by Mark Wandrey
Jim noted people nodding around the table. It sounded pretty good to him as well. The balance of the available trust funds he’d taken over started at just under five million. He’d spent half of it getting the company up and running, mostly in contracts for troopers, office staff, and consumables. Of course everyone he hired and took off-world needed a hazard waiver through the guild. It wasn’t a fortune, but it was still money. They needed this to go well.
“We’re paying standard rates. We could have paid less, but we risked getting nothing but leftovers and troublemakers.” Hargrave glanced at Murdock who flipped him the bird. “So that’s fifty percent to the company. The rest is for the contractors. One half share for Earth-side staff. One share for troopers, maintenance, and logistics. Two shares for sergeants, APC drivers, and drop ship pilots. Three shares for 1SG there and four to the LT, drop ship commander (when we find a new one), and Captain Winslow who will be taking command of EMS Traveler. Bonuses paid at the same level.” Hargrave spread his hands. “That’s about it, any questions?” Sergeant Rodriguez raised his hand. “Go ahead.”
“Do we get back-up with this contract?” Hargrave glanced down and shook his head.
“The Duplato couldn’t afford it, and neither could we.” There were some mumbles. “I know, that could put us in a tight place. However, we have two full platoons, and two drop ships. With EMS Traveler in orbit, we have high watch as well. We don’t have any armor yet beyond the APCs, but that’s still a lot of firepower. I have full briefings for you on what the raiders have been using, and I can assure you it isn’t anything compared to what we’re packing.” Hargrave looked around the room. “If you want out, you can resign right now, and we’ll hold you harmless. Just keep in mind you’ll be walking away from a contract with Cartwright’s Cavaliers. We won’t be calling you back.” No one said anything, so Hargrave turned and nodded to Jim.
“So that’s the contract,” Jim said, repositioning himself a little in the chair. The middle of his lower back was throbbing. “We’re going to deploy on Kash-Kah in two elements. One will be garrison, the other on alert. The plan is to repel the raiders when they come, then track and ambush with the second group. The Duplato have given us full leave to deal with the raiders however we want. So we find them, and then we waste ‘em.” There were grunts of agreement around the table. “We want a good review after this contract. Let them all know the Cavaliers are back. Okay, we have one week left before we head up to the Traveler – let’s make it count.”
“You did great, son,” Hargrave said after everyone had left, and he patted Jim on the shoulder with genuine warmth.
“Yeah?” Jim asked. “I was nervous as shit when Stackhouse started to go off.”
“You were?” Hargrave laughed. “I was afraid Murdock was going to rip his head off and shit down his neck. You made quite the impression on him.”
“Hargrave, I barely know what I’m doing.” Jim sighed. “I’ve read all the books, and I’ve played plenty of tactical simulations, but in a few weeks, more than a hundred men’s lives will depend on me. I’m not ready.”
“No, you aren’t,” Hargrave agreed.
“Well, that’s filling me with confidence.”
“You want me to blow F11 up your ass? I won’t do it. I’ll tell you this, though. No commander is ever ready the first time he leads men into combat. No matter what they might say or think, there’s a damned good reason they strap you into that thing in a diaper. And it’s not because you’ll be in the suit for hours.” Jim gaped at him. “Get some rest, take those pills. Tomorrow we take you to the next step.” Jim nodded and blew air out between his teeth, then paused before speaking.
“The nano treatments?” Hargrave nodded. “I wish I’d gotten them earlier.”
“They don’t stop bullets, son. Anyway, get some rest.”
* * * * *
Chapter 11
Jim sat on the table answering thousands of questions from the nurses who appeared to be wiring him up like a prop in a bad Sci-fi film. The hookups went from bio-monitors to IV drips, and of course the two dozen shunts painfully inserted into many of his arteries that would deliver the therapy.
“Now Mr. Cartwright,” the doctor, an attractive woman who was looking at her slate and not at him, said, “you fully understand this procedure is likely to involve significant physical discomfort, yes?” He nodded absently, and she looked up at him curiously.
“Yes,” he said impatiently, “I know it will hurt.”
“Most people who undergo this treatment are in ideal physical condition. You...are not.”
“Oh, so you noticed?”
“Mr. Cartwright, these nanotherapies draw from your body’s metabolism to affect changes to your skeletal system, musculature, and ligaments. That puts quite a strain on your body. As a general rule, those who are given the green light to undergo this therapy are both young and very fit.”
“Can I survive it?” Jim demanded.
“Of course, or I wouldn’t have allowed you to get this far along in the process. You may not be in tip-top shape, but you are young, and that works in your favor.”
“Fine,” he said, “then do it already.” She looked at him and sighed.
“Your family is well-to-do; why didn’t you just get nano-therapy to...”
“Get rid of the fat?” he snapped. “Because my father wanted me to manage it by myself. When he died, my mother said I could do it when I turned eighteen. Unfortunately, once I actually did turn eighteen, the money to pay for this sort of thing was gone.”
“So have it done now,” she said.
“Takes too long. We deploy in a few days. Doctor, please, just go ahead.” She shrugged and picked up the machine’s control slate.
“Energizing base charge,” she said, and he felt a tingle from head to toe. “The nanites cannot function without a specific electrical field. It’s a safety feature.” He nodded, his eyes wide with apprehension. She tapped on the slate once more. “And introducing nanites in three...two...one...”
Several hours later, Jim opened his eyes and groaned. Everything hurt. Absolutely everything. He was in a recovery room – he knew that much – but couldn’t remember why.
“How are you feeling, Mr. Cartwright?” He turned his head and groaned again – just moving his neck muscles that little bit was agony. A nurse was sitting next to the bed with a slate. The monitor screen over his head beeped in unison with her tapping.
“Terrible,” he croaked. She smiled and leaned over to him, a cup with a straw in her hand.
“Please take a drink.” He did, suddenly realizing how incredibly thirsty he was. Another couple of sips, and she took it away. “Not too much at once,” she said. He took a deep breath, and – oh God! – even his ribs hurt! He repositioned his body and doing that hurt. He rolled his eyes and that hurt. But...he also felt different in a way he couldn’t really understand. The door opened, and the familiar aged figure of Hargrave came in.
“How you doing, boss?” Hargrave asked.
“I hurt,” Jim said simply. Hargrave made an understanding face. “Did it work?”
“The therapy was worse in my day,” Hargrave replied; “they’ve perfected it a bit since. If you’re still here, it worked.”
“Like being beaten all over with rubber hoses.” Hargrave nodded his head in understanding.
“I’m administering a slight analgesic,” the nurse said. A minute later the same doctor who gave him the therapy came in.
“How’s my patient?” Jim was beginning to feel progressively better.
“Getting better,” he said. She nodded and took the slate from the nurse to examine his condition.
“Your procedure went as planned. The nanites have been deactivated and will be passed from your body naturally over the next few weeks. Nothing unusual was detected by the scans as the procedure proceeded.”
“What do you mean ‘passed from my body?’”
“You’ll piss them out,” Hargrave said with
a wink.
“What’s that like?” Jim asked.
“They’re microscopic,” the doctor said, “so your penis won’t notice, regardless of how big or small it might be.” Jim could feel his cheeks getting hot. “You ready to get up?”
“I don’t know,” Jim said. The doctor nodded to her nurses who came over and took Jim’s hands to gently pull him upright. He grunted a bit, but felt only mild discomfort. Once his legs were over the side of the bed, one of the nurses removed the IV in his arm and held onto him as he put his feet on the ground. He was amazed at how quickly he was feeling better. He could stand just fine.
“Great,” the doctor said and consulted her slate one more time. “No side effects.”
“You say that like it’s a common thing,” Jim said as he moved around a bit.
“The nanites are made with tech we don’t understand, by aliens halfway across the galaxy. One thing we can say is the little robots always work. The only thing we can’t guarantee is your body will accept it. That’s why all the tests. We know a lot of indicators that could cause problems. There’s a good reason you have to undergo the procedure in a Startown, Mr. Cartwright. Most of the world’s governments consider them highly illegal. However, they tend to do their job just fine.” She checked her slate one more time. “You are ready to be released.” She gestured to his clothes on the dresser. “Once you’re dressed, you can take this form down the hall and check out.” They all exited at once, and he was quickly alone.
He wasn’t hurting as much anymore but found his joints stiff and slow to respond. It was easy enough to get the overly revealing hospital gown off, but it took a few minutes more than planned to get dressed in his new Cartwright’s uniform. To his surprise, it fit better.
“Doctor,” he asked outside, “did the nanites make me thinner?”
“Not in the truest sense,” she said, “but some of your surpluses were used by them to fuel the modifications to your body. In the case of more fit patients, we inject metabolic fuels for the nanites. We didn’t have to do that in your case, it just used what it found.”
“Is that how they can make me...more normal?”
“That therapy is a little more complicated and lengthy. Due to the extensive modifications, you’d be put into a medically-induced coma.”
“Because it hurts so badly,” he said, not really a question.
“Yes,” she agreed. “It takes about a week for the procedure to complete. Multiple injections of nanites are used as they are expended in the operation. Then another two weeks of therapy afterwards.”
“What kind of therapy?”
“Well, you’ll be a lot lighter, for one thing, and unused to moving around at that weight. It’s physical therapy designed to get you used to your new body.” He nodded in understanding and considered. “Are you thinking about it after all?”
“Not now,” Jim said, looking over to see Hargrave waiting by the elevator. “Maybe after this first contract. I need to get the Cavaliers back on their feet. Now’s not the time to take a three-week vacation.”
“More like six weeks,” she suggested, “we don’t recommend you engage in any strenuous activity for three more weeks after your treatment and physical therapy are complete.”
“I understand. Maybe I’ll see you in a year or so then.” He shook her hand and met the two men at the elevator.
The next day he woke up feeling fine. More than fine, actually. He thought about the billions of little dead robots riding his piss like a waterpark as he relieved himself and went down to meet the captain for his workout. Afterwards, for the first time, his joints didn’t hurt. They’d always hurt when he worked out. The therapy had toughened everything up.
Breakfast complete, he dressed and met his XO downstairs.
“Ready?” Hargrave asked.
“Yep,” Jim replied.
“Good,” Hargrave said, “it’s time to introduce you to a new friend.”
The hangar was buzzing with activity. Vehicle operators were moving crates, unloading trucks, and storing goods. Elsewhere, technicians pushed tool racks about or analysis equipment or worked on machinery and weaponry of every variety, much of it older technology that hadn’t been used for years. One wall of the massive hangar was lined with dozens and dozens of CASPers.
A few troopers were undergoing checkout on the old Binnig MK 7 combat systems. They were some of the last to be qualified, and some of the last suits to be brought back online and checked out.
Everyone watched as a suited trooper fired his jumpjets with a hissing snap, launching himself in a low parabolic arc across the work area. Almost a half-ton of advanced alloy hurtled toward the concrete floor. A scant few feet before impact the jets fired again, and the operator slowed it just enough so it came down with a resounding bang and flex of the powerful mechanical knees. It was a nearly perfect jump in a confined space.
The suit turned to face the group, its slightly bulbous operator canopy split and opened with a hum of motors. First Sergeant Murdock grinned at them from inside. The haptic feedback helmet left more than enough of his features visible for his scarred visage to be recognizable.
“Man, I love these suits!” he crowed. Jim stood in his combat uniform, a haptic suit with helmet in one hand, haptic links all in place, and coiled interface cables hanging loose. His eyes were wide in admiration of how the First Sergeant handled the war machine. “Those Mark 8s are lighter and faster but not as well-armored or roomy as these old Mark 7 suits!”
“You are amazing,” Jim said, his voice full of admiration. Murdock made the huge powered armor suit look like a second skin – like he was some kind of superhero from the comic books. Anyone should be capable of doing what he did, but Murdock made it look easy.
“Jim,” Hargrave said, “First Sergeant Murdock is our most experienced veteran with the Mk 7 suits, so he’s going to go through your intro. Look over here,” he said and pointed. Jim turned and saw a lifter moving over with a MK 7 CASPer, its canopy open and empty. Hargrave was holding the lifter control and maneuvering it closer. “This is yours, boss.”
“Yeah,” Jim said and eyed it dubiously. He knew this moment had been coming from the moment he decided to go to Karma and see if a contract could be had. To say he was intimidated would have been a severe understatement. He gathered all the cables to be sure they didn’t get caught on anything and walked to the lifter. A tech rolled a gangway into place, and he climbed it.
Stopping at the top, he looked inside. Even though the suit had been cleaned and every system gone over in great detail, it still looked heavily used. Torn padding had been patched and sealed in places, the paint flaked away here and there, and a few of the indicators had been replaced with new ones. It was most definitely used. The Cartwright’s Cavaliers logo was shiny new paint, as was the name plate “Jim Cartwright – CO.” Jim touched the name plate, took a breath, and began to climb in.
He’d submitted to the indignity of a detailed laser scan days ago, and the suit interior was adjusted via moveable padding and straps to be a nearly perfect fit. He got onto his knees and backed into it, pointing his feet as he’d been instructed and wiggling. It was like trying to put on a particularly tight pair of pants that happened to be made of rigid plastic and didn’t bend at all. It seemed to take an embarrassingly long time before his feet found bottom and he felt the leg splits nudge up against his crotch. He flexed his arms backwards, found the arm holes, and worked them in next as he pushed his torso back into the suit. The arms weren’t as snug, by design, and he slid back fully into the suit.
“Great,” Hargrave said, taking up the haptic relays and beginning to plug them in. Normally the operator would do that as the plugs were inside and invisible to the ground crew, but Hargrave did it easily by touch alone. The relay input indicators turned green one after another. “How’s it feel?”
“Snug,” Jim said, “but not unpleasant.”
“Good,” Hargrave said and patted him on the breastbone. “Here go
es the head connections.” Since Jim had pinplants, he didn’t need the same helmet. The one he wore was solely for protection. Hargrave took the two head connections and felt along Jim’s hairline, searching for the touchpoint.
“Higher,” Jim said. “A little farther back.”
“Sorry, boss,” Hargrave said.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jim said as the first one clicked magnetically into place, and Jim felt the suit’s computer link with him.
“I had a guy in a unit years ago who had pinplants. He was a scout and could do amazing things with these suits.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Jim said.
“Don’t worry kid,” Murdock said a few feet away. “You’ll do great, and you only have two days to get ready.”
“Thanks. That helps,” Jim moaned. Hargrave shot the old merc a dirty look as he found the haptic connection on the other side of Jim’s head and clicked on the lead.
“Okay, you’re hooked up and ready to go.” Hargrave patted him again and went down the gantry as it was rolled away. “Standby for startup,” he said, and a moment later the power indicator on the interior went from blue for standby to yellow for startup. He felt the suit start to vibrate as the hydrogen-powered generator spun up, and the suit came alive.
“Good power-up,” a technician to the side said. “Clean board.”
“You are live,” Hargrave said. “Now, like we did in the simulator.”
“Okay,” Jim said. You can do this, he thought to himself. With his right hand he pinched his index finger and thumb together, while doing the same with his little finger and thumb on the other hand. The suit’s indicator went from yellow to green.
