Armor (9 page)

With painful slowness, the warriors began to react to her stinging words. They rose and grabbed at the injured and resumed their jobs. Forest was unsatisfied.

“Where the hell’s everybody else? Where are the other loaders?” she wanted to know.

Felix looked around, noticed there were only half a dozen warriors still remaining at the job. He didn’t have to ask where they had gone. He knew. They had run away. Emotionless, he picked up the crumpled form of a warrior and, despite her loud and painful protests, heaved her up onto the mesa itself. He grabbed another, this one unconscious, and cart wheeled its frozen form behind the first.

“Felix, forget that shit. C’mere,” shouted Forest. “Ants. . . .” He turned just in time to see her deliver a hammer of her own, a crushing fist through the eye of the first of a half dozen ants that had appeared in the gorge beneath them.

Felix lived because he was shielded by the line of warriors between him and the edge.

He wasn’t blinded because he happened to be looking away at the time. Still he saw the flash as though there had been nothing at all to obscure his view, and still he felt it, the worst pain he had ever experienced, as be was tossed far into the air, a helpless puppet. He flew perhaps twenty meters before touching the ground where he rolled and skidded and slid and when be finally came to rest he saw his power dials drop almost to zero.

He had time to lift an arm across his face to cover it from God’s angry boiling gaze and then all was darkness.

The can was only a few meters in front of him, but the body was in the way. He knew he would never make it.

Still, he tried. He focused all his concentration on the muscles of his right thigh and, with incredible effort, managed to draw it forward underneath him. He was afraid to pull it too far, afraid he would overbalance and fall off his elbows. It had seemed to take hours to get them propped up beneath him. If he should fall now, he would never be able to get back up again.

He rested then, as much as he could with the weight of five hundred kilograms relentlessly trying to drive his body into the sand. The helmet was the worst part, he thought. Fifty kilos alone right there. I’d better not fall. If I do, the helmet will break my neck.

He took several deep breaths, then held the last one. He strained and heaved and tried to move his right elbow forward. The pain from his shoulders erupted again instantly, as he had known it would. But somehow he had forgotten how bad it was.

He screamed as bolts of agony lanced through his shoulders and down his back. For a moment his vision unfocused, his head swam wildly. Oh, God, don’t fall. . . he thought desperately before he fainted.

Later, when he had awakened again, he decided that he was insane and that it was good. I have to be mad. I must be, to get this far. To make connection, I will have to be madder still.

He shut off his mind, then. He didn’t want to carry these thoughts, or any others, further. I will stop thinking right here. At this spot, where I have reached resolve.

And so, not thinking of the pain he must certainly feel, not thinking of the damage he was doing to himself, not thinking of the mere twelve percent power remaining, not thinking of the ants who would surely return. . . .

Not thinking, he tried once more. This time the scream was shorter. He hadn’t enough strength to do it properly.

When he awoke the next time, and tried again, his body refused. Amazed, he tried again, but his body would not respond. This is absurd. I have strength, still. I’m thinking. I must have some energy left. But he could make nothing move, no limb, no muscle.

He became angry. He strained and groaned, sweat streamed from his brow, mingling with tears and fogging the screen and at last something gave. But he was not truly moving, only shuddering with uncontrollable spasms. This made him even more angry. He threw himself against the inside of the armor, he rocked back and forth against it, he yelled at the top of his lungs….

He fell.

He should have died. The fall should have crushed the life from him. But, in this at least, he and his body were united. Together, they refused to die. And then, still together, they slept.

Forest wanted to know where all the real Medics were.

“Dead,” said the man monitoring Felix’s physchart.

Vaporized. Like most everyone else. He tapped Felix’s helmet. “You’ll live. . . for a while. But I’d hate to have your shoulders. What made you try to crawl in a day suit? Most of the skin around your joints is scraped off. Are you crazy?” Felix considered this. “Yes,” he replied, and stood up.

The pain doubled him over.

“Whoo. . . Watch it there. Give the painers a chance. Go sit down somewhere for a few minutes. Better, lie down for as long as you can.”

“I’ll watch him,” offered Forest as she stepped up to his side.

“You’re in worse shape than he is. You’d best watch each other.”

The suits made it impossible to lean on one another, but the feeling of mutual support was strong between them as they shuffled slowly past the rows of warriors collapsed around the medical area. Felix crossed toward a likely spot, but Forest said, “No. A little farther. I want to show you something. “ So they continued on past those that were wounded and past those that were dead and farther yet, past those who could no longer be distinguished as warriors.

Like a slag heap, thought Felix, glancing briefly at the fused hunks of plassteel strewn about the sand.

They reached the edge of the mesa, where the sand was glazed slick and black by an ugly film.

“Do you know,” asked Forest as they gently lowered themselves, side by side, to the ground, “what thermonuclear means?”

Felix looked around him at the hellish landscape. “I do now,” he said. Only then did he notice the shiny newness of Forest’s suit. He looked down at himself. The black plassteel had been scoured clean by the same wall of sand that had flung him so far.

“You noticed that, have you?” asked Forest, following his gaze. She chuckled dryly. “Good as new.”

He smiled slightly, briefly. “Why did they wait so long?”

“Who? The ants? They didn’t do this. We did.”

“Us? I didn’t know anyone carried atomic weapons.” “Hell. We are atomic weapons.” She swept an arm about her wearily. “A suit did this.”

“How?”

“Overload. Somebody keyed every relay at once, and then tried to eject. Any warrior suit can do it.”

“I didn’t know.”

“You aren’t supposed to. No one is. It’s a way to go that might be too dramatic to resist. Can you imagine what this would have done to the inside of a starship?”

“Hmm. But still, what about accidents?”

She shrugged, a bulky gesture. “Shouldn’t be too likely. The odds against it happening randomly are enormous, or so I’m told. Makes sense. Some suit functions would be contradictory to others. Who would key every one of them at once and try to eject at the same time?”

“Somebody did.”

“Martinez did.”

He looked at her. She returned the look, glanced away.

“I found out about it at the Olympics. Sounds silly, I know. But there are lots more things a suit is required to do in competition. When I qualified, one of the wardens took me aside and warned me.”

“And Martinez?”

“Martinez was there. As a yeoman. He must have found out somehow. Sounds like him, anyway. Crazy guy, Martinez. We got in a lot of trouble together. See we were bunked in the same tract, right across the quad from each other. ...”

She stopped talking suddenly, then sat up and began to cough. It was a horrible, choking sound, the sound of something terribly, irrevocably, wrong.

Felix moved toward her as she slipped down again, still coughing. She tried to reach her panel, but failed as the spasm intensified.

“Painer. . . key. . . painer,” she managed to gasp. He picked up her left forearm, found the panel. He fumbled with the keys from his opposite perspective before locating the switch and activating it. Slowly, too slowly, her coughing subsided. He leaned close to her and waited for her eyes to open. When they did, she smiled at him. It was not a smile he would have wanted, it was wistfully sad, heartbreakingly tragic.

“I don’t blame Martinez,” she said at last. “Being carried off by those bloody. . . I’d do it myself if a scout suit had the capacity.” She noticed his position, still looming over her.

“Don’t worry, Felix. It’s not as bad as it sounds.” He nodded, sat down beside her. They both knew she was lying.

For awhile there was no sound but the uneven rush of her tortured breath against her microphone. Then she rallied a bit, managed to speak.

“Poor, poor, Marty. . .” she began but choked it off quickly when she heard the break in her voice. Felix winced when he heard her stifling sobs, surprising himself. Why be surprised? he thought. What’s not to understand? No matter how brash she was before, this would have to terrify her now. Who wants to die?

From somewhere deep within him, a tiny voice answered, “You did.” He ignored it.

Her sobbing, now beyond control, turned to weeping. He looked away from her, gazing at the distant spire of the knuckle. It was getting light again, he noticed. Soon the ants would be back at full strength and. . ..

He noticed the slope, suddenly, for the first time actually seeing it and realizing what it meant. This entire end of the mesa had been collapsed by the explosion. Instead of a single narrow route to the top, the ants now had a smooth, black ramp that rose at an easy, convenient angle. My God, they could come up that a thousand abreast. And, of course, they will.

“What a silly choice for a symbol,” said (blurted) Forest abruptly.

“Who?”

“Kent. Nathan Kent. Everybody’s hero.” She laughed softly, gently. Her voice had a dreamlike languor to its rhythm. “I remember the first night away from the compound. He had to buy a meal for all the final qualifiers. The people recognized him and rushed away from their food to surround him. They cheered and applauded and they all tried to touch him. And he looked at me in the middle of all this and. . . You know what?”

“What?”

“He was so bewildered. Completely lost. And later we talked and I knew he felt bad because he hadn’t known what to do or say.

“Oh, he was charming enough. He couldn’t help that. And funny, too. He made everyone laugh. But he wasn’t. . . It’s just that they wanted so much from him and. . . he wanted to do it for them, wanted to be a certain way for them. But. . . when he tried to be what he thought he should be, it came out as rudeness, like some sort of arrogant. ...”

She moved, to change position, he thought. But he saw her key another painer.

“He was shy. So shy. And it was so tragic. Because he wanted to be the leader. But he was shy instead. And loving and gentle and he could be hurt so. . .”

She broke off. She sat up. She peered at him. “I told the Colonel to order you. I used you because I didn’t want to be alone on that landing and I knew you were too smart to volunteer. I lied. I blatantly used you to save my life.” “Yes,” he replied with soft firmness.

That seemed to exhaust her. She lay back down. She was having trouble breathing.

“I loved Kent, Felix. I loved him so, I thought I would die. Did I ever tell you that?”

“Yes.”

“I knew I must have,” she said and died.

Felix couldn’t believe his ears.

“That’s ridiculous,” he said.

The Major who had replaced the now dead Colonel as CO, looked up suddenly. “Is that what you think?” Was his surprisingly calm reply.

Felix noticed that the other members of the command staff were also watching him. He ignored them.

“I have no command experience,” he said. “This is my first Drop”

“Your first Drop,” repeated the Major idly, as if even then he couldn’t believe it. “Yes, I had heard that. Remarkable.”

Felix peered quizzically at the Major, at the others, wondering why he couldn’t seem to get through.

“Get someone else,” he said abruptly.

“There isn’t someone else,” said the Major. “All your officers are dead.”

“Get a noncorn then,” persisted Felix. “A sergeant.”

“No.”

“Don’t say no, just do. ...”

“No,” said the Major flatly, his voice now carrying an edge.

“Why not? Why can’t you just?”

“Because you’re the one they want,” blurted the Major suddenly. The anger in his voice now bristled.

“What?” asked Felix, equally angry. “Who wants?”

“The warriors. Your warriors.”

Felix was disgusted by this. “They don’t even know who I am.

“Not your name, maybe. But they do know who you are.

And they want the scout.”

Felix stared at the Major, at the others.

“This is insane.”

“Yes,” replied the Major firmly.

“You’re out of your mind.”

The Major, finally, had had enough.

“I’m out of officers, Felix. That’s what I’m out of. Now you just stand there and shut up while I give a couple of facts of war: One. Of the 642 survivors from your original assault force of ten thousand, only 285 are combat ready. Got that? Now. . . . Two. Of the twenty-three hundred I Dropped with, over six hundred died the first minute because of those goddamn ant missiles homed in on the Transit beacon. That so-called Hammer of yours. Of the remaining sixteen hundred or so, more than three hundred lost effective suit function or were killed outright when that maniac blew his suit. Three. Of the people that leaves me, only ninety percent are combat warriors. The rest are medical, supply, and maintenance types. Which leaves a grand total, if you can count, of less than fifteen hundred available combat personnel. Four. The Terra cannot pick us up for another eighteen standard hours. Five. This damned mesa can’t be held with what we get for one hour, even at night. And last, but not least. . . . Six. The sun is coming out. . . now.”

Involuntarily, Felix followed his gaze toward the lightening sky.

“And so, Felix, who thinks that this is insane and who is dead right about that, anyway what the hell are we gonna do?”

We’re going to die, Felix thought. But he couldn’t say that.