Junkyard Cats - Faith Hunter Page 0,28

to my feet, kicked off my house shoes, and punched open the armor bay that Mateo had moved out of the SunStar and installed in the office. The narrow niche unlocked with a soft sucking whoosh and I stepped onto the mounting pedestal, my feet perfectly centered in the outline. Turning my back to the armor suit, I sucked in a deep breath as Gomez took over the armor AI and began counting down. I closed my mouth and eyes and held utterly motionless, hands down and out to my sides, fingers spread.

“Initiating female auto-donning,” Gomez said.

The armor positioning arm went around my waist, pulling me against the torso segment. My head rocked forward and back. The armor sections began snapping over my body, interlocking, repositioning against muscles and joints, expanding and contracting to fit me perfectly. Across my middle, down my legs, down my arms.

I suppressed the desire to fight it as the helmet and the face piece locked over me. Claustrophobia, memories from my own piece of hell, stabbed into me like knives. I forced myself to hold. Hold. Hold utterly still. The breathing tube slid between my lips and against my cheek and blew stale air into my mouth. I blew out that first puff with a relieved breath. Inhaled slowly on the second. Again. Again. I opened my eyes, looking out into the office through the suit’s visual screen and sensors, seeing what the office really was, what it could really do. Pops’ last gift to me, when he was dying and had figured out that I needed to leave the OMW. The glove sectionals encased my fingers. The armored boots snapped shut.

“Prepare for peripheral nerve engagement, left hand,” Gomez said.

I swore, as miniscule needles, finer than acupuncture needles, pierced into my palms.

“Prepare for peripheral nerve engagement, right hand.”

It too engaged.

“Son of a bitch,” I said, adding a few comments about the engagement process. Gomez didn’t seem to care what I thought about his parentage or his sex life. Probably a good thing that the AI wasn’t sentient.

“Do you wish catheter and bowel removal collection to be initiated at this time?”

“No. God no.” I’d made the mistake of saying yes the first time I’d tried this. Never again. I’d hold it ‘til I busted first.

I was breathing. I was alive. I was protected in the lightweight, space-worthy armor worn by US military in space-going vessels. My heartrate began to slow.

“Liquid oxygen breathing supply required?” Gomez asked.

“No. Current Earth atmosphere, desert conditions, West Virginia.”

“Limited oxygen available according to current specified atmospheric parameters,” Gomez stated. “As measured by outside sensors, CO2 percentages are abnormally high in current atmosphere. Atmospheric dust filters active.”

“Acceptable,” I said.

“Armor donning complete.” The waist arm clicked back.

I stepped down to the floor. To see Jagger staring at me. Wide awake. With a gun pointing at my middle.

“Well, aren’t you just full of surprises,” he said calmly.

“Put down the weapon,” I said. “Do not pick it up again.”

Jagger put the fancy gun down. Cursed. Wide-eyed, he stared at the weapon, right there, but not available to him. He did not pick it up again.

“Go to sleep,” I commanded. Jagger slumped again.

“Mateo?”

“We’re dead without power. I’m moving out front, taking control of manual defenses. You’ll have to get into the ship and reroute power.”

Mateo meant for me to go into the crashed and damaged spaceship that had leaked hazardous particles for years, and transfer power from it to our batteries before our next unexpected visitors arrived. It was dangerous, as I remembered from my one tour through the ship. My armor was flimsy compared to the warbot, which had built-in weapons and shielding, so, yeah. He was better equipped to defend us if it came to that. And with the office out of power to run the weapons we had retrofitted, my defenses were useless to me anyway.

“CAIT will walk you through the procedures,” he said.

Right.

“CAIT” was the spaceship’s AI: Central Artificial Intelligence Technology. I wouldn’t be doing this alone.

I raced out the back and stumbled over the ladder. Notch, sitting on the top step, his face turned to the window, looked over his shoulder at me. I let the inner airlock close, sealing us in together. Standing frozen.

“Mrow. Siss.” It sounded like a statement. A two-part statement. I didn’t know his meaning, but it felt like, Invaders. Dangerous.

“Yeah. And more on the way,” I said to him. “Mateo. We got a screen in here? If so, show Notch the attackers approaching.”

“You and those damn cats.”

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