The War to End All Wars: Prologue
© Predator
In life, there will always be a chain. Be it food or social, there is always a chain. The strong eat the weak, and the weak are driven out of existence. Soon, the strong become the weak as new life stands tall, ruling over all it sees. All are dominated by this new life, and its power in its circle is immeasurable. Every time, the chain eventually would start anew, with one form of life being wiped out, and another coming to prominence.
In a small section of the universe, life was in jeopardy; the very fabrics that kept the three races alive would be torn. In this small section of the universe, creatures of all walks would fall, and bloodshed would reap its hellish toll across the barren, torn worlds. In this small section of the universe, life would soon be separated into two definite, unchanging groups. The dead, and the alive.
Soon, three races would gear for the coming tides of war. Their mightiest and bravest to fall before the hands of their opponents. The spared would be few and far between, and those who were not spared, given eternal rest. Slowly, like the shadows of night, the tides of war began to claim the land, covering everything in its black cloud of fire and brimstone. Surely the innocent would pay for the crimes of the guilty, and the guilty would find that the innocent were vengeful indeed.
Only, if only that one could survive. That one may survive, to keep their effort from being a total loss. If one could stay from the black pit of extinction, and live on to see the next day’s sunrise. Surely this race would dominate, the war, and show all others that they would survive, and would never give up the fight. Yet, there is no dominating side in war, each side faces it’s own demons and perils. Each side faces the loss of compatriots and leaders. Each side would learn to know what it is to face certain death, to stare it in the eye and not to blink. Each side would know the joy of victory, and the bloody, humiliating pain of defeat. Each side would be plunged into the conflict that they never had anticipated before, the things that only their nightmares were made of.
As many have said, “War is Hell”, and surely they were right. But time teaches no race the horror of war. It comes back, like the ones who cause it, bringing hatred and chaos to all who encounter it. Perhaps those who would be fighting here, fighting for their civilizations, their families, their lives would learn the lesson taught my so many aeons of pain. But history repeats itself, does it not? And surely here, and in the future, as so many times in the past, history would repeat itself.
* *
“En Taro Adun Tassadar.”
“En Taro Adun my friend, How does the life of a Zealot treat you?”
Fenix stood before the High Templar dressed in the Psi-suit that all Zealots wore into battle. “It is a hard life, the pursuit of the Khala is taxing to any warrior, but it is a life that suits us well. But we are ready, more ready than since the Strife. We are prepared for battle at your very word. If the Zerg are all that we think they are, we should prepare for the worst.”
Tassadar waved a silvery, three-fingered hand at his friend. “There is no need, at least for now. The Conclave has sent us with this fleet as our means of force, has it not? If we are forced to go to the surface and fight there, we are well prepared to do so without the loss of Protoss life.”
Fenix’s green eyes flashed, the sudden fury of the warrior flowing through him. “Would they dare to threaten Aiur? Could they possibly have the power to do so?”
“If they overstep their bounds, and threaten any of the Terran planets, we will deal with them as needed.”
“If the Terrans are in the way?”
Tassadar sighed, knowing what the conclave had ordered of him. “We shall see my friend. We shall see.”
* *
“You useless piece of… Dammit you know you can do better than that so just friggin’ DO IT!”
Caius Xavier sat still, the voice of the drill sergeant ringing in his ears. Being a “Ghost” required the kind of physical and mental strength the grunts only dreamed about, and so you had to get used to being ridden like a pony. Anyways, being a Ghost was for the best of the best, to make those Terrans who were “gifted” useful members of the military.
The firing range was filled with explosions, gunfire, and the whistle of the mortar round that Alpha Company was firing off. Federal troops trained hard, even though the rebel threat was not as important as the propaganda made it seem.
Caius lifted his rifle, aimed, and fired again.
“Goddammit Xavier! Get your ass in here! If you dare to screw up on my firing range again, I will put your head on my mantle, understand!?”
Sighing, Caius placed his rifle in its back holster, a sharp metallic click sounding as it locked into place. Turning back towards the barracks, he wondered how the hell he had gotten into this army anyway.
* *
“Another one. Sector 7A.”
“Who’s doing this? Is there anything left?”
“Nope. The colony was completely sterilized, even the probes were destroyed before they could send us back and useful information.”
Marcus Creed fell back into his seat in the officer’s lounge. He’d just finished investigating the final shell of what had used to be a planet. For unknown reasons, Terran colonies were being decimated by a race of alien beings known as the Protoss. With only minimal contact up until this point, the Protoss was the greatest enemy not only to the Federation, but also to humanity in this sector. Creed had arrived well after they’d left though. As much as he hated to admit it, it was fortunate he had not run into the Protoss. Any novice in military intelligence could see that waging a battle against them, at least for now, would be suicide.
Creed and Colonel Hauler both knew that fact well. At least, Hauler had known it and had passed the information on the Creed. Hauler commanded Nova Squad, the “first to know” Black Ops and intelligence company in the Confederation. Creed and Hauler had developed a comfortable relationship. Hauler provided the information, location, and gear, Creed won the battles. It wasn’t spectacular, but it was highly unusual to see mixing between the sleek, smooth styles of Nova Squad with the commander of whatever grunts had been assigned to him for a particular battle. Together they had formed a force to be reckoned with, Hauler’s men providing the clandestine operations, Creed commanding his men in battle with staggering efficiency. In over 70 battles, the pair had lost a mere 700 men, a staggering number when one took into account that the average lifespan of a Marine in battle was two and a half minutes.
Recently however, this Protoss threat provided a clear and present danger for the Confederation to deal with. While avoiding and direct military combat, the Protoss ruthlessly and randomly hammered the few fringe civilian worlds. Of the original five, only one remained, and most had a guess for what would happen there.
“Guess what?” Hauler said, sipping at his coffee. “You’ve got a new assignment. You know where?”
“No. Bet you have though.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m not even curious how you know these things anymore.” Creed grabbed at his own mug of coffee. Java, although synthesized, could still pack quite a wallop. He had to thank those geeks who came up with this stuff someday.
“You’re gonna be a desk jockey.”
Creed stopped, the coffee mug halfway to his mouth. “You’re kidding me.”
“I kid you not.”
“Why!?!? WHERE!?!” Creed stood, his body rigid. “Dammit I command soldiers in battle, not civilians!”
“Well, you’ll have to adjust. You’re the new Colonial Magistrate of Mar Sara.” Hauler said, saluting with his cup.
“Oh…” Creed mumbled. Colonial Magistrate meant god on one of the fringe worlds, essentially. However on Mar Sara? It was the only fringe colony that had not been destroyed by the Protoss, and now he was being sent in, probably to stop them, or to gain a small amount of information on them before he was destroyed.
“God… that’s not a desk job. I’m the last line of defense against a Protoss invasion.” Creed groaned, stretching. “Well, what do I get to start with?”
“Nothing but the locals, and the army already there. Other than that, you’re on your own. Think you could stop the Protoss?”
“Maybe, but with a helluva lot more help than I’m probably gonna get. Cheers, I’m going to become a colonial god.” Creed said, lifting his mug.
“God of the Ozarks.” Hauler smiled.
* *
“What?” Caius sat in front of his huge equipment locker, putting away his C-10 Canister Rifle and body armor.
“You heard me. There’s a rumor that a new magistrate’s gonna be taking over, probably to file us all into a nice straight line for the Protoss to shoot.”
“This is such BS. Ever since Chau Sara got fried, everyone’s been on the edge, and that makes sense. But now, we’re the last colony left and the Confederation is leaving us out to deal with the Protoss on our own?”
Caius yanked a towel out of his locker and headed towards the already crowded showers. One of his few friends among the Ghosts, Jessie Meyers trailed behind him. She was another of the growing ranks of female Ghosts, and was probably the only person willing to shut him up when he started acting like an asshole.
Jessie moved into the shower next to Caius, quickly stripping and turning the knob for her ten minutes of rationed shower water. A spray of semi-warm water hit her body as Caius reached for the knob below his showerhead.
“Maybe joining Nova Squad won’t be that bad. I mean, they are the best of the best. Heck, it’d be nice to have a few more Ghosts around to talk to. There are only eight on base right now, including you and me.” Jessie said, rinsing the sweat from that day’s training from her body.
“Please, they’ll look down their noses at us like we’re retarded yokels or something.” Caius flipped the knob for his shower off, drying quickly and wrapping his towel around his waist. “Anyways, they’re not gonna be here to help, they’re probably just gonna be here to study.”
Walking towards the lockers, Caius brought his clothing out to meet him. He did this, without the aid of limbs or robotics however. Caius and Jessie, like all other Ghosts was a psionic. The proclaimed “next level” in human evolution. Some had the gift of telepathy along with telekinesis, and Caius was lucky enough to have a little of the former, just enough to work the Psi-link with his rifle.
Donning the dark blue fatigues, Caius closed his locker, annoyed. “First we hear that we’re the only colony left, then we hear that there’s a new Magistrate coming, and now Sarge is coming down on me like a ton of bricks! What the hell did I do so wrong that I deserve this?”
Jessie looked at him critically. “You’re not that stupid, are you? We all read the performance charts last week, and you scored way higher than any of us! Christ! What do people have to do, slap you in the face and tell you you’ve got a lot of untapped Psi ability?”
Caius rolled his eyes. He had heard the stories from the Drill Sergeant. That if he just worked at it he could be one of the best ghosts in the military.
“It’s all BS Jess, and you know it. I don’t have super-powers just because I can do a few things better than the rest of you.”
“You just don’t get it Xavier, you really don’t.” Jessie said, turning to walk away, pissed off at his stubbornness.
Caius shrugged, not really caring. Being removed from your parents when you were not even six months old and being forced into strict and rigorous training regimen did odd things to your personality. Like being an insufferable prick some of the time. As far as he was concerned however, becoming a Ghost was the most titanic piece of military crap he’s ever had to swallow. Even worse, he had to do all of it for the Confederacy, a government that was known for its malevolence and corruption.
“Maybe those rebels, the Sons of Korhal have an opening.” He mumbled.
Trudging into the mess hall, he stood at the line for food. That day’s meal consisted of Turkey and random vegetables from the Agriculture fields. For a place that could get its supplies straight for the people, somehow the food still managed to be utterly horrible.
* *
“What a freaking backwater.” Creed said, gazing out the window of the dropship. Mar Sara’s primary colony facility spread out beneath him, the agriculture fields and terraforming machinery out near the horizon. As far as colonies went, Mar Sara was still just a fledgling.
“This is Colo 1, the residents still haven’t decided on a name. You will be governing from the military base, three kilometers west of here.”
“I read the briefing and introduction.” Creed told his secretary program. Wirehead, as he called her, was a simple piece of programming designed to make his life a whole lot easier. For now, she was downloaded onto his laptop but he would put her program into the interface in his office… if they had any good computers in this redneck colony.
“Your first order of business as the new Magistrate is to put on a demonstration of the new SCV or Space Construction Vehicle, the T-280. After introducing yourself to the troops of course.”
“What? For whom?”
“The corporate investors sir. The Confederacy feels that it needs new equipment, and where better to show its abilities than on a building colony?”
“Whiny sons of…” Creed trailed off, muttering about showing the investors a Firebat’s capabilities up close.
* *
“… and that is why we have to put on this presentation. Any volunteers?”
A sea of lackluster faces stared back at him. Just his luck, he was replacing a guy who was probably pretty well liked in the system. Fortunately, a few of the Ghosts raised their hands. That was to be expected. They were smarter and less preoccupied with appearance.
“Okay Sergeant,” Creed turned to the Drill Sergeant. “Pick out 10 marines for me.”
“Yessir.” The Drill Sergeant said, throwing up a salute.
“Goddamn backwater.” Creed mumbled, walking away from the soldiers.
* *
Caius groaned. “How did I let you goad me into t doing this? I don’t care who I’m doing it for, Ghosts should be for espionage, not being the playtoy of some executive.”
Jessie Shrugged. “Guess you’re just obedient to women.
“You little fu…” His sentence was cut short as the Drill Sergeant called for the SCV pilots.
He, Jessie, another Ghost and seven other marines had been chosen to pilot the SCVs for the demonstration. Everyone, much like Caius at this point, had begun to gripe about their assignment.
“Why the heck are we doing this dumbass chore?” One marine said softly.
“Cause they need some grunts to make it look more professional. This way they can BS and say it’s useful to the civilians and the military.” Came the reply.
“And the Ghosts?”
“Probably here to make sure we don’t screw up.”
The ten test pilots emerged form the small tunnel to the parade grounds out to the cleared, dusty field where any important military ceremonies were held. Only a mere mile away, the barracks loomed in the horizon. In the grandstand, investors, dignitaries, and a few ranked Confederate officers sat, applauded politely as the group emerged into the bright sunlight. Before a huge stage with a podium were ten brand-new SCVs, polished and shiny with the emblem of the confederacy on each “arm”. Walking up to their designated craft, the volunteers stood in front of each vehicle and saluted the podium.
“At ease men.” The man at the podium, as far as Caius could see, was a little wiry but had a certain air of power and ability about him. It had to be the new Magistrate.
“We are here today,” The man began, “to demonstrate the multi-use T-280 Space Construction Vehicle, or simply, the SCV. Today we will demonstrate the many talents of this craft, including its ability to be the backbone of any military force. Our pilots…” He gestured towards the volunteers, in civvies in stead of uniforms. “Are Jessie Meyers, David Matthews, Gabriel Peter, James Cambridge…” Each soldier stepped forward and bowed to the slight applause as his name was said. “… and our commander, Caius Xavier.”
Caius jumped upon hearing his name listed as the commander for the demonstration. He’d never been chosen to lead anything, and was just barely a Lieutenant Junior Grade. Bowing to the audience, he began to think he could get used to being in power. If only he could find a way to get there again.
* *
“Before the inception of SCVs, the construction of a core base took days, and by that time the battle could be won. However, now, two or three SCVs, with the correct supplies can have a rudimentary base set up in under 12 hours.”
This we he could have a chance against the Protoss, Creed added mentally. The top of the podium before him was a replica of command center interface. Barely looking he popped up instructions and locations for the SCVs to begin construction and downloaded the information into the onboard computers of each SCV.
“This is not just a luxury for the military either. SCVs will be an invaluable aid in construction of more and more colonies across Confederation space.”
As long as the eye candy did its work, Creed barely needed to do anything other than run down the prospective costs and wait for the approvals. It was times like this that he was thankful that those with money were so easily gullible.
“SCVs are also fully capable of travel over almost any terrain and will shield their operators from any dangerous material.”
Sliding his finger across the display Creed brought up holograms of several SCVs he sent to scout for a good building base beginning construction of a command center. Leaving them up on the hologrids a few feet above the grandstands, he continued to talk.
“Perhaps the single greatest advantage of the SCV T-280 is the ability to easily mine the mineral outcrops that provide the bulk of colonial building material.” Unexpectedly, one of the projected SCV views went fuzzy, then turned to static. It was probably just some sort of interference, but he had to cover. “And now my assistant will guide you through the creation of a base camp.”
His secretary’s soothing came on over the speaker system, explaining the benefits of the T-280 for gathering Vespene gas and other useless crap. Turning away from the occupied crowd, Creed tapped at the commlink on his collar, flipping it on.
“What the hell was that Sergeant?” Creed hissed into his commlink.
“Dunno sir. But we can’t re-establish contact and the location beacon isn’t going either.”
“Send some grunts out there to check.” With his luck right now, Creed figured it was the Protoss come early. “Have them well armed.”
* *
“What happened to No. 7?”
Caius had been keeping constant commlink contact with his nine other compatriots during the construction of the command center. Kevin Bischoff, controlling SCV number 7 had been sent out to find a small mineral deposit they could use to begin the structure of the command center. About five minutes out, his screen had gone completely blank. No responses by radio, no emergency beacon, nothing. If something hadn’t gone wrong, the guy was in for one hell of a chewing out.
“Maybe he went t’ go gratify himself sir?” One of the marines chuckled.
“Shut up. Give me five minutes of commlink silence alright?” Caius groaned inwardly. “Base, this is Demo Team leader, what just happened out here?”
A face popped up on the upper-left part of the SCV’s windshield HUD. “No. 7 just lost contact with base. We’re sending a team of marines to investigate, you will lead. Is that clear Wolf?”
Caius smiled; his Callsign always got that kind of reaction from him. “I copy that base, where is the rendezvous point?”
“You’re not meeting with the marines Wolf, you’re going before them. Last known point of SCV 7 was in sector Omega, coordinates 7-1-3-4. Two klicks directly north from your current position. We’ve got someone bringing you your gear right now.”
“Copy base.”
Beginning the slow systems shutdown for the SCV, Caius quickly informed the rest of the team to continue with the demonstration, leaving Jessie in command.
“This is gonna be the best load of BS I’ve ever had to deal with.” He mumbled.
* *
Ten minutes later, Caius stood in front of twelve Marines, each already wearing the regulation CMC-300 Powered Combat Suit. The suit was required for all marines, increasing strength, accuracy and protecting its wearer from all kinds of environments. Unfortunately, if the Protoss were behind this like the entire base feared, that didn’t mean a thing.
With a barely audible click, Cause’s black helmet snapped into place, completing his entire battle ensemble. With his canister rifle in his hands and the Personal Cloaking System on his back humming along quietly, he looked like a futuristic ninja from someone’s nightmare. Most Ghosts were considered to be as much by many troops, able to sneak undetected behind enemy lines with their personal cloaking devices, and able to destroy targets with their many abilities. Ghosts wielded their ungainly C-10 canister rifles like they were a normal-sized weapons, and when given a target, did not stop unless ordered to do otherwise.
Motioning to the Marines absent-mindedly, Caius looked towards the horizon. “I’ll go ahead. Give me a five minute head start and then follow.”
Issuing a single thought to the helmet’s Psi-interface, the covering of his suit began to shimmer. Caius watched, ever in amazement as his body and equipment faded a dark gray, then turned invisible. For a few moments, Caius found himself staring at his now invisible hands. The cloaking technology was probably the only
perk of the job.
Turning towards the point indicated on his HUD map, Caius broke into a light run. His steps were light and quick, inaudible to the normal ear. He moves with the smooth speed of a jungle predator, years of training now in his blood, not just his mind.
“Damn Ghosts man…” One of the marines said, looking at the barely visible blur.
* *
Within ten minutes, Caius stopped at the point indicated on his helmet’s HUD. Lifting the visor covering his face, he scanned the wasteland, the brown desolation of un-colonized areas of Mar Sara seeming to stretch forever. Electronics were exact and useful, but they lacked instincts and gut feelings. And somehow, Caius knew, without a doubt, that the pilot had not just had an electronics malfunction.
Smoke belched from behind a small hill, the kind of smoke that vehicles made not just a brushfire. Caius began to run, stopping only to turn his radio back on. The marines should have been following him by now, and if there was a threat, they should be put to good use.
“Mark my position and get here now. I think I’ve found our missing SCV.”
“Already heading straight for you.” The reply came.
Cresting the small hill slowly, Caius held his rifle at the ready, expecting to see a bunch of Protoss looming over the destroyed SCV, doing whatever it was the Protoss did. Somehow however, all of his weapons and abilities seemed as if they were useless if the Protoss had done this…
A cloud of dust curled up from his boot as he stepped atop the hill. Sure enough, there was the SCV, looking utterly ravaged. However, the eight four-legged creatures that surrounded the vehicle…
“Jesus… the hell are those?” Caius whispered. Whatever they were, they did not look like the planet-killers he had envisioned as the Protoss. Each was the size of a large dog, but they looked nothing like man’s best friend. They were creatures form the depths of darkness, teeth, huge claws and all. Even more odd, they all looked the same, even had the same coloring. It was almost like they were ants from a colony.
As if on cue, one of the creatures began to sniff at the air, its nostrils flaring and closing with each breath. Caius utterly froze, a need to run seizing all of his body except for his legs, which were rooted to the ground. If they could see cloaked people, he was screwed. Looking back upon his movements, if he had knows what the abilities of these things were; he would have stayed way downwind also.
Turning his attention back to the situation at hand, he jumped slightly, realizing the creature was looking dead at him. Its eyes narrowed, and it let out some sort of slow chittering sound, sniffed the air again, and turned away. For the first time in his life, Caius felt relieved that someone or something would rather ravage a human body than anything else. Looking at the mangled remains of the pilot’s body, Caius was thankful that it wasn’t Jessie he had sent out to find minerals.
A sense of daring rolling through his veins, Caius took a tentative step forwards. The creatures paid no attention to him this time, growling and whining as the tore at the pilot’s body and hacked at the destroyed SCV. Somehow, their actions were awe-inspiring, like they had a single goal and a single mind…
“What the hell are those?”
Caius whirled around, looking back up the hill to see the twelve marines, looking down on the SCV with a mixture of disgust ad fear on their faces. The creatures must have interpreted the marines’s being there as a threat because they began to turn, preparing to attack the visitors.
“Son of a…” Caius whispered. He flung himself to the side as the marines opened up, showering the SCV, the body, and the creatures with a hail of the 8mm spikes shot from their rifles. Caius buried his head in the sand, waiting for the sounds of gunfire to end. If any of the marines took a bad shot, he was screwed.
Within moments, the gunfire came to a stop; the sound of guns being reloaded the only noise.
“We scrapped em’ boss!” A voice said. “Think they was Protoss?”
“Dunno, but if they have any pals they know who not to mess with now!”
Caius, thoroughly pissed off at this point, pushed himself up from the ground.
“You useless idiots!” He yelled. “When did I give the frigging order to fire or are you just retarded!?!”
One of the marines looked around confused, apparently not remembering whom he had been ordered to take orders from. “Who said that?”
Caius uncloaked, storming up the hill to get up close and personal with the marines. “You idiots almost killed me, and blew away what might have been a valuable live specimen.” He wiped the dust of his armor, growling. “Go back to base and report in. Tell HQ I’m bringing them an early Christmas present.”
* *
“Beauti-damned-ful. This is the kind of breakthrough we’ve been waiting for.” Creed said, circling the body on the operating table. “What the hell is it?”
“We’re not sure what it is, but we’re pretty sure that wherever it came from, it’s not natural.”
“Good, it’s a start. Dissect it, douse it in water, make it dance, I don’t care how but I want to know everything about this thing by 0830 hours tomorrow morning. And once you finish that, start on toxins, see if we can make some sort of…” Creed looked at the creature quizzically. “Some sort of bug spray.”
“Yessir.” The base’s lead researcher could barely control his delight and excitement. A new species! This commander was known for giving his scientists some space to do things, as long as they were handled professionally. Which, of course, meant that there was a bevy of tests he could run.
“Good luck. It’s good to know I have such a competent science officer in this place.”
“Thank you sir.”
* *
“Wirehead, send in Caius.”
“Yes sir.” The secretary’s voice could be heard outside the door to his office, telling Caius to go in.
Caius entered, moving slowly. All he could see of the Magistrate was the top of his head, his brown hair falling just in front of his face as he scanned the papers on his desk.
“Sit down Caius.” Creed said, gesturing toward a chair.
“Yes sir.” Caius said, staring at his commander as he turned his head upwards. Creed, the only part of the commander’s name Caius knew, didn’t look like he had been a grunt at all. Unsurprisingly, he looked just like all the other tacticians he had seen in his life. Square jaw, unshaven scruff around his face, deep-set brown eyes, and unkempt hair. Somehow Caius saw the new Magistrate as a music star, not a leader of a colony.
“Why,” Creed said, looking at Caius. “Did we not get a single one of the creatures alive?”
“Well sir, the marines…”
“Were under your direct control.”
“Yes, but they aren’t the most disciplined soldiers in the Confederacy…”
“I have taken note of that, yes. Who is the Drill Sergeant here?”
Caius shrugged sheepishly. “We call him Sarge.” He said, not really recalling the DS ever telling them his name.
“Wirehead,” Creed said into the air. “Who is the Drill Sergeant here?”
“Harvey Roberts. Brief tour of duty during the end of the guild wars and participated in the defense of Tarsonis on three separate occasions. No medals for extraordinary service.” The reply came so quickly it almost scared Caius.
“So Sergeant Roberts doesn’t make the men train hard enough?”
“Huh? Lord no sir. He treats us like pack animals with guns. I remember the oath he forced us to chant during our first days here. ‘This is my gun, it’s name is Rosie. Without me, it is useless. Without it, I am useless.’”
“Then why are the men so undisciplined? They should have less free will than Wirehead out there.”
“I don’t know sir.”
“Wirehead, find me Sergeant Roberts and bring him here. Now.”
“I already had him summoned sir.” The disembodied voice replied.
Within moments, Sergeant Roberts was walking into the room, trembling with anger. He seemed about to open his mouth and let loose when he saw Creed, and stopped dead in his tracks. Creed motioned Roberts to a seat, the Sergeant quickly taking it.
“Sergeant Roberts, I have called you here to address you about a topic very dear to me: discipline. Or in this case, lack thereof.” Creed said, folding his arms and leaning back into his chair. The statement seemed to snap the Sergeant out of his awed reverie.
“Sir, Caius might gripe off duty but I assure you…”
“I’m not talking about Caius or any of the other Ghosts, at least not for now. Caius’s performance was satisfactory. The marines on this little expedition however… they should follow the directions of their commander absolutely. Caius had not told them to fire, so they should not have fired unless their lives were in direct danger, for instance, if one of them had been killed. However, they did fire, and their disobedience cost us valuable field data.”
“Sir, these marines are hard to train…”
“WHAT?!?” Creed stood up, starting straight at Roberts. “Marines have implants in their heads that do half the friggin job for you! If you don’t give me a reason for that lie immediately I will cut your head off and stake it up as a warning to all other incompetent officers!”
Roberts’s face reddened at that, speaking in a barely suppressed yell. “If you had read your briefing fully on the previous Magistrate and his government Sir, you would know that we are no longer allowed to use certain training methods for marines and there are limits on the number of functions the chips can suppress.”
Creed’s jaw nearly hit the table at that. He struggled to speak. “How…”
“The previous government was civilian and the Magistrate bent to their orders often so…”
“Ah. Well then. This is angering, but understandable.” Creed sat back down, sighing. “Sergeant Roberts I confer upon you power to ignore those laws pertaining to limits on training until such time as I eliminate them. Requisition a construction squad to build you a better training field and facility. Plus, you may also requisition any staff you need for an academy. Remember, that if I call you in next time and it’s not to congratulate you then…”
“I understand sir.”
“Good. Then you are both dismissed.”
* *
“So what’d ‘God’ say anyway.”
Caius looked at Jesse, sighing. They had retired to the barracks, trying to get their requisite eight hours of sleep. The idea of gender-separated barracks had long ago been disposed of, since the chips in their heads kept the marines from freaking out, and the Ghosts could more than handle themselves.
“Nothing important for us, really.” He stretched out, messing the sheets that were made so crisp that morning. “But we will be getting some better marines soon.”
Jessie sighed, looking from the floor to him. “Think it’ll make any difference?”
“No. All I’m concerned about it all available Ghosts are supposed to be ready to be called for scout duty anytime that the higher-ups feel that there needs to be a local sweep. Damn, one SCV is destroyed and the entire base is on Red Alert.” Caius pushed his head further into the pillow.
Jessie sat up suddenly. “Since when? I don’t remember hearing about that!”
“Order came down at 1800. Marines on six-hour bunker shifts, two marine scouts search the outer perimeter, Ghosts to provide any tactical data needed. Which, of course, means that they put us out further than the marines, and say, ‘Look for anything suspicious.’”
“This is BS! We can’t do those kinds of shifts! Hell, we can barely cloak for 45 minutes! What the hell are we supposed to when the generators run out if the enemy attacks!?”
“Pray. Run. Die in a blaze of glory. As long as we can tell the base where they’re coming from first the brass really don’t care what happens to us. Nova Squad is coming in soon, remember?”
Jessie sighed heavily, flopping back down onto her bunk. “Well ain’t think some BS.” She looked at Caius. “At least you’ll be able to take the punishment.”
Caius was tall, and very well defined; the rigors of the Ghost program brought that to every recruit. His dark-brown eyes already seemed far to hollow for his age, his round face having too many scars for a man of 24.
“Me? You’ll be taking the punishment with me Jess.” He rolled over in his bunk. “Now get some sleep. If my feeling are right, it’s gonna be the last good night’s rest we get for a good long while.”
* *
“Anything?”
“Clear skies sir.”
Jessie swiveled her head, looking around for any signs of movement. The small Mesa on the north perimeter of the base was the second stop on their scout patrol. Only three more remained fortunately.
“Caius, you see anything?”
No answer.
“Caius?”
Her radio crackled to life suddenly, causing her to jump. “Still right next to you Jess, my generators will run out in a few seconds, don’t worry.” Caius’s voice came from nowhere.
“Scare me again like that and I’ll stick a canister where the sun doesn’t shine.” Jessie growled.
“Really? Out here? I had no idea you were so free with your sexuality Jess.” Caius joked.
She immediately wanted to take a swing at him, but you couldn’t hit something you couldn’t see. For that crack she would get him back however.
Looking back tot he wastelands, Jessie wondered why humanity had ever decided to stay in this hellhole. Mar Sara was a wasteland planet, plain and simple, and as far as she was concerned, the Protoss or whoever they were could do whatever they wanted to it, as long as she left first.
“Desolate, barren place, just like the people.” She lifted her visor, squinting into the sunlight.
“This is base here,” The radio chattered again. “We’re bringing in a few new marines for the bunkers. Zeta-1, Zeta-2, keep your eyes peeled out there, we don’t want to get caught napping.”
Caius turned away from the horizon to watch the figures scuttle out of and into the bunker, others hustling to their duties. The SCV attack had put everyone on edge, and the top brass had only let the troops know that there was a reason to be scared now. What it was, there was no word of. Quite simply, everything seemed to be going straight to hell. Aliens were on the planet, people still didn’t know if the Protoss were gonna show up suddenly and blow everyone to snot, and now the chance of attack seemed to be growing quite quickly.
“You think we should evacuate this place Jess?” Caius’s cloaking apparatus automatically began the shutdown/recharge phase of its operation, his body coming back into view.
She nodded. “Sure, I wouldn’t mind leaving this place behind, but there’s no definite threat yet Cai. Anyways, the civvies here make it sound like Mar Sara is so peaceful, and that everyone’s working to make the best of the colony, so why leave?”
Caius turned back to the horizon, putting his binoculars to his eyes and staring.
“I think our reason to leave is coming to say hello.”
Jessie stared at him, then at the horizon. She raised her own binoculars, staring off into the distance. Sure enough, a small cloud of dust could be seen on the horizon, and it was growing in size ever so slowly. There were no convoys out, and no civilians went that far out for a drive.
“Think it’s the rebels maybe?” Jessie began to feel the bottom drop out of her stomach. She had battled in training before, just never for real.
“Dunno, but I’ll put $100 bucks down that it’s not some foreign ambassador come to ask for peace.”
“Who’s out there right now?”
“Not nearly enough for whatever it is. Eight, maybe ten marines tops. It’s just a small patrol.”
Jessie turned back towards the looming base behind them, speaking into the mouthpiece of her radio headset. “Base, we’ve got a situation here…”
THE END