Part 21 (1/2)

Simon could remember the first time his father had brought him there. Scared and excited at the same time, Simon had peered around with a child's curiosity. He'd seen his father's armor every day, just as he'd seen that of other Templar. But the vault was a revered place. Some said it held the spirits of fallen warriors who would bless those that walked through the doors.

Most of the vaults were empty now. Except for damaged systems that were going to be used for spare parts before being melted down and forged anew.

There was a belief that armor salvaged from a Templar who had fallen in honorable combat was especially powerful. Simon didn't think he believed that. With the temperature the smelters reached, nothing organic would have survived.

Blood's more than an organic thing, Simon,his father had argued the one time that Simon had voiced his doubt.Blood's also about the magic inherent in being somebody. In dividuals who live life to the fullest and never hold back leave a deeper mark in their armor. That spirit, that bit of arcane strength, is still there for the new forger to make anew.

Even the forgers who worked their armor heavily with technology still believed in that.

Taking a deep breath, listening to his footsteps ring against the floor, Simon walked three-quarters of the length of the floor back to where the Cross family vault was. When he'd been small, the place had seemed so much larger. Now so much of the mystery had been removed. The sense of invulnerability had gone with it.

The vault was a large ten-foot cube of s.p.a.ce built into the wall. Foot-thick walls protected the contents. The slate-gray, featureless carbon-steel door only reflected Simon's shadow. The door didn't look any different than the other doors, but he knew it was the one to his family's vault.

When he'd been younger, the door had seemed impossibly large. Now he couldn't believe something so small could defend so much.

Leaning into the door, Simon put both his palms against the surface. Almost immediately, he felt the metal liquefy a little. Cellular memory, the forgers called it. The doors were programmed to recognize family members through DNA.

”Welcome, Simon Cross,” a female voice said.

Simon's father had told him once that he'd considered having the vault coded with his mother's voice.

So Thomas Cross wouldn't forget her voice.

Simon couldn't believe his father would forget anything. Thomas Cross had an almost photographic memory. Ultimately his father had decided not to use his mother's voice and had gone with one of the generic ones provided by the security program.

”What do you need?” the voice asked.

”Access,” Simon replied. He took a deep breath, knowing this would be the final proof of his father's trust in him. If Thomas Cross hadn't locked him out, that meant he'd at least had some hope of his son returning.

”Access granted.”

The ma.s.sive door swung open, gliding on a nonorganic, frictionless ”liquid” that made it move almost weightlessly. Lights came on inside, reflecting off the dark blue and silver armor standing on one of the armor trees in the room.

Simon stood and stared at the armor for a moment. All of his life, his father had taught him what the armor meant, what he might one day be called on to do.

When he'd been younger, he'd loved the armor for what it had allowed him to do. Suited up, he could run faster, jump higher, survive harsh impacts, and was incredibly strong. The HUD inside the helmet gave him a 360-degree view of the world, as well as access to a range of infrared and thermographic vision.

Even by itself, the armor was a weapon of incredible destruction. ”Is something wrong?” the female voice prompted.

Simon had to speak past the tightness in his throat. ”No. Nothing's wrong.” He entered the vault and approached the armor.

His father's letter lay on a shelf near the armor. Trembling, Simon opened the letter, knowing the words on the page were the last he would have from his father. He dreaded what he would find.

Instead, his father's gentle words and understanding voice filled his mind and his heart. It was almost too much. For a moment, emotion crippled Simon. He focused, drawing it back into himself and walling it away.Don't think now. You've got things to do now. There'll be time to think later. Time when you can't do anything but think.

His father had always coached him to think that way when he faced battle. When he'd been little, Simon had always imagined being at his father's side, fighting the demons with him.

Only the demons had never come. That dream had gone away when Simon had been a teenager.

Simon's need to get out, to do more, had dawned within him then. And his father had tried to tighten the reins.

”Simon Cross,” the computer voice asked, ”is there anything you require?”

”No. I'm fine.” Simon dragged his finger across the seal of one of the pockets inside the armor's breastplate. The pocket opened and he folded the letter inside tenderly.

He stripped to his skin, then dressed in the armor automatically, stepping into the breeches, then sitting on a reinforced bench that would take his weight. The suit was heavy. The designers had realized the need for some extra weight when fighting monsters. Throwing an empty tin can at a target didn't do as much good as throwing one filled with contents.

Fully dressed-because alloy was used, with the thickness of the armor walls, the self-contained environment unit, waste disposal, and the onboard med-system-his weight came in at almost four hundred pounds. For all of that, he felt the microfusion plant and NanoDyne servo-systems made him nearly weightless and move like a circus acrobat, with improved speed and strength.

Once the breeches were locked into place, he slid his feet into the oversized boots. They came with electromagnetic soles that could be charged in a heartbeat to allow him some ”friction” on friendly metal surfaces, allowing him to run up walls for a short distance or resist being pushed or even dropped if it came to that. Anchors could be fired from the soles as well, as weapons and to ground him.

He pulled on the breastplate, then the sleeves. They connected to the shoulders of his breastplate at his spoken command. The gloves slid on smoothly, locking into place as well. Already he felt light, stronger, more whole than he had in two years. He couldn't believe how much he'd missed the feeling he now had. Lifting the featureless helmet, he pulled it over his head. It ratcheted into place.

Complete. The thought spun through his thoughts, pulling him into tighter focus.

At first, Simon could only see through the faceplate like it was made of gla.s.s. There weren't any special visual adjustments being made.

Simon took a deep breath. ”Online.”

At once, the suit powered, pulling energy from the solar-charged cells that had been in hibernation. Once powered up, the cells would last for years. Even when the suit was in constant use, the recharge time was minimal. Solar streaming through the microfusion drive proved infinitely better than prior solar batteries.

In addition to the solar cells, most of the armor also ran on arcane energy as a backup. Some, like Derek's armor, operated primarily on arcane energy with the solar cells as backup.

The armorhardened. All the seams bonded through electromagnetic or magical means, depending on the nature of the armor. Simon's armor held bonds formed out of both. Liquid poured into the cavities separating his flesh from the form-fitting armor, making everything more solid.

With the liquid in place he wouldn't get jostled or thumped around during impacts or sudden stops. It was even hygienic and therapeutic, capable of cleansing and medicating wounds that weren't life-threatening. If a limb were amputated, the suit was designed to seal, stanch the blood with a tourniquet, and stabilize the wearer with medical drugs.

Simon lifted his arms effortlessly, glorying in the power. He turned and made his selection of weapons.

He chose the broadsword he and his father had forged together before they'd made his armor after he'd gotten his full growth. Warriors always grew into their final weapons before they were ready for their armor.

He added a Spike Bolter, holstering the pistol at his side and sheathing the sword down his back. Turning, he looked into the mirror at the end of the vault.

An armored Templar warrior stared back at him. Readouts quickly identified the dark blue and silver image as nonthreatening. He took pride in the look, remembering how he'd first felt when he'd seen himself in armor.

He'd gotten his first real armor at twelve, the age when boys and girls would have been allowed into battle with the demons if they appeared. Thereafter, he'd forged new gear as he'd grown out of what he had. When he'd reached his full growth and had found his best fighting weight, he'd forged the armor he now wore.

The dark blue and silver armor glinted in the light. In bright daylight, without the stealth mode activated, the mirror-bright surfaces could prove blinding.

All that was missing was his father standing behind him.

Simon turned and left the vault. The door swung closed behind him, locking tight with a loud bang.

I hope you can hear me, Dad,Simon thought.I'm going to be everything you raised me to be. I'm going to make you proud.

But that was only, Simon knew, if he was given the chance.