by GX Knight
“It would have been easier to get here if I didn’t have to navigate your police state out there.” My tone may have been accusatory. If anybody had a right to be in arms against terrorist it was me, but I didn’t see the point in locking down entire cities to preserve “freedom” and safety.
The General switched on his military voice, “I’m afraid that’s above your pay-grade, Captain. Your job is to follow orders. As a soldier you don’t have the luxury of second guessing command decisions. Is that understood?”
I plopped down in one of the two chairs that were separated by a small square table. It was lightly brushed with blue tint from the corner light so that it looked like it had a slight glow to it. I didn’t feel soldierly, and for the first time I really didn’t feel like playing Wyld’s military game. I could salute, shoot their weapons, and shine my brass later. First, I wanted to know about Star. “Where’s your daughter?” I asked pointedly. “What’s happened?”
General Wyld took the other seat, and in a rare display of humanity, he let his forehead fall into hands. He braced on the table as he slouched from the weight of the question. “She’s going to live,” he said. “But she’s still in a coma.”
“I want to see her,” I demanded.
His head popped up and he just looked at me with a stare that shot a thousand yards, and then some.
“Please?” I added.
He shook his head, “In time. Since you’re obviously mobile, I have an assignment for you first. We’re skipping proficiencies. You’re about to get on the job training with your new toys.”
“Field duty with no shakedown?” I balked.
“That equipment has seen more trials than you have. The tough sell isn’t putting the gear out there… It’s putting you out there. Unfortunately, as sad as it is to say, you’re the most qualified, outside our scientists, to use it. With the impending threat of an escalated war in the wake of the bombings, you’re our best hope for stopping this madness before things get worse.”
“Then can I see Starshine?”
“We’ll see. She needs to focus on recovery after she wakes. It’s not going to be easy for her, and I don’t know that having you around as a distraction would be overly helpful. But I’m not without heart,” my Scam-O-Meter red-lighted quick as he spoke, “You do well, get this war over for us, and I’ll make sure you’re at her side when you get back.”
I shot up to attention, “Then let’s do this.”
General Wyld’s smile was wide and confident. He seemed certain that he could keep me under his thumb by dangling the carrot of his daughter in front of me. My own smile threatened to appear as I thought about just how wrong he was.
JUICED
The next morning I started the day off in the infusion lab. I had seven injections of something the doctor called “Nanogems.” The briefing packet simply referred to the substance as Compound NX-8. It wasn’t until I was standing face-to-face with an overly-enthused scientist, who was all but dancing at the opportunity to finally get to test the formula on me, did I learn little “extras” about the top secret serum they were pumping into me. There were two points of interest I did not already know. First, NX-8 was not native to this planet. Second, and the most exciting to me, it was going to make professional performance enhancers seem like chewable vitamins. I worked so many years to gain my strength naturally, but now I was embracing this new edge the scientists were giving me. I kept telling myself I wasn’t doing this for me. It was all for her. I’d be lying if I said didn’t want the power though.
I took my shots to get ready for some mission, but all I could think about was how much fun this stuff would be during a Laser Ball match. I probably should have questioned the introduction of alien substances into my body. I think the part of me that cared died with my friends. Even if I left this room and returned to the arena, things would never be the same. My girl was hurt, and I had been robbed of my team, my family. I’d shoot up whatever needle was put in front of me to have juice-enough to bring the person responsible to justice.
During the testing phase, I punched a brick into dust, I hit the bullseye of the dartboard every time, and I burned the motor out on the treadmill. I felt like I could do anything. Unfortunately, the effects of NX-8 only lasted about an hour before I needed a recharge. My body burned through the nanogem energy with frightening expediency.
I didn’t expect my skin to tear like paper by the force used to crush the bricks. Thankfully, there was a healing boost from the NX-8. After the seventh dose my stitches were already out, my burns were well on the mend, and the scrapes from the brick tests had already turned into pink scar tissue. I held up my hands to the scientists as if to ask “What do you plan on doing about this?” They assured me they had it handled.
Once done with all the pokes and prods, I was taken into another laboratory where a host of hairless scientist, toes to an invisible line, waited to jump at the slightest word for the next phase in my transformation. Someone said “Go” and then it was as if a race horn had sounded. Before I could react or protest, I was naked and taken into a small room where I was stuffed into a charcoal-black, inch-thick, skin-tight warsuit of ballistics armor called Fiberprene. It was flexible, but tough. It came with a utility belt, plenty of gadget-filled pockets, and glossy black armored boots, gloves, and neck shield. Looks like they did have the skin-thing handled. I felt like a human tank.
Getting into the warsuit was only half the struggle. Turning it on was the other. It took about thirty seconds for the built-in gear of the suit to boot up. I was getting comfortable until the thing hissed and I jumped as if my skin had been pricked by a thousand tiny needles. Turns out it had. Once my body burned through the energy of my NX-8, the suit recharged the elements with a series of microinjections done by needles built into it. The nanogems never left my system. They just became dormant after I used them through exertion. As long as I wore the warsuit, I would have use of the biological enhancements indefinitely. No suit, and I only had about an hour before turning back into regular old Rayce.
A bald scientist retrieved a goggled-and-masked helmet unit from a shelf that also displayed various components of the same head piece. They were the spare parts for the helmet. Another scientist joined the one holding the helmet, but in his hand was a razor. He started for my head, but I backed away in protest. Military or not, no way was I shaving my head. To make sure I got my point across, I raised an exclamatory armored fist. The guy with the razor took a step back. Message received.
“Captain, we need to shave your head so that the helmet can perform properly. Static electricity generated by your hair will interfere with the neural connection points.”
One of the advantages of my special enlistment privileges was that they wanted me to look less military, so I never had to shave my head or keep the standard military high-and-tight haircut. My thick, jet-colored locks remained intact. I was not about to lose them now.
I gave a warning point of my finger to the frozen scientists. They remained where they were as I helped myself to the spare parts on the shelf. I grabbed a face mask and blue oval goggles. Both conveniently folded and clipped to my belt. I gave them my best menacing glare, “This will do. Does anyone have a problem with that?”
They looked at me wide-eyed. They were afraid of me. I had tangled with rookies back in the arena who had that exact same look. I liked it back then, and I liked it now. I decided not to play with them too much and made nice. “I understand some of the features will not be available, but will this suffice?” I motioned to the pieces I took.
The line of bald heads nodded in disappointed unison. I think they were just upset that I would not be joining their stylish no-hair club. They had de-haired for the equipment testing, essentially, for nothing since I wasn’t putting my head in anything that required me to be bald. Oh well, failure is one of the risks of science. They’ll adjust.
They all had stunned looks on their faces as they glanced to each other over the confusion a
bout whether they needed to report me or hide. It reminded me of my one year at prep school when all the squids had to hand lunch money over to the jocks. I think one of their lips actually started to quiver. I hated to be viewed as a bully, but it’s my hair we’re talking about.
The setting was getting a little sad, so I left.
My excitement jumped upon entering the next laboratory. This was the one I was most looking forward to. Clear isolation boxes lined three of the walls. Another handful of scientists were huddled around each test box while one person used controls to move the automations inside their experiment pod. I didn’t care about what they were doing. My attention was held by what waited in the center of the room.
A shimmering black linen was draped over several pieces of technology. Whatever the cloth rested on made it rise and fall like a miniature mountainscape. There were many other deadly looking prototypes in that particular lab, but I knew that one was for me. I could feel it.
“At last, Captain Rycard has arrived.” One of the scientist emerged from the center group to face me. He ushered me to the draped counter as the rest of the room crowded around their colleague. “Weapon development is not unlike crafting a fine suit,” he lectured to his staff as he began his presentation as though I were simply a subject to be observed. “It must be fitted to the individual. In the past when a blacksmith armed an army with swords and axes, he would mass produce the same weapon over and over. Here we have created a unique instrument suited for one person. Hand width, arm length, the soldier’s past, his personality profile, strengths and weaknesses –All taken into consideration and then formulated to build from the ground up a perfect specimen of ergonomics and armament. This fine piece of craftsmanship is meant for this soldier, and this soldier only.”
He was getting me even more excited. I tried to peek under the cloth, but he slapped my hand back. “Is it a sword?” I asked him.
His pride was gushing in almost tangible waves of smugness that I actually admired. “If you have to get close enough to your target to use a sword, then you’ve failed, and by extension, so have I.” He looked me in the eye, his gaze was piercing. He was confident in himself, and at what he was doing. This man was serious about his creation, and he seemed more like a father preparing to give away his child at the altar than a scientist. He put his hand on the cloth, and I felt a brief connection spark between us. “You have to want this,” he said. “More than that, you have to need it. You are committing to making this a part of you for the rest of your life. If this weaponry is lost, it means you are lost. This should be held closer than a lover, and adored more than a child. It is your companion, your confidant, and your prize. Do you understand?”
Both of our hands rest on the lumps hidden by the linen. The black of my gloves was lost above the midnight cloth. The nimble pale fingers of the weapon builder curled into fist and contrasted like pale moons over a black lake. The spark of our connection turned into a bolt. It was as if I could see past the words, past his face, and hear beyond his voice. His words carried with them images of sincerity and purpose. A warm light of truth and earnest flitted like wings over each syllable. I knew that this arrogant man, proud of his accomplishment, wanted more than praise. He wanted his creation to be used well. He wanted the weapon to succeed. He wanted me to succeed.
There was silence after all his to-do, and it was time to remove the cloth. “At your leisure, Captain,” he said proudly.
I ripped the cloth away.
HELL YES
Everyone in the laboratory, besides me and father-gunsmith, blinked after a few awkward seconds of unimpressed silence. Despite the other scientists complete incognizance, I was about to break out into dance and song over what was on the table. Harkening back to my arena days, sat two of the most beautifully constructed pistols I had ever seen. They were reminiscent to the rigs I use to carry, but with noticeable, and better, differences. They were a carbon black, similar in color to my warsuit. The lines angled hard down the barrel into a sexy profile of detailed craftsmanship that had small same-color etchings shadow-engraved into the metal. The hilt and trigger adjusted based on whether I was wearing gloves, so that I could always have them on me. The various components of laser sights, a gun-cam, and search lights attached seamlessly to make them totally customizable. They looked dangerous, and they were all mine.
From a lower shelf I was handed a small silver box. I placed it gingerly between the two pistols and opened it. Inside were two gems cut into perfectly thinned rectangles that pulsed with blue energy that I could almost hear humming.
“Clips?” I asked noticing they would fit in open slots of both hilts.
“Infinite Clips,” the man told me proudly. “Never reload again.”
When I grabbed the Clips I felt another tingle of warmth wash over me. This time it was a hundred times more potent, and it was as if I could feel basic “gruntings” of emotion from everyone in the room. Most were bored, a few were excited, and then from one man far in the back, I could feel a definite sense of fear radiating off him like a beacon. I craned my neck to get a look at him, but he moved away from my gaze like I did in the night avoiding those searchlights.
I shoved both gem-clips into the pistol hilts, and then I held them up to each side of my face. I felt the weapons hum to life. These were a little different from my old pistols. They were heavier, meaner, and tangibly more lethal. When I considered all I was going to be asked to do, I took comfort in them. They felt good in my hands. It was as if they belonged there with me and with no one else.
I flipped the safeties on, turned the gun-cams on, and made a few crowd-pleasing spins and twirls. I did some of my old tricks the fanboys loved back in my arena days. A favorite was when I gave them a few whirls and tosses, and then I would stop and let the pointer dot land between someone’s eyes. Their eyes would cross and the people watching would inevitably laugh, clap, and cheer.
The humdrum scientists showed some life as they let loose to enjoy my show. The fearful man tried to duck out of the room during my performance, but just before he made it out, a gratuitous movement from a taller scientist he was trying to hide behind left him open to my line of sight, and with a blur, my pistol stopped with its cobalt laser dot dancing at the tip of his nose.
“Bang!” I said threateningly.
He screamed and then ran out of the lab still shrieking down the hall. I guess everyone was used to him being so odd, because they all chuckled, and a wave of “that happens all the time” filled the space between me and the others. He may have just been paranoid, but something inside me told me there was more. I shoved the weapons into the holsters of my suit, and started to go after him under the guise of needing to apologize. I couldn’t get out of the lab as the com buzzed and an uppity female voice blared through the crackling speaker, “Is he ready yet? I’ve been waiting all morning, and I have grown quite impatient. Send him down here now.”
I was decked out in a state-of-the-art warsuit. I had just been given two of the deadliest personal weapons our military had ever constructed. I’ve got some kind of sixth sense sitting on the front of my head like a bad sugar rush. Things were progressing a little fast. Before I really got a chance to take it all in though, I was hurried down a couple flights of stairs, escorted through five checkpoints in an old rust and mold covered area of the base, and then put in a vehicle that drove at high speed down an abandoned-looking tunnel for well over fifteen minutes. By the time we stopped, I could have been anywhere. Good thing I had built in GPS.
A thought was hanging out in the back of my mind like an annoying fly that just wouldn’t buzz away: Why the hurry? Why the sudden need for experimental field equipment? Considering my near miss from the bombing, I think I could answer that, but I still wasn’t sure. I couldn’t help but wonder if we had done this weeks ago if I could have somehow stopped these terror attacks before it all started. At the same time, could there be something looming that Wyld is worried about? It’s not like I’ve done or r
ead anything between then and now that’s made that big of a difference. Well, I did almost die. If that’s not motivation I don’t know what it is. But, no way was that factored in as part of the training. I hated all the “need to know” holes I still didn’t know.
I was snapped back into the moment as my suit stabbed me again. It was a quick stinging sensation that pricked me simultaneously across almost all of my skin. The sensation wasn’t terrible, but it was definitely going to take some getting used to. Wyld had neglected to mention the need for constant injections before I agreed to sign on. I couldn’t help but wonder what else I hadn’t been told.
I found the answer to that question as the vehicle pulled into a mountain-sized underground hangar-bay. My jaw dropped as I padded silently across metal-grated floor. I was too focused on the two jets in front of me to notice that my noise dampening armored boots didn’t make a sound.
There were two aircraft. In the back there was a jet colored in pearl. She was sleek and smooth with sweeping wings, dual ailerons, and double mounted intakes set just behind the canopy on each side of the cockpit. Though she was static, she looked fast and ready to fly.
