Her society had labeled the young girl “imperfect,” but now had found a use for her, locking her in a powered combat suit and sending her forth to fight the enemy. If she didn’t survive, she was only an imperfect person, serving the state and dying a hero. But was the real imperfection in the young girl or in the state . . . ?
Imperfect Mind
A Kin Wars Universe Short Story
Jason Cordova
I did not cry when the men wearing dark suits took me from the Holding Home in the dead of night. Tears had stopped being a thing years ago, after my parents had deposited me on the steps of the rundown building the day after my third birthday. Faint memories of their angry faces haunt me on occasion still, but the sadness was long gone. Which was a good thing. Showing weakness in that building meant you became prey to the older, bigger kids.
Since I was technically an adult when the Praetorians arrived, I had been expecting it. I did not fight or resist. That would have been a futile gesture. I merely lowered my head and acknowledged that I was no longer the responsibility of Sister Verona or the others who took care of the Imperfect children. There were no belongings for me to gather except for an old, ratty sweater I had received the previous Restoration Day. Sister Verona was not a cruel woman, though. She made certain that I could keep the clothes on my back, much to the annoyance of the Praetorians who were there to remove me from the premises.
Instead of moving me to another city, as I had expected, they took me to a military base on the outskirts of town. From there I was thrown into a shower, which terrified me initially because it was a waste of water. I also burned myself since I’d never experienced hot water before except for cooking. The Praetorians didn’t seem to care, though, and had me scrub every inch of my body with a strange lotion, including my head. That was far worse than the hot water, but eventually every single hair on my body fell off. My armpits and between my legs were bare skin for the first time since I had started maturing at ten. Since I typically wore my hair on my head short anyway, it didn’t bother me that much. Losing my hair between my legs bothered me greatly, though. The more I looked like a boy, the safer I’d be.
Unfortunately, standing naked in the middle of a room of Praetorians, it was hard to hide that I was not a boy, especially with everything bared. They didn’t stare and gawk, like most of the older kids did when they found out I was a girl. The two men simply continued to go about their business, making certain I was clean and hairless. It was terrifying and painful, yet not nearly as bad as I had been expecting it to be.
We’d whispered in the dark about what happened to kids like us, the genetically imperfect, after they were removed from a Holding Home. The stories about being sold into slavery for rich men and women to be used as play toys haunted our dreams. Even the sisters who watched over us didn’t help, reminding us to be careful when we walked out their doors because bad people wanted to harm us. We didn’t understand. We couldn’t, not really. We were kids, innocents. The warnings did nothing but infect our dreams, temper our hopes, and lead us to the realization that we were a subclass of human, not even worthy of being treated as equals. Over the years we accepted this, understood our role in the great society that was the Dominion of Man.
After the showers, I was led into a room where a bunch of men and women wearing long white coats waited. They looked me over and inspected me, making sure that my imperfections were not clearly physical. They weren’t. I was born with Duane Syndrome, which affected my eyes. The men and women didn’t seem concerned by this, though, which was odd. I knew my eyes were different. Always have. It affected the way I saw things at times.
“She’s a good candidate,” one of the gathered people declared. A woman, and from what I could tell, she seemed to be in charge of the group. Everyone else nodded in agreement and seemed pleased with her decision. I didn’t know what I was a good candidate for, only that it was better than being sold into a gangster’s brothel. Still, standing there in the middle of a group of strangers with nothing on made me a little nervous. She must have seen this and clucked her tongue. “Get her into a medical sheet. We’ll begin the implant procedure immediately.”
“Implant procedure?” I asked, becoming warier by the second. She tried to smile at me in a comforting manner but obviously wasn’t used to dealing with people because it more resembled a grimace than anything else.
“Yes,” the woman replied. “I am Doctor Pulvere. This is a test facility for a new combat weapon, and we were looking for volunteers. The Praetorians tasked with watching your Holding Home mentioned that you were available, healthy, and had expressed an interest in helping, so here we are.”
“Oh,” was all I could think of to say. It wasn’t like I really had much to offer anyway. I was an Imperfect, a genetically inferior human being. My life was worth less than everyone else’s, so why not offer to help? I’d always been like that as a child, eager to help others with the chores. It kept the beatings from the bigger kids to a minimum. “Okay.”
“Excellent!” she clapped her hands excitedly. “Doctors Hiram and Keebler will prep you in the next room.” She turned and looked at the Praetorians still on either side of me. “Your services are no longer required. Thank you.”
The Praetorians left and two men, the doctors I assumed she had been talking about, led me into a smaller room off to the side. There was a sheet which I could put on to cover my nakedness. I quickly donned it and sat down on a cold metal stool as the two doctors moved behind me and began to inspect the back of my head. They argued quietly for a few moments before one of them held the top of my head still with one hand. With the other he drew a small circle and then added something to the inside of it.
They rubbed their fingertips over my smooth scalp for a moment before murmuring something. I couldn’t understand them; their accents were thick and heavy. I knew that some accents in the Dominion were strong on worlds within the Core, but I’d never actually heard any of them before. On Solomon, everyone sounded about the same. Wanting to ask but not knowing how, I simply remained mute as they finished their brief examination. Standing me back up, I was returned to the large room. Instead of a large group of people waiting for me, there was a small bed on wheels and a lot of lights. Tools were gathered on a small tray next to it, and Doctor Pulvere stood waiting. She wore a strange mask and gloves and was now covered with a sheet very much like the one I wore. The doctor motioned for me to lie down on the small bed. I began to, but she instructed me to flip over onto my belly instead of lying on my back.
The pain I experienced over the next two hours was something that I could never properly describe. The best I could manage was that it felt as though electric wires were being dragged across my brain inside my skull. It was excruciating, and despite the shots they gave me, I felt everything. I was crying but unable to move because of an injection they gave me in my spine before the surgery began.
They cut open my head in the back where the doctors had drawn earlier and put something inside me. There was a lot of pressure behind my eyes for some reason, and I could hear the doctors talking about something, but the words made no sense to me. I tried to tell them that the pain was too much, but nothing came out but tears. They poured out of my eyes and dripped down my nose, falling to the tiled floor where they pooled over time.
After what felt like an entire lifetime, they were finished. Intellectually I knew that only two hours had passed, because the doctor’s words became understandable again once the pressure behind my eyes went away.
“No time to waste,” Doctor Pulvere told the gathered group as they wheeled my bed out of the large room and down a long corridor. I was slowly beginning to get the feeling back in my hands and feet as we arrived in a very dark room. Lights came on, and I tried to wince but couldn’t. My face hadn’t recovered yet from the injection and was frozen still. “Here we are. Let’s get her into the mask and don’t forget the goggles this time! The way the last test subject’s eyes melted almost made me lose my lunch.”
Unceremoniously they hoisted me off the bed. I almost threw up, but since I really didn’t have control of my body just yet, I merely felt sick. My heels dragged along the rough surface of the floor, and I could almost feel the skin cracking from the friction. If it kept up for much longer I knew that there would be two trails of blood from my heels opening up soon. Fortunately, they reached their destination before that point and stopped dragging me.
An oxygen mask was put on my face and secured, then a pair of goggles went over my eyes. The air which poured into the mask and filled my lungs was richer than anything I’d ever breathed before, and the feeling in my legs and arms came back. I could see decently well through the goggles. Uncertain what was planned next, I allowed the two men carrying me to lift me off the ground completely.
They removed the thin material covering me, and I was naked once more. The two men didn’t seem to notice or care as they focused on their task. I was then placed into a large device that seemed too big for my tiny body. It quickly dawned on me that it was human shaped, but much larger than the average human body. I could feel the tubing from the oxygen mask on my shoulder. I wanted to squirm, but the device I was in seemed to be more restrictive than I had thought it would be.
Suddenly, I felt something warm and slimy at my feet. I struggled as the sensations made their way up my legs, passing my kneecaps. I began to panic, but then I heard Doctor Pulvere’s voice in my head.
“Relax,” the woman whispered. I suddenly realized that her voice wasn’t in my head, but next to it. A helmet of some sort lowered down over the top of me, and I was sealed inside. The goop continued to crawl up my legs and touched my thighs. I squirmed uncomfortably. “This is a gel designed to protect you once you’re inside the mechanized infantry suit. In a moment you will feel a slight pinch in the back of your head, and then you will see everything that the Mark One sees.”
Mark One? I had no idea what that was, but I fought the urge to panic as the gel substance reached my stomach. The only blessing of the strange sensation as it crept up my body was the warmth. That was actually nice, though a part of me began to wonder just how far the gel stuff was going to go. A minute later I found out just how high it would go.
Completely submerged, the panic returned. However, before I could focus on the fact that I was probably going to drown in a moment, a horrible pinching sensation made me scream. It was loud and echoed throughout the warehouse. Light assaulted my senses, and my skin felt cold and clammy. Bulky and heavy, I was no longer a tiny and underfed young woman. I was something far bigger, monstrous. Unable to hold back my emotions any longer, I began to bawl my eyes out.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Doctor Pulvere tried to calm me down as my cries seemed to echo throughout the cavernous room. “You’re suffering from temporary sensory overload. Let me dial back the receptors, then you can adjust to the new sensations.”
The room suddenly wasn’t too bright, and my skin didn’t feel as heavy or strange. I was normal, but not. I looked around and found that while I was unable to move my head, I could still see all around me. The warehouse seemed small compared to what it had felt like a moment before. Even Doctor Pulvere, as tall as she’d been when I’d first been led into the operating room, was tiny as she stood behind a metal desk. There was a long fabric-encased line which extended from the back of the desk to somewhere behind me.
“What happened?” I asked between sobs. Doctor Pulvere winced and pressed something I couldn’t see at her desk. I tried to soften my voice and regain control of my emotions. “Doctor?”
“Much better.” She nodded, ignoring my question for the moment. “Now try to lift your right arm.”
Carefully, I lifted my right arm in front of my face and gasped as I saw that instead of my normal dark brown arm, a giant robotic one was before me. Instead of panicking like I had before, I instead focused on my breathing as I inspected the arm.
It was a flat, dull gray color with large plates of what I figured was armor stacked on top of one another. Bulkier than what I thought robotic arms should look like, it took me a few moments to realize that I was looking at armor covering my body. I was seeing with the robot’s head somehow, though I was at a loss to explain it.
“How am I seeing this?” I asked Doctor Pulvere.
“The implant nodule in your head is called a cortex implant,” she explained. “It allows you to interact with the Mark One suit as a second skin instead of actually wearing it. It should feel more natural than standard combat armor. It’s our prototype mechanized infantry suit.”
“Okay,” I muttered and lowered my right arm. I did my left next, and then we worked on walking. It quickly became apparent that I was overcompensating, to which the doctor simply told me to walk normally.
“Don’t make exaggerated movements,” she told me again and again as I struggled through the movement tests. Eventually, after much trial and error, we figured it out, and I was moving around the warehouse as only a five-meter-tall mechanized infantry trooper could.
“I like this,” I admitted after I trotted a few steps, quickly pirouetted, then landed on my right foot while kicking out with the left. It was a move I’d perfected while in the Holding Home to protect myself if a boy refused to accept “no” for an answer while delivering the maximum damage to his male bits. After the time I made Jarl vomit and pee blood for two weeks, the other boys at the Home stopped harassing me for good.
“You are naturally graceful,” Doctor Pulvere told me. I could feel my face heating up in embarrassment inside the suit and was glad that I had both the breathing mask and helmet on to hide in. She continued on, unaware I was blushing. “If you had been Perfect, you probably could have trained to be a dancer.”
“But I’m not,” I said as I stood upright. The suit definitely felt more natural to me now than before, and it mimicked my movements perfectly. I didn’t even have to think about it anymore, I simply did, and it followed suit, mimicking my motions at the same time I performed them. The doctor had been right; it did feel like a second skin.
“No, you’re not,” she agreed with my previous statement. I wasn’t mad about it. It was simply a fact of life.
“What else can this do?” I asked, curious now as I strode over to where Doctor Pulvere was at her computer.
“The suit can handle weapons as well, such as heavy machine guns and even recoilless anti-tank rifles,” she replied. I nodded, pretending to know what she was talking about. I had no idea what a recoilless anti-tank rifle even was, though I was a little familiar with the term “machine gun.” I’d seen a vid once where the hero had one and had fought the evil villains, agents of the Caliphate. Very noble death at the end for the hero, and the love interest moved home to care for their beautiful Perfect child. Doctor Pulvere continued, seemingly unaware of my ignorance. “We are designing a rotating cannon for the arms but we’re still working on the physics of that, plus identifying the attachment points and where to place spare ammunition. We might make the arms bulkier and simply allow it to be stored there. We’re working on that.”
I still had no idea what she was talking about, but it sounded like she did, so I changed the subject. “This should have blades on the arms or something, for stabbing faces. What about knives sticking out when I make a fist?”
“I like the way you think.” The doctor grinned. She typed in something on her computer and looked back up at the suit. “Definitely something to keep in mind for future upgrades to the suit. How do you feel about a field test?”
“A what?” I asked as I felt a certain giddiness envelop my senses. I’d experienced something like this before, when one of the boys had smuggled in some Blizz and we had sat in the cellar later that night, tasting the stuff. It made my brain tingle with pleasure, and I’d done some stupid stuff afterwards with the older boys. I didn’t have that desire now, thankfully, but it still made me feel really good.
“Go out into the field and test this,” she asked again as she continued to type on her keyboard. Oddly enough, I felt the need to do this. The tingling sensation disappeared and was replaced by a desire to serve. I couldn’t explain it, but the desire to go out and fight was appealing. I was nodding inside the suit before she had even finished asking the question.
“Yeah, we can go and break bad people,” I suggested in a cheerful voice. Doctor Pulvere looked up at me for a moment before slyly smiling. Making her happy made me happy for some reason, so I was really beginning to understand her. I pressed on. “Maybe we can go kill some pirates or something?”
“Kill?” she asked, obviously amused. “Pirates? There are no pirates on Solomon.”
“I . . .” Here I paused, uncertain. I almost seemed to know that pirates were, indeed, on Solomon. Somehow, with no rhyme or reason, I could even pinpoint where they were on a map. It was scary, but I decided to speak up anyway. “No, they’re here, on the planet’s surface. I can show you on a map.”
“That’s okay, I believe you,” Doctor Pulvere said and smiled. She took her hands away from the keyboard and stretched her back. “While we were talking, I found a pirate’s base that is reputed to be on this world. It has been hitting colonists’ resupply vessels regularly and they have what seems to be a den near here. The marines are too busy to do anything, and the Navy can’t drop kinetics onto their base without disrupting the atmosphere. This seems to me the ideal situation for the new mechanized infantry. How about it? Do you want to try it out?”
I was nervous, but ready. “Yes. Only one problem, though.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know how to use a gun,” I admitted. She smiled again, and I immediately felt more confident about my abilities. I don’t know what it was about this woman, but she could motivate me to be greater.
“I think you know more than you realize,” she commented as she turned back to her computer for a moment. Satisfied with whatever she had typed in, the doctor began to walk toward a set of wide double doors at the other end of the warehouse. Noticing that I wasn’t with her, she stopped and glared at me. My heart dropped as I saw the disappointment in her eyes. I couldn’t let her down. I followed loyally behind. I would take down the pirates and protect the Dominion. It was expected of me.
“Where are we going?” I asked the doctor.
“To get you a weapon, then send you in to kill some pirates.”
My heart leapt into my throat. It was something I’d always wanted to do, and now I was getting the chance to do it. The strangest thing about it all, though, was that I knew deep down that this was wrong, that I’d never even given any thought to fighting pirates before. Now, though, it didn’t matter. Killing pirates was my only mission in life. I would kill all the pirates or die trying.
Doctor Pulvere led me to a smaller room where four rather nervous looking men wearing identical uniforms were waiting. I had seen something like what they had on in a vid once and immediately recognized them as marines. I had to duck to get through the doorway even though it was almost seven meters high. There was more than enough room for me to stand upright to my full height once inside. This, of course, made the men back up warily. Either they had never seen someone as large as I was, or my suit scared them. Either way, it pleased me to see other Imperfects like these marines respect me. Being reminded that I was the ultimate authority on behalf of the doctor made me feel amazing, powerful. I smirked inside my suit. Those pirates don’t stand a chance, I thought as Doctor Pulvere began to explain to the marines precisely what I needed.
I had no idea what a Ma Deuce was, but when the marines began to bolt a massive gun on my left arm, I couldn’t help but feel a little giddy. It made that arm a little heavier than before, but I managed. The marines then attached two large circular drums beneath it and began to feed the belt with all the ammunition on it into the machine gun. The drums each weighed over two hundred pounds. To compensate for the added weight I leaned more to my right. It was awkward but I managed.
“Yes, that’ll do nicely,” Doctor Pulvere stated as she inspected me with a critical eye. She appeared to be pleased, which made me all tingly once more. My brain was on fire with the amount of pleasure I was receiving at her apparent satisfaction. I was more than ready to go and kill every pirate in the universe, and anyone else that the good doctor needed dead. She smiled and I about died of orgasmic bliss. “You ready to go, young lady?”
“Yes!” I nearly screamed. The sensations were too much. I needed to kill, needed to rip the heads off of every single enemy of the doctor.
“If you think about a map, one will appear in your vision,” she told me. I tried to think of a map and, just as the doctor said it would, one appeared. It showed a blue glowing dot in the middle with a red X to the left of center. It actually wasn’t too far away, from what I could tell. “That red X might appear to be close, but it’s actually ten kilometers away. Your suit has more than enough fuel to make it there, destroy the pirate den, and return. If you pivot left and right you’ll see the position of the X will change.”
I did so and, sure enough, the X moved. However, so did the marines who had helped attached the Ma Deuce to my left arm as the barrel swept across their heads. They yelled and managed to avoid being brained by the long barrel of the machine gun.
“Sorry!” I apologized and pointed the barrel upward. Suddenly it dawned on me that I didn’t know how to fire the blasted thing. I looked over at the doctor, ashamed. “Doctor, I’m . . . I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to shoot this machine gun. I’ve failed you.”
“It’s okay, child,” she whispered and gently reached over and patted my hip. “Don’t do it now, but when you’re ready to fire simply clench your left hand and hold it shut. The machine gun will fire until you unclench. Just be careful. You only have twelve hundred rounds of ammunition before you’re empty. Try not to blast through that in one go, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said in a respectful voice, recalling what Sister Verona had told me about politeness when dealing with Perfects. I loved the doctor, of course, but extra politeness never hurt. “Do I just go to the X spot and kill everyone in the pirate’s den?”
“Yes, dear, that’s precisely what you need to do,” she said and smiled. Oh, it was glorious! I would die for that smile. “Don’t fail me.”
“Never!” I gasped as stronger emotions raced through me. I lumbered awkwardly out the door and back into the training warehouse. The map on my screen showed me that another route out of the building would get me there faster, and I would fit through it. Plus, it would keep me away from the administration points, which filled me with a strange sense of dread.
I moved away from the military base and deep into the wilderness around the city. I’d grown up in the city but had never stepped foot outside the city limits. I didn’t know of any other Holding Home kids who had snuck out of the city and ever come back. We could only guess as to their fates. Dead? Maimed? Eaten by wild animals and then worn as skins? All of us kids had no idea.
Now, out on my own and within the Mark One suit, I knew that I was the top predator around. There was nothing that could actually hurt me in the wilds. The pirates might have machine guns that could do something, but I had absolute and perfect faith in Doctor Pulvere and her suit. She wouldn’t fail me, not in any way, shape, or form. This suit of hers was perfection.
As I raced along, the former euphoric sensations I had felt faded, and soon I began to crave some sort of communication with the doctor. Strange as it was, it paled in comparison to the anger which was beginning to build. Every second away from the doctor caused my rage to build. I vowed then and there to kill every single pirate I found. They were the reason I could not stay in the presence of the doctor and bask in her brilliance.
As my hatred fueled me, I realized I was rapidly closing in on the position marked on the map. The suit helpfully zoomed in, and I could see the pirate’s den from over a kilometer away. It was what I had expected it to look like, with a wide-open field for pirate ships to land on and lots of defense towers. I figured that if I could see them, they should see me soon enough. I needed to correct this.
Not knowing how far the rounds in the Ma Deuce could shoot, I decided to creep in a little closer. Unfortunately, I knocked down a small spruce tree and startled a herd of deer which had been bedding down for the day where I was walking. They were on their feet and bounding off toward the pirate den in a flash, which caused the guards atop the towers to glance in my direction. I was close enough now to see the absolute shock and surprise on their faces.
“I guess that’s close enough for the Ma Deuce,” I murmured as I aimed the machine gun up toward the closest tower. A small reticle appeared on my screen, showing me where I was pointing the barrel of the gun. I realized that if I fired now, the only thing I would hit would be the concrete support structure and not the men ten meters higher. I adjusted and clenched my fist.
What came forth from the barrel of the Ma Deuce was unlike anything I had experienced in my life. The muzzle flashed brightly as I poured forth hate from the barrel and into the bodies of my unwitting targets. The two pirates in the tower seemingly came apart at the seams as the rounds tore through them. Bright red blood splashed radiantly into the clear blue sky, and I could see entrails and gore dripping down the side of the tower, a beautiful yet macabre painting of death and carnage.
“Oh . . . wow,” I whispered and relaxed my firing hand. The Ma Deuce stopped spitting out rounds immediately. A small screen appeared in the corner with what appeared to be a bullet in it. I quickly figured out that this was how much ammo I had left in the drums of the Ma Deuce. I blinked in surprise as I realized I’d fired over fifty rounds at the tower. If there were hundreds of pirates in the den, I’d run out of ammunition long before I got to kill all the pirates. I’d need to be more careful in the future.
Ahead I could see smaller figures on the ground scrambling as the alarm sounded. Since they were obviously aware of my presence I decided to run to the den. If I could get there quick enough, then I could potentially stop them from getting better prepared. It was a trick I learned at the Holding Home. If there’s no other option available, attack.
The first thing I discovered was that the Mark One suit was fast. I had been quick before, since it had allowed me to roam the streets of New Haven without being molested by creepy strangers. The ability to outrun even the gangers had come in handy on numerous occasions. Now, though, I seemed to fly across the open ground, my heavy steps leaving large footprints deep in the soft dirt behind me.
A group of pirates appeared in front of me, seemingly out of nowhere. The suit’s reticle appeared in my eyes and the Ma Deuce came up almost of its own accord. I squeezed off a few shots and watched in satisfaction as two of the pirate’s heads exploded into a fine red mist. The others started shooting back, and the Mark One’s armor was tested at long last.
Unsurprisingly, the suit held up under the barrage of gunfire. My senses tingled as it dawned on me that Doctor Pulvere’s design was working perfectly to keep me alive. I had promised her that I would kill each and every pirate I found, and it was a promise I intended to keep. I stopped running, leveled the Ma Deuce, and let it rip.
The results were predictable. Eight dead pirates, one living Imperfect encased in a massive armored suit of death. There was nothing that could harm me.
I jerked violently as something exploded against my right shoulder. The suit warned me that I had been hit with a grenade, fired from a distance great enough to prevent it from identifying the source. Remaining still meant becoming dead, so I started sprinting at an oblique angle toward the den. Two more explosions blew up a small cloud of shrapnel and dirt before me. Near misses, but they enabled the suit to locate the shooter at last. It was a young woman, no older than I was, firing from a concrete bunker about forty meters ahead. I sighted her head, aimed carefully, and squeezed off a single round. The shot removed her head from the body’s shoulders. I looked around and moved in further.
A warning light told me that the suit had suffered some external damage on the right side from the grenade. I couldn’t fix it, but since it didn’t seem to be affecting my shooting or movement, I ignored it for the time being. I figured that once I was back with Doctor Pulvere she could fix it. I hoped that she would accept my apology and not be too disappointed in my damaging her suit.
As I got closer to the pirate den I realized there were a lot of concrete bunkers which were close enough together to make me very suspicious. Figuring that the majority of the den was underground somewhere, and that I needed to find an entrance, I began to search for a building which looked like it would lead underground. Here my history as an Imperfect child left to their own devices on the streets of New Haven paid off.
Past experience told me that every ganger who roamed the bad parts of New Haven needed somewhere to operate out of. One of the things that kids in Holding Homes always knew was how to spot them. It would be someplace that would look plain and boring, not the slum housing falling to the ground or ritzy high-rise towering into the sky. Nothing to draw attention to it, either good or bad. These buildings, usually squat and almost always ugly, were where ganger bosses like to store their goods, be it drugs, stolen property, or anything else that caught their eye.
The best bet for most of us kids was to avoid them. Gangers seemed to take perverse pleasure in tormenting young Imperfect kids, even going so far as to kill them for sport. There used to be a gang a few years back that ran underground fights between young kids. They would give them long knives and tell them to kill each other, or they would be killed instead. These fights were always to the death, and lots of gambling went down during these events. Fortunately, the Praetorians eventually stepped in and stopped them before I was old enough to get caught up in the fights. Still, I knew of many Imperfect men and women with long, ugly scars running up and down their arms from these underground battles.
I looked around and quickly spotted the most likely building. Unlike some of the others that appeared to be rundown and abandoned, this one had a few boarded-up windows but otherwise was in decent shape. What convinced me, though, was the men who kept coming out of the building in spite of its relatively small size. Either they were packed in there tightly or there was another entrance I couldn’t see.
As the pirates came out of the building like ants out of a kicked anthill, I realized I was missing an opportunity and started firing. Large holes appeared in the wall of the building as some of the rounds from the Ma Deuce punched through the person I was shooting and impacted the wall. I painted the formerly white stucco walls red with the blood of the pirates.
They started falling back inside in search of protection, so I continued to walk my stream of gunfire into the doorway. There the bodies began to pile up as they struggled to run and escape to the safety of the building. The pirates were struggling to climb over their dead and wounded in an attempt to flee. I removed that hope with more well-placed shots and continued to fire until there were none left moving.
I glanced at the counter and saw that I had fired over one thousand rounds already. Dismayed, I vowed to be more discriminatory when it came to shooting in the future. With less than two hundred remaining and an unknown number of bad guys still to be found, I would have to make every shot count from here on out.
I continued to approach the building but couldn’t hear anything on the inside. Visually sweeping the bodies in front of the door, it became apparent that a lot of them weren’t dead but merely wounded. Knowing that the doctor would be displeased with my efforts if I left anyone alive, but at the same time realizing I needed to conserve ammunition, I simply began to step on the heads of the wounded.
It was over in a brutally short amount of time.
I ducked into the building and looked around. I could see a small trapdoor in the floor in the corner of the large open room, which was exactly what I expected. However, it quickly became apparent to me that I had no way of getting down there easily. Carefully maneuvering myself inside the building, I stayed crouched low enough to not destroy the roof. It wasn’t painful since the suit was doing all the work, but it still felt awkward with the Ma Deuce and the nearly-empty ammo drums on the left throwing off my balance. Still, I managed, and finally ended up standing over the trapdoor looking down into a dark tunnel.
After a few seconds of inspection, I determined that I probably couldn’t fit down into the hole. Still, I needed to clear the underground tunnel for any more pirates. I looked around the room for something that would give me an idea. As I stared at the stucco walls it dawned on me that while I might not necessarily be able to drag anyone out, I could definitely bury them within. The walls looked more than heavy enough, and I knew that they were pretty solid.
It didn’t take me more than ten minutes to tear down the house on top of the trap door after I closed it, ensuring that any pirates trapped in the tunnel were stuck. For good measure I piled the bodies of dead pirates on top of the house, as a message to any who might come after to help them. It was a long process, not because of the weight of the bodies, but because I wanted to ensure I got as many dismembered parts together as I could beforehand.
Doing this continued to give me unimaginable pleasure and more than once I had to stop and breathe as the shaking became too much. There was just something so exciting and marvelous about pleasing the doctor by killing pirates. Nothing I had ever experienced in my life could top the sensations that coursed through me at that moment.
A noise from my left drew my attention. It was another pirate, though this one was encased in some sort of heavy lift device. I’d seen them before during construction projects in New Haven. Twin lifts extended from each arm and enhanced the wearer’s strength tenfold, and the support legs could help move tons of equipment fast inside of an enclosed area. This one appeared to be modified slightly, with thicker arms and a protected driver’s area.
I brought my Ma Deuce up and targeted the driver’s compartment. Clenching my first, I unleashed hell onto the last remaining pirate that I could see. The large rounds from the Ma Deuce bounced harmlessly off of the lifter’s arm. The person driving that thing must have figured I would try something like this and had been prepared. I let the gunfire taper off as I began to trot toward it. I was down to six rounds now, which was silly. I’d wasted a stupid amount of what little ammunition I had left trying to shoot a walking tank like me.
Not like me though. The lifter was slower, and while I knew it was probably twice as powerful, I could maneuver. It would be a nasty fight if I got in too close and let the lifter grab me with one of those arm lifts. I remembered what the doctor had told me earlier about being graceful and put that to use.
I bounded into the air and lashed out with one of my armored legs. The extended reach of the Mark One allowed me to stay just out of range of the lifter. The pirate inside apparently couldn’t compensate for the extra movement and staggered to the right as my suit’s foot connected solidly on his left shoulder. It spun but I was already moving quickly behind the lifter, bringing the Ma Deuce up to fire. I only had six shots left and needed to make each one count. I started shooting into the back of the driver’s carriage, trying to keep each shot at the same point of impact to weaken the armor.
Unfortunately, none of my final shots penetrated the lifter. One, however, did ricochet back and impacted the helmet of the Mark One. I felt the impact above my head and winced, glad that I was shorter than normal. My ears were ringing from the bullet bouncing off my suit as dizziness threatened to overwhelm me, and I struggled to stay upright.
The lifter must have sensed my moment of weakness because the pilot managed to grab me with the lifts and the two prongs which stuck out of each arm locked into place. One had managed to grab my left arm, pinning it down to the side and rendering it useless while the other had encircled my waist. I struggled to escape but the power behind the lifter was too much. The prongs began to close shut, and the Mark One suit started to creak and groan in protest as the lifter applied more pressure.
It was becoming difficult to breathe the more the lifter squeezed. I was enraged because if I didn’t kill the driver of the lifter, I would have failed the doctor. Her disproval would kill me more painfully than anything the stupid pirate could manage. I was running out of options, though. I was stuck, and with only one arm free there was almost no way for me to gain leverage.
For a moment I wished I could see inside the protective case of the lifter, so I could look into the eyes of the person who was about to kill me. It was denial on my part. I couldn’t believe that I was going to die and fail Doctor Pulvere like this. Anger, confusion, and fear flooded my mind. There had to be some way I could at least take the person inside with me.
As my fury grew, I realized that there was a raised edge on the side of the protective driver’s cover. The clamps around my waist grew tighter still, and the suit began to malfunction. I was in near agony as the forks slowly pressed in on my pelvic bone from either side. The pressure grew greater as the suit’s protection started to fail. There wasn’t much time. I had to kill him, and now.
With the last of my strength, I managed to dig the suit’s fingertips beneath the lipped edge. I yanked it once, twice, but nothing. Howling with pain and anger, I tried one final time. It crumpled and the armored cover was torn asunder, revealing a very confused and alarmed man on the inside.
At that same moment I suddenly felt cold all over my body. Numbness hit my entire lower half as I felt something. I couldn’t see anything below a certain point but the suit helpfully informed me that everything beneath my pelvic region had been removed and the cortex was administering neural blocks to prevent me from feeling any pain. It also told me that I was bleeding to death and had but a few minutes at most before I died. More than likely I would be dead in seconds.
“That sucks,” I whispered as blackness began to fill the edges of my vision. I was ashamed. I would fail Doctor Pulvere. No you won’t! something inside my mind screamed. You have one chance. Use it!
I eventually succumbed to the pain, but not before I used the last of my strength to reach out and crush the skull of the last pirate with my hand.
“I read your report, doctor. Very impressive. Well done that your little Imperfect eliminated that troublesome nest of political undesirables. Tell me, how did the suit perform, in your opinion?” Emperor Solomon Lukas II asked impatiently as Doctor Lucinda Pulvere finished analyzing the data on her screen. The ruler of the Dominion had only just seized the Blood Throne three years before, and with the fourth anniversary the following month, the paranoid ruler wanted something to show Parliament that it was he who controlled the empire. The mechanized infantry suits were supposed to solidify his hold on the Blood Throne and drive away any pesky contenders and claimants, most especially his older sister, Sarah.
“The suit works just fine, Your Majesty,” Doctor Pulvere told him as she looked around the room. The emperor had insisted on absolute privacy for this meeting, yet the man who had orchestrated his grab for the throne, Lord Matthias Samuels, sat off to the side. Emperor Solomon either did not care about Lord Samuels’ presence or, more than likely, wanted him there. Doctor Pulvere had no idea why, though. “More armor might be handy, or I’d recommend that they do not engage in close-quarters combat in the future. The primary weapons system operated ideally and flawlessly. The implant nodule worked well after some time of disorientation for the subject, and the cortex worked perfectly in conjunction with the suit, as expected. The patient was susceptible to all programming changes and was more eager to please, the more input she received. However, blind obedience might not always be the best. Perhaps just reinforcing positive behavior toward an ideology? I don’t know yet; we’ll need more tests to determine that. There might also be some flaws when the later generations and upgrades are introduced. I believe we should install some sort of loyalty subconscious programming to prevent acts of violence against the royal family. This way nobody can usurp control of them. The amount of rage the subject showed during the last few minutes of fighting allowed us to measure some very interesting patterns in her brain-wave activity, sire.”
“Such as?”
“The angrier she became, the more effective the cortex and suit worked, Your Majesty,” Doctor Pulvere explained as she pulled up the data and transferred it to the emperor’s computer. He glanced at it in a cursory fashion, making it abundantly clear to the doctor that he did not understand what he was looking at and was waiting for her to explain. After a pause, she continued. “The brain transferred the data far faster as she fought her way into the rebel’s base. I would recommend in the future we come up with a way to test brain-wave patterns to find the right fit with our Imperfects. Of course, we’ll have to figure out if these mechanized infantry suits are going to be marines or fall under Navy jurisdiction . . .”
“Neither,” the emperor stated as he glanced over at the nominally quiet Lord Samuels. The Justice nodded in agreement. “We’re working an amendment into the Constitution to have them fall under direct command of the sitting ruler only. Call them a royal guard or something. Limit their numbers, but only I can command them, or someone at my behest, like a general or something.”
“Commandant.” Lord Samuels spoke for the first time, his eyes glinting as he turned to look at the doctor. She felt insignificant under that reptilian gaze. “It has a better ring to it. Instills both confidence and fear, a wise combination in these trying days.”
“Fine, sure, whatever.” The emperor waved him off. “Tell me, doctor . . . how many more of these suits can we produce?”
“A lot, Your Majesty,” she readily admitted. “Now that the last of the cortex issues have been worked out, we simply need the go-ahead to find a contractor to build them.”
“Excellent.” The emperor nodded and stood. Doctor Pulvere, not anticipating the move, stumbled to her feet, grabbing her carrying case and nearly dropping her computer as well along the way. She tucked it inside and secured the case. Lord Samuels was already up, which infuriated the doctor. The old lord from Corus was a slimy individual. “You’re dismissed, Doctor.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Doctor Pulvere bowed deeply at the waist and backed away. As she passed the required ten-meter mark, she turned and began to walk out. As she reached the door, however, the emperor’s voice stopped her short.
“By the way . . . whatever happened to your Mark I prototype suit that the girl was wearing?”
“Recovered, Your Majesty,” Doctor Pulvere stated. “It didn’t give up the ghost. One of the doctors on my team suggested calling it a Ghost suit, but I disagreed and thought that it was inappropriate to name it at this time. The girl inside, though, didn’t survive.”
“Ah . . . so your secondary project failed?”
“Not quite, Your Majesty,” Doctor Pulvere corrected mildly, choosing her next few words with utmost caution. “Her brain-wave patterns were remarkably clear, and what we dug out of the cortex is almost a completely fresh mind. We have our best scientists working on the artificial intelligence program now, using her as a template. Fifteen, twenty years and we’ll be able to create a fully functional AI. We’ve already established a lab on the world where we did the field test, Your Majesty.”
“Very good.” The emperor nodded. He glanced at Lord Samuels before continuing. “Oh, what are you calling it? The AI program, I mean?”
“We were thinking of naming it after the girl whose brain-waves we’re using, Your Majesty,” Doctor Pulvere answered. “Almost like a backhanded compliment, even though she was just an Imperfect.”
“Color me curious. What was her name?”
“Sfyri.”