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could be sealed, and it would run for seven days on its own recycled waste.
That was a thrill that Mike could pass on for the moment.
The shoulders were oversized as well, housing ammunition reloads and sensor
arrays. The backpack was an oversized air conditioner, shunting away heat from
the body. The more advanced models carried mufflers to cut down the noise and
heat signature, but this was an ancient model, battered and repatched numerous
times.
Parts of it seemed a bit tight, snug around the arms and legs in wide bands.
Other places seemed loose and open.
The tight spots are part of the salvage system, said Raynor, strapping him
in. You take a big hit to an arm or leg, the suit seals off in a tourniquet.
One piece goes but the rest survives.
Feels like a hollow spot under the arms, said Mike.
Yeah, well, this is marine surplus. That s where the stimpacks would be. We
don t use them in the colonial militias. Too many people get addicted to the
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drugs in them. He closed the last latch and sealed
Mike in. The reporter swayed back and forth, feeling like a turtle on stilts.
Raynor was in his own suit, looking equally battered and worn. The lawman
nodded behind his open visor and said, The armor will stop most common
slugthrowers, though a good needle-gun can still
punch through. That s why most front-line troops carry C-14 Impalers, gauss
rifles that fire eight-millimeter spikes.
What now?
Now you walk, said Raynor. Several other soldiers were now watching as well,
and a small crowd was forming at the entrance to the mess tent. The lawman
nodded again. Go ahead.
Mike looked at the telltales along the rim of his visor. He had read the
manuals earlier, on the ship, and knew that the small lights meant that
everything was hunky-dory. He took a step forward.
He expected the step to be like pulling out of mud, since he was lifting the
huge weight of a booted foot.
Instead the foot, tethered into sensors and backed by a ton of cabled
ligature, came up almost to his waist. High-stepping, Mike overbalanced,
leaning backward. The servos whined in response, and he twisted, falling on
his side with a resounding thump.
Raynor put a hand to his face, trying to look sage but barely covering the
grin that blossomed beneath his fingers. Mike saw that several of the other
militiamen were trading money back and forth.
Great, they re,betting on this thought Mike. The telltales along his visor
flashed a warning yellow. He looked at them, consulted the manual in his
memory, and decided that they all meant Hey, dummy, you ve fallen over.
A hand here? Mike said.
You re better doing it on your own. There was a smile in Raynor s voice.
Wonderful, thought Mike, slowly rolling onto his belly. He found he could push
himself up on one hand, but moving the oversized legs underneath him was a
tight fit. At last he pulled himself up to a near-vertical position.
Good, Raynor said. Now walk. Go ahead.
Mike tried shuffling this time, and the armor responded by slogging forward,
churning up a cloud of orange dust. He shuffled ahead ten feet, then turned,
and shuffled another ten. By the second turn he was confident enough to take
real steps, and when he didn t fall down, started moving normally. The
telltales winked green at him again, and he was relieved that he hadn t
damaged the suit. He was also glad he hadn t laughed too hard at the new
crewmen during the drills on the
Norad II.
Raynor went over to the colonial militia and came back with the gauss rifle.
He handed it to Mike, and his armored hand closed over the larger of two
grips. The smaller grip, used by nonarmored shooters, required the firer to
use both hands to steady its long barrel. In the armor, Raynor could heft it
easily.
Take a shot at that boulder, he said, trying valiantly to keep a smile from
his face.
At first Mike thought the marshal was only amused by his performance, but as
he leveled the gun, he thought about what he was doing. The armored turtle on
stilts was about to fire a gun.
Hang on, he said. How does this thing handle recoil?
Raynor turned to the other militiamen. See? I told you he was smarter than he
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