Nemesis (The MechaVerse Trilogy Book 2)

by Jeremy Cunkle

  Pity and guilt overwhelmed her because she was the one who had turned him into this empty, soulless husk. She was the reason he had yet again lost everything he cared about. She turned to leave as despair set in when she heard him try to utter a few syllables. His voice cracked from the rawness of his long unused throat. Eve turned, seeing a cup on the bedside table still half-full of water. Mikkhael stopped trying to talk, simply lying there with his eyes still closed. It had been her mistake that brought him to this level; her disastrous attempt to show that the StormCrows did not need to rely on his abilities alone to win their freedom. She had served as the catalyst that destroyed their best hope for victory, the one that he embodied.

  She would suffer her penance, it was the least she could do.

  Eve opened Mikkhael’s mouth and then ran a finger she dipped in water along the inside of his cheeks. She repeated the gesture, and then dribbled more of the water down the back of his throat, stopping when he once again began to cough. She put the cup of water down and hesitated one last time before placing her mouth next to his ear, speaking so softly that Dr. Hesken and the nurses were unable to hear what she said.

  “I am sorry. So very sorry for everything that happened to you.”

  Eve wrapped her arms about his inert figure as she began to cry. Her whimpers quickly turned into wracking sobs, tears raining unchecked down onto his cheek.

  Dr. Hesken felt her pulse quicken, holding her breath in anticipation as she zoomed in the camera to focus on the monitor showing Mikkhael’s brain activity. Sure enough, it was picking up, rapidly. The uncontrolled show of emotion was proving more potent in reviving him than any medicine in her repertoire. She panned the camera out enough to watch his eyelids begin fluttering again. Silently, she cheered him on, nearly gasping when she realized she had been holding her breath in eager anticipation.

  The crying fit passed. Eve straightened quickly and made to leave, embarrassed by the show of weakness that had not occurred since she was twelve; but there was resistance when she tried to lift her hand. She blinked away the tears, staring into a pair of eyes that looked directly back at her.

  He was awake, weakly holding onto her wrist. The intensity of his gaze as he gazed into her soul sent shivers down her spine.

  Mikkhael Dreyfus had returned to them.

  CHAPTER TWO – RAISON D’ETRE

  “No one can tell you who you are. You decide. Every step you take, every second spent learning, becoming something more than you used to be. Decide. Become. Act-and then reshape this terrible world of ours. Never stop fighting for what you believe to be right.”

  - Commander Ultor Dreyfus on forming the StormCrows

  “I still don’t see the point of doing these exercises and going through with all of these stupid motions if Starkindler is destroyed.” Weariness laced Mikkhael’s voice as he crumpled into a chair, the crutches he had been using falling to the floor with a loud clatter.

  Dr. Hesken crossed her arms, lowered her chin, and unsuccessfully willed hellfire into his soul. She spoke calmly, as dangerous an indicator as any coming from a woman. “It is my duty to restore your health so that you may fulfill your duty, fighting against the PDF.”

  For his part, Mikkhael did not shrink from her fury. The last two weeks of constant physical therapy had taken place under the personal tutelage of the good doctor. Her barbs were continuous as she tirelessly searched for anything that would motivate him, only succeeding in thickening his skin against their impact. This same argument had been repeated innumerable times since then. He shook his head no, performing his half of the quarrel. “Starkindler was completely destroyed. It suffered catastrophic failure, and the radiation pollution from the reactor melting down ensures that nothing is salvageable. On top of that, I don’t possess the means to repair it while on Mars, even if I were capable of working on it, and I’m not. To be honest, I’m not sure if enough materials remain to rebuild Starkindler even if I went back to Earth, but I can’t even do that because the radiation from the trip alone would kill me. The machine that enabled me to serve your noble cause has been destroyed, it’s gone, and with it my ability to influence the course of events. There isn’t a point anymore, it’s over.”

  Dr. Hesken retorted without hesitation. Practice made repeating her rebuttals effortless through their many iterations of this same argument. “You act as if you can predict the future, when in fact no one knows what’s in store for any of us. Staying in bed and becoming a human vegetable will only see your words become a self-fulfilling prophecy. We are preparing you for a future that hasn’t been revealed yet. It’s up to you to find your purpose and meaning, it’s my job to empower you to seize that opportunity once it presents itself.”

  He was about to continue the argument when she turned and walked away. He cried out, asking her to pick up his crutches and help him walk back to his room now that this portion of his exercises were done. She ignored him, suddenly leaving him to fend for himself for the first time in three months. His anger made him dizzy with rage. He was perfectly content to wallow in self-pity, intending to sit and rot on the chair the same as any petulant toddler until she returned to apologize and help him; that was until nature reminded him that there were always more forces in play than simple observation would lead one to believe. He nearly loosed his bowels then and there, so great was his despair as he mentally measured the distance to the bathroom at the far end of the practice hall.

  Slowly, his sense of self-pride awakened from its dormant state, reasserting itself just this once. He picked up the crutches, utilizing his anger as the fuel to empower him. He cursed methodically in an eloquent and practiced fashion as he hobbled to the bathroom where he could relieve himself properly. He never paused cursing the good doctor. as he likely set a record for how large his bladder expanded, and then contracted. When he was done, he lifted his wrist out of sheer unconscious habit to have Aurora call a motorized scooter for him, but the communicator was not there. Aurora had left him at the same time Starkindler was destroyed, and now the communicator served only as a guilty reminder of his losses.

  Alone, flogged continuously by the demons that haunted his every moment, Mikkhael labored tediously towards his new personal quarters which were closer to the area designated as the physical therapy hall for Mount Olympus, home of the StormCrow faction. After an eternity of effort, he collapsed on the bed, closing his eyes as exhaustion took over, his mouth still moving albeit silently as he cursed the doctor until the blackness once again overcame him.

  * * * * *

  Eleven weeks had passed since the battle. It possessed no name. It was never specifically mentioned. The process of ignoring its occurrence was so all consuming that its memory weighed over every action. Anything except the topic was mentioned in conversation by those in his presence. The loss of Starkindler was the twenty thousand pound elephant in the room, its continuous presence suffocating and overwhelming.

  As far as Mikkhael was concerned, the first five weeks had basically not existed. He spent them in an induced coma, oblivious to the passing of time or the world around him. However, the last two weeks had been spent in one of the lower rungs of hell. The various doctors and nursing staff were constantly marveling at how quickly his body recovered when they thought he was out of earshot. They urged the healing process on in every way possible. His days consisted of being moved from one machine to another in the mornings, then physical therapy in the afternoons; and then more machines in the evenings. There were even machines they attached to him while he slept that passed electrical current in bursts through the muscles of his arms and legs, forcing them to periodically contract as if he were exercising, all working in concert with one another, slowly rebuilding his lost muscle mass.

  His body not only healed under the dedication of resources, it reveled in the attention. Mikkhael weighed more now than he had when back on Earth. The newly toned muscles of his body were constrained when wearing his old uniforms. He had always been prone to a more
slender build, passed over by the girls in school back before his life unalterably changed. Now however, he often caught women’s glances lingering a bit extra as they stared his way in the common eating room or passing in the hall. The impulse to act upon the stares never entered his mind though; depression from his loss of identity overwhelmed him, drowning everything else out with its solitary cry.

  Then one-day things took a new twist. He was sitting in a little used room in the medical ward, one of the few that was new to him. An unknown amount of time passed while he despondently waited to hear about what new thing they wanted to stab him with or new test to take. Enough uninterrupted time passed that he fell asleep on the uncomfortable examining table, having achieved the primordial soldiers’ ability to fall asleep anywhere whenever there was any downtime, when Dr. Hesken breezed through the door as if she had been the one waiting on him, followed by two nurses that seemingly accompanied her everywhere.

  She gave him a quick visual examination, the expression on her face in what she saw proclaimed her eternal disappointment. “Strip.” She said.

  He blinked rapidly, unsure if the fog of his nap could have somehow confused what she said.

  For her part, Dr. Hesken crossed her arms and tapped her foot in irritation as the two nurses moved to assist him. “You heard me boy. The three of us have put you back together so many times now we’ve lost count, and we’re way past the point where this should be awkward; ‘sides, we’ve seen a pecker or two before in our time. Now stop wasting my time and strip.”

  Silently, he did as he was told, not that she would have let him do anything else. The two nurses acted as her enforcers, efficiently doing most of the work for him, pointedly avoiding making eye contact with him during the process. To make matters worse, he was naked, cold, and blushing thoroughly when two blue suited environmental technicians came through the door wheeling a large upright container, militarily ruggedized and sealed for field operations. They ignored his naked form as they went about unsealing the container. As a matter of fact, everyone in the room was ignoring him, which only served to make the entire situation even more infuriating.

  The red blush in his cheeks was quickly becoming flushed with anger instead of embarrassment when Dr. Hesken, who had been conversing with the technicians, turned to him, ignoring his discomfort and opinions before he even had the opportunity to express them. “Thorsten’s been helping me with this. Actually, this was his idea. Do you know what the Mark system is?”

  Confused and caught off guard, Mikkhael could only shake his head no as he stared at the container, not for the last time wishing that Aurora was still around to tell him what the hell was going on.

  Without skipping a beat, she continued. “He said it’s some kind of powered infantry armor suit… I think. I stopped paying attention pretty quickly. Anyways, he thinks it’ll help you have a higher degree of mobility and freedom and that’s what’s important. So, over a dozen people have been working on this for the last few weeks, customizing it just for you, and now it’s ready for you to try.” She stared him straight in the eyes, maintaining eye contact without blinking, as she made sure he understood how serious she was. “Don’t screw this up. Remember, people die in my charge all the time and no one asks any questions.”

  With the overt threat hanging heavily in the air, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving him naked and alone with the nurses, the technicians, and the now ominously open container.

  The technicians unsealed the case, quickly handing the nurses what looked like the equivalent of a wetsuit for diving, only thinner. The nurses helped him squeeze into it, in the process shocking themselves several times with static electricity. One of the technicians whose uniform name said Cho on it, placed what appeared to be a watch sized copper band just above each of his ankles, somehow sealing it to the suit. The other technician, Tao, placed a similar band of copper looking rings just above each of his wrists while Cho moved back to the case, unwrapping a larger kite shaped piece of copper that was even thinner than the bands. The pair of technicians attached the new kite shaped piece on the lumbar region of his back, which was surprisingly flexible and did not hinder his ability to move at all.

  Next, the nurses had him put on a second bodysuit, one that did not go past his collarbone. Cho took pity on him and began to explain what was going on, “The bands around your wrists and ankles will allow the suit to regulate the temperature in your limbs, while the one on your back will take care of your torso. There will be another copper band that attaches along the back of your neck; lastly, a small circle will be placed against your sternum. Together, they can maintain your personal temperature preference in a range of -70° all the way up to 130°. It is much easier to warm the suit up than it is to cool it down, which is fortunate for us here on Mars. The default temperature is set to 72°, and will compensate for changing temperatures such as heat buildup caused from exertion like running.”

  While he spoke, the nurses finished sliding him into the second skintight bodysuit. “As you noticed, the first layer of the suit is designed to harness and create static energy from your movements. The second layer is for moisture control and temperature regulation, and then we have a third layer that is very special. It may look like just a thin mesh, but it cost more than any other element of the suit. It will collect the heat and static from your body and convert it to electricity, which other parts of the suit will then use for power.”

  Some more fiddling occurred before Cho and Tao pulled out their next contraption, which looked like a semi-flexible suit made out of rubber padding a finger thick. “This part of the suit has hundreds of small actuators in it. They were intended to help soldiers walk and run farther, as well as carry additional weight. The actuators are housed around the ankles, knees, and especially the lower back, and are powered by kinetic energy from your movements as well as the suit’s. Each step you take or whenever you bend down, the gas inside the actuator chamber is compressed, and when you stand up or move to take your next step the gas is released, giving you a small push. Add enough small pushes together and you get a considerable net benefit. Also, there is a pretty heavy capacity battery that is housed in between the shoulder blades. Electricity from the battery multiplies the actuators efficiency several times. Depending on your range of travel, the battery will need to be recharged every three or four days. We’ll give you a few spares just in case.

  “Lastly, there is the actual armor which interconnects with the other suits, providing one integral uniform. It is also composed of two layers. The inside layer is a thin shock absorbing material. If the operator is struck by a weapon, the inside layers spreads the impact across as wide an area as possible in order to diffuse the energy and minimize its impact. The outside is layered ceramic composite scales that can stop a knife, a bullet, or energy blast. Hundreds more small actuators are built into these layers in order to offset their weight, and everything is as lightweight as possible. When completed, because of the actuators, the suit only adds about ten pounds in our reduced gravity, evenly distributed evenly across your body. Obviously we don’t expect you to be getting shot or stabbed, but this should serve as an exo-skeleton that allows you to move about with much more freedom. And don’t worry, there’s easy access for all the basic necessities. For a PDF invention, these things are actually pretty legit.”

  With the powered suit fully assembled and the “Ok” from the technicians, Mikkhael began to flex and turn, testing out how it affected his range of movement and finding himself pleasantly surprised at the results. For the first time in two months, albeit slowly, he could bend down and pick something off the floor from a seated position. He was still too afraid to try from a standing one and the nurses never encouraged him to try, which led him to the conclusion that was still not an option. They did however hand him his pair of crutches before walking out and leaving him with the technicians; the obvious implication being that he would still have to practice walking.

  Cho continued
as if nothing untoward had just happened. “There’s also a helmet with a really neat HUD if you decide you want it, but for now all that was requested was the powered suit. If you need anything, just holler. It has a built in computer along the left forearm that can track your location and communicate with anyone here in the mountain. Out in the field, it can link to and piggyback off any friendly radio. It’s got some other neat tricks too, but that’s all the doctor wanted me to tell you about today.” With the explanations over, Cho and Tao closed up the case and made to leave, leaving him alone in the medical ward.

  “Hey! What the hell am I supposed to do now?” Mikkhael asked, suddenly panicking.

  Tao barely looked over his shoulder as he replied, “Hey man, we’re just clock punchers and our job’s done. That’s your problem now. Goodluck.” With a lackadaisical wave, the pair of technicians left the same way they came in.

  Mikkhael looked over at the crutches and swore loudly. This situation had Dr. Hesken manipulating everything behind the scenes written all over it, and no matter how he looked at it, there was nothing he could do but go along with what she wanted him to do. Which made it rankle all that much more. He sat around for nearly thirty minutes moping in self-pity before angrily grabbing hold of the crutches and began awkwardly half-propelling, half falling his way out of the room and down the subsequent hallway. Once he rounded the turn for the next hallway, the two nurses from earlier were standing in front of him, arms crossed with smirks on their faces, a wheelchair in between them.

  “It’s about damned time!” Mikkhael said angrily.

  The taller of the two and the one he always thought of as the more senior caught him as he began to fall, the distraction of them appearing before him was enough to set him off-balance. The other nurse maneuvered the wheelchair under him after which they let him slide into it. “Stop being such a child. The doctor wanted us to wait until you were out of the ward to get you, but we have better things to do and other patients to take care of instead of waiting all day for you to get over yourself. We’re going to take you to your quarters now, and in the morning you will get serious about physical therapy or God so help me boy, we will find a way to make you regret it.” The taller nurse said.