Metal Deep: Infinite - Metal Wing: Episode 5 (5 page)

The next morning I started the day off in the infusion lab. I had seven injections of something the doctor called “Nanogems.” The briefing packet simply referred to the substance as Compound NX-8. It wasn’t until I was standing face-to-face with an overly-enthused scientist, who was all but dancing at the opportunity to finally get to test the formula on me, did I learn little “extras” about the top secret serum they were pumping into me. There were two points of interest I did not already know. First, NX-8 was
not
native to this planet. Second, and the most exciting to
me
, it was going to make professional performance enhancers seem like chewable vitamins. I worked so many years to gain my strength naturally, but now I was embracing this new edge the scientists were giving me. I kept telling myself I wasn’t doing this for me. It was all for
her
. I’d be lying if I said didn’t want the power though.

I took my shots to get ready for some mission, but all I could think about was how much fun this stuff would be during a Laser Ball match. I probably should have questioned the introduction of alien substances into my body. I think the part of me that cared died with my friends. Even if I left this room and returned to the arena, things would never be the same. My girl was hurt, and I had been robbed of my team, my family. I’d shoot up whatever needle was put in front of me to have juice-enough to bring the person responsible to justice.

During the testing phase, I punched a brick into dust, I hit the bullseye of the dartboard every time, and I burned the motor out on the treadmill. I felt like I could do anything. Unfortunately, the effects of NX-8 only lasted about an hour before I needed a recharge. My body burned through the nanogem energy with frightening expediency.

I didn’t expect my skin to tear like paper by the force used to crush the bricks. Thankfully, there was a healing boost from the NX-8. After the seventh dose my stitches were already out, my burns were well on the mend, and the scrapes from the brick tests had already turned into pink scar tissue. I held up my hands to the scientists as if to ask “What do you plan on doing about this?” They assured me they had it handled.

Once done with all the pokes and prods, I was taken into another laboratory where a host of hairless scientist, toes to an invisible line, waited to jump at the slightest word for the next phase in my transformation. Someone said “Go” and then it was as if a race horn had sounded. Before I could react or protest, I was naked and taken into a small room where I was stuffed into a charcoal-black, inch-thick, skin-tight warsuit of ballistics armor called Fiberprene. It was flexible, but tough. It came with a utility belt, plenty of gadget-filled pockets, and glossy black armored boots, gloves, and neck shield. Looks like they did have the skin-thing handled. I felt like a human tank.

Getting into the warsuit was only half the struggle. Turning it on was the other. It took about thirty seconds for the built-in gear of the suit to boot up. I was getting comfortable until the thing hissed and I jumped as if my skin had been pricked by a thousand tiny needles. Turns out it had. Once my body burned through the energy of my NX-8, the suit recharged the elements with a series of microinjections done by needles built into it. The nanogems never left my system. They just became dormant after I used them through exertion. As long as I wore the warsuit, I would have use of the biological enhancements indefinitely. No suit, and I only had about an hour before turning back into regular old Rayce.

A bald scientist retrieved a goggled-and-masked helmet unit from a shelf that also displayed various components of the same head piece. They were the spare parts for the helmet. Another scientist joined the one holding the helmet, but in his hand was a razor. He started for my head, but I backed away in protest. Military or not, no way was I shaving my head. To make sure I got my point across, I raised an exclamatory armored fist. The guy with the razor took a step back. Message received.

“Captain, we need to shave your head so that the helmet can perform properly. Static electricity generated by your hair will interfere with the neural connection points.”

One of the advantages of my special enlistment privileges was that they wanted me to look less military, so I never had to shave my head or keep the standard military high-and-tight haircut. My thick, jet-colored locks remained intact. I was not about to lose them now.

I gave a warning point of my finger to the frozen scientists. They remained where they were as I helped myself to the spare parts on the shelf. I grabbed a face mask and blue oval goggles. Both conveniently folded and clipped to my belt. I gave them my best menacing glare, “This will do. Does anyone have a problem with that?”

They looked at me wide-eyed. They were afraid of me. I had tangled with rookies back in the arena who had that exact same look. I liked it back then, and I liked it now. I decided not to play with them too much and made nice. “I understand some of the features will not be available, but will this suffice?” I motioned to the pieces I took.

The line of bald heads nodded in disappointed unison. I think they were just upset that I would not be joining their stylish no-hair club. They had de-haired for the equipment testing, essentially, for nothing since I wasn’t putting my head in anything that required me to be bald. Oh well, failure is one of the risks of science. They’ll adjust.

They all had stunned looks on their faces as they glanced to each other over the confusion about whether they needed to report me or hide. It reminded me of my one year at prep school when all the squids had to hand lunch money over to the jocks. I think one of their lips actually started to quiver. I hated to be viewed as a bully, but it’s my hair we’re talking about.

The setting was getting a little sad, so I left.

My excitement jumped upon entering the next laboratory. This was the one I was most looking forward to. Clear isolation boxes lined three of the walls. Another handful of scientists were huddled around each test box while one person used controls to move the automations inside their experiment pod. I didn’t care about what they were doing. My attention was held by what waited in the center of the room.

A shimmering black linen was draped over several pieces of technology. Whatever the cloth rested on made it rise and fall like a miniature mountainscape. There were many other deadly looking prototypes in that particular lab, but I knew that one was for me. I could
feel
it.

“At last, Captain Rycard has arrived.” One of the scientist emerged from the center group to face me. He ushered me to the draped counter as the rest of the room crowded around their colleague. “Weapon development is not unlike crafting a fine suit,” he lectured to his staff as he began his presentation as though I were simply a subject to be observed. “It must be fitted to the individual. In the past when a blacksmith armed an army with swords and axes, he would mass produce the same weapon over and over. Here we have created a unique instrument suited for one person. Hand width, arm length, the soldier’s past, his personality profile, strengths and weaknesses –All taken into consideration and then formulated to build from the ground up a perfect specimen of ergonomics and armament. This fine piece of craftsmanship is meant for this soldier, and this soldier only.”

He was getting me even more excited. I tried to peek under the cloth, but he slapped my hand back. “Is it a sword?” I asked him.

His pride was gushing in almost tangible waves of smugness that I actually admired. “If you have to get close enough to your target to use a sword, then you’ve failed, and by extension, so have I.” He looked me in the eye, his gaze was piercing. He was confident in himself, and at what he was doing. This man was serious about his creation, and he seemed more like a father preparing to give away his child at the altar than a scientist. He put his hand on the cloth, and I felt a brief connection spark between us. “You have to want this,” he said. “More than that, you have to need it. You are committing to making this a part of you for the rest of your life. If this weaponry is lost, it means you are lost. This should be held closer than a lover, and adored more than a child. It is your companion, your confidant, and your prize. Do you understand?”

Both of our hands rest on the lumps hidden by the linen. The black of my gloves was lost above the midnight cloth. The nimble pale fingers of the weapon builder curled into fist and contrasted like pale moons over a black lake. The spark of our connection turned into a bolt. It was as if I could see past the words, past his face, and hear beyond his voice. His words carried with them images of sincerity and purpose. A warm light of truth and earnest flitted like wings over each syllable. I knew that this arrogant man, proud of his accomplishment, wanted more than praise. He wanted his creation to be used well. He wanted the weapon to succeed. He wanted me to succeed.

There was silence after all his to-do, and it was time to remove the cloth. “At your leisure, Captain,” he said proudly.

I ripped the cloth away.