Spots: 'Cause Moms Are Always Planning Ahead

A Web Serial by M.C.A. Hogarth

54. The New Guys.	56. Favorites.

55. 'Cause Moms Are Always Planning Ahead

Claws. "So what are we up to again?"

Spots. "You're playing Mother's Escort."

"Right, the bug."

"The Violinist, yes."

Claws. "So what we liaisonin' about?"

Spots, eyeing him. "Is that even a word?"

Claws. "Is now."

Spots shakes her head. The security guards at the Door recognize the two of them and wave them through.

Claws. "Hey... wait a minute."

Spots glances at him.

Claws scowls. "You know liaison ain't a verb. You did that to get out of answering the question, didn't you."

Spots grins at him and chimes for admittance to the lab. The door opens for Will Kenyan, who peers at them. "What are you back for? Did something break? We're busy."

Spots, politely obstinate. "We'd like to speak to Samuel-Colt, please."

"Fine, go on. I'm not his secretary."

Samuel-Colt is standing at one of the 3-D imaging stations, frowning at what looks like a circuit diagram. He looks up at the arrival of the two Marines and plays a sprightly welcome. "The Mother-Soldier, and her escort! What brings you here?"

Claws eyes her.

Spots. "A couple of things. First, could you please fit Scythe's armor with a new shield? He's asked."

Samuel-Colt, ripple of sound, rising. "Of course. We would welcome additional test data. And the second of the couple?"

Spots. "Could you make us some test versions of the shields?" She lifts her hands. "Not test-like-prototype, test-like-blunt-edges. Something we could practice with without slicing one another in half."

Samuel-Colt, quick note, spiccato. "Ah... as when you sparred with Scythe. Yes, an excellent idea."

Spots. "And... could you tint them permanently? I think that would help, practicing with them visible."

Samuel-Colt, a slow sustained note, contemplative. "We forget you cannot hear as well as we do. Yes, of course."

Claws, curious despite himself. "You can hear the shields?"

Samuel-Colt. "I am not sure I'd call it hearing as much as feeling. But yes. We can tell where they end and where they begin without sight."

Claws. "**--er, crap, that sounds handy."

Samuel-Colt, spreading his upper hands. "May we do anything else for you? Elsewise we will return to our work." He indicates the station with a lower claw-hand and bows an agitated sound. "We are not happy with the power consumption curves."

Claws. "Yeah, neither are we. I've already done more power-sharin' to keep those things active than I've done since Basic."

Samuel-Colt suddenly looks at him, intent, vestigial arms silent. "Excuse us? Say again?"

Claws mimes plugging a cord in. "You know... jackin' in? Because someone," eyeing Spots, "keeps drainin' herself dry usin' the new-fangled shields?"

Samuel-Colt stares at him.

Claws. "Uh... Sam... you're kinda creepin' me out there. Why are you givin' me the gimlet glare?"

Samuel-Colt, drawing out a long note, rising. "If in a squad there are nine individuals, each using power at different rates... why can't the power levels be equalized between them all? Draw more from someone who is not using it as much?"

Claws, frowning. "You want to make it easier to power-share? Lasers, maybe?"

Samuel-Colt. "It is a possibility."

Claws. "That's only a stopgap, though. The real issue is that the damn shield eats too much juice. If you fix that, you won't need the power-share. Or, I guess, power-load balancing is what you're really talkin' about."

Spots. "That's kind of a nice idea." They both glance at her. "You know, the team hangs together or the team falls apart."

Claws. "Dunno... it would mean that if someone's down on power, everyone is. So instead of just one person being down, everyone's down. At the same time."

Spots. "But everyone would be up much longer."

Claws. "Hell. That's a hard equation. I kinda don't like the idea and I can't tell if it's because I'm being an untrustin' sort or not."

Samuel-Colt, rising arpeggio, questioning. "Perhaps you might take the matter to your lieutenant."

Claws. "Yeah, suppose we should."

Samuel-Colt, a variation of the sprightly welcoming melody. "We will have Scythe's shield ready for him tomorrow, and your test-as-blunt-edges shields as soon as possible."

Spots bows. Claws watches her, a touch uncomfortable. But the alien bows back, hands clasped in front of his chest. Soon they are out the door again.

Claws. "So, you got some trainin' program planned for us I don't know about?"

Spots. "No... you've got some training program planned for us that I don't know about. I'm just requisitioning our hardware for you."

Claws. "Wait, what?"

Spots. "Come on, Claws. You talked me through all my work-outs. Well, now we have this new tech and we hardly know what to do with it. Shouldn't we be working out some ideas in the gym before we improvise them in the Warren?"

Claws. "Yeeeahhhhh... guess I can't argue with that."

Noting the sudden distant look, Spots says nothing. But she smiles all the way back to the barracks.

54. The New Guys.	56. Favorites.