strength and impermeable nature of the original while allowing the material to bend. She’d lied when she told him she didn’t know how it might be used.
The metallic suits rested upon tables, many bearing scorch marks and dents and scratches upon otherwise flawless exteriors. She walked between the rows of tables, looking at each. “Each suit was subjected to fire, acid, explosions, knives, and bullets?”
He nodded. “Correct. None of them were fully lost, but some fared better than others.”
That’s what she needed to know. “At least one survived all tests unscathed?”
“That’s correct as well, Mrs. Light. Would you like to see that sample?”
“Yes, please.”
He led her to a different table, filled with suits blackened and dented almost beyond recognition. The suit in the middle of the table was different. A tag labeled “22” served as the only visible blemish in the smooth metallic surface. She ran a hand along the head cover, surprised at the mild chill of the smooth surface. She lifted one of the arms. “How does one get inside?”
“There’s a zipper down the front.”
She looked again, and ran her hand down the front of the suit. A small bulge ran from the chin to the legs, and when she tugged, a flap opened, revealing a zipper. “I assume the flap is simple to reapply and ensure a complete seal?”
He nodded. “The surface is slightly magnetized to itself in just the right places. The flap’s magnetism matches with the opposite polarity in a thin surface wire past the zipper. The simplest way to think of it is that the flap will be pulled to the closed position and held there, barring a very localized bit of pressure.”
She considered. “So you can’t shoot the flap open, but if you knew what to look for, you might be able to use a knife to pry it open and get to the zipper.”
“Exactly.”
She pushed to flag down, and watched as it pulled tight over the zipper, forming a solid seal. She nodded. “Perfect. Keep this suit and destroy the others. I’ll need the specific adjustments to the Diasteel formula required to create the suits sent to me.”
He nodded, but she noticed his hesitancy. “What is it?”
“It’s just… I can’t help but wonder why we created these suits.”
She maintained an “I just work here” approach to justifying the research projects, alluding to others deciding what and why they’d investigate new technologies or alterations to existing technologies. But his efforts demanded a partial explanation. “It’s for our military, of course.” Not quite true. But… close.
His eyes widened. “Military? But… why?”
“Well, if enemy soldiers shoot at our soldiers…”
He grimaced. “Right.” He paused. “You mentioned destroying the other suits.”
“Correct.”
“How?”
“What?”
“Those suits have been thrown in fire, shot with bullets, stabbed with knives, drowned in acid, and while they suffered some structural damage, all of them are still here.”
“And?”
“I can’t destroy something that was built to resist destruction.”
She nodded. “Each suit had a specific weakness, right? One challenge that caused the structural damage we didn’t see in the final suit?”
He nodded. “Of course.”
“Is there a reason you couldn’t match suits to the challenges they failed and subject them to more of the same until they’re destroyed?”
He shook his head. “We start the Cobra project on Monday. If I’m the only person with access to destroy the failed suits, it will take several weeks.”
She considered that. “That’s fine. There’s little risk of discovery of the effort here. Make the necessary excuses but look to spend thirty to sixty minutes per day here to complete the effort.”
He nodded. “Of course.” He glanced at the unblemished armor. “What do we do with that?”
She pointed to a large, coffin-sized crate. “We load it in there.”
“And then?”
“You’ll get to make a special
The metallic suits rested upon tables, many bearing scorch marks and dents and scratches upon otherwise flawless exteriors. She walked between the rows of tables, looking at each. “Each suit was subjected to fire, acid, explosions, knives, and bullets?”
He nodded. “Correct. None of them were fully lost, but some fared better than others.”
That’s what she needed to know. “At least one survived all tests unscathed?”
“That’s correct as well, Mrs. Light. Would you like to see that sample?”
“Yes, please.”
He led her to a different table, filled with suits blackened and dented almost beyond recognition. The suit in the middle of the table was different. A tag labeled “22” served as the only visible blemish in the smooth metallic surface. She ran a hand along the head cover, surprised at the mild chill of the smooth surface. She lifted one of the arms. “How does one get inside?”
“There’s a zipper down the front.”
She looked again, and ran her hand down the front of the suit. A small bulge ran from the chin to the legs, and when she tugged, a flap opened, revealing a zipper. “I assume the flap is simple to reapply and ensure a complete seal?”
He nodded. “The surface is slightly magnetized to itself in just the right places. The flap’s magnetism matches with the opposite polarity in a thin surface wire past the zipper. The simplest way to think of it is that the flap will be pulled to the closed position and held there, barring a very localized bit of pressure.”
She considered. “So you can’t shoot the flap open, but if you knew what to look for, you might be able to use a knife to pry it open and get to the zipper.”
“Exactly.”
She pushed to flag down, and watched as it pulled tight over the zipper, forming a solid seal. She nodded. “Perfect. Keep this suit and destroy the others. I’ll need the specific adjustments to the Diasteel formula required to create the suits sent to me.”
He nodded, but she noticed his hesitancy. “What is it?”
“It’s just… I can’t help but wonder why we created these suits.”
She maintained an “I just work here” approach to justifying the research projects, alluding to others deciding what and why they’d investigate new technologies or alterations to existing technologies. But his efforts demanded a partial explanation. “It’s for our military, of course.” Not quite true. But… close.
His eyes widened. “Military? But… why?”
“Well, if enemy soldiers shoot at our soldiers…”
He grimaced. “Right.” He paused. “You mentioned destroying the other suits.”
“Correct.”
“How?”
“What?”
“Those suits have been thrown in fire, shot with bullets, stabbed with knives, drowned in acid, and while they suffered some structural damage, all of them are still here.”
“And?”
“I can’t destroy something that was built to resist destruction.”
She nodded. “Each suit had a specific weakness, right? One challenge that caused the structural damage we didn’t see in the final suit?”
He nodded. “Of course.”
“Is there a reason you couldn’t match suits to the challenges they failed and subject them to more of the same until they’re destroyed?”
He shook his head. “We start the Cobra project on Monday. If I’m the only person with access to destroy the failed suits, it will take several weeks.”
She considered that. “That’s fine. There’s little risk of discovery of the effort here. Make the necessary excuses but look to spend thirty to sixty minutes per day here to complete the effort.”
He nodded. “Of course.” He glanced at the unblemished armor. “What do we do with that?”
She pointed to a large, coffin-sized crate. “We load it in there.”
“And then?”
“You’ll get to make a special
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