by Jay Posey
“Cadre,” Lincoln said. Sergeant Nakarmi stood up a little straighter, gave his half smile. Sergeant Sahil Nakarmi. Cadre Sahil.
“Hey OneSev,” Sahil said, snapping off a crisp salute. “It’s just sergeant to you now. Told ya I’d be saluting you the next time I saw you.”
“For show,” Lincoln said, returning the gesture and feeling awkward about it. Sahil had just spent fourteen weeks telling Lincoln when to jump and how high. Lincoln didn’t see how he was ever going to be able to give the man an order. “What are you doing here?”
Sahil touched his cheekbone. “Gettin’ beat up by a girl, sir.”
His opponent regained his feet, and Lincoln saw now, sure enough, he was a she. She was broad-shouldered and tall, maybe six inches taller than Sahil, which put her around five feet nine or so. Her hair was cropped short and her eyes were fierce brown flecked with gold, and they hadn’t yet lost their fire from the battle. Still breathing hard, she backhanded Sahil’s arm as she drew up next to him.
“I told you not to go easy,” she said.
“Not sure which part of that was easy,” he answered.
“Yeah, well, I thought I was doing all right until you threw me like a child.”
“Hey now, that ain’t fair,” Sahil said, “I ain’t never thrown a child in my life.” The woman made a face at him and then finally turned to address Wright.
“Master Sergeant,” she said by way of greeting. “Who’s this pretty kitty?”
“The new boss, Thump,” Wright answered. “If you ask nice, I’ll let you pet him.”
A brief wave of surprise swept over the woman’s features before her face went professional an instant later. She popped to attention with a textbook salute.
“Sergeant First Class Avery Coleman, sir,” she said.
“At ease, sergeant,” Lincoln said, and then he glanced at Wright. “I thought we weren’t real big on formalities around here.”
“We aren’t,” Wright said without looking at him. She wasn’t hostile about it, but she didn’t leave any doubt whether she considered Lincoln part of that we, either.
Coleman relaxed into a more casual stance, and looked him up and down once.
“Huh,” she said. “I thought your feet would be bigger.”
Lincoln glanced down to look at his feet, puzzled. As he was looking back up, just before he asked what she was talking about, he made the connection and chuckled.
“Sergeant, if I were six feet taller and laid down lengthwise, I still wouldn’t be able to fill Colonel Almeida’s shoes. I’m not even going to try.”
She gave a flash of a tight smile in response.
“And you,” Lincoln said, looking at Sahil. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to call you anything other than cadre, Sergeant Nakarmi.”
“You’ll work it out,” Sahil answered.
“Did the colonel pull you out of Selection too?”
Sahil shook his head. “No sir, I been an Outrider for a while. Almost as long as this one,” he said, gesturing at Wright.
Lincoln put it together. “So, probably not an accident you just happened to end up in the instructor corps when I was in there, then.”
Sahil gave a little smile. “Mom takes recruiting pretty serious.”
“Mom?” Lincoln asked. Wright had said something about Mom sending a care package earlier, but he’d thought she was just joking around.
“Yeah,” Pence said. “That’s what we all call the old man. Colonel Almeida. He loves it.”
“I assume there’s a story,” Lincoln said.
“More’n a few,” Sahil answered.
“If you ask the colonel,” Coleman added, “he’ll tell you it’s because of his initials. Mateus Almeida. M.A., Ma, Mom.”
“Sounds like a pretty tame way to earn a nickname for the army,” Lincoln said. “Almost implausibly so.”
Pence chuckled. “Almost.”
“All right, enough meet and greet,” Wright said. “The captain needs to get by the shop to get suited.”
“Oh,” Lincoln said. “Is the rest of the team out on assignment?”
“The rest?” Wright asked. “Buddy, you’re looking at the whole crew right here.”
“It’s just you four?”
“Just us four,” she said. “And you to tag along, I guess.”
“We’ve got support staff, of course,” Coleman said. “But we have to share it with a couple of other units.”
“It’s more they have to share with us,” Sahil added.
“Yeah, but I’m not sure they know that,” Coleman replied.
“Well,” Lincoln said. “The colonel wasn’t kidding about a small team.”
“Numbers like this don’t typically rate someone of your caliber, huh?” Coleman said, deadpan. Lincoln couldn’t tell if it was a joke or a challenge.
“Oh I’m sure you rate way better than me,” Lincoln said. “The colonel probably figured on me mostly being smart enough to stay out of the way.”
Coleman at least smiled at that.
“Hey, don’t sweat it, captain,” Pence said. “He pretty much expects each one of us to do the job of five, so I figure that makes us at least a platoon.”
Wright held up a finger and dropped her gaze, and the rest of her team went instantly still. She swiped a finger across the dermal pad on her forearm.
“This is Wright,” she said, communicating with someone absent. A moment later she added, “Yes sir, I’m on my way.”
She closed the channel and addressed the people in the room with her. “Mom needs me at the PFAC. Captain Suh still needs to hit the shop and the lab.”
“I’ll take him around,” Pence volunteered. “What’s up?”
“Didn’t say,” Wright answered. “Probably ought to get your boots shined up, though.”
“Roger that,” Coleman said, and from the sudden shift in mood, Lincoln figured that meant an operations order was probably on its way. But surely they wouldn’t deploy him so soon. Would they? Then again, given how he ended up here in the first place, he couldn’t say it was out of the realm of possibility.
“Excuse me, captain,” Wright said with a nonchalant salute. “I’m sure you’ll be hearing from the colonel soon.”
“Sure thing,” Lincoln said. “Thank you, sergeant.”
Wright nodded once and then turned and strode out of the gym.
“Same deal for us, cap’n,” Sahil said. He tipped his head towards the door where Wright had just exited. “If she’s movin’ like that, we probably got work comin’ down the pipe. We need to get squared away.”
“Absolutely, cadre… sergeant,” Lincoln said. “Take care of whatever you need to. Don’t let me hold you up.”
“Prolly easier if you just call me Sahil, sir.”
“That’d probably be easier if you’d quit calling me sir, sergeant.”
“Yessir,” Sahil said to Lincoln with a smile, and then looked over at Pence. “We’ll catch up with ya in a bit?”
“Yep,” Pence answered.
“Sir,” Coleman said, giving another textbook salute.
“Sergeant,” Lincoln answered, returning the gesture. Coleman and Sahil returned to the mat to gather their belongings.
“Come on with me, captain,” Pence said. “We’ll see if we can get you set up before we roll out.”
“You think we’re going out?”
“I think we probably are,” Pence nodded as he led Lincoln out of the gym. “Maybe not immediately. But I’d guess things are moving that way. I honestly don’t know if Mom will let you out of the cage so soon, though. But let’s not give him any reason to keep you back, yeah?”
“All right,” Lincoln said.
Sergeant Pence led him out of the back of the facility. The 519th’s building sat on the rear quadrant of the restricted area, so Lincoln had already passed by a good number of the other buildings when he’d ridden in. Even so, walking through the sprawl gave him a different sense of just how big the fenced-in area wa
s. It was its own campus, a base within a base.
“Don’t let the master sergeant hurt your feelings, sir,” Pence said, as they walked. “She’s like that with everybody.”
“How’s that?”
“You know, the sort of you-don’t-belong icy vibe thing.”
“Oh, it’s no problem, sergeant,” Lincoln said.
“You can call me Mike.”
“Okay, Mike. I know how it is when a new guy shows up. It always changes the team dynamic.”
“Yeah. Well she’ll warm up to you eventually,” Mike said. And then a moment later added, “Probably.”
Lincoln smiled at that. “I get the impression she’s the mama bear.”
“Ehn, I dunno about that,” said Mike. He glanced over at Lincoln. “Bears are a lot more approachable.” Then he motioned towards a wide, arching grey building that looked more like a warehouse than anything else. “We’re headed right there.”
Mike led the way, buzzed in at the main door, and then held it open for Lincoln. A young corporal sat behind a low desk in the shallow entryway. Lincoln got the impression that everyone was supposed to check in with the corporal, but Mike just waved and walked past, and the corporal gave a nod like it was business as usual. Pence went through another door which led to a short hallway. When the door closed behind them, he stopped.
“Hopefully Kennedy’s already given the fellas a heads up. This isn’t the sort of thing you want to spring on an armorer unannounced.”
“I don’t even know what exactly I’m here to get, Mike.”
“Oh,” Mike said, with genuine surprise. “Sorry, I assumed you’d been briefed and all.”
“Everything’s been moving pretty fast.”
“Yeah, wow, I guess so. Well, you’re in for a real treat then. Maybe I won’t spoil the surprise just yet. But man, it’s probably a pretty safe bet that the paperwork hasn’t come through.” He glanced down the hall towards one of the doors, and then back at Lincoln. “No doubt you could get things moving if you pull rank in here, but these people you want as your friends. You want them thinking of you lovingly every time they touch any piece of your kit, with stars in their eyes, yeah?”
“These are our supply guys?”
Mike nodded. “Custom shop, though. Everything we get our hands on comes through these people first, and I don’t think they’ve ever let so much as a tin cup out of this building without some sort of modification. And even the cup would probably get grip work and some polish.”
They moved down the hall to a room. The door was open, but Mike knocked on the doorframe anyway.
“Hey, chief, you in?”
“Yeah,” a voice boomed from inside. “That you, One-time?”
“You know it.”
There was a sigh, a creak, and the shuffle of someone standing, and a moment later a stout man with carpenter’s hands appeared. “Ain’t ruined enough of my days yet?”
Mike feigned shock and hurt. “I can’t just drop by to say hi?”
“You could, but you only ever show up when you need somethin’,” the chief said.
“Well today’s your lucky day, chief. I don’t need a thing.”
The chief didn’t buy it. “Yeah?”
“My buddy here, on the other hand…” Mike said, tilting his head towards Lincoln.
“Yeah,” the chief said, shaking his head. He sized Lincoln up.
“He needs a workup. Expedited, big time.”
“Oh?” the chief said. “First I’m hearing about it. You got a req?”
“I’m sure Kennedy sent one over.”
“Sure enough to show it to me?”
Mike smiled. The chief nodded and looked suddenly weary.
“But you don’t have to wait for one,” Mike said. “Not for me, right?”
The chief sighed with the weight of a man who got asked to move at least one mountain every single day. “You’re killin’ me, Pence.”
“I know, chief. But you love me for it. Who else keeps you on your toes around here?”
“You gonna give up one of yours?”
“If I have to, yeah. I’m not yanking your chain here. We’ve probably got an hour before the order comes in. You don’t want my newest team leader to go out there in one of those hand-me-down e-suits do you? Mom would have you busted back to boot for it.”
The chief looked over at Lincoln. “Newest technician, huh?”
Lincoln nodded and extended his hand. “Lincoln Suh.”
“Chief Guiterrez,” the chief said. He shook Lincoln’s hand and left little doubt that he could crush it like an egg if he wanted to. “Normally I’d tell you to get in line, but if you gotta be in charge of this joker, your day’s already a lot worse than mine.”
“I appreciate it, chief,” Lincoln said.
“Yeah, well come on back, and we’ll see what we’ve got laying around,” Guiterrez answered, and pushed his way past Mike and headed further down the hall. “I can’t release anything to you until that req comes through, but I can probably get a jumpstart on it. Not promising anything, though.”
Mike nudged Lincoln and leaned close. “Chief’s an under-promise, over-deliver kind of guy.”
Guiterrez led the two deeper into the structure. Exiting the hall, they walked into what looked like an aircraft hangar; expansive floor, no wall, high ceiling. A number of workstations spread throughout the space, and, at every station, someone was working on some piece of gear.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much hardware in one place before,” Lincoln said.
“All this is just the standard stuff,” Mike said. “All the cool toys are in the back.”
The trio continued through the open space to another door, where Guiterrez paused to let the system verify his clearance. The door clicked and slid open, revealing a smaller workshop. It was bright and clean, with well-organized steel racks throughout. If it hadn’t been for all the tools and instruments neatly lining the walls, Lincoln would have been more likely to guess it was a sterile lab than a machinist’s shop. A man and a woman were huddled over their own workbenches. The woman looked up when the three entered, got a nod from the chief and went back to her work. The man was too intent on the rifle on his bench to take any notice of the visitors.
The back of the room was dominated by a massive black container of some heavy metal, like a giant vault. Large double doors stood guard in the center.
Guiterrez motioned to a low steel platform in the back corner of the room while he headed towards the vault.
“Take off your jacket and go on and hop up there,” he said to Lincoln. Lincoln did as he was told, and stepped up onto the round stand. Guiterrez swung open one of the vault doors and disappeared inside. After a couple of minutes, Lincoln started to wonder if the chief was planning on coming out again. Mike, who was leaning back on a nearby table, seemed to read his mind and held up a hand in a reassuring gesture. When Guiterrez did return, he was carrying an armful of… well, they looked like prosthetic arms. Forearms, really, complete with hands, as if he’d just lopped a few off at the elbow. They were all a dull, gunmetal grey. The chief dumped them unceremoniously in a pile on a table near Lincoln and then moved to a console by the platform.
“Hold your arms out to the side, feet shoulder-width apart,” Guiterrez directed. “Like you’re gettin’ a pat down.”
Lincoln complied.
“Right, hold still,” the chief said. He fiddled with something on the console, which chirped once, then again a second or two later. “’Kay you can hop down.”
“That’s it?” Lincoln asked.
“That’s it,” Guiterrez said, already moving back to the table where he’d piled the arms. He spread them out, evaluated a couple, set three aside, and then walked over and held a pair of them out to Lincoln. He lifted one up, a right-handed one. “I think this here is about right, but try ’em both.”
Lincoln didn’t see what the chief did exactly, but the metallic arm whirred quietly and folded open length
wise, down the center of the underside of the forearm while the hand portion remained intact, like a glove. A moment before it had looked like a single solid piece, and for the first time Lincoln realized he was looking not at a prosthetic arm, but at a component of armor. He’d never seen anything like it before, so sleek and natural it easily could have passed for flesh with the right paint job. The interior was smooth and padded with some kind of material Lincoln didn’t recognize. The chief held the gauntlet steady while Lincoln slipped his arm into it. Once his hand was secure in the glove, Chief Guiterrez reactivated it and the forearm section closed around Lincoln’s arm with the same quiet whir and click. As before, once the gauntlet was closed, it looked to Lincoln’s eyes like a single, unbroken piece of armor, with no crack or seam.
“How’s that feel?” Guiterrez asked. He was busy poking and prodding, checking the fit at Lincoln’s elbow, tweaking values at the console, like some combination of tailor and mechanic. “Any play around the arm?”
Lincoln rotated his arm, rolled his wrist, wiggled and flexed his fingers. Every motion felt natural, unrestrained.
“It feels good, chief,” he said.
“How’s contact with your fingertips?” the Chief asked, and then said, “Do this.” He held up his hand and touched each fingertip to his thumb in succession, pointer to pinky and back again. Lincoln mimicked the gesture and felt each touch with surprising sensitivity. The sensations were muted by the armor, certainly, but he didn’t feel nearly as clumsy as he would have imagined. With a little practice, Lincoln thought he might actually be able to play his violin in these things.
“That’s incredible,” he said. The chief grunted and opened the other gauntlet he was holding. He helped Lincoln put it on his left arm.
“It’ll feel a little numb until we get it synced up,” Guiterrez said. “How about that one?”
The second gauntlet closed around Lincoln’s left arm, and he tested that one with a similar series of movements. He opened and clenched both fists a few times, pressed the fingertips of both hands together.
“Yeah, it’s good,” Lincoln said. “They both feel great.” Guiterrez shook his head, like Lincoln had given the wrong answer.
