Theta Mists Part Two

 

Read Part One

Part Two

 

          

         The days following the interrogation passed like molasses dripping from a frozen canister.  Aiden’s world had shrunk to the confines of a temporary unit—a metal box hastily assembled in the shadow of the colony’s mining core. The air was sterile, and the faint hum of recycled oxygen served as a constant reminder that everything here was artificial, a cage masquerading as a sanctuary.

The unit was crammed with the ten other miners displaced from their shared domicile once it was closed off for the investigation. Aiden could feel their stares on him, the weight of their suspicion turning every glance into a silent accusation. They spoke to him only when necessary, their words clipped and cautious, as if they feared proximity alone might taint them. At night, he could hear the restless shuffling of bodies on bunks, the uneasy rustle of men who no longer trusted the room’s occupants.

Communications with Earth were a rare luxury, and Aiden had managed only one video call home. The connection had been as tenuous as his grip on reality. His wife’s face appeared in a stuttering, pixelated mess, her voice punctuated by bursts of static. His daughter waved from the background, her image blurring into an indistinct smear of colors. Still, the sight of them, fractured though it was, brought a fleeting sense of comfort.

“We’re okay,” his wife had said, her voice crackling through the interference. “Just come home safe, Aiden. We miss you.”

He had nodded, forcing a smile he didn’t feel, before the connection cut out. The silence that followed felt louder than anything Graves could have shouted in that interrogation room.

Each day brought a visit from security personnel. They arrived with the precision of a metronome, steady and unerring, their expressions unreadable as they checked on the unit’s occupants. Their questions were sparse, their answers nonexistent. The investigation into Lewis’s death remained shrouded in mystery, and the oppressive silence gnawed at Aiden’s nerves.

The Theta Mists didn’t help. They rolled in like clockwork, creeping through the settlement in ghostly waves, muffling sound and distorting vision. Aiden could swear he saw shapes moving within the mist, figures that vanished when he turned to look directly at them. But he chalked it up to paranoia. Or maybe he didn’t.

That evening, Aiden stood in the cramped kitchenette, staring at the thin slab of protein substitute he was supposed to cook. The overhead light flickered, casting irregular shadows across the room. His hands trembled as he tried to focus on the mundane task of preparing a meal. The knife in his grip felt heavier than it should, its blade catching the dim light with an unnerving glint.

“Focus,” he muttered to himself, the word a mantra he repeated under his breath. “Just get through this. One day at a time.”

But his thoughts wouldn’t settle. The specter of Graves’ interrogation loomed large, replaying in his mind with relentless clarity. He could almost hear the lieutenant’s voice, cold and accusing, asking him again and again what had happened to Lewis. And now, with the ankle monitor strapped to his leg, he felt like a man walking the plank, every step bringing him closer to the edge.

A sharp knock at the door jolted him from his thoughts.

Aiden froze, the knife hovering above the cutting board. The knock came again, louder this time, more insistent. His pulse quickened, each beat thundering in his ears.

“It’s not time for the check-up,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “They already came today.”

His first thought was of Graves. Had they finally decided he was guilty? Had the evidence been twisted, the dots connected in just the wrong way? His mind raced, conjuring images of the colony’s ultimate punishment. He’d heard the stories: the condemned dragged to the airlock, their pleas silenced by the cold indifference of space.

Ejection. The word clanged in his head like a bell, resonating with a grim finality that seemed to echo in his very bones. It was a death that was both swift and agonizing, the kind of punishment that belonged in the annals of dystopian fiction but remained a stark reality on Theta-13. The process was simple yet horrific: the condemned were forced into an airlock, stripped of any life-support systems, and then jettisoned into the endless vacuum of space. In seconds, the pressure drop would cause their blood to boil, their lungs to rupture, and their consciousness to snuff out like a candle in a storm.

Back on Earth, this form of capital punishment sparked fierce debates within the chambers of the Global Parliament. Since the unification of Earth’s nations under a singular government centuries ago, humanity prided itself on advancing beyond barbarism—at least in theory. The practice of ejection stood as a glaring contradiction to those ideals, a relic of corporate dominion over the outer colonies. On paper, it was reserved for only the most heinous crimes, a deterrent for acts like sabotage or murder. In reality, it was an expedient tool, wielded not for justice but for control. The authorities that governed Theta-13 with near-absolute power justified the measure under the guise of efficiency, claiming that in such remote and volatile environments, swift action was necessary to maintain order.

The Earth-based opposition argued that ejection wasn’t just cruel—it was an abdication of moral responsibility. They called it a spectacle designed to instill fear rather than uphold justice, a tool to remind the colonists that they were expendable cogs in a vast, interstellar machine. Protests flared in major cities, activists taking to the streets with holographic banners displaying stark images of frozen bodies drifting in space, while corporate lobbyists countered with endless streams of propaganda, highlighting the “necessity” of such measures to safeguard the colonies’ productivity and security.

For all the fiery debates and moral handwringing, the colonies remained out of sight and out of mind for most Earth-bound citizens. Decisions about the colonies often felt abstract, like a distant storm that would never touch their lives. On Theta-13, though, ejection was no abstraction. It was a daily reminder of how thin the line was between survival and oblivion—a fate hanging over Aiden now like the sharp edge of a guillotine.

Another knock, harder this time.

“Open up, Sol,” a voice called. It was muffled, but the tone was sharp, authoritative. Not the usual guard who came for the daily check.

Aiden’s instincts screamed at him to comply, but his body rebelled. The knife slipped from his hand and clattered onto the counter as he turned toward the back of the unit. The emergency exit was a narrow hatch, a relic from when the temporary units had served as emergency shelters during construction.

He moved quickly, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. His fingers fumbled with the latch, each second feeling like an eternity. The knocking turned into pounding, the sound reverberating through the unit.

“Aiden Sol, open this door immediately!”

The hatch gave way with a groan of protest, and Aiden slipped through, his heart hammering in his chest. The mists greeted him like an old adversary, swallowing him whole as he plunged into their embrace. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he couldn’t stay. The cold, damp air bit at his skin, and the eerie silence of the moon pressed down on him, broken only by the distant echoes of his own hurried footsteps.

He didn’t dare look back.

 

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            The mist clung to Aiden like a damp second skin, every breath tasting of rust and ozone. He tore through the shadowed alleys of the colony, his ankle monitor a lead weight in his mind, though its beeping had been mercifully silenced—for now.

Above him, the artificial sky of Theta-13’s dome glimmered with soft, bioluminescent lights. They flickered in erratic patterns, mimicking stars but lacking their serenity. The colony’s sprawling architecture stretched in all directions, a labyrinth of steel and glass patched together with desperation and ingenuity. Walkways crisscrossed above him, connecting towering industrial complexes to squat residential units. Neon signs sputtered in forgotten corners, casting a sickly glow onto the corrugated metal walls.

Aiden skidded around a corner and into the underbelly of the colony—a sprawling network of maintenance corridors and abandoned construction zones. This was where the Theta Mists lingered the longest, pooling in forgotten alcoves like a living thing. The air smelled of oil and decay, and the faint hum of machinery resonated through the walls, a heartbeat for the colony’s neglected veins.

Behind him, heavy boots pounded against the metal grates, their rhythm relentless. He could hear the bark of commands from his pursuers, their voices amplified by helmets equipped with comms systems.

“Target sighted near Sector 12. Don’t let him slip into the core,” a voice crackled over the comms, as sharp and cold as the knife’s edge.

Aiden’s lungs burned, each breath dragging like sandpaper against his throat. He darted through a series of low, twisting tunnels, his mind racing as fast as his legs. The colony’s skeleton was a patchwork of new and old, some sections gleaming with cutting-edge tech while others sagged under the weight of neglect. Pipes hissed as he passed, venting steam that smelled faintly toxic, and exposed wires sparked like fireflies in the gloom.

Up ahead, a makeshift market sprawled across a wide plaza. Vendors peddled black-market goods from stalls cobbled together with scrap metal and tarpaulin, their wares illuminated by the glow of illicit power lines. Aiden plunged into the chaos, weaving through a throng of scavengers, miners, and drifters. The shouts of merchants hawking wares were swallowed by the cacophony of voices and clanging tools.

“Clear the way!” one of his pursuers roared as they entered the market. The crowd parted reluctantly, eyes narrowing as suspicion fell on the armed figures. Theta-13 had its own brand of justice, and armed security wasn’t exactly popular among the colony’s less savory residents.

Aiden ducked into a narrow side alley, his shoulder brushing against a stack of crates that teetered precariously before toppling over. The crash echoed like a gunshot, and he winced, knowing it would draw attention. Still, he pressed on, diving deeper into the maze of alleys and service corridors.

He emerged into a vast maintenance bay, its ceiling lost in the shadows above. The space was filled with dormant mining equipment—hulking machines coated in dust and grime, their once-sharp edges dulled by years of service. Conveyor belts snaked through the bay, some still running, carrying rusted tools and debris to nowhere in particular.

Aiden scrambled up a stack of crates, his boots slipping on their slick surfaces. He reached the top just as a spotlight from one of his pursuers’ drones swept across the bay. The beam caught him for a brief moment, illuminating his sweat-soaked face and wide, frantic eyes before he dropped down the other side of the crates.

“He’s in the bay! Seal the exits!” a voice barked, and the sound of gates clanging shut reverberated through the space.

Panic surged through Aiden as he realized he was running out of options. He ducked behind a rusted loader, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His mind raced, searching for an escape route, a crack in the system he could slip through. But the bay was a dead end, and his pursuers were closing in.

“End of the line, Sol,” a voice called, smug and confident. The boots were closer now, their thudding steps echoing like a death knell.

Aiden’s hand brushed against a loose pipe on the loader, and he gripped it tightly, his knuckles whitening. If they were going to take him, he wouldn’t go quietly. He rose slowly, the pipe held like a club, his eyes darting toward the nearest shadow for cover.

Before he could move, a soft voice cut through the tension like a blade.

“Stay still.”

Aiden froze, his eyes snapping to the source of the voice. A young woman stepped out from the shadows, her movements fluid and deliberate. She was dressed in a patchwork of fabrics and armor, a blend of functionality and style that marked her as a scavenger or perhaps something more. Her face was obscured by a mask, its surface etched with intricate patterns that glowed faintly in the dark.

“Follow me,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Before Aiden could question her, she grabbed his arm and pulled him into a service tunnel he hadn’t even noticed. The door slammed shut behind them, muffling the shouts of his pursuers. The woman moved quickly, her steps sure and silent, and Aiden had no choice but to follow, his mind spinning with questions.

 

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The service tunnel stretched endlessly before them, its narrow walls lined with conduits and cables that hummed faintly in the dim light. The woman moved with purpose, her steps quick and deliberate, while Aiden stumbled behind her, his mind racing to keep up with the sudden turn of events.

The echoes of their pursuers had faded, but Aiden couldn’t shake the feeling that they were still being hunted, the colony’s security forces closing in like wolves on a wounded deer. The woman said nothing, her silence as sharp and unyielding as the blade she carried at her side.

They emerged into a maze of back alleys, a web of forgotten pathways that twisted and turned in impossible directions. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burning waste and stale coolant, and the ground beneath their feet was slick with grime. Neon lights flickered above, casting eerie shadows that danced across the walls.

“Where are we going?” Aiden asked, his voice barely above a whisper. The woman didn’t respond, her attention fixed on the path ahead.

They passed a group of scavengers huddled around a barrel fire, their faces obscured by masks and goggles. The scavengers glanced at them briefly before returning to their muted conversations, their voices blending with the ambient hum of the colony. Aiden felt their eyes on him as they moved past, a prickling sensation crawling up his spine.

Finally, they reached a nondescript metal door tucked into the side of a dilapidated building. The woman produced a small device from her belt, pressing it against the door’s control panel. A series of mechanical clicks followed, and the door slid open with a low hiss.

“Inside,” she said, her voice low but firm. Aiden hesitated for a moment before stepping through the threshold, the woman close behind him. The door closed with a heavy thud, sealing them in.

The space they entered was a hidden sanctuary, a stark contrast to the bleak alleys outside. Shelves lined the walls, filled with an eclectic assortment of goods: tools, electronics, preserved food, and other essentials. A small workbench sat in one corner, cluttered with half-assembled gadgets and loose wires. The air was warmer here, carrying a faint scent of oil and something floral that Aiden couldn’t quite place.

The woman moved to a shelf and retrieved a small toolkit, gesturing for Aiden to sit on a nearby crate. He obeyed, his legs trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline. She knelt beside him and inspected the ankle monitor, her gloved fingers deftly prying open its casing with a slim blade.

“You’ve done this before,” Aiden said, attempting a smile. The woman didn’t respond, her focus unwavering as she worked. Sparks flew as she severed a wire, and the device emitted a faint beep before falling silent. She tossed the monitor into a nearby bin, its faint glow extinguished.

“Thanks,” Aiden said, rubbing his ankle where the device had been.

The woman stood and removed her mask, revealing a sharp, angular face framed by short, dark hair. Her eyes, piercing and intense, locked onto his.

“Name’s Kael,” she said, her voice soft but edged with steel.

“Aiden,” he replied, extending a hand. She ignored it, turning instead to a small viewport that overlooked the sprawling colony. The Theta Mists were thicker now, swirling outside like a ghostly tide.

“We can’t stay here,” Kael said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Aiden frowned. “Why not? It seems safe enough.”

Kael turned to face him, her expression grave. “Safe is an illusion. They’ll find this place sooner or later, and when they do, neither of us will get out alive.”

“So where do we go?” Aiden asked, his voice tinged with desperation.

Kael’s gaze shifted to the viewport, her eyes scanning the mist-shrouded landscape beyond the colony’s dome. She nodded toward the horizon, where the faint outlines of jagged terrain loomed like the teeth of some ancient beast.

“Out there,” she said simply.

Aiden’s stomach sank. The idea of leaving the colony’s confines was unthinkable. Beyond the dome lay an unforgiving wasteland, a place where the mists grew thickest and the whispers of alien creatures became more than just miner’s tales. But as Kael’s words sank in, he realized he had no choice. Whatever lay beyond the dome, it was better than the certain death waiting for him here.

Kael began gathering supplies, her movements swift and efficient. She tossed a backpack to Aiden, who caught it clumsily.

“Pack light,” she said. “We leave now.”