Welcome to the Marines (Corporate Marines Book 2) Page 4

  It looks like the entire city is here with every camera crew available. I’m guessing that this is to do with me.

  I just need to put my head down and we can walk through the crowd to whatever transport is here.

  As we come to the main doors, the two guards step to the side and stop.

  The suits ignore them and look like they are waiting for something to happen.

  Some sort of large armoured vehicle is pulling through the congestion in front of the building and the suits are focussing on that.

  I can see the leader working his implants again for a second, and then there are eight police officers in riot gear moving to the front of the building. I guess they are there to act as an escort for my escort.

  The lead suit turns to me and says, “We are going out now. Walk with your head down and stay in the middle. We take care of everything. Hands out of your pockets.”

  I pull my hands out and tense up as I prepare to move.

  One of the security guards calls out to me. “Good luck, kid.” I am surprised. No one likes me and no one wants anything for me except bad things, after everything that happened.

  I look at them both and they both nod at me. I nod back.

  Maybe somebody out there knows what really happened and doesn’t hate me.

  The suits move out and I feel their hands pushing me forward to keep me in the centre of our little triangle.

  The door opens and we are out. The sound hits me like a hammer in the face. It feels more like a concert with the noise level than a gathering in front of a public building. I can see tons of signs saying everything from “MURDERER! KILL HIM!” to “ABOLISH THE DEATH PENALTY!” There is even one sign saying, “MARRY ME!” Of course, it’s being held by a fat guy that looks like he hasn’t washed or changed his clothes in a while.

  As we come out, the police make a larger circle around us and advance. They have riot shock batons and those big riot shields. I can see other police officers in small groups with dogs and more on the rooftops watching us.

  Everyone is watching us. Or rather, they are watching me. I can feel the glares.

  When the press and all the rest of the people there for the circus recognize me in the centre of the group, the noise increases further. There are a dozen camera crews and just as many drones with cameras covering me.

  We are just out the door and the crowd is pushing forward and surrounding us. The circle of cops is pushed right up against the suits and they are being careful to only use their shields as blocks instead of clubbing people out of the way.

  So many of the people are red-faced and screaming. Two of the protesters carrying signs start hitting each other with their sign. “KILL THE MURDERER!” and “ABOLISH THE DEATH PENALTY!” signs are suddenly covered in blood and the people holding them are clawing at each other.

  Other police move in and drag them apart and blood is flowing.

  This is just like a big wave washing over me. It is all incomprehensible. I can’t even see the vehicle anymore and we are just at the stairs.

  There are five stairs to get down and I am on the top one when the crowd pushes up against the one side of the circle and people are pressed up against me. I can’t do anything and try to lean away.

  Then I recognize one of the women. It’s the mom of one of the girls. She is Terrie’s mom and she was one of the most vocal in court so they had to drag her out. She was on the media lots, calling me a cold-blooded psycho that had killed her little darling baby and then she would break down and cry.

  I remember how her darling giggled and took pics while there was screaming. She had laughed at me and told me to man up. Then she made out with her boyfriend. I remember her screams and I just don’t feel anything.

  Terrie’s mom is even dressed up with a low-cut top and clinging clothes so she looks good for the media. Her husband is probably at work brokering another multimillion-dollar deal and having the company lawyers figure out some other way to make my life hell.

  I just look at her and can’t do or say anything. I hear her words over the rest of the mobs. “You fucking bastard! You killed my little baby! She never did anything wrong! You tried to make her and her friends into the bad guys, but I know the truth! You should burn in hell with the rest of your scum family!”

  The crowd almost seems to pull back and there are cameras everywhere zoomed in to see this confrontation, and all I can do is stand here with my hands out looking like a stunned cow. What do I do?

  At point-blank range I can see that her makeup is running while she cries, which it never did before. I guess she wore something that would run to look even better for the cameras.

  She is pointing a finger in my face and she is just screaming. Then her other arm comes up and I can see a letter opener slide into her hand from up her sleeve. She is stabbing it at my throat and we are so close I still can’t do anything.

  She is going to stab me and try to kill me because of her bitch daughter.

  An arm comes in from the side behind me and catches her hand less than a foot from my throat. That hand stops and she and I both just stare at it.

  Then that gripping hand bends her stabbing hand in a way that hands are not meant to bend when connected to an arm.

  It seems like everyone should be able to hear the loud snap. If they can’t hear the snapping of her wrist, then I know they can hear her truly piercing shriek as her hand is bent at an impossible angle.

  That gripping hand releases her and disappears, taking the letter opener with it. Her arm drops a bit and she is holding the damaged arm with her other one. Then, two shields come out of nowhere and she is body-checked away from me and mashed up against other protesters.

  I hear a voice yelling, “…under attack! GO GO GO!” Then the small circle of police raise their shields and take off at a run, pushing everyone away and body-checking those who are slow. We are heading at a run for the back of the armoured vehicle and everyone scatters away from us.

  Just as we get there the back door opens, the police stream around the back and form a wall of shields while the lead suit leaps in and then grabs me and pulls me inside while the other two suits push.

  I am sprawled on one of the bench seats while the other two suits board. The back door slams shut and then the vehicle heads off at high speed. I would have been thrown to the floor if one of the suits had not kept a solid hold on me.

  They help me sit up and clip in to the five-point harness seatbelt.

  I look at the leader with a question on my face. He nods and says, “You can speak now while we are in here.”

  I find myself shaking from adrenaline. She wanted to kill me and tried it. The only reason that I am not dead was because the suits were faster and stronger.

  I look at the leader. “Why did that all happen back there?”

  He stares at me for a moment. “You had no access to any media while you were inside during the trial, correct?”

  I nod. He continues by pulling out a pad and flicking it on and setting it to a news channel. “Check this out.” I stare at the screen and watch archived footage of my arrest and everything up to our departure from the facility just now.

  I look at the suit and have to ask. “That’s a lot of information. Why did you get this all done?”

  He finally takes off his sunglasses. His face is still expressionless and he has brown eyes. “You work for the Corporation now. Every bit of data was collected and collated to verify that you would be a worthwhile candidate. When it was decided that you were and you agreed to join the program, this material was pulled. This is public information. Look at this.”

  He uses his plants to change the info stream on the pad. Additional data from different sources including what must be AI analysis moves alongside the same information.

  I jolt back from the screen. “This information is being manipulated? Is the corp
oration doing this?” I look at the suit.

  He shakes his head no. “Analysis indicates that the parents have instituted a smear campaign. Some of your information was supressed and the media campaign was assisted by professionals. They have thrown a lot of money at this because they want to win. They are very good, but the Corporation is much better.” He stops and stares at me unblinkingly.

  I still do not get it. So I ask, “Why? Why are they doing this? I know they hate me, but after everything that happened…”

  The answer is short. “They appear to be doing this for their benefit. Anything else is conjecture at this point. Finally, as hard as this will be for you to do, you need to let this go.” I just stare at him when he says that and I am amazed that I am not drooling on myself like an idiot. “You work for the Corporation now. They are irrelevant. Move on and stay focussed on your job.” He looks me in the eye. “Am I clear? Say yes if you understand.”

  I nod yes and then, clearing my throat, say, “Yes.”

  He nods at me and says, “Good.”

  He takes the pad away and we continue in silence.

  We pull up at the airport and, after being scanned through by some security types, we drive to a part that is off-limits to the public. We pull up to a hangar and I am escorted inside by my three suits. There is a really nice little lounge with large tinted windows and a small, well-stocked bar. There is another person there with two more suits. I don’t know if I am allowed to talk yet, but it’s like my suit knows what I am thinking as he hands me an entertainment pad.

  The pad has no wireless connection to the outside. It seems to be connected to a local server and has a bunch of games and old programs that I can use. I still have no access to the real world.

  The pad will do, even if it is a bit old in the way of tech.

  What is really interesting is that the other guy is also using a pad. So whatever they are doing with us, they don’t want us communicating with the outside world for now.

  My suit gestures for me to take a seat and then asks, “Do you want anything to drink? If so, just help yourself.”

  I nod and then as I look up, he continues. “We will be leaving soon; we are just waiting for the plane.”

  I walk over to the bar and grab a container of fruit juice. This is the good stuff, not that crap that was in the holding facility.

  I sit down in a nice, comfy leather recliner that vibrates and start flipping through the pad’s entertainment, looking for news. I find two different streams: one local and one national. They are both showing my picture and going on about how I left the facility and the court’s findings were overturned. I just catch the end of a commentator’s statement: “And he will do a much greater service giving his all in these pursuits then he would if he were executed for his actions…” I tune it out.

  I am sort of free and going on to something else.

  I know better than to try to catch some sleep. That way is a fast ride to nightmare land.

  So I keep watching and reading. But I can’t post anything to this filtered feed.

  It seems like just a few minutes until the suits start moving and we see a small, sleek little plane pull up to the building.

  The other guy and I are hustled out and we walk to the plane and board. “Our” suits pass us off to a suit on the plane and we grab seats. This is an awesome little plane that seats thirty and has plush leather seats and personal storage. The plane is almost full, with just a few empty seats. I grab one and check out my drink holder. There are small screens built into the seats ahead of us and I see everyone sitting using them with headphones.

  Why are the external feeds off? I thought I was the only criminal involved, but maybe not. I mean, every plane out there now lets you access the net for the entertainment system.

  Plane systems are not hackable, as they require a hard access point.

  I lose myself in a really cool fantasy movie about aliens and instantaneous travel between locations and enjoy some more fruit juice.

  The flight itself is pleasant and weird. No one tells us about emergency protocols or what to do. We all just sit there quietly ignoring each other while entertaining ourselves on the pads.

  We are in the air for almost three hours when we start heading down for a landing.

  The landing is uneventful and we exit out to a much warmer climate. It’s a small airfield with a hangar and control tower; we can see armed guards in the distance patrolling around.

  As we group up on the one side of the plane, a grey bus pulls up and a woman gets out. She is badly scarred on the one side of her face and it runs down her neck. She is wearing a grey one-piece utility jumpsuit. It’s similar to my prison one, but it has pockets and I think it is probably much better quality. Her hair is so short it’s hard to tell what colour it is.

  She nods at the suit and then calls out, “Board the bus in single file and fill it from the back toward the front. Move now.”

  We move toward the bus, naturally moving into a single file and boarding. When the last of us is sitting, she gets back on the bus and stands in the aisle. She stares at all of us like she is looking at us and at the same time not really seeing us. I have seen that look before when dealing with people outside the Projects. In her eyes we are like cattle. Something to be herded and guided, but not really cared about.

  Why would somebody want to care about an animal that they are going to have slaughtered for food?

  Her hands rest on the seat backs on both sides of the aisle. She is scary as hell.

  She just starts talking. “No talking, and stay seated until we get you situated in the training facility.” She stops for a second just looking at us, then continues. “Congratulations. You are now all candidates for joining the Marines.”

  She sits down and the bus roars off.

  This is it. I am out of jail, not being executed, and instead becoming a Marine for the Corporation.

  Why am I not feeling better? Can I do this? I can barely operate anymore and all I can see is blood and hear the screams.

  WELCOME TO CANADA

  She seems to warm up to us a bit after the bus takes off and one of the other guys asks her a question about how long the bus ride is going to be. As mean-looking as she is, when she started answering him she did sound a lot nicer.

  I don’t catch any of what she says as I am a bit out of it. Something about being in court, getting whisked out and then attacked by the bitch’s mother, and then all the traveling. I do not feel like myself, or like much of anything, really.

  I’m just going to roll with it for right now. I’d figured out that they would tell us whatever we absolutely had to know.

  As the bus starts driving away, the short woman stands up at the front of the bus while the big beefy security goons just sit there. She faces us and starts talking.

  “Good day, everyone. I am your local corporate rep and my task is to deliver you to your training facility. I know you have questions. Let’s see if I can anticipate and answer some now and then you can ask whatever I may have missed, all right?”

  Most of us just stare at her while a few nod that it is okay. She gives us a second and then continues. “We are in Canada and driving to one of the smaller facilities where experimental work is done. The city we are driving through was built up by the Corporation, which is the major employer in the area. It will take us approximately fifty minutes to get to the facility. Security there is quite tight because of the threat of industrial espionage, so if the security asks you questions, don’t bother giving them any smart-mouth answers as they will take it seriously and you will be locked down until it is resolved in a few days. This will take you through the start of your training and means that you are stuck waiting for the next training cycle. That could take a year or longer, during which time you would be used for janitorial duties on the facility as punishment.”

  She’
s serious. Most of the other people here are quietly grumbling about that, but I know what is waiting for me if I mess up, so I am going to answer any questions politely and keep my mouth shut.

  She continues on, ignoring the grumbling. “Given the security concerns that the Corporation has, this bus is equipped with a black-out box. All of you have some sort of net device and would love to be connected to the real world. The second you loaded into Corporate vehicles to start your journey here, you were in a perpetual blackout. There are restricted channels that offer all sorts of information, but you cannot post back. If you were to get out of the bus, you would have to take about six paces away to get a useable signal. Most of you were likely told this before, but possibly not. Let me restate clearly. If for any reason anyone here decides to walk out of the exclusion zone and make ANY posts, that will be treated as a breach of contract and you will be out of the program. You will be subject to ten years’ imprisonment at a Corporate facility somewhere in system and either you, or if you have family, they will be subject to a fine of not less than one million dollars and with no upper limit.”

  Her face still looks mean, but her tone hasn’t changed as she tells us all that we will be entered into slavery if we break their main rules.

  Her eyebrows raise as she looks back and forth. The mumbling had stopped. “Does anyone here not understand the consequences of breaking that rule?” She waits a few seconds and carries on. “The facility is also covered in a black-out field that requires hard-wired access to get information in or out. You will find all facilities involved in experimental or research work are the same way. You are not aware of past corporate espionage but the Corporation has squashed most of that with security and strong punishments. On certain things, this is your only warning. Breaching security leads directly to punishment and there is no legal process. So if anyone here believes they make an excellent lawyer?” She makes it sound like a question. “Well, it wouldn’t matter because you do not go in front of a judge. A tribunal will sit and its findings are reviewed and then you are off to wherever you are being sent.”