Sigma 8

The only human outpost on the furthest edge of the new frontier. The Nevarian Cluster was a sparsely populated solar system that few ever ventured out beyond. Earth Core United called it: Our greatest hope for a new world to colonize. Sure it was. Of course, all that changed when we discovered alien life twenty-five years later, and made a mess of that monumental moment. The Sigma 8 massacre was the biggest ‘oops’ in its whole history.

Not only did nobody bother to check to see if the planet was already occupied, as the human colonists arrived in droves, they also failed to inform them all that they were on their own for almost two years; Satellite networks weren’t in place, supply runs hadn’t been scheduled for that sector yet, and they didn’t even send enough military forces to safeguard the planet.

Once they got settled, it was hard to stop the wheels in motion. The human population growth continued to escalate as the all lived and worked, mining the world of its abundant resources. That’s when the alien inhabitants made their presence known to the stupid fuckers, and by then it was far too late to say, “Oh, sorry about that, guess we’ll leave now.”

The slaughter on both sides began. One hundred and fifty colonists out of one point five thousand survived as they slowly withdrew from Sigma 8. But if you think the ECU was about to let those aliens assholes get off lightly, and allow them to have their world back, you’d be dead wrong. Earth wasn’t about to admit defeat, and they wanted that planet something fierce, can’t say why, exactly. Probably because of the rare metals, minerals and other discoveries they made. And so the battle ensued.

Of course, that was before my time. I was only a glint in someone’s eye when it actually occurred. Don’t know whose eye it was, mind you. The sperm donor and birthing partner abandoned me on the streets of New London on Mars. I was found by a corrupt cop that like to sell kids as a means to feed his drug and gambling habit. Needless to say, he didn’t bother (or care) to check their backgrounds. My adoptive assholes did every despicable thing you can imagine to a small child like me; They lent me to perverted sickos, had me become a drug runner between the martian cities, and robbed oxygen shipments for the local gangs. Probably explains my life, if you could call it that, just another victim of society… or whatever.

That’s how I got into the situation I find myself in now. They nailed me on so many charges, I almost laughed, the various crimes read like a shopping list of things one would have crossed off on their ‘to-do’ list. Instant convictions were the going theme for this current governing body. And with so many happening of late, there was only one solution to deal with it––give them to the military.

“The best battles are won by those that have nothing to lose. Those that hold back, or show any sign of fear, are the first to die.”

That’s the going mantra of Earth Core United marines unit division; Those guys drilled the phrase into our heads over and over. I think it’s true... to a point. I think wars are only ever won by those that consider themselves dead already. They loved barking it at us. Especially when we were loaded into the prisoner space carriers and shipped out to that doomed world of Sigma 8. Hundreds of convicted men and women sent to the frontlines to join the ongoing battle, to become soldiers for the colony, and to compensate our victim’s lives by serving the ‘greater good’ of humanity.

I’m not really one for history, never cared to learn about it, but I’ve been told that the ECU has had many conflicts over the course of their rule; Mostly dealing with greedy giant corporations, colonies looking to break away and even that time of the clones, I think; Like I said, not really up in all the history of it.

But, I tell ya... Humanity. It seems like we can’t keep our own shit together for five minutes. Course I’m one to talk. A prisoner on his way to certain death; I’d get into the details, but this circle jerk of pity has some others in it as well; We’re talking about pedophiles, serial killers, psychopaths and every sickening depraved criminal you wouldn’t want to meet in your normal life.

Instead of recruiting and sending brave souls willing to lay down their lives on behalf of Earth, for freedom and honor... they send in us. Frontline fodder with no choice and no morals whatsoever. I kinda laugh about it. We are the hope of humanity, the soldiers risking our lives for every man, woman or child. Tell me that’s not fucked up, right?

So here we all sit; a large group of inhuman scum strapped on either side of the space transport, mounted to the wall like animal trophies. Our temporary overseer, a drill sergeant who loves his job a bit too much, screams orders at us and about what’s going to happen when we arrive.

“Listen up, you scum wads!” He said, eyeballing all of us with those hate filled peepers of his. “In about fifteen minutes, this ship will unload you lot onto the surface of the planet amidst a hellfire of enemy fire and carnage the likes you’ve ever seen....”

“Sounds yummy, Sarge.” One prisoner playfully shouted back.

Sargent Harland Trykes was a no-nonsense, gritty, ‘by the book’ fully pumped up black dude; Bald as a baby’s behind, face like a carved up ham, and munching on a giant old Earth-style cigar sticking out of his mouth. Yeah, he was a walking, talking military cliché. He probably enjoyed the comparison and practiced in the mirror daily.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Shut your pussy lips from flapping, Ace!” The sarge pointed in his direction. “Save that sweet talk for the enemy on the ground and spare me having to ditch a festering maggot like you into deep space!”

Ace was a six foot-four white guy, in his mid-thirties, charged with one hundred and five murders over ten colonies. Death was his bread and butter. The bright smile he gave back to the gruff Sargent tended to put a shiver through most of our spines. That fucking shit was as cold as they come.

“Sir?” I asked, raising my hand. “Got a question for ya.”

“What is it, Cooper?”

“About us being drafted,” I said with false concern. “What… uh… what exactly are we to do?”

Probably shouldn’t have giggled after asking it. Harland looked like he was serious about chucking us out the door while en route. I would have liked him to try, just to see if he really could over power me. I already noted where his side arm was, how long it would take me to unlock it from the holster and fire a shot to his head.

I kept the vision of it in my mind. Oh, how it played out so well in there. Would he unlock me to get the chance? Nah! Not likely… Guess I’ll just have to enjoy the thought is all. I wonder what would happen if I throw out another question at him? So I did.

“I mean, since we didn’t have training, how are we supposed to know how to fight? We’re all so innocent, right?”

“I think you get the gist of it, son. But, I’m so glad you asked, anyway.” The Sarge grinned.

He took out a small clear tablet from his pocket and tapped the buttons appearing on the translucent screen. A sudden buzz occurred in the backs of our skulls, some found it arousing, while the rest (like me) were clutching our heads from the sudden jolt.

“Since all you ‘volunteers’ are fitted with the latest in prison brain implant technology,” He grinned at me again. “We can now upload all necessary information, combat tactics, and required learning for all military services needed.”

He tapped the button again. A wave of instant knowledge rushed into my cerebral cortex and I suddenly knew how to take out an enemy combatant with only five moves. I grew a smile myself and laughed with sheer joy.

“Oh, man… this is so awesome!”

Everyone agreed. It’s nice to give such hardened killers extra knowledge of how to murder others with less hassle. Some got a bit too excited by it, trying to whack-off on the imagery. Luckily, for the Sarge, they were too restrained for that pleasure. The cat-calls and howls coming from the group only made him mad. He shouted at us to calm down and tapped the button again.

This time he gave us a boost of drugs. Ones that lowered our excitement and made us a bit more docile. It was a fuckin’ good high, man. Felt almost as good when I repeatedly plunged my knife into my ex-boss seventeen times. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that to you. I was so wrapped up in telling you about this little adventure that I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Grant Cooper, the unstable son of a bitch that murdered the manager of Earth Core United’s Omicron Shipyard.

Why you may ask? Well, I haven’t got a real reason, other than he was a fuckin’ asshole. Maybe he just rubbed me the wrong way too many times. But I don’t have any regrets, if that’s what you’re hoping to know. Heck, I’ve done it before, each person to get on my bad side just seemed to deserve to die.

It didn’t matter the creed or gender, ya piss me off? Then you're most definitely going down. Oh, yeah… them days was fun. I preferred knifing them when the opportunity came, but I think I used any type of weapon available to get the job done. Ah, well… enough about my fond memories. Back to the Sarge yelling at us. He’s definitely earning a spot in my ‘to-kill’ book.

“Settle down!” He hollered. Those bulging muscles nearly tore out of his tight fitting military uniform. The sweat was starting to show through those dark grey-green colours. “You’ll get your chance soon enough, convicts. Look at you. What a bunch of sorry-ass losers you all are, no honour amongst the lot of ya.”

Honour? Does he understand who we all are? That brought yet another bout of laughter from all of us, well, the ones that didn’t care. I mean, ya got the newbie killers who might have taken one life or two. Then there're the pedophiles (the sorry sacks of shit) who just sit quiet and nervous. And, of course, the hardened psychotic nut jobs who just ramble on about slicing up people and gnawing on their flesh. Quite the fun bunch.

“Sarge,” I finally spoke, my laughter breaking to ask yet another question. “Will you be the one taking us in hand down there? Cause, I sure will miss you.”

“Fuck you!” He shouted back at me. “I wouldn’t waste my time to even teach you how to piss. Once we’re in orbit of the planet, you’ll be dropped into the heat of battle. I’ll be happily heading back home and washing my hands of all this. So, best learn all you can from those on the surface… that is,” He grinned at me, a sarcastic, evil looking one at that. “If you even survive the first night.”

His sudden burst of laughter caused the others to stop and note just how much he enjoyed dishing out that bit of information. I dare say, a slight chill ran down my spine for a second… just a second mind you. He tapped a few more buttons and our mind-enhancers fed us more of the mission; We instantly knew of the locations, the number of our assigned platoons, and the chain of command. Instant soldiers, each one of us.

The Sarge gave one last look, heading to the door that led into the main ship area, and slapped the communicator button on the keypad beside it.

“Sargent Harland Trykes,” He hollered into it. “Squad drop box is a go…”

“Affirmative,” a slightly bored male voice answered back. “Coming up to the planet, five minutes to drop.”

“Rodger that…” He grinned while turning to look at me and continued to smile. The door opened up, and he stepped in, turning briefly to shout his final words. “Send in the dead!”

A phrase many of us heard at the end of all of our trials. The sentencing motto used by judges to formally announce where you were going. Because if you were charged as a killer; a danger to society due to malicious or overtly violent (sexual, serial, or repeat offending predator), then you were sent to the frontlines and considered dead to all.

“I think he’s gonna miss us.” I said sarcastically. That drew a lot of chuckles from those that found it amusing. Others remained quiet, like before, and awaited the long drop. I started to calmly whistle to the tune of Born To Raise Hell by Motorhead, those that were familiar with the old classic joined in as best they could.

Sigma 8, here we come.