stockpile of surface-to-space missiles. But I don’t want you to fire them off until I ask for your help.”
“That’s it?” he asked. “That’s all you want from us? We’re supposed to sit on our hands and not use the only effective weapons we have? Do you understand the concept of a preemptive strike? If not, I will explain it to you: The basic idea is to fire first.”
“I understand that, sir. I’m just asking you to convince all the players to stand down until the time is right.”
Kerr was silent for several seconds. “Are you concocting some kind of new deal with the Macros, Kyle? I don’t like the smell of this. Not one bit. Don’t be giving them any of our real estate or our first born sons. Not this time.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir,” I said. “Do I have your government’s cooperation?”
Kerr laughed. “Hell no. But you might in forty-eight hours. Kerr out.”
The signal did not disconnect, however. I heard rustling and a small crash through my headset. I thought maybe the general had tripped over a cord. “Get that off me and find some coffee!” I heard him shout. Moments later the signal finally cut out.
I sat still, rubbing my face and thinking for five full minutes before Sandra showed up and barged in. I turned to her, shaking my head.
“I don’t have time to eat,” I told her.
“I figured you’d say that,” she said. I noticed she was carrying a tray of sandwiches and a bottle of water.
We ate together quietly. She watched me while I brooded.
“Anything I can do?” she asked.
“Can you think of a way to take out ninety-two angry Macros?”
She shook her head.
I forced a smile and kept chewing.
— 10
I fell asleep late that night inside Shed Six. My com-link beeped and woke me up. I had no idea what time it was, as the interior of the shed had no windows. Even if it had possessed a window, the view would have consisted of the interior metal walls of the laser turret.
Sitting up, I noticed that Sandra was gone, and that the prototype of my new battle suit was lying in the output tray. The last thing I noticed was my com-link light, which was blinking red. I reached for it, and it beeped again.
“Riggs here.”
“Colonel, we have new contacts,” Major Barrera said. He sounded as solid as always. I wondered what time it was. I wondered what day it was.
“Contacts?” I asked. “At the Venus ring? Give me the count and configuration.”
“They are at the Venus ring. The new contacts are invasion ships. Cylindrical shape and size match our recognition patterns perfectly. There are six of them, sir.”
“Did they all make it through the minefield?”
“The minefield had been completely eradicated, sir. The Macros spent all night shooting down every mine we had out there.”
I lifted my helmet and checked the chronometer inside. It was four-thirty a. m. Barrera was still on station at my desk computer where I’d left him yesterday. Apparently, he’d never slept. Despite all that, he sounded calm and competent.
I found some cold coffee in a plastic container Sandra had brought yesterday with the sandwiches. I sipped it and grimaced. It was awful.
“Are they moving yet?” I said.
“No, sir. Not yet.”
“Good. Keep me updated.”
“Will do.”
I disconnected and stretched. The enemy fleet had been waiting for reinforcements after all. Logically, since they hadn’t moved on, there were more ships still to come. I hoped they wouldn’t show up for months and when they did, that the additional forces were insignificant. It was a faint hope.
Sandra showed up around six with breakfast. By that time, I had most of my new suit on and had her help me with the helmet. The problem was with the design, I could see right away. I needed to alter the helmet so it was self-sealing with trained nanites. With the gloves so thick and unwieldy, I couldn’t fasten the catches on the helmet by myself. That was unacceptable design. I didn’t want to put my troops in vacc suits that couldn’t be put on solo. If they were caught in an emergency situation alone, that could mean a dead marine.
“You look like some kind of freak,” Sandra told me when I was all suited-up.
“Thanks,” I said. My voice echoed and was somewhat muffled inside the suit. I sounded like I had a garbage can pulled over my head.
I didn’t have a mirror handy, but I knew I must look rather daunting. This new battle suit wasn’t like the old ones, which were basically nano-fiber with a series of solid form-fitting plates over vital areas. Instead, it was all solid plates of dull, black metal. The plates interlocked and slid over one another to allow reasonably freeform movement. The nano-fiber interior was still there, underneath this heavier exterior of inch-thick plating.
“Why the heavy armor?” Sandra asked. “Other than to stop incoming fire?”
“The new equipment was too heavy otherwise,” I said. “It would work okay in zero-gee, but under acceleration or a high gravity planet it would be hard to move. So, this suit is different. It’s an exoskeleton.”
“It makes you stronger?”
“Much stronger.”
Sandra stood back, cocking her head and smiling. “Arm-wrestle me,” she said.
I snorted. “We don’t have time for-”
“Come on, you said you wanted to test the suit.”
“Okay, here,” I said, squatting down on a stool beside a steel table. We’d finally upgraded our furniture to withstand our gross body-weights. The stool sagged under me all the same. I wondered if we would have to upgrade everything again.
“If you pull my arm off, you have to take me to the infirmary to put it back on again,” Sandra said, looking worriedly at the claw I put up in front of her.
“I’ll be careful,” I said. “No squeezing your hand. I’ll just use lateral force.”
“Okay.”
We must have been a strange sight, this hulking robotic monster sitting across from a girl that couldn’t have been more than a tenth my weight-if that much. She reached up and took my humming arm.
“Your suit vibrates in my hand,” she complained. “It feels funny.”
“That’s the exoskeleton. Ready?”
“Why not?”
I locked my arm, but didn’t move it. She pushed. I felt the feedback, but it was nothing like the force she was applying. I let her cheat, standing up half-way for leverage and using her legs.
“Ready?” I said, pretending I couldn’t feel her shoving and grunting.
“You bastard. I can’t move that arm. I don’t think I weigh enough.”
Sandra had fantastic strength for her weight, but she wasn’t really stronger than the average nanotized marine. What made her deadly was her speed and accuracy. The microbes had rebuilt her with high-performance in mind.
I suddenly made a sweeping, lateral motion with my arm, twisting at the waist. Sandra made a whooping sound and flew across the room. She caught herself, tumbled and came back up.
“It’s not fair,” she said. “You’re a machine now. I might as well wrestle a tank.”
I stood up, bumping the steel table. A heavy crease appeared at one corner. “Damn,” I said. “I’m going to
