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"Rise, Sir Garrick Carnell."
The slap cracked across the space of the assembly hall, reaching all ears from one end of the crowd of spectators to the next. The brothers Nigel and Jack watched the newly knighted soldier recoil from their father's strike, feeling rather impatient as more pressing matters vexed them to no end.
Both men were the spitting image of their father at his prime, though it was easy to tell one from the other, if not by the subtle differences in looks then by the variation of demeanor.
Prince Nigel was taller by a half centimeter, had scars running up his neck to his right cheek from radiation burns that never healed properly, and he was blind in one eye from shrapnel in one of his recent skirmishes in the badlands. Nigel was well respected by his men, for he never shied from leading them into battle personally. But respect wasn't the same as love.
He was serious, cruel and cold as the nuclear winter winds.
Anyone who dared attack the kingsmen when they were out in the wilderness met swift and brutal retaliation. The prince rarely took prisoners, and his willingness to employ the harshest measures against the Crown's enemies unnerved even the hardiest of their veterans. His one redeeming factor was that he despised wastefulness, and enacted strategies that best suited each situation. If he was not seen in the fields of battle, Prince Nigel could often be found in his study- brooding over stacks of papers while aiding in the management of his father's kingdom.
Prince Jack wasn't any better. There was a small amount of mercy in the soul of the younger prince. But like most second sons, he looked up to his older brother and often deferred to his decisions. Whereas Prince Nigel had the cold logic of a machine, Jack was prone to human impulse. A restless colt of a man, the prince strained against tradition- both old and new. He languished in stately affairs, but reveled in battle. He dined and drank like a pleb, swore like a sailor and was rarely invited to formal occasions as a result.
But the kingsmen loved Jack, especially the cavalry regiment of the King's Royal Hussars where he served. If there was one thing certain about the prince, his name was on the headlines of every paper about the battles on the cold front.
Behind the brothers stood Princess Emma, a tiny thing in the midst of giants but her presence warranted as much respect. Graceful, oozing with elegance and looking every bit as beautiful as her late mother, she embodied the glamour of nobility. Her glimmering silver dress, with its long flowing skirts and tightly tucked waist, combined modern and Victorian-era aspects in one seamless panoply. Emma didn't serve any role in the kingdom besides being the face of the nobility, which suited the princess just fine.
King Henry withdrew his hand, "Let that be the last time you let a strike go unanswered."
The monarch turned his heel and walked away, followed closely by his entourage of knights. Sir Garrick remained to gaze upon his armor. The conclusion of the knighting was met with thunderous applause, and soon the chamber was emptied of its occupants.
Garrick took a moment to run his hands over every touchable surface on that daunting set of steel plates. The suit was a Mark 1 Aglovale, which featured a Pendragon onboard computer system and internal medical support. The helmet was shaped like a medieval bucket-helm, but everything else behind the bulletproof visor proved to be anything but medieval. The plating was made of Pendragon space-age poly-laminate composite, with a second layer of steel beneath it. Expensive stuff. He wanted to jump right inside, walk out of the tower in the armor, be like one of the knights depicted in the Saturday nights propaganda cartoons. But he knew better. He wasn't trained to use it, and Garrick didn't want to look foolish operating the thing. It'd be like a toddler trying to waddle about in his daddy's boots.
He did, however, follow the attendants out as they wheeled the suit away for transportation. Garrick was expected to report to the Order, at headquarters in the muster-fields of District 2 to get sorted out.
He thought about celebrating his knighting over a pint or two with the boys, but decided that it could wait. A transport truck pulled up at the gate to Golden Square, and Garrick boarded it. His suit was stowed in the back, and soon he was on his way out of District 1. The ride to headquarters was a silent and uneventful one, not a peep from the soldiers who rode with him either. There was a certain pall of seriousness in them, the kind of seriousness that meant they were deploying soon. It was subtle, easily missed by the average citizen. Garrick caught on only because he himself was a jack and not too long ago had that same face.
"Hey." He said to the fellow sitting opposite of him, hoping to strike up a conversation. "You deploying soon?"
The soldier nodded, "Yes sir."
"Where?"
"Activity in the border, sir. Got some scavs trying to pinch our supplies as they off-load from the trucks. Prince Nigel's heading it up himself, try to keep 'em from disrupting work on the bridges. You'll probably see it for yourself in a bit."
"That so?"
Another soldier joined in, "Yeah. All knights and mech-operators are being called up for deployment, they're moving out by month's end."
"Cheer up then, mate." Garrick said reassuringly, "It's just scavs. Nothing we jacks can't handle, eh?"
The soldiers didn't look at all that convinced, "If you say so, sir."
More trucks joined their small convoy on the way to District 2, bearing troops and supplies to be moved to the front. Garrick got off at the muster-fields just in time to see a squad of knights march out of the base, heading towards a VTOL troop-carrier waiting on a launch-pad outside. He resisted the urge to wave at them like some nutter. His armor was wheeled out of the truck and the attendant in charge showed him the way inside.
The RMP's, a bunch of jacks with bright red berets and thick combat armor, checked their ID's and opened the gate. Galehault mechs patrolled the base grounds, while some of the green squaddies ran PT along the paved roads. Garrick reported to one of the senior knights at the Order of the Bastion, who then got him squared away with training. First, his identity was verified and some new ID's were issued out for him.
Particularly in the form of a subdermal chip embedded in his collarbone, and another on his sternum directly above his heart. The med-tech explained it as a 'key and contingency', which sort of made sense. Knights were a resource, a very expensive resource. The first chip would give him access to all the facilities in the Order, as well as many other restricted places in the kingdom, save for those of higher clearance. It would also allow the Order to monitor Garrick's movements, to know his location via satellite. Pendragon lent one from their network, a geostationary mega-satellite upon which the Crown depended on for all their communication and observation activities. It was named Astra-Net 1. The second chip was to monitor his vitals, and should his health be compromised in any way, a medical response team would be sent to his location.
While he was behind the dome, Garrick learned that the response team would come from a branch of the Medical Corps dedicated solely for the welfare of Order's knights. Outside, he would be accompanied by his very own Squire bot which was equipped with the finest trauma kit money could buy. Hearing that, Garrick felt a little at peace knowing that he was taken cared of, it was almost enough to remove the eerie sense of being in constant surveillance. Again, reality hit him with a slap harder than the king's gauntleted hand. He may never again speak, breathe or even piss without the Crown knowing, and must therefore watch his step.
They owned him now.
"Cheers, mate." Garrick sat up from the table once the mechanical arms folded in and finished up in their work. A tiny trickle of blood slid down from the tiny holes in his chest, so the med-tech handed him some sterile gauze.
"Now, you'll feel a little sore or even itchy in the following days. That's perfectly normal." The med-tech held out a small bottle the size of his thumb, "Take one, once a day. But only when you feel the discomfort."
Garrick put his shirt back on and pocketed the pills. He followed the senior knight out of the clinic so that he could meet his power-armor training instructor. The new guy entered a large facility two levels below ground, which housed a mock-up battlefield simulation course that looked every bit like the real thing. Crumbling buildings, the rubble, derelict tanks and sagging electrical wires crisscrossed on tilting poles- the whole deal. Garrick stared, wide-eyed, as he took in the sights. Several knights were using the course, battling Pendragon training robots and small tanks in full power-armor. Live rounds and las-fire streaked across the battlefield and in-between buildings, while the sound of steel meeting steel rang clear above the rattle of gunfire. Some knights were using melee weapons and were getting stuck in with the robots.
Garrick entered the armored hall of the observation tower, where the supervisor of the course awaited him. The observation tower was filled with staff coordinating robot attack patterns and grading individual knights based on their performance via camera feeds. The senior knight who accompanied Garrick immediately left once they walked up to the door, telling him to report to the lady in power-armor standing at the main deck.
He obeyed and stood at attention once he was within ear-shot of the woman, "Er... Sir Garrick Carnell, reporting ma'am."
The staff ignored him and kept on with their work, but even then he felt a vague feeling of doom, like he did something wrong.
"'Ma'am'?" The dame turned around with a disapproving frown on her face. Yes, that was it.
It was the first time Garrick got a good look at her. The dame was a statuesque woman whose unconventional power-armor was so compact, it was almost the same size as regular armor. Her long blonde hair was swept up in a neat little bun, making no effort to hide the long scar dividing the tissue of her left eye-socket where a sightless pale white orb juxtaposed the perpetually angry brown one on the right. She gave him a hard stare, and looked him up and down. Thick steel pauldrons sat heavily on her shoulders, held up by an exo-skeletal frame of poly-laminate composite. Her long flowing cape hid the power-core assembly in her back, where a machinic hum gently purred like that of an idling engine.
A sword hung from her hip, which Garrick recognized as a power-sword. A Nob's weapon, capable of emitting a destabilizing field along the blade to disrupt the molecular bonds of whatever it struck. It was a highly coveted piece of technology, and Garrick wondered how rich or influential the dame had to be to have acquired such a thing.
Her gauntleted hand rested on her sword as she turned to fully face him. Her voice was sharp, twisting like a stiletto. "I'll forgive your ignorance for proper decorum, sir, seeing as you're new to the Order. Next you address me, I'd better hear 'my lady' or by my full name. I am Dame Elizabeth Schüttmann, Grand Cross of the Order of the Bastion. Don't ever forget it, clear?"
Schüttmann, a German name. Garrick could hear a hint of that hard Central European accent, but it was easily superseded by her naturalized inflections. Still, if that wasn't enough to hint at her roots, her intolerance for nonsense more than made up for it.
Garrick stood up straighter, feeling as though he was back in basic. "Yes, my lady! Sorry, my lady!"
Dame Elizabeth paused, but Garrick knew he wasn't off the hook just yet. "Have you been outfitted with your suit, Sir Garrick?"
Garrick nodded sheepishly.
"Have you operated one before?"
A shake of the head.
"I see." The dame sighed, turning her heel to head for the door. "Follow me."
"Am I to start training already, Dame Elizabeth?"
"Of course! Why? Do you have something more important to do?"
"No, my lady."
They walked out of the observation tower and into the outfitting hangar, just a few meters away. Garrick's armor was waiting for them at its loading dock, standing straight and true like a big iron statue. Thick chains held the thing up at attention by the hooks on its pauldrons. Servitor drones, nimble man-shaped robots equipped with industrial multi-tools in their hands, calibrated the armor's subsystems and oiled up its hydraulic pistons. They paused in their work upon seeing the two knights and moved back to give them room. The technician in charge of the servitors, a stooped but wiry old man wearing a servo-harness from which four robotic limbs sprouted, saluted Dame Elizabeth. He looked like a giant spider merged with the back of a man, a weird sight to see perhaps a decade ago. But in an age where technological wonders and curiosities alike were the norm, he didn't look at all that strange.
"Welcome, Sir Garrick." Overseer Bandy Deagan warmly greeted the new knight. Though he looked long in years, the overseer's voice was as firm as the steel he carried.
"Overseer, he begins training today." The dame explained, "Sir Garrick has no experience with his armor, I trust you'll get him familiar with things?"
"Not a problem, Dame Elizabeth." Bandy waved the woman off, displaying a familiarity that surpassed their difference in rank. "You can go now."
Elizabeth threw Garrick a sidewards glance, "Overseer Deagan will hold your hand from here. Give him any lip, I'll break your teeth in. Understand?"
Garrick nodded frantically, only heaving a sigh of relief when the dame left the hangar. He didn't speak until after the clanking of her metal boots disappeared, "Fool that I am to think I'd have a swell time as a knight."
"Oh you will!" Bandy patted the man on the back, "Don't let Lizbeth get under your skin. She's like that with people she doesn't know, and she takes her job here very seriously. I know you started out as a jack, so think of it like in basic. Just do what you're told, learn what you're supposed to learn, and before you know it- you're a full-fledged knight of the Order."
"So... when that happens, she'll stop breaking my balls?"
"No."
The two men shared a chuckle and moved closer to the armor dock. Bandy showed Garrick the access switch located below the power-core assembly, which required a power supply to open. There was a manual crank to release the interior harness locks too, in times when the armor's power supply was spent. The overseer commanded one of the servitors to wheel in a box full of fusion power-cores, an exotic and vital component of American design. He took one, slid it into place, then thumped his fist over to jack it in full. The armor whirred to life, and the harness opened with an audible hiss as Bandy squeezed the access switch.
"Oh, before I forget." He said to the knight, "You ought to get geared up in a bodysuit first. The locker and changing room's just down the hall, one of my servitors will lead you there. Go on, I'll get the calibrations going while you're there."
Garrick nodded, received his pilot's bodysuit, and changed into it while Bandy worked on his armor. The bodysuit was necessary for power-armor users as it decreased fatigue and allowed a more seamless interaction with the armor's many subsystems. Americans prioritized convenience and accessibility, Brits were no different. Garrick rejoined Bandy and found himself staring at a gaping maw of steel and composite, its flickering interior lights beckoning for him to enter. One foot in, and the other. His hands joined the actuators in the armor's arms. The overseer stood back to allow the harness to close in after him. Garrick heard the armor emit a quiet mechanical sigh, then several crisp claps as the locks slid in place, and the knight became one with his armor.
That was a ceremony in itself.
Garrick raised his arms and got familiar with the controls. The mechanical hands flexed and balled up into fists. One of the servitors approached him with the helmet and held it up. Testing his dexterity, Garrick reached out and clutched the helmet. He placed it over his head and allowed it to slide into place, locking firmly in with the rest of the armor.
"This feels incredible!" The knight exclaimed, shrugging off the harness hooks and lurching forward from the armor dock.
"Try to move around in it. Take it slow." Bandy advised, "Don't feel too bad if you fall. It happens to everyone."
Thankfully, Garrick didn't fall. He did, however, lose his balance more than once and stumbled in mid-stride. It felt like wading through water, at high-tide, in the pouring rain with a slippery floor. Garrick was quick to master the basics of movement, which allowed Bandy to teach him the next steps. First, he introduced him to the many functions of the armor's computer.
The Mark 1 Aglovale had automated subsystems, which included the trauma kit for emergency situations. The bodysuit would allow the armor to sense its user's injuries and act accordingly, sealing any wounds with medi-paste resins and stabilizing the pilot. In the battle-mode setting, which activated once the armor's onboard computer registered a threat to the pilot, the whole armor could work on overdrive- turning the whole thing into a true vehicle of destruction.
When Garrick thought about testing out the armor's combat capabilities, Bandy told him to slow down. He got the eager knight to wait a bit and get used to his armor before taking it to the course. Somewhere deeper in the outfitting hangar, the overseer introduced him to his own Squire, a robot who'd help him maintain his gear and assist him in battle. It was a model twice the size of the ones the Royal Constabulary used in the streets of Winchester. Its chassis housed a rotary 7.62 Swallowtail cannon, and had a set of mechanical arms that folded out of its rear compartment much like Bandy's servo-harness. The Squire was equipped with all the tools to keep Garrick and his armor running.
In a pinch, the robot could mean the difference between a hopeless situation and a walk in the park.
"Hello there." Garrick said to the machine as the Squire hovered closer to him. "You with me?"
The bot chirped twice in response, affirming his inquiry. Bandy explained that the Crown would dispense one for the new knight, and that he should care for the piece of hardware as it was still government property. The robot would accompany him everywhere he went, so the overseer encouraged Garrick to bond with the machine as though it was a service-animal.
"I think I'll call you Paddy." The knight remarked, "Had a dog when I was kid called Paddy. Ya like it?"
The Squire chirped twice and accepted its christening. Finally, Bandy took Garrick to the hangar armory to get him sorted with his weapons. Rows upon rows of storage columns, packed to the brim with weapon cases and ordnance boxes, stood on every corner like the aisles of a great library. Bandy ordered his servitors to wheel in a table and prepare a selection of a knight's basic equipment.
Bandy showed him a broadsword, a battleaxe, a large hand-cannon, a minigun and a flamer. The melee weapons were normal weapons, no destabilizing fields there like with Dame Elizabeth's sword. Garrick picked up the hand-cannon and turned it over in his hands. It looked like something a giant would use instead of a normal man, "What's this?"
"That's an Agravaine anti-personnel ordnance hand-cannon." The overseer replied, "It shoots 27mm shells. You'll have to be in armor to use it, otherwise it'll break your wrist."
"Ah, makes sense. Am I to train with all these?"
"But of course! You're a knight now. Knowing every weapon in the Order's arsenal is your duty, Sir Garrick."
Bandy finished up with the tour by guiding the new knight to the barracks, so that he could meet with the other knights of the Order. Paddy doggedly followed its master, "Your Squire will be responsible for all maintenance, but if you suffer severe damage on the field, it will only be capable of rudimentary repairs. You must dock here at headquarters, where we have the proper equipment for such things."
"Thank you, Overseer." Garrick said, removing his helmet and tucking it to his waist. "Any more words of wisdom to impart before I go?"
The old man smiled and patted the knight on his armor's torsal plate, "You're a smart lad, you'll figure it out. Now, away with you."
With that, Bandy waddled off, leaving Garrick alone at the barracks entrance.
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