Mako (The Mako Saga: Book 1) (36 page)

Reiser gave her a confused look. “How is that even possible?” he marveled. “Earth and Aura are practically identical in every way, as are their various species of inhabitants—humans included, right?”

“The operative word there is ‘practically,’” Reynolds stressed. “Yes, each species is completely compatible with its alter-world counterpart, but they’re not identical. Infinitesimal as they may be, there are slight environmental differences between our two worlds. Factor into that hundreds of thousands of years of evolution through natural selection, and it only makes sense that this would lead to slight genetic differences between our two peoples.” Reynolds stood up straight and shook her head. “Honestly, Jon, I can’t believe I let this slip past me before.”

“So what does this mean for the gene therapy?” he asked, the concern in his voice beginning to show. “Will it still work?”

Reynolds shrugged. “I don’t see why not. They haven’t experienced any problems with any of the other drugs we’ve given them, nor have there been any adverse reactions to the nano-tech in their translators. Still,” she paused. “The gene therapy is far more invasive than anything else we’ve subjected them to, and while I don’t see any reason why it wouldn’t take, there might be side effects to consider.”

Reiser lifted a brow. “What kind of side effects?”

****

“
DUUUUUUUUUUDE!!!
” Link boomed lethargically—like the others, all but overpowered by the uncontrollable state of giggling that gripped him. Meanwhile, Reiser and Reynolds hid their eyes in embarrassment as Katahl, Noll, and Ryan leered at the hilariously debilitated quintet through the isolation room glass.

“What the hell is going on, Doctor?” Katahl growled—the annoyance evident in his tone. “They’ve been laughing like a pack of hyenas for over an hour now. What’s wrong with them?”

“It’s perfectly fine, Admiral,” Reynolds scrambled to explain as Link fell off of his chair. “I promise you, sir, we’re doing our best to—”

“Dr. Reynolds?” asked one of the lab techs. “What’s a… Funyun?”

Reynolds wrinkled her nose. “It’s a type of snack food back on Earth, why?”

The lab tech stared ahead, perplexed, as an outraged Hamish pumped his fist at the glass. “Because the large one is extremely adamant that he would like six bags of them right away, and he’s threatening to quit the program immediately if he doesn’t get them. Oh,” she added, “and the small one has slipped his suit and is exposing himself.”

Her frustration rising, Reynolds brushed aside her hair and leaned into the intercom. “Just relax, Mr. Lunley. When this is all over, you have my word that we’ll get you some Funyuns, but until then I need you to settle down and let us get through this…
Baxter
,” she barked, “put your pants back on!”

“The others are being equally persistent, ma’am,” the tech continued. “They’re demanding at once that we get them pizza, nachos, bacon chili cheese fries, powdered doughnuts, and something called… White Castle? Oh, and beer. They’re very, very passionate about the beer.”

“
Snacks, snacks, snacks, snacks!
” the chorus of chants bellowed from below.

“This is just a temporary side effect of the gene therapy, sir,” Reynolds promised Katahl. “You have my word, it’ll be out of their systems in a few hours, and they’ll be cleared to report for duty.”

“I certainly hope so, Doctor,” Katahl said, unimpressed. “I’d rather not have to report back to President Wylon that we’ve turned our last hope for survival into a group of inebriated idiots on the floor of your infirmary.”

“Yes sir,” she assured him. “All signs indicate that this is purely a temporary reaction—exclusive only to their first injection. Just give us a few hours and they’ll be all yours.”

****

Once the pharmaceutical effects of the gene therapy injections had finally worn off (a mind-numbing, not to mention side-splittingly painful experience that left every square inch of his body aching for the better part of the day afterward), Lee and the others trudged through Reiser’s lab into a large side room that had been converted into a makeshift gymnasium. Filled with mat-covered floors, punching bags, and weights, the space was divided into a variety of training zones—all encircled by an indoor track around the room’s perimeter. Spotting Reiser at the track’s start/finish line, the group wandered over to meet him there.

“Before I hand you off to Sgt. Major Noll,” the doctor began, “I’d like to spend the next couple of days getting you acclimated to the M-suits themselves. First we’ll start with the basics, beginning with walking.”

“That’s easy enough” Danny noted. “We did that on the way in here, right?”

“No, Mr. Tucker, you physically walked into this room just as you would without the suit. Now however, I want you to do it exclusively with your mind, not your legs. In other words, just think about taking a few steps forward, but don’t actually do it. Understood?”

Standing still as he cleared his thoughts, Danny took a deep breath, raised his right leg, shifted his weight… and promptly face-planted onto the turf in front of him.

“Nice job, Crockett,” Link snickered. “I give it a solid 9.5!”

“Bet you wish you’d taken those Fred Astaire classes with me now, don’t ya, slick?” Mac added.

Annoyed, and definitely a bit embarrassed, Danny jumped to his feet, dusted himself off, and fired a quick glance across the room at Reynolds. Naturally, she was her usual, stoic self as she tapped away on her tablet, though for the briefest of moments, he could’ve sworn he’d seen a hint of a smile.

“Try it again, Mr. Tucker,” Reiser instructed. “Visualize yourself taking a step, nothing more. Don’t think about running, or even walking. Simply think about taking a step.”

Flashing another quick stare at the redheaded physician, Danny closed his eyes and took another breath. Then, raising his leg and shifting his weight, he exhaled and placed his foot down in front of him—this time to the cheering applause of Reiser and his fellow team members.

“Excellent work, Mr. Tucker,” the doctor said as Danny wobbled back to the starting line. “Now, let’s see what the rest of you can do.”

For the next several minutes, each of them took their turns at mastering the simple, though incredibly awkward act of walking without physically doing so before Reiser decided that they were ready to up the stakes a little.

“Anyone up for a little run?” he asked.

“I’ll take a crack at it,” Lee volunteered, though apparently to the chagrin of Mac, who voiced her protest with a soft, throaty cough.

“I don’t think so, oh high-and-mighty leader,” she said, shoving him aside and crouching down to take her position on the starting line, just like she’d done so many times before as a member of the high school track team. “How about you go stand over there and philosophize over something while the real jocks demonstrate how it’s done? Okay? Thanks.”

“You do realize, of course, that there are three lanes here, correct?” Reiser countered, amused by the idea of a little friendly competition.

Reminding himself that the exercise was, in this instance, significantly more mental than physical, Lee fought to psych himself up before joining her on the line.

“Mr. Tucker, would you care to join?” Reynolds called from across the pavement.

“Are you kidding?” Danny exclaimed. “You couldn’t pay me to get in the middle of this.”

“Mr. Baxter?” Reiser said to Link who shook his head.

“Sorry Doc, but I’m with Crockett on this one. Besides, I’ve been a pack-a-day man since I was 15 years old, so something tells me I’m not exactly Usain Bolt material—Power Ranger duds or not, ya know?”

Satisfied for now, Reiser took hold of the whistle and stopwatch around his neck and turned to his two participants, each of whom was now fully braced for the match ahead.

“Alright, this is no different than what you were doing before,” he instructed. “Just visualize yourself running as fast as you can and let the suit do the rest. Remember, don’t run. Think about running.”

With the sudden chirp of the whistle, the duo exploded off the starting line to the outpouring of cheers from their friends as they pushed and kicked their way into the first turn.

“Don’t run,” Reiser called, seeing their physical exertion. “Just imagine the act in your mind.”

Feeling the intense strain on his body, Lee did his best to follow the instructions as the gap between himself and Mac slowly began to widen.

“C’mon Lee,” she managed a breathless taunt through her gazelle-like stride ahead of him. “All I’ve heard about from Danny is what kind of great shape you’re in these days, now bring it!”

Struggling through the agony of his slam-pumping heart, throbbing knees, and splint-stricken shins, Lee tried to focus on Reiser’s advice as his pace continued to slow. His breath now ever so fleeting, he closed his eyes and cleared his mind of both the pain and the swishing brown ponytail ahead, fighting to concentrate. Then instantly, as if in some strange out-of-body experience, the ripping burn in his joints began to subside, and upon opening his eyes, he was startled to see that the incredible sense of relief that now poured over him had in no way hindered his speed. To the contrary, the gap between him and Mac was now beginning to close.

His confidence and determination fully renewed, Lee took aim on his cocky adversary, stalking her into the backstretch as his speed grew with every step. Meanwhile, Mac—having sensed he’d found his second wind—steadied herself for the final turn as the explosion of cheers poured from the starting line.

Launching ahead—his arms and legs churning now in perfect concert—Lee felt his pulse quicken as she drew almost within reach, and he could all but taste the win, not to mention the sheer satisfaction he’d draw from shutting her up.

Alas, it was not to be, for just as his fingertips bristled the ends of her ponytail, Mac shot forward in a final, lightning-quick burst and beat him back to the finish line by a solid three steps.

“Well done, brother,” Hamish said with a clap of Lee’s shoulder. “Well done indeed.”

Failing to share in the sentiment, Lee hunched onto his knees to catch his breath and glowered over at Mac who took a high-five from Link, already reveling in the victory.

“That’s how we do it in my yard, baby!” she gloated between breaths while toweling off.

“Helluva try, Lee,” Danny added. “Seriously bro, you almost had her.”

Never one to let a win be tarnished, Mac sashayed past the duo to accept a bottle of water from Reynolds.

“Do or do not, sweetie,” she teased, unscrewing the top and taking a swig. “There is no try.”

“Whatever,” he muttered, not quite sure which was more irritating, his failure to adapt to the suit in time, or losing to her—a point he knew he’d be hearing about for a while. “Guess I was a little late to the party in figurin’ this thing out, huh Doc. How’d I do, anyway?”

“A 5.2 40,” Reiser answered, never looking up from his tablet.

Discouraged over the notion that he could’ve sworn he’d done better than that, Lee dropped his head and grabbed a towel.

“Mind you,” the doctor added, “that was on the front 40. Dr. Reynolds?” he called. “What was Dr. Summerston’s time on the backstretch?”

Reynolds glanced over her data. “4.41.”

“
Holy crap, Lee
,” Link blurted in astonishment. “You’re outrunning half of the Noles’ receiving corps with that time.
Nice!
”

“Yeah, but he just couldn’t take li’l ol’ me, now, could he?” Mac quipped behind them, having already spied her 4.32 on Reynolds’ screen before it was announced.

The first phase of the Mimic project was spent in much the same fashion, beginning first with rudimentary skill exercises such as walking and running, before advancing on to weightlifting and a handful of minor agility drills—each one opening at a relatively low difficulty level before getting progressively harder. Little by little, the group continued to improve, and by the end of the week, even Reiser had to admit his excitement over how quickly they seemed to be picking up the curriculum.

****

Five days later, the group awoke early in preparation for the first day of phase two, which was scheduled to begin at 08:00 with Noll in the gym. Having stopped by the mess hall for a quick breakfast before hitting Reiser’s lab to suit up, they made their way across the track and over to Noll, who waited anxiously for them alongside one of the training mats. Falling in at the head of their loose, single-file line, Lee glanced over to see Reiser and Reynolds—now acting as observers—enter the room and set up shop with tablets off to the side.

“
Eight-Two!
” Noll barked, snapping them upright and addressing them by their squadron designation. “Welcome to day one of your
real
training. Right off of the bat, let’s be clear about one thing: While you may have shined back on Earth, playing footsies and patty-cakes with some pathetic excuse for a child’s army game, none of that means a
damn
to me, is that understood?”

“Guess the gloves are finally off,” Lee thought, fairly certain of the sergeant major’s happiness to finally be able to voice his true feelings about them.

“Out here, you’re in
my
house which means you’ll abide by
my
rules,” Noll went on. “You’ll do
what
I tell you,
how
I tell you,
when
I tell you, or so help me god, I will
personally
kick all five of your screwball asses off of my ship, and out of my fleet without breaking so much as a fake sweat!
Ruah?
”

“Ruah?” they mumbled, a little shell-shocked.

“I’m sorry,
what was that?
” he screamed.

“
Ruah!
” they shouted.

“Better,” Noll chirped, pacing their line. “I’ll be straight-up honest with you, folks. I don’t like you, and I sure as hell don’t like the fact that you’re here. But that’s not my call. The only thing I can control is right here, right now, and as far as I’m concerned, if the brass is hell-bent on calling you a squadron… civilian, logistical, R&D, or whatever, then it is my duty and obligation to make damn sure you’ve earned the right to carry the label.” He halted and returned to the center of the line. “With that little bit of housekeeping out of the way, you should know that there are a number of very specific reasons why I do business the way that I do as it pertains to training the people under me—two of which directly concern you. Reason number one: In order to know the limits of the Mimic technology, we have no choice but to push the people using it to theirs—plain and simple. That means, in order to discover where the machine breaks, we must first learn where the man breaks. Reason number two: As a 27-year veteran in the Auran Infantry Division, having taken part in and or led 52 successful engagements in this war, and as a former DI in the Auran Military Academy,” he paused in delight. “Well, ‘wide open’ is the only way I know how to train green recruits. Now, over the course of the next few weeks, you will learn how to fight. You’ll fight with guns. You’ll fight with blades. You’ll fight with explosives. You’ll fight with your bare hands, and while each of you will become specialists in one or more of these areas, it is my job to make sure that your entire team becomes fluent in all of them. So make no mistake about it, people… this is my arena, and at the end of the day, my job is to make you worthy to stand in it. To do anything less is a downright disgrace to the uniforms you currently wear.”