So in between finalizing “Zombie in the Basement” for sale and writing “Enduring Armageddon” I’ve also decided to put together a short story for potential submission to an anthology at some point. Like all the posts on this blog, it is totally UNEDITED and is simply a copy of what I’ve initially put on paper. Here’s the first part:
I am so exhausted. This was our fourteenth combat jump in nine months. The manufacturer’s warranty on our suits was voided if they were used for more than sixteen hours in a one month timeframe. The bleed-over was too problematic and the symbiote could take over the human body. It was a legal nightmare that the company didn’t want to deal with, so by putting it into writing, they were free from the liability.
My name is Corporal Evan Segewick. I’m a non-commissioned officer in the Interplanetary Marine Corps. Since I’m a lowly corporal, it means I’m supposed to be the hardest asshole on the squad. Some days I am, some days I’m not. The IMC retained the old United States Marine Corps rank structure since the good ‘ole U.S. of A. won the global war back on Earth. Shortly after that nut-roll, we’d begun to truly explore space and interact with other space-faring races.
About forty-five years ago, the human race went for broke and sent an entire fleet of ships into the stars. The Earth’s leadership thought that the fleet would spend decades in space before they came to anything even remotely resembling a hospitable planet. They found it in less than five.
The Association decided to settle the planet, a little rock that they dubbed Terravista, and within a few years, they’d populated the place with over a million colonists. Then the Revaurians found us. They were in the infancy of their space-faring days as well, but they wanted to settle on Terravista just as badly as we desired to offload our exploding population there.
That was twenty years ago. Since then, the humans and Revaurians have been in a state of constant warfare. Our attempts at making peace have ended badly every time. So all that’s left for us to do is fight. Our large ships don’t have all the science fiction weaponry that used to be described in literature. That stuff wouldn’t work in the vacuum of space. The only real power is the human being within a sym-suit, the individual Marine.
One on one, we kick a Revaurian’s ass every time. Hell, even three on one, but then the odds start to stack against us. Those slimy fuckers love to use mass attacks and it seems like they have an inexhaustible supply of personnel. Fleet intelligence can only guess at the true number of Revaurians since we still don’t have any clue where their homeworld is or even if they’re from our galaxy; we’ve never gotten that far into a dialogue with them.
The shock suppressors kick in and rattle my teeth uncontrollably inside my sym-suit. I hate the drop. Every time we fire towards the surface of whatever rock that the Fleet and Association has decided to fight over, I get sick to my stomach. The symbiotic suit that feeds off of our bodies is supposed to suppress the sickness, but I think the company just added that line of bullshit into the manual to ease the Association’s minds when they merged a human being with a laboratory-enhanced super bug.
The sym-suit was developed early on in our battle with the Revaurians. Fleet had captured a lot of them to experiment on and see what made them tick. Somehow, they’d discovered that they could be segmented and those pieces would retain certain characteristics. It was all boring scientific stuff, but the way they explained it to us in boot camp was to think of a Revaurian like an earthworm. Cut one in half and now you just had two to deal with. Those segmented pieces were the key to the sym-suit’s abilities, of course, you had to ensure the brain was destroyed in the original Revaurian or else they’d just end up taking over the Marine in the suit and then bad shit happened.