“It looks extraordinary, colonel.” Cain’s eyes were focused on the screen. “When can I have them?”
Sparks cleared his throat. “I wish it was that simple, sir.”
“What do you need?” Cain finally turned away from the display to look at Sparks. “I’m sure General Holm will give you whatever resources you require.”
“Yes, sir, I understand that.” Sparks shuffled his feet nervously. “But it’s not just a question of resources. In order to get the prototypes built, I skipped all kinds of preliminary testing. There is no way we could put Marines on the battlefield in these suits until we conduct extensive field tests.” He shifted his glance to Holm – Cain’s impatient stare was making him tense.
“Additionally, the men and women using these suits will require extensive training. You will note that, unlike our normal armor, these units are much larger than the Marines who will wear them.” Sparks hesitated, trying to decide how to explain. “Operating one of these suits is quite unlike wearing standard armor. The relationship between the moves of the user and what the suit does is considerably different. It’s something like walking on stilts…but on steroids. And the arms have the same issue.”
“How quickly can we train someone for this?” Holm’s question was right to the point. Cain looked like he might argue, but Holm knew Sparks was right. Putting untrained Marines in these suits in battle wasn’t an option. He might just as well shoot them in the head.
Sparks was silent for a few seconds; he could only take a wild guess how long it would take a Marine to become proficient in the new armor. “Well, sir, under normal circumstances, I would say at least a year…possibly 18 months.” Cain looked like he was going to interrupt, but Sparks continued first. “But I believe we could cover the basics in four months, perhaps five.” He glanced over at Cain, who still looked unsatisfied with the answer. “I just don’t see how we can get anyone even remotely battle-ready in less time.”
“Ok, colonel.” Holm spoke quickly, mostly to forestall Cain from arguing pointlessly. Cain was the best Marine Holm had ever met, and he thought of him like a son. But there was no question…he was a pain in the ass sometimes. His stubbornness and impatience were almost legendary in the Corps, and Holm had experienced it firsthand many times. “I will give you a blank check to proceed. This project is priority one - we need these in the field as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, sir.” Sparks started to sit, but he snapped back to attention. “Sir, there’s one other thing.”
“Yes, colonel?”
“Well, general, we were able to build these prototypes on Armstrong, but I don’t see any realistic way of producing them in quantity anywhere except Earth.” Sparks looked toward the display. “There simply aren’t production facilities on any of the colony worlds for something like this.” He paused. “And that’s going to add a lot of transit time getting them to the front.”
The room was quiet for half a minute. It was Cain’s voice that broke the silence. “Cheer up, colonel.” His voice was grim. “The front may be a lot closer to Earth by then.”
Chapter 20
Gavin Stark was impressed. He’d only visited the facility once before, when it was still under construction. Plan C was top secret, possibly the most confidential operation in the history of Alliance Intelligence…and Facility Q was the most important part of the whole thing. Stark himself was too high profile, and he didn’t want to draw attention to the abandoned wastelands of the Dakotas, where he’d built Q and where work now proceeded ceaselessly toward the completion of his master plan.
The facility itself was underground, deeply buried and heavily shielded. Indeed, to any observer, the location would appear to be nothing but the outer pastures of a large cattle ranch. Of course, the steer were owned by Alliance Intelligence, and the cowboys herding them were heavily-armed agents. Occasionally a drifter would wander onto the land and end up reprocessed as cattle feed.
The complex was massive, one of the most expensive undertakings in history. Getting it built in secret, and hiding the costs in the government budgets, had been Stark’s masterpiece. His plan had been brilliant and his execution flawless, but it had also taken a torrent of bribery, blackmail, and assassination to make it happen. When the false accounting finally collapsed in on itself, the Alliance government would be bankrupt and the economy would probably implode. But Stark didn’t care. He expected to be in power by then and, without the troublesome politicians interfering, he’d turn the Alliance into the dominant Superpower…and those arrogant colonists into pliant and dutiful citizens. The economic chaos would actually aid his coup, and a few years of depression and famine would be useful to reduce the surplus population. There were far too many Cogs, in his estimation, and a reduction by half would be welcome.
“Dr. Zenta, your work appears to be proceeding according to schedule. I must congratulate you.” Stark stood in the small conference room, staring out through a large glass wall at the cavernous chamber beyond. There were large metallic tanks, thousands of them, lined up in neat rows.
“Yes, Mr. Stark. We have been most fortunate in that we have avoided any major delays.” Zenta was a short man, with a bald head and a large crooked nose. There was an intensity to the scientist that made even Stark uncomfortable. “The prototypes have been moved into phase three. Director Samuels has begun his work with them already.”
“Good, good.” Stark had to suppress a smile. “The prototypes are, of course, expendable. I want them thoroughly tested.” Plan C was Stark’s ultimate scheme, a vast project designed to settle his scores…and gain for him the absolute power he craved. It had been underway for some time – and it would take years more to bring it to fruition, but he had resolved to be patient. His past plans had been thwarted largely because he had moved too soon. Now he would make sure everything was prepared. When C was fully launched, those cursed Marines and miserable colonies basking in their new liberties would pay the price…just as the gutless bureaucrats in Washbalt would.
“I assure you, Mr. Stark, that every aspect of the plan will be thoroughly tested before the units are released.” Zenta was the mastermind behind the science of Plan C, though he had no idea of the full extent of Stark’s intentions. Zenta was out to prove his theories and breakthroughs to the world, and he had gratefully accepted Stark’s sponsorship to make that a possibility. Stark had seen the practical applications immediately, and he’d spared no expense to make it all happen. Of course, in Stark’s plan, Zenta did not long outlive his usefulness. Gavin Stark was a big believer in cleaning up loose ends.
“Very well, doctor.” Zenta was an egomaniac, and Stark knew it. It was time to pump him up. Stark wanted the scientist’s total focus, at least until he had completed his part of the plan. “You are to be commended. Your scientific breakthroughs are nothing short of miraculous.” Stark smiled, though on him it was unnatural and a bit unsettling. “We will shake the world with your discoveries, doctor.” Stark turned to leave, and once his back was turned to the scientist, his small smile expanded into a wide grin. Yes, he thought…we will shake the world. And beyond.
“I will be at the ranch for a couple days.” Stark made a face. “As few as possible.” He’d purchased a small ranch near the facility for his personal use. It was a secondary cover. He was pretty sure he’d traveled here in secrecy, but just in case there was a leak he wanted a backup explanation. It wasn’t at all uncommon for government officials of his stature to have opulent vacation homes, often in remote locales. Stark himself could think of few reasons to leave Washbalt unless it was on necessary business, but it was eminently believable that the Alliance’s spymaster sought solace riding horses at his ranch.