Even with the shortage of pilots these days, we rated air travel. The rest of the team was in a passenger plane, sitting in real padded seats. I was on a bench, leaning against the interior wall of a C-130J Hercules, strapped into a five-point harness. Cerberus was broken down into over a dozen components and stored for transport. The crates were strapped to the sides of the plane, heavy Anvil cases mounted on solid wheels. With the way things were collapsing across the country, I wasn’t about to let it out of my sight.
The Cerberus Battle Armor system took five months to design and another four to build. At least six weeks of that was waiting for parts. Plenty of people had been working on exoskeletons before me. There was the Hardiman stuff the Navy tried in the sixties. Just before everything fell apart, Hugo Herr at MIT had one. UC Berkley had their Bleex rig and the Hulc. Sarcos Incorporated had a great one. And all I had to do was flash my DARPA card, say “National security,” and I got to look at the blueprints and software for all of them, whether they liked it or not.
Then you can add in all the optional extras. The Army’s Future Force Warrior system. Interceptor body armor. The latest TASER designs. Motion-sensor targeting programs. All this technology was just sitting around, waiting for one clever woman to put it all together.
Yes, I stole from the best.
New York’s been lost. No one wants to say it, but there it is. The entire city’s gone. Boston too. And Chicago. Washington DC’s hanging on by a thread, but I understand the president and his cabinet were evacuated to NORAD over a week ago. The west coast cities seem to have fared a little better, probably because they’ve got more sprawl and less concentration. One of the last decisions made by the DOD was to ship me and the suit out west. I was supposed to team up with some of the “superheroes” out there and be a visible symbol of government power, action, and safety in Los Angeles.
The rest of the Hercules was taken up by a platoon’s worth of Marines. I say “worth” because they were a patched-together group, a few surviving squads, individuals, and raw recruits out of basic that had been reorganized to make a functioning unit. I knew soldiers tended to be younger than most people thought, but seeing a bunch of kids all still in their teens drove it home. They were loud and boastful and bragging. And they were white-knuckle scared. Almost two thirds of the current enlisted U.S. military servicemen were dead. Half of them were still walking.
Our plane tilted and everyone shifted their feet. One of the flight crew spoke to the platoon sergeant for a few minutes, a tall, heavy-set man who spent the flight checking his troops. He nodded to the airman and walked back to me.
“Little course correction,” he said. His voice was loud and brash over the roar of the engines. He was ten years older than most of the men and women following him.
“Is there a problem?”
“No, ma’am, there’s been a development at Burbank. We’re diverting to Van Nuys.”
“That’s further into the Valley, isn’t it? We’re going deeper into held territory?”
“Technically, yes, but the airport is a safe zone. Approximately two hundred civilians and staff there.”
“How much longer?”
“Thirty minutes.” He held out his hand. “Staff Sergeant Jeffrey Wallen.”
I nodded at his nametag. “I know.”
“I’ve been meaning to compliment you on your outfit.”
I’d been issued a flak jacket with no tags and a helmet. I wore them over my street clothes. “Well, nothing says military consultant like the Red Sox and digital camos.”
“You a fan?”
“An ex boyfriend left it in my apartment. It’s got long sleeves and I don’t care what happens to it.”
“No love lost?”
“None.”
“When’d he dump you?”
“How do you know I didn’t dump him?”
The staff sergeant shook his head and sat down next to me. “Nobody dumps somebody back home. It’s always the other way around.”
I smiled. “Seven months ago.”
“That’s cool,” he nodded.
“Go for it, Wall!” A few yards back in the plane, one of the Marines sent a double thumbs up our way and the others hooted and cackled. It was the happiest, the most normal they’d looked for the whole flight.
Wallen stared him down, but it was a friendly stare. “Sorry about that.”
I shrugged it off. “They’re just blowing off steam.”
“So, you’re on the Cerberus team, huh?”
“You could say that, yeah.”
He nodded. “You been with them a long time?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I’m just wondering about this guy,” he said with a shrug. “What do you know about him?”
“Who?”
He jerked his thumb over at the crates. “Danny Morris,” he said. “The guy in the suit.”