Unstable Prototypes (54 page)

"Did you do that?" the soldier demanded.

"What do you think?" Silo jabbed.

There was the groan of straining metal from
within the locker.

"What the hell is in there?" said the
soldier, taking a firmer grip on his weapon and inching
backward.

"The last thing you'll ever see," Garotte
said with a grin.

The moment that followed was so crowded with
activity it would have taken a documentary crew, a high speed
camera, and a few hours of study to reveal every nuance. A hollow
whistle, like a big league slugger taking a home run swing with a
metal pipe, split the air, followed by a deafening screech of
tearing metal and a burst of sparks from the shutter door. The
soldier had half an instant to inspect what was now protruding from
the damaged door. That was more than enough time to convince him
that he would feel more comfortable if it was filled with bullet
holes. By the time he opened fire, the far more prepared Silo and
Garotte were three steps closer to the exit and accelerating. The
soldier finished emptying his clip and began to backpedal while
reloading, using whatever wits he had to spare to investigate his
target, which was still sticking out of the heavy-duty door that
had been crumpled aside like so much foil.

It looked like a human arm. Actually, more
accurately, it looked like a human arm if you were to tear off all
of the skin, remove the blood, replace the bones with a dull gray
metal, and replace the muscles with a few bundles of charcoal black
fibers. The fist was clenched around a mangled piece of equipment
which might have been a plasma clip at some point in the past, but
was now little more than a smoldering piece of junk. The arm was
notably intact, either due to the general lack of precision that
comes with panic-firing a fully automatic weapon or due to an
immunity to the weapon. There was a blur of motion and the rest of
the mechanism revealed itself, but the soldier was probably too
distracted watching his life pass before his eyes to notice.

Down the hall, Garotte and Silo listened to
their foe scream and get off a few bullets from the fresh clip
before a variety of horribly organic snaps and crackles cut off
both noises, leaving just the pound of their boots and the patter
of tapering off sprinklers.

"Bandanas on," Garotte remarked, holstering
his weapons and pulling the folded blue square from a flap of his
fatigues.

"Way ahead of you," Silo said as she finished
tying the knot to secure it around her soaking wet forehead.

By the time they reached the door, there was
a rapid metallic tapping approaching at terrifying speed down the
corridor behind them. It was like the clacking of a demonic
typewriter. In brief, red-illuminated glimpses they could see Zerk
scrambling toward them in a skittering, four-limbed crawl that
leaped from wall to ground to wall.

"The whole blue bandana thing will only work
if he can
see
that it's blue, and I'd rather be standing in
the sun than blinding myself with a flashlight," Garotte
gasped.

"Agreed," Silo nodded. In a continuous motion
she pulled her grenade launcher around, readied it, and ricocheted
a round though the door they had kicked open when they entered. The
blast devastated the emergency shutter, and pieces were still
clattering to the ground when they rushed though the gaping
hole.

"You get the Declaration prepped. I'll handle
Zerk," Garotte said.

"No argument from me," she said, opening the
crew door and keeping a watchful eye on the exit of the depot.

Garotte carefully positioned himself such
that he wasn't directly outside the gap, but he would be the first
thing one would see upon leaving. The clattering charge of the
robot became steadily louder, and when the spy caught the tiniest
glimpse of the thing, he took a deep breath.

"Bowerbird!" Garotte bellowed.

If it had been a half-second later, he would
have been a pile of broken bones with a hellish killing machine
standing on top of him. Instead, the thing dug its hands and feet
into the concrete of the depot's footpath, grinding four long lines
as it skidded and rotated to a stop. It then stood sharply at
attention and turned to him, remaining perfectly still.

In the light, the device was practically a
work of art. Everything about it was minimally but perfectly
engineered. The arms, legs, and chest were like an anatomical model
built to show off the main muscle groups, though each muscle was
represented by a deceivingly lean bundle of black. This was because
the synthetic muscle had ten times the strength of human tissue,
and anything more would have warped the titanium composite frame it
was anchored to, but it made for an almost scarecrow-like build.
Where the abdomen should have been was virtually hollow, showing
off a heavily reinforced spinal support and a variety of variously
shaped ports, meant for utilizing different power sources. The
hands were three-fingered, with a built in blade protruding from
above the fingers when a fist was made. On one forearm was a silver
disk with a glowing blue rim, a directional force-field. The feet
resembled the tow-and-heel mockup that shoe-makers used to size
their creations, with more of the black fiber woven across the
outside to string it together. The least human aspect was the head.
Instead of a face was a smooth, curved surface with a brushed metal
finish that was pitted with gouges. A pair of V-shaped indents
textured the surface, one crossing the point where eyes should be,
and the tip of the other ending in a notch where the mouth should
have been. They hadn't even had the decency to put the glowing red
eyes that one would think were the industry standard by now.

"The magpies land at three four four," the
robot croaked in an even lower quality digital voice than the depot
had used.

Garotte furrowed his brow. "The crows descend
at seven one."

"Call and response sleep mode command
confirmed."

Zerk lowered to one knee and placed a palm on
the ground, raising its head until it flipped almost completely
upside-down, revealing three buttons and the broken off tube that
had first fed sedative, then epinephrine to the sole remaining hunk
of human flesh, the brain and spine hidden in the chest. Garotte
tapped the yellow button and removed the tube, inserting a vial of
sedative and tapping a blue button. The muscle fibers slackened and
Zerk collapsed.

"All done," Garotte breathed, mopping sweat
from his brow that owed a lot less to exertion and heat that he
would have liked to admit. "Well. That certainly got the blood
flowing. Care to lend a hand?"

Silo hopped down and helped move the inactive
war machine into the Declaration. "I'm sorry, explain again why
that works?"

"When you say bowerbird, and you are wearing
at least one piece of blue clothing, it stops and delivers the call
phrase-"

"I know what to do, I just don't know why it
works."

"Oh. Post-hypnotic, I think. Or programming.
One of those," he grunted, heaving the machine into the cargo bay
and climbing in. "That went just about perfectly."

"Yes, well, we're not in space yet," she
said, tapping the ship's radio and beginning to set the course.
"Lex, how are things up there?"

"You guys- No, no, left. You're not getting
by that way. Ha HA! - done already? I was just getting- yes, YES –
started," Lex's voice crackled over the radio.

"Is the coast clear, hon?"

"I've got the defense ships for half of the
hemisphere tied in knots. Get a move on!"

"How about you, Ma, sweetheart?"

"Busy... jamming... communication... and...
sensors..." Ma struggled in drawn out words.

"Right, let's go," Silo said, sealing the
doors and guiding the ship skyward. "I'll see you at the rendezvous
in three hours."

"I'd say that the dress rehearsal was a
success," Garotte said, putting his feet up on the motionless Zerk,
which was now strapped to the cargo grate. "All that remains is to
find the main stage and light the lights."

"Commander," said Marx.

Commander Purcell was scrutinizing the screen
of her datapad, and had been for hours. A mind honed and
specialized for combat and strategy was slow to adapt itself to
investigation, but the rate at which her own troops were turning up
information was unacceptable. These were men and women she knew to
be skilled and dedicated, but they were not suited to reviewing
data. All of her agents trained in espionage were currently placed
deep in organizations they needed to keep an eye on. The people she
kept on hand in the station were mostly engineering and combat, and
the best of them weren't able to turn anything up on this Trevor
Alexander, so that left her. It was a slow, mind-numbing task.

"Commander," her second stated with a bit
more force.

She looked up in irritation. "What is
it?"

"The engineers have got preliminary results,
and would like to demonstrate Karter’s devices."

"Now?"

"As soon as possible."

"Very well," she said, unhooking the datapad
from its mount and taking it along as they marched into the narrow
hallway.

"Have you had any luck with your
research?"

"Nothing new," she growled. "I've been over
that Modane footage dozens of times, scoured every word of the
information you gave me. There is nothing to suggest how he could
have gained the skills to take down one of our men, or why he would
ever involve himself. He had to have had help, and he must have
been coerced into rendering aid. But by whom? And why? The main
thorns in our side have been the spy and the demolition specialist,
but they were released, and they clearly only care about Karter.
They were released
to
retrieve Karter. There is nothing we
have that would suggest that
anyone
in Karter's history
could be that devoted to him, and you've met the man, he is
detestable. How could he earn such loyalty?"

"Have you been through any of the other
footage?"

Purcell sneered, pulling up the playlist of
videos and playing it without sound. "Look at it. Shaky video shot
by panicked bystanders. Nothing there that the Modane footage
doesn't show in greater detail."

They reached Docking Bay B and stepped
inside. It was a comparatively massive space for a space station,
large enough to contain five ships the size of the Armistice and
their crews. Normally it was occupied by nearly half of the
Neo-Luddites' recently acquired fleet of combat and troop ships,
and exposed to the vacuum of space. Now most of them were on
assignment, and at least two wouldn't be returning. Since it was a
large space, fortified against the minor collisions that were a
threat of any docking procedure, and designed to be quickly sealed
off against decompression, it was the best choice on the station to
test potentially dangerous devices. Unlike Karter's lab, it even
had artificial gravity. Thus the doors had been sealed, the bay had
been pressurized, and it was abuzz with her engineers. Each of the
five landing pads had been set up with a different invention, with
various safety equipment and testing apparatus included. It gave
the area the overall feel of a grade school science fair. And just
like in a science fair, things took on an excited hush when the
judge walked into the room.

"We'll start with you. Report," Purcell
decided, indicating the rightmost landing pad.

"Yes, commander," said the attending
engineer. "These are the double-jump boots. They operate on-"

"I've been briefed on their capabilities.
Demonstrate them and report on their combat role."

"Yes, commander," said the engineer.

He stepped aside, revealing a pair of crude,
sturdy-looking boots, reinforced and stiff, like ski boots. He took
them down from the pedestal, and began to strap them on, reporting
as he did.

"We have found the boots to be stable, and
predictable in their behavior. They're tricky, but I've had a
chance to practice," the engineer stated. "These are charged to
approximately 50% of capacity."

He walked to the edge of the landing pad and
surveyed the five meter gap between the pad and the walkway that
ran the length of the Docking Bay. After a deep breath, he ran two
steps and jumped the railing, as he began to descend, he slapped a
button on the control pad and lurched into the air again, landing
on the walkway and stumbling into the wall. When he came to a rest,
his feet seemed to suddenly lock into position, barely moving
despite his best efforts until he tapped another button on the
control pad.

"There, you see? Fully directable kinetic
energy storage and discharge! The potential is endless! At the very
most basic usage we've been able to store enough energy to deliver
over 40 kilo-newtons of force in a single kick. With training, we
theorize achieving anything from safely arresting a terminal
velocity fall to achieving short sprints of over 80 kph. There are
even potential zero gravity maneuvering applications. I-"

"Yes. That's fine. Very impressive," Purcell
stated. She'd been dealing with these men for long enough to know
that they were like puppies with a brand new chew toy when they got
their hands on fresh technology. If she didn't cut them off, they
would rave for hours over the smallest advances. It was a useful
attitude, but tended to waste valuable time during briefings. She
turned to the next pad. "You, report."

One by one, her engineers gushed excitedly
about the devices they had been permitted to test. They sprayed
barely comprehensible figures and benchmarks, but slowly her
strategic mind began to wrap around the possibilities. The "Charge
Gun" was an attachment the size of a rifle stock that could turn
virtually any light energy weapon into an anti-vehicular weapon for
at least one shot. The signal manipulator could make concerns of
giving yourself away with radio traffic a thing of the past. Even
the bizarre "yo-yo coil" could give battering ram capabilities to
any ship with a tractor beam, which effectively meant
any ship
at all.
Any one of the five items on display had the capacity
to revolutionize warfare, and they were randomly selected from a
list of
dozens.
Never before had the truth of their stance
been so clear. Then came the shield.