CHAPTER TEN
MEWAC medical bay, 19H15, 19th of May, 2771
The confrontation with Rakaia left Toni horrified. Not with her, of course; the Terminator had always rebuffed the cadets surrounding her, and he would never have expected anything less than the same for him. It wasn’t what she had said that distressed him, but his free-running mouth instead, and more specifically, the words it had uttered. Most especially, it was the feeling that had accompanied the words that were jilting his nerves.
The feeling was not entirely unfamiliar.
Over the course of his training, there had been moments when the pressure mounted alarmingly. In those times, a terrible thought sometimes crashed into the midst of his consciousness, yelling that he had finally reached his limit, and that it would all be so much easier if he simply gave up and took the Walk. At first he had simply ignored the thought and, more often than not, those moments were fleeting enough for the tactic to work.
But then those critical moments had begun to stretch out, and simply ignoring the voice was no longer a practical option. It eventually became something to put up with, like Mason or the tics, any attempt to smother the voice only resulting in it squealing even louder in more desperate instances. It began to harass his spirit and slowly he had begun to hate the voice, and then that feeling had begun to make itself known. His memory tended to become hazy whenever that happened, and he would eventually return to himself afterwards in the shower, another critical training session having been accomplished without incident, his only memory of the session that feeling.
A feeling as if he was no longer alone in his own mind, that there was another consciousness to be reckoned with, one which held grudges, which took revenge, which felt itself entitled to more than a fair measure of divine selfishness. There was no pity in it. That intrusive stranger would laugh whenever Toni agonized, and indeed he could hear it sniggering despite his present solitude. Closing his eyes, Toni focused on the emotion and sought to reach out and make contact with that hidden facet of his self.
He let go of his self-pity and felt himself approach the stranger. He abandoned his empathy, and closer he crept. He rose out of the trench that was his life and looked down upon it, observing the shoddy workmanship and the haphazard way it interconnected with those around him, and he sneered at it all. The feeling was becoming very strong. He accepted that he was of no worth. How tremendous it was, life. He had no value in the midst of it all. The myriad trenches surrounding him were better organized and kept, for the most part. They accommodated platoons, whole battalions, even, while his accommodated a young boy who didn’t even know how to speak to members of the opposite gender. He sneered once more, his fangs showing. None of that mattered, of course. No matter how many virtuous lives needed to be snuffed out to validate his own insignificant existence, the deed would be done. No matter that his genes were defective, whether they be folic acid deficiencies or something more sinister, he would pass his genes onwards. He would engineer his way into the Terminator’s unworthy womb, even if he had to forcefully pry her lily-white thighs –
He began to tremble as the horrible imagery paraded before his mind’s eye, the stranger smirking slyly beside him. His emotional self began to tear itself apart, the horrified rejection of the delicious possibilities opposing itself to the epiphany of a draconian world view. A savage dogfight broke out in his mind, and his body began to shake and shudder.
Turning his back towards the infirmary door, he smothered a scream and caved in to the overwhelming intensity of his emotions. At the peak of his anger, as his hate extended beyond himself and towards all the antagonists of his life, he sensed his moral skin slip away, feeling simultaneously terrified and delighted that it could so easily slide off if he allowed it to.
He glimpsed the demon hidden beneath, and it proudly basked in the light of its discovery before once more hiding itself within the fabric of his mind. As the foul creature disappeared from Toni’s consciousness, his weaker self tried desperately to hold on to some remnant of its power, but a moment later it was wholly gone except for that feeling, and for the reassuring knowledge that it was still concealed within.
His shaking eventually subsided, and he began to lose track of time.
The affliction had long departed when the infirmary’s automatic blinds suddenly snapped shut, putting an abrupt end to Toni’s dark thoughts.
What time is it? he wondered. Slowly he rose, joints cracking loudly, and he crossed the room towards the entrance, unfastened boots squeaking over the varnished wooden floor. He found the medic at her desk reading, and she reluctantly turned her attention towards him as he approached.
“Well, finally up. You look flushed, cadet. Are you alright?” she asked, concern lightly etching her pretty brow.
“Oh. I’m just fine. What time is it?”
She pointed delicately to the wall-clock above her head. It read nine o’clock. Dinner-time had come and gone quite a while ago. He had missed formation. The medic appeared to read his mind.
“There’s no need to worry, dear. The Commander passed by more than an hour ago. Told us it was alright to bring dinner to the injured in the infirmary.”
“The ... Commander?” Toni asked.
“Well, yes, of course. The entire base is out and about. Something’s up, but I’m afraid I don’t know what it is, so don’t ask,” she warned. The furrow of concern deepened.
“Listen, dear. I don’t like how you’re looking, nor did I like the strange noises you were making while you slept, so why don’t you try resting a little more. I’ll bring you your dinner just now, alright?” she proposed with a sweet smile.
Toni felt that her smile was disingenuous, but still felt obliged to comply. Presenting her with a smile of his own, he thanked her and returned to bed. As he lay down again, Toni realized he was still smiling, and quickly wiped it off his face. What had she meant by strange noises? Had he spoken out loud? He wondered what she must be thinking of him. And how had he not noticed the arrival of a full-blown Colonel in the bay?
He couldn’t afford to lose his mind, not when the world was on the verge of becoming an interesting place.
Toni made his way back to the casern a few minutes before the call-to-silence horn. What he found there caught him by surprise.
The entire platoon had travel-gear spread out on the beds, and was prepping Tier Three travel-packs for locomotion. His own bed had one such T3 pack lying on it, but everyone appeared to be too busy to explain to him what to stow where, or why.
“Yo! Still in time to go back to Med Bay, Tonesy!” Toni heard someone bray from further down the compartment.
Ray’s arms were dug in up to their elbows in his larger back-pack, and the Leibanese looked happier than Toni had seen him in a long while. He sauntered over to the busy cadet, hopeful for information.
“Mind telling me what the hell is going on?”
“Are you ready to fight a war?” Ray asked, giving him a wolfish grin. He then proceeded to explain.
Apparently, the CDF has finally gotten wind of the enemy’s general location. Their defensive systems had proven so advanced that all unmanned aircraft in the vicinity had been incinerated. In fact, the weapons’ range was so extensive that the venerable Adamastor, Capicua’s one-time interstellar spaceship and sole remaining space station, had that very afternoon been knocked from its orbit as it passed overhead. All hands had been lost, elevating the body-count since the conflict’s beginning to more than four hundred dead.
“Oh, and the Enemy’s got an official name now. We’ll be calling them Unmil from now on.”
“Unmil? How did they figure that?”
Ray looked at Toni carefully for the first time that day.
“You alright, man? You usually pick that crap up faster than me.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, I get it. Unknown Military, right?” Toni ventured, trying to look as excited as his friend was. Ray’s preoccupation vanished at once and he proceeded to lay down facts more relevant to
their immediate future.
The brass, in their infinite wisdom, had proposed to the government that MEWAC’s entire ground force be committed to offensive action, aimed at striking a devastating blow against the Unmils before they got too well established. And somewhere along the line MEWAC’s entire ground force had come to include the Moca Suits, momentarily tasked to a certain platoon of eager, if rather malcontent, cadets.
Hence the T3 packs.
“So you pack for extended operations, as per page one-oh-seven of the MEWAC Recruit Manual. Though they told us to pack it all very tightly, ‘cause they’re gonna have us stow three days’ combat rations and a few extra Lacrau clips in there. Yo, master and commander! You got that pill for the Tones here?” he bellowed suddenly at Ian, who had been methodically running a pen through a checklist.
Apparently, the novel situation had put Ray in such high spirits that he had quite forgotten about his beef with the special one. Ian approached them quietly, taking a small capsule out of the breast pocket of his brand new dolmen as he did so. Toni accepted it reluctantly, deeply suspicious of anything Ian would offer him to swallow.
“It’s a sleeping pill ...” Ian explained neutrally. “They want us to take one at the call-to-silence horn.”
He returned to his list without another word.
“Yeah, that’s right! We gotta take it at the call-too-shilence hawn! But you’d better put a hold on that until you got everything packed. Help me out, and then I’ll give you a hand, arright?”
Ray’s enthusiasm proved infectious, and soon Toni found himself forgetting about what happened at the infirmary as they set to work. By eleven o’clock, even Toni’s backpack was neatly stowed, Ray having already gotten good practice sorting his and Gordie’s out, and by then both had decided to swallow their little ivory-colored pills. The drug appeared to have no effect on their disposition, making them wonder after a while whether they’d been given a placebo.
As the remainder of their fellow cadets slept like the dead, the two friends clasped hands aggressively. With not the least care for any lurking sergeants or officers, they slapped each other’s faces, laughing and promising one another that they would cut a fair length of Unmil-throat before the campaign’s end.
As Toni finally lay down in his bed, a genuine smile spread across his face as he wallowed in his good mood, he peered around at the remaining members of his platoon, wondering idly whether any would die over the following weeks. They certainly looked dead at the moment, not a single one stirring except for Ray, who was rolling under the bed sheets as awake as he was.
Sleep fell on him like a thief, stealing from him the memory of any dreams he might have had.
Dawn proved to be a particularly windy one, and it was the music the gusts made against the casern’s exterior that woke him. He hid his head under his pillow, trying hard to shut out the sound, made worse by the loud conversations taking place all around him. His shoulder was shaken twice before he found the resolve to look around.
Gordie was once more among them. As the cadet laughed with his mates, ecstatic to be among his own again, Toni noticed only some puffiness around his eyes. Other than that he was no worse for wear.
The wall-clock read four o’clock in the morning.
Yet another shove on his shoulder finally got him onto his feet. Moving like a drunk, he uniformed himself, not caring to wash. He’d do that after the morning run. Then he remembered there would be no morning run.
Sergeant Mason stomped into the compartment, and Toni discovered what his face looked like without its characteristic smirk. It seemed to be carved from stone.
The platoon stood immediately at attention beside the beds.
“At ease, cadets,” he began, dispensing with his usual game of stare and intimidation. “I’ll say this now, ‘cause this is the last chance I’ll get to say it. I’m dead sure none of you are ready for this. Not a one! None of you should have been pulled from your training for this!” he growled.
The cadets watched their sergeant silently, none daring to agree, disagree or state any otherwise opinion.
“In fifteen minutes you will all form up before the company building for a briefing by our Company Commander. You will leave your equipment inside your casern. After a short briefing you will be distributed PDWs and corresponding ammunition, an anti-trauma suit and helmet, three combat rations, one box of combat nootropics and one pair of binoculars. None of what I’ve referred to is to be stowed in the Moca Suit. Instead it will be worn on your person or stashed inside your T-packs. No exceptions!
“There is one last thing I need to say before formation,” he added after a short pause. He observed them one at a time, and for once he had no sneer reserved for Toni.
“What’s going to happen can end a million different ways, but there’s only two ways this will end quickly. Either the Unmils are a bunch of pussies, and we’ll sweep the Cap free of them in a day, or they will be far superior to us on every level, and they’ll defeat us decisively. In my view, and considering we don’t have a clue as to the technology gap between both forces, the first battle may well result in one of these two scenarios.
“Considering this, I’d like to offer you all maybe the best advice you’ll ever get from a soldier in this army. No matter what the brass tells you on that parade today, if you come into contact with the enemy, and they’re plowing through us like they’re fixing to sow the field, then forget about attacking, exacting revenge, or any other foolish idea that jumps into those juvenile minds of yours. You’re not gonna turn the battle around with obsolete equipment and incomplete training! Remember the following three Rs: Retreat, regroup and retire! A battleground is no place for cadets! We understood?” he barked, his neck muscles taut as he waited for their answer.
There were several reluctant yessirs and a few nods around the room. Toni didn’t say a word; he was too busy marveling at the change of demeanor.
“Don’t make us wait!” he finally barked, about-facing snappily before he left the room.
“Pussy ...” Toni heard someone, probably Ray, breathe to his left.
The preparations for formation began to accelerate. The male cadets formed up a full minute before the expected time, and for once the femmes did not let them down, arriving only moments later at a brisk run.
Toni searched Rakaia’s features as she formed up in front of him, hopeful that she hadn’t spoken to anyone about their exchange. She gave him a look of pure venom before presenting him with her back.
Not the most encouraging sign, he thought sourly.
He glanced to his left, only to find Hannah peering back at him with an indecipherable expression. He raised his eyebrows pleadingly, hoping she’d recognize a wordless apology if she saw one.
“Eyes front,” Ian ordered in a low voice.
“Cadet, direct the platoon to the briefing room,” the LT called from behind.
Ian barked out a collection of orders and the platoon obeyed reflexively, forming quickly into a double column before marching towards the casern’s briefing room.
Before entering, they were overtaken by the lieutenant, Mason, and a troop of sergeants and corporals. The corpies were carrying electronic equipment, and the sergeants several large scrolls.
The fourteen cadets silently took their seats, Lieutenant Templeton having waived formalities beforehand.
“Good morning, cadets,” the lieutenant began. “So, before you all melt into the ground in sheer terror, I’d like to make the following quite clear: you will not be expected to directly engage the enemy.”
He paused for a moment, silently observing as a kaleidoscope of emotions played across his subordinates’ faces. What he saw there must have been amusing, for a wry smile began to spread across his narrow face.
“However much that might disappoint some of you. The current situation also seems to have gifted to the more troublesome members of this flock with a reprieve; any disciplinary proceedings regarding what happened yesterday h
ave, at least for the time being, been suspended.
“I would, however, like to make something clear. A declaration of war is in effect and, in case you’re not aware of what that means, the SIC’s 1st platoon is forthwith an operational combat unit. As a direct result, any failure to comply with orders, as well as the committing of any other essentially military crime, will be dealt with severely. And when I say severely, I mean the firing squad. Taking this into consideration, and also considering that you are not expected to directly deal with the Unmils, you should be much more afraid of your own screw-ups than of enemy action. And so I expect you to listen to this briefing with great care, because I don’t think that the “my mind was somewhere else” excuse is going to work in a court-martial. Corporals, if you’ll please set up the holographics ...”
That took all of thirty seconds. As the corporals set up the display equipment, Toni took a good look at the strangers before him. There were the three corporals, certainly close ground support. The footies usually had a beefy look to them. The sergeants, however, were something else entirely. Young, thin, wiry, and lazy eyes born of self-confidence, they were beyond a doubt members of the ASC. And all three were distinctly displeased at their assignment. It was the disgusted look they were throwing the cadets that gave it away.
“Very well, thank you. I think before we get into the details of our current assignment, I’d like to outline the change in status. By order of our Commander, Colonel Masters, all training and the SIC itself are suspended until the end of the Wild Rose Campaign. Our former 1st platoon is now the Logistics Support Platoon, aka LOGIS which, due to obvious considerations, will be dedicated to second-line duties. This platoon has been divided into three sections, consisting of the following: In the 1st Section, under 2nd Sergeant “Dim” Dunn, we have Cadets Miura, Kimble, de Venter, Bowker and Grimm. In the 2nd Section, under 2nd Sergeant John Revone, we have Cadets Allerton, Cato, Tani, Winters and Yamato. And in the 3rd Section, under 2nd Sergeant Carl Jordan, we have Cadets Cassel, Arakaki, Rosa and Templeton. Once this briefing is over, these cadets are to join their respective section commanders.”
There was no need to ask who his section leader was; every time the LT had called out a sergeant’s name, one of them had stood at attention. His own leader was the pissed-off looking oriental who, incidentally, didn’t look dim in the slightest. He got the impression that his new leader was the most displeased of the lot.
“Alright, moving along ...” the lieutenant continued. “LOGIS is now an independent platoon under the MEWAC Task Force and our mission is a complicated one, so listen good: Firstly, to progress along with the main force as a reserve subunit, carrying excess ordnance and fuel for the Combat Suits moving ahead. Secondly, to execute flank reconnaissance when required, and only by explicit order from the Task Force’s Commander, Lieutenant-colonel Kokubo. This is due to the Moca Suits’ only advantage over the Hammerhead: it has almost twice the range. Thirdly, upon first contact with Unmil, one section will support our Combat Suits by supplying ordnance whenever and wherever necessary, while the remainder will assist foot infantry units in the creation of improvised fortifications along our TF’s probable axis of retreat, said fortification remaining under the protection of these sections until relief by the first retreating subunit of Combat Suits.
“Not that we’ll be expecting any order to withdraw. After all, Lieutenant-colonel Kokubo is not the kind of leader who would make such a decision lightly. I hope you noticed my reference to the term “Combat Suits”. In case there are still any doubts, I’ll make this crystal clear: The Suits in our subunit do NOT qualify as such, and so I expect you all to refrain from sticking your noses into the fight, if there is one. If any of you disobey this order, I’ll remote-detonate your Suit. That is a promise. Are we clear?”
It was all apparently very clear to all present, and Toni had no doubt that the LT could do exactly what he had just threatened to do. He was, however, a little miffed for never having been told that such a contingency existed, although when he thought better of it, such a measure actually made sense.
After all, if one of them were to commit to battle, the remainder of the section would probably feel compelled to at least back him up. Even if the entire section wasn’t wiped out as a result, it would still become bogged down in an unnecessary fight and leave their mission unaccomplished. The lieutenant took that sort of mathematics very seriously.
The LT then began to expand upon the details of their mission, going through a blow by blow of what had to be done, by whom, and under what circumstances. As time began to stretch out, Toni was forced to fiercely discipline his mind so as to keep his attention firmly fixed on the briefing. His efforts were well rewarded when the LT quizzed them on the mission plan and Task Force organics. No one failed to correctly answer his questions.
The last thing their platoon commander did before dismissing them was to order them to download all details of the mission from the GMN.
Shortly after dismissal, Toni found himself in a corner of the classroom along with the rest of 1st section, watching silently as the SecLeaders conferred with their lieutenant in hushed voices. He peered at his surrounding comrades and a knot began to form in the pit of his stomach.
Ray wasn’t there. Nor was Gordie, nor any of the femmes. Hirum was there, although his presence didn’t boost Toni’s confidence in the least; Hirum was a decent friend, but his sim scores were well on the lower end of the performance spectrum. The remaining members were more comrades than mates, and only Clive Bowker, whose bed was beside his, was a closer acquaintance. The tall cadet’s natural reserve, however, had kept them from being anything more than that.
Don Kimble, on the other hand, suffered from a bad case of androgyny. His skin was soft and rosy, he possessed no facial hair to speak of, and he was handsome in an almost feminine way. Toni suspected exogenous genes at play. The cadet also got along quite well with the femmes, which only served to ensure that he be kept at arm’s length from the platoon’s male members.
Jim Grimm was officially an OK guy. He hung out with Shinji Yamato and Daryl Cato, and together they formed their own little special-interest group. The corn-haired cadet happened to be a hardcore programmer, thus adding his expertise to what they referred to as the Terrorbyte Crew. They constituted their own nation, but diplomatic relations with the remainder of the platoon had always been friendly.
Toni was glad for Jim’s inclusion in the 1st section; they were currently rivals in the race to the summit of the performance spectrum.
“Toni?” Hirum inquired hesitantly.
“What?” he replied, still focused on his thoughts.
“What happened between you and Tani?”
“Why would you think there’s something between us?” he answered, thinking it wise to answer the question with another.
Don sniggered and answered in Hirum’s stead.
“She’s been looking at you like you shot her dog, man. Look at her.”
Toni turned towards the 2nd section and, sure enough, Rakaia stood there watching him like a hawk, her irises half-hidden by her eyelids. Toni turned away, his face tightly expressionless.
No need to be the good guy, he told himself. Turning to Hirum, he finally answered.
“I only presented her with a few unpleasant facts, that’s all. She took it a little worse than I expected.”
Don thought on the answer for a moment, and then fixed Toni with a cold look.
“Rakaia doesn’t need someone like you to tell her the facts, she knows them for herself already. She escaped some domestic issues back at the Terminator Hub. She’s had some real problems, unlike you, and it just wouldn’t be a good idea to poke her like I expect you did. Especially not since she’s about to be handed a four ton piece of military equipment to play with. And a live Lacrau. And a twenty-five millimeter cannon. What do you think?”
Toni nodded weakly, figuring he’d only make a bigger fool of himself if he opened his mouth again.
/>
“First section! Form up on me!” Sergeant Dunn suddenly barked.
The powwow was over and their secleader stood at the doorway with two fingers above his head. The five cadets formed a double column before him and then they were off at a quick march.
The entire base was unrecognizable in its new level of activity. The caserns had disgorged more foot-soldiers than he had ever thought existed, and many were already formed up beside their impossibly large T4 travel-packs on the parade ground. The packs presently rested at their owners’ feet, the personnel having yet to requisition their exoskeletons from the 3rd War Materials Deposit.
Over the course of the following hour, time became a blur of confusion as all the promised equipment was requisitioned and distributed. Toni had to hand it to his new secleader; none of the WMD grunts gave the sergeant any hassle, his threatening demeanor proving to be a most efficient lubricant against the customary bureaucracy. Still, some of the clerks parted with their equipment reluctantly, as if their loss was a personal one.
Before long the requisitioned material found itself before each driver’s feet, the platoon forming a U on the parade ground as nearby footmen clad in combat exoskeletons clomped towards their destinations.
Had he not seen the array of armament and equipment being fielded by the footmen, Toni would have believed that Kokubo intended them to fight on foot as well. He checked his gear.
One Lacrau rifle with 180 rounds of eight millimeter caseless ammunition in four magazines. One Hornet TF-33 sidearm with 80 rounds of six millimeter caseless ammunition in four clips. A light-duty ballistic helmet. One light-duty ballistic vest, including sternum and dorsal anti-trauma plates. Frag-resistant combat fatigues, including integrated tourniquets at the nub of each extremity. A travel pack containing three combat rations (each providing a day’s worth of nourishment), a collapsible thermal oven and a first-aid kit including enough combat nootropics to fight for three days without pause. One MFES Mark 4 Comm device, apparently only for emergencies. And one sleeping bag, which also served as a one-man tent or raincoat, depending on need or imagination.
It all totaled twenty-two kilo-mass of equipment which, allowing for the local gravity, culminated in more than thirty kilo-weight to be carried. That number did not include some of the other goods they’d have to carry in their T3 travel packs.
“Why can’t we get one of those?” someone pointed to the exoskeletons nearby.
“‘Cause then you wouldn’t be able to interface with the Moca, you idiot,” sergeant Dunn replied dryly.
“Couldn’t they get one of those combat suits to interface with the Moca instead of the HINT?” Toni wondered out loud. The question drew a short pause from the sergeant.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he finally huffed, ordering them instead to shoulder their equipment and return to the casern for the rest of their gear.
It took the better part of an hour to take care of breakfast, and before long the platoon was joining the traffic jam of overburdened soldiers awaiting transport to the stables. As he laid his eyes on the mass of combat-ready men converging upon the shuttle pick-up point, Toni began to feel giddy with the unreality of it all.
There were at least three different types of exoskeletons to be seen, or at least three different configurations of the same suit. Heavy weaponry, including anti-armor missile launchers and entire base-plate-and-tube mortar assemblies were shouldered nonchalantly, their carriers possessing the wired expressions of those under the effect of performance enhancers. The level of hyperactivity amongst the soldiery far exceeded their commanders’ abilities to quiet them, and so the volume of conversation slowly escalated as each bus arrived and then departed, followed by the vocal cursing of those left behind. Some officers began to warn their men against popping combat pills for the buzz. There were others, however, who seemed to have nothing to say. Some of the soldiers stood very still, while others kept searching the skies as if anticipating a raid.
Suddenly not feeling so well, Toni stared down over the curve of his frontal pack and into the well-trodden dirt beneath his feet, only to discover that someone had already beaten him to the punch; he was treading what was left of someone’s partly-digested meal. He prayed for the next shuttle to arrive, if only so he could leave the unsightly mess behind. Before long, he began to feel his jaw tighten, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he did the same.
Feeling a sudden slap on his shoulder, he turned to find Sergeant Dunn leaning towards him.
“Take it easy. What’s your name, kid?”
“Tuh ...Toni.”
“Well, listen here, Toni. A soldier’s life is ninety nine percent waiting and one percent combat. The trick here is not to let the waiting part ruin you for the rest, alright? Find your zen,” he added with a smile, giving him another slap on the shoulder before moving on.
Toni thanked him silently as he left, feeling ashamed for having nearly fallen apart when so many were laughing and jeering around him.
Time began to stretch out, and Toni eventually found his zen. It consisted mainly of not thinking too much, or looking at his watch, or counting the number of shuttles that had already departed, or trying to pay attention to the conversations around him.
They have nothing interesting to say anyway, he thought from deep within his anesthetized mind.
Their shuttle eventually did arrive, an old bus with the appearance of having very recently participated in a bumper car rally. It stunk of sweat and, by the time it began to move, every window had been opened, buffeting his platoon and the better part of another with some welcome fresh air. The journey woke him up a bit, but he kept his peace for a while longer, observing silently as the forest glided by.
Far from being stopped at the usual checkpoints, the shuttle plowed straight through, entering the “mountain” directly from a discreet side-door to stop beside the warehouse district. The immediate area had fallen into confusion, a scuffle having broken out moments before between footmen and local technicians, the footies’ commander having been forced to shut down his entire platoon’s exoskeletons before they killed anyone. More than thirty men suddenly fell to the ground in unison under the weight of their packs, the invisible troupe of puppeteers pulling their strings having apparently decided to take a coffee break.
Better that than remote detonation, Toni thought.
As quickly as could be managed, LOGIS was directed towards Stable 3, where a frazzled-looking Ruka awaited them impatiently.
“Listen up good, ‘cause I’m only going to say this once,” the sergeant began.” Inside each Moca’s cavity you will find a stowage compartment directly to the HINT’s left. The first to try and squeeze his back pack in there will get a kick in the head. Your Lacrau and sidearm are to be kept there in their respective holsters. All other equipment will have to be stowed against the cavity walls using the straps present there. It is vital you strap it all down well, otherwise you might have your pack sliding into your legs in full locomotion. Which is a pretty stupid way to get yourselves killed or put out of action, by the way ...” she added.
“Aside from that, strapping into your HINT is no different from the simulators, except you’ll have to insert your pen-key into its slot directly before the interface first, otherwise it’s a no-go. Each interface has already been adjusted for your specific biometry, so make sure to enter your unit in order of seniority; the eldest takes Unit One, number two takes Unit Two and so on. Any questions?”
A timid soul raised her hand.
“What is it, Sueli?” Ruka asked irritably. The sergeant appeared to remember the cadet.
“Will we get a chance to go before we go, Sergeant?” she asked apologetically.
“What? Oh, for the love of ... Lieutenant, your steeds need to make water, so please see to it. I need them strapped into their units within ten mikes or it’s my hide, understood?”
Nine minutes later Toni was easing into his hydraulic interface with care, his sense of peace having
collapsed entirely. Toni was upset, partly due to his failed attempt to apologize to Rakaia after the bathroom break, which had resulted in her sweetly cautioning him to watch out for friendly fire incidents. However, for the most part he was upset due to Unit Seven’s present condition.
As he had been about to enter his unit, Ruka had approached him with a somewhat apologetic look on her face.
“Miura, may I have a word?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I feel there’s something you should know: yours is the oldest unit of the lot. Make no mistake, its systems are sound and its APU is almost new, but the chassis’ and appendages’ tolerances are no longer very high. You may want to be careful regarding any precision movements.”
“You mean like aiming a cannon?” Toni asked as unreality began to creep over him again.
“That doesn’t worry me, Miura. I’m told you’ll suffer greater chances of coming under fire from friendly forces than from the enemy, so precision won’t help you at all there.”
“No shit ...” he moaned, remembering Rakaia. He felt his hold on his nerves begin to loosen.
“Listen to me, ‘cause we haven’t much time,” she insisted. “Because of this, interface errors will tend to build up and Unit Seven will be more challenging to control. I didn’t want to field it, but the higher-ups insisted on deploying the entire platoon without exception. I allocated Unit Seven to you because you have among the highest scores in mobility proficiency.”
“Wow, that’s just great, ma’am, isn’t it?” Toni exclaimed with a pained smile.
He fought back tears of frustration, taking out the turnkey he had been given moments ago to open the Suit’s hatch. Ian’s mobility proficiency scores were higher than his, but no doubt the unit allocated to him purred like a kitten. He knew why the special one would not draw a defective Suit, and it enraged him beyond anything words could describe. Ruka descended the scaffold without another word, leaving Toni alone to consider the smell wafting out from the open hatch.
There were two simple words to describe that smell. Sweat and piss. Ruka had apparently neglected to inform him that the unit’s previous occupant had somehow relieved himself inside the HINT.
“LOGIS Prime here. All units inform current status.”
Toni heard the call coming from the helmet still suspended before him as he was strapping into his interface. The stench was having a strange effect on him, making him want to pee despite having gone only a few minutes ago. He pushed the thought out of his mind and forced his head into the helmet, the suspension coils instantly relaxing their tension in response.
The screen was pitch black, with only a password prompt in green lettering floating before his eyes.
“Mushima,” he declared. The prompt disappeared and the screen turned a pale blue.
“This is your first live session, standby for user customization,” a strong masculine voice suddenly spoke into his ears.
The voice did not surprise him; it belonged to Unit Seven’s CPU, and he would have to parley with it over the following few minutes. By now his remaining comrades were well into their status reports, and he realized he was falling behind. Without delay, the voice continued.
“Ocular Motion Capture targeting in three ... two ... one ... mark!”
A glowing red dot, barely the size of a mosquito, suddenly appeared one palm away from Toni’s nose. He focused his eyes carefully on the object.
“Mark,” he declared, at which point the dot disappeared, only to reappear a foot away and slightly to his left, challenging him to look again.
“Mark!”
Toni kept up the exercise for about as long as the CPU needed to calibrate the ocular cursor, which turned out to be a little over a minute. Without a calibrated cursor, most of his orders wouldn’t get through to the unit’s main processor, so he focused on the task completely.
“Calibration complete. How should I sound?” it inquired.
“Female. Young. Soft.”
“Is my voice now acceptable?” a pleasant female voice spoke.
“Yes,” he replied. That voice, so often chosen in their simulations, was not too different from Sarah, his youngest sister and his favorite.
“What is my name?” she asked.
“Sarah,” he informed her.
“My name is Sarah,” She confirmed, as if that had always been her name.
The blue screen disappeared and Toni finally gained stereoscopic vision, only just glimpsing the stall gantry as it automatically slid out of his way. To the extreme left and right of his field of vision were several virtual targets arrayed in a line. He decided to leave them alone for the moment.
“Unit Seven, you done debating with your OS, or do we need to leave you behind?” Dunn’s irritated voice sounded over the comm, making him realize that they had all been waiting for him. Which would not have been the case if his predecessors hadn’t torn out so many cavity wall straps, forcing him to use his imagination to tie down his gear.
“You do realize you’re never going to shed the Tardy handle that way, don’t you?” he heard Hirum voice over the comm. It put a smile on his face, but the Lieutenant quickly preempted any retort.
“That’s the last time I hear you wasting air time, Unit Fourteen. From now on I want radio discipline. If what you have to say isn’t important to the mission, don’t say it. Brother One, continue,” the Lieutenant finished.
“Let me hear it, Unit Seven,” Dunn rasped.
“Systems up and operational, Brother One,” Toni replied.
“LOGIS Prime, this is Brother One. All units ready.”
“Very well. Brothers One, Two and Three, form your sections up at the mustering ground.”
“Brother One to Section One, muster up and be quick about it,” Toni heard over the comm.
As Toni eyed a red virtual target it began to glow, and he prepared to activate locomotion.
“Engage,” he declared, feeling his HINT suddenly envelope him more snugly, each of the sensation pegs hidden in the interface giving his skin a good poke before settling down again.
He took a step forward, disliking the vibrating shudder that shook the unit as his right footpad hit the ground. Belatedly he realized that if he kept it up he’d eventually shake the Suit into a junkpile. He began to cat-walk, laying each footpad on the ground with care as he turned towards the mustering ground; the shaking ceased at once and Toni began to hear the stomping of the other titans as they left their stalls. Grimm’s Unit Four strode into view.
The Moca Suits appeared somewhat less impressive than when last he had seen them. Almost their entire surface area had been outfitted with light, flexible armor. It appeared quite reptilian in nature, grey-brown in hue and scaly, with occasional loose folds at the joints that became apparent only in movement, like the elephant skin he had seen in documentaries. The protection afforded by such armor was hardly worth the ugly, elephantine look the Moca currently possessed; it was expected to stop Infantry rounds, artillery shell fragments and direct hits from some grenade types, although any direct hit from a twenty-five or thirty millimeter round, or the occasional artillery or mortar shell, would put a very abrupt end to the driver’s dreams of glory. It was obvious why the platform was no longer considered adequate for combat.
As Units Four, Six, Seven, Ten and Fourteen formed a single column at the mustering ground, Sergeant Dunn’s Unit Fifteen standing at the head, Toni heard the remaining Suits leaving their stalls.
LOGIS formed for the first time since its inception.