“I’m assuming at some point you’re going to tell us what your suit does to address the swarm?” Cashman asked.
“Yes, of course. My theory is that much like any creature, the swarm queen can only process so much data. The ARC suit was created not to destroy the swarm as much as to disrupt it.”
“What does that mean exactly?” Cashman asked before Angel or McManus could say anything.
“Everything we throw at the swarm moves in a linear fashion. Even shooting wildly, the bullets move in straight lines. Once one is picked up by the hive mind, it is easily avoided by hundreds, even thousands of creatures.”
“Because they can anticipate the movement of our weapons,” Angel said.
“That is the basis of my theory. Even our vehicles, from land-based automobiles to airplanes, are all built to move in straight lines. Turning takes effort and slows a vehicle. What is needed is something that can move in irregular patterns. Something that doesn’t slow or turn gradually. The ARC suit was made to accommodate this action. It has built-in thrusters to assist in rapid erratic movement.”
“How does it attack?” Cashman asked.
“It doesn’t,” Sozu said. “At least not yet. Some safety features will have to be added once we’re sure it can work. If we make the suit too heavy with ordinance it won’t be able to achieve its purpose.”
“Which is?” McManus said to prompt the scientist.
“To confuse the hive mind. I believe that if a person, or perhaps a squad of ARC fighters, can infiltrate the swarm, the singular hive mind won’t be able to concentrate on anything else. It will have to focus on the movement of the ARC fighter, which should make our conventional weapons much more effective against them.”
“What are we talking about here, just running through the swarm in a zig zag hoping someone doesn’t hit us with a lucky shot from behind?” Cashman asked.
“No,” Sozu said. “This is what I have in mind.”
A few more clicks of her computer’s trackpad brought up a video that made Angel’s heart catch in her throat. She recognized the gymnasium, and even the girl on the floor exercise square. It was her, at the regional event, her last meet. She watched the video as she ran forward, flipping and diving, tumbling and spinning. It was embarrassing, but also exciting.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Cashman said. “How the hell are we supposed to do that?”
“Lieutenant Murphy will teach you,” Sozu said.
He turned and looked at Angel. Then he turned back to the video.
“Is that you?” he asked.
Angel nodded.
“Well that just figures. Look, I’ll do just about anything I’m ordered to do, but my guys aren’t gymnasts. We can fight, we can march, but don’t ask us to do back flips or pirouettes.”
“Pirouettes are a ballet move, Staff Sergeant,” McManus said.
“Same thing to us,” Cashman growled.
“The first phase of testing,” Lieutenant Commander Sozu explained, “will be used to ensure the suit can do what it was designed to do. Lieutenant Murphy will do that. Your fire squad will help with the testing. But, if all goes according to plan, your squad will be equipped in ARC suits and expected to move in the same way. Running and turning won’t work. We need to move in all directions to truly confuse the swarm queen. It will be a benefit to your marines, Staff Sergeant. They will become more agile and harder to kill.”
“I think it’s insane,” Cashman growled. “We aren’t built to move like that.”
“The ARC suit is built to assist in exactly those kinds of movements,” Sozu said. “Try to have an open mind. What do you think, Lieutenant Murphy?”
“I don’t know, to be honest,” she replied. “I’ve trained for most of my life and I still wasn’t good enough to make the national team.”
“From what I hear that’s not true,” McManus said. “Gymnastic competition is not without bias.”
“All I mean is, I can teach anyone how to tumble and do saltos or hand springs, but it takes a lot of courage and strength to do those moves.”
“Hey, my guys aren’t cowards,” Cashman said.
“I didn’t mean to say that they are,” Angel replied. “I’m just saying that doing a back flip is scary. It takes time to learn the move and most adults’ safety instincts are too strong to overcome.”
“If it’s possible my guys can do it. I just think it’s stupid, that’s all,” Cashman said.
“We all have our orders,” McManus said. “Staff Sergeant, your fire team is to report to Lieutenant Murphy at 0700 tomorrow in the gymnasium across from the mess hall. She’ll begin teaching your guys how to tumble. At 0900 you all report back here to be fitted for ARC suits and begin the tests. Any questions?”
Angel shook her head, and Cash didn’t say anything. It felt to Angel as if she had been given an impossible task. What really bothered her was what would happen if she failed. If the ARC suits didn’t work, or if she couldn’t teach the special forces team to use them properly. She had agreed to a six-year enlistment period, but if she failed, would they ship her off to a colony world? The pressure made her stomach feel tight, but she ignored it as Cashman left the room.
“You okay?” McManus said.
“He seems angry.”
“He’s an experienced NCO. He’ll follow orders, never fear. Just do your best with the training. No one is expecting miracles from those guys.”
“I think you will find that the ARC suit is more than capable of exceeding your expectations,” Sozu said. “The math doesn’t lie.”
“And I’ll check in on you in a week or so,” McManus said. “Don’t let those tough guys scare you off. Come with me and I’ll show you the officers’ mess, the gymnasium, and most importantly, the O-club.”
13
Camp Oppenheimer, CSF Research & Development Center 80 miles east of Stillwater, Nevada, U.S.A.
The base fitness center, or REC, consisted of a basketball court on one side and a gymnastics area on the other, complete with a spring floor section, foam mats, a trampoline, and a section of oversized soft mats. The gym area and basketball courts were surrounded by an indoor running track. At six-thirty in the morning, the REC building, which was essentially a huge warehouse, was mostly empty.
Angel walked out onto the gymnastics section and checked every piece of equipment. Everything was in order. There was no pommel horse, rings, balance beam, or parallel bars, just the tumbling area. Everything seemed new, but that didn’t surprise Angel. She guessed that one basketball court had been removed to make room for the gymnast mats and spring floor. But from the looks of things, she doubted it would be missed.
As she stretched, a few soldiers came in to jog the track, but otherwise the building was empty as Angel did her warm-up routine. She was out of practice. Her month in basic training was the longest period she had ever gone without practicing her gymnastic skills. Everything came to her quickly, and her body was in better shape than ever before. She was stronger, her body so lean she could see the muscle definition in her abdomen and thighs. She was wearing tights, a sports bra, and a tank top that she tied up snug around her waist.
Staff Sergeant Cashman and his fire squad came into the gym right at seven o’clock. They were big men, every one of them older than Angel by several years, and she noticed a few scars when they pulled off their fatigue shirts. They wore ribbed tanks tucked into their cargo pants.
“You’ll need to take off your boots,” Angel said.
The men looked at one another, then stooped over and began unlacing. When they finished they lined up, hands clasped behind their backs, each one staring straight ahead.
“Staff Sergeant, will you introduce me?” Angel asked.
“Certainly, Lieutenant,” Cashman said. “This is Gunnery Sergeant Gary Bolton.”
The thick-chested gunnery sergeant snapped off a quick salute. He had dark skin and thick black hair on his chest, shoulders, and forearms. He also had a thick scar on
his right shoulder.
“Corporal Wayne Ruiz,” Cashman continued.
Ruiz was also had a dark complexion, but other than his eyebrows there wasn’t a hair on him. His head was shaved clean, and even his forearms were bare, although covered from shoulder to wrist in tattoos.
“Corporal Aubry Hays,” Cashman said.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Hays said. He had a thick, well-groomed mustache and was thinner than the others, although no less well muscled.
“Corporal Victor Vancini,” Cashman said. “We call him Van.”
Vancini had glossy black hair, shaved high and tight, but thick and full on top of his head. He also had dark eyes and although he was clean shaven, he had a five o’clock shadow across his angular jaw.
“And Corporal BJ Jones,” Cashman finished, as the final man, who had wavy blond hair and looked as if he’d just finished surfing, saluted her.
“Thank you, Staff Sergeant. My name is Angela Murphy. I’m new to the CSF as you probably guessed but I’ve been training in competitive gymnastics for twelve years. Lieutenant Commander Sozu has asked me to teach you some basic moves, but we’ll need to warm up first.”
The six men went through a basic stretching regime, and then Angel showed them some gymnastic-specific stretches, before moving them all to the sloped edge of the spring floor. The men were all polite. They looked her in the eyes whenever she spoke to them and were always respectful even though she heard them quietly joking with one another. Staff Sergeant Cashman was the only man who seemed to resent being there. Angel couldn’t tell if he resented her, which she could completely understand, or if it was the gymnastic training he didn’t like. Either way, he made her feel uncomfortable.
“Have any of you ever tumbled before?” Angel asked.
“I fell out of a tree once,” Ruiz said with mock seriousness.
“Corporal, this is not the time or the place,” Cashman said.
“It’s okay,” Angel said. “I meant have any of you ever had gymnastic tumbling experience.”
“My sister does that stuff,” Corporal Vancini said. “I don’t know how she does it. I think I might break my back if I tried.”
“Well, at least you’ll be a little familiar. We don’t have a lot of time, so I’m going to start with a basic shoulder roll,” Angel said stepping back onto the spring floor. “This square area is what’s called a spring floor. It’s made to both absorb the impact of your movement as well as give you a bit of a boost. We’re going to practice these moves one at a time so that we don’t compress the springs too much. Corporal Vancini, why don’t you join me.”
There were some sighs and some throat clearing, as well as grins on the faces of the other men, but no one said a word. Vancini blushed a little, but stepped out onto the spring floor.
“You ain’t gonna have me flipping over my head, are ya?” Vancini asked.
“No, as a matter of fact just the opposite. You’re going to do a shoulder roll. Normally, it’s performed like this.”
Angel bent her knees, leaned forward and dropped her shoulder, tucking her body so that she landed on her shoulder as her lower body flipped over and she rolled up onto her feet. She turned and faced the group.
“The movement is relatively simple, but we’ll focus on the roll first,” Angel said. “If you could get on your knees, Corporal.”
This time there was stifled laughter, which Angel ignored. When Vancini was on his knees she had him bend forward, tuck his head, and roll over his shoulder. One after another the men practiced rolling. They liked the spring floor. It didn’t take long before they were rolling and jumping back to their feet. A few even attempted the maneuver with a running start. Things felt more relaxed as they practiced. Angel stood back watching, making comments. They weren’t graceful, but they were athletic with strong core muscles that made the roll easy enough.
“I think your fire team has potential, Staff Sergeant,” Angel said.
“They’re a bunch of children,” Cashman said. “You handled them like a pro, Lieutenant. It’s pretty clear you know your stuff.”
“Well, I’ve been doing it a while, Staff Sergeant.”
“Call me Cash, everyone does. So why join CSF? Why not open a gym and teach kids how to do this stuff? I’ll bet you could make a mint.”
“I never wanted to teach,” Angel admitted. “I mean, I don’t mind teaching. Showing others how to do things is a part of learning, but I’m too competitive. I don’t think I’d be happy on the sidelines watching others have all the fun.”
“So you joined the service, and the first thing they have you do is teach a bunch of thick skulled special operators how to tumble.”
“I was recruited for my experience,” Angel said. “Fast tracked through basic and officers training. This is my first assignment.”
“The command staff is pretty motivated to find a way to stop the swarm. At least you’re an officer and you won’t end up hip deep in shit with nothing but your wits to help you survive.”
“You’ve been in combat,” Angel said. “I couldn’t help but notice the scars.”
“Yeah, we’ve all seen action,” Cash said. “The colony worlds can be tough places, but generally we all come home. Things are different with the swarm. We’ve lost whole platoons. Well, I guess you saw that on the video footage yesterday. You can bet they aren’t playing that on the local news networks.”
“I hadn’t even heard of the swarm until yesterday,” Angel admitted.
“That’s because no knows what they are or where they came from. But the really frightening thing is that they’ve shown up on Alpha One and Neo Terra. If we don’t find a way to stop them it’s only a matter of time before they get here.”
That thought made Angel shiver. She glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was almost 0800 and she wanted to give them all time to get breakfast before they met back up in Sozu’s lab.
“That’s enough for right now,” she called out. “Good work, everyone.”
“I gotta get me one of them spring floors back home,” Aubry Hays said.
“What? You gonna take up gymnastics?” Ruiz asked.
“Hell no,” Hays declared, “need it for my bedroom.”
They laughed and it made Angel feel a little better. The squad of veteran fighters had seen hard times and they knew about the swarm, yet they could laugh and joke around without worrying about the strange aliens just over four light years from Earth. Angel didn’t share their nonchalance, but being around the men and hearing their mirth eased her anxiety just a little.
She returned to her room, showered, then dressed in her fatigues. A single silver bar had been added to all her fatigue shirt collars. In many ways, the CSF was a big improvement over her old life. As a gymnast, she had spent years trying to break through the bias and discrimination against larger girls. She had been forced to prove herself time and again, enduring snide comments and snickering behind her back. At home she had cooked, cleaned, washed her own laundry, and looked after her parents. She’d even had to do the shopping most weeks on her only day off from training. Yet in the service she could drop her laundry sack off when it was full and someone else did the wash. They fed her, gave her a place to stay, and most of all, respected her experience. She had never planned to join the Colonial Space Fleet, but she decided it was one of the best choices of her life.
14
Camp Oppenheimer, CSF Research & Development Center 80 miles east of Stillwater, Nevada, U.S.A.
Angel spent the morning being fitted into the ARC suit. Staff Sergeant Cashman had been right. The suit was skin tight, and actually used her body heat to power its core systems. The lab techs, under Lieutenant Commander Sozu’s careful supervision, adjusted and readjusted the settings on the suit. Angel wasn’t sure what the ARC suit was supposed to do, but it seemed too frail and thin to be of much use.
While she was dressed, the fire team was measured, weighed, and tested for their own ARC suits. After lunch, they took a ho
ver cart out to the testing grounds, which was really nothing more than a converted flight line. There was a runway made of interlocking solar panels, as well as a dirt track. There were cameras to record the suit’s tests, as well as a bank of wireless instruments that would record everything the suit did. The scientists, along with Staff Sergeant Cashman’s special forces squad, watched from the three story high tower that had once directed air traffic. Angel was left alone with safety personnel who stood nearby with fire extinguishers, first aid supplies, and a gurney in case something went wrong with the test.
Angel wasn’t worried about the suit. It was hard to imagine how it might hurt her, so she didn’t feel like she was in danger. The suit came up her neck. A special balaclava covered her neck and mouth, and rose up around the top of her head. Tiny speakers in the balaclava conveyed Sovu’s voice directly into Angel’s ears as the newly commissioned second lieutenant lined up on the runway.
“We would like you to do a basic floor exercise routine. Just a few jumps and flips, please,” Sozu said.
“Copy,” Angel said, taking a breath and raising her hands. She wasn’t performing for judges, but the move was so ingrained in her that she did it without thinking.
Her plan had been to do a dive roll, rising up into a cartwheel, followed by an aerial, and ending with a front salto. She was afraid that she might sprain her wrist or worse on the airstrip. The solar panels had a fine grit to them so that an aircraft wouldn’t slide on the otherwise smooth surface. It wouldn’t be comfortable, it might even damage the ARC suit, but she was doing as she was told. She would try and let the scientists and engineers worry about the suit.
She took several quick steps, not quite a run but enough momentum to start the routine. She could tell the difference the suit was making right away. Every step sprang up, almost like she was running on a spring floor, only one with more pop than she’d ever been on. When she went into the dive her breath caught in her throat and she closed her eyes expecting the impact from the road to shoot through her body. A shoulder roll was meant to reduce the impact, but rolling one’s body across any hard surface was uncomfortable. Only Angel hardly felt the ground at all, and as she rolled forward onto her feet, she felt a tension in her legs, as if they were steel springs. She jumped and flew nearly six feet up into the air. It took all her strength and training to land on her feet, which should have hurt, but didn’t.
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