Forging Zero (72 page)

Joe
did.  As soon as he thought negatively of the sensations the suit was passing
on to him, the feelings abruptly stopped.

“Cool!”
Scott cried. 

“As
grounders, this suit is designed to save your lives in more ways than one.  It
takes over sixteen thousand pounds of pressure to crush the outer shell.  The
material itself is resistant to brief laser attacks, projectiles, some plasma,
and even electricity.  Of course, if a Dhasha attacks you, all bets are off.”

“So
their claws can rip through this stuff?” Joe asked, surprised.  The suit felt
harder than anything he’d ever felt before.

“Like
you were wearing nothing at all,” Battlemaster Aneeir replied.  “Now, if an
attack makes it through that does not cause instant death, the suit can save
your life in several other ways.  First off, it will seal itself over the
wound.  This does not necessarily help in a plasma attack, but it does with
most other injuries.  If something over sixteen thousand pounds lands on you
and crushes a leg, then the suit will support you enough to walk, though it
will probably hurt like hell.  If you have taken a mortal wound, the suit will
shut down and put you into a state of hibernation to give you time to reach a
medical station.  The suit protects against all types of chemical attack, but
if something nasty somehow gets past your other gear, it will instantly put you
out of commission until medical personnel can evaluate your situation.” 

“That
doesn’t sound smart,” Joe said.  “Putting us out in the middle of a battle? 
What happens if we can still fight, even with a lungful of gas?”

Aneeir
gave him a wry look.  “Believe me, Human.  You get a lungful of the stuff
Congress’s enemies have in their arsenals and you will not be breathing, let
alone fighting.”

“Oh.”

“Now,”
Aneeir continued, “Caring for your suits:  Congress supplies its ground
soldiers with two types of meals.  When you are not wearing your suits, it’s
the green stuff you’re already acquainted with, also called RHCI, or
Rudimentary, Human Class I.  When you are using your suits, it will be called
BNHCII, or Biocasing Nourishment, Human Class II, janja shit for short.  Janja
shit is a slightly yellowish color and it has a metallic taste to it.  While on
the battlefield, at least one meal a day should be of the Class II format.  It
will provide the sustenance your suit needs to survive.”

To
survive?
  Joe glanced anxiously down at the thing
covering his body. 
What the hell is it?

“Of
course, this requires that you eliminate your wastes while still wearing the
suit.  It might feel uncomfortable, but believe me, you do not want to wind up
buck-ass naked squatting out behind a rock when the enemy finds you.”

Joe
grimaced at the image, knowing all-too-well how that could turn out.

Aneeir
stopped and scanned his new platoon.  “Any questions?”  Once again, his sudah
began fluttering nervously.  Joe guessed this was probably his first time as
Battlemaster, possibly promoted on the spot just for the occasion.

“So the
ammo we use in the hunts won’t hurt us anymore?” Maggie asked.

Aneeir
gave her an amused look.  “No.  These are just training suits.  Real ones are
immune to the poisons in the fake rounds.  No more questions?  Then everyone
get to the barracks.  You will need to wear your suits continuously for the
next three days, including during sleep.  Zero, you may begin your duties with
Prince Bagkhal. 
Haagi.”

Joe
looked down at himself and realized he looked like an onyx statue.  A
well-defined
onyx statue.  Rippling abs, outstanding pecs, biceps the size of grapefruits… 
At that revelation, he felt a tiny spark of satisfaction.  If Congress had done
one thing for him, it had certainly made him look good.  Glancing up, he saw
that several nearby girls had realized it, too.  One of them was staring at his
crotch with unabashed interest.

Blushing,
Joe cleared his throat and covered himself.  “Hi,” he mumbled, groping for his
clothes with one hand.  “Nice to meet you.”

They
giggled and walked off.

You
are a goddamn furg, you know that?

As he
pulled on his pants, he noticed that Maggie was scowling after the trio with a
look of Death.  When she turned back, it was to give him an accusing glare.

“Don’t
worry,” he said, grinning.  “They only want my body.”

#

Joe was
going to his first meeting with Bagkhal when he saw Libby sitting alone in the
shadows behind the chow hall, staring into space.

“Lib?”

Libby
jerked, getting to her feet in an instant.  She wasn’t wearing any gear over
her biosuit and Joe felt himself blush like a beet.  Her long, lean body was
outlined to feminine perfection, right down to her small, pert breasts and the
subtle lines leading down to her groin. 

He tore
his eyes away from her.

“How’s
that new tongue working out for you?” he asked, staring at his feet.

Sex
Master Dobbs strikes again.  Oh my God.  Kill me now.  “How’s your
tongue
working out for you?”  Why not just ask her how her gun’s
been firing lately?  Or if her boots still fit.  How did Dad do it?  Mom
must’ve taken pity on him.  It’s the only way a guy in my family could ever—

“I
could show you,” Libby said shyly.

Joe’s
eyes jerked back to her face.  Then,
That’s not what she means you furg. 
You friggin’ wish.  She’s just—

Libby’s
biosuit peeled off and fell to the ground.

Oh.

#

“This
is really stupid, Joe.”

“Just
shut up and watch, okay?  That’s your sister down there, too.”

“Yeah,
but…  Joe, they’ve got guns.  They killed your da—”

“Stop
being a pussy, Eric.  You weren’t pissing yourself back when we came up with
the idea in your living room.”

“I
was just fooling around, Joe.”

“I
wasn’t.  I’m getting him back.  You don’t wanna help, I’ll tell Katie when I
see her that you didn’t think she was worth it.”

“That’s
not
fair!
  They’ve got
guns,
Joe.  Your
stupid idea isn’t gonna work.”

“It
will.  Watch it.”

“Well
I wanna be the one to light them, then.  You can be the one to go down there
and get killed.”

“Fine. 
Be sure you don’t light them all at once.”

“My
dad was the pyrotechnic, Joe.  Not yours.”

“Just
do it.  When I hit them with the truck, I want them looking up, not at me.”

“This
is such a stupid idea.  What makes you think they’ll care about fireworks?”

“You
really think they’ve got fireworks on alien planets?”

“Well,
yeah.”

“Let’s
hope they don’t.”

“You’re
leaving?”

“Yeah. 
Gotta talk to the guys with the trucks before the aliens get here.”

“Good
luck, Joe.”

“Just
be ready to run.  As soon as they figure out what’s going on, they’re gonna
come after you.”

“Get
my sister back.  That’s all I care about.”

“I
will.  Promise.”

“Joe?”

Joe
opened his eyes.  His skin was prickled in goosebumps where it was exposed to
the air, but the ground beneath him was cushioned by his biosuit.  Libby lay
beside him, her elegant body partially covered in one half of her suit, her
head nestled against his shoulder.  Joe took a slow breath, praying he wasn’t
dreaming.

“Joe?” 
Libby stroked his chest.

I’m
in paradise,
Joe thought, shuddering.

“Weren’t
you supposed to meet Bagkhal, Joe?”

“Oh,
ash!”
 
Joe leapt to his feet so fast that Libby tumbled out of his arms, onto the
ground.  He froze, horrified.

Instead
of spitting curses at him, she giggled.  “Go on.  You don’t wanna piss him
off.”

Joe
helped her to her feet and gently embraced her.  “Thanks, Libby.”  He
hesitated, staring into her soft brown eyes. 
What else are you gonna say? 
We should do this again sometime?  You furg.
 

He
kissed her, blushing, then dove into his suit.

#

“You’re
late.”

Joe
winced under Bagkhal’s accusatory stare.  He cleared his throat uncomfortably. 
“I was working out a problem with a member of my groundteam.”

“You
stink of hormones, Human,” Bagkhal growled.  “Don’t lie to me.”

Joe
flushed furiously and bit his lip.  “I didn’t.”

Prince
Bagkhal gave an impressed snort.  “
That
problem?”

Intensely
embarrassed, Joe began to thoroughly scrutinize the claw-marks in the floor
near his feet.  He nodded.

“Well,
good for you.”  Moving to the table, Bagkhal nodded at the reddish-brown vial lying
on the table beside him.  “Your drugs came in.  Drink that.” 

Grateful
for the distraction, Joe went to examine the vial.  “Looks like coffee sludge,”
he noted.

The big
Dhasha returned to his gelatinous mat nearby, the gaping ‘wounds’ that his jet
black claws left in it quickly sealing shut after a couple seconds.  “It’s a powerful
mental stimulant that commands ridiculous prices on the open market from politicians
and businessmen throughout Congress.  We’ll have to monitor your consumption
and make sure you don’t form an addiction.”

“So…coffee
sludge.”  Joe uncapped the vial and took a whiff.  Immediately, he recoiled. 
“This smells like pig vomit!”

“Then
perhaps Congress should invest in some pigs,” Bagkhal said flatly.  “This stuff
costs three thousand credits a batch.  Drink it.”

Joe
took another whiff and wrinkled his nose.  “Am I going to have to do this every
night?”

“Only
every six or so.  You’ll know when it’s time—you usually fall asleep where you
stand.”

Grimacing,
Joe said, “So this stuff is induced narcolepsy?”

“Only
if you don’t dose yourself fast enough.”

Joe
grunted and scowled at the vial. 
I can’t
not
drink it.  Not after he
already helped Libby.
  Closing his eyes, he put the vial to his lips and
tipped it back.

It
burned on the way down, but other than that, he felt fine.

Then he
felt
more
than fine.  Everything suddenly came into focus.  The leftover
exhaustion from his constant running fled him in an instant.  He was as wide
awake as he’d ever been, and not the least bit jittery.

“I
think it works,” Joe said, staring at the vial in astonishment.  “Whoa.  You
know, if I had this stuff in school, I probably would’ve been able to read
Shakespeare without passing out.”

“Excellent. 
Just for safety’s sake, though, pick up that ring and slip it on a finger. 
Medical would like to monitor your life-signs for the next day or so, as you’re
the first Human test subject.”

That
didn’t sound good.

Nervous,
Joe went to the table and slipped a rubbery orange ring over a gleaming black
finger.  It reminded him of the akarit and he winced, feeling a little guilty
for his duplicity.  He kind of liked the Dhasha.   

Prince
Bagkhal was watching him.  Something in the Dhasha’s gaze made Joe blush and
look at the floor.  “So how do you like your suit?” Bagkhal asked.

“It’s
okay,” Joe said.  “It sucks we’re gonna have to wear them for three days.”

“Something
I see you’re already having problems with.”  The Dhasha shifted, leaning one
shoulder against the wall.  “So, what did the recruits think of my new rules?”

“We honestly
should’ve had them a long time ago,” Joe said. 

“Good.”

Joe gingerly
looked around.  He couldn’t
see
any slaves or grooming bars or hook-shaped
tooth picks.  “So what’s my job for the day?  Err…night?  Hell, this place has
got ashy daylight cycles anyway.  How am I gonna tell night from day anymore if
I can’t sleep?”

“Keep
track of the time,” Bagkhal said.  “As for your duties, I have an errand for
you to run.  I would like you to arrange a meeting between myself and the
Huouyt Representative.  He’s been on this planet much too long and it’s making
me suspicious.  The first thing a wise soldier learns is never trust a Huouyt. 
The second thing he learns is to never trust a Huouyt on a planet with an
ekhta.  They are spies, assassins, saboteurs, thieves, and very, very good
liars.  The whole species should be destroyed.”

Coming
from a Dhasha, that was saying something.