Chapter 23 “Mark two eyeball.”

“Does that hurt?” Charlie asked as she pulled a strap tight.

“A bit.” Rosie lied.

"That means it fits." Charlie stepped back, her eyes looking over Rosie in her R frame.

“Alright, show me the grips.” Rosie held out her arms in turn, opening and closing the vice like grips in her palm. The back of her hand covered in hinged steel plate. “Retract them.” Closing the grips and tilting them forward made them withdraw up her wrist, leaving her hands free. “You still need blades, nutcrackers, and kickers.” Charlie scrawled a note in her terrible handwriting and left it on the bench. “But we can go for a run if you want.”

“Yes! I mean, yeah sure, whatever.” Rosie's attempt to cover her excitement failed.

In the nearby forest Rosie helped Charlie into her frame. “Rules are simple.” Charlie opened her backpack, filled with tin cans. Each had been marked with tape, loops of string tied to them. “Shoot the red, collect the blue.” Charlie held one in each hand, a grin on her face and a playful glint in her eye. “Close your eyes and count to a hundred.” Rosie sighed and started counting, her eyes half open long enough to watch Charlie bound away.

Rosie started to jog, finding her pace a good deal faster, and easier in the frame. She pushed a little harder and went a lot faster. Mechanical advantage, she thought as trees zipped by. Moving at speed while expending minimal effort felt incredible, like gravity had loosened its grip on her. Rosie became so entranced with running that she almost didn’t spot the first tin can.

Red. Rosie saw the red tape on the can dangling from a branch above her. Slowing down and staying upright took effort. She skidded, the leg pistons gouging the dirt. Another few steps brought her to a standstill. She hit the target, holstered her sidearm, and started moving again.

Blue. The can hung from a high branch. Rosie wondered how Charlie reached it, until she saw the marks in the ground ahead. A few fast steps gave her momentum. She brought her feet down hard, bouncing back up with amplified force. Equal and opposite, Rosie had time to think as she leapt six feet from the ground, letting out a shriek of exhilaration.

She batted a hand at the can and sent it tumbling ahead, before landing with a thud and hiss. As the pistons pushed back, Rosie felt herself falling forward. Unable to fight the motion she embraced it, powering into a bounding stride.

Five more shots and five more jumps brought Rosie to the final can. Green? Rosie didn’t know what that meant. Her first instinct brought her sidearm arm to bear on the dangling can, but something stopped her, opting instead to pull the can free.

A burst of speed brought Rosie back to the starting point and Charlie. She tossed the blue cans at her feet, throwing the green one down last.

“What took you so long?” Charlie asked without sarcasm or mocking.

“Well I had to wait for nearly two minutes.” Rosie began to get annoyed, seeing that she’d missed something.

“And you brought back the blue cans?”

“Yep. And shot the red ones too.” Rosie could see Charlie’s amusement building .

“Why didn’t you start sooner? Or take the blue tape from my pack and just collect the first six cans?”

“You said the rules were—” Rosie tried not to sound like a child, but Charlie laughed anyway.

“I used to know a girl who knew what to do with rules.” Charlie’s lesson became clear. She struck a serious tone. “We’re Recon Rosie, we follow orders not rules.”

“Solid copy.” Rosie understood the lesson.

“Why didn’t you shoot the green can?” Charlie asked in a way that said it wasn’t a mistake.

“Something Brandon said once, about bullets being like binary code. You either shoot or you don’t. It’s one or zero and you can’t take it back.”

“Good answer.” Charlie smiled. “I also would have accepted stabbing the green can.”

Rosie resisted heading back in so soon but Charlie insisted. They found Paul preparing food and Matt sat with Brandon at the workbenches.

“Got your note.” Brandon held the scrap of paper out, trying to decipher Charlie’s handwriting. “Glades, not crackers, and...lickers.” Charlie snatched the note away and went back to helping Rosie out of her frame.

“Matt understood it.” Charlie looked over to Matt who pretended not to hear.

“How’d she do?” Brandon asked Charlie, while looking at Rosie.

“Fine.” Brandon winked, undercutting Charlie’s muted praise.

“Rest today, you three move out at sundown.” Brandon gave his order.

“She still needs those things.” Charlie held up her barely readable note.

“We’re on it.” Matt called over from the bench. “Just waiting on Janey.”

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Rosie ate, spent an hour gently exercising, then showered and dressed again in the dirty fatigues. The others had told her that being clean made you stand out in the field, and that cultivating what they half jokingly called nasal camouflage would be important. She didn’t mind, if things got too bad she could always turn her sense of smell off.

Janey clanked up the stairs, something heavy and still smouldering pinched between her triple pronged hands.

“My assigned task is complete.” Janey dumped the freshly carved steel hunk on the bench. “Do you require further assistance Matthew?”

“More than you know, Janey.” Brandon made a joke too subtle for Janey.

“No, thank you.”

“I will return to my patrol. I hope I did not miss the deer.” Janey headed up and out.

“Why does she keep looking for deer?” Rosie mused out loud.

“She likes them.” Matt answered, much to Rosie’s amusement.

“Janey doesn’t ‘like’ things.” Rosie’s tone sounded arrogant, she didn’t hear it, but saw Brandon’s look.

“Sure she does.” Matt continued. “She likes animals, weather, cooking. Loads of things.” Rosie tried to soften her tone, remembering not everyone grew up with a computer on their arm. And in this room others were far more knowledgeable than her.

“Those are things her programming has chosen to talk about.”

“What’s the difference?” Matt shot back.

“Well it’s not...the code is…” Rosie didn’t have an answer. “I guess you’re right.” Matt beamed at his understanding of something that once terrified him. Brandon grabbed his shoulder, pretending to be shocked.

“Get Charlie, there’s something wrong with Rosie!”

After the laughter died down, Rosie peered over Matt’s shoulder and recognised what Janey had brought him. An electromagnetic locking assembly, cut from a door below. A source of personal torment for Rosie.

“Those fucking things.” Rosie felt her anger flare. “Piss poor design, always breaking. Then it tries to cut your fingers off when you fix it. Of course you could avoid that if it was isolated from the power.” Rosie could hear the pedantic morons as if they were here. “‘But that’s not procedure Rosie.’” She had a mocking tone.

“Yeah, I heard a similar rant about the door parts for the remote machine guns.” Matt kept working as Rosie paced, taking out the large locking pins, removing the gears, stripping away the wiring. “They’re also made of high carbon steel.” Who fucking cares, she thought, managing not to say it.

“A fitting reminder.” Brandon dumped the casting mould on the benches, stopping Rosie in her tracks.

“Of?” Rosie’s infuriation crept into her voice as she stood with her arms folded. The idea that she needed a reminder of her two and a half decades underground did not sit well.

“A reminder that no one is ever going to lock you away ever again.” Brandon’s words deflated her anger, a sense of pride taking its place.

“Thank you.” Rosie couldn't say anything else.

“Matthew’s idea.” Brandon clapped him on the back as Matt kept working. Rosie did the same, letting her arm draw across his shoulders for a moment.

“Thank you Matt.” He shifted awkwardly and Rosie pulled back.

“Lots to do, better get to it.” Matt gestured to Charlie’s frame and Rosie set to work removing her blades.

Rosie dug the freshly cast blade free from the sand with tongs. A foot long and half as wide. Modelled after a combat knife, curved to a point and with a serrated section on top. Charlie instructed her by moving her hands over Rosie's. Teaching her to bring the blade across the grindstone in fluid strokes, screeching and sparking until honed to an edge. Heat from a blowtorch brought the temperature of the metal up. A brief dip into a tray of oil quenched the blade, turning it dark black.

Matt had been working on four separate cast parts. A pair of angled spikes and a pair of straight ones, Rosie couldn’t see what they were for. “Nutcrackers.” Matt sensed her looking and set the angled spikes aside. “And kickers.” He pointed to the straight ones. Rosie still didn’t understand.

“Squeeze the grips and throw a jab.” Charlie stood back from her side, the final touches added to the frame she wore. Rosie did as instructed, driving the blade on her forearm forward and locking it in place with a clunk. It felt like an extension of her arm, slicing through the air effortlessly, the weight and power handled by the frame.

“Slash on the downstroke, stab on the up.” Charlie moved her arm slowly to give her a feel of the motion she knew well.

“Bring your hand down like this.” Matt motioned to bring the bottom of his fist down, Rosie copied. The angled spikes flicked out from the grips in her hand, almost like part of a claw hammer. “Good. Now kick this.” Matt placed a thin piece of armour down and braced it with his boot. Rosie tapped the narrow plate, keen not to injure someone else. “Harder.”

“No.” Rosie didn’t move or offer an explanation. Matt looked confused for a moment, then smiled and almost apologised without speaking.

“Raise your foot.” Matt held out his arm for her to balance on, she took it despite not needing to. He struck the metal plate that covered all but the soles of her boots with force, propelling the straight spikes out from the front of her foot.

“Good, all in working order.” Charlie walked round her one last time. “Eat something and gear up, we move out in an hour.”

Rosie, Matt and Charlie set out as soon as the sun dropped. Taking in the last of the orange on the horizon before it became black and shifting grey. The three walked for six hours, through forests and along riverbanks, till they reached a patch of ruins.

“Cyclone, make a sweep.” Charlie ordered. Matt dropped his pack and started jumping on the spot, lifting his knees and throwing punches. After a brief moment and a deep breath, he pulled down the black fabric mask and bolted into the dark. Charlie laughed as Rosie pouted at not being sent first. Matt returned a few minutes later, skidding to a halt. Rosie could tell how happy it made him to be moving fast and quiet in the dark.

“Clear.”

“Alright Tornado, try and keep up.” Charlie started running towards the row of brick buildings. Rosie followed not in the least struggling, until Charlie sped up and headed right for a wall. Rosie slowed, convinced she had to.

Charlie’s steps grew wider, bounding higher then bringing both legs down together. Rosie stopped completely as her jaw dropped. Charlie arced through the air colliding into the wall ten feet from the ground. Cracking and falling flecks of brick echoed as Charlie flung herself up the wall. “Tornado, keep up.”

“Solid copy Whirlwind.” Rosie emulated Charlie’s trained movements, bounding faster and jumping from the ground. Her right arm stuck down, triggering the spike and biting into brick, her left arm went through a window pane. The shift in balance pulled her other arm free, scoring at the wall for an instant, to no avail. Rosie landed unevenly, which transferred the momentum back up the legs, flinging her onto her back with a clatter.

Rosie shook off the bone rattling impact and got to her feet. Undeterred she built up some speed and leapt once more, finding firm footing. Suddenly the ergonomic advantage of the frame turned against her as Rosie felt the full weight of every piston. The top heavy design pulled her hands away, then Rosie understood.

Using the weight pulling her down to generate inertia Rosie pushed up with her feet, ascending and slamming her arms down. Again and again she jumped and clawed at the brickwork and heaving herself onto the flat roof.

“Contact front!” Charlie let out a well judged whisper and Rosie scrambled to her feet, sidearm drawn before even standing. “Stand easy, just wanted to make sure you’re ok.”

“Tornado stood ready.” Rosie gave the formal response to make her point.

“Here, tie yourself on.” She tossed Rosie the end of a climbing rope. “Oh, did I forget about that, sorry.” Rosie smiled, understanding the lesson and a new found respect for how Charlie moved in the R frame.

After three hours Rosie didn’t need the rope. She matched Charlie step for step and leap for leap. Balancing along rafters, skittering over roof slates, sliding down lampposts. Then climbing through windows and up stairs to start over. Jammed wooden doors splintered open under kicks and double overhand blows.

“Core check.” Charlie handed her a water canteen as they left the ruins that had become a playground.

“Seventy eight. Barely a drop.” Rosie took the opportunity to touch the lead lined pouch on her hip and the hand grenade next to it. She saw Matt and Charlie do the same, it brought her an odd sense of comfort.

“How far to the drop site?” Charlie thrust a cloth map at Rosie and ignored the eye roll.

“Nineteen miles.” Rosie prodded the map without looking at it.

“Show me the fastest and the safest routes.” Rosie traced one route with her finger then the other. “Alright, first one there gets a day off.” Charlie started checking Rosie over.

“Rules of engagement?” Matt asked, subtly stretching his arms and legs.

“Stay dark. Radio silent unless needed. Other than that, all’s fair.” As soon as Charlie stopped speaking Matt ran, disappearing into the night. “Better get moving Rosie.” Charlie gave her a playful smile. Rosie made it six feet before something yanked at the frame, stopping her dead. “All’s fair Rosie! Don’t forget my rope!” Charlie had tied her frame to a lamppost, giving herself a head start.

Now alone, a hint of apprehension broke through from the back of Rosie’s mind. She outran it, bounding swift and silent through the dark.