A Girl Called Badger

ELEVEN



Between the mountains and the prairie lay the chewed and scattered bones of the city. The bleached fragments of her crumbled highways stretched north and south. Fallen buildings and piles of rusted machinery clogged the faded trails of local streets. Trees and tall grasses grew haphazardly and seemed to Wilson like a wild garden planted by children.

Badger pointed to the eastern horizon. “What’s that?”

Wilson squinted in the gray blur of starlight and saw a barren area a kilometer away. A few shapes spotted the center, probably trees.

“It looks like a crater,” he said. “Basically, a dry lake.”

They continued north and passed a valley where blades of rock stood high in the night sky.

“Wait–” said Badger. She dropped her rifle and leaned forward.

“Kira?”

Wilson caught her before she hit the ground. He pulled up her sleeve and hit the reset code. Her chest and ribs pushed against his arms as she breathed rapidly. It gradually slowed to normal.

Wilson brushed a long strand of hair from her face and she yawned.

“You’re warm,” she said sleepily.

“Give me a warning next time, okay?”

“I’m tired ... just want to sleep,” murmured Badger.

Wilson touched her cheek then looked back at the tall blades of sandstone.

“None of this seems real to me,” he said. “Especially my father. I guess I’d accepted his death, then he was alive again. Alive, and now dead again. It’s like a story you’d hear from a toothless, jibbering medicine man. But here we are, just the two of us. Alone and in the middle of nowhere.”

“I’m sorry about your father,” whispered Badger, her eyes open.

“Come on, we can’t stay here.”

She didn’t move. “Before the sickness happens I always have same feeling. I don’t know who I am or what I’m wearing. I don’t recognize people or things around me.”

“I know what you mean,” said Wilson. “I can make myself feel the same way. My mind separates from my body and I wonder, who am I? Then it just goes away.”

“Why would you do that to yourself? It’s a horrible feeling.”

They walked north through rock-covered hills to avoid the dead zone, then east through open country. A few kilometers of walking over the rolling hills brought them to scattered buildings on the northern edge of Springs. Gunfire cracked in the distance and Wilson’s left arm started to ache with pain.

“We need to rest,” said Badger. “Head for those buildings.”

“Don’t go south. The radiation–”

“Come on, I’m not three years old. I can see the north star.”

They kept to the center of roads and avoided the overgrown humps and piles of rock. The grass on the piles concealed holes that would break an ankle and sharp, rusted metal.

Later in the night they walked through a road crossing and heard a low-pitched human whistle. With no place to hide, the pair scrambled into a nearby pit and waited.

Wilson covered his nose. “What’s that smell?”

“Shhh! Don’t think about it,” whispered Badger.

The whistle became irregular and more distant. When it was too faint to hear the two climbed out of the pit.

After thirty minutes of walking they found a two-story building with three walls and no roof. Badger watched for a few minutes then climbed tilted stairs to the second floor. A corner provided a good sleeping area and Badger used a rusty table to block the stairs. She unrolled her furs and lay down first.

Wilson took handfuls of gravel and scattered them on the steps. He pulled a blanket around his shoulders and watched the broad river of stars turn above his head.

The last few hours of night brought nothing more than an occassional wolf howl or bark of a fox. A horned owl hunted nearby and a family of mule deer passed.

Badger woke after sunrise and shared a cold breakfast with him. Wilson curled up in the blanket and slept until late afternoon, when a drop of rain splashed his cheek. The pair sheltered under the first floor stairwell in a cocoon of blankets and kept each other warm during the storm.

“Did you see anything?” Wilson asked.

“A group of tribals, before the rain started.”

Wilson sighed. “How did I get us into this mess?”

The raindrops pattered on the brown concrete. For a moment, Wilson was mesmerized by the quiet sounds.

“When I first came to Station I was alone,” whispered Badger. “Even with people around me I felt alone. I couldn’t understand anyone when they talked. Maybe my face scared them. I don’t know and it doesn’t matter. My favorite times were the warm afternoons when it would rain. I would go outside with a leather coat too big for me and pull my head and arms inside. When I squatted down I could feel raindrops on my back, but the whole world was just a patch of grass beneath my feet.”

“You’re not alone now.”

She sighed. “That’s not my point. All the millions of trees and grass and rocks and people under the sky. Why do some have to die? Why are we born if it’s just to kill or be killed? Can you understand all of it? Can you understand why anything happens?”

Wilson felt her shaking. He rubbed a tear from her face and held her tight.

“We’ll find it. I promise.”

Badger wiped her nose. “Don’t promise anything. Just sit here with me and listen to the rain.”



THE STORM ENDED BEFORE evening. When the sky darkened with twilight they left the building and continued east.

Walking through the northern edge of the dead city, they passed the debris of fallen buildings, weedy piles of earth, and hulks of brown metal in the grass. One structure might have walls but the next would only be rotten, black sticks. Both watched for any sign of wolves or men as they climbed around sinkholes and blocks of moss-covered rubble.

Badger stopped and grabbed Wilson’s hand. “Hide!”

They sheltered behind a pile of rubble. Out of the darkness, a grinding sound grew from a purr to a roar. A black, wheeled box passed in a shower of grit. At least a dozen human shapes rode on top.

“What was that?” asked Badger.

“A transport, I guess. Want to follow it?”

She snorted. “Not really.”

Wilson squinted at his notes. “We keep going to a road called ‘21’, then turn south-east.”

As night deepened, both used the sight-trick. Thunder rumbled from the south. After several kilometers over the streets Wilson spotted a weather-beaten sign. An arrow pointed to “Route 21.”

Without a word Badger pulled Wilson behind a low concrete wall.

For several minutes he heard only raindrops, then a shuffling sound came from his left. A line of sixteen tribals passed within meters of his hiding place. Twelve men and women were tied by the hands to a guide rope and wore only scraps of clothing. The prisoners were bracketed front and rear by four tribals armed with rifles. The clothing of the guards sparkled with metal.

The line disappeared to the east. Badger waited a moment then crept carefully across the road. Wilson didn’t move and she returned quickly.

“What’s wrong?”

“We have to do something,” said Wilson.

“It’s too dangerous. Four guards and just two of us,” she hissed.

“We can do it.”

Badger picked up a pebble then dropped it. “Fine. But we do it quiet and no guns. There’s only one way.”

“What way?”

“Use a new trick.”

“Just like that? No practice?”

“It’s easy to learn,” said Badger. “The trick lasts for only a few seconds but then hits you like a bear. We can use it on four tribals.”

She gave instructions for the trick and made Wilson repeat them back.

“Where did you learn that?” he asked.

“A girl has to keep some secrets. Come on.”

The line of figures still walked east along the dark road. Badger and Wilson ran carefully back through the ruins. They circled in front of the slaves to a collapsed section of road. The slave-drivers would probably take this route through the jumble of rocks, Wilson guessed. He concealed himself beside a tangle of metal near the path and Badger hid behind an upturned section of concrete on the opposite side. Wilson removed his pack and re-checked his crossbow.

Within moments a dark shape appeared. Framed by the night sky, it stood on the high road and watched the rocks in the crossing. Another shape joined it and together they guided the line of prisoners down the path. Wilson aimed his crossbow at the two in the lead. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and imagined his hand thrust into white-hot coals. Under his breath he murmured four lines:



Heart made of flame

Heart made of spark

Heart made of sun

Speed my hand



He opened his eyes. All movement had stopped, even the tiny mosquito in front of his face. The tribal in the lead had frozen in place and his mud-covered boot dangled in mid-step. Wilson heard nothing but a low rumble, like a distant waterfall.

He pulled the release on his crossbow and a white-fletched bolt flowered the guard’s chest. Wilson dropped the bow and ran forward with his knife. He covered ten meters and the first guard hadn’t fallen, but leaned back at a steep angle with his leg high in the air. The guard behind looked shocked but held his rifle low. Wilson plowed a shoulder into the tribal’s sternum and knocked him off his feet. The tribal floated strangely in the air as Wilson stabbed him in the heart.

He looked back at the first tribal, the one he’d shot. The man lay on the ground and clawed at the bolt in his chest like a fly in honey.

Without warning the world flipped sideways and his stomach cramped. Wilson bent over and vomited his last meal. He couldn’t raise his head and collapsed on his side. Numb and half-conscious, he forgot who he was. He stared at a strange knife sticking from a strange man on the ground and closed his eyes. A few seconds later, sound burst into his ears.

“Be quiet or die,” said a strange girl.

Wilson’s lips were heavy and thick. “Sorry ... quiet,” he said.

Something grabbed his shoulder and he opened his eyes. A girl with a scarred face stared at him. Her cheeks and nose were smeared with blood.

“Will! Wake up!”

“Leave me alone ... you.”

“No.” She slapped him in the face a few times and sat him up. “Move your fingers and toes and keep your eyes open.”

Wilson watched her cut the bonds of the twelve slaves. The feeling in his arms and legs gradually returned, as well as his memory. Nearby lay the bloody corpses of the two dead tribals. A dozen slaves crouched beside another pair of bodies.

Badger faced the ragged men and women and spoke in their language.

“You’re free now. Run from here, quickly.”

“Take us with you! They’ll only find us again,” said a young man.

“Quiet! We’re going north and can’t take you. Two days to the west is a village called David, and they don’t sell slaves. Travel together and hide during the daylight.”

Badger pulled Wilson’s knife from the guard’s chest and held a rifle on the slaves. They ripped clothes from the dead and left nothing but naked bodies. The slaves split into two groups. One group ran to the north, the other to the west.

With Badger’s help Wilson struggled to his feet.

“Why did you say we’re going north? Why tell them anything?”

She wiped blood from his face with a cloth. “Dear boy, I thought you were the smart one. Some of the slaves will be caught.”

Wilson rubbed his temples. “Ugh ... my head. You should have warned me about the trick.”

“I did.”

“Still ... I feel like I ran up the side of Old Man three times.”

Badger laughed. “It gets easier, but not by much.”

“And I never want to eat again.”

“That’ll change. Come on.”

The pair gathered weapons and packs and continued east. Under the beams of a fallen roof they ate dried fruit and venison and drank tea from the water-skins.

The road continued along the edge of the gray city and brought them to a rise that looked over the plains. The light of many lanterns speckled the dark. Tall piles of tangled gray metal littered the fields around the village, too heavy to move and apparently too useless to scavenge.

“It’s probably the slavers,” murmured Badger.

“Let’s not make friends, then,” said Wilson.

Badger pointed to the tall piles of twisted metal. “Those things actually flew in the sky?”

“In the old days. Now they’re just home to swallows and spiders.”

They left behind the lights of the village and traveled southeast over the yellow plains. All signs of human life past or present soon disappeared, and no road or even a rotted building broke the horizon. Patches of knee-high purple flowers called “blue mist” covered the prairie, along with orange-petaled “brown-eyed susans.” Wilson welcomed the solitude of the prairie. His fingers brushed the flower petals as he walked.

“Your friend is still behind us,” said Badger.

Wilson looked back. The ugly dog trotted behind in the trail left in the grass.

“You know why it’s bad luck?” Badger asked.

“It can’t smell death. It’s just a dog on a trip like the two of us.”

She pouted. “I’ll scare it away.”

“Please don’t.” Wilson looked at his map. “Ten klicks left.”

“We should stop to rest. Sunrise is coming and you look sick.”

“But there’s no cover around here.”

Badger pointed to a handful of scrubby trees in the distance and Wilson followed her. They prepared the ground for sleeping by laying cut prairie grass under the trees. Wilson wrapped himself in furs and fell asleep immediately.

Thick sunflower stems stung his arms and face. He wanted to find that poor-will this time and strangle it.

Where father? Where Father? Where Father?

He struggled through the stems and ran faster and faster but couldn’t reach the bird. A low baying came from behind, and the huge black animals with lolling tongues were on him fast. A dog knocked him to the ground and bit his throat.

Wilson jerked awake and felt his neck. Badger was sitting beside him with fur wrapped over her shoulders.

“Bad dream?”

He lay back and stared through the branches to the overcast sky. A morning breeze whistled through the tree in a low, off-key tune. Tiny drops of water, barely even mist, sprinkled his face. To the west circled a pair of vultures.

He watched Badger undo her braids. She ran a brush through her black hair with her eyes still on the open prairie. After she plaited the hair into a single braid, she wrapped it with red string. Badger realized she was being watched and her cheeks and neck flushed pink.

“Say something! Don’t just stare at me.”

“I’m sorry. Pretty girls have that effect on me.”

She put her face close to his. “Girls? Which ones?”

“Just you.”

She kissed him. “Good. Because you wouldn’t like it when I’m angry.”

“I can’t imagine not liking anything about you.”

“Keep it that way.”

“Just to be on the safe side, what would make you angry? A squirrel steals your food? Someone breaks your favorite bowl? Tracks mud into your room? Doesn’t take a bath?”

“Nothing that simple,” she said. “I don’t like to talk about it. I don’t like to lose control and that’s what anger is.”

Wilson listened to the whistle of the breeze through the branches and chewed on a ball of pemmican.

“I was angry for a long time after my father left Station,” he said. “Angry at everything and everyone. That boiled over with the tribals who’d taken Mina. I saw the red mist and ... things just happened. I didn’t have control.”

“It’s not a good feeling,” said Badger.

Wilson sighed and shook himself like a dog with a wet coat. “Your parents––”

“––are dead,” said Badger, standing up. “Let’s not join them.”

A pair of brown rabbits scattered across a field and a red-tailed hawk soared above as they walked east. Badger back-tracked several times and left false paths to muddle the trail in the wet prairie grass.

A bleak line of shapes rose on the prairie’s horizon. As Wilson and Badger walked closer they saw a dozen buildings. Many were in a state of collapse, but had survived better than anything back in Springs. Two massive square buildings commanded the center of the complex. There were no trees or cover aside from tall, weedy humps of metal scattered here and there. A fence had once circled the entire complex but now only brown fragments and a few posts remained.

Badger pointed to a pair of gray spheres several stories high. “What are those?”

“Don’t know,” said Wilson. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“Tell me what we’re looking for again?”

Wilson took the notes from his pack. He held up the sketches to Badger.

“Anything with these symbols. USAF Hyperion, 4th Space Exploration Squadron, 3rd Space Exploration Squadron.”

Badger watched the area until she was satisfied it was clear. Wilson walked with her over the prairie and through the rusted fence. Each building had a cracked brick signboard at the front with titles such as 50th Space Wing, 310th Space Wing, 1st Space Test Squadron, and 527th Space Aggressor Squadron.

In front of one of the large white buildings stood a sign: Space Innovation and Development Center. A blue shield with faded lightning and triangle symbols was painted inside the dark entrance. Wilson recognized it as a holy symbol, and one of the sketches in his notes. Underneath was written 4th Space Exploration Squadron.

The building had been ransacked by generations of scavengers. Useless fragments of paper and bits of plastic littered the dirty offices. Not a scrap of furniture was left, and doors were smashed or missing. File cabinets were rusted and ripped open.

“How am I supposed to find anything in this mess?”

Badger kicked an empty can across the corridor. “Are you sure we’re in the right place?”

“I’m not sure about anything these days,” said Wilson. “But before we leave, let’s check every corner.”

The building contained four floors of offices, meeting rooms, and laboratories. Anything remotely useful had been taken or smashed to bits. On the top floor Wilson found an office titled “Colonel Brendan Lai, Commander, 4th SES.” Only a broken chair and an empty metal cabinet were left. The floor was littered with scraps of filthy cloth and empty food cans. The metal windows looked as if they hadn’t seen glass for hundreds of years. Outside and four floors down lay a flower-covered meadow and scattered shrubs.

Wilson searched the debris and found a block of gray plastic. It had been crushed by a heavy object, but a cracked yellow strip and list of numbers had survived on the top.



Petersen CIC 555-7321

Schriever CIC 555-6131

Altmann CIC 555-4241

50th SDS 555-7103

3dSES Lab B 555-7010

4thSES Lab 1 555-7044

4thSES Lab 2 555-7089

4thSES Lab 3 555-7097

4thSES Lab 4 555-7064

21st Med 555-2013

Security 555-4000

3d MilCom 555-1001



“What is it?” asked Badger, from over his shoulder.

“I don’t know. But these names ... I remember each of the ‘lab’ rooms, except for ‘Lab B.’”

Badger shrugged. “Maybe it’s in a different building.”

“No ... wait! We didn’t check for underground levels.”

They returned to the stairwell descended to the first floor. The stairs led down into a black pit.

Wilson took a lantern from his backpack. He lit it with a metal firestarter and followed the steps down to a large steel door with “RESTRICTED” painted in white. The door and steel frame were violently dented and scratched from what Wilson guessed was the tribal version of a “polite knock.” An entry pad and small display screen next to the door had been obliterated and black number keys were scattered on the dirty floor. On the off chance, Wilson pulled on the door handle but it didn’t move.

“Think you can open it?” asked Badger.

“Even if I could fix this keypad we don’t have electrical power. And even if we had power, we don’t have the code.”

“Force it?”

Wilson waved his hand at the marks on the door. “Ladies first!”

“It’s underground, right? How do they breathe?”

“Usually from vents inside the building or openings in the ground.”

They walked around the outside of the building. None of the metal grates they found were large enough for a person to pass through.

“Even rats have a bolt-hole,” said Wilson. “There’s got to be another way out, in case something happened to the main door.”

“Like the ladders at Station,” said Badger.

“Yes!”

Wilson ran inside the 4th SES building. He found a long metal rod and began to tap the corners and sides of rooms in the first floor.

Badger watched from the hallway. “Did you lose something? Like your mind?”

“I’m looking for a hatch covering. There has to be a hatch somewhere.”

After he’d sounded the floor of every room, Wilson leaned against the wall.

“Aww, you look so pitiful,” said Badger. “If you forgot, there’s another stairwell.”

At the opposite end of the building was a second set of stairs. Wilson re-lit the candle in his lantern and descended the steps with Badger. At the bottom they found a half-open door and a room littered with broken containers.

“Some chemical supplies,” said Wilson.

He tapped around the floor with the metal rod. In the back of the room the rod thumped hollow. He kicked away a pile of empty containers and knelt to look closer. A pair of shoulder-wide handles were embedded in the floor. Wilson lifted both handles and a section of the floor came up in a cloud of grit. Underneath lay a round hatch with a handle and thumb-switch. It opened with a rusty squeal and revealed the first rung of a ladder. The air smelled sharp and metallic.

“Just like back at Station,” said Badger.

Wilson rubbed his forehead. “Yeah, well. Everything better be dead in there.”

“Either it is or it isn’t, no point being an old woman about it.”

Badger tossed her pack into the shaft and slid down. Wilson lowered his lantern and backpack more delicately. He stepped down a few rungs and wedged the hatch open with the metal rod and a section of wood. He climbed down the rest of the way carefully.

“Old woman? Really?” He pinched Badger on the rear and she squealed.

“Stop it,” she said. “There’s a strange smell in here. Like metal.”

“The air hasn’t circulated for a long time. We’ll probably pass out in a few minutes.” He grabbed Badger around the waist. “What do you want to do until then?”

She pushed him away. “Be serious.”

“I am serious. But we should find what we need and leave.”

They stood in a dark concrete cube. In the nearby wall was a single door. Wilson turned the latch and walked into a larger space. In the center were dozens of workstations with terminal screens. The sides of the room were lined with metal equipment and a few bookshelves. The blue shield of the 3rd SES was painted on the facing wall, and Wilson recognized the unpowered main entrance beside it. On the right were twin white doors with faint text across the panels.

Their feet left tracks in a fine coating of dust. Some workstations seemed pristine but books and papers were scattered over others. The room gave Wilson the same impression of fear and hasty flight as the tunnels beneath Station.

“The last people here didn’t want to stay long,” said Badger.

Wilson nodded. “Look for anything labeled ‘shutdown sequencer’ or ‘resequencer.’”

Without power the terminals were dead. They searched the workstations but found no papers or clues of any use. Wilson thumbed through the books on the shelves. Many were scientific journals on topics such as microelectronics, medicine, endocrinology, and kinesiology. A large section held manuals on standard military procedures.

“Founder’s boots ...” he whispered.

“What?” asked Badger.

Wilson held up a paper-bound manual and pointed at the title.



DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE CLASSIFIED MATERIAL

USAF HYPERION

S.W.O.R.D. (SURVIVABLE WARRIOR OPTIC RESPONSE DEVICE)

OPERATING MANUAL

REV: 12 MAR 2051

REF: 1033-0227-48



“I still don’t get it,” said Badger.

“This is a manual. It’s a book that tells you how to use things. It might even have the reset codes.”

Wilson opened the manual and scanned the beginning. The first few pages were simply warning labels.



Table of Contents

1. Introduction

2. Passive Features

3. Warm-up and Familiarization Exercises

4. Applications

a. Response

b. Strength

c. Endurance

d. Healing

e. Sensory

5. Contraindications for Application Use

6. Troubleshooting and Shut-Down Codes



Introduction

The SWORD system is designed to increase survivability and performance of personnel exposed to unusual non-Terran environments. Increases in muscle control, reaction time, light sensitivity, and resistance to hazardous materials have been tested and standardized in this program. Personnel and test observers must strictly adhere to test plan and system contraindications.



SWORD complements and operates within the SHIELD xeno-habitation system (See SHIELD reference materials 1033-0227-51).



All materials are GP-chipped and watermarked. Any misuse of included materials is a violation of 18 U.S.C. § 793 and UCMJ Article 106.



Wilson turned to the section with the shut-down codes as Badger peered over his shoulder.

“How can you read those tiny words?”

“Practice,” he said. “I’ll read it out loud for you––‘Emergency shut-down codes are used in the event of a full or partial system failure. Improper application may result in damage to devices or personnel. These are designed for emergency situations in the field, when a full diagnostic and a sequencer is not available due to distance from base. If vital signs are stable make base contact and avoid using these codes. To apply: Supinate the left arm. Find the medial point of the posterior transverse scar. Use the index finger to apply deep pressure in a series within ten seconds maximum. The symbols below indicate the patterns. A dot symbol is an immediate press and release, a dash symbol indicates a one second hold then release.’”



A table with nine rows followed, but the text in four of the rows had been crossed out with some kind of black ink and “DO NOT USE” printed at the right edge.

Wilson scanned the remaining list of five:



XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX DO NOT USE

..--- 2. Re-set all systems from BIOS

...-- 3. Re-set musculoskeletal enhance

....- 4. Re-set cardiorespiratory enhance

..... 5. Re-set neurological enhance

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX DO NOT USE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX DO NOT USE

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX DO NOT USE

----. 9. Damage Control (All Systems)



“We’ve used the second code,” said Wilson. “But why would they cross out the others?

“They didn’t want you to use them, obviously,” said Badger.

“The other codes are to re-set three separate systems in the body. The last one is damage control.”

Badger scanned the list. “What does this mean, ‘neurological?’”

“Your brain. The fourth code is the heart and lungs, the third for the muscles.”

“What about ‘damage control?’ How about that?”

“Could be useful. I have to read more about it.”

“Fine,” said Badger. “I’ll be over here breaking things.”

Wilson sat in a chair at a gunmetal desk and continued reading. Each of the troubleshooting codes had a detailed explanation, but text for the deleted codes had also been redacted.



ESD CODE 2: RE-SET ALL SYSTEMS

This action will load operating parameters from existing memory. Time from code application to complete reset is 2-5 minutes. Monitor vital signs and transport to base for advanced treatment.

Indications: Subject is experiencing a) multiple system failures or b) multiple abnormal system features.

Contraindications: a) Subject is experiencing single system failure b) Systolic B/P <= 80 mm Hg



The three system codes that followed were similar, and Wilson skipped them.



ESD CODE 9: DAMAGE CONTROL (ALL SYSTEMS)

This action will focus core power to repair tissue damage in the host body. Subject must be kept supine and motionless. Control blood loss and monitor vitals. Core body temperature should be increased if possible. Legs and feet should be elevated above the heart. Time from application to recovery is variable on level of tissue damage. Subject may exhibit one or all of the following: diaphoresis, bradypnea, bradycardia. Monitor vital signs and transport to base for advanced treatment.



Wilson flipped to the front of the manual. He could hear Badger opening and closing metal cabinets.



Chapter 2: Passive Features



Immunological Response

The central function of the SWORD implant array is to aid the immunological system in responding to xenopathogens. The integration of multi-core processors into the immune system allows for fast detection and analysis using heuristic algorithms. ProtoF implant is central in response and nullification of the xenopathogen through storage and manufacture of antimicrobial peptides. Tests on Terran-sourced pathogens have shown a 100% detection and nullification response within a nominal time frame. Exposure to modified xeno-pathogens shows a similar response rate. The ProtoF implant and response will function optimally when dietary and exercise recommendations are followed.



Location Transponder

Subject identification and physical location along with vital signs is transmitted at one-minute intervals to SHIELD or hand detectors on 900 mHz frequency. Range for detection by base systems is a maximum of 2 km. Range of hand detector is 500 m. Transponder effectiveness is reduced or nullified by terrain and amount of material between subject and detection system.



Medical Diagnosis

Subject medical history and status of 35 vital systems are available to Medisign base and portable equipment through low-power microtransponders. Detailed medical information allows for rapid diagnosis and treatment.



Muscular Development and Cardiovascular Training

Systems passively increase the amount of dopamine during anaerobic and aerobic training exercises. Micro-application of creatine and steroidal compounds increases the effectiveness of training over time.



Wilson skimmed through the rest of the passive features and the familiarization sections. The warm-up diagrams looked like the stretches Father Reed was always telling him to do in the mornings. He looked around the room. Badger was at a corner shelf poking at a round metal device.



Chapter 3: Applications



Introduction

Components of the SWORD project began as a USAR performance implant for special forces. The environment of the battlefield and requirements for a soldier have similarities to the requirements of astronauts in a xeno-environment, and therefore much of the USAR research was integrated into HYPERION when the DOD de-funded USAR BRIGHT SWORD.



All applications come directly from the USAR performance research, save one. The power requirements on the electrochemical system were too great for the enhancements to be used constantly, and so a recovery application was developed (See H1). Application were first triggered with external controls by microtransponders but over time were transferred to OTC mental precipitators in the temporal lobe. Vajrayana Buddhist meditation techniques and Tantric imagery were integrated into the system. Subjects found personal ways to activate the applications through imagery and chants, or “upaya-kaushalya.”



This manual is intended only as a reference. Actual training of applications must be under observation as initial use can be traumatic. Depending upon the application, the subject can experience fatigue, headaches, nausea, dyspnea, hypercardia, hyperpnea, or tonic-clonic seizure. In extreme situations organ failure has been observed. Exercises should always be followed by the H1 cool-down and meditation forms.



Applications have been separated into five categories based upon the general systems enhanced. Appropriate levels from beginner to advanced have been indicated. All performance is relative to fitness and training of subject.



Each sub-section had an associated list and Wilson looked at the top one in each.



(R1) Pravega

This application increases adrenaline production 200% and response time by a factor of five. Agility and reaction to stimuli greatly increased relative to observers.

Level: Advanced

Imagery: Fire

Chant:

Heart made of flame

Heart made of spark

Heart made of sun

Speed my hand



(S1) Bahubala

This application enhances the force output of the musculoskelatal system. Force output in excess of 3000 newtons has been measured.

Level: Intermediate

Imagery: Stone, Rock, Steel

Chant:

Arm made of stone

Arm made of steel

Arm made of earth

Push my hand



(E1) Sarati

This application increases cardiovascular performance through delivery of additional oxygen to muscles, reduction of lactic acid production, and increase in dopamine levels. Subject running distance observed to commonly increase by 150%. Application can be used for several hours with training.

Level: Beginner

Imagery: Water or River

Chant:

Feet on the rain

Feet on the river

Feet in the sky

Hold my heart



(H1) Ayurveda

This application will reduce pain messages to the central nervous system. Adrenaline levels are also reduced and produce a calming effect. Used to recover from other applications or physical exertion.

Level: Beginner

Imagery: Ice or water

Chant:

Breath made of ice

Breath made of water

Breath made of fog

Calm my heart



Wilson heard the sound of breaking glass and looked up. Badger had pushed her arm through a window next to the pair of white doors. Across both doors, faint letters spelled “Clean Room Entry Point.”

Wilson walked over. “Need help?”

“No, I just wanted to look in here.”

Badger pushed the door open to a tiny white room that seemed like an entranceway. White jumpsuits and goggles hung from the walls or were piled on the floor. Another door faced them, labeled “Clean Suit Only.”

Badger pointed to the manual. “What’d you find?”

“Tricks, tricks, and more tricks. The few I know and more.”

“What about the ‘damage control’ thing?”

“It’s a medical healing override.”

Badger grabbed his jacket. “Yes! That’s exactly what I need. I’m damaged.”

“You’re so precious. No, it seems like a last resort after traumatic injury.”

“Trau–what? Stop using big words.”

“Sorry,” said Wilson. “How about this? Heap big hurt.”

“That’s better.”

“Anyway, the manual says to press four dashes and one dot, then you go into a coma to heal. I don’t think you want to be in a coma.”

“Not really, dear. You paw at me enough when I’m awake.”

“Ha ha ha.”

Badger walked around the white room and looked at the racks of goggles and masks.

“Be careful,” she said.

“I don’t see any danger symbols. This is probably just a workshop.”

“I mean with this book, Will. You can’t over-use the tricks. It’s dangerous.”

“I’m a fast learner.”

Badger pulled the latch on the facing door. “Sometimes fast is slow and slow is fast.”

The door opened easily. Light from the lantern glowed over tables loaded with silver machines and glass objects. More rows of industrial workstations filled the room.

One table held only a yellowed square of paper. Wilson brushed away a fine coat of dust and revealed crude, handwritten lines.



To anyone from 3rd SES,

Infection everywhere. Taking all portables and sequencer to Altmann. Shelter in place or raise me on Milcom Red 7.

––Jack Garcia



“Don’t tell me ...” said Badger.

Wilson sighed. “It’s gone. Whatever a sequencer might have been, it’s gone.”

“This Garcia says he took it to Altmann. That’s the old name for Station,” said Badger.

“I’m not going back in the tunnels.”

“There’s still the place you didn’t want to look.”

Wilson brushed dust from his jacket. “Right.”

“Because no one goes down to the Tombs doesn’t mean–”

“I know! But maybe this Jack Garcia never made it back to Station. Even if he did, we have to keep searching. We’ve come too far to miss something.”

They turned the room upside-down and discovered nothing but an allergy to dust.

“I’ll see if there’s anything else in the books,” said Wilson.

They walked to the other room and he searched through the shelves again.

Badger sneezed. “What about the blacked-out codes?”

“Too dangerous. These people seemed to be very serious about safety.”

Wilson selected a few books that looked interesting but were also light. He followed Badger up the ladder to the basement and replaced the hatch cover. On the ground floor the two young people blinked like moles in the sunshine.

In a corner of the lobby, Badger split the dried venison and fruit. Wilson sat next to her but didn’t touch any of it.

“It’s all my fault,” he said.

Badger bit into an apple. “Not really.”

“Maybe if I’d searched harder at Station we could have found the sequencer. And my father would be alive. All of this has been one stupid mistake after another.”

“Does it make you feel better? Blaming yourself?”

“I’m not an animal. I can’t simply exist. I have to think about what I did.”

“Forget the past and think about the present. Or, I break fingers.”

“Whose fingers?”

“Yours.”

“Me?” Wilson pointed to his chest. “You want a piece of this?”

Badger smirked. “You haven’t got a piece to give.”

“Right!”

Wilson grabbed her and they wrestled on the floor. She suddenly held a hand over his mouth. Wilson saw the look on her face and froze. Badger pointed to the far end of the hallway.

Something made of metal fell on the concrete and the clatter echoed like a shot. Wilson crawled forward and looked around the corner.

Six tribals crept in his direction. They carried rifles and wore green or dark red tunics. A black tattoo of thorns––the sign of the Circle––marked all of their faces.

One spotted Wilson and panicked, firing his rifle with a boom of charcoal smoke. The corridor exploded with noise and gray chips of concrete as the rest opened fire.

Badger and Wilson grabbed their weapons and backpacks and ran down the stairwell to the old lab. Wilson opened the hatch and they clambered down. He shoved a metal bar through the latch mechanism and lit his lantern for the third time that day.

“Now we’re trapped.”

Badger pointed across the room. “What about the big door?”

They ran to the security door on the opposite side of the room. Wilson pulled with both hands on a vertical red bar.

“Here goes nothing!”

The latch clicked and he pushed the heavy door slowly. The green-clad tribals could be heard shouting throughout the building. The pair ran as quietly as possible to the fourth floor.

Wilson slid next to a window and listened to the voices outside. He took a second to glance out the window then crawled away. Badger had checked and loaded both crossbows.

“At least twenty outside,” he whispered. “Two transports.”

Badger nodded and held a finger to her lips. She pointed at the door. Wilson took his crossbow and moved a few feet away. He found a metal table with only two legs and turned it on the side to create some cover. He lay prone behind the right side and Badger took the left.

The sound of a tribal yelling orders filtered in from the window. From what Wilson could hear, this man wanted them alive. He thumbed a shell into the empty sixth cylinder of his pistol and set it nearby, then opened the breech of his rifle and checked the round.

Wilson thought about blocking the doors but they opened into the stairwell. He wondered if the strange men had tracked them across the plains or if this was just bad luck.

He pulled the manual from his pack and read over a few sections. All of the tricks seemed practical. He guessed that Badger knew an endurance or strength trick. He turned to the emergency codes and tried to read behind the blacked-out lines.

Footsteps shuffled behind the door. Wilson stuffed the manual in his jacket and looked down the sights of his bow. Badger touched his shoulder. She pointed to herself and held up one finger. Wilson guessed she wanted the first shot.

The door scraped open. The barrel of a rifle appeared, followed by a scrawny tribal. A wispy brown beard covered his face and on his green cap were three interlocking silver circles. Metal trinkets covered his leather coat.

A click from Badger. Her bolt slammed into his upper chest. The tribal screamed and fell back through the doorway. The door jammed against his legs and stayed open. A man tried to pull the body away and Wilson shot him through the eye. A second looked over the railing and Badger knocked his hat off with a bolt.

Both reloaded as whispers filled the stairwell. Outside the shouting had stopped.

Badger made a rapid circle with her hand. They grabbed everything and moved to a corner farther down the hallway. Badger put down her pack and lay prone to face the first stairwell. Wilson covered the other.

“Trapped again,” he murmured.

“Cover your side,” said Badger.

They heard muffled steps and four armed men burst through the stairwell doors. Badger dropped the first man with a bolt, then picked up her rifle and fired and reloaded.

The door on Wilson’s side scraped open and a mass of green-capped tribals rushed in. Wilson hit the first one below the belt and he crumpled. Chips of concrete and dust sprayed around Wilson as the others fired. He reloaded and shot back from cover. The men leapfrogged from doorway to doorway as they ran up the corridor.

Wilson waited for a good target. He hit one of the men in the arm with the next shot and another in the belly. The last man tried to hide in a doorway but a bullet from Badger’s rifle went through his hand. She missed the next shot and the man jumped back down the stairwell.

A breeze whistled through the empty windows of the building. It carried the stench of blood and body odor.

“Probably time to leave,” said Wilson.

“We’re on the top floor. Don’t tell me that book taught you to fly.”

“Almost. I’ve got a rope.”

Wilson heard a bouncing clatter and a small metal tube rolled through the corridor. A fuse spun bright orange circles at one end.

“Back!” yelled Wilson.

They scrambled into the room. Metal shards cracked through the air and skidded down the corridor.

“Okay, time to leave,” said Badger.

Wilson pulled the coil of rope from his pack and eyeballed the length.

“It’s not going to reach all the way,” he said.

Badger leaned out the window. “I have an idea.” She whispered in his ear.

Wilson couldn’t see anyone down below, but he could hear shouts. Another bang rattled through the corridor.

“Now or never,” he said.

They dropped all their gear into the bushes four floors down. Each tied an end of the rope around their waist with a bowline. Badger braced her legs against the wall. Wilson slid over the edge and used to rope for support. He made it down two stories and climbed through a window, then braced his legs at the wall. Badger appeared a minute later. The rope had been only for backup; she’d used ledges on the outside wall to climb down.

“You’re good,” said Wilson.

Badger shrugged. “Untie the rope.”

They pulled off the bowlines and Wilson secured one end to the window frame with a follow-through. Badger held the rope as he went out the window and slid to the ground. The rope burned hot through his gloves. He found his rifle in the bushes and watched Badger slide down. Ten feet from the ground she tensed up like she was holding her breath, and let go.

Wilson half-caught her and they both fell into the sharp, leafy bushes. Badger’s entire body shook and her eyes had rolled back.

Wilson would have cursed if he had the time. He rested for a few seconds then struggled out of the bushes with Badger’s limp body. Eager shouts of discovery came from the floors above as he pushed up the sleeve of her jacket.

“Two short three long, two short three long,” he said under his breath.

After he’d pressed the code he lifted her from the grass and started to run. He couldn’t tell if she’d stopped shaking or not. The ground changed from tall grass to dry, broken earth and he tried not to stumble.

A heavy weight crashed into the back of his legs. Wilson slammed into the hard-packed ground and protected Badger’s head as he fell.

A huge tribal had tackled his legs. Wilson let go of Badger and pulled the throwing knife from his belt. He twisted around and slashed the man’s face. The tribal yelled. Wilson wriggled loose from his grip and jerked a knee up into the tribal’s jaw. The man rolled away through the dirt.

Wilson stood and sheathed his knife as the shouts came closer. He held his hands at his sides while a dozen tribals in dull green circled him and Badger like a pack of wolves.

“We have no fight with you,” Wilson said in the dialect. “Let us go.”

The tallest of the group laughed. “What a strange little mouse.”

Wilson breathed in and out slowly. Through his moccasins he gripped the earth with his toes. He thought about stone. The weight, the hard foundation of mountains. Under his breath he repeated:



Arm made of stone

Arm made of steel

Arm made of earth

Push my hand



“Are you praying?” The tall tribal grabbed Wilson’s arm with one hand and cocked back the other fist.

Wilson grabbed the hand on his arm and twisted it down and away to break the fingers. The tall tribal screamed. Wilson stepped forward and punched him in the midsection. The tribal flew back ten feet, knocked over two other men, and lay still.

Wilson rubbed his knuckles. Another dozen men ran towards them through the tall grass. He formed an image of ice in his mind. When the new group had arrived he spoke again in the dialect.

“I’m from the west. My name is Wilson. I’ve killed more men than your filthy mothers have spots on their faces. Walk away and you’ll live. Touch me and die. Ask your dead friends in the building. Ask your friend on the ground.”

His words unsettled many of the tribals. A few backed away, even though they carried rifles. Wilson kept his eyes on the crowd around him and knelt to feel Badger’s neck. Satisfied, he stood up.

“Who’s your leader?” he asked.

“I am.”

A muscular figure pushed through the crowd. He breathed hard and sweat dotted his face. He wore a plain green uniform, with few metal decorations apart from a silver biohazard emblem on the front of his cap. A pistol grip stuck from his belt.

“Miserĉas pacon,” said Wilson.

“Neniu,” said the man. “You’re my prisoner.” He waved at Wilson. “Tie him up.”

Wilson breathed deeply and murmured under his breath.

Four men grabbed him but flew back in a sudden whirl of dust, their chests covered in blood. The leader gasped in pain as something wrenched his arm back and cold metal pressed on his neck.

“Let us go or die,” said Wilson.

“No,” said the leader. “Look there.”

Two men stood over Badger with rifles pointed at her head. Her eyes fluttered and lips twitched. Wilson lost strength in his legs and felt the same stomach cramps. He tried to pull himself together with the calming trick but fell to the ground, overcome with nausea. A weight slammed into his head and that sickness, like everything else, went away.