Armored Heart Read online

  ARMORED HEART

  J. M. ANJEWIERDEN

  ©2019 Jared Michael Anjewierden

  All Rights Reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Published by CJMA Press, Salt Lake City, UT.

  Cover art by Alison Christensen

  Editing by Christina Anjewierden

  First Edition

  FOR ALEX

  CONTENTS

  Profiles in Innovation

  Chapter 01

  Chapter 02

  Chapter 03

  Chapter 04

  Chapter 05

  Chapter 06

  Chapter 07

  Chapter 08

  Chapter 09

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Profiles in Innovation

  NEW ADVANCES IN PROSTHETICS GIVE LEGS TO THE DREAMS OF DOZENS, SOON, HUNDREDS

  By Nicole Roberts

  December 24th, 2019

  Denver (AP) – The successful, if still highly classified, process of genetic and chemical augmentation to turn teenaged volunteers into super soldiers is nearly eighty years old, Despite those decades of research it has only been within the last few years that any serious breakthrough in cybernetic prosthetics have been made. The woman at the forefront of this revolution, May Martinez, is as unlikely a candidate to change the world as many inventors profiled in this series. A veteran of the Second Augment War herself, Ms. Martinez was discharged early due to injuries sustained on the front lines. In an astoundingly short span of time, she has gone from just one of tens of thousands of wounded, unemployed vets to head of her own company as well as its associated nonprofit. Said company builds and fits clients with cybernetic prosthetics that tie directly into the nervous system of the wearer to give them nearly full restoration of mobility and ability.

  More of our interview with Ms. Martinez, and the fascinating technology driving her company forward, can be found in the subscribers section of ProfilesInInnovation.com

  Chapter 01

  SUBDUED CELEBRATION MARKS THE SEVENTY-FIFTH ANNIVERSARY OF V-J DAY AND TWO YEARS SINCE THE END OF THE SECOND AUGMENT WAR

  By Michael Jones

  September 2nd, 2020

  Washington (AP) – In a quiet ceremony marking Victory over Japan Day at the (First) Augment War Memorial, President MacBride praised the veterans in attendance and remembered the honored dead, calling both “truly the greatest Generation”. The atmosphere was somber, however, with the unfinished Second Augment War Memorial casting a literal and figurative shadow over the proceedings.

  The Second Augment War, ended by treaty less than two years ago, saw more deaths over its nearly four-year span than the First Augment War did in six, with more than half a million dead just among the U.S. troops.

  Of the veterans in attendance, special attention was paid to Col. Harold Browning (ret.), one of the last surviving members of the first generation of the Soldier Augment Program, or “Augs” as they are colloquially known.

  MAY ALMA MARTINEZ’S bare ‘feet’ thumped against the polished stone tiles of the Denver Bank and Trust. The sound was incongruous with her height and apparent weight, even with her muscular build. Faint whirrs and clicks accompanied these too-loud thumps as the joints of her legs moved.

  At least the rubber bottoms keep the noise down somewhat, May mused.

  Despite the noises of her approach, nobody noticed her as she opened the lobby doors. That was just fine with her. After all, it was why she was going to the bank at three in the afternoon. Most people were still at work. It wasn’t that she minded the attention, really. She’d grown used to it. It was simply inconvenient.

  As May walked purposefully into the lobby the teller looked up. Her attention was likely drawn by the unexpected noise.

  You’re getting paranoid, May. It’s probably her job to greet everyone that comes in.

  Her big toe clicked against the side of the toe next to it, a nervous tick she had never managed to break, despite months and years of trying.

  I really need to make shoes that fit, she thought to herself for at least the hundredth time. Not that doing so would move the goal any higher up her massive to-do list.

  Regardless of May’s efforts, no pair of normal-looking shoes would disguise the fact that from the tips of her toes to her waistline, May’s body was either encased in or made of metal. Wearing pants might hide it better, aside from the sound her legs made as she walked. They might, but one time getting the fabric caught in the joints had been more than enough for May, thank you very much. Sitting on the floor of a movie theater lobby, in her underwear, while she took her legs off and pried her jeans out of the mechanism wasn’t something she’d like to repeat.

  Besides, skirts were cuter and much more versatile. She didn’t have to remove them if she wanted to take the legs off and use her wheelchair for a bit, and it certainly made using the bathroom a lot easier.

  Still, the cybernetic prosthetics were still too new and too rare for them not to draw stares out in public. May was one of only five people in the city who had them, a fact she knew because she was the one who had designed them. Hers were slightly different from the commercial models, tying directly into her nervous system rather than using leads attached to the skin, but externally they looked much the same.

  Not that those differences mattered to the task at hand. For the moment, May just needed to deposit a consulting check, pay some bills, and then go to the grocery store. Regular errands, just like any other normal person.

  May unsuccessfully stifled a yawn.

  A normal person. What was that anyway? May didn’t think she ever really had been one. Not before losing her legs, before being drafted, or even before starting her scatter brained ‘career’ as an inventor. And now? Now she was even less normal than ever, with her extracurricular activities keeping her up at all hours of the day and night, making her body ache in odd places almost constantly, and arguably being in danger more often than she ever had been, even on the front lines of the Second Aug War.

  It might be interesting, to have a personal office, at least for a while, she thought absently as she filled out the slip for her deposit. I’m already doing a lot of consulting for the local prosthetists. Having my own space to meet in instead of always going to them or meeting at the foundation would save me a lot of time.

  If I get space downtown I could even stash an extra suit there.

  “Nobody move!” an obviously fake deep voice announced, shattering the quiet hum of noise in the bank.

  Turning her head, May saw three men standing in the entrance, black ski masks and double barreled shotguns, with trench coats to complete the effect, coats that probably had hid the guns until just then.

  Seriously, a bank robbery? Is my luck just that terrible? Or that good? May thought.

  On the one hand, she was in an excellent place to intervene, still at the secondary counter. On the other hand she didn’t have any of her gear. She was in full civilian attire.

  Despite the approach of fall it was still an unseasonably warm day for Denver, and all she had on was a sundress.

  And since she was only wearing a sundress, she didn’t have her pistol on her, despite having a permit to carry concealed. She didn’t trust carrying in her purse, and she’d left that in the car anyway, bringing only her wallet in with her.

  Be honest May,
you’re getting complacent, trusting to your augments to keep you safe.

  She could kick them quite hard, and easily surprise them with her speed. Her legs looked as bulky and clumsy as the normal prosthetics she designed, if in olive drab rather than the normal matte grey, but that was mostly for show. The metals in this pair came from decommissioned tank frames, with a bit of tank armor on top, overall much lighter and tougher than normal steel and iron, and the nerve connections worked off her prototype implants and not the surface taps giving her a quicker reaction time.

  The shotguns weren’t even that much of a risk for her. She may have not received the extensive level of Augs the Special Forces got during the war, but she had received more than a few, and her skin was much tougher than that of a baseline human thanks to the organic armor weaving her skin had been modified to grow just under the surface. Their weapons were for intimidation more than anything else, and, unless she was gravely mistaken, they weren’t even 12 gauge weapons, but 20, most likely loaded with bird shot.

  She could probably take them all on, but it was a huge risk that could also end up exposing her as the superhero Escuda. She was already under enough scrutiny because of her advances in robotics and prosthetics. She didn’t need the extra attention.

  Hell, forget her already low-level fame. “Amputee Foils Bank Robber” was the kind of headline reporters salivated over, out of sensationalism and ‘feel good story’ factors alone.

  There was one other factor to consider too – the bystanders. She wasn’t too worried about getting shot, but what about the others?

  Speaking of others…

  Glancing around she noted there was only one other person in the lobby, besides the criminals of course. He was a tall muscular man, with the kind of neat cropped brown hair that suggested military to her, to the point that she felt a momentary impulse to salute him. He was dressed in a suit that fit him quite well, though he wore it like he was unaccustomed to the fancier clothing. He was gritting his teeth and balling his fists, but not moving from his position at the counter.

  Don’t like not acting either, huh? I can sympathize. She looked him over a bit more closely. Quite a hunk, too.

  He looked over to her, and their eyes met. His lips tightened as he glanced her over, assuredly taking in her legs.

  Worried about protecting me? How sweet.

  In years past May would have been mightily pissed off by being relegated to the ‘to be guarded’ category, but she had gotten over that just as she had being stared at. Or at least, she mostly had. It was harder to take from people who knew her than from strangers. People who didn’t know her had to go on looks, and assuming someone with prosthetic legs needed a bit more help was the logical conclusion. What’s more, it was the compassionate conclusion.

  Better the instinct to protect than to pity.

  While this all went through her head two of the criminals approached the counter, the third staying in the doorway, looking not out into the parking lot, but in.

  Stupid, May thought disapprovingly, Anyone, or anything – like, oh, I don’t know, a cop – could come up behind you from outside. Inside they’d have to get through your mates first.

  Were stupid robbers a good thing or a bad thing?

  “Please don’t hurt us,” the lady at the counter said, one hand half-raised, the other under the desk.

  “You push that alarm and we just might,” the one in front said, gesturing at the lady’s hand with his shotgun. May mentally dubbed him ‘Tall’, with the one at the door getting the moniker Fat, and the third man Short. “Get your hands up. All of you,” he added, waving the shotgun wildly around.

  Good way to have it go off accidently. Not to mention not telling everyone to get their hands up first. If I was the teller I’d have already pushed the alarm before they got to the counter. I hope she managed it. They definitely are stupid though.

  “You’re going to open the vault for us,” Fat yelled. “Quick and quiet.”

  “What should we do with the gawkers,” Short said, gesturing to the man and May with his chin.

  “Shove them in the janitor’s closet,” Tall answered, glancing back at his companion. “You have the key, right?” he asked the bank teller, turning back to her.

  “Yes,” she stammered.

  “Don’t look so worried,” Tall said, sneering, “They’ll be safe in there, and not having them to look after makes it much less likely there’ll be any ‘accidents’ out here.”

  The teller pointed to a nondescript door on the far wall, and handed a key to the robber with trembling hands, and he tossed it to Short. Out of the corner of her eye May could see the man in the suit tensing up, probably getting ready to attack as the man got too close, but just as suddenly he relaxed.

  “Yeah, don’t think I don’t see you there, soldier boy,” Tall said. He had reached over the table and grabbed the teller, pressing the shotgun’s short barrel right up against her head. “You look pretty tough. Maybe you could stop,” the robber paused suddenly, continuing after a moment, “my buddy, but can you do that and get to me before I pull the trigger?”

  May felt a chill run down her spine. They weren’t just stupid, they were amateurs. He had just about said Short’s name out loud, for all the cameras to record. There was no predicting how these idiots would react.

  Where are the other bank employees? There have to be at least two or three more, right? If their entire plan is this sloppy they probably don’t have any contingencies for when the cops show up. A hostage situation will make things much more dangerous, for all of us.

  “Just stay calm, buddy,” the man said, with a faint British accent that somehow sounded familiar to May.

  “I ain’t your buddy, and you’d better get moving.”

  The man just snorted, somehow making it sound both disdainful and elegant, but he started to comply.

  Then it hit May, she did recognize his voice. She knew exactly who the hunk was. She’d been listening to him give interviews and speeches for years now.

  Not wanting the amateurs to point a shotgun at her, or rather, not wanting Short to, May complied as well, slowly stepping back from the table she was at and heading towards the indicated door.

  She turned to face the hunk, waiting a moment for his gaze to fall on her, and then she slowly winked, then raised her eyebrows slightly.

  Once she was sure he had seen, she started moving, doing so with an exaggerated clumsiness, even a bit more so than baseline prosthetics of her type would have. Never let your opponents know your true capabilities.

  “Hurry it up,” Short said, growling.

  “You want to carry me? Might go faster that way. But I’m going as fast as the metal will take me,” May said, letting her exasperation color her voice. It wasn’t hard to get the tone right. Not showing her disdain for the astounding number of dull people out there was the harder act.

  “Shut up and move it,” Tall said, taking the shotgun off the poor teller’s head to gesture with it in May’s direction.

  The moment the barrel had cleared her head the man in the suit exploded into action, rushing Tall.

  May couldn’t tell if he was surprised or not, but he certainly hadn’t reacted in any visible way just yet.

  May was not surprised, and started her own movement a fraction of a moment behind Hunk’s, aiming for Short.

  She had a lot shorter distance to cover, but Hunk still got there first. His fist hammered into Tall’s jaw with a sickeningly audible crack, while her leg flashed into a powerful kick to Short’s stomach.

  May caught her target’s shotgun as he doubled over, but she didn’t bring it up in a shooter’s stance. Instead she popped it open, expelling the unfired shells, and then threw the weapon at Fat, still standing like an idiot in the doorway with his shotgun pointed at the floor and his mouth open.

  He’s just lucky supers try not to kill unless necessary. No one would be upset if I just shot him.

  May's throw was completely off and didn
't have much power behind it. But it was enough to make her target flinch and raise his arms to protect his head. That was all May needed as she spun away from Short and rushed Fat.

  It wasn’t quite as elegant as she had planned – her shoulder connected with his ribcage to his right, rather than dead center into his sternum – but it did knock the gun flying. Fat went sailing backwards through the double doors and onto his back, with May pinning him to the floor.

  He punched May in the cheek, hitting hard enough that he knocked her clean off him. May had to wonder if he was also an augmented veteran.

  Launching himself to his feet, he scrambled forward for his dropped shotgun.

  Momentarily dazed from the punch, May shook her head to clear her swimming vision. She didn’t even bother trying to stand up, instead settling for a hard kick into the side of his ankle.

  As soon as she heard the crunch of bone, May winced. The crunch came with a much shriller, and louder, scream from Fat. He instantly collapsed, his foot bent at an unnatural angle.

  Exhaling forcefully in an exaggerated sigh, May looked up, making sure the other two were still down.

  “I guess I kicked him harder than I meant to. Oops.”

  The man kept screaming, throwing in a string of curses and insults that would almost have been up to the standards of her sailor buddies.

  Yep, he’s definitely a vet. Otherwise, he’d be unconscious with that bad a break. Blasted Blue Falcons, giving the rest of us a bad name.

  A hand appeared above her, offering itself to her.

  Taking it, May was easily pulled to a standing position. She took a moment to smooth her skirt and check if she’d gotten blood on her feet.

  It was Mr. Hunk, his other hand holding two of the shotguns. The third was pinned under one foot.

  “That was quick thinking, and quicker moving,” he said, smiling at her, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Are you okay?”

  She leaned closer into him, whispering so the robbers couldn’t possibly hear.