by Alma Boykin
Meanwhile, the others finally managed to get Yori unstuck. He’d gone pale and looked as if he’d been running uphill in full kit in heavy rain. “Fewmets, that’s scary,” he panted, squirming out of the equipment. KssTali shook his head, his facial scales and skin an angry dark blue. Hamsa kicked a stray rock, agitated.
Rada, teeth gritted, snapped, “Unless you are heavy infantry, these are pieces of . . .”
“What are you!” the bellow turned into a coughing, spluttering fit of noise as Major Ahriman Gupta stormed up to the quartet. So angry that he couldn’t speak, the heavyset reptile waved his arms and made choking sounds, like a feline with a hairball.
Rada froze. Aw crap. I’m sooooo doomed. She swung the sword up in a snappy salute before coming to attention. The pelvic shield jammed against the top and side of her tail and she bit down to stifle a yowl of pain.
“You, what, Captain Rada Ni Drako, what in the name of every known god do you have to say for yourself?” Gupta barely managed to get the words out as he lumbered over to glare at her.
“Sir, initial testing confirms that these powered armor exo-suits provide the physical protection and strength associated with other products in their class. However, they are far below standard in dexterity, and are subject to processor overload and freeze-ups when overstretched and moved too quickly, even when such overstretching and movement is well within the physical capabilities and the requirements of the soldier using the suit.” Rada took a breath and added, “Furthermore, sir, they are not only incompatible with tails and external ears, but they pose a hazard to those of us with such appendages.”
Gupta stalked around and looked at Rada’s hind end. He banged up against the frame. “Ahh!” Rada couldn’t suppress her gasp as the metal cut into her tail.
“Get her out of that,” Gupta ordered and KssTali and Hamsa helped Rada out of the suit. The blood streaming from her tail left no one in doubt of the seriousness of the problem. “And you have a very small tail compared to some of us.” He swished his own short, thick appendage. “Did any of you idiots think to do a data recording?”
Three voices chorused, “yes, sir.”
A new voice observed, “See if they have visual of dar Ohrkan getting stuck. It was rather entertaining.” Everyone but Major Gupta snapped to attention as Col. Adamski stalked into view. “Next time you decide to run a weapons test at midnight, Scouts, don’t do it within earshot of my quarters.” He clicked his short beak and shook all over, settling his plumage. “Carry on, Ahriman.”
“Yes, sir.” Gupta waited until the colonel left before ordering, “Give me the data, clean up and replace the suits, and you are all confined to barracks until I decide what to do with you. Dismissed.”
It was well past noon before Majors Gupta and Ssiliar called the four miscreants into Gupta’s office. Gupta rumbled, “Lieutenant Hamsa and Lieutenant KssTali, since you were operating under the orders and supervision of these two idiotic, thoughtless, mind-bogglingly stupid captains, you are getting marks on your records and will lose ten percent of the next bonus, whatever that is. Do not ever do anything like this again without permission, is that clear?”
“Yes sir,” they replied, very glad not be getting hit with whatever was about to come crashing down onto the captains.
“Ni Drako and Dar Ohrkan, you are confined to barracks for the next week whenever you are off duty. Your pay will be docked by cost of the amount of power required to recharge the two units you ‘borrowed,’ and for whatever repairs are required since the suits were test rentals.” Yori cringed inside. Gupta continued, “Ni Drako, since you are the ranking member of this display of stupidity raised to the fourth power, you get to spend four weeks working in the supply depot at the temporary rank of corporal, starting in two days. Unless we have a mission, in which case you will complete your sentence after we return to base.” He stopped, waiting for a reply.
“Yes sir.”
“And you will prepare a full, detailed report to present to the combined officer corps, and a general report for the enlisted staff,” Colonel Adamski added from behind the four soldiers. Gupta and Ssiliar got to their feet as Adamski walked in. “I believe they will find the information most enlightening, especially when they view the video and audio that the automatic test recording cameras saved.” Yori flushed at the words. “I suspect I know how the final vote on purchasing the armor will go after everyone sees the results of your tests, Ni Drako, Dar Ohrkan, Hamsa, KssTali.” Adamski went beak to nose with Rada, whistling, “And no leaking of the data. Is that clear?”
“Yessir!”
He backed up a fraction, giving her room to breathe. “How badly did it injure you?”
“It cut almost to the disk between the vertebrae, sir.” Rada noticed Gupta hiding a flinch of his own at the thought and she felt a faint twinge of satisfaction.
“And your head?”
“The ear muscles pulled but did not tear, nor is the cartilage broken, sir.”
Adamski gestured for Rada to tip her head down, which she did. He felt around her ears, noting her flinch when he pressed against a blood blister.
“Thank you.” He turned to the majors. “Carry on, gentlemen.”
* * *
Five weeks later, back at the Runaway Comet, Rada sat alone at a table in a dark corner of the room, nursing aching muscles and a snifter of karpotl. “How are you feeling?” She twisted around to see Soliman Ssiliar approaching her table with a beer-like drink in one hand and a plate of meat and something green in the other. “Stay seated, Hairball.”
“Hairball, sir?”
“Your new nickname, Ni Drako. Everyone’s taken to calling you ‘Gupta’s Hairball’ after seeing the video. Even the Old Bird uses it.” The reptile gave her a gaping grin as Rada groaned, covering her face with her hands. “To repeat, how are you feeling?”
She waited until he’d settled down into the seat before replying. “Sore, sir.” The month of hard labor reminded Rada why she’d scraped and fought to get a commission.
“I don’t think I could do it anymore, not for a month,” a deep voice commented and Ahriman Gupta pulled a heavy chair up to the table. “Sit, Rada. And that and the next drink are on Adamski’s tab, his orders.” As Rada stared at the horn-nosed head of communications and intelligence, he explained. “You and your partners in foolishness saved the regiment a lot of money. The light and heavy infantry officers loved that kit, with a few caveats. What you found terminated their love.” Gupta snorted and drank some of his pale beverage. “What fool of a computer programmer thought soldiers did not need to be able to crouch and pick things up?”
Soliman added, “Or fight hand-to-hand while in exo-armor. If life were fair, the designer would be paying us for finding the flaws before someone got killed. Can you imagine what would have happened if someone built like Lt. Hamsa got caught the way dar Ohrkan was?”
“He’d die, sir,” Rada said, tone flat. “We ran a simulation of that the next morning, as part of the preparation for the presentation. It would have broken Hamsa’s carapace in two before he could trigger an emergency override. Hamsa wanted to kill the software designer.”
Soliman hissed, “Did you tell the Old Bird?”
“Yori did.” Rada had gone straight from the presentation to the supply depot to begin an eighteen-hour shift, so she’d missed the follow-up reports.
The two senior officers fell silent, thinking. Soliman pushed the plate to Rada and gestured for her to help herself to the meat, which she did.
After several minutes of quiet chewing and drinking, Gupta set down his glass. “You do understand why we had to punish you so severely?”
Rada considered the matter. “Yes, sir.”
Gupta gestured to Morlee and pointed at Rada. A few seconds later Sleerko replaced Rada’s empty snifter with a full one, and set a glass of water beside the plate of snacks. Rada frowned but kept her peace. Only uncouth fools got drunk on karpotl. Civilized people sipped and savored the complex
flavors in the distillation. Soliman excused himself to have a word with Sleerko.
“He’s never going to give up, is he?” Gupta asked under his breath, shaking his head slightly.
“Faint heart never won fair lady,” Rada quoted, adding “sir.”
Gupta snorted, winked, and raised his glass slightly. “To hopeless causes?”
“To hopeless causes,” and Rada touched her snifter to his mug.
About the Author
Alma T C Boykin lives somewhere between the Sierra Nevada and Appalachian Mountains, south of Canada, with the semi-obligatory writer's cat and enough books to open up a decent-sized library.
She can be reached at [email protected].
