Jena raised her hand. “We were told we should never think of the Creux as our body. It can cause Assimilation.”
Mizrahi stepped in. “No, not that. Dr. Logan—he’s of a dark mind. He likes to scare you. Assimilation is not a concern to you children. Don’t think about Assimilation.”
Alice took a moment to start speaking again; the word truly hit her with great force. “Don’t—don’t worry about that, Crescent. As Dr. Mizrahi says, it’s not a real danger and it shouldn’t be a real concern. Follow me, please,” she said and left the room.
The entire group followed her into a dark chamber.
“This is what we call the Armory,” Alice said and hit a switch.
White light poured into the room, revealing the most amazing sight: a long line of suits of armor, each completely different from the last. The full suits were mounted on what looked like mannequins, stored in individual booths, each labeled with the logo of its respective Creux.
“These are the Equivalency Suits,” Alice said. “They are pieces of armor you will need to completely control if you ever wish to pilot the real thing. This one is mine. I’ve clocked hundreds of hours wearing this thing.”
She was standing in front of a gorgeous object: white and green, feminine in shape (as many of the suits were), imposing an idea of great power.
“Is that Absolute Omega?” Ezra said, having already memorized most of the Creux roster.
“No, Blanchard. This is the Absolute Omega Equivalency Suit. Absolute Omega is almost fifty-five feet tall.”
You knew what I meant, Ezra thought, a bit angry.
“How heavy are they?” Poole said, walking past Alice to find Rose Xibalba. Gray, pink, and green, with a finish on the armor that was definitely different to all the other suits, Rose stood tall and proud. There were sharp protrusions on its back, shoulders and waist—thorns, maybe.
“Each is different. These were built by Zenith to emulate the mobility, agility, and speed of each Creux. When the pilot is found, the suit is adjusted to match the pilot’s relative body mass and height, which is why you didn’t have Simulation during this first week. Quantum Ares over there,” she said and pointed towards the thick and imposing tank that was Garros’ suit, “. . . is extremely heavy. The heaviest.”
Ezra needed only walk a few feet past Poole to find his own monster.
Besoe Nandi, or a version of Besoe Nandi that was of a size with Ezra.
It wasn’t so scary now that they shared a height. But his blue stare . . . it was just as powerful as its full-sized brother’s.
“Nandi is also very heavy,” Alice said, and not only to Ezra. “Ezra will probably have a very difficult time moving today.”
No. I won’t, he thought, and looked at the suit’s face. You are mine to control.
“Ezra, take a step forward. Everyone else could,” Alice said, but Ezra couldn’t.
The instant the suit that made him look like a miniature version of Besoe Nandi came on, he knew the whole class would be an exercise in futility and a cruel display of his weakness.
The suit had come on in eight pieces, which was a remarkable testimony of Zenith’s engineering: the thing was far too complex to be so easily dismountable. He had felt very confident when each individual piece began to cover him, Kat armoring him like a knight’s squire. It wasn’t until the helmet came on that he found himself almost completely immobile, standing at the edge of the training grounds like a statue.
He managed to lift his right arm and look at the robotic red hand that had replaced his. Powering through the limited mobility in his neck and the heaviness of the helmet, he faced Alice, who stood inside her own suit ten feet away. “It’s too heavy.”
“I know,” he barely heard her say through the helmets. “You’ll become stronger, but first you need to take the first step.”
“Come on, Ezra!” Jena yelled from inside her own suit.
Ezra lifted his other hand and tried moving his foot forward. He began to curse, the extreme frustration beginning to gnaw at him. It was too heavy. It was hot. It was humiliating. Why am I so damn weak?
“I don’t understand! You said I wouldn’t control the Creux with my body—argh,” he tried to put a booted foot forward, and barely managed to lift his leg. “Why am I training here? Why do I need strength?”
“Your mind isn’t all-powerful, Blanchard, and it cannot be fooled. A mind that knows it belongs in a weak body will not be able to control a Creux. It needs to know strength, real strength, or else it will never synchronize!” Alice yelled, sharing his frustration. “You cannot convince your mind that the body it controls is strong unless it actually is. You will work hard and you will become stronger and you will control Nandi. You think Garros could control Ares when he got here? Of course not!”
He tried again, looking through the eyeholes, barely able to see out of the helmet.
“Get it done.” Garros was suddenly standing next to him, but Ezra couldn’t turn his head up to see him. “She’s right, you know. I was smaller when I got here. I couldn’t move either. I know how it feels. But I got stronger and I got it done, so do the same!”
Finally, Ezra felt his incredibly heavy foot plant itself in front of him. He took a deep breath as a reward and smiled proudly. He felt like he had climbed a mountain.
“You did it!” Alice effortlessly ran towards him, making it look like her suit was as light as any type of clothing. “Take a few more, Blanchard.”
“No, not a few more—walk all the way toward Jena. Every step will be easier than the last. You’re not taking that thing off until you get to where Jena is standing. Look—Davenport is doing it.”
The Armor of God made its way towards Jena. The mostly silver Creux—or rather, suit—was the most incredible piece of technology Ezra had ever seen, equal parts beautiful and striking. Tall and lean, adorned by thick, blade-like segments that extended upward past the helmet, it was a sight to be beheld and one that wouldn’t easily be forgotten.
Ezra could tell the suit that took the shape of Milos Ravana was almost as heavy as the Minotaur that now encased him, but Akiva was a stronger man and could move in it—not with the same ease Alice could, but with definite confidence and control.
“He’s stronger than me,” Ezra said.
“Bull; you’re better than him,” Garros whispered into the helmet, and though he knew the words weren’t true, they at least seemed honest. “You’re the damn Minotaur. You’re better than that guy. You’re stronger. Do it, man. Just do it!”
Frustration fueled Ezra’s anger, and anger fueled his determination to get the job done. He put another heavy foot forward, groaning his efforts. He then put another and another.
“There you go! That’s it!” Alice and Garros cheered, but they were miles away; Ezra was in a world of his own—an armored giant with a clear objective, surrounded only by emptiness.
“Get over here!” Akiva yelled, his voice muffled by Milos’ mask.
Every step did indeed get slightly easier, even if his legs felt as though they had caught fire. His shoulders burned too, as they had to hold his arms up to maintain balance.
Finally, he reached Jena in the Jade Arjuna suit, feeling like a champion at the end of a perilous quest. Akiva lifted his arm to give Ezra a friendly congratulatory pat in the armor’s chest, but couldn’t control the heavy limb.
He felt Akiva hit him hard, even through the plates of armor.
With Ezra inside, the heavy suit fell backwards pathetically with a loud thud. The fall was so heavy, it knocked the wind out of him.
“I hear your big moment of triumph didn’t last very long,” Susan said.
After the embarrassing situation that had left Ezra completely immobile on the ground of the training field, Ezra had showered and met with Susan for his first counseling session.
“It was so embarrassing. I was already humiliated being the only one who couldn’t move inside the suit, and then. . .”
“Those things ar
e very heavy, Ezra,” Susan said. “And you got stuck with one of the heaviest. You still managed to do what Alice and Garros asked you to do, so that’s quite an achievement.”
“It felt really good. I felt strong for the first time in my life. Then Akiva ruined it.”
Susan considered him for a moment. “You know he wasn’t trying to humiliate you, right?”
“I guess he wasn’t.” Ezra said, but he wasn’t so sure. Maybe Akiva liked being the best and wouldn’t let Ezra take his place in the spotlight. That, at least, seemed to be Garros’ hypothesis—something the man cooked up to make Ezra feel a little better about being embarrassed on the field. “He hit me hard, though. I just tipped over like a tree.”
“Well, he’s learning to move in the suits too. I heard him apologize all the way here so I really don’t think he was just being mean,” she said and took a sip of coffee. “Other than that, your first week? Good? Garros said you’re displaying some talents already.”
“He’s only trying to make me feel better. I only pay attention. Most classes are still a nightmare,” Ezra said. “I can’t keep up with Dr. Mizrahi talking about the virus and human anatomy. Jena and Akiva are helping me.”
“Well, that was the arrangement, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. I guess I was just hoping I wouldn’t need it as much as I do. I’m helping them in Garros’ class, though.”
Ezra had never had a personal counselor before, and had always believed that, if he ever did, it would not be a pleasant business; Ezra wasn’t one who opened easily. It was a relief to see that the mandatory counseling sessions would not be a grind.
“You seem to be adapting well. I’m glad—I was afraid you wouldn’t. Alice really likes you, though I knew she would. Apparently Garros is very friendly to you as well, which is good—he’s supposed to be a bit of a hardass.”
“He’s not, but he doesn’t seem to like Akiva.”
She nodded. “Akiva has one of those dispositions. They get along with almost everyone, but sometimes they clash pretty hard with others who have the same type of self-confident, dominant personality,” said Susan. “Tell me something: how are you feeling about Akiva?”
“What do you mean?”
“He was matched with Milos Ravana, which in the past hasn’t worked out very well; does that raise any concerns?”
“It did at first, but Alice—I mean, Lieutenant Nolan—said they would never risk his safety. He’s missed a bunch of classes this first week. Twice he showed up to class in the morning after being in the labs all night. Dr. Mizrahi and Dr. Logan said they won’t take any chances with his life.”
“Do you believe them?”
“I’m sure Akiva will be fine,” he said, and it was another lie he was forcing himself to believe. The truth was that, if history was a teacher, there was a considerable chance that Akiva could die in three weeks, when they synchronized with the Creux for the first time.
The end of that Saturday found him eating alone with Poole as they reviewed some of the lessons learned that week. Jena was with her father and Akiva was down in the labs, so he could only procure Poole’s company for dinner.
She was not a very good teacher, but at least was trying very hard to help him better understand the chemistry and biology he needed to keep up with Mizrahi’s class. Through very subtle signs, Ezra felt as though Poole still believed he was faking his own ignorance as some kind of power plot in which she wanted to be involved. Every attempt he made at assuring that the whole thing was genuine only cemented her hypothesis.
The ordeal gave Ezra a whole new perspective on his family name; was it so hard to believe a man with Blanchard blood could be less than brilliant?
Eventually, Ezra went along with it and stopped trying to correct her; he was sure he’d lose her friendship if she found out he was worthless as an intellectual peer.
It was still early when Ezra finished his dinner and with it his day. Unwilling to retire to his bedroom, he instead chose to trade Poole’s company for Jena’s. Poole had grown tired of the week’s work, and slowly became more apathetic and rude. By the end of the dinner hour, she had called him “stupid” one time too many, so Ezra got up and left the dining hall.
Poole, too proud to apologize, remained at the table, pretending to read.
He had to ask for directions a couple of times to find his way to the medical wing, which, much like the synchronization labs, was located beneath the rest of the complex. Following another series of color-coded lines, he finally arrived there.
Of course he understood that a facility like Zenith, which attempted to employ as few people as possible, wouldn’t have a fully manned hospital, but what Ezra found was a genuine surprise: the hospital wing was more appropriately just a long white hallway not unlike the dormitories. There were tall doors at either side, large screens on top of each displaying the patient’s name or declaring the room vacant.
Ezra walked halfway down the hallway until he finally saw the first occupied room, but it wasn’t the one he sought. On top of Recovery Room 103, Ezra read the name Sp. Jed Townsend. Urged by curiosity, Ezra opened the door to find a fairly regular if very well-equipped hospital room that smelled like alcohol and medicine and oil.
Resting on the bed partially blocked by a curtain was a bald man, mouth covered by a respiration mask. An IV drip injected something, possibly a painkiller, into his system while both his arms were bandaged completely. His empty eyes told a long and exhausting story that landed him in such a weak and pitiful state.
The man turned his head weakly towards Ezra, exposing a hideous sight that made Ezra’s stomach sink: a chunk of his face was gone, replaced by flesh that appeared to be missing the cover of skin.
“I’m sorry!” Ezra said when the man’s eyes finally saw him standing at the door, and walked out, closing the door behind him.
The man inside was a Creux pilot—the pilot of Nebula 09. What had happened to him?
A strong feeling of disgust, pity, and mostly fear remained with him when he walked to the next occupied room. The panel read: Mr. Leonardo Crescent.
Before opening the door, Ezra took the precaution to knock, and Jena opened the door. “Ezra. What are you doing here?”
“I heard you were here. I thought I’d see how you were doing.”
“Princess,” a man’s horribly rough voice said from inside. “Who’s that?”
“My friend, the one I told you about,” she said and looked at him. “I appreciate it Ezra, but it’s better if—”
“Let him in,” the almost incomprehensible voice said. “I’d like to meet him.”
Jena’s eyes told him that he was unwelcome, but he didn’t want to leave now that the man had openly invited him in. She took a step back and opened the door further, letting Ezra in.
The room was just like Jed’s, only in here the smell of medicine and oil wasn’t as potent, and the man on the bed didn’t look like he was on the verge of death. Sitting almost upright, Ezra found Jena’s father.
The man had short, thick blond hair and blue eyes; a blunt quality to his broad features told Ezra that Jena had probably gotten her good looks from her mother. Sheets covered him up to the chest, and it looked like there was some sort of pillow between the sheets and his legs, protecting them.
“I thought you were bigger,” the man said. It was as though he was talking through gravel in his throat.
“This is Ezra, Dad. Not Akiva,” Jena clarified and took a seat by the bed.
“Ezra,” the man said. “I’m glad to meet you. How was your first week here?”
“Just fine, sir,” Ezra said and immediately began to regret coming to visit Jena when he realized he had nothing to say to this man.
“Your parents must be proud of you—a man of the army. I know I am. I always knew Jena would make a difference and help the world. I’m glad I’m leaving her in good hands that will mold her to be a hero.”
“Dad, please,” Jena said, her voice a sad squeal. Never
had Ezra felt so foolish; he had no business prying into Jena’s personal life. Why had he come all the way here, only to embarrass himself and put Jena’s vulnerabilities in display?
“You know I’m joking, princess. I’m strong as a horse. A horse made of stone!” the man said. “Have you seen anything like this, Ezra?”
“Sir?” Ezra said.
“Look at this,” said Leonardo and removed the covers to expose his belly and parts of his legs, and the sight was the second time in just minutes that Ezra felt like he’d vomit. The skin beneath the man’s belly button, all the way to his feet, had not only taken a sickly gray color, but also the texture of old bark—rough and hard and uneven. There was also severe swelling in his legs, making them look like thick, unmovable tree trunks. “Isn’t that something?”
“I thought that pneumastratis was a lung disease, sir,” Ezra had the audacity to say.
“Well, if it is, my lungs sure grew a few sizes and relocated to my legs,” he said and wheezed a sound that was probably meant to be a laugh. Jena was looking away until Leonardo finally covered his gruesomely mutated and useless legs. He didn’t know pneumastratis could have such an effect on a man’s flesh, but it was still a disease no one knew much about, and Leonardo had survived it for longer than most ever did.
“I’m sorry to hear that, sir. I hope you get better.” He looked at Jena. “I’ll get out of here. Have a good night, sir.”
Ezra started walking out when Jena yelled, “Ezra, wait.”
She ushered him outside and closed the door. When she finally looked up at him, she was crying. “I’m so sorry, Jena—I didn’t mean to intrude, I just wanted to see how you—”
She shut him up with a hug. Jena’s tears spilled onto Ezra’s neck as he hugged her back and felt the erratic swells of her crying breaths on her back.
The Armor of God Page 11
