Fifty soldiers sat here in the rocket, a single platoon. The fuselage was tall and narrow, and tiers of seats formed rings around a central ladder. It felt like sitting in a very narrow, very tall Colosseum. They all wore olive drab combat uniforms, their T57 assault rifles propped up between their knees. Marco didn't know most of them. Here was a newly formed platoon, its soldiers handpicked for a mission into deep space. They had named themselves the Ravens—an appropriate bird, they had thought, for a mission into the blackness of space. Marco saw lots of hard faces, some soft, most scared. None of them had flown beyond Earth's orbit before. All of them would now face the scum, the aliens that had ravaged the earth, in the depths of space. On the front line.
But some faces were familiar to Marco, and that comforted him. Addy was here, his oldest and best friend, her long legs stretched out, her boots dangling over the shaft, her blond hair spilling out from under her helmet. Beast sat across from them, massive and brutish, swallowing his seat, his arms like tree trunks. Much smaller and thinner, Elvis sat by the burly Russian, softly crooning a tune by his namesake. Corporal Diaz was here too, handsome and scarred, as was Sergeant Singh, bearded and wearing a military-green turban. Marco had survived basic training with these soldiers, had fought with them in the deserts of Africa. They were his brothers and sisters in arms. They were soldiers he trusted with his life.
And one that he loved.
Marco turned to look at Lailani. She sat at his side, the smallest in the platoon. Even with her legs stretched out to their full length, they were barely longer than Marco's thighs. At four-foot-ten, her head shaved down to stubble, Lailani looked like a little boy in a man's uniform, and her rifle dwarfed her. Her small stature might have disqualified her from military service if not for her viciousness. Her almond eyes were narrowed, simmering, ready for battle, her lips tight. She was the daughter of a teenage prostitute, had grown up rummaging for food in the slums of Manila. She had been fighting hunger and disease all her life. Now she fought the scum. In Marco's eyes, she was the best soldier in the platoon.
And it's not just because I love her, he thought.
Marco placed a hand on her arm. "You all right, de la Rosa?"
She nodded. "Can't wait to kick scum ass, Emery."
Marco thought about last night, how she had sneaked into his bunk, how they had made love in the darkness, in secret—a secret that most of their friends already knew. During the day, they were comrades. Fellow warriors. Alien killers. At night, they were lovers. Marco much preferred the nights.
As the rocket flew closer toward the starship, the soldiers all craned their necks, staring out the viewports. The starship outside dwarfed their own vessel. A ring of solar panels lazily spun around its silvery hull like a Ferris wheel. On closer inspection, Marco noticed that the hull itself was spinning, perhaps to create centrifugal force and generate the illusion of gravity. Several gun turrets rose along the hull, thrusting out cannons. At the back of the ship, engine vents glowed pale blue, the hallmark of azoth engines capable of interstellar travel. Marco saw no wings, no landing gear. Here was a ship that never landed, that spent its life in space. As the hull spun, it revealed golden letters: HDFS Miyari.
Addy pointed at a golden plaque bolted onto the Miyari's hull. "Ooh, party ship!"
A few soldiers in the platoon snickered and elbowed one another. The plaque featured a man and woman, larger than life and stark naked. The man had his hand raised in greeting.
"Love me tender," Elvis whispered in awe, staring out the viewport.
"I not taking my clothes off," Beast grumbled. "In Russia we fight with uniform."
Marco sighed. "Guys, don't you recognize the Pioneer Plaque?" When they only blinked at him, he groaned. "In 1972, one of humanity's first spacecraft was launched. The Pioneer featured a smaller version of this plaque. It was an introduction to aliens, showing what humans look like."
"Look like naked," Addy said.
"Yes, Addy, naked," Marco said. "The way Darwin made us. It's now the symbol of the STC. That's Space Territorial Command, for you ignoramuses."
"Ignore what now?" Elvis said, then returned to crooning.
Addy peered at the plaque on the starship's hull. "Rich bastards. Is that real gold?" She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing the Miyari. "Where's all the rust and dents? I'm so confused."
Marco smiled wanly and patted her knee. "No rust. No dents. This isn't Earth Territorial Command anymore. STC is one percent our size and has a hundred times our budget."
"Fuckers," Addy said.
Marco nodded. "We're about to join them, remember?"
"I love them," Addy said.
A hatch above opened, and the fifty soldiers of the platoon fell silent. Near the hatch, Sergeant Singh stood up in his seat and saluted.
"Platoon—attention!" the bearded sergeant bellowed.
Fifty soldiers, all around the cylindrical fuselage, rose in their seats, held their guns to their sides, and squared their shoulders. All stood perfectly still, expressions blank. Marco dared glance toward the hatch above, and he struggled to stifle the smile that threatened to bloom.
Lieutenant Einav Ben-Ari came climbing down the ladder that ran down the center of the fuselage. The young officer had a sensible blond ponytail, solemn green eyes, and the weight of generations on her shoulders. Unlike his fellow privates, Marco had grown close to Lieutenant Ben-Ari. She had shown him the medals of her ancestor, a survivor who had fled a Nazi concentration camp to fight as a partisan. Since then, every generation of Ben-Ari's family had fought in a war. Her great grandparents had fought the devastating wars in the Middle East. Her grandfather had fought the scum when the aliens had first destroyed the world. Her father had been a colonel in the HDF. And now she, Einav Ben-Ari—a young officer, barely into her twenties—led a platoon deep into space.
Many in the platoon, Marco knew, referred to Ben-Ari as an ice queen, as a robot, as the pampered daughter of a colonel. But Marco had spoken to her in private several times, perhaps the only soldier here who had, aside from Sergeant Singh. He had seen her fear. Her sadness. And her kindness. She was his commanding officer, but she was also his friend.
"At ease," said Ben-Ari, climbing halfway down the shaft. The platoon returned to their seats, and the lieutenant continued speaking, voice filling the fuselage. "Some of you have been soldiers for years. Others for only months. One thing you have in common—you all wear the green. You're all soldiers of Earth Territorial Command."
"The poor ninety-nine percent," Addy whispered, leaning toward Marco. He hushed her.
"I've handpicked you," said Lieutenant Ben-Ari, "to join me in space, to join the STC. This is an honor. Only the best, the brightest, the toughest warriors serve in space. You all distinguished yourselves on Earth. Some of you fought at Fort Djemila. Others in the Battle of Rome. Some in the Siege of Yokohama. But here, in space, you are all green recruits—literally and figuratively. You've never faced horror until you've faced the scum in the darkness of space, on the front line."
Marco gulped and looked around him. He had fought only one battle, had slain only a handful of scum. Corporal Diaz, who sat across from him, had been fighting for over a year, had killed many enemies along the Appalachian Trail. And Sergeant Singh was even more experienced, a veteran with several years of combat under his belt. Here were strong men, armed with grenades and assault rifles. It was hard to imagine that up here the platoon was helpless.
Marco thought back to the battle at Fort Djemila. To the thousands of scum swarming. To the soldiers dying in the dust. To his friends screaming, then falling silent. Those memories still haunted him. Yet that had been only a small battle at a forgotten military training base. Now they were flying toward the very front line. Marco didn't want to imagine what awaited them there.
"On the HDFS Miyari," Ben-Ari continued, "our platoon will serve alongside the Latona Company, a unit of the Erebus Brigade. I don't need to tell you, I think, anything about Erebus."
&n
bsp; Marco inhaled sharply. The Erebus Brigade? Across the fuselage, soldiers gasped and mumbled amongst themselves.
"But Erebus is barely human!" somebody said. "Aren't they genetically engineered? I heard they're genetically engineered."
"They're super warriors," Beast said. "Almost strong like Russians."
"Ma'am, are you sure we're worthy of this?" Elvis said, cringing.
"I am!" Addy interjected.
"Me too!" said Lailani.
Marco felt less confident than the girls. Like everyone, he had heard of Erebus Brigade, a legendary fighting force. They had fought in almost every legendary battle over the past fifty years. Since the Cataclysm, humanity's greatest heroes had served under those banners. Erebus alumni became generals, CEOs, prime ministers. Perhaps Sergeant Singh was worthy of this honor, but Marco? The rest of them?
"The Miyari will take you to Nightwall Outpost, a space station on the very front line," Ben-Ari said. "At Nightwall, you will be given new uniforms and new training, and you will become Space Territorial Command warriors. For the duration of our journey, you will be on your best behavior. While aboard the Miyari, you will serve right alongside Erebus warriors, and you will make me proud. You will make them respect you. You will prove that I was right to choose you for this honor. Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am!" they all cried out, but Marco wasn't so sure. He began to regret accepting this mission. He could have, perhaps, convinced his lieutenant to let him stay on Earth, to find a cushy job in the archives. Space was terrifying enough. But to fight alongside heroes? To take the most dangerous missions deep into enemy territory?
I'm not a warrior, he thought. I'm just a librarian's son.
He forced himself to inhale deeply. No. That librarian's son had been another boy, another life. Marco had trained for this. He had fought in a battle, proven himself at war. He could do this.
When he looked out the viewport, he saw a jet bridge expanding out from the silvery starship toward the rocket. With a thump and click, the two vessels connected.
"All right, soldiers!" said Sergeant Singh, emerging from his seat and floating toward the ladder. "Follow your officer. Single file. Be silent, be respectful, and Elvis—cut out that humming."
The sergeant climbed down to the bottom of the rocket, where he pulled open the door, revealing the jet bridge. Lieutenant Ben-Ari floated through the doorway first, followed by Singh. The platoon's forty-eight other soldiers descended the ladder and followed along the connector bridge.
Marco floated behind Addy, using handles on the wall to propel himself forward in zero gravity. He had never actually floated through zero gravity before. Until now, he had never left his seat aboard a rocket. It felt like swimming. His assault rifle floated above him, secured by only its strap. Other soldiers were losing coins, pens, photographs, and Marco even saw a dirty magazine float free. He sighed as he advanced along the bridge. If anyone from STC saw them now, this miserable platoon of earthlings would make a poor impression.
As they passed by a viewport, Marco gazed outside, and he could see Earth—a pale blue marble in the distance. He had been to space before, but only in low orbit. It was hard to imagine that the entire world he had known, all of history, his family, his life—all was contained within that distant sphere. And soon, once he stepped onto the Miyari, once they blasted toward another star system, even that blue marble would be gone in the darkness, and the sun would be just one star in a billion.
Someone bumped into him from behind.
"Marco, go on, you're stalling!" Lailani whispered.
Marco nodded and pulled himself onward. The bridge led him through another doorway, and Marco floated into the HDFS Miyari, starship of Space Territorial Command.
Gravity grabbed him at once, and Marco bit down on a curse, nearly falling and making a fool of himself. He avoided tumbling over but did have to kneel and briefly touch the floor before standing again. Others were even less graceful. Some soldiers fell down flat and quickly leaped up, faces red. Marco joined the rest of his platoon in formation, and Lailani—the last soldier—came to stand behind him.
Once his head stopped spinning, Marco looked around him, and it took all his training not to gasp.
Well, goddamn, he thought.
The Human Defense Force, he knew, was divided into two main corps. Ninety-nine percent of its soldiers served in Earth Territorial Command, defending the planet. They guarded Earth's land, air, and water. They flew planes, drove tanks, fired guns, patrolled the seas. They swept floors, analyzed data, developed new weapons, cooked meals, built roads, died in battles. They had emerged from the ashes of the Cataclysm to reclaim the world. And a few of them, just a handful, went on to join Space Territorial Command. Only one percent of the HDF served here, guzzling over ninety percent of the HDF's budget. And looking around him, Marco saw every penny spent.
Back on Earth, everything was rusty, third or fourth-hand, falling apart. Uniforms were passed down from soldier to soldier. Guns were old and prone to jamming. Tanks creaked and spilled out bolts. Even the war jets patrolling the skies were cobbled together. Here in space, though, no expense had been spared. The walls were silvery and polished, not coated with flaking paint. The floor was woven with a rich carpet, not cracked tiles. Touchscreen monitors gleamed on walls rather than antique radios.
This must be what the world looked like before the Cataclysm, Marco thought. Before the scum wiped out most of humanity and destroyed everything we had built.
As the platoon was still finding its gravity legs, a door swished open at the back of the room.
"Attention!" shouted Sergeant Singh.
Three soldiers stepped in from the depths of the Miyari. These were the first STC soldiers Marco had ever seen. Though both Earth and Space troops operated under the Human Defense Force umbrella, these soldiers seemed to belong to an entirely different military. They didn't even bear assault rifles. Instead of heavy T57 submachine guns, they carried graceful plasma rifles. They reminded Marco of seamen from the Golden Age of Sail before steamboats replaced the glorious sailing ships of old. Instead of worn out, olive drab fatigues, they wore fine navy blue uniforms, the sleeves sporting brass cuff links. Instead of berets, they wore peaked caps, complete with golden badges above the visors. The fabrics were rich, the color deep. And these uniforms were obviously new. Back on Earth, soldiers—even officers—wore threadbare, used uniforms. Since the Cataclysm, even fabric was expensive. Marco began to realize where his family's taxes had been going all these years.
Marco was suddenly ashamed of his own platoon. Their drab fatigues were tattered. Their boots were cracked. Their guns were old and creaky. Addy's back pockets were torn, revealing the dirty playing cards she kept there. Lailani's helmet still bore the words she had drawn onto it with a marker: Life is a bag of dicks with syphilis.
Marco sighed. We look like filthy mutts by purebred show dogs, he thought.
Two of the STC soldiers were staff sergeants, displaying three chevrons and a semicircle on their sleeves—one rank above Singh. They seemed to be twins, tall and dark and dour. The third soldier was much smaller and far higher ranking. On each shoulder she wore three golden bars. She was a captain—one rank above Lieutenant Ben-Ari. Marco thought back to his training. While lieutenants could command platoons of fifty soldiers, captains could command companies of four platoons. On her breast, the captain wore a laurel pin, denoting her a graduate of the prestigious Julius Military Academy, the same institution where Kemi was now a cadet. Marco realized that Lieutenant Ben-Ari wore no such pin; she must have gone to a humbler school to receive her commission.
"Well, look at what we have here," said the captain, narrowing her eyes. A smirk played on her lips. She looked to be about thirty years old, with olive skin, black hair pulled into a severe ponytail, and a sharp, angular face. She wasn't unusually short but extremely thin, bordering on anorexic. Her eyes seemed to bug out from her gaunt face, practically dripping scorn. She reminded Marco of some n
eurotic Chihuahua in a uniform. He had to struggle to suppress a smile at the ridiculous thought.
Lieutenant Ben-Ari saluted the higher-ranking officer. "Ravens Platoon, reporting for duty, ma'am!" the lieutenant said.
The captain stared at the platoon of earthling warriors—their fatigues old and green, their berets limp, their guns outdated and chipped. Her lip curled in disgust. Marco felt like a homeless beggar who had wandered into a rich man's banquet. He suddenly wanted to smooth his uniform but forced himself to remain standing at attention.
The captain turned toward one of her staff sergeants. "Is this the type of rabble they're now sending into the STC?" She scoffed. "I've seen Meruvian asteroid worms who are better dressed."
One of the twins nodded. "Indeed, ma'am."
The captain turned back toward the platoon, smirking. She raised her voice and spoke slowly, as if explaining something to a slow child. "My name is Captain Coleen Petty! I command the Latona Company, the finest company in the Erebus Brigade. For the next few days, unfortunately, I will be babysitting you lot until I drop you off at the integration unit of Nightwall. Then you're somebody else's problem. Maybe at Integration, they can wash Earth's stench off you, burn those rancid rags you're wearing, and turn you into proper soldiers. But I doubt it. If the STC has any sense, they'll stuff you with rat poison and feed you to the scum."
Addy leaned an inch closer to Marco. "Hey, is there a Chihuahua yapping in here?" she whispered.
Captain Petty fell silent. Her head whipped around so fast Marco half expected it to fall off. Sneering, the company commander marched forward, shoved a few soldiers aside, and came to stand before Marco and Addy.
"What did you say, soldier?" Captain Petty demanded, staring at Addy.
Marco cringed. Insulting Sergeant Singh or Corporal Diaz was one thing. Infuriating an STC officer was quite another.
"I said I can't wait to give scum food poisoning, ma'am!" said Addy.
Eyes narrowed, the captain stared up at the taller Addy. She turned to stare at Marco, and her buggy eyes drove into him.
Earth Lost (Earthrise Book 2) Page 2
