Stepping Up (8 page)

My boots clack like crazy. We duck around the next corner
half a heartbeat before the shooting starts, but we are out of the line of
fire.  He takes a second to throw me over his shoulder in a modified Wounded
Trooper carry.  The mag train is at the platform.  So Freddie starts to run.
Wart’s buddies are spilling out of the alley.  I grab my pistol and throw some
suppressive fire at them, but the way Freddie is bouncing me around I can’t aim
effectively.  Oddly, this would be a great time for my shotgun.  Freddie runs
onto the train.  As the doors close, we see Wart and his cronies pour from the
alley.  The train moves out of the station, accelerating rapidly.  A few rounds
ping against the train anyway.

Freddie calls Stan, “We have the bundle,” he tells him.  “I
got one more pickup at the starport. We’re coming back to the launch first.”

“Roger, we’ll meet you there,” Stan says.

The reality of what has just happened begins to sink in on
me.  Freddie pockets his perCom and turns to me. “How you doin’, kid?”  I just
mumble a bit.  “Sonia, can you hear me?”  Freddie stands in front of me,
holding my face in his hands.  The bag is on the bench. We’re standing up on
the rushing train.  He lowers me to the seat.  He slaps my cheek, not very
softly.  My eyes focus on him.

“I’ve never been shot before,” I mumble.  “Am I going to
die? Isn’t that what happens when you get shot? That’s what happens in the
movies, isn’t it? Don’t you get shot and then die?”

He slaps me again. “Stay with me, Princess.”  His knife
flicks open.  He makes two small cuts in the sleeve.  He gently peels away the
material and exposes the wound. “Oh, please, I’ve gotten wounds worse than that
with some of my rowdier boyfriends.”  He puts a medi-press bandage on it and
gives me two small pink capsules.  “Chew one and swallow the other. Count to
ten.”  The pill sticks in my throat.  Freddie hands me a bottle of water.  I
chew the second one. 
Mmmm! Cotton Candy!
I make it to five and start
giggling.

“Can I have two more after these wear off?”

“No, and I think you know why.”

“Please? C’mon, ‘Mad Dog’, you know you want to nail
‘Reba.’” I fix him with as seductive a glare as I can manage.  I stand and
slide my hands down my torso.

“Sit.  Stay.  Good bitch.”

Wait a minute
, “Where did this bottle of water come
from?”

“Someone left it here.  Seal was intact.  I think.” 

I start to laugh. That’s funny! Good drugs!

We get back to the launch.  Stan and Needa are there.  “Are
you okay to get your parts or should one of us go?” Stan asks. 

Needa sees the dressing.  She tries to roll the sleeve up,
but it’s too tight. She tells the boys to show us their backs while I shed the
jacket and she examines my wound.

“I’m okay,” I say. “Let me slip my flight suit on over these
leathers.  I don’t want to give that sweet old man a heart attack.”  I had an
athletic bra and a tee shirt under my coveralls, I put them on and leave the
jacket off.

“Forget him, you almost gave
me
one,” gripes Stan.  I
put my boots back on.

Freddie takes off his jacket. He rips the sleeves off his
tee shirt and dons a cap.  Oddly, it does quite a bit to change his appearance
unless someone is looking very closely.  He and I go back to the one shop
without a delivery option.  The parts are ready.  Freddie rents us a small cart
to move them on.

As we leave the shop, our perComs beep.  It’s Aria. “We are
leaving the system in two hours,” she says.  “Get wound up and get back here
ASAP.”

“Yes ma’am,” Freddie says as he looks at the clock in his
perCom then me. “Just in time.”

As we go back to the launch, I start babbling a little bit. 
I think the drug may be wearing off.  “I’m sorry for acting like a…I don’t
know, a major wuss maybe?”

“Don’t sweat it.  I told you before: I have your back.”  He
grins and adds, “Granted it’s a little smoother and narrower than I’m accustomed
to.  And those two lumps you have on the front…” He mimes gagging.  I can’t
help but smile. 

“And how I tried to get more meds from you.  Can we keep
that between us?”

Freddie scowls at me. “Sonia, what in the nine hells are you
talking about?”

“That’s what I needed to hear.”  I smile; he winks.  My
perCom beeps.  I have a text message to find Mack as soon as I get back to the
ship.  I also have a newfound understanding of chemical dependence.  As well as
compassion for anyone trying to shake it.

We get back to the launch and settle in for the ride to
Night
Searcher
.  Once we’re in space I step into the ’fresher and take off the
leathers to return them to Freddie.

“Keep them,” he says “I’ll never be able to get the she
stink out.  And besides, you don’t look half bad in them.  For a girl.  If it’s
bothering you, give me a hundred credits, a cold beer and we’ll call it a day. 
Besides, they didn’t have those extra holes in them when I entrusted them to
you.  I’ll never do that again.”

The cutter docks without incident.  I gather up my
personal purchases and ask one of the spacers to get the organizational
components down to Engineering.  On the way to the LEO, I drop my personal bags
by my stateroom.  Well, it isn’t
on the way
, but I doubt the detour is
that significant.  Hopefully, just opening the door, dropping the bags and
walking at a brisk pace to the LEO will eat up the difference.  I look in the
LEO but Mack isn’t there so I go looking for him and find him in the
fabrication shop, doing the last thing I expect of him: Manual labor.  Welding,
of all things.  “You wanted to see me?” I ask.

He pushes his visor to his forehead and looks up from his
piece. “Hey, you’re back.”  He points to the pile of new equipment from the
shopping trip.  The gear made it here before I did.  That’s not really a good
thing but it doesn’t appear to bother him. “I see you were able to find
everything on the list.  Great!  I want you to start looking at the PeteArmor
specs you’ve been able to gather.”  The armor Peter Scholnich designed was
named for him.   “Get familiar with them; once we are in Transit that’s going
to be your project, barring the unforeseen.”  His eyes cut to the bandage on my
arm and his tone hardens a bit. “After you’ve been cleared by the doctor, of
course.  What in the thousand worlds happened?”  I follow his gaze. The drugs
are definitely wearing off. It stings now. A lot.

“Oh, this? According to Freddie it’s nothing to get excited
about.  But I’ll go get another opinion.  By the way, I also picked up a book
on Peter Scholnich, not so much a biography, more like ‘I knew this guy.’ 
According to Lady Sarah Collins, he knew your ancestor.  I’m hoping it will
give me some insight into how his mind worked.  You want to read it after me?”

“He did indeed, and yes I would. Sinnair and Scholnich were
quite a team under Lord Collins. Those guys blew up more ships and rattled more
rafters than anyone in those centuries.”

I raise my eyebrows.  “‘Centuries’? Plural?”

“I’m not sure if it was after he mastered his psionic
abilities or was named king of the ocean planet, but Lord Collins was able to
slow his aging considerably.  He lived for at least two hundred years.”

“Wow.  Oh, also, I was talking to Freddie.  He’s not happy with
the interface between the Strike Armor and the high-energy weapons.  Might
there be a spare set of either or both I can play with or would you rather...?”
I get an epiphany.  “Hey, I know.  Why not fix the problem at the design phase
while working on the PeteArmor? Good call, Boss.  I’ll get right on it.  Are
you married to the idea of me starting from PeteArmor or may I start from a
clean slate?”

“That wasn’t my idea and you bloody well know it.  Keep
credit where it belongs.  Here endeth the lesson.  Get with Aria about access
to the tech libraries. She can point you towards a lot of drawings and history
that I don’t have the patience to look for. If you want to start clean, that’s
fine, but I want to see your work.  But remember, the Transit drives are still
your top priority.”

“Of course.  Those are my babies.  Since you insist, I’m off
to see the doctor.  I’ll be back.”

On the way to the medical bay I send a COM to Aria
requesting the clearances and passwords Mack was talking about.  She assures me
she will take care of it.  Within minutes there is a bleep from my perCom.  I
have some temporary passwords for secure databases that will expire a few hours
after initialization.  Once we’re in Transit I’ll take care of that.

The more I think
about
Aria, the more I think
of
her.  To be artificial—well it’s hard to believe she is artificial sometimes. 
I might look into robotics and the related disciplines. Maybe I can get a job
building androids when this gig is over.

Doctor Traynor directs me to pull my arm out of my
coveralls so she can look at my wound.  She peels off the gauze and looks at it
intently. “I know that’s a small graze, but those are the ones that tend to get
infected the worst. That was a nice field dressing though, whoever put it on
knew what they were doing.  I’ll get Needa to give you something a little
tidier.”  She cleans it a little more than Needa did.  But to be fair, Needa
didn’t have a medical cabinet to fetch supplies from.

Needa winks at me as she applies the artificial skin. She
heard the compliment but didn’t speak up.  I can keep a secret too.  Dr.
Traynor hands me a blister pack containing two weeks of antibiotics and a small
tube of artificial skin.  “Peel off the artificial skin before every shower and
apply it after you’re dry.  Unless you think scars are cool of course.  If you
have your eye on a Trooper he might like it.”  She gives me a devilish grin.
“When bathing use soap on the wound, but don’t scrub too hard. It’s better if
you dab or pat rather than rub.  Take three of those pills a day, you might
want to take them with meals. They could make for an upset stomach but aren’t
known for it.  If you have any pain, nonprescription meds should take care of
it.  But if it doesn’t, stop in and we’ll get you tended to.”  She gives me a
warm smile. “Now get back to work.” The doctor may be in her late fifties, but
she still has the lines of classic beauty.

“Thanks, Doc, I’ll see you around,” I say as I put my arm
back in my jumpsuit.  I saunter into the corridor and check my perCom. 
Holy
crap! I missed Aria’s call!  We have to Transit!
I race back to
Engineering, yelling, “Make way!” several times. I get my helmet on as Gorb and
Mack are finishing up the pre-Transit checks.

“Oh, look who decided to come to work!” Mack says to me over
the private circuit.

“Shownya made squeaky noises on deck,” Gorb says with a
snicker.

“Yeah, yeah, tease the new girl, make fun of the gunshot
victim. Har har hardy har har.  You guys are almost as funny as dead fish in
the air recirculation system.”

They both start laughing.  I’ll have to finish my whine and
cheese party later.  Aria’s calling from the bridge: “Engineering, Bridge.
Report.”

I double-check the board.  I look at Mack.  He gives me a
thumbs up.

“Bridge, Engineering.  You are green for Transit,” I report.

“Roger.”

Ten minutes later the Execute button is pushed and the
Transit drives roar to life. Between the three of us the post-Execute checks go
quickly.  Once we’re finished, Mack leaves.  Once I get a few seconds I get on
my workstation holoCom. I alter the temporary passwords Aria gave me.
Hopefully, the I-forgot-my-password hints I set for myself won’t get me in
trouble.

Before I realize it, my shift is over.  This has been a busy
day.  And this will be a busy trip.  We have several stops to make. 

Back in my stateroom, I look into my holoCom and download
some manuals to which I am now allowed access.    Since my notepad doesn’t have
enough available space, I upload them to a portable data reader. Not
surprisingly, there’s an overwhelming scarcity of information on Peter
Scholnich and even less on PeteArmor.  Apparently, he never filed patents on
his creations.  I won’t make that mistake.  If I have some profitable ideas, I
intend to profit by them.  I do, however, now have complete specifications on
the Strike Armor that Freddie and the others wear.  It’s time for me to do some
reading.  I settle down with the book the Lady Collins wrote, a milkshake, and
my notepad.

Four days later I have plans and a materials list for
what I think is a buildable prototype.  Now I dig into the problem of the heavy
weapon interface.  I see where it is in the specs and it looks like it’s as
good as one could…
wait a minute.  Why did they do that? Maybe if this
connected here and here instead of there.
I make a few changes in my
version.  That should be just a little better.  I’ve put it off long enough,
it’s time to call the boss.

“Mack? Sonia.  I can build a prototype of the PeteArmor. You
might want to sit down for my parts list. I’m going to need a suit of Class VII
Strike Armor, enough Lacior to cover an adult human, twelve class thirty-two
servos.  I’m going to be increasing the gross weight with approximately four
pounds of circuitry and other apparatus and I can fix the heavy weapons
interface as well if I add another twenty pounds of miscellaneous parts to the
suit, as it exists now.  That will of course require beefing up the exoskeleton
and the batteries.  The good news is I have a formula for a lighter material,
which will decrease the net weight.  But I stand by the upgrade for the
exoskeleton and batteries.”  Lacior is a fibrous mesh.  It is very light, very
strong, very supple, and very expensive.  A square meter goes for about what
they are paying the Engineering department for this trip, maybe twice. “You
still with me, Boss?”

“Wow,” he finally answers. “Okay, I’ll have a suit of Strike
Armor sent to workshop two.  The Lacior won’t be a problem. Well, it won’t be
your problem. I’ll have to get the Old Man’s approval for that kind of expense.
So don’t use any you don’t need and don’t waste a nanogram of it. 
Unfortunately, I don’t have any spare hands I can detail to you so not only are
you building it in your spare time, but also you’re doing it solo.  The good
news is you won’t have to share accolades with anyone.  If that helps?”

“It doesn’t hurt.  That’s about as good as I can ask.”

Mack puts on his fatherly face. “Take care that you don’t
spend too much time or money in the workshop.  All work and no play makes Jane
a royal pain in the ass.”

“It’s either work in the shop or fend off would-be suitors
with sticks.  Anyway, it keeps me occupied.  Thanks again.  MacTaggert out.”

Just looking at this, Scholnich must have been praising his
Creator every day.  There is no way he could have done what he did without a
multi-trillionaire funding him.  I probably should have told Mack that I’m
going to need a lot of Lacior. “Experimentation” will certainly be the word of
the day.

It’s time for another call. “Hi Freddie, Sonia.  Remember
you were telling me about the problem you were having with the heavy weapons
interface and your Strike Armor?”

“Yeah, so what?”

“So, when can we get together for you to tell me how what
you want is different from what you have? And who’s your boss? ‘Platoon
sergeant’ I think you call them. So I’ll know whose toes I’m stepping on.”

“Right now, it’s me.  Mel took leave at Saxon.  You may get
to meet her when we pick her up on the way back.  I’m sending you the spec for
the targeting reticles.  They’re individual equipment, so in theory, once the
reticle is zeroed to the Trooper, the weapons shouldn’t need boresighting.  But
they always do.  Meet me in the Commons about 2130 and we’ll talk more.”

“Thanks, bud.  Y’know for a pillow biter, you’re okay.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever. I’m just happy I don’t have to squat
to pee.”

One more call to make.

“Aria, Sonia MacTaggert.  Is the software for the Strike
Armor Heavy Weapons Interface compartmentalized? One of the Troopers has asked
me to tweak the connection a little.  Could I get a copy?”  With any luck I’ll
be able to make myself a baseline copy.  I can always restore it if I have to
start over.

“Of course,” Aria says. “I will send it to you shortly. 
Have fun, pursue excellence and do great things. But in the meantime, I believe
you have other tasks.  We will be ready to Transit in one hour.” 

Already? We’ve only been here three days!
  “I’m on my
way.” One of the downsides to androids is you’re never sure if they’re being
sincere or sarcastic.  I finish what I’m working on and dash out, twisting my
hair into a low ponytail on the way to my station.  I eyeball the board and
look for Mack but he’s nowhere in sight.  Gorb hands me my helmet before
donning his own.

I check the board twice and give my report:  “Bridge, you
are green for Transit.”

Being caught up once the ship is in Transit, I experiment
and take the boss at his word. I stop in the lounge for a quick ale.  I spy my
two friends Ron and Johan at a table.  Johan is making quite the fashion
statement with his hair in a lavender high and tight.  I sit, we chat.  “Guys,
I have a question:  Do either of you know of any unattached hetero guys who are
more into friendship than exchanging bodily fluids?”

Ron giggles. “I’ve heard such exist but I’ve yet to meet
one.”

Johan recoils as if I slapped him.  He’s cute, but still
disturbing on a few levels.  “What’s wrong with me?” he asks with a pout. “I’m
a great friend.  I’ll help you with your nails, I’ll brush your hair without
complaining and I won’t try to nail you.  If we get drunk together and you
start throwing up, I’ll be the one holding your hair and not pushing your skirt
up.  What more could you want?”

I pat his hands. “Oh, you are a great friend.  But one day I
may actually want my skirt pushed up.  That’s a bill you just can’t fill…”

“Got that right,” Ron quips. “He wilts when he hears a
woman’s name.”

“And I’d rather already be friends,” I add.

Johan sighs, “Well, you can always try the spacers or the
gunners.  Or that beefcake in Medical—what’s his name? Avi maybe? I think it’s
short for something but I don’t remember what.”

Ron says, “I think that’s right. He’s ‘Dr. Took’ if you want
to be formal. He keeps to himself a lot, so I’m not sure. And when you get
tired of him, see if you can toss him my way.”  The discussion quickly spirals
downhill.  Johan states that alcohol and salt kill bacteria and viruses.  That
being the case, drinking margaritas and eating nachos should cure a cold or an
infection.  After my third mug of ale, I confess the idea does make sense on a
certain level.

Two days later I’m passing Medical and stick my head in. 
I find Dr. Traynor going over personnel examination reports.  I place a cup of
piping hot coffee where her now comparatively cold one is.