The sound of several hundred marines breaking the silence with a mixture of whispers, groans, and exclamations of awe swept over the room. The shift manager allowed the moment to settle in, and then continued.
“The planet designated UK1326 and the two dying suns around which it orbits prevent the planet from having any discernible night or day cycle. It exists in a perpetual half-light, which when combined with the frequent and thick cloud cover creates an environment poorly suited to effective probe reconnaissance missions beyond broad stroke observation.” The shift manager activated another screen to reveal a multi-dimensional terrain map populated with various figures that Samuel took to indicate foot soldiers.
“Reapers are designated as militarized salvage operators. We do not have the sheer number of soldiers required to responsibly seize a city sized objective. However, given the unknown nature of the city and its apparent lack of a living population, there is no avenue within corporate protocol to requisition the use of elite troopers, and not enough revenue assurances to justify the presence of mercenary contractors.”
“Oh man, is she going to say what I think she’s going to say?” asked Ben as he leaned over to whisper to Samuel, who had still not gotten fully used his friend’s now completely digitized voice.
“I have a bad feeling that she is, poor bastards” grumbled Samuel as he gripped the sides of his seat, having realized who all of the figures were supposed to represent. “This mission is getting spookier by the second.”
“As some of you might have guessed, Grotto has authorized the founding of Penal Legion 223 for this mission.
A full legion of five thousand convicts from Gulag 223 completed their training while we were in transit to the mission site and they will be our vanguard.” As she spoke, the shift manager pressed an activation key to animate the figures, who moved through a monochrome cityscape in large groups.
“Monitored and commanded by their Line Wardens, the legionnaires will make planetfall at eight different sites and converge upon the city. Though our intelligence on the exact size of the necropolis is incomplete, we estimate by the architectural borders that the legion will be able to sweep and clear the target within sixteen hours of planetfall. Naturally, if resistance is met that timeline could be altered. Once the penal legion has seized and secured the city, Reaper detachments will make planetfall and begin exploration and salvage operations.”
The shift manager shut down the screens and looked sternly at the marines.
“This Reaper cadre to which you now belong has been assembled from a multitude of fleets and though you may not know the marine on either side of you, be keenly aware that each of you are here because of your distinguished service records, proven loyalty to Grotto interests, and your desire to achieve success.
The bonus pay you are receiving represents the degree of trust placed in you by Grotto Corporation. On the balance sheet, that pay is tallied as an investment in this mission; though I hope you understand that it is also an investment in you. This necropolis could be the greatest salvage in Reaper history, and you are here to share in that victory. Think on this as you prepare.
We reach UK1326 in eighteen hours. Squad leaders will receive updated mission specs and are to report to the penal observatory upon arrival. Thank you and good luck.”
“Does she really expect us to buy into all that loyalty gibberish? The fact that our hazard wages and paying completion bonuses still don’t equal the cost of mercs really show you how low we are on the wage scale,” Ben scoffed quietly as he and Samuel left the briefing auditorium. “I’m in it for the money, plain and simple, so don’t mess with my morale by rubbing it in my face just how cheap I am, regardless of what’s good for the Bottom Line.”
“Good,” Samuel replied. “Because that’s all that matters to Grotto too; the Bottom Line. As long as we treat the company the same way it treats us, well, that seems like the closest thing to empowered equality that we’re going to get,” Samuel snorted. “Everyone is here for the money, that’s why you and I are here, heck that’s why every marine from Tango Platoon showed up for this one. Well, except Boss Aiken, from what I heard he got promoted into Command. It just eats at me that management feels compelled to spin it like we’re doing something noble.”
“That’s corporate culture for you, man,” Ben laughed as he and Samuel headed back to the barracks for much needed sleep. “Didn’t that merc, Imago, tell you something about how the attachment of ideology to soldiering is just a way for the company to shave off some wages?”
“Pretty much,” agreed Samuel before pausing in the corridor to look at Ben. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about what he said actually. What it might be like to fight for ourselves, you know pick our own missions, get paid prime wages.”
“Those dropsuits are expensive brother, and besides, you gotta pay off that spine before you can even start to save up the expatriation fee,” Ben said as clapping Samuel on the shoulder while they continued towards the barracks, “Let’s do the job, get paid, and take this thing a day at a time. Just think about it, if that city is as full of loot at Grotto thinks we could be sitting out here on an easy salvage job for years. Remember how long we had on the space hulk? Yeah the fighting part was a real beast, but the six months of no-combat salvage? That was the easiest money we’ve ever made. A duty tour on this rock and you’ll be able to expatriate, get your family off that station, and move somewhere with sunlight and fresh air, maybe some trees.”
“You are a relentless optimist, Ben Takeda,” laughed Samuel as he slid open the door of his rack, “Get some rest and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Copy that, Boss,” nodded Ben, just a slight shift in his tone as he addressed Samuel by his new rank. He continued down the corridor to his bunk, stopping long enough to playfully fistfight Harold as the two men crossed paths.
Samuel closed the door to his rack and sat down on the edge of his thin mattress. He felt as if he had a lead weight in his gut, and had been a soldier long enough to know that it was fear. Samuel had faced fear over and over in his time as a Reaper, and it had become a familiar companion.
There was something wrong about the planet they were about to reach. Something in the maps that tugged at the back of his mind, almost as if his reaction was instinctual; a threat from a half-remembered dream. No city stood empty without reason, and if Grotto was bringing five thousand convict soldiers to sweep the city then there was something management wasn’t telling them.
Samuel was reminded of the turbine station back on Tetra Prime, the pointless fight with the mech-warrior that had cost him his spine and his freedom. He had begun to doubt himself and his decisions, and suddenly found himself angry with Sura for how confident she was in him, how sure she was that he could succeed, or even return to them before the credits ran out.
Sura and Orion were off Baen 6 and out of Grotto, but how long could they wait for him on that station? How long would his son have to live in the cramped compartments and corridors? At least on Baen 6 the hab-block unit had been big enough for the three of them, and there were plazas and open spaces to visit, even if they all rested in the shadow of Grotto overculture. On the orbital station Sura and Orion were sharing a single room, and there were few places the boy could go to play or run.
Samuel knew that if he survived this job he’d be able to set them up somewhere planetside on a world worth living on, and it saddened him to know that even then he would still be trapped in Grotto’s rigged financial system. He took out his data pad and ran the numbers again, as if somehow they would be different the hundredth time he calculated them.