Beta Commando

By Aaron Matthews

It's 1999. James and his friends are your typical MIT students. They just want to drink a few beers, maybe talk to some girls, and play their favourite old-school shooter on clunky home-made augmented reality goggles. They didn't mean to mess with ancient magic. They didn't mean to summon a mute, muscle-bound space marine with Schwarzenegger’s tact and Stallone's fashion sense.
But they did.
Now men in black suits with names like John and John are asking questions, and they're not asking nice. It'll take everything James and his friends have to stay alive. Four kids and a fictional character versus the shadiest parts of the military industrial complex.
This Ain't Literature.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aaron Matthews
• Release date: Jul 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301643813

Aaron Matthews

Aaron Matthews is a fresh-faced young scamp with neither trade nor higher education. Beta Commando is the first in his pulp novella series This Ain't Literature.

Book preview

They knew about Euler's number and quarks and C++. They weren't ready for

BETA COMMANDO

It's 1999. James and his friends are your typical MIT students. They just want to drink a few beers, maybe talk to some girls, and play their favourite old-school shooter on clunky home-made augmented reality goggles. They didn't mean to mess with ancient magic. They didn't mean to summon a mute, muscle-bound space marine with Schwarzenegger’s tact and Stallone's fashion sense.

But they did.

Now men in black suits with names like John and John are asking questions, and they're not asking nice. It'll take everything James and his friends have to stay alive. Four kids and a fictional character versus the shadiest parts of the military industrial complex.

This Ain't Literature.

Beta Commando

A novella by Aaron Matthews

Copyright 2013 Aaron Matthews

Smashwords Edition

This DRM-free ebook is licensed for your personal use only. If you'd like to share this book with another person, please purchase another copy. If you’re enjoying this book and didn't purchase it, consider doing so.

I mean, it's three bucks.

Dedicated to the memory of Sean Collier, MIT Patrol Officer

shot dead in April 2013, and all other victims of gun violence.

Cover photography by Matt T. Yourst, 2001

Composite image by Thomas Kennedy, 2013

Table of Contents

1:Universal Soldier

2:True Lies

3:First Blood

4:Surviving the Game

5:Red Dawn

6:Die Hard

Epilogue:Death Wish

About the Author

1: UNIVERSAL SOLDIER

Do you believe in destiny? Alphonse asks me, as he slides rounds into one of his clips.

I’ve got a lot of bullets in me at this point, so I don’t answer. No, I don’t believe in destiny, not the way everyone talks about it, where life just fits together like a movie and you’re the star. That’s just stupid. But yes, I kind of do. I mean—

Three shots slap into the door-jamb next to Alphonse's head. He slides his sunglasses down his nose, looks at the little stars in the grey painted wood and blinks once. That's usually how Alphonse feels about people shooting at us. He pushes his sunglasses back up his nose and goes back to reloading.

I scoot my ass back against the skirting board. I'd be more comfortable if I crossed my legs, but that's a bit beyond me right now.

Where was I? Destiny. Yes, I do think everything is… predestined, I guess. I mean, everything happens the way it was always going to, is what I’m trying to say. It’s just maths, you put X into Y, you get Z. Maybe that doesn’t help you…

James? Alphonse is talking to me as he slides the clip into one of his Desert Eagles. James, try to concentrate. He doesn’t sound concerned. I mean, he’s not, not the way you or I might be. But for him, casually asking me to concentrate is as close as it gets. I nod.

It hurts to nod.

Did you hear what I said? he asks, and holsters both pistols. You might think two Desert Eagles firing bullets half an inch in diameter is a bit much for a third option weapon, but Alphonse would disagree.

Anyway, destiny. Let me put it another way. Every effect is the sum of a whole lot of causes. Billions of billions. Infinite, almost. All those things in the future, that look like they’re not fixed, are tethered to a nearly infinite amount of things in the past, that are definitely fixed. Unless you want to get all quantum, in which case you can ask Mark. Or you could’ve, if they hadn’t shot him.

They shot Mark.

I’m sorry, I’m rambling. Anyway, everyone always says well, what about free will? And yeah, of course free will. Will’s a great guy, and I’m sure he’s got shit to do...

I’m sorry.

A metal cylinder bounces through the door and past me, hissing gas. Without looking, Alphonse hooks his foot around it and kicks it back the way it came. He finishes with the clip he’s loading, slides it into his first submachine gun, and starts on another. Not clip, clip's not the word. Magazine, that's what George says it's called. I’d be helping, but I'm not feeling too good right now. I'm not planning any holidays, is what I’m saying.

Maybe it’s the morphine. I can’t concentrate on what’s important. I keep getting distracted. The point is, free will doesn’t change anything. We still do the things we do because of things that have already happened. I mean, you make the choices that you make because you’re you and you’re you because…

By now Alphonse is fairly set. He’s got that damn trenchcoat he picked up after he watched The Matrix, its pockets weighed down with magazines. There are three diagonal stripes of dried blood soaked through his black muscle shirt. Then there’s the two submachine guns, the second of which he’s just finished reloading, hanging by shoulder-straps. He kneels to scoop up an M60 light machine gun and an ammunition belt. It's the same gun from the end of Rambo. He opens the breech, feeds the belt in, shuts it and flicks his wrist so the belt wraps itself around his arm.

James, he says, this is destiny.

I shouldn't have let him watch The Matrix.

~~~

Then.

I guess I should start at the beginning. You know, put all this in some sort of context. So, the beginning… The beginning was probably Thursday, when George said Dude, we should take it down to the Tech.

I put my beer on the kitchen table and looked at him. "Beta Commando?"

"Well, yeah Beta Commando. What did you think I meant, cross-stitch?"

George was on his third beer.

I shrugged. I guess. I mean, it could be fun.

"Of course it’d be fun."

Mark frowned. "I dunno, guys. I’m not sure the public is ready for augmented reality Beta Commando."

George snorted. Chicken. Whatever happened to 'Hang Brains'? It's not like classes are even on at the moment.

Mark had learned back in high school not to let George get at him. Or anything much, really. He just frowned a little and picked up the headset from the kitchen table. Do you actually want to wear this in public, George? The headset was two chunky black screens made into a set of goggles. I wouldn’t call it haute couture.

Careful with that. George leaned back against the apple-green laminate counter and spread his hands wide. Maybe I would. Maybe I don’t care about what people think of me as much as you long-hairs. He pushed up the sleeves of his shiny black bomber jacket. That wasn’t entirely fair. I mean, it’s Mark who could apply for the three musketeers. My hair was regulation length in high school and it hasn’t changed.

Mark raised both eyebrows and put the headset down. You’d run around MIT shooting at virtual demons that only you can see, in full view of every cleaner, blow-in and hacker that passes by?

I should clarify. When someone from MIT says ‘hacker,’ they mean practical joker, not data thief. Like the guy who conditioned Harvard’s pigeons to mob football referees.

George sniffed. Well, let’s put it to James. What do you think, James? Game enough?

I looked at the scuffed tan lino of our kitchen floor. Shit man, I dunno…

Back in high school, George would’ve just glared at me until I caved in. He’s always been bigger than us. But he’d changed since then. Mark, too. So George turned around, reached up to the top cupboard, and took out a beer from his special stash. Locking eyes with me, he pulled out his keychain and cracked the bottle open with his dad’s can opener from Vietnam. George’s dad went to Vietnam, and all that came back was a P-38 can opener.

I took the beer, even though my first was still half full.

"Well, I guess it is the holidays."

Mark shrugged. Screw it, alright. You wanna wake up Ralph? I nodded and made my way into the lounge room.

~~~

The light was off, the TV on. The glow of the infomercials played across Ralph, asleep on our couch, and Ralph’s crappy moustache. Ralph is the kind of guy who can find infomercials at four in the afternoon and fall asleep in front of them, palms clasped under his head like he’s in a nursery rhyme. There was just a little spot of drool on his pillow. I shook his shoulder gently.

Mnnn? Mm?

Ralph, get up. You wanna go play Beta Commando on campus?

He opened one eye Wha? You wanna wha?

I gave him some space. He promptly closed his eye and rolled over.

Damnit, Ralph. Get up.

Mm? What?

I switched the TV off and his eyes flicked wide open.

Dude? What is it?

"We’re gonna go play Beta Commando on campus."

Sweet. Let’s go. He unfolded from the couch in one movement, smoothed down his purple striped polar fleece and ambled into the kitchen.

George scooped up the headset and hip unit. Let’s kick some ass.

Ralph nodded. Yeah. Let’s do that.

I took my beers, one in each hand, and followed them out to the car.

~~~

Before then.

Shit, sorry.

I’ve started too late. I didn’t want to do that, I wanted to go over it