by Jay Allan
It’s hard to separate what you thought years ago from your perceptions after the fact, but looking back, the enemy had the initiative. Their trap had failed, at least partially, but they still had numbers for a while. It was up to them to force the issue or to withdraw. We didn’t have the strength to attack, but we could put up a considerable defense. They could probably beat us, wipe us out…but they’d pay heavily. The enemy commander had to decide if he wanted a major fight here.
It wasn’t long before I got my answer. The enemy troops started withdrawing, pulling back slowly from one piece of cover to the next. The auto-cannons kept up their fire, keeping our heads down so we couldn’t harass the retreating infantry. But that was unnecessary, because the lieutenant was on the line a few seconds after they started pulling back. “Cease fire.” His voice was as steady as ever, but I’d swear I could detect the slightest bit of relief. Maybe he was human too. “All units, cease fire. Hold positions.” We didn’t have ammo to waste shooting at retreating enemies, and if it turned out to be a ruse, the lieutenant wanted us to be armed and ready to deal with it.
But it wasn’t a ruse. The enemy didn’t want a big battle here. That would come later, and when it did we would know it.
Chapter 4
2243 AD Camp Puller North of New Houston Texas, USA, Western Alliance
“Welcome back. Did you have a nice sleep?”
The voice was deep but friendly, and it was the first thing that came to me in the darkness. The light was next, hazy at first then brighter, clearer. My head felt like a mag train had run through it.
“Here, drink this.” I started to get an image of the room, small, with bare metal walls and a table with two chairs. I was sprawled out on a cot, and as I pulled myself up I got the first look at my companion. He was tall, dressed in a neatly-pressed gray uniform, and he was holding out a small metal cup. “Those stun guns give you quite a headache.” He smiled sympathetically. “This will help.”
I straightened myself out. I was still sitting, but at least I was halfway up. I took the cup and downed it in one gulp. If these guys wanted to harm me they’d had plenty of chances. I felt better almost immediately; it was like the fog in my head just cleared away.
“Welcome to Camp Puller.” I was about to say something, but he beat me to it. “I’m Captain Sam Jackson.” He paused and smiled. “And you are a very resourceful young man who, among other things, has nothing but a scar where his implant was.”
I leaned back nervously. My first thought was, they will figure out who I am and send me back to the farm. For that matter, just removing the implant was highly illegal. He must have read my mind, because he laughed softly. “Don’t worry; we’re really not interested in whatever you’ve done. You were stealing from us, and we don’t care. We’re certainly not concerned with what you did to anyone else. Or the fact that you removed your implant.” After a brief pause: “We’re not cops.”
I looked up at him, feeling better but still groggy. “You’re a Marine?” I took a good look at him. I guessed he was about 35, though I wasn’t sure. He could have been younger or, with a rejuv treatment or two, quite a bit older. His hair was light brown, neatly trimmed, and his face was pleasant, relaxed. He certainly didn’t match my expectation of a Marine. The Corps had a reputation for producing savage fighters, but this guy looked like someone who spent his day in front of a workstation. I laugh when I look back – now I realize that Captain Jackson could have dropped me in half a second, despite the fact that he was ten centimeters shorter and at least 20 kilos lighter.
“Yes, I'm a Marine.” He could tell what I was thinking, and he smiled again. “Surprised I’m not three meters tall with weapons growing out of my arms?” He reached out and dragged one of the chairs closer to the cot. “We have a few things to discuss. Why don’t we start with your name?” He sat with the chair turned around, leaning against the back.
“Jax. Darius Jax.” I’d been thinking, I’m not going to tell this guy anything, but my mouth opened and my name came out. It’s not like they couldn’t find out anyway. I got my implant out, but I couldn’t change my DNA. I was in the main database just like anybody else. Besides, I had the strangest feeling he was trying to help me.
“Interesting name. I’ve seen a lot of guys come through here, but you’re the first Darius. Persian king, right?”
I had no idea what he was talking about. My education at the time was almost non-existent. The government didn’t waste resources educating Cogs and Croppers. I’d had an hour a day of online classes at the farm, but it was nothing but basics. I wasn’t entirely illiterate, but ancient history was well beyond my knowledge base. I didn’t even know what a Persian was. Years later, at the Academy, I was finally able to answer his question. Two famous Persian kings, actually, the second enjoying the dubious privilege of facing off against Alexander the Great.
When I didn’t answer he just continued. “Doesn’t matter. Let me get right to the point.” He straightened up slightly in the chair. “I’m here to offer you a chance to join the Corps.”
“What?” The word just blurted out. I hadn't been sure what he was going to say, but that was certainly not what I was expecting.
“You heard me, Darius.” There was a smile on his face – he was enjoying this, the SOB. “I’d like to make a Marine out of you.”
“Why would you want me?” About half a dozen responses came to my mind, but that’s the one that came out. I couldn't imagine why they'd be after me. The entire thing seemed ridiculous.
He let out a short breath. “Darius, the Corps is unlike any other military organization. We are looking for a certain type of recruit.” He stopped for a few seconds as he put together what he wanted to say. “Most of us have pasts like yours…” He looked me right in the eye. “…or worse.” He emphasized that last part and let it sink in before he continued. “Some a lot worse. I’m from the LA Metroplex myself. The Valley.”
The Valley was one of the most notorious slums in the U.S. I didn’t know much about other places, but I’d heard of the Valley. If this guy grew up there it was no joke. “So you guys need a thief? What, did your budgets get cut and you're looking for new income?”
He smiled and snorted slightly, not quite a laugh. “No, Darius, we need independent thinkers. We need doers. Not easy to find.”
I laughed. “And you think that’s me? What makes you think I’m what you’re looking for?”
“Well, for one, you obviously cut out your own implant, which suggests that you have the toughness you will need to make it through our program. A sloppy surgeon to be sure, but it takes a certain grit to do what you did.”
“Big deal, you want tough you should head up to Louisville and hit up some of the Gangers there.”
He held in a small laugh. “I said tough, not crazy. We aren’t looking for psychopaths, Darius. Look at you…you are very measured in how you do things. You haven’t been terribly forthcoming with me, but you haven’t been overtly hostile either. Measured.”
“So the fact that I didn’t tell you to fuck off makes me Marine material?” The whole thing still seemed crazy to me.
“It’s more than what you say or don’t say. Look at how you ran your little gang. You robbed us three times – we were watching you after the first, by the way – and didn’t kill or seriously injure anyone. You did what you needed to do to survive, but you didn’t escalate the situation past what was required. It is very clear you are deliberative, brave but cautious. Just what we want.”
Still on my mind: “You were watching us?” I hadn’t had a clue. “Why didn’t you stop us sooner?”
“Why do you think? He had an annoying smirk on his face. He clearly enjoyed these head games.
“My God, you’re fucking kidding me.” This was getting more and more bizarre. “You were watching to see if you wanted to recruit us?”
“Very good.” He leaned forward over the back of the chair. “You are starting to understand. It was pretty clear from y
our first robbery that you knew what you were doing. You even watched the convoys, and you hit the specific cargo that was easiest for you to move.” He paused slightly. "Unless that was a coincidence."
"It was no coincidence." I felt a little naked; they had us completely figured out. "I wasn't looking for the kind of attention stealing weapons or high tech stuff would bring."
"Look, Darius, trust me." His voice changed slightly, less casual, more serious. "You are the kind of recruit you're looking for. You’re clearly intelligent, despite your lack of education." He smiled again. "And your robberies displayed some first rate small unit tactics."
He let me think for a minute. Why would I want to be a Marine anyway? Just because they invited me? "Look, I appreciate the offer, but why would I want to join up anyway? So I can go get my ass shot off…what? In space?" He nodded. "You figure I'll join up so you don't turn me in. Because it's better to take your deal than end up getting sent to the lunar mines for stealing?"
"Or sentenced to gas by the megafarm magistrate back home?" He had a self-satisfied smile on his face. "Of course we know who you are, Darius. We're not imbeciles." He paused, clearly enjoying my dumbstruck silence. "But to answer your question, no, if you so no to us we won't turn you in. Not for your robberies and certainly not to the megacorp that runs that farm."
"You'll just let me go?" I looked at him quizzically. "Just walk out the door?"
"Yes. With a stern warning never to steal from us again." He looked at me and his eyes were deadly serious. "A very stern warning."
I was quiet for maybe half a minute, trying to process everything he said. Free to go? I could just walk out? "So if that's true, why would I ever agree to sign up? If you're not blackmailing me with prosecution why shouldn't I just leave now?"
He let out a deep breath. "Well, Darius, the first part of that answer is the fact that you're asking the question at all. I just told you that you could leave any time you want to. Why are you asking me questions at all?" He paused for an instant, but continued before I could answer. "It depends on what you really want, Darius. You're smart enough to get by as a thief for a while, at least until you step on someone else's toes and you end up mining meteor fragments on the moon. Or more likely dead."
He rolled up his sleeve. "You see this arm?" I looked at him, confused. "I got this blown off as a private. My first battle."
I thought to myself, this guy needs work on his sales pitch if that is his idea of an inducement. But I kept listening anyway. I was curious where he was going with this.
"This is a new one. A perfect regeneration. You'd have to be a member of the political class here for that kind of medical priority. But in the Corps all you have to be is a Marine. What was your medical priority rating before you ran? Zero?"
I frowned. "So you're saying if you get my arm shot off you'll grow me a new one? You’re a lousy salesman."
"No." He looked at me with the first hint of impatience I'd seen from him. "I'm saying that the Corps is someplace that respects all of its members. We don't prioritize our people and throw most of them away because it's expedient. An injured Marine gets the care he needs, whatever that is. Private, general…it doesn’t matter. A Marine in trouble gets the support he needs." He stared right at me, his eyes boring into mine. "Haven't you ever wanted to belong somewhere? To be part of a team where everyone has your back?"
"So it's that simple? I say yes, and you make me part of this team you're talking about?" I had to admit to myself, the prospect of not feeling totally on my own every second was appealing. I also thought it had to be bullshit.
He laughed. "Far from. If you say yes, I will give you a chance to make it. If you sign on you will do six years of training." He paused, smiling wickedly at the blank expression on my face. "Yes, that's right. Six years. You'll get the education you never got before, and you'll learn how to really use that reasonably effective brain I think you have. You'll also work like a dog; like nothing you have ever experienced. You think they worked people hard on that farm?" The wicked grin widened, becoming downright maniacal. "You'll end up face down in the mud puking your guts up from physical training you can't imagine now. Our program is serious." He paused, and the grin slowly vanished. "It's dangerous too. People die in training. You may die in training."
"So you sell the Corps hard and then try to scare me away?" My head was spinning. I didn't know what to think. "So if I make it through your training, then what happens?"
"Then you graduate as a private." His voice was serious now. All the earlier informality was gone. "And when you make your first drop you're one of us." Long pause. "For the rest of your life."
"After my first drop?"
"Graduating from training gives you the right to drop with a Marine unit. Completing the drop makes you a Marine. We're combat veterans, every one of us. You may end up being a mechanic or a computer tech in the Corps, but the first time out you're a private and a combat soldier. Even our medical staff starts out fighting."
"Everybody starts as a private?" I was intrigued. This was very different from the society I'd seen my whole life, where birth and connections were everything. It amused me to think of a Senator starting out as a field hand on the farm.
"Everybody. You may be a general someday, but until then you'll always know that whoever ordered you into battle has been there himself." He was exaggerating to make a point, but it turns out he was right…I would become a general one day, and I would never ever forget what it felt like to climb into that first lander.
"So fine, the Corps takes care of its own. That's all great, but it still sounds like going out there and getting all shot up for the politicians who sit behind desks and tell everyone else what to do. The Marines may have a different attitude, but they still fight for the system that worked my father to death on that farm."
"I knew you were smart." His grin was back. "Most recruits aren't this much of a pain in the ass." He hesitated, as if he was trying to decide how to discuss delicate matters. "Darius, the system is what it is. I'm not here to defend it or even worry about it. But if you become one of us you will see a whole universe you can't imagine now. The colony worlds are nothing like Earth. I'm posted here, but this isn't my home any more. When I retire it will be to Atlantia or Arcadia or one of the other frontier planets. Earth is dying, choking to death on corruption and repression, but not mankind. The future isn’t here; it’s out there." He pointed upwards.
He got up and spun the chair around facing the right way. "We're not offering you a job, Darius. We're offering you a home. One you need to prove yourself worthy for. When you hit the dirt on that first drop you are reborn; your sins are washed away. It's in the Marine Charter…a full legal pardon. If you want, you can come back to Earth when your ten years is up. You can walk right onto that farm and tell the administrator you killed one of his supervisors a few years back. You can tell him to eat shit if you want. They can't arrest you, and if they tried they'd have a Marine strike force showing up to get you out."
He sat back in the chair, sitting closer, looking right at me. "When you muster out, if you want to settle on a colony world, you'll get a land grant or resource allotment. We take care of our own, and once you're one of us, you're always one of us." He slapped me on the knee and got up again. "Think about it, Darius. I'll have some dinner sent in here. Then sleep on it. We'll talk in the morning." He turned and walked out without another word, and the door slid shut behind him.
I sat for a long while just thinking about everything he had said. My first reaction was to tell him to forget about it. I was only sixteen - six years of training seemed like an eternity. And leave Earth? Fight on other worlds? It was just too much.
But then a lot of what he said came back to me, and I started to think about it. I had grown up on the lowest rung of the system. My parents were penniless Cogs with no prospects to improve their lives or mine. I got only a rudimentary education, little or no access to medical care, and barely enough food to survive.
At the time, that just seemed to be the way of things. A Cog’s life is ruled by necessity, by the daily struggle to get by. There wasn’t time to think about anything else or to contemplate the inequities of the system or the failings of the government. The utter powerlessness and vulnerability made all that seem very far away. A Cog worries about getting food today, not a better life tomorrow.
When I ran from the farm, I started to become someone else, but only to a limited extent. My horizons had expanded, but not all that much. I stole because I didn’t have what I needed to survive, and later because I got better at it and could live a more tolerable life, albeit at the expense of my victims. I had my crew, but we were drawn together by necessity and opportunity, not by any great commitment to each other.
I tried to imagine what it would be like to be part of a group like he'd described, but it was just too much to deal with. I put it out of my mind and drifted off to sleep determined to turn Captain Jackson down, to go back to my hideout and lay low and be more careful about picking my targets. For some reason, I believed him when he said they would let us go. But I thrashed around all night, my decision made consciously but still conflicted somewhere deeper inside myself. Something he said got to me on a level I couldn't entirely understand or control. When he came back the next morning I tried to say no, but all that came out of my mouth was, "Yes, I'm in." I was on my way.
Chapter 5
2253 AD Firebase Delta-4 South of the Kelven Ridge Delta Trianguli I
By the time I got to Tombstone, I was a different person. Marine training is long, longer than anything I’ve ever heard of for any military organization. Part of that is because our wars are complex. No uneducated conscript can survive on a 23rd century battlefield. The suite of weapons and equipment we utilize is extensive, and it takes considerable effort to master. But the Marine program is as much about evolving the individual as teaching him to shoot and walk around in armor, and that is what really takes time.
