Coop’s bunk in the UPSF Excelsior, the most secure military facility in the great city of Vesper, capitol of the planet of Gaia IV, was a typical 5 meter by 5 meter room. There was space for a bed, desk, trunk and other personal amenities, none of which Coop had. There was a built in sink and toilet, neither of which Coop needed. The only items in Coop’s bunk were a charging pod in one corner and an upright weapons safe in another. On the wall between them was a utilitarian metal rack for his sword, where she rested now, snug in her wooden sheath, humming contentedly.

The weapons safe was open. Coop had spread a large cloth upon the smooth, metal floor of the bunk and had his maintenance kit open on one corner. Both slayer-class pistols were disassembled neatly upon the cloth. Coop had never held a firearm he didn’t immediately know how to disassemble, reassemble, and use to utmost efficiency. Doing so brought him a kind of peace even through his throbbing headache. The mechanics of a firearm were easy for him to understand. It was like disassembling part of his brain to get a better look at it, understand how it worked, to clean it up and put it back together.

He didn’t like being interrupted while maintaining his weapons and everyone who shared this floor of bunks with him knew that. Not that they interacted with him much anyway. He got the impression he gave them the creeps and he wasn’t much interested in making friends. Friends had a habit of dying.

The door to his bunk slid open without warning or permission. Only high ranking officers had that had that capacity, which meant no one he was interested in talking to was about to enter. He kept his attention on his task, holding to peace as long as he could.

A high-pitched whistle, three quick tones, intruded upon his concentration. It was meant to alert a bridge crew to the entrance of a ranking officer. Coop had no idea why it was used on the Excelsior military base. Tradition, perhaps.

Coop ignored it out of spite.

“The cadet will stand when a superior officer enters the room.” It was Sergeant Escobar, the man in charge of wrangling the soldiers on this floor. Sergeant Escobar took every opportunity to force military correctness on Coop, and Coop did his best to ignore Sergeant Escobar.

“Is this really how he lives?” whispered a voice Coop didn’t recognize.

Despite himself, Coop looked up to find Sergeant Escobar in his bunk, that stupid copper whistle about his neck. A man he didn’t know stood next to General Robert Ashpholt in the doorway. The new guy’s hardware marked him a Lieutenant Colonel.

General Ashpholt shrugged and said, “He’s a simple man.”

“The cadet will stand when a superior officer—“

“Yeah, yeah,” Coop interrupted, pushing to his feet. His knees cracked and his ankles ached and every joint was cold. That happened sometimes when his body was fixing extensive damage. He’d have to plug into the charging pod if he wanted it done faster.

“Cadet C-009, you will not interrupt a superior officer.”

General Ashpholt entered and waved a hand. “At ease, Sergeant. Give us the room.”

Sergeant Escobar’s face went red and Coop knew a moment of satisfaction. The Sergeant left so stiff Coop wondered if he really did have a rod up his ass. The Lieutenant Colonel, whose nametag read Pennington, entered. The door closed behind him. Coop sat with a thump. He ached all over.

It was like having a version of the flu. Or so he assumed. He couldn’t remember.

“I guess we’re going informal for this debrief,” said Pennington.

“His body has to repair itself,” said Ashpholt. “It’s faster the less energy he consumes, and standing consumes energy.”

Coop was glad Ashpholt explained. He wasn’t interested in explaining himself. He set his hands to reassembling the pistols, one per set of hands, freeing his mind to focus on the officers.

“What do you need?”

“You weren’t kidding about a lack of affect. He really doesn’t give a shit about our rank, does he?”

Ashpholt snorted.

“Are you at least going to take your helmet off?” Lieutenant Colonel Pennington asked. “It can’t be comfortable wearing it all the time.”

Coop flicked his gaze from his task to Ashpholt. He knew they wouldn’t see since his eyes were covered by the helmet’s skull faceplate and opaque lenses, but his hands paused.

“He can’t,” said Ashpholt.

Coop continued reassembling the pistols.

“Ah. Right, well…” At least Pennington has the grace to sound embarrassed.

“We’ve got your next assignment, Coop,” Ashpholt said. “This is Specialist Magoro. He’s got some intel he wants to share.”

“That’s not what it says on his chest.”

“Officially, Specialist Magoro isn’t here.”

“Fantastic,” Coop muttered

Magoro cleared his throat. “Private Coop—“

“It’s Cadet Coop, now.”

Magoro looked at Ashpholt who shrugged. “I told you he was a pain in the ass.” Ashpholt sat on the floor with a grunt. “Coop, humans have been on this planet nearly one-hundred-fifty years. We’re entering the fourth generation of kids born here. And the nerds think it’s affecting us. Changing our DNA. Either that or we got some kinky sluts fucking monsters.”

Coop looked up from his disassembled pistol. “That’s crude, General.”

General Ashpholt snorted. “Since when do you care? You a feminist now?”

Coop couldn’t remember not being a feminist. It bothered him. “Yes.”

“Whatever. You wanted to know why those cadets were compulsory? They’ve got powers. They’re living weapons. If we don’t keep them and train them, maybe they’ll start working for the other side.”

Coop finished reassembling both pistols at the same time. He lay them carefully on the cloth. “Speaking as a living weapon, we still get to make choices. You want to raise a generation of pissed off rebels with super powers? Because this is how you do it. Make it compulsory, treat them like shit, and you’re sowing the seeds of an insurgence.” Coop shrugged, picked up the pistols, and stood to put them in his weapons safe. “But what the fuck do I know? I’m just a cadet.” He looked at Pennington/Magoro. “Is that why you’re here, Specialist?”

The man stood, not quite at attention. “After a fashion. There’s a cult. They call themselves the Voice of Gaia. Are you familiar with the Gaia Beast?”

Coop shook his head.

“It’s a massive turtle-like beast. Its shell alone is more than one square kilometer. It’s so old, the shell has accumulated layers and layers of soil, enough to support a forest. At its center is a rocky outcropping, basically a small mountain range, from which this cult has carved a fortress. Around the fortress is a village of 8,000 devotees. The forest surrounding the village is full of beasts. It is rumored the head of the cult has a psychic link with the Gaia Beast, allowing him to control it. Essentially it’s a mobile war machine captained by a lunatic.

“Recently there have been two disturbing revelations. First, this cult leader is actively recruiting young people who might have powers. Second, he’s in contact with the aliens.”

Coop frowned. He found it difficult to believe a loony cult on the back of a giant turtle posed any sort of threat to the UPSF or the people they protected. Even if they were raising super-powered child soldiers. Contact with the aliens was another matter. Just under a hundred years ago the aliens had slagged the city of Eos. It had been early in human settlement on Gaia IV and they’d had no idea there were other space-faring species in the galaxy. There’d been no warning. The UPSF didn’t even know what the aliens looked like, just that they’d arrived, attacked Eos and claimed responsibility. The UPSF had launched a counter attack and destroyed the alien ship. Footage of the counterattack played all over Vesper, on the anniversary of the event.

Dr. Ark had talked about it like she’d been there. Some of Coop’s vague memories were of Dr. Ark wondering about the motives of the attack. Did the aliens know something about Gaia IV? Why would they attack without provocation? Why only send one ship? Whatever the case, if the aliens had returned, it was bad news.

“What’s the name of this cult leader?”

“We don’t know,” said the Specialist. “Our intel says he’s referred to as ‘Father’.”

“Do we have any evidence of the aliens’ return?”

The Specialist shook his head. “It’s a big planet, more than ninety percent of it unexplored. Even with our satellites, we can’t see it all at once. It’s possible the aliens made landfall without us seeing it. Or maybe they’ve been here all along and have outposts we haven’t discovered.”

“And what’s the mission?”

“Kill the head of the cult.” Specialist Magoro said it like it should have been obvious. “Without his psychic link, the beast will presumably wander where it likes rather than be directed. We won’t have to worry about it being a mobile war base, just another dumb beast. We’ve got some agents in place to take over in the power vacuum.”

Coop looked at General Ashpholt. “I’m an assassin now?”

General Ashpholt shrugged. “You don’t have to sneak through corridors or stab him in the back. Take him head on if you want. Give him a fighting chance. I don’t give a fuck. Just get the job done.”

“This mission is not compulsory, but it is top secret,” said the Specialist. “I’ll give you some time to think it over. I want an answer by o’six-hundred.” He turned to the door. “You coming, General?”

“I’ll be along in a few.”

The Specialist left. Coop’s door slid closed behind him.

The general took his hat off and sat on the floor again, resting his back against the door. “You want to let me have it, now’s the time.”

“You’re seriously asking me to assassinate a political leader living on the back of a turtle.”

“You haven’t seen the intel I have.”

“If you wanted to convince me with intel, why didn’t you bring it?”

“Top secret.”

“Fuck the UPSF and their secrets.”

“Look, Coop, this is serious. This ‘Father’ character is spreading anti-UPSF propaganda. He’s raising an army. We’re on the cusp of an honest-to-deity rebellion because of this loony and he’s pointed his gargantuan turtle right at this city. It would tear through Vesper like a sandcastle. It wouldn’t even notice.”

“You can’t blow it up with a missile?”

“Maybe. How many missiles does it take to blow up a mountain?”

“What about the Worldkiller?”

“We’re trying to live here, Coop, not blow up the planet.” The General sighed, twirling his hat on his finger. “There’s something else, but…”

Coop rolled up the cloth he’d used to keep his floor clean while maintaining his weapons. He put it in a drawer in the bottom of the safe and closed it. When the General still didn’t finish his sentence, Coop went to the charging pod and punched in the code to open the door.

“There’s a rumor,” said the General.

The pod door hissed open.

“The leader of the cult was just a fortuneteller, a street performer, before he got ahold of a psychic focus.”

Coop’s shoulders tensed. “Don’t do that.”

“It’s just a—“

“Don’t tell me he’s got Dr. Ark’s focus unless you’re certain. You’ve led me down this path before.”

General Ashpholt shook his head. “I’m not certain of anything when it comes to the cult. But they say it’s a amethyst, about the size of a melon.”

“How many times have you convinced me of a mission by telling me her amethyst was out there? How many times have you used my memory of Dr. Ark to push whatever agenda it is you have? How many times have I come back empty-handed?”

“My only agenda is protecting the UPSF and its people. And I’m not guaranteeing anything. Take the mission or don’t. If you don’t do it, we’ll find someone else who’s not as good. It’s up to you.”

• • •

Coop didn’t sleep.

Instead, he arranged his body in the charging pod and plugged in. The pod was designed to his measurements, supporting his body in a frame that kept him upright. He pulled the door closed from the inside and a timer counted down from ten in his visual display. A slot at the small of his back aligned with a plug that extended and inserted. The C-009 power armor was immune to the sensations of hot and cold, but plugging in always made him shiver.

His body slowly went numb, like he was fading from existence. Only his thoughts remained. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear. Even his visual display blinked off, bit by bit, so there was no way to pass or mark the time. The only upside was he no longer ached.

His thoughts wandered aimlessly while his body charged. He had no control where they went. It must have been something like dreaming but he had no memory to compare it to. Often his thoughts focused on Dr. Ark. She was the only person he could remember from before he’d woken in this body.

[Insert specific memory/lines?]

Dr. Ark had been sharp, both of tongue and wit, and had little time for nonsense. She loved a good story, or even a mediocre one, and a corner of her office was crammed with paperbacks, a rare commodity. She pioneered the study of the beasts of Gaia IV, both wondrous and terrible.

The UPSF had intended to colonize the planet as a refueling station, but when the exploratory vessels landed they found the planet crowded with oversized, aggressive, territorial beasts. The beasts were quick and strong and had a variety of abilities thought impossible: fire breath, telekinesis, invisibility, shapechanging, rapid healing. They paralleled the most terrifying and badass monsters from those paperbacks Dr. Ark liked.

The UPSF was prepared to pull out of Gaia IV as a lost cause. The moon of Gaia IV was lifeless and would require a facility with life support, but at least it would be safe. But Dr. Ark convinced someone somewhere it was a good idea to study these creatures, to see what made their impossibilities possible, and was granted a team. She was first to discover how harvesting the beasts, the way ancient hunters harvested prey, could lead to humans making use of these abilities for themselves. How the bladder of a Kitewing condor could be harnessed to build a jumpack, how the bile of a Mudcoat bovine could be focused into a blowtorch, how the meat of the Herdprone lowebeast increased recovery rate from illness and wounds, was packed with calories, and when pan-seared with a garlic butter paired wonderfully with a dry red.

She created tools and weapons of all kinds, delighting in each new discovery of how some piece of some beast would make some bit of technology more effective, more efficient. Her crowning achievement, at least according to her, had been the Cypress Model Power Armor, which she’d worn to further explore and study the hostile biosphere of Gaia IV.

Coop couldn’t remember how he’d met Dr. Ark. He suspected he’d been assigned to protect her, a task at which he’d ultimately failed. He could remember visiting her in a military hospital after she’d been bitten by a Firetooth mosquito.

“Can’t believe how stupid I was. I’ll bet there’s a beast hide proof against the little buggers.” Coop wanted to apologize, but Dr. Ark scoffed. “How was a soldier supposed to fight off an insect? You are a complete moron. Focus.”

The mosquito, infected with fungal parasites, had dug through the synthetic mesh upon which she’d built her power armor. It infected her with a virus and, for a time, Dr. Ark had been certain she would die. Upon recovering, she found she no longer needed to eat, had a severe aversion to sunlight, and required fresh blood to survive. The UPSF refused to use the world ‘vampire’ but Dr. Ark delighted in it.

The second time she’d ended up in a hospital, Coop hadn’t tried to apologize. She’d lost an arm to the claws of a Stonebelly ursine. The doctors attending her had been aghast when she’d demanded they fetch bone marrow she’d harvested from a Slickscale viper. They’d been agog when her arm grew back.

“Won’t work yet for a regular human. Anyone want to volunteer to be bitten by a fungal-infected Firetooth mosquito?”

Eventually, Dr. Ark had been killed by a device she’d built from the ocular organs of a Stonecold basilisk. The organs, when focused in a particular way, emitted lithomorphic radiation, petrifying living cells. She’d been alone, in one of her mobile laboratory units, caught completely unaware.

When Coop found her, she lay in the middle of the lab, curled upon herself. The lithomorph cannon lay nearby. The laboratory was otherwise meticulous but for the haphazard stack of paperbacks in one corner.

And, rather than stone, Dr. Ark had been turned to iron.

“Probably something to do with my vampiric biology.” He could almost hear her speculative voice in his head. “Well, there’s only one thing to do.”

With Dr. Ark’s voice echoing in his head, Coop cannibalized the laboratory to build a charcoal furnace, and a crucible. He’d broken piece after piece of Dr. Ark’s ferroized body into chunks and melted them in the crucible.

“We need air blowing over the charcoal so the iron will turn to steel.”

Coop couldn’t help but hunch his shoulders as he worked.

“Don’t be so fucking squeamish.”

When he was done, he had a carbon steel ingot.

“What now? Well, we’re making a sword out of it, aren’t we?”

His voice and hers melded in the void of memory. It echoed about the helmet of the power armor as he fumbled awkwardly, trying to remember how it was done, building a forge, relying on his memory of Dr. Ark, and her brilliance. Like the beasts of Gaia IV, he harvested her remains into a tool, a single-edge, slightly-curved sword that none but Coop could wield.

• • •

The visual display blinked on first. Coop checked the time. 05:21. And there was a new message from General Ashpholt. He gave it a mental tap and it opened the text displaying in his vision.

You got an answer?

Typing at a physical keyboard made Coop’s knuckles ache, but typing in his visual display was a matter of thought and will.

Tell him I’ll do it.

He sent the message and a few moments later got a response.

When you’re up and running, meet me at Dock 42. Leave your gear.

Feeling returned slowly. Coming to in the charging pod set his whole body atingle with nerves. At best he felt like his non-existent skin prickled with electricity. At worst, it felt like he was on fire. He couldn’t even groan as his voice wasn’t on yet. The tingle faded to a dull ache. His perception activated in bits and spurts: form in shades of grey, then certain colors: green, lavender, orange. A deep throbbing growl that might have been the charging pod, the building’s HVAC, or perhaps his body’s circulation system.

He wondered if he had a circulation system.

Once it got going, his senses lit up. Sight and sound and the world was detectable again. Then his fingers and toes, elbows and knees, shoulders and hips buzzed to life. His thoughts were clear and sharp, relieved of the jumbled, confused pseudo-dreams experience in the void. It was like charging defragged his brain. Even so, those rambling thoughts, those almost dreams, were his most vivid memories of the time before he’d inhabited this cybernetic body. He was loath to reject them outright.

By 05:46, his body was ready to move. The pod popped open and he pushed the door wide.

Dock 42 was a service dock handling everything from supply deliveries to trash pick up to clandestine personnel deployment. It was not Coop’s first visit. A garbage truck was backed into the dock.

General Ashpholt leaned against a wall, tapping at a tablet. He was alone and looked up when Coop came in. He frowned.

“I told you to leave your gear.”

Coop looked down to see he held the sword of Dr. Ark, encased in her plain wooden sheath, in his lower left hand. He hadn’t realized he’d grabbed her off the wall, but of course he had. He never went anywhere without her. General Ashpholt knew that.

Coop held her out to the general, hilt first. “Do you want to take her?”

General Ashpholt pushed himself off the wall with a grimace. “I wish you wouldn’t talk about that thing like it’s a person.”

“She’s in there. Part of her anyway. I can feel her. I can hear—“

General Ashpholt held up his hand and shook his head. “Fine. Whatever. I don’t want to hear it. Just remember you’re trying to infiltrate this place. You’re supposed to be a refugee.”

“Refugees can’t carry swords?”

“Fuck, Coop, maybe. Maybe not. Just keep it in mind, all right?”

Coop nodded.

“So. About the mission. I know what you think of playing nice with others—“

Coop grumbled. “You’re not saddling me with a team, are you?”

“Specialist Magoro’s call. Mostly you’ll be working on your own. They’re meant to support you. You decide when and how to make your move.”

Coop shook his head. People didn’t like working with him and he didn’t blame them. He was irritable at best and preferred to get things done his own way. He wasn’t inclined to ask for input. People with the rank of Specialist tended to prefer elaborate plans with quite escape hatches and clandestine movement. Coop cared more about success than extraction, more about results than being surreptitious.

“You’ll need to be scoured,” General Ashpholt said. “There’s a pod in the transport.” He gestured at the garbage truck.

Coop grunted. He hated being scoured, but he understood why. The armor of his body was painted a dull, olive green, the classic color of UPSF soldiers, complete with rank and serial number, C-009, stenciled in white on his left breast. If refugees were unlikely to carry swords they were more unlikely to be wearing UPSF green. Or, maybe not. Maybe there were defectors living on the giant turtle.

“The transport will take you to a salvage yard we’re using as a staging point. You’ll meet your support team there. Then you’ll start walking. Your support team will get you into the path of the Gaia Beast.”

“Scour the army ink, meet with a team who won’t like me, walk to a giant turtle, find Daddy, kill him. You got a picture?”

General Ashpholt glowered at him.

“Of Daddy. The man I’m supposed to murder.”

“They call him ‘Father’, and no, I don’t have a picture. Why do you have to make every god-damned interaction a fucking trial?”

“Just because I’m good at it doesn’t mean murder should be easy.” Coop walked to the back of the garbage truck, lifted a cover plate, and pressed the panel to open the vehicle. “Tell the pilot I’m ready to go. Any parting words of wisdom, General Asshole?”

“Eat shit and die, Coop.”

Coop scoffed and knocked at the chestplate near his throat. “I haven’t been able to eat anything in decades. You know that.”

The back of the garbage truck opened like a pair of jaws. Coop didn’t know what the inside of a normal garbage truck looked like, but this one was a metal, rectangular room. As promised, there was a pod strapped to one corner. It looked similar to his recharging pod.

The doors closed behind him without a parting rejoinder.

Coop tapped at the control pad of the pod and the doors slid aside with a smooth hiss. He set the sword on the floor, then got inside. The transport rumbled to life around him.

Though this pod was a similar set up, getting scoured was nothing like recharging. He didn’t lose his sensory perceptions. Tiny beads of metal were blown at high velocity in a slowly rotating vortex from soles of his feet to the tips of his horns, and then again, and then again. It didn’t hurt, but it felt like it should sting and his visual display told him over and over with a faint but insistent beep that he was being damaged. It was like being caught in a personalized sandstorm with no shelter to seek. It made his shoulders tense and his back ache and every joint grainy, like they’d crackle if he bent them.

When it was done, he felt like he had a full-body sunburn, or at least what he imagined a sunburn might feel like. Though he couldn’t see himself he knew he was a dull, scratched grey at the mantis plates, weathered brown at the behemoth hide. All military markings were gone; he was just another broken down cyborg seeking refuge.

He stepped out of the pod and tried stretching but no matter how he moved, the tightness, the ache, the graininess rubbing at his joints, wouldn’t go away. He checked his visual display and found mission parameters.

There was only the one item: Extinguish Fire

He gave it a mental tap. It opened into a list.

Rendezvous with Firefighters Proceed to Point of Ignition Extinguish Fire

Next to the rendezvous was a timer steadily counting down. He had three and a half hours before they’d reach the staging area and meet with the support team. Coop hated having nothing to do. It meant the only thing on his mind was the discomfort of his mechanical body and that quickly grew from vague irritation to insistent pain if he let it. He needed something to do, something to focus on.

He tried to occupy himself.

There were a variety of simple games loaded in his visual display. He played several hands of electronic Solitary but quickly grew bored. There was Brick Break and Bomb Sweep and Space Shooter. None of which occupied him for more than a few minutes.

He couldn’t sleep.

There were no weapons to maintain. The sword that had been Dr. Ark needed no maintenance so long as she was fed.

He tried to meditate, but wasn’t terribly good at it. He could hear Dr. Ark’s impatient voice. “Close your eyes. Let the tip of your tongue rest upon the roof of your mouth. Take a deep breath in and let it out slowly.”

Coop had no eyelids, no tongue, and he didn’t breathe. He was fairly certain he didn’t have lungs anymore. All those physical methods of forcing concentration and relaxation she’d tried to teach him, he was no longer capable of. Even so, he sat cross-legged in the center of the room as it vibrated dully along, and tried to focus on nothing. Instead, his shoulders grew tighter. His wrists and ankles twinged. And the dull headache always at the back of his mind worked its way through him.