Armored Heart Page 2

  “Oh, I’m quite fine, now that the Steel Patriot is here.”

  To his credit, he did not react physically.

  “I think you have me confused with someone else, not that I am not flattered by the comparison.”

  May fought the urge to roll her eyes. One of the primary reasons they’d instituted the draft for women, even in limited numbers, was that certain genetic augments worked on women far better than they did on men. Why was that the case? May was a very talented engineer, and none too shabby with the biological sciences given her focus on prosthetics, but she couldn’t begin to figure that out, even with access to a lot of the classified stuff. After one of the primary researchers had just shrugged and told her the answer was ‘because’ she gave up trying.

  In any case, the primary augments that worked better on women were those that enhanced the senses: vision, hearing, even touch. For someone like May, hearing him speak told her a lot more about him than most people would imagine.

  By itself it wouldn’t have been enough, but May made it a point to keep up with the interviews and other public appearances of the bigtime supers, including Steel Patriot, especially Steel Patriot. There was a lyrical tone to his speaking that was quite distinctive, and of course how he’d handled the robbers was a big clue all by itself. Then there were the long months where his voice had been one of the few pleasant things she’d had to hang onto, in the hospital.

  “Oh, of course,” she said, after processing everything for a moment. Despite being quite sure as to his identity, if that was how he wanted to play it, May would oblige him. “The knock to my head must have me confused.”

  “You’d best sit down, then. Give me a moment to tie these ruffians up and I’ll check you over.”

  “Sure, you can check me out all you like,” May said with a smile of her own. It was a failing of hers, she knew, but she always got flirtier after dangerous situations. Her own personal way of coping with the aftereffects of adrenaline and peril. It had gotten her yelled at by more than one NCO and even an officer or two, but she usually had only had her tank crew to unleash it on, and they had learned quite quickly to ignore her.

  Even Lieutenant Matthews ignored my flirting. More’s the pity. It was an old thought, and time had dulled the pain but not erased it.

  Patriot, (no matter how much he denied it) didn’t react to that either, releasing her hand and turning smoothly to haul Fat to his feet, or rather, to hold him off his feet, since he couldn’t stand on his own.

  The nearest chair was over to one side of the entrance, in front of an empty desk proclaiming it was for the loan officer.

  Flirting aside, May was feeling a bit unsteady on her feet; the blow to her cheek had hurt, genetically engineered skin and bones or no.

  She couldn’t see the teller, but the sobbing sound coming from behind the counter told May where she was. It didn’t sound like sobs of pain, just fear mixed with relief, so May put her out of her mind and started thinking on how to handle the mess she’d gotten herself involved with.

  Why did I act? The freaking Steel Patriot was here. He could have handled all of them without me. Hell, he could have handled twice that many on his own and only have to worry about messing up his clothes.

  She glanced over at him, tying the men up with the, what was it called, with the ribbon stuff they ran between the little poles to set up the waiting lines. He was cutting each section with his teeth, like it was completely normal. The men had their coats off, so presumably Patriot had already checked them for other weapons.

  A wave of weariness swept over May, and she rested her uninjured cheek against the surface of the desk. Like the floor it was made of stone, and pleasantly cool.

  When did I get to the point I could tell if someone was crying in pain or just in fear? Damn, it feels like I’ve been doing this forever, but it hasn’t even been a year yet. Twenty-three years old, and I’m a worn out spinster superhero. How pathetic is that?

  “The police have been contacted,” Patriot said as he approached her from behind. May noticed he still kept the unconscious or groaning robbers in his field of vision, “they should be here within minutes.”

  “She didn’t get to the silent alarm?” May asked, trying to keep her voice level.

  “No, no, she did. So did the manager in his office.”

  Hiding in his office, you mean, May thought. She was being uncharitable again, but her aching cheek was only the worst of many pains, and she was grumpy. Not everyone could run towards the sound of gunfire, and that wasn’t anything to castigate someone over. The line between bravery and foolhardy was quite thin indeed, if it even existed at all.

  Patriot was speaking again, but May had missed it.

  “I’m sorry, could you say that again?”

  “Can I look over your head?” he repeated, with an added frown this time.

  May smiled.

  “I already said you could.”

  “Great. Can you keep an eye on the chuckleheads for me?”

  Grumbling a bit, May sat up.

  “All right, but I’d much rather look at you.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he smoothly replied, not missing a beat.

  I suppose you must get used to flirty girls when you’re one of the most popular superheroes in the whole country. What’s he doing out in this neck of the woods, anyway? Compared to places like D.C. or New York, our crime rate is rather anemic. Not that I’m complaining, really.

  Gently he started probing May’s short mousy hair, looking for cuts or bruises. It had been far too long since any man had touched her hair, even under the present circumstances. She could have told him it was only her cheek that was hurting, but that would have stopped the impromptu scalp massage, so why ruin a good thing?

  “What year is it?” he asked.

  “It is the Year of Our Lord 1815.” May answered, rolling her eyes a bit, “I hear Napoleon might finally have bitten off just a bit more than he can chew, if you can believe it.”

  “This is serious,” he said, grumbling a bit.

  “For Bonaparte? Very serious, I would think.”

  “Are you always this ridiculous?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe? Does that mean you want to find out?”

  He grumbled again, pulling his hands back from her hair.

  “Your head looks fine. Let’s take a look at that cheek.”

  In the distance, May could finally hear sirens approaching. Patriot glanced towards the road, frowning for some reason May couldn’t quite imagine.

  He took her chin gently in one hand, tilting her head to look at the injured cheek.

  “That is going to have a beautiful bruise,” he commented.

  Unfortunately he was probably right. Stopping even bullets with her skin was possible. Doing so without any damage to the tissues beneath was not.

  May motioned him closer, whispering up at him.

  “I really don’t want to deal with reporters. Cops are one thing, but the vultures will make such a big deal out of it,” she trailed off, shrugging.

  He stepped in a half pace more, bringing his head down close to hers.

  “What exactly are you suggesting?”

  May looked up at him, momentarily losing herself in his sparkling blue eyes.

  “You could just take credit for everything. Play the hero.”

  “Lie to them, you mean? Or at least, to the media?” he said, giving her a lopsided smile that was much more genuine. “I’ve had a few run-ins with the media. I can understand wanting to avoid them. Especially anyone they might think would make for a better story.”

  May shrugged again.

  “Just be vague enough to let them draw their own conclusions.”

  “And the teller, or the robbers themselves?”

  May gave him yet another shrug, throwing in a smile to keep from feeling like a robot stuck in a loop.

  “The teller dropped down to the floor as soon as you acted. Smart move. The robbers’ stories won’t muc
h matter, really, even if they are in any condition or position to tell reporters anything anytime soon.”

  There was no way he could know her real reasons for not wanting to draw attention to herself, but her stated reasons were logical enough.

  “You don’t think they’ll want to admit getting beat up by…?” Patriot asked, trailing off as he suddenly realized what he was about to say.

  “By a cripple?” May finished. There was no venom in her voice. Yet. For the moment he hadn’t pushed any of May’s buttons, and being cute bought him a bit more leeway.

  “Sorry,” he said with a smile, “Though after seeing you in action, I have to say you are about the least helpless person I’ve met.”

  “What’s your name? You haven’t even introduced yourself,” May asked, changing the subject now that she was satisfied he was going to agree to her request.

  She was glad he was, but she did wonder why he was. Asking him his name gave her a few moments to think it through while he thought about whether to answer her.

  Steel Patriot, like most of the government-endorsed heroes, did not keep his identity completely secret, but neither did that mean it was widely known. In practice, it was kept as confidential as any undercover police officer’s identity, known only to a few individuals in the government. From time to time the media would figure out who one of them was, and despite periodic toothless threats of lawsuits they rushed to publish their expose.

  So, keeping that in mind, why would he agree to keep her involvement kept secret and risk his own being more closely scrutinized?

  The possibility he was just protecting her privacy she rejected out of hand, there had to be more to it.

  Patriot was considered the best. Fact. He was the poster boy for the American/British line of genetic engineering, the Augs. Fact. He was also seen as the biggest boy scout among a bunch of squeaky-clean boy scouts.

  Ah. That was it. It was because she was a cripple, but not because of how he thought that made him look, but how it would make others feel about him. She was willing to accept he was genuine in saying he didn’t think her helpless, but as she had been thinking just a few minutes prior, most people wouldn’t see it that way, simply because they didn’t know her.

  She worked through all that, and he still hadn’t answered.

  She rested her head back down on the table, as the whole front half of the lobby was bathed in red and blue police lights from the parking lot. They were out of time. She couldn’t help chuckling to herself. It wasn’t often she was sad the police had shown up.

  “Just tell them it was all you,” she asked, closing her eyes for a moment. “Less messy questions that way.”

  “As you wish,” he said, formally. “Your cheek will be fine in a day or two, though if it keeps hurting you should get it checked out. There could be hairline fractures to the bone. Does anything else hurt, your back or your legs?” For the first time his smooth delivery slipped.

  Even you’re still mortal, huh Patriot? May thought. Somehow that’s reassuring.

  The doors burst open, disgorging a stream of police officer in full riot gear. They first went for the trussed of robbers, giving May and Patriot a few moments more to talk.

  “My stumps are doing as well as they ever are, thanks,” May said, softening the statement with another smile. “My name is May, by the way.”

  Patriot actually smiled sheepishly.

  “I know.”

  “You do? And how is that exactly?”

  “Don’t you know? You’re famous, Ms. Robotics Expert. Especially in military circles. Most of us have at least one buddy who lost some piece or other in the war, after all,” he answered, throwing her one last lopsided smile as he turned to address the cops.

  “You never told me your name,” May said, grumbling.

  “I know,” he answered over his shoulder, repeating himself.

  She wanted to say something else, but then one of the cops was beside her, barraging her with a dozen questions at once.

  Next time, Steel Hunk, she thought wistfully.

  Chapter 02

  ATTEMPTED BANK ROBBERY SUBDUED BY ALERT CUSTOMER

  By Rashida Smith

  September 2nd, 2020

  Denver (Denver Tribune) – Three as yet unidentified men were arrested late this afternoon after attempting to rob a local bank. After brandishing firearms they were subdued by a local citizen, without any harm to the staff or bystanders.

  Unconfirmed Reports suggest all four were augmented.

  THE WORST PART of all the questions and repetitions and checks from the paramedics and more questions and avoiding the news cameras and even more questions was that in the end, May didn’t even get her check deposited or her groceries bought.

  She didn’t need the money immediately or even ever, but it was the principle of the thing. The groceries, that was the more immediate matter. She was out of chocolate milk and her stash of the good dark chocolate bars was almost gone.

  Mostly, she felt like she needed some freaking wine, but that was a non-starter. Try as she might, she hadn’t figured out a way to counteract how alcohol affected the neural links between prosthetics and nerves. Given the choice between booze and walking, she’d choose walking every time.

  It was 7:00 when she was finally free to go – and the news cameras had finally wandered away to their next story. By that time, she’d been wearing her prosthetics for well over her usual four or five hours during the day. While she was gradually building up her stamina, the aches in her face and the rest of her body were the only things keeping her mind off the aches in her legs from wearing the prosthetics too long.

  Long story short, May was exhausted.

  She stumbled through the door at last, the lights helpfully coming on automatically as she did, and plopped down into her home wheelchair, tossing her keys into the dish by the door.

  For about three minutes she just sat there, groaning and moaning about the stupidity and perversity of the universe, until a particularly sharp stab of pain went through her legs.

  She looked at herself in the mirror mounted opposite the door, noting the exhaustion in her face and the bags under her eyes.

  Grumbling even more, she checked the locks on the wheels before pushing herself up off the seat, holding herself up by her elbows on the armrests. Hiking up her skirt to her navel, she triggered the release and deactivation switches on the prosthetics, located just above her hip on either side.

  She called them her prosthetics, plural, because they replaced both of her legs. But in truth it was a single piece of equipment. She’d lost her legs at mid-thigh to a single piece of red-hot shrapnel, and the stumps that were left were ill-equipped to support the weight of a grown woman, even one as relatively short as she was.

  The obvious answer was to have the prosthetic go higher, wrapping around not only her stumps, but up around her butt and hips as well, almost like she was sitting on the prosthetic rather than standing with it.

  Now in reversing the process the front folded down and the sides folded out, letting her slide it out from under her, the legs automatically straightening up to an upright position. Settling back down into the wheelchair, she straightened her skirt. Next she opened up a panel on the back of the left leg, disconnecting the powerful battery stored there. Plugging it into the charging port on the same narrow table that held her keys, she swapped in a freshly charged battery, then repeated the changeover for the right leg. Each battery was fully capable of powering the whole unit for twenty-four hours, but one of the hard lessons she’d learned in the military was a love of redundancy.

  Patting the legs affectionately, May unlocked her wheels and headed towards the kitchen.

  “Air conditioning, sixty-eight degrees,” she told the apartment, and the computer controlling the heating and air system complied, reducing the temperature settings for her and starting cool air pumping through the room. Staying on the cutting edge of robotics was an often infuriating job, but it had its perks. br />
  The cool air felt so nice felt on her legs. The sockets were quite snug; they had to be, and even with some built in ventilation they just did not breathe properly. Cold in the winter, hot in the summer, and generally sweaty by the end of the day either way. The first time she’d worn them outside in the summer she had nearly burned her legs, just from the sun hitting the metal over her thighs.

  Another reason to keep to wearing skirts, even if my legs keep everything naughty covered, she mused as she thought on it.

  A grumbling stomach reminded May that there were more pressing matters than cooling off.

  Wheeling herself over to her custom-built and designed kitchen unit, May started getting dinner ready.

  In truth, nearly everything in her apartment was custom-made. When she’d first moved in after being discharged from the military rehab center it had been fairly typical, and even mostly empty. Fairly daunting for someone still getting used to getting around with normal prosthetics coupled with arm braces.

  After finally being knocked out of her despondency she’d had a nonstandard negotiation with the building owner. That resulted in her making some drastic changes to her personal space and a few other places in the building, plus getting better ramps up to the main door and in a few places around the parking lot.

  She’d had everything resized for easy access from her chair, including all the storage and cooking spaces.

  It left a lot of empty space up high, but she’d just mounted screens across most of it and set up rotating displays of paintings and vistas.

  That didn’t mean there weren’t things she was still struggling to adapt to. Like her diet, bringing her thoughts back to the task at hand.

  As was the case for most military personnel deployed in active war zones, she’d been a heavy eater. She had to be, just to keep up with the exhausting level of activity and work she had to do each day.

  Adjusting down from that standard was bad enough, but doing so after losing almost twenty percent of her total body mass? May was convinced the only reasons her weight hadn’t ballooned was the immense amount of extra work she was demanding from her arms, plus the fact that she’d been too morose to eat much.