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The door shut with a faint click, and the man who had entered sat down in the smooth leather armchair, extremely conscious of the dim lighting which obscured the face, gender, and even species of the person across from him.
...
"Well?"
The man gulped, his white lab coat biting into his somewhat prominent adam's apple. "We don't have enough money to stay quiet for this fiscal cycle. Even if we cut back most of our projects, we'll still be in the red."
A derisive snort, and then a sharp reply. "Do we have anything marketable?"
"No." The man shook his head. "We haven't had any breakthroughs on the project."
"I don't mean the project you idiot: Nobody gets that. Do we have anything we can throw away?"
Silence for a moment, and then the man, cautiously replied. "The Kalai team would like a specimen flush: That particular model is resilient, and could be marketed as a super-soldier; I can search for buyers..."
"Do it. And next time..." Fingernails drummed on the top of the desk, setting the man's heart racing, sweat beading on his neck. "Find the solution yourself. Good day, Mr. Brown."
The man rose, bowed deeply, and fled.
The airlock door opened with an audible, if muted, hiss, revealing three men in white coats, an armored security guard, and a young woman with ragged black hair and a ragged dress.
The reception, a group of men in camouflage fatigues and wearing engineer's coveralls frowned. "What's this?"
The scientist beside the girl smiled. "Your specimen. We'll have more coming, of course, but she was the only survivor of the initial processing."
"This isn't what we ordered. We ordered soldiers, not schoolgirls." The man leading the reception snapped, and then fell silent as the girl opened her eyes.
The baleful red orbs fixed on him, and after a moment, she spoke in a husky alto whisper. "Sir... what's your name?"
The man stared for a second, and then turned on her escorts. "What the HELL is this?"
The scientist retrieved a clipboard by extending a hand imperiously to his colleagues, until one of them produced it. "The subject is clean slate, mentally. She can be imprinted with all of the necessary combat disciplines, and she is genetically modified for improved stamina, resilience, sensory perception, and is prepared for additional modification. I believe your project required these... traits?"
"Yes..." The man frowned, but one of the men in fatigues spoke up.
"We don't have time for you to be squeamish, engineer. We'll take her, and the payment will be delivered as promised." The man smiled coldly. "Do try and bring a full shipment next time."
"Of course: We've been able to narrow down the effective techniques, so the next models will be more efficiently manufactured. They won't have all the features, but there will be almost no noticeable difference in performance." The scientist continued, cutting off any protest. "We will adjust our prices accordingly, and look forward to your next order."
With a gentle push, he propelled the girl through the airlock, and then keyed it shut. After it had closed, there was a silence as the men and the girl stared at each other, and then finally an engineer spoke up.
"Hell... might as well get started."
The colonel looked up as the door to his office opened, and he treated the major who entered to a particularly nasty glare. "What?"
With a flawless salute, the major gave his report. "Command is here, and the test is prepared sir."
The colonel raised an eyebrow in surprise. "That's ahead of schedule."
"113 seems especially keen today, sir."
"Good. Let's put on a show then." The colonel rose, and firmly placed his hat upon his short gray hair. "I don't want HQ to think they funded all this for nothing."
As the door slid closed behind the two men, the colonel's datapad still glowed. A few minutes later, it went dark, leaving only the red eyes of the girl in the pictures on the man's desk to gleam darkly in the room.
Subject database: 113 BDS Project.
Current Assignment: R&D: Imperial Navy: Asset
Classification: Echani Female
Force Sensitivity: Probable
Primary Function: BDS Pilot and Commando
Age: Estimated 19 years.
Hair: Black
Eyes: Red
Weight: 191lbs
Height: 5'4"
Medical Warnings: Implants should not be removed, at grave risk of subject's life and/or functionality. Neck jack should not be removed for fear of spinal injury. Other augmentations necessary to compensate for increased body weight and density.
Capabilities: Classified, but primarily including Commando and piloting skill sets.
Known personality: Very little. Human interaction discouraged. Do not answer questions or provide the subject with unnecessary information.
Weaknesses: If equipment should be damaged, EMP devices could be dangerous, as could any other means of shutting down augmentations: Also, somewhat unstable mentally: Recommend psych evaluations at a regular basis to ensure pliancy.
The BDS project.
The BDS project is the creation of a series of large, Battlefield Dominance Suits. These suits are highly mobile, can operate in both gravity wells and space, but cannot move between them under their own power; despite their powerful, if slightly unstable, energy cores, which are prone to overheating under strain and cooking careless pilots alive.
They are heavily armed, and either well armored or highly mobile. They suffer primarily from overloads of heat if under constant strenuous use, and therefore can be dangerous during protracted engagements.
The suits are equipped with booster systems that allow short bursts of controlled flight, ground movement, or space combat: These are the primary strength of the suit, and the reason that it cannot be effectively controlled without the EXO system.
The pilots, in order to withstand the heat, strain, and difficult interface of the equipment is genetically and mechanically modified to be able to withstand the rigors of combat in the machine; including a neural link to the EXO system in the machine, allowing the pilot to effectively move the suit as if it were their own body. Survival rate for this modification in subjects is 41%.
Unfortunately, this also is a highly addicting process, and the already limited number of useful subjects decreases as addicts must be weeded from the crop as unstable.
The suits are expensive, and still in the prototype stages, though they have seen use in covert engagements for testing.
113 pilots the Archangel, host of an experimental shielding system: It erects a substantial shield around the suit for extremely short durations, at the expense of large amounts of energy and a great deal of produced heat. While the shield is active, the suit cannot move, nor can it fire any weapons, however, the burst shield has proven effective in select combat situations.
...
"Well?"
The man gulped, his white lab coat biting into his somewhat prominent adam's apple. "We don't have enough money to stay quiet for this fiscal cycle. Even if we cut back most of our projects, we'll still be in the red."
A derisive snort, and then a sharp reply. "Do we have anything marketable?"
"No." The man shook his head. "We haven't had any breakthroughs on the project."
"I don't mean the project you idiot: Nobody gets that. Do we have anything we can throw away?"
Silence for a moment, and then the man, cautiously replied. "The Kalai team would like a specimen flush: That particular model is resilient, and could be marketed as a super-soldier; I can search for buyers..."
"Do it. And next time..." Fingernails drummed on the top of the desk, setting the man's heart racing, sweat beading on his neck. "Find the solution yourself. Good day, Mr. Brown."
The man rose, bowed deeply, and fled.
***
The airlock door opened with an audible, if muted, hiss, revealing three men in white coats, an armored security guard, and a young woman with ragged black hair and a ragged dress.
The reception, a group of men in camouflage fatigues and wearing engineer's coveralls frowned. "What's this?"
The scientist beside the girl smiled. "Your specimen. We'll have more coming, of course, but she was the only survivor of the initial processing."
"This isn't what we ordered. We ordered soldiers, not schoolgirls." The man leading the reception snapped, and then fell silent as the girl opened her eyes.
The baleful red orbs fixed on him, and after a moment, she spoke in a husky alto whisper. "Sir... what's your name?"
The man stared for a second, and then turned on her escorts. "What the HELL is this?"
The scientist retrieved a clipboard by extending a hand imperiously to his colleagues, until one of them produced it. "The subject is clean slate, mentally. She can be imprinted with all of the necessary combat disciplines, and she is genetically modified for improved stamina, resilience, sensory perception, and is prepared for additional modification. I believe your project required these... traits?"
"Yes..." The man frowned, but one of the men in fatigues spoke up.
"We don't have time for you to be squeamish, engineer. We'll take her, and the payment will be delivered as promised." The man smiled coldly. "Do try and bring a full shipment next time."
"Of course: We've been able to narrow down the effective techniques, so the next models will be more efficiently manufactured. They won't have all the features, but there will be almost no noticeable difference in performance." The scientist continued, cutting off any protest. "We will adjust our prices accordingly, and look forward to your next order."
With a gentle push, he propelled the girl through the airlock, and then keyed it shut. After it had closed, there was a silence as the men and the girl stared at each other, and then finally an engineer spoke up.
"Hell... might as well get started."
***
The colonel looked up as the door to his office opened, and he treated the major who entered to a particularly nasty glare. "What?"
With a flawless salute, the major gave his report. "Command is here, and the test is prepared sir."
The colonel raised an eyebrow in surprise. "That's ahead of schedule."
"113 seems especially keen today, sir."
"Good. Let's put on a show then." The colonel rose, and firmly placed his hat upon his short gray hair. "I don't want HQ to think they funded all this for nothing."
As the door slid closed behind the two men, the colonel's datapad still glowed. A few minutes later, it went dark, leaving only the red eyes of the girl in the pictures on the man's desk to gleam darkly in the room.
************************************************************
Subject database: 113 BDS Project.
Current Assignment: R&D: Imperial Navy: Asset
Classification: Echani Female
Force Sensitivity: Probable
Primary Function: BDS Pilot and Commando
Age: Estimated 19 years.
Hair: Black
Eyes: Red
Weight: 191lbs
Height: 5'4"
Medical Warnings: Implants should not be removed, at grave risk of subject's life and/or functionality. Neck jack should not be removed for fear of spinal injury. Other augmentations necessary to compensate for increased body weight and density.
Capabilities: Classified, but primarily including Commando and piloting skill sets.
Known personality: Very little. Human interaction discouraged. Do not answer questions or provide the subject with unnecessary information.
Weaknesses: If equipment should be damaged, EMP devices could be dangerous, as could any other means of shutting down augmentations: Also, somewhat unstable mentally: Recommend psych evaluations at a regular basis to ensure pliancy.
The BDS project.
The BDS project is the creation of a series of large, Battlefield Dominance Suits. These suits are highly mobile, can operate in both gravity wells and space, but cannot move between them under their own power; despite their powerful, if slightly unstable, energy cores, which are prone to overheating under strain and cooking careless pilots alive.
They are heavily armed, and either well armored or highly mobile. They suffer primarily from overloads of heat if under constant strenuous use, and therefore can be dangerous during protracted engagements.
The suits are equipped with booster systems that allow short bursts of controlled flight, ground movement, or space combat: These are the primary strength of the suit, and the reason that it cannot be effectively controlled without the EXO system.
The pilots, in order to withstand the heat, strain, and difficult interface of the equipment is genetically and mechanically modified to be able to withstand the rigors of combat in the machine; including a neural link to the EXO system in the machine, allowing the pilot to effectively move the suit as if it were their own body. Survival rate for this modification in subjects is 41%.
Unfortunately, this also is a highly addicting process, and the already limited number of useful subjects decreases as addicts must be weeded from the crop as unstable.
The suits are expensive, and still in the prototype stages, though they have seen use in covert engagements for testing.
113 pilots the Archangel, host of an experimental shielding system: It erects a substantial shield around the suit for extremely short durations, at the expense of large amounts of energy and a great deal of produced heat. While the shield is active, the suit cannot move, nor can it fire any weapons, however, the burst shield has proven effective in select combat situations.
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