Outcast Marines series Boxed Set 2

by James David Victor

  “Aye, Your Excellency.” Solomon stood up. “You heard the lady. Let’s go and get some justice for our comrades lying in the Ganymede ice!”

  “Five…four… Brace!” the slim personal assistant was calling over the ambassadorial courier ship’s internal speakers.

  It was a much smaller craft than the Oregon, Solomon saw, and designed primarily for fast travel from orbitals to surfaces, a vague wedge of two forward-pointing triangles, with heavy thruster rockets at the fatter end and a large number of communications aerials and dishes that were currently being slotted back into the body of the vehicle. It had been attached, limpet-like, to the side of the Oregon, and once through the airlock, Solomon and the six others of his squad were standing in the main room, holding the overhead handle bars as the ambassador and her personal assistant occupied the front cockpit.

  “Three… Disengaging magnet links…”

  There was a hissing sound and a wobble as the courier wobbled free of the Oregon, gravity and spin dynamics making to fall away from the larger craft in slow motion.

  “Two… Preparing thrusters…”

  Another series of clanks and deep, vibrational shakes from the body of the craft.

  “One and…fire!”

  Solomon and the others were jerked to one side by the sudden burn of the craft’s thruster rockets, sending it peeling away from the Marine Corps battleship above and in an accelerating arc toward the bright orb far below it.

  Proxima. Solomon crouched a bit to peer through the nearest porthole. “There she is, boys and girls, take a look,” Solomon said. Because it might be the last time you get to see a sight like this, he didn’t dare add.

  The bright orb of Proxima Centauri was an unparalleled jewel in the night sky.

  The first fully inhabitable planet that humanity had colonized was a little larger than its sister, and looking down onto it was like seeing the home world for what it might have been, centuries ago. There were vast blue oceans, and green landmasses crisscrossed with the whites of untraveled mountain ranges, and the reddened, hotter, Mediterranean regions of its equatorial belt.

  The landmasses weren’t scarred with dead industrial zones or of the urban mega-metropolises that had taken over Earth’s continents. The seas had not yet risen and flooded coastal areas, creating the smoggy, toxic marshes that proliferated back on Solomon’s home.

  The atmosphere wasn’t wild with the swirls of storms and hurricanes either, as if the very weather here was heaven-sent, too.

  Proxima had been called Earth’s greatest hope for a future—a planet that would need minimal to no geo-engineering to make it inhabitable, and which would be the stepping off point to homo sapiens becoming a truly interstellar species.

  Only it hadn’t gone according to plan, Solomon thought as he saw the sparkling objects that hung in near orbit around the planet.

  Satellite-drones. Solomon had heard of the metal cross-shaped structures. They still looked like children’s toys from this distance, but as the ambassadorial craft swept closer, they grew in size until each one was a little larger than the courier itself. They eddied and revolved slowly on their own positional rockets, routinely firing every few minutes to fight the pull of Proxima’s gravity and to keep sending them on a looping orbit around their parent.

  Their four-pointed ‘spikes’ were actually a space-based missile system, designed not to keep peace between warring factions and partnerships as on Earth, Solomon knew, but to keep a watchful eye on the darkness of space.

  “Proxima is a heaven, but…” Solomon was surprised when the words of the ambassador narrated their view of the planet from the ships’ speakers. “But she has always had a sort of cultural paranoia,” the ambassador stated authoritatively. “Cosmo-psychologists claim that it stems from the fact that they are so far away from Earth, and from any colonial neighbors. They do not have the sense of interplanetary community that our Sol System does…”

  “Is she kidding me?” Solomon heard Menier grumble over their squad channel. “Wasn’t much interplanetary community I saw on Mars…”

  Solomon wondered if he should rebuke the man, but he didn’t when he realized that he actually agreed with him. Earth might be blessed with neighbors in the form of Luna, Mars, Venus, and other colonies, but it didn’t mean that they got along…

  Solomon turned back to look at the isolated, perfect planet out here on the edge of humanity’s reach, and he almost felt a sense of jealousy for them. Wouldn’t it have been easier to emigrate out here? he wondered. To start again somewhere new, and never have to worry about New Kowloon and the Yakuza and the Triads and the loss off his old friend, Matthias Sozer.

  Yeah, that still hurts, he was surprised to realize. Matthias Sozer. My friend. Who died…because of me.

  “You have a long face, Lieutenant,” intoned Malady on one side of him, switching to a private channel between them.

  “Thanks.” Solomon pulled a face. “But yeah, I guess I’m worried about the mission. I’m hoping that I can act bravely, and wisely…”

  “All commanders must feel the same,” Malady said, always wiser than anyone else that Solomon had ever met, “before being called to op their duty.” The giant man-golem turned slightly so that his sleepy, half-lit face faced him. “I have faith in you, Solomon,” he stated in his flat, mechanical tones, and apparently that was all the man had to say, because he turned back to regard the planet they were going to pick a fight with, just the same as the rest of the Outcasts here.

  But Solomon knew that, as a commander, he couldn’t afford even a moment of nostalgia or melancholy. “Ratko?” he called over their shared channel. “You’re our technical. Can you work on a way to get past that missile system when we’re making our escape?”

  “I can, Lieutenant, but…” The small woman was frowning, and Solomon thought he knew what her argument would be.

  That escaping the surface seemed a long way away from here… That they had to not get immediately imprisoned by the supposedly still-neutral Proximians first. And then they had to infiltrate the NeuroTech headquarters, on a hostile planet, as their get-out in the form of the ambassador left the system…

  And then we have to find this secret Confederate agent who may already be apprehended or dead by now, Solomon thought a little bitterly. All while they were probably being shot at by Proximians or cyborgs, as they stole a ship and made launch, and navigated the war-style missile system…

  “Just start working on it, Ratko.” Solomon nodded at her. “I have faith in you,” he echoed Malady and saw the woman straighten up in her suit, throwing a salute.

  “Aye, Lieutenant Cready, sir!”

  The ambassadorial craft was starting to shake as they entered Proxima’s near-atmospheric radiation field, something every planet had. Solomon looked at the nearest of the star-like drone satellites, but he didn’t see it spinning towards them or missile tubes hissing open.

  “I’ve got a message coming in from the surface, patching it over main ship’s comms,” Ambassador Ochrie announced.

  “Attention Confederate Vessel! This is the Proximian Port Authority, please verify our scans within one minute…”

  Vessel ID: Ambassadorial Craft X31 (Courier-Class)

  Vessel Operator: Ambassador Ochrie (Confederacy of Earth)

  Bio-Signs: Nine.

  “Proximian Port Authority, this is Ambassador Ochrie. Your scans are correct, and I am sending over authentication receipts now.” Everyone heard the ambassador’s response.

  “I am allowed, according to your gold-level license, to speak to Imprimatur Mariad Rhossily,” Ochrie said. There was a glitch on the other end as her words must have been relayed through the Proximian chain of command.

  “Ambassador Ochrie, a pleasure to have on Proximian soil once again.” This time, it was a woman’s voice who answered them, with a faint lilting accent that Solomon couldn’t place. He knew next to nothing about the Proximians, apart from the exaggerated claims of gossip-sellers back on Ea
rth.

  They are a peaceful people.

  Life is easy up here.

  They have a perfect society.

  Solomon didn’t believe a word of it. And he wished that he’d been given more time to study their new hosts.

  “I thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Imprimatur. I hope that our meeting will be…peaceful for both of our peoples,” Ochrie said formally.

  “As do I, I can assure you, Ambassador. These are dark times that we are living through, and we have to always be aware of what is important at all times,” the imprimatur stated rather cryptically, and Solomon wondered if that was a promise or a threat. It could have been either.

  “You are cleared to land at my personal docking port, Proxa, Hex-Grid Reference…” Imprimatur Rhossily gave them a string of numbers and letters, for Ochrie’s personal assistant to input the details and their craft’s auto-pilot to adjust their trajectory and speed, turning the ship before they plunged into the Proximian atmosphere, with flames at their nose, and the craft’s belly full of Marines.

  14

  Utopian Dreams

  Fanfare and dazzling sunlight greeted them as Solomon led the way down the craft’s ramp, his heavy metal power armor suit feeling as light as a feather thanks to the internal servo-assists. Solomon had a moment to wonder at just how comfortable this upgrade was—far better than the light tacticals they had worn for so long—before he turned to take his place standing at the edge of the ramp.

  Jezzy and Karamov joined him at his side, while Menier, Ratko, and Willoughby performed a mirroring position in front of them, creating an avenue for the ambassador and her assistant to walk though.

  The ways of ambassadorial visits couldn’t have changed much since the times of sailboats and people in funny cloaks, Solomon thought, as the air was split by trumpets and the ambassador sedately made her way down the ship’s ramp. It gave Solomon plenty of time to look around him…and marvel.

  The imprimatur’s ‘personal landing site’ looked like a small park, with three large bare patches and adjoining bare paths that joined together, leading to a white palatial building.

  In the distance, Solomon could see a brick wall surrounding the landing site, encrusted with ivy and with the heads of curiously Earth-like trees peeking from the far side. The white-walled palace imitated a neo-classical style, Solomon saw, with colonnade terraces and formal gardens. The overall building was quite low—no more than three stories high at the highest levels.

  But what was really astonishing was the view that the palace had over the city of Proxa, the capital city of the planet and the largest. The imprimatur’s palace was placed on a ridge of rolling highland that descended into woods and patchwork meadows on one side, but on the sea-ward side displayed a huge bay with waters as blue as sapphire.

  The city of Proxa itself was designed on vaguely hexagonal lines—different squares and districts all built according to hexagonal patterns, with more brick walls between them or lines of trees. It could have been something out of a fairy tale, save for the tall chrome buildings of Proxa’s center. Earth’s sister world even had skyscrapers now, it appeared.

  The city displayed a cluster of parks and even small lakes, and Solomon scanned the scene for the building that he knew had to be there. That he and his team had come to infiltrate…

  There. The gold triangular spire sat in the middle of its own hexagonal precinct, with low, white, L-shaped buildings clustered around it. Despite its gold, terraced walls, the entire site was still a very green, airy space, with each terrace of NeuroTech’s headquarters overflowing with greenery, and the avenues between the low white buildings showing off lines of landscaped trees.

  Proxa is a vision of heaven, Solomon had to admit. How could anyone think that there could be any crime, or poverty, or disease here?

  Or that the building there is churning out murderous robots to fuel a distant civil war? Solomon’s jaw clenched.

  “Ambassador, a pleasure…” he overheard the Imprimatur of Proxima say as she approached, flanked only by two people in silver and white robes. She was a small woman with curly chestnut-gold hair slowly giving over to silver. She wore only a simple silver star at her breast, and no other ostentation or insignia. No honor guard? Solomon wondered. That must mean that either Proxima really is an entirely peaceful colony, with no awareness of what NeuroTech is doing under their noses, or…

  Or that she was so supremely confident of her strength that she wasn’t afraid.

  He thought that the second explanation was the most likely.

  “These are…troublesome times we find ourselves in,” Solomon overheard the two women talking as he walked a few steps behind and to the left of the ambassador. At his side walked Jezzy, and behind them walked the other Outcasts, though without Malady, whom Solomon had ordered to stay in the craft with the ambassador’s personal assistant.

  When we need some big guns, I’ll need him, he thought. And it also didn’t hurt having one of his own men with their most obvious escape ship, either.

  Maybe I can tell Malady to hold the ship in orbit or come and get us when we’re done instead of… Solomon’s mind was racing as he tried to figure out the plan of attack. It was difficult since he was also trying his best to listen in on the ambassador’s conversation and register their surroundings.

  The imprimatur’s palace was every bit as grand at close range as it had appeared at a distance, Solomon realized. White stone walls and marble columns, flagstones veined with quartz, and everything set in beautiful parklands with many plant species brought or seeded from Earth, he saw. Their flagstone path did not head straight up to the palace above them, however, but took time to wind through the sedate garden, turning past banks of lavender and pruned rhododendron bushes.

  “I am glad that Proxima understands the gravity of the situation,” the ambassador stated. “Obviously, the Confederacy wishes to extend its continued support to all of its colonial allies…”

  The imprimatur stopped walking suddenly, making the rest of the line shuffle awkwardly to a halt to avoid stumbling into each other. “Even Mars?” she stated incredulously.

  The ambassador, to her credit, didn’t skip a beat. “The Confederacy believes strongly in the people and the prosperity of Mars, and when they are free of the yoke of their fanatics, we will all be safer.”

  “And by the fanatics, you mean the Chosen of Mars? Father Ultor’s group?” the imprimatur said evenly. “I believe I heard that both Father Ultor and Imprimatur Valance of Mars were in Confederate Marine Corps custody, am I right?

  The ambassador really did hesitate then, nodding. “Yes, that is correct.”

  “And the Confederate Marine Corps have dropped thermonuclear devices on Mars? Am I correct,” Imprimatur Rhossily said, “or is that just space gossip?”

  “No, Imprimatur… That is correct. It was believed that a show of resounding force was necessary as a precaution to avoid further conflict. I am sure that you understand,” the ambassador said, with a hint of steel to her voice.

  “I understand perfectly, Ambassador,” the Imprimatur of Proxima said, gesturing for them to walk on, taking a set of steps that led up to a white-walled terrace and a set of grand wooden doors into the palace.

  And the line of waiting cyborgs.

  Solomon heard Jezzy’s sudden intake of break as he was already stepping forward, one hand falling to his side where his Jackhammer was slung.

  “Lieutenant!” It was the ambassador, putting a warning hand out and lightly touching Solomon’s arm.

  The cyborgs weren’t attacking. They weren’t even raising their weapons or looking in their direction. Instead, Solomon saw that the four man-machine things, each with the same variety of body parts recast in chrome and steel, stood stock still in front of the doors, gazing out over Proxima.

  “Ah, yes. I suppose they can look a little alarming to the untrained eye…” the imprimatur was saying with a small smile. “But really, Ambassador, there is no need for y
our man to worry.”

  Your man? Solomon raised an eyebrow behind his helmet. I am a military commander, not a hired servant!

  “Yes, most alarming, I have to admit,” the ambassador smoothed over the momentary tension. “I have never seen their like. Is it a new type of tactical suit that Proxima has developed?” she said lightly, and Solomon could hear the heavy layers of subtext there.

  Solomon didn’t know if the ambassador knew all about the Message, and the Ru’at, but he thought that it was likely that she did. She would probably, in the very least, know that he and his squad had been sent here to neutralize NeuroTech precisely because it was churning out murderous machines like these.

  But so far, the general populous didn’t know that cyborgs were being used on the battlefields, against the Confederate Marine Corps, he realized. Did the Imprimatur of Proxima know?

  “No, not a tactical suit, although similar, I suppose…” The imprimatur led the way up the steps and past the silent, watchful cyborgs as the doors opened soundlessly in front of her. “Proxima wouldn’t dream of developing tactical suits when we already have the sworn protection of the good Marine Corps.” The imprimatur managed to nod at Cready in recognition, and he inclined his head back.

  “What a load of lies,” he heard Jezzy whisper over their squad channel.

  “Probably, but we don’t know yet,” Solomon murmured under his breath.

  “Then why not staff your palace with Marines, like I have?” he heard the ambassador say lightly as they walked through a grand hallway with a high, arched ceiling and a checkerboard floor. Distant windows at the other end of the room let in the bright Proxima sunlight from an internal courtyard. Two wide staircases of stone led up and out to the right and left.