Monsters Read online

  “Faster then.” The man started jogging, the clank of the metal sounding hard against the smooth cut stone floor.

  Following wasn’t any harder this way. She had to focus a little more to power the suit, but the hours of practice charging crystals for the Vernor shipping fleet really helped with that part of things. Beth had told her it was important, getting good at releasing energy like that, and managing the flow. Now she kind of got why. After a single turn around the room, Darrick sped up, not calling back that she should do the same. Since the mental joystick was only engaged a little bit, it took some delicate control to keep from catching the man, but that was probably part of the lesson. Learning to follow orders and all that. She’d seen enough from television to know that was important in military situations and this had to count, if in a bizarre way.

  That and taking corners without falling over. These things didn’t have traction, forcing her armor to scramble a little to stay upright. The man in front of her wasn’t having a problem with it at all, just moving as if he was stuck to the floor with each and every step.

  Jerk.

  Gwen grinned again. She’d get it. It just took a little bit of practice. Probably what her trainer was after, instead of showing her up like he was. It wasn’t like there was any honor in being better than the new kid, was there? That was expected and normal, since everyone was a newb sometime, right? Just as she rounded the corner again, managing to do a little better this time, the man stopped, spun in place, and launched a fist towards her faceplate. She stopped dead, a good ten feet back, not even bothering to block. At this distance, unarmed, he couldn’t touch her without closing the distance. Still, the punch indicated that the game had changed a bit, which was a pleasant thing to her mind. Without thinking she hit a combination of mental buttons, which got her armor to fall into a fighting stance and start moving towards the man one awkward step at a time. She didn’t know how to fight in armor really, her life having been spent on unarmored combat techniques, but not having a weapon yet, the old skills were all she had. If they were fighting, she had to use what she knew.

  Darrick moved in quickly, launching several sharp blows, which she managed to block, then tried for a low kick, which she missed, letting his foot clang against her armored leg. The whole thing went black. For a second she panicked in the dark, but then realized that the armor hadn’t broken or been shut off, she’d just stopped powering it with her mind.

  “Ugh. OK.” Getting it back on was easy enough, but Darrick didn’t wait for her or give her a chance to fix it, pushing her over backwards before she could move again.

  On the good side, falling back flat like that didn’t hurt too much, the metal taking the force of impact for her like it did. It was embarrassing though. So much so she cringed inside, her face twisting in response, waiting for the laughter to come from the others. Rolling to the side she jumped up, trying not to freak out and lose her focus. She didn’t make it all the time as they kept fighting, and the first six times she lost control the man pushed her over the exact same way. He didn’t let up at all, getting faster as they went along, searching for errors in her actual fighting technique, trying to trick her into making a mistake. She made them, but the man didn’t make use of all of them.

  She did hit him back, and held him to just about even, in the number of blows delivered at least. Really, the guy was good in hand to hand, but nothing that special. Better with the armor no doubt, but that made it a close thing and not indicative of absolute fighting skill. Gwen was at least as good, she thought. Maybe slightly better. Out of the armor it might not have been enough to let her win, the guy being bigger and stronger like he was, but in the suit she was able to stand up to him decently. When she didn’t forget to keep it running. About ten or fifteen minutes into that portion of the training session Darrick stood back suddenly, metal right hand coming up to stop her, preventing another attack.

  “Follow me outside please. I want to run the low obstacle course today. We’ll being doing the… second one, tomorrow. Please try to keep up with me, but don’t pass me. I would like you to try to do what I do as exactly as possible.” His voice still sounded cold, mechanical almost, or like someone who felt wronged. It didn’t make sense. She wasn’t screwing up that much. Was she?

  Then, she wasn’t one of them. Not a Westmorland. Maybe that was all this was?

  The low obstacle course was a joke. A real one, she realized. Probably meant to show her how little they thought she could do. They’d set chairs, tables and some padded benches around a large, well cared for field directly behind the training hall, hidden from view from two sides. Mainly empty space, like a large lawn. It had grass, and she could smell it, meaning it had been freshly mowed, but nothing else of note. Not even hidden rocks to trip her up or anything. All the man did was walk around. He didn’t jump over anything, or crawl under the tables, he just moved carefully between the furniture. Delicately, almost as if trying to tiptoe. She followed, trying to do what he’d asked and just follow, waiting for him to attack again, or whip out some cool moves, leaping over things perhaps, flips or handsprings that she couldn’t do at all. Instead he just wove a slow pattern through the furniture.

  It wasn’t boring, since nothing done in magic armor could be, but it wasn’t a big deal either.

  After a while he just lead her back inside, where the other two Westmorlands had already climbed out of their armor and stood, waiting for them. They were both drenched with sweat, hair matted and darker than normal, just from being in a tin can like they had been. Gwen had an odd thought that both she and Darrick would probably have to dump the liquid out of their armor when they finished. Gross, but she could feel the sloshing around her feet, so that was probably just a fact.

  No one spoke for a while, faces bland, the ones that she could see at least. Darrick lifted his arms to take his helmet off, which was simple enough for him, but when she was signaled to do the same she fumbled with it for a while, having to lift her heavy arms using muscle, not magic to power the action, the control she imagined not having a button combo for the move. Kind of an oversight. She’d have to imagine one of those next time. It took a while to get the thing off, and it was all Gwen could do not to try and wipe her eyes with the back of her armored hand. It wouldn’t help at all, rubbing metal on her forehead, so she didn’t do it, but she really wanted to anyway.

  “These are a bit warm.” She commented, trying to sound like she was just making conversation, not whining. Everyone else would be just as hot. Shared misery, sure, but it also meant talking too much about it was wasted effort. They already knew the score there, didn’t they? These things were scorching.

  Darrick looked like it too, face red and flushed, covered in sweat, as her own must be. He had very short hair though, a salt and pepper combination that looked good on him, compared to her own long brown curly stuff. It was held back in a wrapped up bun at the moment, but she kind of envied the man his choice of cuts at the moment. What he had was just about the same as the way she used to wear her own hair. A short buzz cut. Not that it had mattered back then. She’d been so warped that no one cared about things like that on her. Then it had just been the practical choice, keeping it out of the way and short enough no one could pull it in a fight.

  If she tried it now, she’d hear about it for certain. It was tempting anyway.

  It had been something a bit stranger than she’d expected, when Beth had shared that she’d gotten into the Special Service. Her first thought had been military service. A twenty-four hour a day, seven day a week job that came with yelling, and maybe years of instruction. Instead it turned out that, not being a Westmorland, she was only expected to work about six months a year, and would have regular days off. Not at first, because she needed the practice time, but after a few weeks she’d only be expected to really work about four days per week and that would last only three months before the first break. The rest of the time she was being set up to help the Vernor’s with their shipping
business. Or that’s what she was hoping for at least. She could work on the Peregrine, which was a small merchant air-ship, as a loader again maybe. Use it as an excuse to travel around a bit. It didn’t seem fair having all that time off, but it was the rule for non-Westmorlands in the Special Service. It seemed that almost no one with enough raw talent was actually willing to do the job, unless forced too, so those few that would to do it were kind of coddled. It was pretty much just for show too. Affirmative action in a way. People were put in to show that working with the Westmorland super soldiers was possible and that they didn’t all explode and kill people all the time. A sort of low level integration movement the King had started a few years back.

  Katherine Vernor was one of only nine members of the service that wasn’t a Westmorland asset. The only woman with the job too. Ever. At least who wasn’t trained for it from childhood, brainwashed into super-powers, or whatever it was that they actually did to the poor orphans they drafted for that program. No one had mentioned what that training really was to her, except to say that the training was considered extreme by most people. Unpleasant.

  Worse than she could imagine no doubt.

  Without waiting for her to do more than get her helmet held under her right arm, Darrick started speaking, his voice less cold now as he looked at her.

  “Very good. We’ll be doing a lot more tomorrow however, so stay ready for it. The… second obstacle course, of the four I expect you to complete by the end of the month, is up. I’d also like you to start on the practice range with the lance as well. You already know how to use a crin and power conduit, but we’ll drill with those as well. Most of our time is spent out of armor after all, even on duty.” It wasn’t a question.

  The Vernor’s butler, Charles, who was some kind of ex-special forces in the regular military, even though he wouldn’t talk about it specifically, had taught her how to use them. As well as set up a running and exercise program for her for the last five months or so. Heather, who had strawberry blond hair and lean girl next door type looks that included some light freckles on her nose, had been checking up on her as far as that went. Darrick had probably gotten a full report on it. As a group they didn’t hide things from one another much, Gwen didn’t think.

  “Yeah, I can use them. I wouldn’t claim to be good yet, but I can generally hit the target if it doesn’t move too much.” It wasn’t meant to be flip, but sounded a bit too happy for the conversation. These people were probably the best fighter this world had to offer after all, so running her mouth might not go that well if they took offense. Especially if they were all in armor.

  Luckily Heather just gave Darrick a solid nod.

  “Some work could be done there, like she said, but she’d qualify for Con-Sev right now. A bit sloppy for one of us, but it’s a start.” The words were professional and sounded almost mean, but she smiled suddenly, getting one from Beth in return.

  Her blonde friend wiped her slightly damp forehead with a small towel.

  “Indeed. It does take some practice however.”

  Gwen raised her eyebrows. It was true, practice would help, but the weapons didn’t have guides at all, did they? She’d have killed for a laser sight. The things were powerful enough, but the idea of aiming was as much guess work as anything else here.

  Rather than mention something she couldn’t get at the moment, she asked a simpler question.

  “What’s Con-Sev?” She addressed it to Heather, but it was Beth that answered, which was probably what needed to happen, since the woman was technically her boss still. It was kind of a gray area really. Right now she worked for the Special Service and held equal rank with Beth, both being brand new. Anywhere else and she was just the assistant, a job which sometimes meant being in charge, as odd as it sounded.

  Her friend had real military service under her belt though and was even from the correct world and everything, so in most things Gwen decided to just let her be in charge. It just made sense.

  “Continental Service. We call them Con-Sev for short, since Con-Serv could cause them to be confused with jam too often, and they get prickly about that kind of thing. No sense of humor at all. They’re a special branch of the civil service that does investigations in serious cases that cross multiple jurisdictions. They don’t exactly have high standards for crystal inductor or power conduit training. Decent at their jobs in the main. Heather was joking with you though. I think. No one would expect you to be able to pass such qualifications yet.” She glanced at the other, slightly taller, woman who shrugged, her white clothing sticking to her just a bit. The garments they all wore under their armor was light colored, made of cotton and was thick enough to absorb sweat for a bit, since there was nowhere else for it to go.

  The woman sighed and shook her head sadly for a second, but then fixed Beth with a look that Gwen couldn’t quite read. One of those cultural things that being from somewhere else just didn’t train you for. It made the whole situation seem suddenly strange and alien, even if magical armor didn’t.

  “She’s really not that bad Bethany. I’m almost positive she can hit the broad side of a building for instance, which half of Con-Sev barely can. She’s put in the time to be good enough for most organizations, so yes, I think she could easily get into most of the other branches that way, if it comes up. Which means we can expect more from her, I think.” Heather didn’t grin this time, fixing Gwen with a look that spoke of something far more serious.

  “It’s true that you two are here to lead the investigation, but that doesn’t mean we won’t hold you to real standards. No matter what else is going on we have to protect the Duke, even if doing that costs our lives.” The part where she should have added that it was the case even if he didn’t deserve it, got left off.

  Then, Gwen wasn’t really certain she was thinking that at all. It was very possible that the woman was conditioned not to, wasn’t it? One way or the other. Either from long training to honor her charge or actual brainwashing. She was told to protect the man and she really would, no matter what it cost her personally.

  For some reason, without explaining why, Darrick chuckled. It was a dark thing, but polite enough. What it was about was a mystery to Gwen, who started to wipe her brow with the metal glove on her left hand, stopping just before she smacked herself in the face with the thing. The sweat was dripping into her eyes still, which was a pain in the rear. It was happening to Darrick too, but he showed no sign of minding it.

  “We’ll get you up to specs, don’t worry about that. First, if you’d get out of your armor and see to stowing it properly, then shower, we can go over your performance thus far.” The man shook his head, a bit sadly. It looked that way at least.

  Possibly at least, since Gwen wasn’t exactly the best in the world at reading faces. A life of being reviled made her hyper attuned to a few expressions. Disgust. Anger… Fear. That totally blank look psychopaths got just before they attacked. The rest of the facial expression palate was something she’d learned from watching television. Real life was a little more subtle. That or these people were simply more subdued that way, making it harder for her to judge what was going on in people's heads all the time.

  With a bit of help she managed to get out of the armor, which took a lot longer to do than it felt like it should have, since it was meant to be emergency combat gear. About seven minutes to have it all spread out on the specialized wooden rack in the women’s locker room. It wasn’t really that though, was it? A ready room? It didn’t have lockers at all. Then, who’d try and steal the armor? It was powerful and useful, but only if you had the raw talent to use it, which meant being in the top three percent of the population for that kind of thing. Then you had to have the skill in using it too, which had to be learned. They probably didn’t even lock the door on the small wooden building at night. Not as far away from everything else as the Duke’s estate was.

  The whole place was made of wood, with metal only being used for the door hinges and handles, a quick glan
ce at the door confirmed something at a glance. It was never locked, as she’d suspected. It didn’t have one. Not even a privacy bar, much less one of the magical plates that got used on most doors. Interesting. That or scary, since the showers were in the room one over and just anyone could walk in at any time. The idea got Gwen to shower rapidly. On the good side there were individual shower stalls, so she wasn’t standing under the intense flow of warm water in a room full of people. She’d never been naked in front of anyone that didn’t work for a hospital, and really didn’t want to start that day. Katherine had a nice body, but that didn’t mean Gwen would be comfy showing it off, did it? Luckily modesty was kind of expected in this new place, so it was almost never a problem.

  The sluice of water was intense, beating down on her as if someone had decided to hit her with a water hose, not spread out or buffered to make it more comfortable. Good water pressure, which made it worse, not better, in this case. It did make getting washed and rinsed easy enough. The soap, a nice mint smelling bar of it, came off quickly enough under the heavy flow. That meant that she was out of the shower and changed about the same time as the others. Either they’d picked up on the same thing she did, that just anyone could walk in on them at any time, or they always hurried in the Special Service.