Outcast Marines Boxed Set

by James David Victor

  “Hello? Can anyone read me?”

  For a moment, there was nothing, and then—

  FZZT! “Lieutenant Wen! This is Faraday… FZZZT!”

  “Colonel?” Jezzy blinked in surprised. Of all the people that she might have expected to hear on the other end of the line—Malady perhaps, Willoughby or Ratko—she had never even dreamed it would be the colonel who would answer.

  “What are you doing still on Level 3? I tho— FZZZZT! —of there!?” she heard the man’s patchy voice exclaim.

  “Colonel, line is bad. Repeat: Line bad. I’m trapped. Bulkhead…” She scanned the walls for the stencil marks she had seen earlier. “…forty-four, bulkhead forty-four.”

  There was a sudden explosion of some very caustic swearing on the other end before Faraday, the man in charge of the Oregon and their entire battlegroup, returned to civility. “FZZT! ...there. Repeat: Wait there… I’m coming to… FZZT!”

  Well, Jezzy thought, there probably wasn’t much chance of her going anywhere anyway.

  Jezzy hung suspended in the corridor of Floor 3, by bulkhead 44, and awaited rescue. Which was not an easy thing for a woman like Jezebel Wen to do. She was much more used to being in charge of her own life, and she didn’t like being at the mercy of others.

  “What if he doesn’t make it through to me?” She started to fret, frustrated by her impotence. What if there were more cyborgs roaming the empty halls of the Oregon? What if the Oregon decided to finally break apart at that precise moment? What if the colonel couldn’t do anything to free her from her metal prison?

  To keep her mind occupied with at least the illusion of control, she ran through her suit diagnostics again.

  Medical Injector Systems…OPERATIONAL

  Suit Environmental Controls…COMPROMISED

  Suit Hull Integrity…COMPROMISED

  Air Seals…GOOD

  Magnet Seals…GOOD

  Oxygen Tanks: 0:26:13

  “Less than half an hour of oxygen left,” she thought in alarm. She had already spent over an hour sealing her foot, electrocuting herself, and rebooting her suit. “And a half an hour is time that I don’t have,” she whispered into the bluish-tinged light of her suits. She knew that if the elevators weren’t working—as nothing much else appeared to be working on the Oregon—and if the colonel had to contend with more crumbled entire floors, then it could easily take him half an hour just to get to her. And that was besides the weight of the metals that stood between her and freedom.

  Magnet seals! Jezzy’s mind picked up on that small detail. It would give her a tiny advantage, but she was very glad of any advantage about now…

  She activated the magnet seals in the bottom of her combat boots, setting them to a strong 60% force as her body suddenly clanked to the ‘ground’ of the corridor. All power suits came with that extra feature that the light tacticals did not—the ability to run power through three large magnets in the soles of the metal boot, which would stick her to the floor in low-gravity situations. By adjusting the amount of power that swept through them, a Marine like Jezzy could alter her ability to leap, run, float, fly, or remain stock still, even without any natural gravity.

  And what I really want right now is to provide as much resistance as won’t kill me… She bumped up the power to 75% force and felt her legs growing heavy and solid as tree trunks. She wasn’t going anywhere.

  But that wasn’t the point.

  Jezzy reached up to clamp the metal fingers of her combat gauntlets on the nearest twist of metal blocking her path and heaved.

  SKREEEAARRR!

  The sound of screeching metal met her suit’s microphones, and she could feel the plates of her suit’s back interlocking and tightening as she asked it to do the impossible.

  There were some benefits to doing dull manual work in low gravity that Jezzy was thankful for. The main one was that weight wasn’t as important as mass, and mass was only an issue when it was related to direction or velocity.

  In that sense, then, anybody with the right encounter suit would be able to move seemingly impossible obstacles just by the application of their own mass to the object. Without gravity, the object’s weight wasn’t the thing to overcome—but the object still had mass, or size, density of materials, rigidity, substance. A single human in an encounter suit couldn’t shove a spaceship out of the way, because the spaceship has a much higher mass, Jezzy knew.

  But… If the spaceship was stationary, and that human was braced to an unmovable object, then all that mattered would be if the human could generate enough force. The resistance of friction, weight, and gravity could all be overcome with the right application of mass.

  Jezzy heaved, and her suit’s microphones picked up the squeal of metal from in front of her. By magnet-locking her boots to the floor, she was giving herself the mass of the entire bulkhead, making herself an extension of that larger substance.

  But the wrecked wall, too, was connected to the rest of bulkhead forty-four. Jezzy just had to hope that the metal she was pulling wasn’t still connected to the actual wall.

  Her power suit readjusted its loads and ratios to aid in her task. Servo-assisted motors in her gloves, her elbow-pads, and pauldrons compensated for any lack of strength, and the inter-locking back plates that stretched down her spine to the harness-belt worked in tandem to provide the most support and the most force up and down her body.

  SKREEEAAAR! Thunk!

  Jezzy was suddenly bending backwards at the knee—while her feet stubbornly stayed in the same position—as a large fragment of twisted wall, a few inches thick and almost as wide as she was tall, broke free from the jumble.

  “Yes!” Jezzy was breathing hard as she let the metal section float free behind her. For all the weightlessness and her power suit’s abilities, it was still a monumental task.

  Oxygen Tanks: 0:20:13

  But it had taken too long. Jezzy bit her lip in consternation. She studied what was left of the jumble of metal ahead of her. Girders and stanchion supports were twisted like spaghetti next to battered wall plates. Wires and cabling that had once been inside the walls now hung like ivy ahead of her.

  But there was a gap! A small gap, admittedly, barely big enough to fit her arm through, but it was there. As Jezzy leaned forward, the environmental lights on her suit revealed a dark space flaring with flickering lights. The other bulkhead after this one, she reasoned.

  Oxygen Tanks: 0:19:52

  No time to dawdle… She needed to get to some oxygen, and quickly… She seized the nearest twisted girder and heaved, just as she had done before. With her boots magnetized and braced on the floor, this time the effort was easier—but still taxing.

  I must have loosened the wreckage with the first piece, she thought as the girder twisted out of the wreckage, bringing with it a cloud of metal fragments as the collapsed wall started to change shape.

  The hole was getting bigger. She might be able to fit her arm and head through.

  FZZZT! More sparks scattered over her arms as she seized the next girder, pushing and pulling to try and bend the debris out of the way.

  Oxygen Tanks: 0:15:08

  It’s taking too long! Jezzy started to sweat. Her suit registered her accelerated heartrate and offered warning advice. The combat specialist ignored it as she gripped the next piece of metal and threw her upper body back as much as she was able.

  Oxygen Tanks: 0:12:33

  KER-THONK! Something gave in the wall, and the metal she was holding sprang out of the blockade, bringing with it a spinning girder as thick as her arm

  Thwack!

  “Ach!”

  Warning! Suit Impact Detected!

  Front Breast-Plate Armor Efficiency -28%

  As if her suit didn’t already have enough problems…

  Oxygen Tanks: 0:08:41

  But the hole was big enough to crawl through now, at least. She powered down her boots and immediately started to lift from the floor, before kicking off to fly through the hole and th
e corridor on the other side.

  Am I going to see Malady’s body here? Karamov? Ratko? Willoughby? She couldn’t help thinking. Her Gold Squad had been trying to stem the tide of the invading cyborgs when this level had crumpled. Had anyone gotten out?

  “Lieutenant Wen… FZZT! Floor 4 access port… I think we’ve got company—FZZT!”

  Faraday’s words did not fill her with comfort. She flew down the corridors as fast as she could, but it was hard to get her bearings now. This entire level had suffered a catastrophic collapse, like crushing a tin can. Several of the corridors that branched off this one were little more than smashed walls and floors. Others had the wall plates strangely mangled, punching out grotesque shapes into the corridor.

  And what was worse was that she could see the evidence of the recent battle that she had supposed to be leading. She saw the silver-chrome limbs of cyborgs half in and out of wreckage, as well as scraps of the gold and slate-blue uniforms of the Oregon’s Marine complement.

  She couldn’t see any scraps of black and red uniforms, though, she felt guiltily glad to note. Black and red were the colors of the Outcast regiment. Her company. Her responsibility…

  Oxygen Tanks: 0:04:21

  “Four minutes!” Jezzy cursed. How was she going to find her way out of this maze in four minutes? Where was the colonel?

  “And when he said he had company, did that mean that I shouldn’t go to the Floor 4 access port, or that I should?”

  Jezzy shook her head and growled in frustration. Either way, she was just going to have to take the very first available escape that she could find, even if that meant—

  She swung around a corner, to see that all the bits of debris in this corridor were slowly spinning toward the far wall.

  Or what had been the far wall, anyway. Instead, the inner hull of the Oregon gave way to the outer, as if a massive explosion had gone off in here. And the outer hull was petaled open, with strips of torn metal pointing out into the starry darkness.

  “Oh frack, oh frack, oh frack…”

  Oxygen Tanks: 0:02:11

  There was no time to go back into the warren of collapsed corridors. This is a shortcut, Jezzy told herself, hoping that she wasn’t committing suicide as she kicked against one of the walls and shot forward through the hole in the Oregon’s side.

  Jezzy saw the walls of the Oregon flashing past her as she scissor-kicked her legs, turning her body and throwing out an arm to—

  Scraaape!

  —catch one of the jagged ends of the metal and slide along it, the metal of her gloves and the metal of the battleship creating sparks.

  “Urgh!” At last, her grip held just before she careened off into space, and she was swinging herself around.

  Magnet Seals…25%. She braced her legs as she toggled her boot controls, slamming her feet onto the ruined hull outside the tear.

  “Phew.” She had a second to breathe.

  Breathe. As in…oxygen, her brain warned her.

  Oxygen Tanks: 0:01:55

  “Okay…think, Jezzy…” She was standing on the side of the Orgon, which now looked as though it had been deflated in mismatched places. As she turned to scan for the nearest porthole access, she saw the edge of the Oregon’s hold. Its double folding doors were wide open and twisted as jumbles of machinery, carts, and equipment slowly spilled out.

  Above her, she could see where several other floors had also been affected by the decompression event. Those were the floors that had crinkled together, losing all form as the metal had rumpled like a blanket.

  I’m outside Floor 3, the epicenter of the tragedy, Jezzy thought. That meant Floor 4 was above her, which was also where the colonel might be. Or might be warning her to stay away from.

  The floor above this one did not look to be the same rumpled and fractured metal as this one. It was still intact.

  And that meant it might still have a viable atmosphere! Jezzy had to hope.

  After all, her very life depended on it.

  Oxygen Tanks: 0:01:03

  Adjusting her magnet boots, she grabbed the side of the Oregon’s hull and propelled herself upward. Her legs started to lift and back away from her, risking turning her graceful glide into a tumble.

  “There it is!” There, up ahead, was a line of viewing portholes, as well as the built-up hexagonal module of an emergency escape hatch. These things were dotted throughout the Oregon, and indeed throughout every starship, Jezzy knew. All she had to do was get to it.

  Oxygen Tanks: 0:00:42

  The small form of the combat specialist and acting field commander skittered up along the battleship’s hull, with the entire vault of heaven over her shoulder. She was a tiny figure moving against a slowly rotating spaceship like a skipped stone.

  The emergency escape hatch was coming up to her fast. Too fast?

  Jezzy lowered her hands just in time to grab the steel rungs in place around the outside, her momentum turning her over and slamming her against the hull.

  CLANG!

  Oxygen Tanks: 0:00:31

  Thirty seconds? “Plenty of time,” Jezzy muttered. She’d had entire—successful—duels that had lasted less time than that.

  That was what she told herself, anyway, as she flipped herself over—one arm holding onto one of the hatch railings while the other flipped the external command cover.

  “The seals are set to green. That’s good,” she murmured, checking the small diagnostic panel revealed within. If the atmospheric seals were holding, then there was atmosphere inside. All she had to was to get in.

  The command panel had two large buttons, one red and one orange. She hit the orange one first and felt a vibration through the doorway as the airlock on the other side was flushed of air, and the internal airlock door to Level Four was closed.

  Oxygen Tanks: 0:00:26

  She had to wait for the red button to light up and indicate that it was safe to enter. Safe!? Jezzy could have laughed if she wasn’t stiff with concentration. The Oregon is a hulk! Just where was safe anymore?

  Blip! The button lit up red, and Jezzy punched it.

  Oxygen Tanks: 0:00:21

  Only for nothing to happen. The hatch started to rise a few inches, releasing the remaining gases around her, but then it stalled.

  “What?” Jezzy almost let go of the railing in alarm. It was stuck. “The stars-damned hatch is stuck!” she shouted at no one. Maybe it was an effect of the Oregon’s massive structural damage, placing undue pressures on all parts of the hull, or maybe the escape hatch to Level Four hadn’t been properly maintained, oiled, and cleaned.

  Whatever the reason was, Jezzy was going to be imminently screwed unless she got it open.

  Oxygen Tanks: 0:00:16

  Jezzy hit the button again, and the hatch repeated the same abortive gesture—rising a few inches and locking. With a growl, Jezzy raised her Jackhammer with her free hand and started hitting the edge of the hatch, hoping to dislodge the jam or knock the metal apart.

  Oxygen Tanks: 0:00:10

  Ker-THUNK! Hiss…

  Suddenly, the hatch shifted a little on its seat, and a final gasp of gas and steam burst from the edge. The hatch rose to reveal the narrow, human-sized tube on the inside.

  Not wasting any time, Jezzy folded herself in, grabbed the hatch’s internal handles, and slammed the cover shut. A sense of foreboding flooded through her as she now realized that she was in a tiny metal tube inside a dying spaceship. She might have just crawled inside her own coffin if the airlock system was broken.

  Oxygen Tanks: 0:00:06

  Hsssss!

  Steam erupted from the walls on all sides, obscuring her vision as the airlock re-pressurized hopefully to normal human levels. But it was taking too long. The airlock process depended on how much available oxygen and inert gases that the Oregon still had within its reserve tanks…

  Oxygen Tanks: 0:00:03

  Oxygen Tanks: 0:00:02

  Oxygen Tanks: 0:00:01

  The acting field commande
r gulped a deep breath instinctively. How long could she hold her mouth shut and not breathe?

  Warning! Oxygen Tank Empty! Warning!

  Jezzy’s chest started to burn with the need to exhale and breathe in again. She could feel the need like a wave, taking over all thought.

  Blip! The steam stopped and a green light flickered on over Jezzy’s head as the internal airlock hatch popped open.

  Jezzy hit her cowl’s helmet release mechanism, and the helmet slid back over her head as she flopped onto the deck of Floor 4, gasping and panting at good, clean air.

  It took her another fraction of a second to realize that she wasn’t alone in the corridor. There, turning to register the new arrival and raising its weapon arm, was one of the chrome-cast cyborgs.

  Frack!

  7

  Flying for the Enemy

  “Evasive action! All crew, brace!” Solomon was shouting as he pulled down hard on one of the flight sticks while pushing on the other one. In response, the Shield of Aries turned on one side as it fired its positional rockets.

  The giant piece of the CMC Strident spun toward them, end over end.

  It’s going to miss us! It’s going to miss! Solomon was leaning down hard on the flight control sticks, but then the Shield started to misbehave.

  Where they should have barrel-rolled out of the way, the Martian transporter performed half a turn, and then juddered as its back end started to rise and roll toward the wreckage.

  “What!?” Solomon burst out.

  “It’s the rear booster rocket. It got damaged in the attack—” the Martian comms officer managed to say, a second before impact.