Eric Spears

Eric Spears appeared in the VR room. Lieutenant Bishop seemed to prefer VR briefing rooms. The walls were soft blue like most conference rooms. On the wall behind the podium were the scores from the last trials. Eric ranked third from the top. In a platoon of twenty that put him in the top fifteen percent. His uncle always told him second place was face down in the mud, and sometimes so was first. Third place didn’t even rate a mention in the Colonel’s book.

Commandos were starting to appear in the room, blinking in like ghosts that would appear and then solidify. Everyone’s physical body was in the Platoon Operations center. Armed and armored. Currently, third platoon, Charlie Company of first battalion, fourteenth regiment was stationed on Wolf Moon station. Named after the battle of Wolf Moon during the AI wars several centuries before. Republic Marines had fought their way into the AI control center and shut it down after a week of nasty, brutal fighting that had inflicted over seventy percent casualties on the Marines. Back then they hadn’t used avatars, it had been Marines in battle armor fighting and dying to secure every inch of rock on that moon.

Top place was Commando O. Doyle, and second place was Commando C. Dawson. They consistently got the top two position. Frequently swapping with each other.

“Third place,” Commando Higgins said behind Eric. A glance at the board showed Higgins was number four, followed by Hansen. The three of them usually competed for third place.

“Fourth isn’t bad,” Eric said turning to the tall lanky commando. Hansen was from one of the stations that orbited Silva, low gravity and his tall birdlike shape wasn’t typical of Republic citizens. Despite the low gravity life he had managed to toughen up enough to become a Marine and that was all that mattered.

Higgins snorted. He had the same opinion as Eric of anything less than first.

“How did you manage that malarky?” Ramiro Hansen asked. Where Higgins was tall and thin, Hansen was short and stocky.

“Accuracy,” Eric said.

Hansen grunted and scowled. Besides the main score other statistics showed up. Level of accuracy, avatars lost, enemy killed, time completed, number of times the Marine had lost the avatar they had been riding, and other statistics.

Eric usually had a high accuracy, maybe not as high as Doyle’s but it was usually higher than Dawson’s.

“Your completion time is what killed you,” Hansen said. “You are too slow. Almost beat Dawson, you are just slow.”

Eric shrugged.

Doyles appeared and smiled at Dawson. Doyles was a handsome well mannered commando who had just passed his fifteen year mark. Kindly eyes and a more civilian style of short haircut, one could almost mistake him for a civilian.

“Next time?” he said to Dawson.

Dawson was a tall, brawny woman who liked to scowl a lot, but her voice and attitude never seemed to match her scowl.

Dawson’s eyes flickered over the board.

“You got lucky,” Dawson said.

“Spears is a better shot,” Doyles said with a nod to Eric. “If you aren’t careful he will start taking second more consistently.”

I wish, Eric thought.

“Attention on deck,” the station AI announced. Everyone stood up at attention as Lieutenant Bishop appeared.

The Lieutenant was a bullheaded, serious man. About the same height as Eric, he was stockier and could be amiable enough, it only seemed he was pleasant around other officers.

“At ease,” the Lieutenant said. “Sit.”

Everyone sat down, their eyes and ears focused on the Lieutenant.

Glancing at the board behind him he turned back to the Marines.

“You know your scores. Kudo’s to Doyles,” Wesley said. “He wins these trials and gets a ninety-six.”

Which meant he got four days off. Enough time to go down to Everett and leave the vicinity of the space port for a day or two.

“The next two weeks will be individual certification time,” Wesley continued. “Let you work toward certification in various skills or otherwise improve your rankings. Battalion is going to be working on another set of trials. We got some more data on Union of Enlightenment operations and will be incorporating that, so expect some changes. Probably won’t be much though.”

Pausing and looking around the Lieutenant scowled.

“Despite the fact we have just been certified as a deployable company,” the Lieutenant said. “The Commandant of the Marine Corps is asking for volunteers for a deep space mission. There are billets for approximately forty Marines that are open and the Commandant wants volunteers. It will be a five year mission, possibly expanded to ten year, so you will have to re-enlist. The forty year cap will be waived for those that qualify, but it will require a ten year re-enlistment. There may also be some cadre promotion slots.”

Eric understood the Lieutenant’s scowl. Third platoon was at full strength. Anybody that volunteered and was selected would reduce the platoon’s strength, which might render the platoon undeployable and it was deployments that made or broke an officer’s career.

“Requirements to volunteer must be met by the end of the month when selections will be made,” Wesley said. “More information will be e-mailed to you. If you want to volunteer a link will be provided.”

The lieutenant looked around.

“Good luck,” the lieutenant said but even Eric could tell the Lieutenant didn’t mean it. “Dismissed.”

The station AI called the room to attention and the Lieutenant walked out. One of those odd traditions. Walking out of a VR was one of those pointless gestures of tradition.

When the Lieutenant was gone Higgins poked Eric with his elbow.

“You going to volunteer?” Higgins asked.

“Yes,” Eric said. When his uncle made a suggestion, it wasn’t really a suggestion, it was an order politely phrased as a suggestion.

“How are you doing on certifications?” Higgins asked.

Eric winced as he looked over the link with the requirements.

“I have the base certifications,” Eric said with trepidation. “But I need to improve my rankings in drone fighters. I just have the bare minimum for FSF.”

FSF was Fleet Security Force where Marines were assigned to duty aboard Republic capital ships, providing security and additional drone jocks for Fleet forces. In many ways the Marines acted as both shipboard Marines and additional fighter pilots for the ship’s drone squadrons. Eric remembered his time aboard the LRS Goshhawk and LRS Falcon, both battle cruisers. It had been rare that Marines had been used as drone jocks. The fleet liked to keep their dedicated drone jocks busy and usually deployed their squadrons as constellations around their spacers instead of using Marines to increase the flexibility and capability of their squadrons.

Higgins probably had the requirements up on his internal display also.

“Wow,” Higgins said. “They want a rank five certification? They must really plan on using Marines for fighter jocks.”

“Nearly everything is rank five,” Eric said. The Leonis Marine Corps graded all certifications by skill demonstrated. Rated like video games, combined with written and hands on exams, Marines had to demonstrate certain levels of proficiency by achieving certain scores in the trials. A Marine could try multiple times to improve their ranking but not everyone had the aptitude or desire to rank highly in all the several hundred certifications available. Ten was generally the highest rank. A one or two was usually considered minimal proficiency. Most of Eric’s certifications were above five. The ones he cared about at any rate.

“That all you need?” Higgins asked.

“Logistics,” Eric said with a wince. “Need to improve my ranking on logistics. I kinda stopped at four. That stuff is boring. How about yourself?”

“Dude,” Higgins said. “I’m not going to try. That would be too much work, and I would rather not reenlist for another ten years. I’m fine right where I am in the Fleet Marine Force.”

Eric shrugged.

“It says you can get a waiver,” Higgins said. “Maybe you could get a waiver for drone ops?”

Eric shook his head.

“A waiver would just keep me low on the list,” Eric said. “Nope. I think I can meet requirements as is.”

“What about your uncle or granddad?” Higgins asked. “They might have some pull.”

“You don’t know them,” Eric said. “Help is the last thing they will provide. They don’t want slackers or nepotism to pollute their beloved Marine Corps and they might go out of their way to make sure I work harder. Granddad is a real stickler and opposed to nepotism as much as he is opposed to that hippy movement demanding we destroy our weapons and surrender to our enemies.”

“You might rethink that,” Hansen said. “That mission is probably for something like the Reaper mission. Why would you volunteer for that garbage? You know there is a war on right? It will be dangerous enough here, but that mission will be going deep into UE territory. Won’t just be drone and avatar operations. If the UE’s corner you they will destroy your ship, with you on it. I don’t think the Reaper’s chances are all that good.”

“You think it will be any safer here?” Eric asked.

“Damn straight,” Hansen said. “Here in the Leonis system is where our strength is. The UE’s would have to be crazy to challenge us here. On a ship like the Reaper you will always be outnumbered, outgunned and one little mistake? We won’t even know what happened to you for years, if ever. Your ship could get so severely damaged you could die out there in deep space, without any help. That is a bad way to die man.”

Eric shrugged. There would be no convincing Hansen once he got his mind set on something.

“It would be glorious though,” Higgins said. “You wouldn’t have to pay for your drinks ever again.”

It was hard to imagine Colonel Mike Spears walking into a bar, being noticed and letting people buy him drinks. The Colonel was a well known hero, but he also had a problem with Han assassins that might still be gunning for him. The war with the Han might be over but that didn’t mean the Han didn’t hold a grudge.

“Well good luck to you,” Higgins said. “You are a good Marine.”

“Yea,” Hansen said. “Good luck. You need help with anything let me know. I have a rank eight in drone fighter operations.”

“Really?” Eric asked, surprised.

Hansen looked embarrassed.

“Yea,” Hansen said. “As a kid I played a lot of space sim games. Always planned on joining fleet until I found out what sissies they are.”

“We are going out to the Jimmy-Junga after duty,” Higgins said. “See if we can pick up some Fleet chicks. Wanna come?”

Eric shook his head. Jimmy-Junga was some pop-rap bar on station that was usually full of horny Marines and spacers looking to hook up. Eric couldn’t imagine a place he would feel more awkward and out of place.

“No thanks,” Eric said, somewhat relieved he had a decent excuse. “I need to work on my rankings.”

“You need help let me know,” Hansen said.

“Will do,” Eric said. It had been several years since he had gone through the rankings. He would have to see how badly his skills had deteriorated.

Higgins and Hansen both faded out as they unlinked.