‘Since when was Harmony so parsimonious?’
‘Since we started dealing with Sector Prone. Printing something that complex will takes hours and a lot of resources. So don’t spill anything on it.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t dare.’
The stealthskin was a white one-piece with a hexagonal pattern woven into the stitching, splashed with droplets of colour. Several layers thicker and sturdier than an underskin, equipped with textured padding along the elbows, knees, hands and buttocks. When you gripped it you could almost feel it gripping back, like a handshake. I stripped and Grim helped me pull it on. It was like sinking into the depths of cool water before it hardened over my flesh like drying wax. My body was soothed as the gellish substance inside made contact. Grim had to help me smooth it down, working out all the creases until the suit was leeched to me like a second skin. No loose spots. No places where you could even pinch the fabric. It seemed to have its own muscle system, moving in perfect accord with mine, as if designed for my body. I ran my gloved hands over it, grinning at the touch of flexible but firm material. I threw the hood over my face, the suit growing two black lenses over my eyes. A hiss of pressurised air as it sealed to my neck. It lacked the mechanical firmness of my armour, the flexible material unfamiliar against my skin. Wasn’t sure how secure something like this could be. But as it charged up, pressuring firmly against my body, I could feel the warm strength coiled inside its nanofibres. Amplifying my abilities, boosting dexterity.
Wrapped up in this cutting-edge suit, I felt a whole new world of tactical agility flooding open before me. My hands and feet were rippling like a light display, before resolving into a mathematical pattern, tipped with thousands of gill-like slits. This thing came with gecko gloves, too.
And as a bonus? The alien plumbing inside me didn’t shine through the fabric. Had to invest in this thing.
‘It’s syncing to your nervous system,’ Kowalski explained as an electrostatic pulse crackled along the nape of my neck like liquid bristles. ‘It’ll conceal you and anything you’ve got equipped. Try it now.’
I toggled the option on my shib, my body melting abruptly into the background. Grim burst out laughing, as my mouth dropped open. My lenses blinked and a blood-coloured overlay scrolled down my vision. There I was, outlined in a greenish haze in my augmented vision. Just as well. Without the ability to unzip myself out of this suit I’d be royally screwed if I couldn’t see my own hands. Cranking the overlay off, on lifting my arm there was a distinct oily smear in the air. ‘Not complete invisibility, then.’
‘By all means tell Kindosh to pour more funds into science and tech instead of politics, because you want a better suit,’ Kowalski said. ‘I firmly suggest you don’t ruin this one. Be aware it doesn’t have limitless energy, but it does self-recharge as long as you’re moving, even if it’s just flexing a muscle.’
I winked back into existence as the printer finished a weapons harness. I clipped the black straps over my back and torso, the buckles securing tight over my waist and thighs. ‘We’re sending you in armed, but no casualities,’ said Kowalski as I attached my thin-gun and handcannon.
‘Now where’s the fun in that?’ I asked wistfully.
Grim gripped my hand in his as a farewell. ‘Take care of yourself, big guy.’ He slapped me on the shoulder. ‘Make sure no one gouges those pretty eyes out, understand? I’ve still got films to show you.’
‘I’ll do my best to keep my eyes ungouged,’ I said.
I turned away into the Hollow.
Whoever described this place as a network needed a serious smack upside the head. It wasn’t a network. Wasn’t even a maze. It was a labyrinth. A vertical nightmare of a space-construction site: intersected with a webwork of wires, crane gantries, jutting beams, disused access tunnels, creaking ladders and so many walkways I didn’t know which way was up. Superconductor cables and industrial pipes five metres wide and churning with internal fluids plunged in haphazard spirals. There were sporadic glimpses of sulphur-coloured lights in the darkness, but it was the night optic vision built into my lenses that lent me some semblance of guidance. That, and the tactical interface streaming in my shib in the form of a cyan pathway, leading me like a guide rope through the metal jungle. It’d be so easy to take a wrong turn, slip through the cracks and vanish into these infinite depths, knowing freedom was just on the other side of this rock, but with no way of finding your way out.
Inching up through a crumbling access tunnel that dated back to the Construction Era, I found my first skeleton and realised that plenty had done exactly that. Cold, slimy water dripped everywhere. The stink of mould and slime was ripe in the air. It was precarious going as I crawled over a rusty pipe that’d have shredded my skin to ribbons without the suit. When I slipped, I just managed to snag some loose cabling. My falling weight yanked one end out of its socket, my armpits straining as I swung on it like a vine to safety, with a mental apology to whichever restaurant or shop just lost power.
A corona of winking lights beamed above me like stars. On closer look, it was a series of server cabinets. Either someone had something digital to hide, or they didn’t want to pay for extra storage space on their property. Whatever their reason, I had to spend a frustrating hour shimmying through suffocating cable ducts, and navigating through stacks of servers, databanks and substrates that crackled with heat and static. It was like crawling through the twitching guts of a whale. The temperature-regulating tubing was broken and I got hosed with a face-full of white, glossy gel. So much for not
