Marine

by Joshua Dalzelle

  After neatly folding his uniform on top of his boots, he hopped up on the table and let the nurses begin to strap him down. The restraints would keep him from hurting himself from any involuntary twitches or jerks he may experience while the implant wormed its way through his brain.

  "Is your will and power of attorney up to date?" Ellis asked.

  "Wait! What? I thought this was a routine procedure!"

  "It is, but so is a carotid stent and that has a mortality rate of forty percent. But I'm sure you'll be fine," she said. "Are we ready?"

  "Nanobots are responding and the scanners are all ready, Doctor," the male nurse said, his name tape read Brenton.

  "What's the mortality rate for these implants?" Jacob asked. "Doctor?"

  "Proceed," Commander Ellis said, smiling down at Jacob as the other nurse pressed the green button on the machine that would administer the anesthesia and monitor his vitals while he was under. "It'll all be over before you know it." Her voice floated down to him as if through a long tunnel as his vision closed in around him. He tried to offer up one more complaint about the lack of bedside manner and professionalism, but he had already lost control of his voluntary muscles.

  He never felt the large-bore needle inserted into his femoral artery where a suspension fluid, loaded with nanobots, was fed into his bloodstream.

  "How do you feel?"

  "Whaaaa?"

  "That's completely normal," Commander Mosler assured him.

  "How long was I out?" Jacob asked.

  "You actually just set a new record for fastest recovery," Mosler said. "Less than five hours from the time the implant assembled and gave a good status to the time the machine said you were ready to open your eyes. That's good. Now get off the table, get dressed, and meet me in the ready room in twenty minutes."

  "Where's the ready room?"

  "I guess you'll need to figure that out, huh?" Mosler smiled humorlessly. "You're Scout Fleet now, Lieutenant. If I can't trust you to find the fucking ready room, how can I trust you when I drop you on an alien planet I need intel on?"

  Before Jacob could answer, his CO was already gone. He rushed to the door, still naked, so he could at least see which direction Mosler had gone and saw the commander's retreating just round a turn to the left.

  "The fun and games begin already," he grumbled as he quickly dressed and ran out the door.

  As it turned out, finding the ready room for Team Obsidian was even easier than pestering people he passed in the hall for directions. No sooner had he subvocalized in his head the name of the place he wanted to go then a green arrow appeared in his vision, seeming to be on the floor, and a number appeared in the upper, left corner of his field of view. After a moment, he realized it was a countdown timer displaying an ETA to his destination…and it was now at twenty-eight minutes.

  "Shit!" He took off at a quick shuffle/jog down the corridor, following the arrow and watching the timer closely. Other displays kept popping up in his vision, put there by the neural implant by injecting the data directly into his visual cortex. The arrow on the floor led him down a few more corridors before it began flashing by an exit. Damnit. The place he needed to be was apparently not in this building and it was a sprawling base. If it was on the other side of the flightline, he'd be in trouble without access to a vehicle.

  Sure enough, when he kicked open the door from the medical center, he saw that the arrow appeared again in the distance, this time vertically and pointing to a building well on the other side of the tarmac. He couldn't cut straight across either since it was an active ramp and ships were coming and going with enough regularity to make it dangerous.

  He started to jog around the perimeter until he came to a marked walkway that would allow him to bisect the flightline, the area apparently the delineation zone between the maintenance area to the south and the active ramp to the north. The good news was that it was a straight shot. The bad news was the timer still read over twenty minutes. How the hell have I lost time?!

  "Fuck it," he said and spurred himself into a sprint. The whole reason he was wearing Marine fatigues and playing these games on a NAVSOC base was because of his goddamn talents anyway. May as well put them to use since it seemed pointless to keep it a secret any longer.

  His boots slammed against the concrete as he accelerated to his top speed, something he hadn't been able to do since living in rural Colorado. He actually had no idea what he was even capable of now after the physical rigors of training, but judging from the rushing of the wind in his ears and the tears streaming down his face, he'd picked up an MPH or two.

  As he crossed to the far end, his endurance holding as his body processed the lactic acid as quickly as his muscles produced it, he approached a group of maintainers working on removing an outboard engine from a Jumper. When he blew by the group, Jacob could see out of the corner of his eye the slack jaws and dropped tools as all heads turned to follow him. What the hell, they probably will think I'm an alien in a Marine uniform.

  The soles of his boots were heating up from the abuse enough that he could feel it in his feet by the time he had to begin slowing down, so he didn't overshoot the sidewalk and hit the hangar in front of him. The timer in the corner of his eye now said he would arrive in less than three minutes, well ahead of when Mosler told him to be there. All he had to do was follow the helpful green arrow the rest of the way.

  Once he was inside the building, the sign telling him it was the operations center for 3rd Scout Corps, he walked past the ready rooms for Team Titanium and Team Diamond before reaching the wide double doors for Team Obsidian.

  "Son of a bitch!!"

  The shouted obscenity was how he was greeted when he opened the door and walked in.

  "Pay up, Asshole!" came another call.

  "All you idiots shut up!" Mosler shouted, walking over to Jacob from where he'd been lounging in a padded chair.

  "I take it I was the subject of a friendly wager?" Jacob asked.

  "Bingo," Mosler said. "You made it across the base in under twenty minutes. So, how'd you do it? Hitch a ride? Steal a Jumper?"

  "I ran." Jacob shrugged.

  "Bullshit!" someone else shouted. "What the hell, Skipper? You going to let the new LT get away with lying like that?"

  "Shut up, Wilkins," Mosler sighed. "Everyone get back to work. Lieutenant, I'll see you in the hall. Afterwards, we'll make the formal introductions."

  "Did I do something wrong, sir?" Jacob asked when they were in the hallway alone.

  "I thought you were trying to hide the fact that you're…different."

  "There didn't seem to be a point anymore," Jacob said. "Isn't that sort of the whole reason I'm here?"

  "It's partially that," Mosler admitted. "There were also aptitude batteries, intelligence tests, and psychological profiling during your time at the school that let us know you were especially suited for this type of work. Your genetic quirks aside, you'd already been marked for this job well before you let the cat out of the bag."

  "I see," Jacob said noncommittally. "So, you think I should still keep certain things under wraps?"

  "It's up to you, Lieutenant. We operate in small teams and stay deployed for extended periods of time. You're going to have to learn to trust them and they you," Mosler said. "Come on back in and we'll make the formal introductions before setting you up with your permanent billet."

  "Just out of curiosity, sir, did you bet for or against me making it in time?"

  "I always bet on my men," Mosler said, suddenly serious. "Always."

  "Good to know, sir," Jacob said, unsure what to say in the face of his CO's abrupt mood change.

  "Come on." Mosler yanked the door open, the lopsided grin back. "I'll introduce you to the rest of the team."

  When they walked back into the ready room, Jacob counted twelve people, fourteen including him and Mosler. Some were dressed in a mishmash of non-uniform attire like the skipper, others were in UEN fatigues worn by the enlisted ranks. All those in
uniform had patches on their left breast pocket that he recognized as the NAVSOC crest.

  "This is our newest jarhead," Mosler announced loudly, cutting off all conversation. "You animals say hello to fresh butter bar, Lieutenant Jacob Brown. Assuming he isn't killed by the Galvetics on Restaria during training, he'll be taking command of the ground team." There was a chorus of jeers and insults that apparently passed as a greeting. Jacob noted the enlisted weren't shy about insulting him despite the gold bars on his collar.

  "Jake, your teammates are the mangy looking ones in civvy attire. The ones in uniform are the Terranovus support crew specifically assigned to Obsidian. They keep the Corsair flying and procure anything and everything we may need before deploying. The tall guy on the left is our pilot, Lieutenant Ryan Sullivan, and the Chief Petty Officer seated next to him is our engineer, Michael Scarponi. The three of us make up the Naval personnel on the team, the other four are all your filthy Marine brethren. I'll let you introduce yourself to them and vice versa. Just remember, in Scout Fleet, rank and branch mean next to nothing once we're out there. We cross-train to make sure we can fill a critical role no matter who falls."

  "Understood, sir," Jacob said. When Mosler just stared at him expectantly he went on. "I'm…happy…to be here."

  "Bullshit," Sullivan snorted. "Nobody is happy to be here."

  "I—"

  "Let's try to keep our butter bar pure and positive for as long as possible," Mosler said. "I don't want you cretins burning away his new-guy enthusiasm until at least the second cruise." He elbowed Jacob and nodded towards the door. "Let's go and link your com unit to this base's automated services. You'll be able to call for a ground car or grab food at the mess hall after that, so you'll have a little more independence."

  "So, I'm officially going to be attached to Team Obsidian?" Jacob asked.

  "Assuming you survive training and perform as I expect you will, yeah. You'll be assigned to my crew. Once you're back from Restaria, you'll have a few more months of specialized technical training here on Terranovus, and then you'll begin working with your own people. All your Marines have been on at least two deployments, so you won't be saddled with a bunch of FNGs. They know their shit. Just make sure you do, too, because they won't put up with a new lieutenant who’s a liability for very long."

  Jacob new that FNG stood for fucking new guy, and that's exactly what he was. He was breaking into an established team with its own internal dynamics and, being honest with himself, he knew he wasn't always the easiest person to get along with. He'd been so fixated on the fact that he didn't want to be a Marine at all that he hadn’t realized just how difficult it was going to be for him, stepping into a close-knit unit of badass operators. This was going to a disaster.

  He made it back to his room by way of the mess hall, where he gorged himself on some of the best food he'd eaten in his life. Apparently, no expense was spared for NAVSOC when it came to keeping its people happy. He called for a pickup and saw he was now tied into the network of automated ground cars that patrolled the base and stopped when summoned. Convenient. For a moment, he debated having it drop him of at the Officer's Club but decided the most prudent thing would be to go back to billeting and start studying the pile of material Commander Mosler had dumped on him before leaving, making it quite clear he would be expected to know it backwards and forwards before he shipped out for training.

  The last thing he thought as he drifted off to sleep was how different the firsthand accounts of ConFed space were compared to the sanitized version they learned in the classroom. The mission briefs Mosler had given him were loaded with some truly terrifying details. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

  Chapter 5

  "Brown…wake up."

  "How did you get in—"

  "No time for that." Mosler loomed over Jacob, and it took the lieutenant a moment to realize he was still in his bed on the NAVSOC base. "Grab your gear and be at the operations center as fast as you can get there. Don't talk to anyone and stay off the net. From the time I leave to the instant you step into the ops center, I want you thinking OPSEC every step of the way, you read me?"

  "Y-yes, sir," Jacob managed to get out. He was about to ask what the hell was going on but bit his tongue. His room was unsecured, and Mosler was already walking back through the door anyhow. He checked his com unit and saw that it was 0340 local time. Terranovus had a twenty-two-hour day thanks to a faster rotational speed than Earth despite the two being of similar mass and orbital paths around their respective stars.

  "If this is another new guy hazing thing, I'm going to be so pissed," he grumbled as he pulled on his uniform and grabbed his go-bag that was inside the first wall locker. He was out the door and waiting for his summoned ground car in three minutes.

  The NAVSOC base, named Taurus Station, was sparsely populated to begin with, a secret installation on a planet with a population of barely six million people, but at this time of night, it was a veritable ghost town. It wasn't until he approached the well-lit flightline that he saw signs of life as maintenance vehicles scurried about dropping technicians and parts off to the ships parked back beyond the maintenance line. He saw a few Jumpers, a couple smaller ships he couldn't identify, and a Peregrine-class fast assault ship that dwarfed the others on the ramp. This piqued his interest since that class of ship would normally not make landfall for something as mundane as maintenance. It would be serviced on one of Fleet's orbital facilities that could be seen with the naked eye streaking across the night sky.

  The closer he looked at the Peregrine, he could see that the discoloration he noticed on the hull was obviously from energy weapon fire. Interesting. It was doubtful his middle-of-the-night muster and a warship that had signs of battle being parked on the ramp were unrelated. Soon, the car was beyond the view of the flightline and moving between the massive hangars towards the 3rd Scout Corps Ops Center. Jacob put his head back against the rest, now satisfied this wasn't just some hazing ritual but a real-world situation. He was probably being summoned just to make him feel like part of the team. It wasn't like a lieutenant that was so new he squeaked when he turned too fast would have much input to give.

  "This is a bad idea, Skipper. He ain't ready to be in the shit. He just graduated all of ten minutes ago."

  "I think the kid may surprise you. He's already had more training that most U.S. Special Forces go through during his time in the Academy, and all of it voluntary. There's also his…special skills to consider."

  "Being fast isn't the same as being well-trained and experienced, damnit! What happens when—"

  "My decision on this has been made, Murph. Unless you have something more that isn't about my command decisions on personnel, this conversation is over."

  Jacob heard some more grumbling from where he'd stopped just outside the ready room door. He knew Murph was actually Alonzo Murphy, one of the Marines on his ground team, and the other voice unmistakably belonged to Commander Mosler. It was also painfully obvious who they were talking about. Shit, making friends already. He waited for a five count, and then strode quickly into the room as if he'd just arrived.

  "Brown, go sit with your guys," Mosler said without looking up from his tablet. "We'll be starting our initial brief in a minute, and I'll get you spun up on everything else once we're aboard the Corsair and on our way. Once we leave this room, make sure you talk to Petty Officer Owens about some appropriate attire. We don't wear uniforms, in case you hadn't noticed."

  "Yes, sir." A million questions flitted through Jacob's head, but he did as he was told and went to sit with his team. "Gentlemen." He nodded to them before slouching into the padded chair. There was a chorus of greetings ranging from, "Hey, LT," to a simple nod, but thankfully nothing like, "What the hell are you doing here?" as he'd almost expected.

  "Everyone, shut up." Mosler walked to the lectern, his usual bored, sarcastic demeanor replaced with a razor-sharp alertness and an urgency that alarmed Jacob for some reason. "This is Capta
in Wilford, she's from Fleet Intelligence and is here to brief us on our next assignment. I know I told you we'd have a couple months of downtime, but the situation is critical and we're the only crew with the needed experience for the mission. Captain?"

  "Thank you, Commander Mosler." Captain Wilford was a tall, willowy woman who looked to be in her early forties. "I apologize for pulling Obsidian back into the rotation before your turn, but you're the only crew that has operated in the region of space germane to this mission."

  "Which area would that be, ma'am?" Sullivan, the pilot, spoke up.

  "The Kaspian Reaches," Wilford said.

  "Fuck me."

  "Goddamnit."

  "I wish I'd never enlisted."

  "Are we about finished?" Captain Wilford had waited patiently for the mumbled complaints to die down before continuing.

  "I apologize, Captain," Mosler said as he looked his crew over, his glare promising violence upon the next person who opened their mouth.

  "There's an intelligence asset within the Reaches who is now in danger, someone critical to our continued operations as we push outward into ConFed space," Wilford continued. "This…person…operates within the Reaches and has contacted us requesting help."

  "So, this is a simple extraction mission?" Mosler asked.

  "If it was, we certainly wouldn't need you." Her tone of voice made it clear she didn't appreciate all the interruptions. "The asset is no longer responding to queries through any of the normal channels. We fear she may have gone underground and is being actively pursued. As you can assume from the fact that she operates within the Kaspian Reaches, she's not affiliated with any government and, given the level of information she's sold us, would be a tempting target for any intelligence service, either to use her or silence her. The other critical component to this is that the asset isn't human, she's Veran. The government on Ver long ago disavowed her from pressure by the ConFed Council, so don't expect any help from their security patrols if you get into a tight spot."