It had seemed like a good idea at the time, it really did.

After that spectacular extraction from a state fair, we all were racking our brains out for something to top that.

And, at first, I managed to, and, to be clear, we managed to re-use the trick more than once.

Think of it ... where can you find a bunch of people with a good mix of the sexes so that any volunteer we pick up will have a good selection?

Oh, sure, there are plenty of ways to arrange this, and they’d all been tried, though you really can’t scale up very well. The original estimates of being able to evac up to 30% of the Earth’s population fell flat on the fact that we had to be circumspect about extractions. We might, if we were very lucky, manage 3%, unless we could scale the whole effort up ... but some things are not scalable.

The state fair approach-- after the third time-- had to be given up, simply because there were opportunists trying to weasel their way in. The fourth try garnered us a loss of over eight hundred volunteers and a whole platoon of Marines when some group of criminals decided to gun ‘em down and try to demand that we lower our standards.

I have to admit that watching them arrive in vacuum and then let the orbits the bodies ended up in decay was pleasant, though, really, my buddy Holly would have preferred to keep them alive longer so they could feel the heat of re-entry.

And I thought I was cruel. Holly kicked butt...

The problem with the whole state fair trick-- or circus, or concert, or ... you name it ... was that there was no screening for weapons.

And, after one experiment, it was decided that stunning a whole crowd from altitude and then sorting them out, while a far safer approach, didn’t lend itself to sustainability. None of the volunteers we collected that way were happy when they found they had little choice, so the “slut” trading was annoying to us.

Then came my idea.

We started small...

Confederacy Marines ... ummm ... stand out in a crowd. We may have an easier time hiding when surrounded by football-- American football, not real football-- players, or, maybe, even basketball players.

In any case, it has gotten harder and harder over time to not be recognized. Gracie Hart’s fictional troubles fitting in to the background weren’t as bad as ours since there were people-- usually connected to organized crime, though some religious folks, too-- gunning for us, trying to spoil the defense of the earth.

Whenever we got interference, we tended to choose to act a little bit like the Sa’arm do-- we swarm in and beat the shit out of those treasonous bastards that would be happy to write the epitaph for the Human race.

So, nowadays, we get some of the squids to do things for us, like dropping off transport terminals in “good” places where we want to make a pick-up.

I arrived with my platoon, Holly at my side, carrying a big fucking gun modeled on the BFG-9000 from Doom. I had my stinger ready on arrival and my side-arm in its holster. I saw one fellow twitch as he saw us materialize and I zapped him, and, given how the ferry boat was packed, the person behind and on either side of him slumped.

The rest of the squad arrived from the terminus and took up positions around me, watching the people nearest us.

Marines, even in shorts and tee shirt, are intimidating to those who’ve not been either enhanced or augmented. In our uniforms, well, mere mortals back off pretty damn fast.

In armor, with heavy weapons, you don’t piss one of us off. You just ... don’t.

Thank you, Robert Anson Heinlein.

My job, with Holly backing me up, was to take command of the boat.

Oh, sure, they reinforced the door following 9/11, as if I-- or any one of my platoon-- would even need to break stride as we pushed it open.

Never let it be said that human beings, even those of us dedicated to constructive purposes, are immune to the simple pleasure of breaking down a door that “got in the way”.

“Good morning, Captain, I’m Lieutenant Jones-- yes, that is my real name-- of the Confederacy Space Marines. We need to you come to a full stop, now. Capisce?”

Another pleasure I get from doing extractions comes from the look on people’s faces as I identify myself. The sudden change of color-- turning white, for instance-- does wonders for my ego. This one took a couple of seconds, saluted me, then rang for full stop, yelling out “Aye-Aye!”

I nodded, the suit showing the motion, as I snapped a salute back to him and turned to check Holly, covering my back, facing the door, menacing people with her BFG.