Syndicate Wars: First Strike (Seppukarian Book 1)

by Kyle Noe

  “Marines, you will be well-prepared for your return to Earth,” General Aames said, gesturing to the weapons. “The finest equipment in the galaxy.”

  Renner was already on the run, scampering over to the weapons and armor, grinning ear to ear. He held up an enormous rifle and turned, smiling at Quinn and shouting, “If this is a dream, don't wake me up!”

  “Boys and their toys,” Quinn said, smiling and shaking her head.

  The Marines inspected the armor. It resembled that worn by the Syndicate soldiers with two significant differences. Instead of being bulky and red, the new armor was thinner and a transparent color, and, second, infused with active camouflage, meaning it could change appearance depending on the terrain the Marines found themselves deployed. Quinn reached out to touch one, and it morphed and showed a reflection of her skin. She glanced at Milo.

  “Gotta admit, this is pretty sweet,” she said.

  He nodded and inspected the armor again. Then, as the others watched, Milo and Quinn slipped into their armor.

  As soon as the material came down over her chest, Quinn exhaled at the pressure around her midsection. The armor was literally molding itself around her curves, morphing into place as if it had a mind of its own. She felt a warming sensation as the armor formed around her muscles, the material driven by both unseen gears and internal nanodevices that one of the techs said were too small to see.

  Quinn looked over at Milo and saw that his armor was similarly flexing and expanding to fit the contours of his frame with no noticeable seams. It was almost as if the material had been painted on their bodies.

  “How the hell do we get it off?” Milo asked.

  “You may never need to,” General Aames said, holding Milo’s look. “The metamaterials in that armor, what we call Second Skin, are designed to be worn twenty-four seven. You can literally bathe in that shit and it won’t impact its utility one bit.”

  “What about when I have to piss, General?” Renner asked. “Can I go right inside the bodysuit, or do I gotta take her off?”

  General Aames didn’t dignify that with a response, stalking off as Renner chortled and slapped palms with another Marine.

  Quinn began limbering up. The more she moved, the more she realized that the armor actually aided in her movements and flexibility.

  She instantly felt ten years younger, a number of nagging sore spots near the small of her back no longer giving her trouble. She dropped to the ground and did a split. A few chuckles followed.

  “This is nuts,” she said. “If I did yoga for a year I still wouldn’t be able to move like this.”

  Milo shrugged on his armor, but tripped over his own feet and caught his fall on a metallic rail, bending it.

  “What the …”

  Quinn leaped over and grabbed the rail. She bent it back into place like it was a straw.

  Milo shot a glare at her that said they were in over their heads. She shrugged back, enjoying having this kind of power.

  Quinn moved, and a thin sheathing rolled down over the entirety of the exoskeleton, giving it a shiny, seamless look. Quinn felt powerful in the armor, but also pangs of regret. If only they’d had weapons like this against the Syndicate, she thought to herself. They still would have been outnumbered, but it might have made a difference.

  And what would they do with the high-tech gear now? Likely use it against their fellow citizens. The thought of that brought a chill over Quinn.

  “Geezus, it’s light,” Milo said, admiring his armor.

  “Too light,” Renner said, thumping his chest with a fist. “Got a real concern whether or not it’s gonna hold up under battle conditions.”

  “The armor is next generation exo-tech armor,” a voice said.

  Quinn looked back to see Cody staring at the Marines.

  “Your body armor is made of nanomaterials and alien-sourced isomers, and can withstand nearly any kinetic blast within a certain distance.”

  “In English, Doc,” Renner said.

  “It’s damn near indestructible.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Cody pulled a pistol from his pocket and shot Renner in the chest. Point blank. Just like that.

  The shot echoed off the wall, the Marines wincing.

  When they looked back, Renner was in exactly the same spot, staring down at his armor. There was a black smudge on his chest, which he quickly wiped away with an index finger.

  “Goddammit, there was an easier way to prove your point!” Renner shouted.

  “Not from where I’m standing,” Cody said, turning from a fuming Renner.

  Quinn watched Cody grab a battle helmet and hold it aloft, pointing to the features on it.

  “You can access real-time feeds from a central intelligence apparatus known as Mother,” Cody said. “Mother is overwatch, God, and the cavalry all rolled into one.”

  “What the hell is it?” Milo asked.

  “It’s an autonomous network,” Cody said.

  “Artificial intelligence shit?” Renner asked.

  “Well beyond that. The system is synched to a biomechanical hive that can process in three seconds what it would take the human mind to do in three years. It really is a miracle, and gives the Syndicate total information awareness.”

  “Lovely,” Quinn said.

  “You’ll be grateful once the bullets start flying,” Cody quipped.

  Quinn cued a button on the side of her helmet and a head-up display glowed and hummed to life. The HUD showed incredibly detailed images of the surrounding area and the weapons in front of her. Unfortunately, everything was scribed in an alien language that used symbols and caricatures Quinn was unfamiliar with. Cody punched a code in the side of the helmet and everything converted to English.

  “Better?” Cody asked.

  Quinn nodded and Cody grabbed an olive-colored, short-barreled rifle with an oversized magazine and a foldable stock.

  “Forty-watt Parallax rifles are standard issue.”

  He tossed one to Quinn, who examined it and then raised the weapon.

  A part of her felt excited at what they could do with Syndicate-level weaponry, but then felt dread again over what they might have to use it for.

  “Each weapon is biometrically synched to a Syndicate hive,” Cody said. “Every piece of equipment has been manufactured to turn on the user if and when it is attempted to be used against the Syndicate in any form or fashion.”

  “So you’re saying—” Renner said, before Cody waved him off.

  “So I’m saying if you try to shoot any of us, the gun will backfire into your face. You try and pull a pin on a ballistic grenade and lob it at us, you’ll be blown to bits. It’s as simple as that. Any questions?”

  The Marines remained silent as General Aames traded looks with all of them. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have exactly two hours to prepare for infiltration.”

  “Where are we headed?” Renner asked.

  Quinn knew the answer. They were headed back to Earth, ostensibly to keep the peace, even though she surmised that was a lie. They were going to be enforcers now, muscle for the invaders, hunting down and snuffing out anything or anyone that posed a threat to the new order. But she also had the sneaking suspicion that there was some other reason for their return, something that had yet to be revealed.

  “We’re going back home ... to confront the resistance,” Aames said.

  “And then?” Renner said.

  “We engage and liquidate.”

  “We kill them?” Milo asked.

  “That’s generally what’s done with traitors,” General Aames replied.

  “What happened to us keeping the peace?” Hayden asked.

  “The peace will come once the killing is over,” General Aames said.

  Hayden’s face fell and General Aames advanced and stood before him.

  “You got a problem with your situation, Marine?” Aames said to Hayden.

  “Too many to count, sir,” Hayden replied.

  “You don�
�t have to like or even respect me, Marine.”

  “Which is fine, because I don’t,” Hayden said.

  “But you do have to respect the job.” General Aames gestured at the others. “I want each and every one of you to restrain your swagger, and keep your eyes on the prize. You either carry out this mission, or I’ve been given orders to send you to the menticide ward.”

  “What the hell is that?” Quinn asked.

  “Mental embalming,” Cody said in response. “If you survive the procedure, you could get lucky and be re-entered into service as a drone soldier. Albeit, with no memory of your life and a blank personality.’

  The Marines traded glances. “Anybody ever tell you the meaning of the word ‘lucky?’” Milo said to Cody. “‘Cause I think you’re misusing it.”

  Several Marines suppressed laughter. But the mood shifted, and everyone went silent when sliding doors hissed open and Marin approached, signaling for them to follow her.

  ***

  The Marines were led to their quarters, which was an octagonal room filled with bunks stacked three high, side-to-side in two dozen rows. Quinn stood alongside Milo near one of the bunks, which were silver in color and made of the same kind of shape-hugging, colloidal substance that Quinn had felt back in one of the other rooms.

  “I got dibs on the bottom bunk,” Milo said.

  “I already called it,” Quinn said.

  Milo’s eyes met Quinn’s.

  “Looks like we’re in a bit of a dispute, Sergeant.”

  She nodded.

  “How do you propose we settle it?”

  Quinn knelt on one side of the bunk and stuck her hand out as if she was going to arm-wrestle Milo.

  “You’re joking?” he said.

  “Do you see me smiling?”

  Several of the other Marines, including Renner, heard this and gathered around.

  Quinn ignored everyone else and met Milo’s eyes. She waggled her hand.

  “Scared of losing to a girl, big boy?”

  “Very,” Milo said.

  Milo dropped to his knees and thrust out his arm. He gripped her hand. The other Marines started laughing and talking smack, and even a few Syndicate soldiers peered in to see what was going on. Milo’s hand was larger, but Quinn believed her advantage lay in the ability to leverage her longer arm.

  Their hands met.

  Quinn gritted her teeth and positioned her elbow. Milo tried, as Quinn expected, to quickly outmuscle her. He leaned forward and pressed down hard. Quinn faltered for an instant, then regained position. The others around them cheered and laughed, and there was a stalemate for an instant, a moment when their eyes met across the bunk. And then Quinn reached way down deep inside and pushed from the palm of her hand.

  Quinn felt something coursing through her armor. It was as if the armor, sensing her movement, had jolted her muscles into a higher gear. She realized this was likely an offshoot of the Syndicate’s technology that harnessed the innate abilities of the user and amplified them. She’d noticed this before when stretching in her armor, but at that moment, grappling with Milo, the effects were more pronounced.

  To test out her hypothesis, she let up, and Milo, sensing victory, muscled forward, trying to pin her hand at a ninety-degree angle. At the moment that Milo was moving in for the kill, Quinn angled her elbow in and leaned forward, ushering her inner strength through the palm once more.

  The armor seemed to tighten, and Quinn heard a nearly imperceptible whirring sound as energy traveled down her arm, allowing her to slam Milo’s hand into the bunk in one swift and violent movement.

  There were more gasps than cheers. Quinn was already figuring out how to use the exo-armor to their advantage. She wondered if that was why the Syndicate was giving them a moment to themselves. A chance to jockey for position and figure out how to use their new toys.

  As she stood and returned a few fist bumps, she looked down and noticed they hadn’t put on their boots yet. She shook her head at the oversight and grabbed her boots from beneath the bunk. They fit perfectly. It was as if the exo-armor was one-size-fits-all, or the Syndicate had some omniscient ability to predict what choices they’d make.

  “Huh,” she said, without realizing she was thinking out loud.

  “Huh what?” Milo asked.

  “Black boots, red armor. Reminds me of the first Gulf War. Before Earth’s Global Defense. American Marines got black boots instead of desert boots like the Army. Marines were always getting hand-me-downs.”

  “That’s because we do more with less,” Milo said. “That’s why we’re the best.”

  “Oh … is that why you’re here too, Devil Dog?” Quinn teased. She immediately regretted it. He’d saved her already today, and she’d saved him too, but there was no reason to put him in his place like that. Everyone had lost today.

  Milo grimaced.

  Quinn started to apologize, but stopped. She was afraid Milo might see her as weak if she gave in so easily. Instead, she doubled-down. “Toughen up, buttercup. This day’s only gettin’ started.”

  Milo smiled, giving Quinn peace of mind. “Fine, but don’t ever call me buttercup again.”

  “Sure thing, sweet cheeks,” Quinn said.

  But their banter was interrupted by the squad bay doors sliding open. General Aames entered with a horde of Syndicate soldiers and ordered the Marines to follow him. Everyone fell silent and lined up to follow the General. His mere calm and authoritative presence demanded it.

  ***

  The Marines were divided into teams. Some were strapped inside the simulation devices, others used the touchscreen plasma tablets to explore three-dimensional modeling scenarios of the putative mission back to Earth, and those remaining entered the zero gravity chamber, donning silver-tinted boots.

  “What are these?” Quinn asked Cody.

  “Thermo-electro boots. They’ve got nanoparticles in the soles that capture body heat and biorhythms, turn it into molecular energy, then use that to propel you.”

  “So basically they’re power-trampolines strapped to your feet.”

  Cody nodded as the Marines strapped up and began executing propulsive maneuvers inside the chamber.

  When the training was over, the Marines gathered up their arms and ammunition and marched down to a landing bay where an arc glider, a tactical assault craft, was being prepped.

  Cody moved between the Marines, handing them a single syringe that was encased in a clear, rock-hard container.

  “If any of you are wounded, mortally that is, jab yourself with that puppy,” he said, pointing to the syringe.

  “What is it?” Quinn asked.

  “It’s a drug called Lazarus. It can, on one or two occasions, revive anybody from even the worst injury. I emphasize the one time use because after that, your body, for reasons unknown to me, rejects the meds.”

  Cody smiled.

  “Think of it as a one-time get out of hell free card.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Feelgood,” Renner said, smirking at his new abilities.

  Cody ignored him and made his way to Quinn.

  He hated having to put on a show for the Syndicate, but he needed them to truly believe that he was complicit if he was to have any chance at finding a way to fight back.

  Cody pulled out a tiny device that looked like a nose trimmer and shined it at Quinn’s eyes.

  “See a soul in there?” Quinn joked.

  Cody snapped off the light. He did indeed see a light in Quinn’s eyes, a flicker of something that made him think that perhaps she could be engaged, maybe even trusted. He sat down on the bench, gesturing for Quinn to sit next to him.

  Quinn accepted the invitation, but glared as she took her seat.

  “You look like you’re not too happy to be here, Quinn.”

  “No, I’m peachy, doc,” Quinn said. “But thanks for asking.”

  “Things could be worse,” Cody said.

  “They couldn’t possibly be.”

  Cody cracked his knuckles
, then leaned in close to Quinn so that the others couldn’t hear him.

  “So you have no idea what happened to the others back on Earth?” Quinn asked, thinking of her daughter. “The Marines?”

  “From what I hear, there are no more Marines,” Cody said.

  Quinn’s face fell. “For Chrissakes, we had three hundred thousand men under arms. The idea that they’re all gone—that’s fucking impossible.”

  “Impossible things happen every day,” Cody said.

  “What the hell happened to them?” Quinn asked.

  “What happens to everyone that stands up to the Syndicate. They have ceased to be.”

  Quinn registered this, head hanging, deep in contemplation.

  “If they’re all gone, what’s left?”

  It was too soon to let her in on the bigger picture. She wouldn't believe him anyway. Time to lie a little for her sake. “What you’re going to fight. The resistance. Maybe twenty thousand of them.”

  “The enemy of my enemy?”

  “In a sense, I suppose yes …”

  “Doesn’t that make them my friend?”

  Cody opened his mouth to respond, then thought better of it. There were listening devices hidden in various parts of the shuttle, and he was worried about saying something that might be used against him. He looked around to each corner of the room, to communicate what he was thinking, that they were being watched and listened to.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Quinn, but it looks like you have not lived a life of leisure. What did you do back in the world?”

  Quinn considered this for several seconds.

  “I guess you could say I was always struggling against something. Even when I was a kid, I was fighting against my brothers.”

  “Always kicking someone’s ass?”

  “I guess you could say that,” she said. “You?”

  “I was usually the one whose ass was being kicked,” Cody said, with a zippered smile.

  “And yet here we are …”

  “The fates have brought us together,” Cody said, with a grin.

  Quinn sucked on her teeth and Cody glanced to see if the others were looking, then he reached in a cargo pocket and pulled out a translucent container the size of a thumb. Inside were a handful of black pills with yellow speckles.