Battlehymn 10

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Copyright © 2011 by Zachary Ricks

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Battlehymn 10

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Part 22 - Practice

Shem had never been so tired in his life. He had assumed that an armor suit merely moved with the body, amplifying and enhancing movement. All of that was true, of course. But that meant that in order for the armor to do anything, it did require the movement of the pilot inside.

The first night, as soon as the Cohort had returned and Shem had told Ichigo that he was ready to join, he was turned over to Markus for "measurements".

This had consisted of him stripping naked and being suspended in some kind of heavy, viscous fluid that felt a lot like aloe. He'd been scanned by lasers, weighed, measured, told to flail around, checked for range of motion on his limbs, neck, and torso. Then the brain scans started. For an hour and a half, Shem was shown images, both still and moving, 2d and 3d, accompanied by sounds, occasional pinpricks, and subsonic vibration, which had made his stomach think long and hard about losing whatever it was he'd had for lunch.

The next day, he was turned over to Naji for "training", which began with running. So Much Running. He ran up and down the side of the colony. He ran through the colony's main thoroughfares. And while he ran, he was forced to wear a white headband with some kind of Okifelli writing on it from Old World.

A few people, seeing that headband, gave Shem kind smiles as he ran through the town.

"What... does this... mean?" Shem asked Naji, who was keeping pace with him, though for some reason she didn't seem winded at all. He pointed at the headband.

She glanced up at it, and turned away, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “It means fresh meat."

"Ah." Shem kept running. At the end of the run, Shem was told to start doing pushups. He managed to get through 32 of them before his arms stopped working. Naji had kept pace on those as well, and she shook her head, pushing on to forty, then standing up. A faint sheen of sweat coated her brow, though her exercise clothes didn't show any dampness at all.

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Shem, however, felt like he was sopping. Naji didn't say anything, but Shem could feel her disapproval of him. He felt a hot ball of anger developing inside of himself at her. It was obvious that she hated him. That she was trying to get him to quit, or to beg for mercy, and he thought he’d be dead before he gave her the satisfaction.

So he kept up, as best he could, for three days.

On the third day, Markus tapped Shem on the shoulder when he and Naji had taken a break for lunch in the mess.

"We've got an Aelfer tuned for you. We won't do the fine tuning just yet, because we're going to be moving you out of that suit and into your own armor as soon as it's ready. Hey, Naji, can we borrow your beefcake here for a minute after you're done?"

"He's pretty much done now, aren't you, meat?" She gave him a cool look, which he returned with stony reserve. He glanced down at his half-finished meal. He knew she was daring him to contradict her, so she could take it out on him later, but he wasn't about to give her the satisfaction.

"Yeah, pretty much, Markus. Let me put this plate away." He stood, forking a huge bite of meatloaf and potatoes into his mouth as he turned away from his tortur... trainer.

Five minutes later, he was on the flight deck, being handed a flight suit - it was snug.

“Is this thing really supposed to fit?"

"It can't be loose - at all. Besides, it's going to be under the rest of the stuff you've got to put on.

The flight suit was in two pieces, pants and long-sleeved shirt. Gloves and feet coverings that looked like thick-soled socks with the toes sewn in completed the bottom layer.

"Feet gloves?"

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"Ah, that design goes way back. Allows the armor driver to get and give more tactile feedback through the feet - very important for the balance." Markus gave Shem a questioning look. "Why? You're not thinking about going barefoot, are you? In any of my armors?"

Shem shook his head - the thought hadn't occurred to him.

"Good, because I don't want you stinking up the place," Markus said, emphasizing the point by pointing his big wrench at Shem's face. "You'll get three of these flight suits. I wouldn't wear one more than a day in a row. There's cleaners off the rec room, just drop the suit in, and the cleaner will sanitize it."

"One to wear, one in the sanitizer?"

"And one ready just in case."

"In case what?"

Markus shrugged. "What do you mean in case what? In case. That's what."

Shem pondered that for a moment, and decided not to press the question at all.

The Aelfer armor he'd been assigned shared some of the features of Naji's, but his was different in a number of significant ways. The suit stood slightly taller than Naji's at twelve feet. The thick thighs held space for Shem's entire leg, putting him four feet above the ground. Where Naji's armor was silver in the front, and purple around the back, this one was gray in front and black in the back, giving it a much more beetle-like appearance, where Naji's was like a finely-limbed insect.

The suit opened up at the front, allowing the driver to step up, and lean back into the suit. The thigh-plates would then close over the legs, and the armor driver would don the sleeves of the armor's arms. The armor's chest plate would drop into place, and the pilot would be completely enclosed.

What Shem hadn't anticipated was the minimalist interface. That is, there was no interface. Once he was sealed in, nothing happened. The interior of the armor was black as pitch. He tried to move his arms, but they were frozen in place, as were his legs. He opened his mouth to yell, but as he did, he heard a buzzing in his ears, followed by pinpricks like needles driving into every inch of his skin, including his eyelids. He did yell, then, a sound that was oddly magnified in his

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head. Suddenly, his vision cleared, and he could see - he was looking down at Markus, who was holding a control in one hand, and his large wrench in the other.

"What the..." Shem started to complain, but then he got a glimpse of himself. He looked down and around, looked at his arms, his legs. His black, armored limbs that shone like beetle's legs.

"How... what the...? I don't have any implants." Shem said.

Markus nodded. "I know. We kind of figured that out early on. You're 100% organic, which is fine and dandy. Part of the fit process is a complete brain scan. We get an idea of how your brain processes information, then the suit is able to reproduce those signals in your brain wirelessly. It’s much more organic friendly than those messy implants ever were." Markus grinned up at him.

"So, there's a computer firing my neurons for me right now? What if the suit loses power? What if it screws up?”

"Then you've got bigger problems than an irrational fear of brain cancer. Means your suit has taken enough damage that you're probably dead. Power generation is actually distributed - there are five separate powerplants in the suit, one in each thigh," Markus pointed as he talked, "one behind each shoulder, and one at the base of the back. Any two of those will keep the suit in the fight. Any one of them will power a retreat action - meaning running like hell. In case of a catastrophic loss of power, the suit will eject you, using explosive bolts on the canopy, dumping you out wherever you were."

"Still in front of whatever knocked out my power system."

Markus shrugged. "Best we can do, kid. It's not like you're going to be alive at that point anyway."

Shem nodded to himself. "Do I only get visible spectrum in this thing? What about infrared? Radar? And what about my singing?"

Markus grinned a nasty grin at the gray and black armor. "Hell, kid. You just got in the thing. Let's walk before you run, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Shem said, a little disappointed. He thought about it for a moment, then decided there must be some kind of automatic switch that tuned it to infrared.

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Unless he did it through some kind of mental visualization exercise, or flexing certain muscles.

Markus took a few steps back and fiddled with the datapod in his hand. "All right, Shem. I'm freeing up the arm motion, try moving your right hand."

Suddenly, Shem's right arm was released from its rigor. He flexed the hand, moving the arm around at the shoulder. Shem nodded. He shifted his shoulder around, and was pleased that the armor did also. He watched closely as he mimicked plucking his guitar, and the armor kept up the finger motions, just as precisely as if his flesh hand had performed the action.

"Left arm." Markus said.

Shem moved that one around also. "All right, Markus. Left arm's fine."

"No, you move that arm around. I'm not satisfied." He considered it for a moment. "Left side's a little slow," he muttered to himself. "Have to adjust the response a bit..."

Shem moved the arm back and forth, rotating it at the shoulder, then at the elbow. Then he moved his hand around his wrist all over. Then he moved his fingers through the finger positions for "Old Man Winter's Coat," and he frowned. This side was a little slower than it should have been - maybe by a quarter of a second, but it would throw him off if it wasn't fixed. "Yeah, yeah, I see what you're talking about," he told Markus.

Markus had set the wrench down, and was fiddling with the datapod. "Try that again, Shem."

He did, and found it spot on. "Good. Right on."

"All right, here goes the waist. Try not to fall over."

"Oh, sure," Shem started to say, but then the waist freed up, and the armor leaned forward. Shem quickly overcompensated, and almost fell over on his back. His armored arms flailed wildly for a moment, but he did not fall over. Markus chuckled at him.

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"Hey, I'm going to be armed, Markus." Shem said, pointing a finger at the little armorer.

Markus pushed a button on the armor, and Shem's suit froze up, allowing no motion at all. The interior went black again, though Shem could still hear. "I'm sorry, you were saying?"

"Hey!"

"Who told you that arguing with your armorer was a good idea?"

Shem chuckled. "Okay. Okay. I'm very sorry, Markus.”

Markus waited a moment, probably to make his point, then sight and motion returned to Shem's suit. Legs too, as Shem discovered as he tried to compensate for the sudden free movement of his upper body. The armor took a step, and Shem looked at the leg. He then tentatively took a step forward. "Holy cow!"

"Yup. Using the feedback from the upper body, we were able to make some gross motor corrections for the lower body - doesn't make sense to do it the other way. We kept having armors fall over and dent up the floor plating."

"Hey, you two done yet?" Naji said, sidling up silently in her own armor.

Markus nodded. "Good enough for you to take him out for a shakedown," Markus allowed. "I can monitor from here and adjust if needed."

"Good." She turned to Shem. "I hope you enjoyed the vacation you were on, because it's only going to get harder from here."

"He doesn't have commo yet, Naji, so you're going to have to yell at him. Not that it's going to be a huge change for you," the little man teased.

"Hey, I know what I'm doing in this thing. Fresh meat over here," she jabbed an armored thumb over her shoulder at Shem, "doesn't know from a hole in the ground yet. Besides, you piss me off, who's going to keep you in pistachios and chocolate chip cookies?"

Markus gave her a thoughtful look and a sideways nod. "You may have a point there." He turned to Shem. "Do what she says, kid, and you'll be fine. Screw up,

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and you'll have BOTH of us on your ass so fast you'll wonder where the lightning strike came from."

Naji turned toward the door, and strode forward with a confident gait that drew Shem's eye even through the armor. "Come on, Shem, we're wasting daylight."

"Right." He followed, not as quickly, not as certain, but quick enough. He soon got the feel of moving in the armor.

They walked to the end of the flight deck, where a ramp extended down to the colony floor. "Keep up if you can," Naji said, jogging to the bottom of the ramp and through the grass, headed for the habitat's hub. Shem followed her down, and then into the climb. It was on this climb that he realized that the limitation on what a man could do in armor had more to do with the man than it had to do with the armor.

As the atmospheric pressure dropped and the gravity lessened, Shem found that instead of it making him faster, he had to be more careful. The grass gave way to bare soil, then to metal and plastic. The sealed suit pinged a couple of times as the pressure changed, but the seals were holding, he thought as he struggled up the side of the colony. They'd been climbing for two miles straight up. There wasn't too much chance of damage, as letting go would simply leave him in micro-g, maybe eventually impacting lower on the habitat. He was sweating from the exertion, however, and the desire to wipe the sweat from his face was almost unbearable. He couldn't pull his arm from the armor sleeve, though, nor did he dare pop the chest piece of his armor in this kind of low-atmosphere.

"Markus' armors work in vacuum as well as atmo for a number of reasons. First, Markus is a damn perfectionist," Naji lectured. "Mostly he’s just too damn lazy to want to do something twice. Second, the cohort is a mixed-mission unit. We work in space as well as planetside. Third, our base is a habitat. It's not like we have a lot of choice in the matter." The voice was coming through loud and clear despite the lack of air.

She triggered impulse generators at her feet and shoulders to lift her suit the last two hundred yards of nearly vertical micro gravity to the lip of the habitat and the docking ring.

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"Cheater" Shem muttered under his breath.

"Hey, you could do this just as easy as I could if you knew how," she responded.

Shem's eyes widened. He hadn't expected that she would hear. "Oh, ummm..."

"Yeah, save it. And look forward to more pushups when we get home."

"Sure thing, boss." Shem said, hoping the gritting of his teeth wasn't audible.

"All right, Markus, you're listening in?"

"Sure thing, Naji."

"We're high enough that I don't think he's going to flail around and hurt anything but himself. Unlock his HUD."

"You're the boss, Naji," he said, and suddenly Shem felt a storm brewing in his mind. He was suddenly aware that the atmospheric pressure outside the suit was at 50 millibars, that micro-gravity was exerting .01 G on his suit, that the mean temperature outside the suit was dropping rapidly toward that of ambient space. He was suddenly more aware of Naji's suit, hanging 238.6 yards above him, and exactly where he'd have to put his arm to hit her suit with a railgun sabot round.

It all flowed into him, and for a moment, it was wonderful. But it kept coming. Traffic reports from the port, weather conditions and forecasts, suit power reserves at 98%, optimum course to base, two additional suits moving through training exercises near the compound, traffic through the colony moving at its normal pace... it was too much. Too much. In a panic, he tried to trigger the eject, but was overridden because of the low pressure inside. He felt his mind stretch... and strain... and stop just short of the cracking point. He could handle it... maybe... and then it all stopped, and he was jolted to awareness of his own breathing - not the increased oxygen consumption, although that was in there also, this was the very real, physical sensation of his body heaving with breath, trying to get enough oxygen. After a moment, he felt his pulse slow, his breathing ease, and his thoughts clear.

"Oh, wow." Shem croaked, his throat raw for some reason.

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"You all right, Shem?" Markus asked. He sounded concerned. "You were screaming the whole time."

"At least he didn't go into convulsions," Naji grumped.

"How do I... how do I filter all that out?"

"Filter?" Markus asked. "Fil... holy crap! Who programmed your HUD to give you traffic reports for the colony? And weather for the next thirty days? Bus schedules, port authority... Whoa."

Shem blinked. "So that wasn't normal?"

"No. All of that stuff is supposed to be available for retrieval, but not a part of the normal HUD, and especially not for a new pilot just starting out. Too much input can do bad things to a pilot's brain - they haven't developed the internal connections to handle the throughput yet."

Shem made a point not to look at Naji, who had been silent during this conversation. "What happens if there's an overload?"

"You don't want to know, kid. It ain't pretty, though. Put it this way - you'd have wound up worse than Dereby."

Shem shuddered. The skald they'd captured had obviously been tampered with - selective conditioning, even physical alteration of the brain. To make him more pliant, Ichigo had suggested. Shem had heard that, then he’d walked straight to the nearest trash can and promptly thrown up into it. That's what would have happened to me if DeVigny had gotten his hands on me. he thought.

"Well, I'm glad we caught it before any permanent damage was done." Shem said in a low voice.

"Heh, yeah. I know Ichigo think this is the work of Deity, but it would have been for nothing if your brain had wound up a smoking ruin,” Markus said. “I’m going to have to look over the access logs and find out who it was that might have taken a potshot at your skull, kid." He grunted. "All right, filters should be in place - ready?"

Shem took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Ready."

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The information blossomed in his mind again - not a firestorm this time, but a flower, opening its petals to the sun. As he considered the options, he suddenly saw a menu function hanging in front of his face - almost translucent, but still clearly visible. He reached out as if to touch an option, but his hand, and that of the suit, passed through the vision.

"Pick an option by paying attention to it and wanting it to open." Naji said, still hovering in the micro-gravity - occasionally adjusting her position with tiny bursts of her suits impellers.

"Flight?"

"Sure would make it easier to get back to the compound, wouldn't it?"

Shem looked at the menu, and selected the flight option. He was suddenly aware of impellers in his suit's torso and limbs coming on line, of an inertial navigation system, and of flights in the area, which there were few of. He climbed a bit higher, and kicked off straight up along the wall.

He tensed his legs, and the impellers kicked in. He shot past Naji with a whoop, then he realized that he had no idea how to stop. He looked up, and saw the other side of the colony. It appeared very solid.

"Naji! Help!" Shem yelled. "What do I do?"

Naji was suddenly beside him. "Flip." She said, tucking her legs into her chest and snapping back out straight, facing the other way.

Shem cut the impellers, tucked into a ball, and tried to come out of it facing the other way. He wound up tumbling through the thin atmosphere, passing in front of the massive docking bay doors.

"Use your arms and chest - even out!" Naji called.

Shem reached out, firing off the tiny impellers on his arms, and the larger ones on this torso. The tumble worsened. Shem started to get nauseated. He really didn't want to throw up in the middle of his suit, in micro-gravity, with nothing but vacuum outside.

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Then Naji was there, catching him by the leg and arresting his spin with her own impellers. Their suits hung in the air, drifting towards the opposite side of the colony, their arms around each other.

"Oh, thanks." Shem said, and gave her a quick squeeze.

"What the hell was that?" Naji asked. "Did you just... Did you just hug me? In an armored suit?"

"Uh..."

A beat passed, neither of them speaking. It was Naji who broke the silence. "It's a good thing you're wearing armor, kid." Naji released him, and headed toward the other side. "Micro g is tricky. Don't zip around at first. Small, controlled bursts."

Shem nodded, firing his own leg impellers for a second to arrest his motion, then another quick burst to get moving back toward the compound's side of the colony.

"Say, Naji?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for... thanks for training me. I know this can’t be easy for you."

"Shem?"

"Yeah, Naji?"

"Shut up."

"Sure thing." They made their way back to the compound in silence. Shem didn't tumble too badly on the way back. And Naji didn't come to his rescue again.

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Part 23 - Arpeggios

“All right, Ms…”

“Worthington,” Cassie responded, using the name on the ident she’d picked up on Scythia. “Cassie Worthington.”

“Right. Worthington.” She was wearing the Terramax armor, its thick, boxy limbs moving easily after the repairs the Cohort’s mechanic, Markus, had given it. If anything, it was moving better than when they’d bought it from the dealer.

Ichigo was holding what he called an audition. He’d raised a single eyebrow at the request of the two female pilots to join the Cohort. Ailer hadn’t wanted to apply at first, but Cassie had been adamant.

I am finished running, she’d told herself, though the words felt hollow. She clenched an armored fist, feeling the grinding of metal plates as she did. I am through running! She told herself again.

Ichigo raised his weapon. “All right - we’re using training rounds in this exercise. I’m going to give you a thirty second head start, and I want to see how far you can get before you’re caught and your armor is hit in a debilitating way.”

Cassie blinked. This was the normal evade and escape scenario the members of Akosh’s household were trained in. Was it a coincidence? Should she drop the pretense of the false name and identity? Her voice stayed calm, even as her mind raced. “All right. Thirty seconds. Are there off-limits areas?”

The big armor’s head turned toward her. What is he thinking? Cassie wondered. “Let’s say that an operational ceiling of 300 meters is in place.”

“300 meters. Got it.” Cassie relaxed a little - the height limit was too high to be a Commonwealth drill.

“Most tests like this give you only 50 meters or so. There’s a reason for that,” Ichigo said. “But given the curvature and overall size of the habitat, 300 seems fine. I’ll be keeping an eye on your altitude.”

Cassie nodded. 50 meters. That was more like the Commonwealth tests she’d had in the past. 50 meters, no weapons.

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“Is there a point I’m supposed to get to?”

Ichigo’s armor shrugged. “Port ring.” He indicated the point on the habitat wall.

Cassie shrugged also, shifting her weight and feeling the armor moving around her. She nodded. “All right. Port ring it is.” She’d been able to evade capture the last two times she’d taken this test.

“Right. Go.”

Cassie waited a beat… waiting for the countdown, but there was none. Just seconds ticking away. She whirled the Terramax armor around and started running, angling up the slope and trying for a particularly thick clump of trees that had caught her eye. She moved quickly, not thinking of it as a retreat, or as an attempt to evade capture or death. She’d won the last two times by treating the exercise as though it was an assault, and she had thirty seconds head start to reach her objective. So she ran.

The Terramax responded well, keeping up with her pace as she moved toward the ring. She didn’t use the impellers, that would have taken longer than 30 seconds anyway, and would have just made her an easy shot. She wove between the trees, chewing up yards at each stride. The seconds counted down… 3… 2… 1…

She emerged from the forest headed for the bare metal of the walls. She reached for the wall, and that’s when she heard a soft “plunk” sound. Her Terramax armor slowed, freezing in a standing position.

“Hey!” she yelled. “What happened?”

“What happened, Ms. Worthington,” Ichigo stressed the last word, “is that you went exactly where I wanted you to.” The Terramax armor lost its rigidity.

“You said the objective was the port ring!”

“No, I said that I wanted to see how far you could get before your armor was hit in a debilitating way. You were the one who suggested that I set a point for you to get to, and you made the mistake of allowing me pick it. Well, you take orders well, I suppose.” Cassie’s face burned. “Come back here, and let me show you where you got hit.”

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Cassie trudged back down to the compound and dismounted at Ichigo’s word. Circling to the back of her armor, she saw two splotches of paint. One in the back of her armor’s head, and one directly on top of the starboard power generator. Ichigo hadn’t so much as shifted his feet from his spot.

“Wow,” she said. There was not other possible response. It was a hell of a shot.

“Right, princess, you want to try it again?”

Cassie turned casually back to the big armor - “I beg your pardon, what did you call me?”

“Ah- My apologies, Miss Worthington. Are you ready to try again?”

Cassie nodded once. He knew. He had to know. And to make it worse, that shot was a message. It said that he could stop her from running any time he wanted to. Well, she wasn’t going to run, not any more. And she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her beg for her safety. She was going to play this role to the end. She remounted the Terramax, and buttoned up.

“Thirty seconds?” she asked.

Ichigo’s big white suit nodded and hefted its paint rifle.

“Ready? Go.”

Cassie whirled to face Ichigo, and reached for the rifle. She grabbed it with both hands, planting both feet on the other suit’s thighs, and fired her impellers, twisting as she went.

The move strained the arms on her Terramax to dangerous levels, and she spun head over heels twice, but within a moment she’d regained her balance and brought the rifle to bear against Kamiyama’s suit. “Ha!” she cried, and then her suit went stiff again.

“Wait! What?” The Terramax suit slowly descended, dropped the rifle, and froze.

Kamiyama was holding a smaller weapon in his left hand, something more like a pistol.

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“That wasn’t thirty seconds!” Cassie protested.

“Thirty seconds was meant as a head start. If you’re going to change the parameters of the exercise, you need to be prepared to accept the results of your attempt.”

“Well, how often am I going to be trying to escape an enemy in an armored suit?”

“A fair question. One I’ve asked myself many times as I’ve been trying to escape an enemy in an armored suit.” She could hear the amusement in his voice. No doubt in her mind now, he knew. And he was toying with her - letting her know that he knew. Now what? Try to leave? Would he try to stop her? Play along?

What?

“One more time, Miss Worthington.”

“Why?” She felt herself growing agitated with the exercise. “Escape and Evasion is the normal kind of work you do as a member of the Cohort? Should I be prepared to run at the sight of an enemy?” The words felt like a lie, sounded like a lie coming from her lips.

Ichigo’s image appeared in her mind. He was smiling. “That’s better. The link is secure, Highness.”

Her tone and facial expressions didn’t change at all. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Kamiyama. I hope you’re not making fun of me.”

His eyes narrowed. “And I would hope that you would recognize when an operation has gone sour, when a disguise is blown, and when it’s time for a little honesty. You are Cassandra Brunhilde Montgomery MacTaggart Stuart, Princess of the Commonwealth, daughter of Akosh and Jovielle, and at the moment the most famous person in this sector of the galaxy after a recent assassination attempt was apparently unsuccessful.” What to do now? Was this another hothouse? Another prison? Or was she headed back to the one she knew all too well to face her mother? Her mind raced.

Ichigo continued. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do here, Princess Cassandra, but I suggest you keep a low profile. A very low profile. And you might

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want to consider confining yourself to the compound. While the people of Haven aren’t exactly rabid fans of the reign of Akosh, I’m sure there’s a few of them who might finger you to certain interested parties, if they were provided the right incentive. And that would bring a world of hurt down on a place I love and have sworn to protect.” The lines around his eyes softened slightly, and the hint of a scowl disappeared from around his lips. “Now, escape and evasion is good to get an idea of what a pilot’s skills are in maneuvering and tactical operations, but you are correct that we won’t be doing a lot of running away in the Cohort. Occasionally a retreat may be in order, but it should be done by ranks and under covering fire… heavy covering fire.” He paused, pursing his lips at the princess. “So you’ll have to pardon me. I don’t really have another scenario prepared for you, and your software isn’t configured to work with our simulators.”

Cassie didn’t respond. She was a good listener, and that’s all that this situation required at the moment.

“Still… the fact that you’re here, now, is… very peculiar timing, to say the least. I’ll shelter you for now, Miss Worthington. But I can not promise that I will be able do so indefinitely.”

Cassie nodded at the image of Ichigo on her HUD. “Very well, Mister Kamiyama. It’s probably more than I deserve. You have my thanks.” She paused. “You have my very grateful thanks.” She emphasized. Then she turned her suit, and marched back towards the flight deck.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Ichigo said to her retreating form.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I beg your pardon, Miss Worthington. You’ll leave when you’re dismissed by a superior officer, and not before. Is that understood?”

She blinked, and for a heartbeat, she didn’t know what to do. “Ah. Yes. Yes, sir!”

“Very good, Miss Worthington. Report to the flight deck, and clean your suit. After that, report to our armorer, Markus, and have him start the process for fitting you out with an armor of your own. We’ll start on simulations as soon as we have

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your biometrics calibrated, and we’ll be able to determine the type of suit from there. For now, welcome to the Kami Cohort. You’re dismissed.”

“Yes sir!” She responded, then she hesitated. “Uh… do I salute, sir?”

Kamiyama’s only response was a rich, rolling peal of laughter, and a shake of his head as he waved her on.

She felt oddly comforted by the sound. It was… a new feeling.

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About the Author:

Zachary Ricks is a writer, publisher, podcaster, and attorney. He learned to read at a young age, and had the benefit of a mother who read to him regularly. However, when he was five, his parents made the tactical error of taking him to see Star Wars. He's been a fan of genre fiction ever since, scaling his parent's bookshelf to get at his mom's collection of Piers Anthony, Alan Dean Foster, Terry Brooks and Edgar Rice Burroughs novels.

He lives in Austin TX, with his wife and daughter. Find his current writings at madpoetfiles.com, and his publishing venture -

Flying Island Press - at www.flyingislandpress.com.

1) “If you loved this book (or any other book) the best thing that you can do for the author is to write a brief review, then post it on Facebook with a link to the purchase site.” The review doesn’t have to be extensive, just something as simple as “I am reading / listening to the coolest book. Check it out! Battlehymn - at exiles.madpoetfiles.com.”

2) You can also post your review on Goodreads or similar sites. Here are a few: librarything.com, shelfari.com, books.google.com (use with gmail), anobii.com, weread.com, chapters.indigo.ca, revish.com, reader2.com.

3) Post your review on your own private blog. Sure, it might only have a couple of dozen readers, but the six-degrees of separation principle suggests that your review could help create a domino-effect, one that would eventually help the book get made into a movie or otherwise go ballistic.

4) Tweet about the book to your friends.