“Please, Protector, we’re authorized to use force if need be,” Magnifique said, pleadingly. “Don’t make us do that.”
Carlos gave her a sad smile through his Spartan helmet, once worn by Leonidas while defending Greece from the Persians. The helmet allowed viewers to see his eyes and part of his mouth and nose. Not enough to identify him, but enough to tell if he was happy or mad.
“We all have choices to make, Magnifique. Our lives are defined by them. You do what you feel you have to. No one can ask a man or woman to do any more, or less.”
He reached for his spear. As his fingers enclosed it, Moon-Watch cried out. “He’s going to attack!” A white light, like sunlight reflected off the moon, arced out from the crescent over his face. An energy beam as powerful as anything Carlos had ever encountered struck him dead center in the chest. The beam’s force knocked him back into a standing stone fifteen feet away.
Carlos shook his head, looking down at the glowing hot breastplate. The energy dissipated into the air as he regained his footing.
“That’s not possible,” Moon-Watch muttered incredulously.
“I’m not attacking you... yet. Do that again and there will be trouble,” he said, thinking of Amelia and her love of quoting movies.
Unsure what to do, they paused for a second, except for Moon-Watch. He landed next to Carlos’ spear and pulled it from the ground. “It’s a trick,” he said. “He was going for his spear and now he’s claiming innocence. We have our orders, take him!”
They moved. Carlos sighed. He had done everything he could to avoid this fight. He’d just got through telling Amelia that this wasn’t a problem because what could they possibly do? Well, he had his answer. They could be stupid.
He held out his hand, the spear flew from Moon-Watch’s grasp to smack into Carlo’s waiting palm.
Irish Spring came in from one side, flanked by Union on the other. “You two don’t want this. I’m asking you, please, don’t do this,” he said as he pulled his shield from his back.
The whole world understood that The Protector was the strongest super on Earth. Even before Carlos wore the mantle there were countless times that the man wearing the armor had done the impossible. But either through ignorance, stubbornness, or their own sense of moral superiority, they decided to ignore it, and attacked.
Irish Spring moved first, forming her fist into a hammer as she brought it down in an overhand slash. Carlos lifted his shield to intercept it. At the same time, Union charged in, going low and bringing his fist in an uppercut to take advantage of Carlos blocking Spring.
That wasn’t how it worked out for them. At the last second, Carlos swung the shield down in a knifing motion, slamming the edge into Union’s wrist and absorbing the blow from Spring on his back.
The clang of metal on metal was deafening. Union screamed as his wrist shattered under the shield’s impact, and the British super fell to the ground cradling what was likely his worst injury since his powers expressed.
Carlos actually felt the blow against his back. Whatever metal Irish Spring was made out of, it was strong. Not strong enough, but strong. Carlos rolled forward away from her. Once up, he spun around and crouched, bracing himself for the next attack.
Moon-Watch fired again, the white beam of super-heated energy firing from above as the hero took to the sky to fight Carlos from above.
Carlos, Pythia’s voice came to his mind through their link. She wasn’t telepathic, but she could talk to her champion from any distance. Don’t kill any of them. They are sent by our enemies, here to distract us from our mission. If any of them die it will only be used against us.
“Awesome. What do you suggest I do?” he asked out loud while deflecting the energy beam with his shield.
Flee.
It didn’t sit well with him. But... he’d long ago learned to put his ego in check. He could defeat them with ease, but not without some risk that one of them would be killed.
“Fine,” he muttered. He reached back to throw his spear into the sky when Magnifique hit him with a telekinetic field, flattening him to the ground and holding him down.
“It’s rock-paper-scissors, my American friend, and I am the rock, you are the scissors,” she said as she floated on an energy disk, holding one finger against her temple as she used her powers to pin him to the ground. The dirt around him flattened from the circular shaped disk pressing down on him.
“I’m... not... scissors...,” he said with a grunt as he pulled himself to his feet. She grimaced from the exertion, forcing more and more weight down on him. “I’m the shotgun,” he said forcing his arm up and flinging the spear toward space.
The Spear of Destiny flew through the air, disappearing in a heartbeat. Carlos winked at Magnifique, then he too was gone, flying through the air at a speed that would give Lux a run for her money.
A moment later he was in space, floating above it all, looking down at the blue-green gem that was his home.
“Pythia, we need to tell Amelia what this is all about,” he said.
No. She has to figure it out for herself. If she were to know what she was truly up against, it would change her behavior. Amelia Lockheart must be true to herself. If she isn’t, then the Earth is doomed.
“You know, that’s not the first time you’ve said that.”
It very well may be the last.
THIRTEEN
Amelia? I am unable to reinstate Milton in the Spire. Whatever the ARC did to the computers there, it completely and utterly destroyed them.
“Mhmm, sounds good,” I say, not really paying attention to what Epic is saying. I’ve got the nanite construction right where I want it.
Amelia, this is serious. The Spire is going to need all new computers, top to bottom. The cyber-attack ARC launched was powerful enough to overwhelm Milton in a few seconds. If he was not hard-coded into a quantum computer at a different location, he would have died.
I take the goggles off and rub a towel across my face. “Epic, this is why Milton is in charge of the Spire. He has his own budget, his own rules—he can deal with this. You and I are no longer involved with the Protectors, they can handle things on their own.”
That is not the attitude I have come to expect from you.
“I know, buddy. But it is what it is. I am not doing the team thing anymore. I can’t... I can’t go through that anymore. We’re still friends, we’ll still help out when needed, but day to day? When I have a new suit of armor, we’re going to focus on the important things. Like bringing Tia back, stopping ARC, and finding those ships.”
Understood. I will advise Milton he is on his own for the refit. Have you had any luck with any of our three priorities?
I sigh. “Sort of?” I say. “Nothing with Tia. Unless Pythia or someone else steps forward with information I don’t have, my mission to rescue her is at a standstill. As for the other two things... slightly more success. Check this out.”
I put the goggles back on, do the last bit of fusing using a laser welder with a point zero five nanometer beam, then hit the charge button.
“The hardest part about the nanites is making them go. How ARC managed to make them form into bodies I had no idea, but the way they disintegrated gave me a clue. They’re too small for an effective magnetic field, or for their own propulsion, but what if we used a liquid delivery system?”
Do you mean a perfluorocarbon, like the experimental oxygenated liquid that has been tested for deep-sea diving?
“Exactly!” I slap my hands together. “Thick enough that the nanites can move around and use it to spread. Then they can use the raw material as fuel. It’s perfect.”
I have four gallons in storage. One moment. The robot arms in the trailer move under Epic’s control. Within a minute I have what looks like a large, see-through picnic cooler filled with a gel-like substance resting on the main worktable three feet tall.
“Okay, now add the test batch of nanites.”
He does. The vial dumps them unceremo
niously into the perfluorocarbon. They don’t short out or explode, which is always good.
I hit the button to run the test. The nanites are small enough that it requires RFID tracking to ‘see’ them in the solution using computer imagery. Even if I wanted to see them physically, the magnification is such that I wouldn’t be able to track any of them, it would just be a jumble of motion. However, with each nanite emitting a small signal, I can watch on the monitor as they come together.
“Add the raw materials next and order them to reproduce.”
Bear in mind this is a limited run. Even with unlimited material it will take almost an hour for the small number of nanites we have created to reproduce enough to create an entire suit.
“We don’t need a lot to start with. Once we know it works, and once Rutabaga is done with our mini-factory, we can make as many as we want.
I watch as they go to work, following the RFID trackers as several of the little guys converge on the bars of titanium-tungsten carbide deposited in the bottom. True to his estimate, within an hour the last of the material vanishes and we have enough nanites in the tank to take shape
“Let’s start simple.” I punch a few keys and bring up the schematics for my helmet. I wait for it to finish loading and hit the go button, loading it into the nanite’s distributed memory. Before my fingers leave the keys, the helmet forms in the tank, floating in perfect glory inside the orange goo.
“Yes!” I holler.
Congratulations Amelia. You have done it.
“Let’s not jump the gun yet. Making a helmet is one thing...”
Mom and Dad are out to lunch, leaving just me in the shop, but their part of the job is finished anyway. I wish they were here to celebrate though.
“Do we have enough for a full suit?”
Yes, but... if any damage were to be sustained, we will be unable to repair it until we can mass produce the nanites. Which we cannot do until the base is complete.
“That’s okay, it’s not like I need the suit battle ready right—”
Emergency call coming in from your parents.
Me and my big mouth.
“Mom?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
There’s a lot of static on the line and I can barely make out what she says. “Epic flew us over to Vegas for a lunch date, we’re at the—” An explosion overwhelms the speakers and then the line dies.
“Mom? Mom!” I hit a few keys trying to find her location. “Epic, where are they?”
They took the Emjet to Vegas for lunch and a movie. I am triangulating their location based on the call. Amelia...
One of the many screens we have flips on, showing a news anchor. The sound of gunfire and explosions fills the room.
“—as you can see, these robots, along with a group of unknown supervillains, are attacking the city. They are firing—” the man ducks as a blast of red energy flies close to him. “—wildly and there are casualties, how many we don’t know. The police and first responders are overwhelmed, and the heroes who call Vegas home are unable to make a dent—”
The robots he speaks of are vaguely humanoid, with weapons platforms loaded on their shoulders. They have rockets, laser, and missile launchers. No green plasma guns, though, which is promising. Maybe it isn’t ARC? Then that begs the question of who it is. I don’t recognize any of the supervillains they briefly show. Just the usual assortment of strength, speed, and energy wielders. Something else I’m responsible for. I can’t ignore this.
“Vegas is what, three hundred miles away?” I ask.
Two hundred and seventy-eight.
I do some quick math in my head. I can be there in four minutes... if I have a suit.
“Epic—”
Amelia, there are terabytes of data we need to analyze. We do not even know if the nanites will lock together. The code could have bugs, and even if you could put the suit together, any damage...
He’s right, of course but... my parents. And everyone else’s parents. “Epic, how many people are in the city of Las Vegas right now?”
There are three major events this weekend, a little under one-million.
“Damn, that means more possible casualties. Why can’t they ever attack on Thanksgiving or sometime when people go camping? Call Carlos and Kate. See if you can get the Protectors there. But Epic... I’m going.”
I turn around and type furiously on the keyboard, inputting the configuration of the armor I want. If I keep it simple, I can minimize the risk of malfunction. No complicated weapons, just flight, shields, sword, structural strength, and defensive systems. That should keep anything from exploding in an overload. No reshaping on the fly—nothing but self-repair. I type faster than I ever have, praying each second I don’t make a mistake. Seconds turn to minutes as I hit the keys. I only need a few more...
“Epic, run a check,” I say. “Get me five class four ZPFMs. We’re not going to have the nanites try to make anything too complicated.” The articulating arms emerge from the walls and deliver a box with four, fist-sized, glowing ZPFMs. Anyone of these generates more than enough power for the suit; however, there is something to be said for redundancy. Plus, with the Emdrives it’s better for power distribution if they each have their own power source.
The preliminary scan shows no errors. However, there is a difference between lab ready and field ready.
“Any luck with the team?”
Kate and Carlos are not responding. The rest of the team is in Florida fighting Gatorgeddon.
I draw a complete blank on who that is, but it if he is strong enough to pull the team down there despite the Tallahassee Tornadoes recently forming, then they won’t be able to, or won’t have the time, to get to Vegas, even with an Emjet. I’m regretting keeping only one. Once we have the base up and running I’m going to make a few more. Maybe even one specifically for space travel. We may not be able to use quantum gate travel but I can still fly to the moon without much trouble. If my mesa base is secure, I imagine a moon base would be ten times as safe.
“Odds are, Kate and Carlos are spending some quality time together. No, Epic, it’s up to us.”
The California team is mobilizing and should be there within the hour. You do not have to go Amelia. You can let other people handle this.
“I could, but an hour is a long time, Epic. Every minute I’m not there, people could die... if I have the power to stop something, and I don’t, doesn’t that make me partially responsible?”
You are not legally or morally obligated to risk your life in an untested suit on the chance that you might be able to help. Not running into a burning building is morally defensible.
“For some people, maybe,” I say, looking down at my hands. “Luke would. No matter the odds, he always would. So would Tia. No, I’m doing this.”
I know. As your friend I feel it is my responsibility to point out alternatives. As always, once you have made your decision, I am behind you.
“Thank you, Epic. Now... Initiate!” I slam the ‘enter’ button on the keyboard and whisper a silent prayer that this will work... that I won’t die horribly... or at all.
FOURTEEN
When the Animetal crawled up my skin that first time, I thought it was weird. It had nothing on this. The perfluorocarbon that the nanites consists in feels like cold Jello mixed with mucus. I fight to control the shuddering in my spine as the faucet opens and the goop pours over me.
“This is really gross.”
We will refine the process when we have more time. This tank was not intended as the permanent storage.
I nod. Knowing doesn’t change how hard it is not to wheel away in fright from the goo covering me. I’m holding the box with the four ZPFMs in my lap. Theoretically, the nanites will convert everything I’m holding and wearing into the fuel to kick-start the reaction required to form the armor. Clearly not how I want this to go down every time. If I was wearing something I liked, and not just a comfortable pair of pajamas, this wouldn’t be cool.
Not to
mention it will leave me naked under the armor.
“For the record,” I say wincing as gobs of it drop on my face, “I hate this.”
It was your idea.
I take a deep breath and let the stuff do its job. The goo picks up speed as it spread over me. The entire process shouldn’t take more than a minute. Which is about thirty seconds less than I can hold my breath.
My lungs start to scream in protest when I feel heat on my skin. It’s happening. I open my eyes to watch. Light flares surround me as the nanites break down everything around me, including my chair, which I hadn’t counted on.
“Epic?” I say, despite the layer of perfluorocarbon over my mouth.
Adjusting the programming and updating. One moment.
They freeze as they’re updated, then they get back to work. The chair is a loss and Epic realizes it and lets them finish the job. However, it looks like they would have gone on to eat a piece of the truck since I was ‘touching’ it at the time of the transformation, at least until their internal power source ran out.
Oops.
The disintegrating chair deposits me gently on the floor before it’s gone. The light fades and the nanites swirl around my skin ,eating my clothes and taking the ZPFMs from my lap. Then they harden and as I watch; the suit forms, starting with my feet, working up my legs until only my head isn’t covered, then my neck, and finally I’m covered head to toe.
The light from my HUD boots up and I can see. Not unlike my original build, I can see as if I weren’t wearing a helmet at all. A wireframe outline shows me where it would be; everything else is clear.
The HUD finishes and all my systems are online. My head is surrounded by several screens; just by swiping with one eye closed, I can change the systems displayed. It’s very intuitive. Mom designed it, so yeah it should be good.
“Epic?” The sound of my own voice surprises me. I spent so much time with the computerized voice when I wore the armor, it’s surprising to hear my own voice come out.
Arsenal Reloaded (Full Metal Superhero Book 8) Page 8
