3000: A War of Galactic Proportions Pro.

Prologue



         James stared out at the field of grass. Artificial, sure, but it was once beautiful. Now it was a battlefield for a war that shouldn’t have ever started.

         It was now soaked in the blood and liquefied ammunition of countless soldiers who had all lost their lives because of a silly radio transmission. At least, that’s what James was told when he was activated for the first time. He had no idea how massive this conflict’s history truly was, and this was a war that had only been going on for less than a year.

         James shook his head, a mechanical clicking sound from the noise of metal rubbing across metal. ‘He’ was not mundane like the rest of the infantry that had fought here and in many other battles since the war had begun. He was a Standard Ability Machine B-Series, Model B-976; A ‘robot’ in modern day terms.

         Why then, he thought, do I ‘feel’ sympathy towards the men who died here? I should not feel at all. I am nothing more than a machine.

         He shook his head again, casting away the thought. He should ‘feel’ good about this scene. He and the others had successfully fended off the raiders that had invaded the S.A.S.A headquarters in yet another futile attempt to win the war. If they had been true tacticians, they would not have continued this endless assault on their enemy’s strongest, most reinforced command post on the planet.

         James did have to give them credit, however. They were getting smarter in the placement of their troops. This battle, for example, S.A.S.A, or Spatial Aeronautics and Space Administration, had not expected an attack from multiple directions, and that the Mars Marauders had actually intended to pull the defense away from the fort and out into the wastelands in order to pick them off one at a time.

         Still lost in thought, James felt a cold, blistered hand make contact with the brown artificial skin that covered his left leg. A hoarse, raspy voice spoke quietly, attracting the S.A.M’s attention. “H-help…me…” it begged.

         James turned to find a charred, skeleton of a man who looked to be not a day over twenty, reaching out for help. James almost considered doing so, before he noticed the distinct blood-red suit of a Mars Maraider, a branch of Marauders that specialized in fast-paced yet vicious assaults on whatever their target may be.

         The suit the man wore had been burnt to the point that the sharpened spikes that lined the shoulder pads of the barbaric-looking armor were melted deep down into the third or fourth layer of skin of its wearer, and probably still burning away deeper into his flesh.

         James continued to watch the Maraider squirm about on the ground, begging for medical attention, deciding after a minute or two to do something about it. The artificial skin on his right hand rolled itself up like a sleeve, revealing the mechanical hand of his true, robotic self. This fist then retracted into the hollow interior of its metallic ‘arm’, a sharp, translucent blade exiting in its place.

         The man stared into the mirror-like edge of the weapon, seeing his own reflection off the side of it, and shaking in fear as he immediately realized what was about to happen. “P-please…don’t do this…help me…” he pleaded.

         Model B-976 plunged the weapon forward.

         The nameless Marauder stared at James. “Why….didn’t you kill me?” he asked, still in crippling pain. He stared right into the blade which was now plunged into the dirt in front of him. “We need answers.” James responded, “And you need medical attention.”





         James had now lugged the dying Marauder halfway across the Mars wastelands, just now realizing how far he had ventured from the HQ during the recent assault. Maybe this time the Marauders had intended to pull their enemies away from their stronghold, but had obviously not expected thousands of other infantry to be left guarding the base anyway. S.A.S.A severely outnumbered the Marauders.

         “What is your name and rank?” the B-Series queried, in an almost statement-like tone. The man blinked. James repeated himself. “Name and rank.”

         The Marauder nodded slowly. “David Jackals, Maraiders Fifth Battalion, Private Fifth Class.” The last part made James flinch. Well, would, if he had eyelids. “Fifth Class?” he asked. “Yeah, I guess they need a lot of—’’ David hacked noisily, as if he were a cat having a hairball. “Sorry.” He apologized. “I was saying, I guess they need a lot of trust with their infantry. They are rebels, after all.”

         James stared at him, sending a chill down David’s spine. “I mean, we are rebels, after all.”

         “Don’t think just because you are getting medical attention you are free from prosecution now. You are still a Marauder, and for all I know have killed thousands of innocent people just to spread your ‘message’.” James stated.

         They traveled the rest of the way in silence, both man and machine lost in deep contemplation.

         Eventually, they reached a checkpoint outside of the Spatial Aeronautics and Space Administration Headquarters, and James felt reassured to see the familiar insignia of his faction: the six orbs representing the other six colonized planets, floating about a larger orb with a purple crystal inside of it, representing Mars and its importance to the galaxy—and most importantly, this war.

         There were multiple vehicles coming into the base, either loading or unloading crates full of weapons and rations, or loading soldiers for their next battle. And then there were the vehicles that came in bearing a red cross and labeled with a single word, “Ambulance”. Unfortunately, most of the men leaving these vehicles were covered in a long black tarp and carried towards the HQ’s Hospital Wing, and were likely never going to be seen again by anything or anyone besides the incinerator in the morgue.

         James recognized one of the vehicles—a Mars Rover Jeep (a sort of rover-jeep crossover that looked more like a rover then a jeep, but with huge tires.) containing about seven soldiers in it. They must have recognized him, as well, because they all leaped from their seats and ran towards James, cheering and laughing.

         “James, old pal! Didn’t we do amazing in that last raid there?” a familiar voice boasted. “Kicked their Marauder arse half way back to Luna, didn’t we?”

         James didn’t need to even look at the source of the voice to know it was Kaiden Richard, a private first class with a thick British accent that was from the squadron James most commonly worked with, and also its newest member. He wished Kaiden wouldn’t always think of the war as a video game, and that they were taking real lives.

         Of course though, he wasn’t the only one cheering—most of the squadron was, but probably not as lightheartedly as Kaiden. They were probably cheering because they were still alive.

         The next person to approach James was his commander, Robert Jenkins. He was more commonly known as Eagle to the squad, though, and that’s what James referred to him as when he opened the conversation.

         “Eagle.” He said plainly with a thunking salute as his metallic hand met his hard iron forehead. “James.”The commander smirked. “At ease, soldier. We’re all brothers in the headquarters here.”

         Then Eagle noticed the man that James was dragging along behind him. “Except for him. He’s no brother of ours.” He said, glaring at James. “Why is he here?” The S.A.M did his equivalent of blinking without eyelids—retracted the red orbs he used to see his surroundings and filtered them within seconds, shooting them back to the front of his face. Kaiden flinched, still not familiar with James and his kind. “I…” James began, processing a million thoughts in mere milliseconds as he tried to think of a way of explaining his odd behavior. “…I thought we might be able to bribe information from him in turn for medical attention.”

         Eagle eyed James suspiciously, scratching his greying beard in thoughtfulness. “Clever, little robot,” He teased. “But you’ll need to see—” Eagle looked about his squadron, deep in thought. “You-know-who.”

         James nodded his head, loose bolts creaking about in his metallic frame. “Of course.” He agreed.

         The rest of the group blinked in confusion. “See who?” Kaiden asked. James and Eagle ignored him.





         Having dropped David off with Eagle for the time being, James decided to do as his commander had suggested, his metal feet ringing loudly throughout the hallway as he took off into the S.A.S.A headquarters’ most secretive location—the main reactor.

         Although most soldiers essentially ignored the reactor’s existence, shrugging it off as a place only engineers and mechanics needed to be, a few privates had begun spreading rumors that a ghost haunted the facility. Obviously, these men hadn’t even stepped foot in the place, as it was in such pristine condition that no ethereal being would even consider living there.

         The building had more than one purpose, however, and was not simply the location of the energy-generating devices that it was named for. Its true reason for being restricted to all but the highest ranking members of S.A.S.A was because it held a secret. It was actually the office of S.A.S.A’s leader.

         James himself wasn’t a high-ranking soldier, but rather an independent officer that worked for only one man; the very man he was visiting now.

         He, as well as the others with access to the reactor, were the only ones who knew just who the head honcho of S.A.S.A really was, and those who knew were very few in number.

         Approaching a metal door with a small grille window that seemed to serve no purpose because of its inability to be seen through, James tapped thrice as to attract the attention of the person within. He was soon answered by a simple, “Come in”.

         The door creaked open with a small shove, and a shadowy figure sitting at a work desk, illuminated only by a tabletop lamp, gestured for the S.A.M to have a seat.

         James wasn’t sure exactly how much the man knew about his recent ordeal, so once seated he stayed silent. His silence was quickly ended by a noisy throat-clearing cough, followed by a sentence. “So, what did you learn from the radio signals you intercepted shortly before our recent...” the man stuttered purposely, in search of a word, “...invasion?”

         After a short process of recalling the information he had received through a built-in scrambler in his large inventory of gadgets, James responded. “They know.”

         The figure nodded slowly, before hovering one of his hands over a small button near an intercom. “I will make the call. Oh and...” he grinned, his reflection glaring at James almost mockingly through a framed picture of a woman holding a small child. “...Why don’t you go see how useful your new friend is being for us?”

         Clearly, news travelled fast.