by B. E. Wilson
“Stop!” Boom shouted.
Boom climbed to his feet dusting himself off, “I don’t know what happened, and at this point, I don’t want to fucking know. You violated protocol wearing the Suit during a training exercise, and you should know better. It’s grounds for dismissal from the team.”
“Gunny, let me explain…”
“Shut it Garcia! Butler, get your ass up. We’ve got no choice but to expedite your training. We have orders to leave in four weeks. Something’s come up.”
“What’s come up?” I asked.
“Can’t tell ya, that’s classified. But if you ain’t good to go after these four weeks, your ass will be peeling potatoes for some chow how hoochie for the rest of your military career.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“Then you’d better learn to fight me, shut your cock holster, and do what I say,” Garcia said poking me in the chest.
“You’d better do what all of us say. You’ll be pulling three training classes a day. Very long days consisting of no nights. This is crunch time, boy. It won’t get no realer than this,” Boom said. “Garcia, if he ain’t up to speed, cut him loose.”
“I’ll be up to speed, I swear it.”
“We’ll see about that. Back in the training room. Now!”
I was motivated at the prospect of wearing the Suit, but my mental block about hitting Garcia still existed. It wasn’t that she didn’t give me all the ammo I needed to hit her, I just wasn’t wired that way. If there was a dirty name, she called me it. If I didn’t hit her hard enough, she chastised me. When I slacked off, she went harder. Nevertheless, she pushed me through the training until I could hold my own with her—and her robo-arm.
Training with Boom was easier: shoot a few rounds and blow some shit up. He was careful with his instruction; safety was his key. And when all hell broke loose, he showed me how to decimate the enemy. An energy blast triggered outward from the Suit’s power supply would destroy anything within a six-meter radius. But it came at the risk of leaving the Suit inoperable for a short period of time until the power supply recharged itself. That left us vulnerable to attack.
Brains was the one who put me in the suit.
“I need a woman’s name, and don’t pick your mother’s, for god’s sake,” Brains said.
“Why?” I asked.
“It’s for voice command. It will be your suit’s computer’s name. Generally I place a woman’s voice in the controls. It’s more comforting.”
“Awe geez, I don’t know.”
“Come on, Butler, think of someone. An old girlfriend usually does the trick.”
This was going to be embarrassing. I’d only had one girlfriend in my life. It was for three weeks in the third grade. Her name was Geraldine Schuster. I ran away when she tried to kiss me, ending that short romance, but in my defense she’d had some of her lunch stuck in her braces.
“Can’t really think of one,” I lied.
“Come on dickhead, think of a movie star, a model, someone sexy.”
“Rita.”
He laughed, “Oh you got a death wish, don’t you?”
“You have to admit, she’s kinda hot.” I stated.
“Yeah, but we don’t tell her that. It makes her mad, and we don’t like making her mad. But I’m going to do it. It’s your funeral. What do I care?”
As he plugged in my Suit and pounded away on the keyboard of his laptop, I asked him, “Brains, why are you only a corporal? I mean at your age I thought you’d be higher ranked.”
“Well, my dumb young compadre, much like yourself—and I know all about you and not finishing boot camp. Yes I hacked your records,” he confessed. “But, much like yourself I didn’t finish boot camp either. Actually, I never went. I was working on this project, the Suit, when the aliens attacked. So when they asked me to enlist, I cut a deal with them. No boot camp, lifetime job, and a big bag of money in the end. Guess what?”
“What?”
“They agreed.”
“But why corporal, why not a higher rank?”
“Cause, I don’t care about it. I’m not some gung-ho ‘yes sir, no sir, can I spit shine your knob?’ type of soldier. All I care about is that big pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.”
“But what happens if we lose?”
“Then we’re all dead and it doesn’t really matter, now, does it?” he shrugged. “Okay, we are ready. Step onto the back of the platform and stand very still. I don’t want the Suit cutting off your little winky.”
“Cut off my what?”
“It’s just a joke, dude. Stand still.”
Wearing nothing more than a neoprene suit, round portals sewn in areas where the red blotches used to cover my body, I stood waiting for something to happen, watching as he pressed enter on his keyboard. He reared up and smiled.
“You’re going to like this part,” he said to me.
Starting with my lower limbs, robotic arms fastened individual pieces of the Suit to me. Piece by piece, it carefully put me into the inner working shell of the Suit. The innermost layer was a self-contained plasma gel layer that rode against the surface of the neoprene suit.
“The gel layer will protect you from getting rub marks on your skin. That, and it will keep you cool or warm depending on the outside temperature,” Brains said.
Next to be fastened in place was a thin mechanical layer, electrical prods sparking as they came closer. On each layer more prods were inserted into each portal to make the connections.
“Don’t be alarmed, you aren’t going to get electrocuted,” he told me, seeing that I looked nervous as they inched closer.
A slight tingling sensation caused me to twitch—a normal reflex, I thought, but it kept happening as the prods kept firing.
“Hold still, Butler,” Brains demanded.
“Sorry, it startled me a bit. Wasn’t expecting it.”
“That’s nothing, just wait.”
I could feel the weight increasing as the layers started to add up. I was starting to struggle to hold it all up.
“Relax. It doesn’t need you to try and keep it upright. Close your eyes, calm down, and let it hold you up.”
That’s easier said than done, I thought.
With my eyes closed, I took a deep breath and let my body go limp. The hum of the robots as they moved through the air was comforting, at least. The occasional sound of screws twisting into place was almost therapeutic. It was soothing until the sound of a million tapping noises caught my attention. I opened my eyes to see a hoard of small, shiny, metallic spider-like creatures heading toward my head as they climbed up the suit.
“Hey, what the hell is that?” I asked, frantically trying to move although I was restrained inside the inner shell of the suit.
“Nano-bots. They fasten your armor from the inside. They won’t hurt you; no need to panic. Don’t be a big baby,” Brains chuckled.
There must have been a million of them. None of them actually touched my body, but the sounds of them climbing up and moving around in the inner shell sent a creepy sensation up my spine. My mind tricked my body into thinking that actual bugs were crawling across my skin.
“Here comes the fun stuff, the armor. Once the armor is in place and fastened we’ll load the ammo and battery pack onto your back. It will also house the bots after they finish. But if you receive any damage in battle, the bots will release and repair that damage…if they are given sufficient time to do so of course. If not, they will just fill the hole, kind of of like a can of Fix-A-Flat.”
“Fuck me running, this is some weird shit,” I said.
“Nah, this is the easy stuff. Just wait till you take your first steps. That’s when shit gets weird.”
“What’s the armor made out of?”
“It’s a titanium alloy, considered lightweight, but with everything in place you’re tipping the scale at around a thousand pounds.”
The overhead robot slid the backpack in place. With a hard push, it locked
in. The fear of tiny spiders crawling was no longer a fear but a reality. I could feel the nano-bots entering the portholes of the neoprene suit.
“Hey, hey, hey!”
“What, rookie?” Brains asked.
“You said they would ride in the pack, but they’re crawling underneath the protective layer. There touching my goddamn skin!”
“Oh…yeah. We don’t tell anyone that part. You’re about to go live.”
“Live?”
“Yeah…live in 3—2—1, engage!”
I screamed in pain as the tiny insects entered my body like tiny needles. Electric current caused my muscles to convulse as they made contact with the probes. The pack on my back started cycling as the batteries fired up all the electronics. Gears and motors started turning, locking my limbs into place as the robots retreated, allowing the Suit to stand on its own with the assistance of only two braces still attached to my legs. Hydraulic cylinders pressurized, painfully straining and stretching my body till they settled in place, accommodating the Suit to my natural height.
“Don’t scream, you sound like a girl,” Brains said, mocking me. “Ouch, oh no, help me…you big wuss!”
“Hey, I wasn’t expecting that.”
“No one ever is,” he laughed.
I felt one of the bots enter my right ear. I tried rattling it out, violently shaking my head back and forth.
“Get it out, get it out, it’s in my ear!” I begged.
“It has to be there, dipshit. It becomes part of your comms, genius.”
My struggle to rid the little intruder ceased when the overhead robot neared. In its clutches was the helmet, the final piece.
“This will do her. Say hello to Rita,” he said as the robot lowered the helmet onto my head. I could feel the bots fasten it into place.
“Give the command to lower your face shield, your visor.”
“What’s the command?” I asked.
“You’re supposed to have memorized those already. I can’t give your Suit commands. Only Motown and you can order your Suit what to do.”
I’d forgotten them. I tried four or five commands before I got it right.
“Rita, engage protective face shield.”
“Face shield engaged,” her tender voice complied.
As the shield lowered, the heads up display, the HUD, engaged. An icon showing that the Suit’s power level was at ninety percent floated in front of my eyes. I saw green lines encircling and targeting Brains, with green letters indicating he was a ‘Friendly’. To the right there were indicators for temps and fluid levels, to the left a small map with the location marked. At the bottom ammo levels, all caches read ‘empty’ in bright red letters.
Brains knocked on the face shield to get my attention, pointing to his ear as he mouthed some words.
“Rita, comms on.”
“Comms are now on,” she replied.
“Go ahead, Brains.”
“Ready to take her for a spin?”
“Hell yeah I am!”
“I’ll unlock the braces and you’ll be free. Proceed to the double doors straight ahead and we’ll take a few laps around the track.”
“Rita, engage free roam.”
“Free roam engaged.”
The first step off the platform was shaky. Instead of walking, I stomped.
“Try and walk normally. You don’t need to over-correct or conform. She’ll adapt to your walking style and before you know it, you won’t even realize you’re wearing it.”
The next two steps felt like water slushing around in a soggy boot.
“Rita, adjust boot air pressure two pounds higher,” I requested.
“Adjusting.”
It was like walking on air.
“Follow me, big man, right through here,” Brains said as he opened the doors.
Four others were test driving their suits around the enclosed track as well, Rita’s targeting system identifying friendlies and instructors by name. The other suits all had call signs, nicknames. I wondered why I didn’t.
“Rita?”
“Yes Drew Butler.”
“What’s my call sign?”
“Your call sign is Drew Butler.”
“Hmmmm.”
“What’s Hmmmm? I do not understand Drew Butler.”
“Disregard Rita.”
“As you wish Drew Butler.”
I took a few laps around the track, watching as some of the others toppled over. I was able to remain on my feet at least. Brains had me do a few sprints, a couple of jumps, and an attempt at an abrupt stop. It came naturally; it all felt good.
“Well, let’s move on. We need to do some programming and then get your weapons assigned,” Brains said.
“Weapons? I like the sound of that.”
He escorted me back through the team lab and into the armory in the back. Weapons hanging on hooks decorated the side walls. They were split into six sections, each with a nametag indicating which weapons belonged to whom. Down the center aisle sat six large black containers, each tagged for ownership. Mine showed a blank nametag.
“Why isn’t my name on any of these?” I asked Brains, was typing information into a mainframe next to the unclaimed stall.
“Because we haven’t given you one yet, or you haven’t earned it,” he said nonchalantly, continuing to type away.
“How do I earn it?”
“We all play a part in the show,” he bowed like an actor at the end of a play, “and you, my friend, are still behind the curtain.”
He motioned for me to stand in front of the unclaimed box.
“These units can be air-dropped anywhere. Say we’re out in the field, running low on ammo. They drop these off, we back up, and presto, ammo refilled. Go ahead, put your back against the unit. Not only does it fill up your ammo, it fills your fluid levels and rotates your tires.”
“Tires?”
“It’s a joke, geez…don’t you young guys know anything? Just back up to it.”
“Refill in progress,” Rita said as the ammo cache latched onto my backpack.
The Suit was virtually silent, but I noticed that the cache was quite loud.
“Hey Brains, won’t this noise give away our position?”
“Only if we get caught,” he smiled.
It would only take a few minutes to refill. I noticed on my hud display that ammo levels were rising. Indicators that had been blank now appeared full, showing that they were ready for use.
“Okay, go select a rifle on the wall. You must pick one out of your stall. If you try any other it won’t load since the digital signature won’t match up.”
I had three choices. I chose the camouflage one. I swore I heard it calling to me.
“Good choice. That’s an M4V-Carbine. It shoots a 138mm cartridge. Actually, they all shoot it, but that weapon is the assault version. Next, grab that pistol and place it next to your left hip. It’s a standard pistol designed only for the suits. We call it an MV-Defender. It shoots a 45 ACP. Not much special about it other than it’s also digitally un-transferrable. These will be your main weapons.”
“That’s it?” I asked. It didn’t seem like a lot of defense to me.
“Tell Rita to load them,” he responded.
“Okay,” I replied, stepping to the center of the aisle. “Rita, arm weapons.”
A hatch opened on my right arm, and a black fiber chute inserted itself into the side of the rifle.
“You’re carrying 400 rounds, playboy, all fed intravenously. We don’t change clips, it takes too much time. Your pistol will do the same. You’ve got a hundred rounds just in case.”
“This is kinda cool,” I said. I felt like a kid opening presents on Christmas.
“That’s not cool, this is cool,” he said, pointing to the black rod at the foot of my stall. It was about three inches in diameter and two feet long. “Stow your rifle across your chest. Latches will hold it steady against you. Just tell Rita to do it.”
“Rita, stow rifle.”
>
“Rifle stowed. You are hands free.”
“Now what?” I asked.
“Pick it up and press the button, but let me get out of the way first,” he said, quickly scurrying backwards.
Turning it over, I found the button, but before I could press it Brains said, “Hold it out away from you.”
With a press of the button, the rod telescoped outward. Two large blades formed at the end with a mean looking spike protruding out of the top.
“Whoa.”
“You came in with an ax, you go out with an ax. If you spend every one of those rounds, unleash that meat cleaver on those alien bastards. It’ll do some freaking damage.”
I swung it around. Its movement was amazing. It felt light, swift, and deadly.
“How much does this thing weigh? It’s as light as a feather,” I said.
“Light, my ass,” he laughed. “That’s 600 pounds of fury. Remember you’re wearing a Suit, dude. Every single weapon requires the Suit to lift it.”
“How is this possible?”
“You know that little power pack on your back?”
“Yeah.”
“That little discovery, the power pack, the aliens unknowingly gave us, well we actually stole from one of their downed aircraft, can power New York City…for a lifetime.”
“Is it safe? I mean, can it kill me?”
“We’ve had the power packs shot, blown up, and they just keep on ticking. Now if you start barking like a dog, I’d say it screwed with your noodle,” he said. This time he wasn’t smiling.
“You’re kidding me?”
“Yeah, dummy, it’s a joke. Relax. God, I swear…you newbies are so easy.”
15
I’ve never been drunk in my life, until now. Every time I set an empty beer can down, Boom handed me a fresh one. Motown was singing along and playing these black disk type things on some ancient contraption they call a record player. I’d never heard music like this. I really liked it, or maybe that was just the beer talking.
“Get you some, rook,” Boom said of my dancing.
“Guys, we’ve got field exercises tomorrow. You shouldn’t be torturing him like this,” Bob said.
“It’s his last three days, let him live a little,” Hunter chimed in, tossing me another beer.
