discharge spoke of another soldier’s shot in his defense. Take that, you rebel!
Covered for the moment, Fourteen requested, “Damage?”
“Primitive projectile weapon,” came the diagnosis from his suit. “Point of entry: C7 and C8 joints.” Over his left ribs, then, in the vulnerable area between armored plates that allowed flexible movement. A very lucky shot for the rebel. “Topical lesions. Exit point C15 and C16 joints,” the diagnostic program continued. “Circuitry damage in section…” The coordinates streaming through his visor stuttered and went out. Fourteen raised his weapon, but his robed assailant ducked into the cave. Fuck that! Signal or no signal, he’d go in. No one shot him and got away.
Fourteen struggled to his feet. “Diagnostic!”
“Communications circuits malfunctioning,” the tinny voice of the suit transponder replied. “Attempting repairs, maintain position.”
Oh, hell no! Not until he took out the bastard who’d clipped him. Even as he watched, the scratch on his skin sealed and the suit mended itself . He shuffled past the mouth of the cave. Silence. For the first time since his parents dropped him off at the Federation recruitment camp, no voices rang in his head, no orders overrode his own thought processes. Only eerie silence.
He’d thought his own thoughts once, back before they’d shoved a com-link into his head, hooked him into a processor, and relieved him of that responsibility. Back then he’d had a family, a name… Fourteen slammed the door on the memory, a memory he’d believed scrubbed from his mind forever. Must be the crystalline interference his CO spoke of.
A series of electric impulses throbbed through his connection with his armor. Yes, though it didn’t possess a brain of its own, his suit calmly reminded him that he wasn’t alone and probably never would be—not for long, anyway. The sharp bite of a medical filament on his left glute followed, delivering medication and promising sweet relief. The pain vanished; adrenaline leveling out, his heart rate normalizing, and tension melting away. Bless the Federation and their miracle drugs, delivered in perfect doses for each situation. The suit/soldier units proved well-nigh impervious. He’d seen near-corpses continue battling. Drugs, circuitry, programming, and nothing to lose made for one hell of a soldier.
Sweeping one arm back and forth while seeking a target with unaided vision, he probed his now pain-free injured side with his fingers before venturing farther into the cave. “Engage sensors,” he intoned through his frontal lobe link, wondering how much the suit had managed to repair itself. A stream of numbers filled his periphery, faded and incomplete in some cases: temperature, Federation time. Life forms. An infrared beam emitted from his visor. There! Weapon! The suit selected a tight-beam laser—useful in confined spaces with possible ricochet factor. The tingling at his fingertips told him armed and ready. Making use of the shadows, he advanced on a huddled form on the cave floor, the tips of his mitt aimed and ready to fire. But first, what did the enemy look like, the foolish one who’d defy the government?
Two life form signatures appeared in his vision feed, one weak, one strong. He eased forward, ready to duck if necessary. A thin river of red seeped from beneath a gauzily wrapped form. A rebel? Without armor? What was this flimsy garment the thing wore?
A pale face stared up at him, lips moving, making incomprehensible sounds. He tapped into his com’s translator and waited while the program shifted through the being’s garbled speech. “Mercy,” he finally heard. And, “Please.” The light in the creature’s eyes faded, its last breath wasted on a final “Please.”
Mission completed, Fourteen checked his side again, preparing to leave the cave. Wait! What about the second signal? Maybe this thing was only a decoy. He searched the body, finding a sling strapped across its front.
Weapon at the ready, he commanded, “Analyze.”
The schematic in his peripheral whizzed through several species and subspecies, finally settling on, “Humanoid, female, infant.”
Huh? He’d been commanded to kill. He poked at the squirming pink bundle wrapped in more of the gauzy material. Didn’t look very dangerous to him.
“Danger?” he asked, staring at the mewling creature. So tiny. A long-suppressed memory surfaced of himself as a human, before he’d become a soldier, and his mother presenting him with a similar bundle, named “Sister.”
“Helpless,” the dispassionate mind connection advised. Helpless? The government sent a fully charged destroyer at a helpless target? What threat did she present?
Fourteen focused on the wispy covering of the larger creature. Perhaps the older being presented the danger. “Analyze,”