Outcast Marines Boxed Set

by James David Victor

  Now there was a flush of nervousness, fear, and celebration that ran through the crowd, Jezebel Wen saw. The Outcast Marines who had been on Mars had never encountered the cyborgs, so they didn’t know why they had received this sudden honor, but each of them knew they wouldn’t get it for free.

  “Immediate, full-company deployment to Pluto. I expect all ready to ship out in the hour, understood?” Warden Coates stalked the front line of the Outcasts, sounding and looking as nothing had happened on Ganymede, the sergeant thought. He sounded just as angry, just as perennially disappointed with them, but out there amidst the ruins of his beloved Ganymede Training Facility, Jezzy had been sure that she had seen some new feature of their warden. He had listened to their battlefield recommendations. He had appeared, if not humble, then at least a little more human.

  That didn’t last long, did it? Jezzy growled to herself as the warden opened his mouth to continue his tirade.

  “The general has taken a personal interest in the operations of you Outcasts, so consider yourselves privileged!” the warden stated. “But don’t let the fact that you’re wearing fancy power armor mean that you can relax! Don’t think for a second that because you’re wearing a full Marine Corps insignia, that means any of each and every one of you is indispensable, by any definition of the word!”

  Great pep talk, Warden, Jezzy could have groaned.

  “And if I hear of any insubordination whatsoever, if you so much as look odd at your superior officers, if you bring shame in any way to the noble traditions of the Marine Corps—” The warden’s face twitched with suppressed indignation. “—I promise that I will bust you out to Titan no matter what sort of fresh hell the rest of the galaxy is sliding towards! Understood!?”

  “Sir! Yes, sir!” the Outcasts roared.

  “Good. A few announcements, then. In her great wisdom, the general has allocated us to the Oregon, a Marine Corps battleship, where you will be reporting to Colonel Faraday, and Sergeant Wen will be acting field commander with a temporary field commission to first lieutenant in Lieutenant Cready’s absence.”

  What? Jezebel flushed. I don’t even know what that means… she thought, and realized that no one else around her did either, as she was rewarded with a few side-long, suspicious looks.

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Get yourselves suited up!” Coates barked at them, and the Outcasts broke into tense, excited, and nervous action as they rushed to their lockers to grab their undermesh suits.

  “Warden, sir?” Jezzy waited for the rush of bodies to clear before she approached Coates.

  “Wen? What is it?” He half-turned to regard her fiercely.

  “Thank you for the honor, sir, but I don’t think I understand…” she started to say, but Coates cut her off immediately.

  “You’re one of our best combat specialists, Wen, if not the best. I need you to lead the rest of the Outcasts against the Ru’at. I need you to teach them how to kill cyborgs. Specifically to kill cyborgs.”

  “Oh.” Jezzy wavered in place. “But what about Lieutenant Cready and Gold Squad?” she asked. Did this new designation mean that she would no longer be fighting alongside Solomon and the others?

  “Lieutenant Cready is being deployed elsewhere, making you the acting field commander. Don’t ask questions, Wen, just trust that there are better minds than ours working all of this out!” he said harshly, before stalking out of the room.

  Jezebel Wen felt oddly out of place when she turned around to look at the rest of the bustling room. There was Karamov already shrugging on his undermesh suit, there was Willoughby and Ratko who had fought alongside of her on Proxima. Malady was practicing a few experimental punches in mid-air at the back of the room. It was like watching a walking mountain.

  Everything is changing. We’re changing, she thought for a moment. Is this what war means?

  And just where was Solomon Cready going?

  3

  Taranis Industries

  Solomon watched the tall, barrel shape of the Oregon swing out from the docking arms of the general’s dreadnaught.

  It is leaving without me, he kept thinking, over and over again. His Outcasts were leaving without him, under the acting command of Jezebel Wen.

  The dreadnaught itself was a giant of a ship, one of only six such super-massive pyramids of steel that acted as the flagships of the Marine Corps fleets. In comparison, the tub of the battleship Oregon, under Colonel Farady, was the size of a cat to a human.

  It was hard for Solomon to think that there must be a few hundred people on board that moving vessel, and half of them were his own battle-brothers and sisters.

  Jezzy, Karamov, and Malady… he thought as he watched through one of the dreadnaught’s portholes to see the distant craft turn majestically. One side of the Oregon suddenly lit up in a red-tinged radiance as it caught the reflected glow of the Red Planet below.

  The Red Planet that we are currently at war with. Solomon could see the smears and specks of disaster across the surface of Mars even from this high orbit. Black clouds hung heavy over craters and billowed across the fierce Martian deserts.

  What have we done? Solomon thought.

  They’d nuked Mars.

  We’ve nuked Mars, he corrected. He was more deeply a part of the Marine Corps than ever now, and whatever actions his superior officers took, he knew that he would have to be the one dealing with them from now on.

  “Strange to think, isn’t it?” murmured a voice behind him, and Solomon was surprised to turn around and see that it was none other than Brigadier General Asquew joining him in the small viewing lounge.

  “Strange, sir?” Solomon snapped to attention.

  “That in our lifetime, we’ll have nuked another planet and encountered aliens…” She sounded worried, haunted almost, as she narrowed her eyes to look at Mars.

  “Any word of the seditionists?” Solomon said.

  “The Chosen of Mars are still attacking Confederate ports on Mars, but their attacks are desperate and uncoordinated,” Asquew said. “I am sure that their resistance will be annoying for many years to come, but right now, I do not think there is anything standing in the way of a troop deployment to the surface of Mars to recapture the cities and habitats stolen from us.”

  At the same time as we’re expecting the Ru’at at any moment? Solomon thought in alarm.

  The general must have sensed a little of what Solomon was worried about, because she turned to look at him seriously. “The Ru’at, and that blasted message of theirs, forms the existential threat to humanity,” she said. “And we can only face it if humanity is unified—meaning that we need to initiate swift and rapid action to take Mars, and then we can move to using Mars’s impressive processing factories in the war effort,” she said, before dropping her voice lower. “There is another reason why I need you to return with the ambassador to Earth, Lieutenant Cready,” she stated.

  “There is a mega-corporation on Earth called Taranis Industries. It specializes in biology, chemistry, medical sciences, that kind of thing,” the general said. “We happen to know that Taranis Industries and NeuroTech were very close for a time, sharing research and facilities and what have you. Our analysts now believe that the cyborg technology could not have been possible without the help of Taranis. While we believe that NeuroTech has been destroyed on Proxima, Taranis Industries still has its base on Earth.”

  “And you think that this Taranis Industries might be just as bad as NeuroTech? That they might have more of the dormant cyborgs?” Solomon asked.

  “They could have.” Asquew nodded. “But there could also be clues as to what the contents of the Ru’at’s original message was. If we understood their technology as well as NeuroTech did, then we might have better chance of defeating them.”

  “But, sir… Why me? Can’t you just authorize Earth-local security services?” Solomon asked.

  “This is a matter of trust, Solomon,” Asquew said. “You’ve fought the cyborgs. You know what they are ca
pable of. And besides which, we know that NeuroTech or Taranis could not have been acting alone. They managed to supply the Chosen of Mars with Marine Corps equipment, which means some sort of Confederate involvement. We need to find out just how deep and how dangerous this conspiracy is.”

  “You think that there might be other traitors on Earth?” Solomon asked. “Those loyal to Mars?”

  “Those loyal to money, Lieutenant. Someone with access to Marine Corps equipment attempted to start the war by attacking Titan,” she said. “That points at collusion between some of the mega-corporations and a conspiracy inside the Confederacy itself!”

  Solomon remembered. He had been there, attempting to save the ambassador’s life.

  “How many traitors are there? Are they merely Martian sympathizers or are they in fact in league with the Ru’at?” The general grimaced. “Believe me, Lieutenant, these are questions and considerations that I would much rather not be having to think about. I would rather be out there, sword in hand and a gun at my hip, fighting the Ru’at beside my fellow Marines.”

  From the look on her face, Solomon believed her.

  “But this is the nature of high office, Lieutenant Cready,” Asquew said dryly. “We discover that our enemies aren’t just the ones that we fight out on the field of battle, or in the spaces between the stars. Sometimes we find them wearing suits and occupying ever higher and rarefied positions.” Her expression turned sour, and then she sighed.

  “It helps that you seem to have made a habit out of not-dying, Lieutenant Cready,” she said as she turned back to look at the disappearing dot of the Oregon.

  “Sometimes I think that it’s more of a lifestyle than a habit, ma’am,” Solomon said as he also watched the Oregon start to lock into flight with its jump-ship. Any minute now and he might never see his friends ever again. They would be taken over spacetime by the Barr-Hawking jump-ship to Pluto…and then what?

  Was there anything that a mere hundred Marines could do to stop a force like the Ru’at?

  “Sir… Is it still possible to get a message to the Oregon?” Solomon frowned.

  “Of course,” the general said. “As soon as she jumps, it’ll be the same old long-distance radio transmissions that we all have to put up with.”

  Solomon nodded. It was one of the greatest threats to the Confederacy—and to humanity as a whole—that they hadn’t discovered some sort of faster-than-light form of communication.

  “I just want to get a message to Sergeant Jezebel Wen. Please tell her to look after the squad for me while I’m gone.”

  4

  The Future of Earth

  Does she know about my real mission? Solomon wondered as he looked over at Ambassador Ochrie, sitting across from him on the shuttle. She sat in perfect, determined repose as she always did, an older woman with hair long since given over to silver-white, and with deep purple and red robes. Beside her sat her Scandinavian personal assistant—a tall, thin blonde in matching robes, whom Solomon had seen fire a pistol like a sharpshooter.

  “I don’t know why the general cannot agree to scheduling a personal jump-ship,” muttered Imprimatur Mariad Rhossily on the opposing bank of chairs, leaning forward and picking at her nails in frustration.

  Solomon could see where the woman was coming from, at least. The shuttle that they had left the Indomitable in was of the utmost luxury and quality, a small, box-like shape on thrusters and positional rockets, whose interior was plush and decadent. Several lounge chairs with comfortable upholstery sat next to large portholes displaying views of the Martian surface.

  The ruined Martian surface, Solomon had to correct, at least to himself.

  “Because that would attract too much attention, Imprimatur,” the ambassador said evenly. “The Confederacy may indeed by wealthy, but we’re not so rich as to use an entire jump-ship on one tiny shuttle!” Ochrie laughed.

  Which is a fine excuse, Solomon thought. What was the real reason? That the general didn’t want to alert Taranis that they were coming for them? That she didn’t want to spook the citizens, or alert the traitors inside the Confederacy?

  Well, if worrying people was her main concern, she’s failed in that job! Solomon could have sniggered, given the thermonuclear devices and imminent troop dispersals to Mars.

  Whatever the reason, however, the shuttle they were on swam through space towards the designated holding zone, where a much larger transport was currently allowing similar such shuttles to dock and attach at its belly like calves to a cow. Out to one side, Solomon could see the stationary Barr-Hawking jump-ship, waiting for them to dock and join all the others.

  “Activating docking procedure in three…two…and—”

  Clunk! Solomon shook a little where he stood beside the two seated women as their small craft connected with the larger ship and attachment arms slid into place over their wings.

  “Jump procedure beginning. Prepare to brace in five…four…”

  “It won’t take long, Imprimatur,” Ambassador Ochrie said soothingly. Solomon realized that Mariad Rhossily, growing up on Proxima, must have the belief that jumps took hours, almost days, to get from one useful destination to the next. Here around the near planets, however, it would only take a matter of minutes to get to Earth orbit.

  Solomon’s ears popped and he felt a sudden and bewildering vertigo as the jump-ship started to work, throwing out magnet-lock cables to attach to their own parent transport’s hull, and for their craft to be pulled along for the ride, like fleas on the back of a dog.

  They jumped.

  “Leaving jump… All passengers, brace.”

  The automated words of the shuttle computer blared into the room where Solomon was swaying on his feet, fighting off jump-sickness.

  One thing’s for sure, faster-than-light travel has got to be smoother than this! Solomon considered.

  “Decoupling from jump-ship. Welcome to Near-Earth Space.”

  Solomon felt vibrational shudders running through the shuttle floor as the distant magnet clamps were released from their parent craft and they decelerated to enter the space between Earth and the Moon.

  “First time to Earth, Imprimatur Rhossily?” the ambassador asked, uncoupling her belt to gesture to the porthole for her opposite number to take a look. Over their shoulders, Solomon could see the bright orb of the Earth, its upper atmosphere a sea of grays and whites. On the other dark side of the planet, they could see the vast neon spiderweb of lit-up mega-cities.

  I wonder if I can see New Kowloon from here. Solomon peered a little closer.

  “Shuttle Xge-4, you are ready for detach,” the speaker system said, followed by a further series of shakes as their transporter released the lichen-like shuttles that clung to its belly, falling away like metal leaves. Solomon felt his stomach lurch, and then the shuttle fired its own rockets, headed for the New York Space Elevator, clearly visible as it poked up from the dome of their mother planet as a string spiderweb lines leading to a platform-station shaped like a snowflake.

  There were only three space elevators in existence on Earth, at New York, Shanghai, and Mexico City, but they had been humanity’s key achievement in getting to the stars. It cost far less energy to attach shuttles to the cables and send them up to the platforms without having to deal with escape velocity. After that, the Confederacy’s conquest of the near planets was all but written in the stars.

  “It doesn’t look like Proxima,” Imprimatur Rhossily said doubtfully. “It’s too…busy.” She sounded surprised, although Solomon figured she must have known what Earth was like.

  She’s right though, Solomon thought. Earth had made a mess of its planet, and its near-orbit was filled with satellites and stations moving in complicated geometric patterns around each other. The parts of the planet that were visible in the breaks of heavy gray clouds were mostly filled with cities or barren industrial zones. Proxima, on the other hand, still looked like an untouched wilderness.

  But Earth’s mine, Solomon thought affectiona
tely anyway. She might be dirty and hectic, but she was the soil that he had grown up on. Somewhere, far below him, he knew that he could find streets that he remembered, and noodle bars where the owners would know just what his favorite dish was. There might even be people who remembered his name…

  But not friends, though. Solomon’s thoughts soured as they drew nearer and nearer to the space elevator, its navigational beacons flaring red and green.

  No, Solomon didn’t have any friends left on Earth, if he’d ever had any to start with. His childhood in the Midwest of the American Confederacy had been a fraught time of which he could remember little except getting into trouble, and his second life in New Kowloon had seen him cause the death of his only friend, Matty Sozer.

  Maybe it’s for the best if no one remembers my name on Earth, Solomon was starting to think, just as a rising bubble of white light engulfed the New York Space Elevator.

  5

  Attack!

  “WAO! WAO! WAO!”

  Alarms were going off throughout the shuttle that Solomon, Ambassador Ochrie for Earth, and the Imprimatur of Proxima, Mariad Rhossily, were in as they watched in horror at the scene playing out below them.

  “Someone’s blown up the space elevator—” the ambassador was whispering, her face ashen.

  “Ambassador! Someone’s blown up New York!” Imprimatur Rhossily pointed.

  Holy frack, she’s right, Solomon hung onto the overhead handles of the shuttle, momentarily frozen.

  The rising bubble of white light looked like a blister on the surface of the world, but it rose in absolute mathematical precision. For a moment, the sheer magnitude of the blast did not look like an explosion, Solomon thought. It was beautiful, in a way—like watching a star being born. It was majestic.

  Until Solomon saw where the lowest edge of the bubble was racing through the atmosphere of Earth, and it burned red.