took a tentative sip. It tasted better than the previous night. He didn't know if Tharsis had made it weaker for him, if he was getting used to the taste, or if he was just too tired for his taste buds to function. He took a deeper, full swig of the liquid.

  “You should drink that right up; you're having another right after.” Tharsis leaned over the machine, guzzling down her coffee before even the steam even had a chance to escape the cup. There was something fierce about the way she knocked it back. She immediately began pouring a second, eyes flashing to Jude to see if he was done. As she stared down at him, he noticed for the first time the redness in her eyes.

  “Guessing you didn't get much sleep either.” He didn't know why he said that. He was sure he shouldn't be getting involved with her problems.

  “You and your crew need guarding, plus I never sleep well after a fight.” She held her second cup, but didn't guzzle it down like she had the last one. She cradled it in both hands, her long slender fingers interweaving about each other as she let the warmth of the cup infuse her palms.

  “You lost people, same as us. If everything your storyteller said about Gabell yesterday was true, it must be pretty hard to lose him.”

  “Today, you will be helping me process your crew.” It seemed the woman was not willing to answer the question and didn't seem to care how obvious her deliberate change of topic appeared.

  “Process?” Jude forgot about the drinks and the small talk. He was back in poisoned coffee territory, and his mind leapt at the possible meaning of Tharsis's phrase.

  “Yes. You're going to help me and my team interview each member of your ship's crew. We want to know just how they feel about their future.”

  “You mean how they feel about you,” Jude corrected. “You want to know which of us are likely to turn traitor and fight for your cause, and which of us are going to be dead weight on your ships.”

  “No room on a ship for anyone who breathes and doesn't work; I'm sure you've heard that mantra repeated by your commanders before now.” Minerva gave a slight smirk, but Jude sensed she was still hurting from his previous question about Peter Gabell.

  “So, are you going to offer us a deal: work for you or take a walk out an airlock?”

  Minerva chuckled and took another sip from her second cup. “You need to keep up that firebrand spirit kid, I enjoy that man far more than the boy who keeps looking at his coffee like I slipped some arsenic in it.”

  The morning was hard for Jude. While the rest of the Retribution's crew were held in the mess hall until called, he was made to sit with the enemy as they conducted a meticulous interrogation of each and every one of them. Commander Tharsis led the questioning along with a panel of two others: one man, one woman. The man he didn't know, but the woman he felt had to be Nisha Goswami, one of the shipmates in Tharsis and Gabell's cohort in the days when they were still loyal to Earth. Her Indian heritage was still evident in the tones of her skin despite years in the depths of cold space. Moreover, she was an astounding beauty. It was wrong for Jude to think, considering she was the enemy, he the captor, but he couldn't deny the facts. She was enchanting.

  It was the long raven dark hair that allowed her to truly stand out. No astronauts who followed the strictures of Earth leagues rules allowed their hair to grow long. In zero gravity, long hair was a hazard and an inconvenience. You could never wear it loose. Here in the simulated gravity of the Redemption's works rotunda, though, the woman's hair behaved exactly as it would on Earth, and she let it fall down her back as it willed. Thoroughly enchanting.

  The bald-headed Martian and the full haired beauty conversed in the corner of the office for a few moments, and Jude was left with the man. They did not exchange words, just watched as the women conducted their hushed dialogue. Tharsis nodded to something; Goswami put out an arm and touched the Martian's shoulder. Tharsis shrugged and brushed the woman off. Jude guessed the commander had difficulty taking sympathy even from her own people. The time for observing his interrogators was over quickly, as the two women took their seats and the 'processing' of Jude's crew began.

  Jude didn't know how long he was in the office. The admiral's clock, a mantle keepsake from Earth, had been lifted from the room. The only way to guess at the hours was to count the number of coffees that had been drunk. Tharsis drank at a steady rate, making herself a new cup every time she was near empty. She was on her fifteenth cup by the time every surviving member of the Retribution's crew had been seen.

  The questions were relatively simple, even if a little unorthodox. The raven haired Goswami led the proceedings. She invited each person called before the panel to be honest about their feelings, then proceeded to ask them a series of personal questions that seemed to have nothing to do with the greater matters of the war between the Secessionists and the One Earth League. She asked questions like: What do you miss most about Earth? Have you lost anyone important to you over the course of your voyage? If you had not been tasked to the war effort, what stationing would you have hoped for yourself?

  Jude's purpose in the room was unclear to him at first. Neither Goswami, Tharsis or the other man asked anything of him, nor invited him to talk to any of the crew. For a while, Jude thought his presence was nothing more than a show of strength by the enemy. Perhaps they just wanted to remind the crew that their de-facto leader was completely under the occupiers' thumb. But then Ana entered.

  Ana Fuertes was second in Jude's cohort, and a far more capable leader than he ever was. If she had led the defence of the ship against Tharsis and her knights, she would have sacrificed all their lives. If she could, Jude imagined she'd even blow up the Retribution itself just to ensure it did not fall into the enemy's hands.

  Ana walked in proudly. She moved at her own pace, holding her back proudly and regally. She took a deep breath when she saw Jude, and her eyes immediately moved away from him. She focused on Minerva instead, sitting down in the chair offered. She crossed her legs smartly and rested her hands on her knee.

  “The crew are being kept segregated.” It took a moment for Jude to realize he was being addressed. “The ones they've talked to are being kept in the mess now, along with more of them.”

  Goswami ran a hand through her long hair and took a sip from her cup of water. Somehow, she made drinking from a plastic cup look elegant and sophisticated. “Miss Anastasia Fuertes, your file speaks of your dedication to your cause as eloquently as your not-so-subtle attempts to undermine us through rudeness. While I would like this meeting to be conducted in a friendly and courteous manner, I sense your open hostility will not allow this. I'd think then, it might be best to start this interview with this: what do you hope to accomplish?”

  Ana's breathing was deep and irritated, like some incensed bull. A moment of silence fell across the conference table before she opened her mouth to speak. “From what little we've been able to overhear from the guards, our arms and knight suits are being transferred to their ship. They want to take away our teeth in case we try anything. They fear us.”

  Jude swallowed, feeling Minerva Tharsis' differently colored eyes move to look at him. The Martian leaned back in her chair then stretched out lazily like some incredibly long cat. “I think, if our friend here does not wish to speak to us, we should allow Mr. Fox to take over proceedings. Jude, if you will.”

  Jude's brow knotted in conf
usion. He felt like he was being set up for some kind of trap, or maybe a test. He beat his brains, trying to think what he was supposed to say and ask. Should he plead with Ana to cooperate? Was that what the Martian woman wanted? “Are the crew in good spirits? Are they being treated well?”

  Ana turned her whole body toward Jude then, making a real effort to demonstrate to the others in the room how beneath her notice they were. “They're still pretty shaken. For the younger ones, I think it's only just starting to hit home what's happened. Higgins in Neptune cohort is doing an admirable job of keeping morale buoyed. Mostly he's having to assure everyone that we're not going to get flushed out the airlock.”

  “Interesting. Do you feel that this a likely scenario for the survivors of your vessel Miss Fuertes?” Goswami risked an interruption, but only gained a scowl from the woman in the interrogation chair.

  “You've told them that's not going to happen, right? We don't need the crew wound into a panic.” Jude hadn't exactly meant to reiterate the raven-haired woman's question, but the answer mattered to him.

  “Yes, Commander. We've been very firm with the crew. We've assured them the Secessionists will be looking to take us alive to put to work on the more hazardous stations and outposts in the outer solar reaches. More importantly, we have reminded them of the protocols and the need to maintain discipline even in the face of death.” Ana's jaw tightened, and she held a look of lion-like pride as she relayed the information to her commander.

  Jude bit his lip and glanced sideways to his captors. All three were making notes on their pads. No doubt they were scrutinizing the pair’s every word and gesture for clues to some unknown puzzle they intended to solve.

  “Anything else to report?” Jude was running out of questions to ask, but didn't know if he had permission to end the conversation here.

  “That storyteller was making his rounds with a group of other Secessionists in the mess earlier. He's going to be spewing more of his propaganda tales later tonight for all those who wish to hear them, and he invited those who are interested to come along.” She paused and glanced at the panel watching them, shifting in her seat as though suddenly uncomfortable. “It is mostly the greener cohorts you understand, but a number actually seemed keen to hear more of the garbage that man is spewing.”