Outcast Marines Boxed Set

by James David Victor

  “Attention Outcast Marines. This is the forward dropship the Humbolt, Rapid Response Fleet. Hold your positions.”

  Following the illumination lines came a burning light in the skies behind the ridge. Solomon saw a small, dark shape enter the lower atmosphere and fire at the ridge.

  “Cover!” Solomon shouted as he and the other survivors dropped to the floor.

  The Humbolt had fired missiles at the top of the ridge as it entered Ganymede’s atmosphere, and Solomon tucked his head under his arm as the ground shook and the brightness of the explosions managed to break through even his closed eyes. There was a deep, vibrational rumbling followed by more bursts of light and noise, and then it was over.

  Solomon raised his head just in time to see the Humbolt scream overhead on atmospheric rockets, performing a wide turn over the ruins of the training facility. The ridge where the last remaining cyborgs had been holding was now a charred, broken series of craters. The cyborgs may be nigh unstoppable, but the advanced Hellfire system of the twenty-second century was enough to destroy them.

  They had done it, Solomon could have laughed, or cried, the relief was so palpable. They had survived the hour it would take for the distress beacon to call for support from Mars. And for them to arrive so quickly must have meant that the general had dispatched the dropship as soon as she could.

  “Good job, Commander,” he heard someone saying over the general channel, and when Solomon looked up, he saw that it was Arlo Menier of all people, offering him the meaty power glove to help him to his feet.

  “No.” Solomon shook his head, feeling disorientated by this change in the bully. “You saved my life, Marine,” he murmured back.

  “I know,” Arlo growled, tightening his grip on Solomon’s gloved hand for a moment in a squeeze that would have popped finger bones had Solomon not been wearing power gauntlets. “Hm,” the Frenchman grunted. “You’re still an idiot, but you can fight,” was all that the big man said before turning to start the grisly task of loading the bodies of the dead.

  Behind him, Solomon wavered on his feet, wondering if that meant that he and Arlo were friends now.

  “Cready!” Coates barked. “Get those staffers to the Humbolt and hooked up to some real oxygen now!” the warden demanded, just as outraged as ever.

  11

  Counter-Strike, and Welcome

  “The cyborgs knew what they were doing.” Solomon nodded in agreement with Asquew’s words as he, his squad, and the other survivors of Ganymede looked up at the form of the woman on the overhead screen.

  They sat in a small briefing room on board the Humbolt’s mothership, a battleship by the name of the Oregon, capable of fielding three dropships like the Humbolt, as well as a full company of a hundred Marines—had they even been on board. Instead, the Oregon was staffed with only two platoons of roughly twenty Marines each, as all the others were still engaged with the siege of Mars.

  But still… Solomon considered. For the general to send a full battleship to the rescue of Ganymede when it could have been employed in the Martian theater was a sign of how seriously she had taken the situation, he knew.

  The Oregon was in orbit around Ganymede as there was nowhere for it to dock or to make landing now that the facility was destroyed. And it really was. Solomon could view the aerial pictures right now, as they scrolled down one side of the overhead screen, along with reports and analyses of that day’s action.

  “The Outcast Training Facility is gone.” Asquew appeared able to read Solomon’s mind. “This was no doubt a targeted attack against a key Marine Corps capability.”

  What was more, the crashing of the Marine transporter had only been a diversion for the real attack of the cyborgs, hidden in their landing module and making moonfall on Ganymede moments before the transporter had hit.

  “But why us?” Solomon heard one of the other survivors ask—one of the Green Squad team he had sent to activate the distress beacon. “And what were those things?”

  “Why you?” Asquew’s eyes flicked to Solomon and the other Gold Squad members. Solomon knew what was coming next. She had to tell them the truth of what they faced, and she did so in clipped, efficient sentences. When she was done, and everyone in the room now knew about the Ru’at, NeuroTech, and the cyborgs and killer robots of the colonies, a newer, tense sort of silence settled over them.

  “The secret war has gone public,” Asquew muttered as her eyes stared into the middle distance. “The colonies are using alien technology against us. We have already sent a very clear counter-message.”

  The scrolling images on one side of the screen suddenly displayed a new image. It was of the Red Planet, but the image was taken from too high for Solomon to see just which of the Martian habitat-cities it was featuring. Before he could try to trace any familiar craters or mountains to get his bearings, there was a tiny pinprick of light on the surface.

  Which rapidly grew larger—a perfect circle of light that was growing wider and higher in moments.

  Oh frack… Solomon realized what he was looking at, as the bubbles of light started to glow around the edges while they burned up the lower atmosphere.

  “We’ve nuked Mars,” he breathed.

  “Affirmative, Specialist Commander Cready,” Asquew confirmed. “Two mega-ton thermonuclear devices were deployed at fifteen forty-eight hours today, on the plains outside of Armstrong and Pavonis Habitats.”

  “Outside?” one of the other Outcasts wondered aloud.

  “We are not in the business of mass slaughter,” Asquew said. “But the shockwaves of the blast alone will be enough to cause a major setback to the Martian habitats, their economies and futures.”

  Solomon could see the reasoning. The supersonic, super-heated shockwaves would be powerful enough to wipe off the face of Mars any of the smaller settlement bubbles on the sand plains between Pavonis and Armstrong, as well as cause major widespread damage to the habitats themselves in the form of ripped bubble-fabric, building collapses, and power outages. Maybe not hundreds of thousands would die, but a thousand certainly might…

  “Which will give us the breathing space we need to recalculate our strategy in the light of this present attack,” Asquew intoned.

  “General, sir? Permission to speak freely, sir?” The warden stood up from where he had been sitting at one end of the metal table, throwing a perfect salute as he addressed his superior officer.

  “As you wish, Warden. This is an informal meeting, given the outstanding acts of bravery you and your people have performed today.” Asquew nodded.

  “Thank you. But I must ask… How did the colonists get a hold of a Marine transporter? And when did they have the opportunity to load it full of the NeuroTech cyborgs?” Coates asked, his eyes flaring with righteous indignation as his facility, his baby, had been totally destroyed.

  “A good question. Our records show that earlier yesterday, this man boarded the Marine transporter that attacked your base, where it was stationed in orbit around Mars.” Asquew nodded, and the side-show of nuclear terror was replaced with the Marine Corps photographs of Specialist Kol’s identity card.

  “Kol!” Jezzy spat, standing up in fury. For once, this lack of protocol wasn’t remarked upon by the warden.

  Solomon nodded. It made sense, after all. Kol had been a member of his squad, and he had been their technical specialist, trained in electrical and mechanical engineering. If anyone would know how to fly a Marine Corps transporter, or how to override the door controls, it would have been Kol.

  Just like he would also know how to fool the Ganymede satellites when he sent the transporter crashing into his old home… Solomon sighed. Kol had been trained here on Ganymede, after all.

  “Report, Specialist Wen.” Coates nodded at her.

  “I last saw Kol in the ventilation tunnels under Armstrong.” Jezzy ran through the story that Solomon knew well by now. “He was meant to fit a device that would blow a part of Armstrong’s power grid, making it easier for me and the
rest of the Gold Squad to sneak in and destabilize the separatists on Mars,” Jezzy said.

  “But he had no intention of blowing the power grid, and instead overpowered me and left me to die, stating that he was joining the Chosen of Mars/First Martian separatists,” Jezzy explained. “Needless to say, the device didn’t work, and our mission failed, forcing the Confederacy to engage in outright warfare with Mars instead of infiltration.”

  But it was also there that we discovered the cyborgs, Solomon had to admit. Who were being sold by the mega-corporation NeuroTech.

  “Agreed,” the general intoned. “We will continue to search the Ganymede crash site to see if this traitor went down with his ship. In the meantime, I have alerted all officers that this man is wanted for treason…but I am sure that he did not act alone.”

  “Sir?” Warden Coates asked.

  “Kol managed to get a good-sized force of these cyborgs on board the transporter without raising alarms. There is every likelihood that there are further traitors loyal to Mars inside the Marine Corps,” Asquew said heavily, and a gloomy silence fell across the briefing.

  “But the Director of Defense has told me that we have every permission to act fast and decisively,” she said, “against the threat that is NeuroTech. NeuroTech supplied Mars with cyborgs, and NeuroTech must have supplied ex-Outcast Kol with the cyborgs to attack Ganymede.”

  “While we have seized their New York, London, and Shanghai offices, they all pale in comparison to its interstellar headquarters…” The side panel beside her face flickered to reveal tall buildings that tapered near the top, made of a fabulous bronze but whose balconies were overflowing with greenery, like a hanging garden.

  “The NeuroTech headquarters are on Proxima Centauri, our sister planet,” the general said. “And while Proxima’s role in this conflict has been little more than blockades of Confederate goods coming into their space, as well as a few riots and provocation on the streets of their capital, they have long been voicing the same concerns for greater independence as Mars has. They have not sent active soldiers to face the Confederacy, but we fear that it is only a matter of time.”

  Especially now that you’ve nuked a fellow colonial planet, Solomon thought a little despairingly. When faced with such total destruction, any rebellious force really only has two options left: either total capitulation, or the decision that they might die anyway so a total commitment to the war effort instead.

  Solomon didn’t like to guess which way it would go.

  “Despite repeated demands by our ambassador for the Proximian Imprimatur to exile NeuroTech from their territory, the Proximians haven’t done so,” Asquew stated with a grimace. “Which leads the Secretary of Defense to conclude that the only possible explanation is that Proxima has been working with NeuroTech all this time. Perhaps funding or facilitating the mega-corporation to send these new weapons to Mars, to feed the Martian uprising, in an effort to strengthen their own.”

  Solomon saw Warden Coates nod one brittle, hate-filled nod.

  “So, this will be your new mission, Outcasts,” General Asquew said. “I will be sending what remains of you to Proxima to infiltrate and destroy the NeuroTech factories where they built the very things that destroyed your home and killed your fellow Marines.”

  A loud cheer went up from almost all corners of the room, even from Warden Coates.

  Everyone always likes a little payback, Solomon thought, smiling disingenuously and nodding along with others, even as his heart fell. Maybe the rest of the Outcasts here were too upset to think about what the general had just offered them. This wasn’t just a chance at revenge. This was traveling to a potential enemy territory, at the other end of human space. Their odds of a successful mission were tiny. Solomon and Gold Squad had done infiltration work before. They knew what it was like to be surrounded on all sides by the enemy.

  They’re desperate, Solomon realized. The Marine Corps top brass are desperate to end this war in any way they know how, and now they are going to bet on a bunch of embittered ex-cons.

  And while Brigadier General Asquew was offering them a chance at revenge, it was also clear that she did not expect anyone who went to ever come back alive.

  Solomon’s realization that this was a suicide mission fully resolved when he heard the next thing fall from the general’s lips.

  “And because of your outstanding acts of bravery in the field this day…” She cleared her throat. “I will be recommending that the Outcast company be given full Marine status within the Rapid Response Fleet and the wider Marine Corps, and those of you who have won specialisms will be carrying them forward into your new rank, as well.”

  There was a stunned moment of silence, and then loud cheers broke out from the room.

  “Welcome to the Marine Corps, my brothers and sisters.” Asquew smiled grimly.

  12

  Ceremony

  The atmosphere was hushed and still inside one of the holds of the Marine Corps battleship, the Oregon.

  Solomon stood in line with the other survivors of Ganymede, looking into the large room that had been cleared of ammunition boxes and crates, and instead held assembled lines of standing full Marines, dressed in full power armor, on either side of them, creating an empty avenue that started in front of Solomon to the far end of the hold where, under the large airlock doors, stood Warden Coates, Doctor Palinov, and Colonel Faraday of the Oregon, an older man with graying hair and a craggy face in ceremonial dress uniform.

  Solomon recognized him, having seen him about the Oregon. This was his boat, and he reported directly to the general. In this place at least, Colonel Faraday outranked everyone else.

  “Brothers and sisters,” the colonel said in a loud, authoritative voice. “You are called here today to witness the induction not only of brave men and women into our community of Marines, but also to see the creation of a new company in the Rapid Response Fleet.” Faraday held up a hand to signal for a large banner to ripple open from the ceiling of the hold.

  It was a skull, Solomon saw with a morbid shiver. A green skull over a red backdrop.

  “The green represents new life, coming from the old way of death,” Faraday stated. “And of course, the red is the fire of courage and the color of bloodshed, both signifying where you have all come from and what qualities you will need to succeed as a full Marine.” Faraday nodded. “The Outcast Company is born,” he said in an almost reverential tone, before nodding to his fellow officer beside him.

  “Step forward, Adjunct-Marine,” Warden Coates said in a low voice that nonetheless carried well over the silence. Coates had managed to somehow find a matching ceremonial suit for his position—gray with red stripes, with a small peaked cap emblazoned with a gold star.

  The room was dark apart from the spotlights on the empty avenue, clearly illuminating Solomon Cready as he stepped forward in a formal ceremonial march—knees up, wide steps, slowing to bring both feet together, then performing once again as he moved slowly towards his superior officers.

  “A-TEN-Hut!” the warden barked in perfectly aggressive, clipped tones, and Solomon stopped, stamped his right foot down, and threw a salute at the same time as the warden, and for the Colonel Faraday to acknowledge him with a more relaxed salute.

  “Step forward, Specialist Commander Cready.” Faraday nodded, and Solomon took the final two steps that put him in front of the men and women.

  This is it, Solomon thought. This is my graduation.

  For a moment, time seemed to slow down as Solomon considered his position and his past. He had never even dreamed that he would be standing here, in front of a military leader and being awarded full Marine status. Even after joining the Outcast Marines, he had found it difficult to imagine that he would ever actually make it through basic training and then field training to this point.

  But here we are, he thought. He had done it.

  The old Solomon that he had been—the one who had scammed the Yakuza and the Triads, and who had stolen f
rom corporations and museums alike—would have scoffed at this ceremony. He would have sneered at such ritual antics.

  What’s the point? When are they going to pay me? That’s what I want to know! Solomon could almost hear his previous self saying just that in the back of his mind.

  ‘But now I am older, I put away childish things…’ the ex-thief remembered a line from somewhere, though he couldn’t remember where. But it was true, and it made sense to him now. The old Solomon that he had been hadn’t seen what this new Solomon had seen. He hadn’t spilled blood and sweat beside his military brothers and sisters, even those he had hated.

  Solomon felt like a new man, which was itself an unusual sensation for someone who had always been so certain of his place in the world. The old Solomon had been a loner, a wild card—he had even turned on his oldest friend Matthias Sozer, hadn’t he?

  But now I know something different… Solomon had the humility to lower his eyes for a second, to look at his feet on the grillwork of the hold’s floor.

  Now, Solomon knew that he was nothing without his team. The Outcasts had been forged in battle, and when Solomon had walked out of it, he felt himself to be unrecognizable. There was no going back to the man that he had been.

  “Specialist Commander Cready,” the colonel said in a gravelly voice, sounding very serious indeed. “I have been empowered as the site-commander to induct you into the Marine Corps, but first I have to ask you one question: are you ready for this duty?”

  Solomon breathed, allowing himself to savor the moment. It was a duty, of course. He would be expected to take orders for the Confederacy. To kill for the Confederacy. To die for the Confederacy, if need be.

  Of course, he had been expected to do all of these things as an adjunct-Marine of Ganymede before as well, but the Outcasts had been pressganged convicts, implanted with control chips that the warden could use to paralyze them at any given opportunity. I never really had a choice to join the Marine Corps before, Solomon knew. The only other option would be to be sent to Titan as a laboring prisoner for the rest of his natural life, which had been sure to be very short, given the harsh conditions and the dangerous nature of ice mining.