Authors: Steven L. Hawk
The man refocused on the vid screen before him. What he had observed filled him with the mixed emotions of anger, pride, and confusion.
The images were captured by the floating orbs that followed every training unit on Telgora. What Eli and the rest of the recruits knew as “the pacer” was actually a multi-purpose device used by the Shiale Defense Force to assist training efforts. In addition to keeping the pace on marches, it recorded video, tracked statistics, and monitored the location of each recruit. If a soldier was having trouble hitting targets during weapons training, the device communicated the fact to the appropriate sergeants so they could work with the soldier on improving his or her score. If a recruit didn’t complete a required task within the allotted time, the orb recognized, reported, and tracked the deficit. When a recruit’s biometric data—tracked through an electronic chip implanted in each person’s right arm prior to training—showed life-threatening readings, medical personnel were immediately notified.
Most soldiers in the defense forces never experienced a single incident that would trigger a medical alert. In less than three weeks of training, Eli’s chip had already been triggered twice. The first time his chip was sparked into alert mode, Eli had overheated due to exertion and had collapsed near the end of a forced march. His temperature quickly came back into normal range and the call for medical attention had been canceled almost as soon as it was sent. Grant had watched the replay of the entire march and watched in proud silence at Eli’s decision to forgo his normal position at the head of the march and help his peers who were in danger of falling behind. Grant’s analytical mind reviewed the scene and—although he was proud to see Eli had taken a leadership role in the march—recognized his son’s failure. He should have rallied others to his mission and generated consensus of action. Instead, his son had acted alone. It was a decision that almost resulted in his being bounced from training. Fortunately for Eli, it worked out in the end when several of his fellows helped him cross the finish just ahead of the pacer.
The second medical call was more serious, and had kept him out of training for two days. Eli was fine now, and back with his unit, but that knowledge didn’t prevent Grant from reviewing the scenes of Eli’s bouts with the staff closely. The pride he felt at his son’s performance in the ring was tempered by anger at a Minith sergeant thinking it was somehow appropriate to face off against a recruit—any recruit—unless it was to teach them, or to spar with constraint. Full-out contests weren’t allowed, and for good reason. Most recruits were straight from Earth. They possessed limited training and had no chance in the ring against a fully trained Minith warrior. While that didn’t apply to Eli, the sergeant, Twigg, could not have known that. And that’s what angered and confused Grant. Sergeant Twigg had broken standard protocol. The first question that bothered him was “why?” The second question he wanted to answer was “what was being done about it on Telgora?” Unfortunately, his hands were firmly tied. He couldn’t easily explain why he had a personal interest in events taking place in a single, relatively unimportant training unit. All he could do was sit back and observe. For now.
* * *
Eli and his unit were back on the training field and for the first time, the Telgoran weather didn’t bother them. The new armor suits they had just been issued solved that problem.
Entering the armor for the first time was trying. It took fifteen minutes, and a pair of robotic assistants, to help him with aligning the pieces to his body. But when the helmet was lowered and the suit’s systems were finally activated, Eli was in awe. The inside of the suit, where it met all the parts of his body, was both yielding and firm at the same time. Molded especially for his frame, the agsel-wrought body shield felt like a second skin.
Developed by the military research and development teams on Waa, the newly developed fighting suit had been created for humans in the defense forces for use in all climates and atmospheres—even deep space. The soldiers in Eli’s training cycle were the first to wear the suits, and it was the primary reason why he had waited six months past his eligibility date to join the Shiale Defense Force. He was a techno-file, and the lure of being the first to wear the armor outweighed the need to become a soldier right away. He owed his knowledge of the new technological development, and the timing of its delivery, to this recruit training unit, to his father. Although he didn’t want his dad’s position to influence his training or have any effect on his peers or his superiors, he felt comfortable using that influence to put him in this unit, at this particular time.
The technical name for the armor was a mouthful, and could be directly attributed to his father’s sense of irony, practicality, and ancient love for military acronyms. Realizing the need to appease the peace-loving citizens of Earth, while also needing to accurately describe the armor for the proud men and women who would wear it, he had christened the human body armor with the name Personal Enhanced Atmospheric Combat Environment. Or PEACE Armor, for short. Like most military acronyms from ancient earth, the name was descriptively appropriate, somewhat forced, and just hokey enough to induce a fair amount of eye rolling.
Eli ignored the data flashing across the upper right of his face screen—external temp, biometrics, oxygen level, weapon status, and a hundred other items—and focused on the feel of his new body. He lifted his right arm, spread his fingers, and flexed the muscles of his forearm. Good. He lifted his right leg, tapped the knee with his hand, then repeated the move with the left leg. Though the PEACE armor weighed roughly four times his own body weight, his movements felt easy, natural, and fluid.
Within minutes of donning the suit, it felt like home. For the first time since landing on Telgora, he could stand comfortably under the Telgoran sky. The armor protected him from the scorching, ever-present heat and negated the irritating cyclonelike wind with its relentless sand-bites. The background smells of sulfur, sweat, and cooking grease were masked with the familiar, mundane scent of recycled oxygen. The suit was a soothing salve against the cruel harshness of the Telgoran environment, and Eli felt a growing appreciation for the native race for their ability to evolve—and, in many ways, thrive—on this hostile planet.
He had always respected the Telgorans for their contributions against the Minith during the Peace War, but until now had never given the mostly silent race much thought. Where he had a nativelike understanding of the Minith due to his first-hand interactions, most of what he knew of the tall, gray-skinned Telgorans was learned through conversations overheard during training or around the dinner table. He knew they were mind-talkers who shared a common, hivelike awareness, and according to his father, had steellike muscles and quick reflexes that made them fearsome fighters in hand-to-hand situations. Once they made a decision through
shiale
—their name for reaching collective agreement—their resolve was steady, unshakable. Every human above the age of six knew the Shiale Alliance was named in honor of that concept.
Despite being on Telgora for more than a month already, Eli had yet to see one of the locals. That wasn’t unusual since they were primarily underground dwellers, and tended to shy away from areas where the Minith lived. But still, entrances to their underground communities dotted the landscape and it would have been interesting to engage with them. His sole interactions growing up had been limited to a couple of passing glimpses. Unlike the other three races in the Alliance, the Telgorans had no permanent presence on Waa. They visited the planet rarely and seemed content to allow the other members to do as they wished as long as they weren’t directly affected.
It was a strange way to live, Eli thought as he continued to explore his new armor.
He squatted, bounced on his haunches for a few seconds, then shot his body upward into a vertical leap, arms reaching for the sky. When he realized he was a dozen feet above the surface, a flash of panic caused him to windmill his arms, but he fought the fear and barely managed to land on both feet. He smiled in wonder as the mechanically assisted joints absorbed the impact without issue. He repeated the jump, testing the mechanics of the move. He rose to a height of about ten feet before landing with a softness that belied the solid
thump
and puff of dust that surrounded him as his feet hit the Telgoran surface. With a howl of glee, he jumped again, this time giving it everything his muscles and the suit had to give. He estimated his apex at fifteen feet and observed the top of the barracks buildings surrounding him with a sense of wonder. He landed easily and looked around at his fellow soldiers, who were also getting their first taste of the suits. Most were standing in place, moving their limbs, or stretching. A few ran back and forth along the hard path, apparently testing their new legs. The speed they managed was impressive, and Eli immediately wanted to test his own speed. A few weren’t moving at all, and Eli wondered if their armor wasn’t functioning.
Using the enhancement feature built into his face screen, he amplified the view of one still trooper’s chest plate and read the name. Private A. Tenney.
“Private channel. Tenney,” Eli spoke into his helmet. The communication display on his screen changed colors as a private channel was opened between himself and Tenney. “Tenney, you okay over there?”
He saw her helmet jerk up and scan the crowd for a few seconds before settling in his direction.
“Fine, Private Jayson,” Adrienne replied calmly. “Just running through the command and control sequences to make sure everything’s in order before I start throwing my body around like the rest of these newbs. I’d hate to discover something inoperable or a bug in a system when I’m fifteen feet in the air.”
The delight Eli had felt only moments before evaporated instantly, replaced by a cold realization of his own foolishness. He should have thought to check his own systems before giving his body over to the armor. He noted the lesson and filed it away for the future. It was a mistake he wouldn’t make again.
“Good thinking, Tenney.”
“I thought so.” A hint of humor came through the comm system. “But those high jumps of yours certainly looked like a lot of fun.”
Eli ground his teeth and shelved the desire to sprint. Turning his focus to the armor’s info display, he began the less-thrilling—but much more salient—task of checking the automated systems and processes designed to assist his survival.
* * *
The next seven days were spent acclimatizing the recruits to their new armor. Eli and his peers spent all of their waking hours in the suits. The Minith sergeants watched silently from the sidelines as a team of human and Waa scientists, machinists and engineers—the folks responsible for creating the new outfits—walked their recruits through every component and system. Over time, each soldier became much more adept at donning and shedding the various components that made up the armor. By day seven, every member of Eli’s platoon could strip down and re-armor in under a minute without assistance or even giving the process their full attention. In the barracks, they shuttered the windows, turned out the lights, and practiced in the dark.
Two things quickly became apparent to Eli.
The first and most obvious was the armor did exactly what it was designed to do. It greatly enhanced each soldier’s ability to perform the tasks that were put in front of them. They were stronger, ran faster, jumped higher, and performed physical feats that wouldn’t have been possible without the agsel-enhanced suits. The internal computer systems facilitated communications, provided an awareness of every other recruit’s location and health, assisted with weapons targeting, and provided a more-than-adequate system of chameleonlike camouflage.
After a week in the suit, Eli couldn’t imagine a more efficient way for a human soldier to enter battle.
The second realization Eli had regarding the suit wasn’t as positive as the first. And it directly affected his unit’s ability to successfully perform the second-most important task of any soldier: the ability to wait. As his dad was fond of saying, roughly 10 percent of a soldier’s life was spent in productive action. The remaining 90 percent was equally divided between “hurry up” and “wait.” It was an adage Eli had immediately validated upon arriving at the training base. Day after day was filled with real-life examples of the hurry up and wait domain in which they existed. Rush to get dressed in the morning only to stand at attention for an hour for the sergeants to begin the day’s training. Dash to the chow hall, then wait in a long, slow line for your turn to be fed. Scarf your meal under the harried urging of the Minith sergeants, scamper outside, then stand in formation yet again. March at top speed to the firing range, then stand silently while waiting for your turn to knock down targets.
Hurry up and wait, hurry up and wait, hurry up and wait.
Hurrying was now easier for the recruits. Their new armor was designed for movement. It encouraged action.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t designed to accommodate all of the waiting that was required.
While the suit initially felt like a second skin, it soon became apparent that it didn’t stay that way. Standing still for longer than thirty minutes became an exercise in pain toleration. As the body settled into the suit, most recruits noticed areas that became uncomfortable, areas where the unforgiving metal didn’t always mesh perfectly with the body. Although it varied from person to person, the feet, crotch and armpit areas were the primary places where the body’s weight settled roughly against the suit.
To help alleviate the discomfort, Eli began jumping up and down in place when the unit was in any sort of stand-by situation. Through experimentation, he discovered that bounces of eighteen to twenty-four inches were adequate to provide relief. His actions were soon mimicked by those around him. Now, it was rare to see anyone standing or sitting motionless unless they were assembled in formation. To an outsider, their group might have looked like a hundred bouncing, overeager robots, unable to stand still. But to the recruits, movement meant comfort, and bouncing was movement.