“This,” Jakobson said, “is a prototype of a new mechanized armor. It’s called an Assisted Rapid Combat suit. The purpose of this suit is to maximize movement of the wearer.”
“It makes you run fast?” Angel said, studying the hologram.
“Not just run,” the colonel said. “Jump, flip, change directions. The armor is made of shock-absorbing material, impact-resistant microfibers. These nodes here,” he pointed to the shoulders, “and here on the forearms, legs, and ankles, are boosters to enable the wearer to do what you did Saturday at that gymnastics meet.”
“What?” Angel asked in surprise.
“The floor competition,” Jakobson said. “Tumbling, flipping, diving, and rolling, that’s what this suit is made to do. But not in a straight line. The boosters should enable you to twist, change directions, even start and stop at top speeds.”
“Why?” Angel asked. “Are you wanting to be able to dodge bullets or something?”
“That’s not the purpose of this suit. It’s a disruptor, made specifically to confuse and disorient an enemy combatant.”
“Okay,” Angel said.
“Questions?”
“A ton of questions,” Angel said. “How much does it weigh?”
“Just over eighteen kilos.”
“Wow, that’s a lot of added weight. I don’t think many people could do much with an extra eighteen kilos weighing them down.”
“Which is exactly why I chose you, Ms. Murphy. Unlike the majority of your contemporaries, you have the strength and build to test the ARC suit.”
“That’s what you want me for? To test it?”
“That’s right. Your experience is vital. You won’t be the only test pilot, but my guess is that you’ll be able to do things in the ARC our people won’t be capable of.”
“Will the impact-resistant material lessen the strain on the user’s body?”
“That’s right,” Jakobson said. “It’s a little like the springboard floor you would train on, only more advanced. The suit should enable the wearer to tumble across an open expanse, say three kilometers, and keep it up for ten to fifteen minutes.”
“That’s impossible,” Angel said.
“Why?”
“Running maybe, but not tumbling. The strength and energy to jump and salto alone taxes most people. It takes years of training to do a floor exercise, and that’s nowhere close to a single kilometer. Even if the suit reduces the impact strain, the wearers would be exhausted in seconds, maybe a minute or two if they are at peak physical shape.”
“The boosters should make the moves easier to accomplish,” Jakobson said. “Our R&D people have done their homework.”
“Have they ever done the types of movements you’re describing?” Angel asked. “One of the hardest things about a floor competition is the extreme concentration required to stay focused on what you’re doing. It’s not just the pressure of competition or the difficulty of the moves, it takes years of experience not to get dizzy and fall flat on your face.”
“That’s why we’ve sought you out,” the colonel said. “You know things from practical experience. You can help us make this hardware better, more usable to our people in the field. That is, if you’re willing to join the service and be part of the space expansion program.”
“Tell me more about that,” Angel said. “What are you offering exactly?”
“A commission in the CSF Marine Corps usually involves a level of higher education, extensive training, and an initial six-year commitment.”
“Six years?” Angel said, worried she was getting in over her head.
“I can fast track your placement,” Jakobson said. “Your gymnast training will substitute for higher education. And we can reduce your basic training to four weeks. Officer Training will be a three-day intensive, then you’ll join the R&D department to help develop the ARC suit. You’ll be a second lieutenant, assigned to planetside duty for the duration of your six-year commitment.”
“I won’t go into space?” Angel asked.
“You might be needed for testing in hard vacuum or low gravity scenarios. But we have facilities for that kind of thing in system. You won’t get farther away from home than Mars unless you want to.”
“It’s a lot to think about,” Angel said.
“I know it and I wish I could give you more time, but unfortunately there isn’t any time.”
“Why not?” Angel asked. “Why is there a rush on this technology?”
“I’m not authorized to share that information with you. I know that’s unfair, but suffice it to say we have our reasons. The service needs you, Ms. Murphy. And I need an answer today. In the next few minutes, really. If you accept I’ll be flying you to an intake facility at the Hill CSF training facility near Ogden, Utah. That’s where you’ll do your basic training too.”
Angel felt a thrill. She could be part of something important and that felt good. She was a little reluctant to leave her parents, but the thought of going home was depressing. If she turned down the colonel’s offer she would have to get a job somewhere, making minimum wage and starting life all over again. The only friends she had were other gymnasts and Angel knew from experience that once a person stepped away from full time training they rarely kept in touch. The idea of being surrounded by other people with the same goals and ideals was enticing.
“What about seeing my parents?” Angel said.
“Once you finish basic you’ll have access to whatever communication methods you prefer. They can even attend your graduation ceremony if they want to make the trip. There won’t be an opportunity for leave until the ARC suits are ready for deployment, but it’s nothing like an off-world tour. You’ll be able to stay in touch.”
“Alright,” Angel said, making up her mind. “I’ll do it. I’ll join the CSF.”
“Excellent. We’ll see that your vehicle gets returned to your parents. The shuttle should be ready soon. Welcome to the Colonial Space Fleet, Ms. Murphy. You’re a marine now.”
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