A stale breeze carried traces of lemon cleaner through the room, cutting through old coffee fumes. Not far off, machinery droned on. Leaning back, Peyton glanced around her as bodies settled into worn folding chairs.
Peyton shifted in place, eyes fixed on the display. Each slide advanced with careful timing under Lt. Harris’s control. Structures rose up in repeating blocks, the unfamiliar sight of a Prospera. Glowing marks appeared, some marked by military symbols tied to friendly IFF. Information layered itself silently over the image, not that she knew what any of the readout meant. Nothing marked the positions of terrorists from the CLF that supposedly controlled large swathes of the city. What stood out was what wasn’t there at all.
“…investigate the situation, gather intelligence and report back to the CIC” Harris said, his voice droning on beyond boredom. Peyton realized she hadn’t been listening to a single word he had said. “Engage only if necessary. Civilian casualties cannot happen, the schmucks over at the company already have enough of a stick up their ass about us being in their neck of the woods.”
Out loud Sgt. Morales let a few words slip. Peyton was too far to hear but sure it was something about how much he loathed the company. She looked his way for just a second. His face was blank in a way that made her uneasy.
A quiet rustle broke the stillness as a corporate executive entered the room, Peyton couldn’t remember his name but she vaguely had the idea that it started with a B. The corpo gave her a dirty glance before walking over to Lieutenant Harris and getting into an argument just quiet enough that the platoon couldn’t hear. But it was obvious from his body language that he was not pleased and Peyton had been around enough to know that it was probably her, the Corpos hated having people documenting their little sorties.
The corpo turned to face her and stared at her with a smirk, it was all she needed to know.
This wasn’t going to be a normal operation…
The red glow of overhead lighting blinked awake as the engines of the old but reliable UD-4 Cheyenne came alive. A jolt of movement sent everyone in the Platoon forward into their restraints as the dropship lurched down and suddenly fell, or flew, out of the hangar.
Under the two suns of the Vroscera system, the UD-4 thrummed softly as it dropped toward the surface, its rumble running through the metal hull and shaking loose hairs onto Peyton’s face. Cold glass met her shoulder as she shifted near the window and glanced down. Below, the Prospera looked like something a kid would build from lego blocks. In the center of the colony four large towering skyscrapers dwarfed the rest of the Prospera, which by comparison appeared somewhat small.
Her fingers bent slowly, pressing warmth against the chill of the glass. A knot sat low in her stomach. Half eagerness, half something harder to name. Before she knew it, they were descending upon a space port on the exterior of the Prospera. She could see the red glow of fires burning closer to the center alongside the occasional tracer round gone skyward.
Wind ripped through the spaceport as the ship’s ramp released a sharp gasp of air, sending discarded trash flying. Burnt fumes bit at Peyton’s nose, layered under the stale iron scent still stuck to her uniform from inside the dropship. Crouching low, Tanaka, one of the riflemen from second, squad studied the motion detector in his grip. A whisper came from him shortly after “No alerts”.
The platoon moved forward, moving slowly in tight order with their M41A Pulse Rifles at the ready. Bringing up the rear, Peyton drifted off pace, nervously aiming her M39 Submachine gun into the empty shattered windows of the spaceport terminal. Not far off, a ladder hung at a weird angle, its metal twisted like it had taken a head on hit by a large vehicle, none of which Peyton saw anywhere nearby.
Gunfire rattled in the distance, exchanged between what Peyton assumed was the local Colonial Guard and CLF insurgents. A knot built beneath her ribs, she felt something wasn’t right here but brushed it off, everyone was nervous.
A shrill noise sliced through the air, a sound like steel grinding on pavement. Peyton stopped still, slowly bringing the M39 up to bear. A chill crept up her back, her gut clenching tight. Something flickered at the edge of sight, gone before focus could catch it. Then, down from the roof above a shadow dropped hard and her pulse skyrocketed. Midway through its leap, it writhed like a fish out of water, joints folding where they should not. Stretching forward, the head caught the white glow of an overhead light. It was a sleek, black surface missing eyes. Peyton McCarthy screamed in terror.
Tanaka shot from the hip without aiming. His shots went wild across the side of the building, bright sparks filled Peyton’s vision, destroying whatever natural night vision she had accrued from being in the dark. Figures lunged once more, slicing through the poor rifleman’s helmet, gore covered the concrete pavement.
Peyton did not wait, she tore off in the direction they had come. From what little she could hear over her own heartbeat, it sounded like the platoon was following behind. Without any past moment to compare it to, confusion grew. Human fights never looked like this before. Not one shape wore a uniform. None matched the creatures she was taught about during training.
This was not how things were supposed to go…
Suddenly, Morales yelled, yanking her hard toward a control panel alongside one of the smartgunners from second squad. Behind them was nothing but screams, the distinct sound of pulse rifle fire and the crunching sound of bone. Before Peyton could think any further, she tripped over the two other marines and all three were sent tumbling through the now opened doorway and into a flight controller’s office. Her M39 would have gone flying if it wasn’t for the sling that tethered it to her armor, she landed on it with a painful thud.
The trio scrambled to their feet, the smartgunner lighting up the doorway with a hail of gunfire. Morales scrambled to the control panel, slamming the door shut under the covering fire of the smartgun. Peyton’s brain begged her to flee further into the building, but Morales grabbed her by the webbing as he slowly tapped his headset as a transmission came through. McCarthy could only hear what vaguely sounded like the corpo they had encountered earlier arguing with the Lieutenant, followed by a string of curses from Morales.
A hush settled inside the control room. Peyton glanced to the smartgunner still covering the door, he breathed in short bursts, he had clearly been clipped by one of those things and was bleeding from a leg wound.
Morales touched his headset again “Where the hell is our evac? Those things fucking tore the platoon apart! They are all fucking dead lieutenant we have to get out of here!” He screamed. Peyton was startled, she had never seen anyone in the Corps this rattled, let alone a veteran sergeant who had served on Mars.
Before she had time to truly comprehend the situation they were in, the retort of a large caliber gun filled the silence. An explosion racked the building, almost sending the trio to the floor as they grabbed onto desks and filing cabinets to prevent their fall. More gunfire followed after, followed by inhuman screeches. Suddenly, the door that they had entered disintegrated into a molten green mass as the upper half of one of those things was sent careening through and landing squarely on an expensive mahogany desk at the back of the room.
The sounds of a dropship filled their ears and it was the only cue that the trio needed. The group took off running towards the landing dropship, dodging the incoming volley of missiles and explosive tipped 20mm rounds that ripped apart more of those horrible creatures on their toes. It felt like ages, but Peyton finally made the ramp and jumped aboard, clambering to her hands and knees as the dropship suddenly lurched skyward. The distinctive sound of the smartgunners screams echoing in her mind even after the ramp had closed.
Regardless, she was alive…
High above the mess in his office, Major Vale scrolled through the files without blinking. Each page of a carefully written article that Peyton had spent the latter part of the last two days writing was now stamped with the big red words “CLASSIFIED”. His words came smooth and practiced, Peyton didn’t doubt he was reciting orders from some corpo shill. “Operation Glowing Trident is classified. No materials are to be released except those approved by the Company. This is their neck of the woods after all…”
Later that day Peyton sat at her desk, staring at two separate files. Not just one version but two very different ones sat on her desk. The first stuck close to what the Company wanted. It was all fabricated nonsense about an engagement with insurgents and a tragic loss of life among her Platoon due to an improvised explosive device. It didn’t even list the names of her poor comrades who had given their lives, nor the heroics of the honored fallen. The second file carried something else entirely. This one talked of horror, indescribable monsters and a conspiracy about the company. She would never tell anyone that she wrote it, let alone that it even existed. Truth lived in the shadows now because quiet had become easier than speaking.
She placed the lighter to the file and murmured, “Maybe it’s better to forget…”
Google docs version in case you want it for some reason. Prospera Blues - Google Docs