John Steakley - Armor

Felix smiled at him. Then he made himself get up and go over and pat him on his freckled shoulder and thank him for it. Only then would he let himself leave. He did, hurriedly, but feeling good about what he could do through the sheer power of his will.

It was worse than a minor drop. It was a token drop. The Masao, they claimed, wanted to see Banshee for himself.

Felix stood at the end of the line of thirty regulars listening to the briefing while awaiting the imperial presence. The mission was officially a probe placement. Felix had heard all he was told before. He knew the purpose of the probe: to measure the shifting magnetic patterns of Banshee. He knew why it was important: once man could learn how the ants were able to change the patterns artificially, they could program their missiles to adopt to it. He even knew the essential truth about the probes themselves: they didn’t work.

The sergeant doing the briefing ended it the same way as always. “Just stay the hell away from the damn things and let the techs do their work. Right? Right.”

All heads turned at the appearance of the man at the entrance of the Drop Bay. He was an Imperial Guard and an incredible sight. He wore bright red armor with the Masao’s crest emblazoned across the chest in white. He wore a white silk scarf around his helmet where his forehead should be. He wore two swords, one short, one long. He was beautiful.

He spoke in highly dramatic, thickly accented, standard.

“Be all aware: His Royal Highness, Alejandro Jorges Umemoto, Supreme Lord and Great One of…”

“Enough, Suki,” said a strong and gentle voice. “Just let me in.”

Suki sounded upset. He waved a hand abruptly at the entrance. “The Masao,” he said shortly.

There were a few giggles in the ranks at Suki’s expense. They stopped when he walked in. The Masao was wearing gold armor. Not that it wasn’t plassteel, too. Not that it wasn’t strong and utilitarian. It was. But it was also gold. The collective sigh was almost unanimous.

Behind the Masao, in two sharply stepping files, entered the remainder of the imperial guard. There were eighteen altogether. All wore the red, the scarves, the swords. One carried an extra two: the Great One’s.

The captain in charge of the mission immediately fell all over himself trying to show not only the proper respect, but also that he wasn’t really that undone by it all. What he succeeded in displaying was his almost paralyzing sense of intimidation. The Great One rescued him. Charming, and friendly, making a great effort not to appear mighty—while making it clear to all that the effort was a genuine courtesy on his part—he did manage to calm them down a bit. He even insisted the captain merely call him “Sir,” a gesture which visibly shook his guards, even through their armor.

Next he started down the line, shaking the hand of each and every warrior. Almost no one present was aware of the true purpose of the guard that accompanied him down the line: to kill anyone insufficiently safe, courteous, or impressed. He wasn’t needed. All were awed.

He didn’t make it to Felix, at the end of the line. The sudden appearance of the ship’s Captain himself stopped the greetings. A brief ceremony followed, with the skipper loudly and dramatically bestowing his prayers, faith etc. on the Great One’s journey. The Masao handled it as if he had been accepting even greater honors all his life—which he had.

Then it was time to go. The scouts were called to point. Felix was with them. He stepped out of the ranks and took his place in front. The noncombatants fled the chamber. Felix found that he was trembling. But that ended when the familiar pattern of Transit Lights began. He tensed forward eagerly. He was ready for this. He was ready for nothing else.

Then the lights went to green and he stepped forward. It would be his twenty-first drop.

And his last.

Fleet seemed to be getting the hang of it. They had said no ants and there were none about. Felix approved of the glimmer of professionalism though personally, of course, he was disappointed.

He scanned the area. No wind now, but evidence of a recent storm was everywhere. There were no mazes. And what few dunes did exist were smooth sloping things rising and falling with gradual grace. The landscape rose gently eastward in broad, widely spaced humpbacks. In all other directions, vision was unobstructed for several kilometers.

It was a good team. The warriors spread out without having to be told, forming the defensive perimeter. The Imperial Guard was even better. Their circle around the Masao was completed many seconds sooner.

Felix found himself in the center of both rings along with the CO, the techs, and the Masao. He couldn’t stand it. He offered to scout upslope while the first probe was being planted.

“Of course,” replied the CO, as if he’d ordered instead of approved.

He went almost two kilometers. Nothing. No enemy, no ants.

“Shit,” he mumbled and trotted back downslope.

He was perhaps half a kilometer away from the rest of the team—they had just come into view below him—when he stopped short.

He didn’t want to go back.

He turned around and looked back up the hill. That was where the ants were. Sooner or later. He looked back downslope. There was… what? Probes. A safe route, a quick route, then home. No ants. Just worthless readings and… and the Masao.

He didn’t want to go back.

And he wasn’t. He was actually turning away, toward Banshee and ants and oblivion, when the sudden bright glare off the gold caught his eye. He squinted. Then, seeing it, he gasped. His mouth went dry.

The Masao was coming up the slope.

There was another with him in a red suit. Suki, no doubt. Felix began to shake. The urge to flee was immensely strong. Anything. Anything! But not this. …

Yet he stood still where he was. Even when, at fifty meters, Suki stopped to let the Masao approach alone. Even then, knowing what it must mean—even then, he could not move.

The Masao halted a mere two steps away. And during the brief silence before he spoke Felix could feel the Engine shudder. Then: “Hello, Felix.”

He sighed. “Hello, Allie.”

Allie stepped forward to join in the embrace. Felix stopped him short by thrusting his hand forward. Allie paused, looked at the black armored hand offered him, then slowly took it in his own.

Felix shook briefly, then dropped his hand. He had to moisten his lips before he could speak.

“Didn’t waste much time, did you?”

“That’s if you don’t count the two years it took to find you,” Allie replied with a laugh. He gestured about him. “Besides, I don’t much like this place.”

“Who else knows?”

“About you? No one but me.”

“And you won’t tell ’em,” Felix sniffed sarcastically.

Allie’s reply was soft with gentle hurt. “I wouldn’t do that Felix. You should know that.”

“All right. What are you doing here?”

“I came to get you.”

“And take me back to… to…”

“To Golden?”

“Yes. Golden.”

There was a pause. Felix stared at the sand.

“Felix, what are you doing in this place?”

“Killing ants.”

“I see,” Allie replied slowly. He took a frustrated step to one side, then back. “Yes, I had heard that. You’re good at it?”

“I am.”

Allie strode forward and peered at him. “So tell me, old friend. Does it help?”

“Don’t, Allie,” Felix warned and took a step back.

“I don’t think it does.”

“Allie…”

“You couldn’t even say Golden just now….”

“Stop it.”

“So I don’t believe you dare think of the rest of it…”