Legacy LD5

Other than maybe the first 8 lines, I did the writing yesterday and got down more than I expected.

I haven't written for others for a spell. I decided for this one to relax my style a bit and do more shameless element-stealing (Points for whoever can spot what stuff's stolen or from where.)

First installment. I'm planning for this to be what I consider short, and will definitely include atleast 1 unit of smut.

Please do point out typos. Unclarities, etc.
Do suggest stuff I haven't decided i.e. names etc. you'll find @ bottom.

---

"So this is the next big thing huh?" Goyle laughed.
"Quite the contrary." Dougless noted condescendingly.
"So we're guineapigs?" Goyle again.
"No... in neither sense of the phrase." Korla replied this time.
"Are you sure about that?" Goyle again, ryely.
"With all due respect, Captain, we all got the same information-packets." Leo.
"Reading anything with that amount of redaction makes my head hurt." He retorted. It was all an annoying jest. His troupe had to put up with it. At least it beat having a completely stonewall ranking officer.
Stevenson mumbled, "'Glad someone's in a good mood..."

"If this goes as well as the personal fields did, we just might get another halfday, Stevenson."
"And what then? I go to the movies by myself?" He shot an exceedingly sour look. He was not feeling at all whimsical about it. They didn't prod at him any further, even though he was the team's whipping boy, being the greenest with the force. He had a vested interest in any technology that might allow them into the city. He still wore the engagement ring. It was the only piece of jewelry Goyle had allowed any of the force to carry while on duty. On hearing a few complaints he'd said, "You wanna chain a locket along with your dogtags? Be my guest." The piece was smooth, too simple to likely get caught on anything, and not appropriate to be used in place of any piece of standard equipment. Leo had wanted to use her own blade in place of the general-issue scout's knife she'd been assigned. Goyle had taken exception to it: "N, we have three scouts in our squad, what happens when another one of them needs to borrow your knife?" She had tried to explain that her own was of very high quality, and she had carried and praticed with it since she was young. "Now there are two problems with that, Leo. The first one is that if you learned any bad habits with that thing you're going to remember all of them when you try to use it. The second is that shit like that's still got you thinking this is like playing singles. Well, not anymore. We're playing ' doctor, ' now, and when your turn's over at it, and the relief surgeon asks you for a scalpel, you better not hand him a goddamn exacto-knife. I don't care if it can do the same thing or not — are you marking, soldier?" She had held face resistant for a second while processing. She relaxed it ,"Yes, sir." She made to hand him her knife in its sheath. He took it from her respectfully, and actually removed it from the soft case. He played with it a few moves that the whole crew had learned all too well before putting it away again. "Hell, Leo. If everyone else hadn't already been crosstrained on the hookpoints, I'd get the nerds to copy this and reissue the other two." If it had been, it was a hell of a ruse just to give Leo peace of mind, which had occurred to her, but he'd seemed in earnest. Similarly, he always made Stevenson keep a glove on to cover the ring, even during the exercises where the others could remove both of theirs. Everyone was sure Goyle had checked his statistics along the way and found that they had remained acceptable. The lieutenant guessed the boy never took it off.

"So if this works, doc, and we maybe can't evac in time somewhen, what happens? Do we get to do a Ferris Beuller out of the ducts at the stroke of midnight?"
"Now that's a mixed metaphor if I've ever heard one. Why don't you try rephrasing that for the good doctor?"
The answer came before they could get into it, "Hardly," the chief scientist began as he now doublechecked some of the equipment, still performing the somewhat nervous tick of trying to pull his glasses down, as if to look over them, then shove them back higher up on his nose. Both to no avail now that he'd had the corrective surgery. Kalay had suggested that he keep using his frames just empty of lenses, which had been spurned with a "How rediculous!" Goyle also saw him still doing the habit and grinned. He still pictured the doc with those small, black libriarian specs whenever he pictured him. The rapport continued. "During miniturization, following the nominal catalytic energy required to initiate the process, energy is actually removed. For the procedure to reverse itself spontaneously would be... quite remarkable."
"No yin and yang realizing we have fallen out of perspective with the universe?"
"I'm afraid not. Infact if energy were somehow indisciminately extracted from a subject's immediate surroundings to do so, the effects might be quite destructive," said the lithe, labcoated hare, penciling down some measurements. He wasn't the type to leave any comment without a response if someone else didn't give one, even given a quip that didn't deserve an answer. It made him likable, despite whatever other pretenses he carried. Like the distillation of the genius-father the way that children must perceive their own at his best moments: slightly fickle like knowledge itself, but also soaring and wondrous and caring and unlimited.

It was scary the way they were doing it. They had already miniturized a number of test-animals, and had consistently had good results, even with the few that were bigger than any one of the soldiers. However, due to the large energy-drain invoked by restoring a given subject back again, they had never reversed the process with anything larger than a mouse. Since the requirements increased greatly with larger subjects, their parent organization had disallowed them from doing so until now. So now it seemed quite do-or-die. Hopefully not literally. They were rushed. There were Four other parallel projects competing for supremacy in a solution. This lab had already failed once, although as far as they knew, so had the other Four, though it was possible perhaps one or two of them simply had something big stuck in implementation somewhere. The doc knew, or atleast had significant amounts of information, given that he was not only head of one research arm, but was also tasked with peer-reviewing some of the engineering and technical findings of the competing branches, yet he said nothing. His whole life, since the beginning of the research six years ago, was under observation. He spent almost all of his time in the facility, which had all the necessary tools to keep a close eye on him. This was aside from the odd meeting with the higher-ups. He bore it very well. He never let anything slip. Some suspected he had some super state-of-the-art or perhaps even cannibalized or reverse-engineered alien tech implants that were so well hidden to help him censor himself, among other things. The tech would have needed to be advanced. He seemed like he was 100% natural. But that could not have been so. He must have had some symbol-manipulation installed somewhere, but no-one ever saw him plug in to offload or reference his data. Anyone would be insane to fit such an individual with a wireless interface whatsoever, no matter how much encryption it required. A single security-hole not related to the encryption algorithm itself could result in the whole project (and more) being blown. Could he still be inputting things by hand? It was impossible that the bieurocrats would allow it, given the time-sensitivity matters appeared to be gaining to them. This added a layer of mistery and speculation to the doc. A standard Type A would have cracked by now. But the hare was something special. It seemed almost that he kept his quirks as a matter of pride, or perhaps also as focus on the more important matters of research, such that his untraining himself at some social awkwardness would be beside the point.

The show had to go on. Really that day, they only needed two volunteers from the unit, but they all had to be there for moral support. Goyle would have ordered it anyway. They had already been briefed once or twice on the risks, and given a reasonable understanding of the science. It was straightforward, there were mostly just a few garbage numbertheory tricks that they didn't get. Really, probably no-one atall ever got them, however they were stumbled across and put into the public sphere. A few minutes with a sheet of paper was enough to convince most who doubted any given property, nevermind the proof; math was meta-logic or meta-science anyway. It only had to be as regular as the fabric of time and space, which was admittedly rarely regular. So they knew the task already. Now that they were there it was merely to continue the regular toughguy -banter. Anyone from any of Goyle's previous units would have said that they were all run the same way. Nobody liked sissies. Unending jokes tested for cracks. As macho as the Lieutenant acted sometimes, he really put his money in having a rugged, brainy outfit than a brutish one. He wanted everyone to have that spark. Having a pack of wild boars was great in some situations, but nowadays, close combat came only as a rarity, and even then, troops would be useless if they got scared, or flew into a rage. Having a pack of brains on swift ostrich-legs was the ticket, he just had to keep the included strongwilledness in check. Meat-shields were outdated. Goyle wasn't in this to send kids to their deaths anyway. The newer androids could now bleed quite convincingly anyway — to the point that the enemy would think they scored a good hit for long enough they were bitten for it. The philosophy was even more appropriate now. They were done killing eachother on Biecseuk (for now) and had another foe. One not of their world. So all the evidence seemed to indicate.

Cassie stepped forward. "Alright, let's get this overwith," gruffly.
"Are you volunteering, Casidy?" Goyle hated callsigns, and hated movies even more, but he had a softspot for fictional, alternate-universe characters, plus it was close enough to her real name anyway that it hardly mattered, moreso it actually sounded like a last name, rather than a first, and seemed to match her toughness better. Every one of Goyle's unspoken ' rules ' seemed to have an exception, such as ' no callsigns '. Since his rules were mostly unspoken, they were hardly rules to begin with, but they never had big exceptions. He had said that if the first name were used (' Butch ') she could call it off whenever she wanted. Knowing this, everyone had behaved themselves.
"Well, boss," she looked at him oddly with one eye part-open, trying to seem grizzly, paws up behind her head. "It's more like I'm the only one who's not dragging my heels. I guess that makes me look fast." She shrugged.
Goyle looked at the rest. It was more like a runner's fault than a reluctant volunteering. "No backing out then."
"That's a good one, Sundance." He rolled his eyes. "Listen, if this beast is going to choke on a hardsuit, we might as well know now. When's the last time we tested atmo in there anyway? We might all be wearing 'em." She was talking about the city now, actually making a valid point and question.
"Maybe we can even lose two INTJs at the same time," it was Stevenson. Talking about himself. "Plus I've got the best chance of coming back after Butch here drains more than her fair share of the juice." A short pause for effect. "Those hardsuits aren't light."
Cassie took a few steps over and punched him in the arm anyway. She was one of the more ' built ' members of the squad. A boy's name really almost did fit her better. She'd learned to make her voice gravelly enough (which probably only Goyle was sure was just an affectation she'd gotten good at.) He was confident Stevenson wouldn't try to hit back, and that Cassidy wouldn't try to hit him again but he spoke just to make sure they were in line, "Now, no roughhousing. Save it for the badguys."
Cassidy: "If there even are any badguys. No-one's shown that this isn't all some big goddamn glitch." This was a devil's advocate speaking; the events in Onr had been too mysterious to just randomly coincide with the detection of what appeared for all intents and purposes appeared to be an alien installation a few planets over. A number of events in the city had also been correlated with spikes on the sensors directed at the installation, with otherwise maintained a very regular state. "Although it beats calling them aliens, I guess. But it is exciting to think that over just some misplaced sentry*."
* sentry variable

"Oh, it's clearly a Russian conspiracy, I think. Someone should tell the General." Sauda the Tapir chimed in. He didn't read or watch much fantasy, but knew there were such extensive stories about the post-war exploits of some general who persued traitors to his nation until the very end, driving the entire population to hurl accusations that their fellow citizens might have ties to the ' Soviet ' ideological/political system. Saunda had only read synopses, but the politcal philosophy appeared very solid, and lead him quite to wonder whether the proposed really would only work on paper. Few pushed that it be attempted. Some even believed that the Soviets were real and that they hid among the populace, weaving their malevolence. Even here there was argument as to whether the Soviet Empire had existed long ago on Biecseuk, or whether they were from another world. Either way, there were indeed plenty of parallels here that could be likened to realworld events, but those who meant that real Soviets indeed drove these events were very much crazies, taking enjoyment of a good story a step too far. This was Saunda's implication. Here both Cassidy and Goyle shot him looks for poking any fun at their shared hobby. It was fair enough, though. He was an intel officer, so fact-stickling was supposed part of his personality.

Lietenant: Goyle - bobcat
Scout1: N. Leo - white neko
Scout2: [ram]
Scout3: Stevenson - ?
intel2: Sauda - striped tamir
boxer2: Cassie, Cassidy, "Butch" - neko
boxer3: Lombardy - hare
wetware1 intel3: Kallay - neko
wetware2: [possum]

C'mon, get to the shrinking!

An intriguing and very well written start!

'Glad to be putting it up. I had a nice moment of genius during the chat for it.
I have a ton more that I'll post very soon. I just need to write a transition.

---

You can read on here.
<strike>I've updated the reference so you can open it in notepad (*sigh* or Kate, or Joe, or TextEdit, or NotePad++...) and have your OS pin it or just alt-tab to it when you forget a name. I looked at it alot just to remind me who I had to workwith.</strike>
EDIT: Just open Kate/Notepad(++)/Joe/TextEdit and paste this in... I forgot to add the attachment and now it won't let me:

• Technical lead: Professor Sabbow (Sabb-oh) - lankey whitish-grey hare, older
  
• Lietenant: Beethoven Goyle, "Bobby", "Loot" (as in Lietenant) - bobcat
• Scout1: N. Leo - white neko
• Scout2: Krevát Stacy-Steiglitz, "Stacy", "Steiglitz" - ram (Ovis canadensis)
• Scout3: Derick Stevenson, "Doug", "Dougless", "Stevens." (dogtag-abbreviation) - ?
• intel2: Sauda - striped tapir
• boxer2: Cassie, "Cassidy", "Butch" - neko
• boxer3: Lombardy - hare
• wetware1 intel3: Korra Kallay - neko
• wetware2: Ralieur Gehrtz, "Rali", "Ghost", "Raily" - possum

---

I've really pushed the writing style on this I hope it's legible. Again comments *please* however big or small.

It took both Stevenson and Cassidy a moment to go attach the rest of their gear. Exercise-grounds and ranges were opposite the research-areas of the facility, meaning lockers and equipment were at the far end of the complex from where they were, however the majority of Cassidy's tech was stored in a special environment to keep all its seals and gadgets in pristine condition while not in use. She sauntered in that direction. Impressions of her 'spontaneous' decision was maintained. Stevenson, however, had brought a holdall filled with his standard loadout, which was no coincidence. He knelt and arranged a few things carefully on the floor before starting to hitch things on.
The all-important Hookpoint in the middle at his waist, on the most ingenious multi-axis swivel which was calibrated to each scout. They were incredibly hard to draw for any other person even standing immediately behind the knife's owner. A durable snakeneedle which had been implanted at the site where the weapon and sheath was worn allowed the user to "unstick" the blade from the holster for someone else's removal with only a thought. Hm. More than a thought, Stevenson remarked to himself. He still always made a face at the needle pushed out of him and into its little port on the sheath. It was a recent development that no-one laughed at this anymore. He'd made the mistake of noting outloud that triggering the release-needle (which was essentially just an actuator wired up to the closest nerve) was about three neurons different from emptying his bladder. The normal procedure was to 'tap' the port briefly with the snakeneedle-implant, before allowing the full connection. The scouts had had them for almost a year, and Stevenson had thought the jeering would never stop.
Goyle had eventually put an end to it, as the scouts were being referred to as "bedwetters" for this reason. Once the counter of calling a hardsuit a "diaper" — given that a boxer was unique in being able to relieve themselves at a moment's notice with more respiration-gadgets built into the suits — the bobcat had called off the childishness as he thought it might elevate. He'd tried his best to mask that it was partly for Stevenson's sake, given the boy (as Goyle thought of him, anyway) seemed to be least comfortable with the progression of jokes. He'd eventually established a rule that no-one was allowed to rename standard equipment or field-positions. This had its own merit, as most of the team was happily utilizing new terminology, opening them up for confusion or delay if they needed to produce the objects' real names in the field. The two new vocab-words were chalked as "orange" by the system the organization used to determine whether potentially ambiguous-sounding words should be adopted or barred from use. The engine had been specially developed given the amount of communications-interference the field around Onr tended to generate.
One of the few resources that all Five shared was the architecture for testing terminology for possible confusion. The databank considered names of maneuvers, equipment, geographical locations and formations, and anything else that might need to be relayed across a comm-channel. They had all agreed one night over a cardgame that the Five would eventually develop their own language for military communication, if they were allowed by the government to exist for long enough. They had debated whether Five would make new recruits learn the new grammar and syntax or whether they would have invented an implant which would house all the data, and be installed on recruitment. They argued about which could be compromised more easily. Butch and Goyle had launched excitedly into details about the differences between some of the fictional obfuscation-systems which had been implemented in the "Second Great War" including the cheaply-named "Enigma Machine" and the heroic but downtrodden "Codetalkers." The point was raised that the Five would be filtering out countless numbers of good cadets simply because they stumbled in learning what would likely be a very complex new grammar or dialect, but Cass and Goyle had suggested that Five would have their own pool of child-subjects by then, who could learn the form of speech as a first-language.


Cassidy came back carrying a few things and making adjustments to her suit as she walked. The professor sent a lab-tech to hand the two volunteers a set of pills as she reached the group. Both took them begrudgingly. They were being numbed up and also doped against nervous shock; the previous (small) test-animals had shown no pain -signs on restoration, however, with increased mass to "re-create" or "re-fill" — as Sabbow slightly more accurately phrased it — the process would stretch for a few moments with a large subject rather than just a second or so. It could not be said for certain that things would be painless, although they believed with a degree of certainty it was safe.

The chamber where the process was to take place was unromantic; the plating was outwardly the same as all the other walls. The only thing that differentiated it from other rooms was its bright but inexplicit labeling: "Danger | Experimental Area | Entry-Authorization Required" along with a room-designation, a visual pattern-code, an interface port, and a small physical controlpad. The visual pattern was essentially just a reference-key to be used to access live data; by itself it was useless. Same went for the port and controlpad. The idea was that if the facility was ever taken it would not be possible to gain information without first restoring power and then breaking the encryption on the computers, which all would, given much warning at all, be wiped clean anyway. This was a precaution primarily against the legitimate concern of alien groundforces — perhaps mindcontrolled civilians — moving on the station. It also potentially served to dampen any terrorist action.

"Now, once you two have stepped in, the small diodes on the ceiling will count you down. Try to breathe normally and just remain calm during the process. You'll be back out in a few seconds." Though this was review, it was comforting.
"Really, doc? No window to wave through?" Cass.
"Full-spectrum shielding is necessary for the activation, yes. Visual materials might be subject to cracking. You're to keep your arms down"
"For which we don't have a budget." Goyle flatly.
"And let me guess, we're not even going to be mic't in there. What's the point in any of this if I don't get to say 'energize?'" Stephenson this time, only quiet when unnervous.
"If we did that, Tex, you'd need some pretty precise timing, there. Bugger it and you'll end up with the wrong quantum spin. Might want to leave this one to the experts." Kallay.
"Bookworm." Sauda contemptuously, though it could have come from anyone else. Kallay always put everyone else to shame on theory. She occasionally joked that the only reason she made it into the program was that her reading comprehension made up for her close-to-failing in other categories. She was used to it. Her retort came:
"I just don't want to get de-soul'd for stealing the doc's thunder."
The mentioned held a concerned look on his face for a few seconds at this. "At best." He noted, writing, before tapping one of the cells on the topmost chart with the lead, motioning to the shorter assistant by him... It was time.

The pair placed themselves in the room presently and eased onto the two closest tables of nine. The doc slid the door shut with a nod to them over a staid squint. The door shut, Cassidy blew a out a half-whistling breath with visible movement of her shoulders. "This is why they asked us about claustrophobia on the poly" said Stevenson.
"And I thought that was just a test-question."
"No such thing as a test-question. They monitor you in the waiting room once they hand you the prompts right before you go in. The machine they actually let you see is a red herring." This earned him a sour look for being a know-it-all. He continued.
"I'm not sure what they do if you're absolutely deadpan, but for flesh-and-blood subjects the real test is to see which questions you do lie on, not whether you lie in general."
She huffed. "I wish I'd known that before I'd taken it. Then maybe I woulda overthought, failed, and not be in this mess."
After a moment: "Me too."

As the countdown completed, daunting sounds of machinery powering on started to crop up. A look of solidarity passed between the two soldiers. The way the walls shifted reminded him of one of those projected rotating 4D figures; nothing made sense; it was too confusing to be quite clear on what was going on. Then it warped (evenly) back into place. The locks on the door disengaged themselves.
"Were you watching that?"
"Nooo, I had my eyes closed." A lie. Cass tentatively sat up.
"Maybe the doc could have made sense of that in his head."
"You be trippin'."
The door was slid open. There ofcourse, was the doc. He was still wearing what must've been his make-or-break -moment squint, and he blinked down at them and tried to adjust his lacking glasses. Cassie cupped her paws, "Dooown heeere!"
Sabbow nodded in acknowledgement, sagely, unfrustrated by the fulsomeness.
The rest all stood farther back from the door, dually towering, some craning their necks to see around, others more patient.
Saddow stooped before them. Stevenson was composed but still just biologically a bit wideeyed. Butch hid it better.
"Are you two both doing alright? Any pain?" They both shook their heads.
"Alright, then keep me current. 'Infirmary's your heading anyway."
He stepped back and produced a short two-shelved cart that had been adjusted to a height just lower than the tables, and rolled it up to each in turn. Dougless climbed over the metal lip and sat with his back to it, holding onto the tail-end of one of the other wall's bolts athwart on his left. A brace position. Butch hopped down with a clank on the thin sheetmetal and dashed to center prow, opposite the cart's handle. She'd landed in the typical way one should as a boxer, still and all it was over-the-top. Sabbow just waited for her jaunt and then started pushing. It always got the crew how such things never rattled him. He never even quipped! It was like he was saintly.
He strode down the hall with his light cargo with the rest of the team behind him, labcoat blooming behind.

It was all a little hard to believe... that they'd found a way to rotate part of a mass out into an extra space. Other than creating an opening for the shape to 'fit through' in order to reach such a position, the key was apparently to tighten the opening up again up again sufficiently that a certain angle of protrusion was preserved. The reason a downsize was energetically cheaper than an upsize was that this extra space, once entered, was slightly ' sticky ' on a mass, especially if at rest. Paired with reduced leverage from the regular plane, it became more difficult to pull mass back such that it was once more 'flush' with the regular plane. The question had ofcourse come to the doc whether it was possible to completely spin something out of its existence on the regular plane, but he'd been able to answer reasonably without really reducing the level of abstraction/simplification - "The procedure is strictly a rotation. To completely remove an object from the regular plane would require a translation, for which fairly different arrangements would be required."
So there they were, with a wind through their fur which they should've hardly felt. Just as the two were beginning to enjoy it, the professor picked up the pace. Cassidy had lowered her center of gravity a bit up at the front. "Goin' a bit fast, here doc!" Without breaking pace, he held the rim of his ' glasses ' and gave her a little smile. She huffed. They were in sight of the infirmary anyway. As they reached the doors, he rounded the corner instead and started into what quickly approached a sprint.
The crew behind him were speechless but not as alarmed as the two passengers. Cassie found a bolt like Stevens and got lower. Both riders kept a grimace.
"Something the matter, doc?"
He said nothing, a neutral look on his face. Stephenson laughed to relieve his terror. The wheels on the cart were good, and the floors were relatively smooth, if they hadn't been, the feeling of flying weightlessness would've been even worse. He made another turn at speed and both cringed.
"What the hell!? I thought you were switching to sugarfree after lunchtime! Or did you just forget to treadmill!?"
If he were to hit anything like this, they'd both go flying, it seemed pretty certain.
"I think they cooked part of his brain with that sight-correction! He's finally snapped!"
A third corner, no slower. They were back by the Downsize again. Again a right turn. On the long stretch once more, the hare reached up next to Cassie and held the front edge of the table and began to skate, with a fierce thrust at the ground with one furious sprinter's paw in a rhythm against the smooth floor. Through the cart they felt the impact of the strike each push. Now they were surely going to crash. Both their hearts were racing, but all the small pair could do was hold on and watch for a sign they might need to bail. They drew up further and could see Ghertz and Lombardy standing with undecided looks at the infirmary's doorway. They were motioned out of the way by the musher. Still in motion, he produced a faub and the light above the doorway changed. The attendants inside were surprised. Without a word to them, he stopped the cart and switched on the devices.
Standing again, irritated, Cassie: "Uhhmmmm."
He unceremoniously scooped them both up in either paw from the cart and set them on an exam table. The device overhead hummed. The rest of the crew gradually wandered in. Some of them had followed him in his loop around part of the building, stopping or changing directions at various points or slowing. Ralieur and L had stayed put. The doc's eyes were bright as he looked at the bed's screen. Both of the subjects jumped as Goyle dropped an elbow heavily onto the far end up the surface, sending a shock through it.
"You're lucky you're already rigged up for blood and stuff, or else we'd have to pull that too. Can you say, 'This might sting a bit?'" - meanly. He glanced over. "Lookin' good, doc?"
"Nothing outside projected." A nod.
Cassie had come back some amount, now. "Couldn't you pricks have saved this for the test-animals?"
Goyle shook his head, but the doc answered. "We hadn't downsized any sensitive equipment. We need to make sure it still works, and also that your signs are good against other performance-data."
"Did we just forget about warning us?" Stevens.
Flatly, "No," said Leo, entering back in cooly with a quite femme-fatale carriage. "You remember the scare they gave us back early?" That smile. A reveler's.
Dougless put a paw to his head. "How could I forget? That was practically my first day!"
The white-furred scout finished her walk to the cart by the bed, eyes stained gold alight, and leaned forward on it, licking her fangs. "And you," to Stevens, smiling, close, "just got to do it again." She was remembering, vivid.
Ralieur chuckled; he'd been watching the monitor; Stevenson's vitals had shot back up. He didn't mention it.
She was intense, wild. Amazonian. On top, she just had her sub-tech on. It was... revealing.
It was the last thing on Stevenson's mind; her presence was massive. She might have been fooling everyone else, but to an empath it was blatant; she was barely in control, grin still locked on her face, ready to do something mad, . Her hand slid straight his direction. Terror! - No one was watching! They all had eyes on the monitors! Words didn't come to him. He backed up, checking the edge of the exam bench. It was smooth; no lip, nothing to hold to. He made for Cassie. She was about to get the hardiest slap on the back ever for her (in)attention. The hand pinched behind his neck. His pack was mostly empty to save on conversion. It dragged him backwards toward Naggi. He tried to yelp, but he literally choked and his body told him to cough but he held that in. Shit! His mind scrambled. He wasn't armed; his rounds weren't hot! Except... The Hookpoint! He needed to release it to take it out. He did a few crisis-breaths and focused on that spot in his lower torso. He wanted his head screwed on! He was off the ground. Okay Doug. Draw some blood before whatever comes next. The needle gave. Knife was in hand. He gasped when he looked down. God, the spit! It was overflowing! He hadn't noticed but she'd also taken quite a number of paces before stopping by the door, and lifting him over her open muzzle. A panoply flowed inside her head, he could sense it. He couldn't read any of it, but her state was festooned, breathing, drenched, everywhere. Stevens had second thoughts. If he laid a cut, it might get even worse for him than it already could. He squirmed against her grip but couldn't move far. He steeled himself.
Meanwhile Steiglitz wore a hale scowl on the far side of the table next to Cassie and was pointing in their direction. Sauda had noticed the awry first but didn't know what to make of it. When he'd motioned to Stacy, the ram immediately saw something wrong and gripped Goyle's arm firmly. The Lieutenant turned. As he did, Derick stuck the blade and latched on as the hand flipped out with sympathetic, before she could control where it was going.
The bobcat strode over, and Leo was cued eyes were on her. The superego took control, but before it decided what to do again, Goyle took her victim back away. Her face was a vacant look.
Seeing Stevenson in his hand with knife drawn, he regarded both of them, coming to the wrong conclusion. Flatly: "I don't know what the punchline is, to this joke, but we've got a schedule to keep." Goyle looked to Sabbow. "Prof, are we all set?"
"If I can do superspectral now, we won't need to wait on it after. It'll only take a moment." Stevenson looked over uneasily at what event the ' after ' referred to, but it brought up another bubble of dread in him, his nightmare lobe still all helter-skelter. A calming walk back to the table. There, he looked around. Shhhit. Kallay was gone. She had been for the whole thing. Faur too much promptly then, she re-entered, handing the professor something; some of the techs had been kindly sent home for the night by the good professor. The blocking from just before had already reset itself, and attention was turned back to the machinery. There was not hint of what had almost happened. Korra was the only one who might've caught on, but alas; she was sunken in the numbers, not a chance she'd catch the vibes flowing off of her.
"If you could both lie down, for me." Sabbow smirked as he pushed on the touchscreen and zoomed it for both; he'd never taken a superspec of two patients at once before, not that he really did many of them or much medicine anyway, but his genius would trickle down.
Stevens was still in shock. Cassie: "So what's next, huh? A walk in the park?"
"We're gunna check V-max and systems and then that's it, we're blowing you back up.* "
* for a good description of V-max, http://www.johnberardi.com/articles/training/madmax.htm

31jul2011 EDIT: Forgot to upload the character-ref.

Excellent macro quality here!

PART 3

Okay. I'm sure still some mistakes but I've proofed it a number of times and spellchecked. Still an editing mark or two but I wanted to get it put up. So complain/suggest away.

Read, comment, etc -- the power of Christ compels you.

Extra points to whoever can find the Bush-quote I use.

Reminder:

• Lietenant: Beethoven Goyle, "Bobby", "Loot" (as in Lietenant), "Bait" - bobcat
• Scout1: N. Leo - white neko
• Scout2: Krevát Stacy-Steiglitz, "Stacy", "Steiglitz" - ram (Ovis canadensis)
• Scout3: Derick Stevenson, "Doug", "Dougless", "Stevens." (dogtag-abbreviation) - ?
• intel2: Sauda - striped tapir
• Boxer2: Lombardy - hare
• Boxer3: Cassie, "Cassidy", "Butch" - neko
• wetware1 intel3: Korra Kallay - neko
• wetware2: Ralieur Gehrtz, "Rali", "Ghost", "Raily" - possum

"Oh, I never get to click all the way up. Boy, I'm like a mamma bear!" She mock-boxed and then did a one-handed pushup to illustrate.
"I need you to run a lap first." Goyle. He took the two off the exam table and then set them on the ground, indicating for them to start running along the wall. "Then you can click. And when you do... don't fry any servos this time, okay, Cass?" Goyle requested as a hopeless stepparent before little league to an absent partner's profligately reckless young child. She batted her eyes.

They both started into a lope. Stevenson had it easier; his kit was pretty light, at least compared to the white Boxer who'd now just finished accelerating up alongside him. Neither of them had started really breathing yet. Cassie: "I kept my blood up. Are you still juiced a bit from the Prof's little circuit?" Stevenson was juiced. He kept his eyes forward, swallowed to dilute a bit of the acid that had welled up in his stomach since Naggi had lifted him. Stevenson hadn't needed to encourage his fight-or-flight-response any, though he also knew how. They'd learned things like that; the training had mostly been non-combat. — Maneuvers. Running. Climbing. Evasion. Comms and team-coordination. Deployment. Timed-technical such as field-repairs, masks-on, and demolitions. Shooting was part of the schedule, but it was rare; this was no strike but rescue. Most of the members went to the firing range off-duty to relieve stress. The shooting benchmarks had actually been among the easiest to meet(?). More important was Tactical, which they did atleast once per week; things were complicated; bullet-fire or energy-weapons (even electricals) were not efficient enough in miniature; handed them instead was nasty. — Nervegas. Acidic rounds. Air-fuels. Napalm.

A moment. "Yeah, do if you wanna shuffle."
Growled: "Alright!"
"Lead the way, sis." He could use the distraction. On top of his recent stress, (thank you, Leo.), the situation in Onr had remained baffling. Nothing detectable was being taken from the site. And where it had initially seemed the establishment of the Estival-Roe field was a pre-wartime information-gathering exercise, the impression of malicious intent seemed to shrink as the years had marched by; any alien species with sufficient technological advantage to basically puppeteer a large city worth of people should not have to wait so long before either invading or wiping the planet clean. A few more deployments of the devices could have easily forced a surrender. Instead, the aliens did nothing so easy to understand.

For six years, the city had in a way just gone about its business. Limited data indicated that there was some kind of piecewise stasis effect rendered on the citizens; a few different configurations of radiological equipment had allowed some information about conditions inside the field to be gained; atleast in the observable periphery, citizens moved very slowly, and spent large periods of time in certain spaces, often alone — though unclear why. Testing had been done, and there was no indication of temporal dilation to explain why those within the field kept such sloth. Nor could anyone say how nutritional needs were being met without continuous supplies. In the beginning some from outside had driven in foodstuffs, but once the field took hold, the vehicles were left by, and the pilots departed them to join whatever activities might be taking place deeper in past the edge, where sensors could not reach. Residents did eat, sparingly, but perhaps it was only those who were detectable at distance from the epicenter that needed to do this. There was a possibility that everyone farther in had starved to death or otherwise died, but this rather assumed a natural phenomenon, or atbest a crude experiment, as opposed to something preplanned and purposive. It didn't seem a fit, but perhaps it would've made just as much sense as anything else.

They were two-thirds the way around the perimeter of the exam-room. The others were watching the monitors in various states of intensity. Both continued at a driving pace. Goyle raised his voice. "Stevens! I need to see a sprint." He'd been expecting it; they needed to look at stats for all gaits. After a few more strides and a forceful breath out, his limbs stretched into a headlong run, focused on the task. The voice sounded again. "Cassie, you too." This meant something different for her. A Boxer could not naturally sprint unassisted; they weren't jointed to. Trying would result in quick exhaustion or injury. Instead what they could do — once ' clicked on ' — was gallop, which was the engineers' way of describing a shorter-stridden pattern of movement which used compound motion to better leverage the exertions of the Boxer. The suit's arrangement allowed them to take a number of shorter strides in a more compressed timespan, converting the exertion they would normally use to take higher, longer steps into rapid, explosive backthrust. The actuation was possible without additional power, however even given training, it was found too difficult for a Boxer to maintain balance, so the gyros were implemented for this with suit ' clicked on. '

On even ground, Boxers were faster than anyone else. Cassie chugged past him after she'd activated it. Goyle tapped his spats-clad foot for him to stop once he finished the loop. Stephenson kept his pace until he reached it and swam over it, a maneuver for taking cover from rearward enemy fire. Stevens did it successfully and had been happy with his assessment of the greenish-furred toes in their dimension; miscalculating usually resulted in a faceplant. He sat back against them. Goyle prodded his side with one. "Hey, I'm soft cover, bub. I won't last through much shrapnel." Stevenson looked up at him through one eye quizzically then ignored it. His running partner was still moving, now more than halfway across the room again. It was fair enough; she hadn't been given the order to stop. Loot cupped his hands after her unnecessarily. "We need a 'stop Cassidy.' If you punch a hole in that wall you'll let some manner of varmits in!" She actually had to round the next corner before should could come to a halt. Goyle knew as well as any — Boxers were very poor at stopping at gallop. Once there, she turned and motored on back to them, coming to a well-estimated but as-ever ungraceful stop right next to Stevenson. With a grin.
"What's next boss?" Given all so faur, this was pretty civilized language for her.
At this, Goyle had the hint of a smile. Over his shoulder a tech finished reviewing the video that Sabbow'd apparently taken of their little escapade on the wheeled cart. Doug squinted to look closer. Is that...? The screen got turned off. After a few moments, they handed over a chart and Goyle confirmed his suspicions. He eyed it. "It looks like your accels are pretty good." Aha. They had been tracking fine accelerometric data during the run. But... what were they comparing it to? ...Oh. It dawned on him: the tumble-cage. They're really never deleting a scrap of data around here, are they? The cage had some motors in it, they used at one phase to have them throw weight and resist the motion. So, he'd seen a moment ago comparing reactions to similar forces. He scoffed. Cheap bastards. They just didn't want to resize the cage for us. He thought. Then again — performance fight-or-flight in more intuitive conditions (such as holding on for dear life) would probably be better than trying to grip the dynamics of the hinges in various positions.

"Next our need's to shoot," Goyle announced.
"Ohoooo no. No range." Cassie responded zelously. "That's twice as far as it is to the floor." By this she referred to the large cleared space where the Downsize was currently located. "I am not getting in another rally car."
"Well, you're in luck. We brought some gel over. Bis* we just want to plain check ballistics; trenchancy's ar'dy been determined."
* (authors note) - bis: bis means ' again '
"So long's we hit the broad side of a bus and don't loose nukes into the ground." Cassidy.
Goyle unaffronted: "Yes." They all agreed the standards for firing accuracy were just usually low, even the ex-civilians coming into the program seemed to think so.
The 2nd Boxer lumbered over and set down a case of gel and opened it toward them. Stevens looked over at Cassie and nodded at her statement. Affirming: "Giant bus."

At Goyle's signal, they both got hot, meaning priming up weapons and ammo. The basic way to do this was using a precision-machined internal key which each member had implanted in either arm, in case one were to become unusable. They were less likely to break than for the actual limb to be lost, or the activation-nerves to be damaged. An angled tumbler -system had been combined with a neurochemically reactive block, which could be set to expire at any period within 48 hours. In other words, it would take a specialized cyborg or bioroid to fake the key and trick the block — not technologically worthwhile. No fire could be achieved even if a keyed magazine were removed from a weapon and switched into another one; clips went cold when removed before empty. Keys could extend through hardsuits and e-suits. In case the environment was too harsh to interface an implant with a weapon, there was a digital version of the analog system, which transmitted an ' etched ' multihash along with biometric data, which could also key and unfreeze the block. There was not a contingency for activation under ECM and extreme external conditions. It had been determined that if First was to meet with that degree of strategic resistance, they were to withdraw.
In the lab interferance-clear, Cassie opted for the digital version, issuing that highly savory hashphrase down into her mic, although made as if she said it to the gun itself: "Turn the fuck on!!" Showing teeth, ears perked as she saw it confirm.
Stevenson armed his silently shook a grimace(?).

Goyle piped up. "It won't kill you, but you might sting for a bit if you get hit by a stray round, so let's all get up range, here." He hardly had to say. The doc motioned gently for the tech to move back a bit, an open paw coaxing at a shoulderblade... Making up for this last one staying so long — he would usually just firmly state the next order and expect it to get done... not a bark, but neither a request. Tonight he was being nicer.
Goyle gave the command once bodies were clear, "Open up." Stevens picked a speck in the gel and shot at it. He didn't really bother tightening up his grouping; they weren't supposed to; arms had been calibrated to do more damage if fire was dispersed. The rounds sunk into the wall as they were supposed to. Their guns were hot but not live; the tips had only weights. Loot again: "Next clip, pick another spot." They both swapped. Different weights. A quiet Cassidy this time, now using her right brain. "Open up!" Again they fired. Again Stevens wondered what it'd be like if that were flesh, which his ordinance distorted and made broken. Were the twits in the soup still wired up to feel pain? To show it? Some of these weapons were designed to have that. Some weren't.
"Cassidy, back up, do lobs."
Her: "Right."
"Dougless, same, your sidearm. Half clip."
Said: "Sure."
They backed up. Cassidy went crossarmed for a second. It looked odd, but this was how Boxers loaded a wrist-canon; the left hand (for starboards, it was opposite for southpaws or ' porters ') gripped and slid back a coupling on the other arm, and the various parts on its underside triggered a shell to be passed in from the suit's torso. This necessitated one of the larger alterations that any of the fielded members were required to endure; the shell actually loaded through the forearm. Those lucky enough needed only minimal changes to the local bone structure, though everyone needed tendons restrung as part of the surgery. Depending on its success, physical therapy would be minimal. The main tendon controlling the wrist could often be left fully intact, meaning skills like shooting accuracy and penmanship would be preserved, though digits' individual dexterity were often relearned. Though Goyle mildly disagreed and Lombardy would not comment atall, Cassidy said that feeling the shell feed through felt good. With its familiar/characteristic(?) hiss, she let fly. Researchers had determined that the shells' launch-mechanism be bionic, rather than pyrochemical; with the necessary safety precautions implemented, the weight, space, and above-all complexity of the devicing, made the tactical gains of chemical propellants rather moot.
The shell dug itself in shallowly. Since they lacked the relentlessness of combustive propulsion, the shells were unimpressive without their payloads. After another one ' freehand ' she fired once again with the guidance beam* then got the sign from Goyle and stood down. After: "Stevenson, your remaining — those three." He raised back up his pistol. Six left: miss, hit. Hit miss. Hit, hit. Stark red paint around the hits that landed in the filled shells.
* with guidance, the exit-velocity, and/or forearm's roll-angle at the elbow can be automatically controlled by an Eye to put the shot into its mark, with the guiding/painting Brush being a mounted diode on the other arm. Other team members also keep Eyes and Brushes to assist in blind fire, if their Boxer is pinned down. The suit has a simple indicator to show whether a painted shot is possible from a given place and angle, and a more elaborate estimation with an enabled HUD. The firing valve has a minimum setting such that a ' stillbirth ' is not possible even given interference over remote guidance. The actual firing mechanism is strictly manual against hacking. A hardsuit's elbow has a lock which physically limits/enables/disables automatic roll of the forearm, and a separate toggle for force-control. This provides a sliding scale of automation which a Boxer may avail, along with piecewise avoidance of signal-tampering, in case a control-channel is cracked.

Sabbow lifted the gel -case up onto the exam-table and pulled the hinge-pin, pushing one of the freed halves towards his remaining aide. He leaned in and adjusted his ' glasses .' There were markings on the block that indicated penetration-distance. He clicked and nodded in approval, pulled a scope down from overhead and took a picture, before having his aide do the same thing on the other block. He made the announcement to Goyle: "We'll make minor adjustments after finite measurement, but just sighting it I can be rather sure... they'll be minor."
Goyle looked at them. "Well, s'we know you can run and scratch. The only thing we're worried is if you can suck... for which I would just love a volunteer..." the pauses had come because a signal from the doctor. When Goyle walked over, the hare pointed at the spot on the monitor briefly. After looking at it: "Hmmmm'maybenot." Doc said something quietly. He turned again. An undecidedly-cross look on Beeth's face. "Dougless, your shealth and Hookpoint." A thumbs up. That wince. He hoped it was too small to see, for anyone else; he'd turned away from Cassidy. He offered it up. Goyle took it gently, and passed it to prof Sabbow, who had just stepped back after retrieving a very fine needle. He apologized. "Well it's a little crude, but I think we can manage." His tech, watching, seized the moment and held it for him, clearly trying not to flinch at the prospect of being stuck if he missed.
Stevenson squinted up. They all watched. He had incredibly steady hands for such an age. "Uhp." He inspected the syringe. "That did it." The tech carried him another invention. A smallish, grey, polymer funnel out at the top. Sabbow held the needle carefully over the inspout and depressed. Hardly a drop fell out but a beep and whir to life.

The Hookpoints had a somewhat similar block to the rifle ammo, but this was simpler. A few common blood markers caused it to open for only a second. The Hookpoints were a science-tool. Osmotic action from the feature behind the block pulled whatever fluid at the tip up into itself. When returned the the sheath, the feature would empty into a reservoir and be sealed away from other muck the knife might later encounter. Sabbow had just broken the seal and drawn the blood directly from it. This was neither elegant nor sterile, but got the job done. He plugged the box into the main screen over the exam-table. Another cheerful beep had indicated its finish. He stroked his chin. "Oh, dear."
By now Goyle had figured out what happened. "Thanks for pre-volunteering, Leo. I guess you've saved us some time."
She hummed an acknowledgement, eyes closed, standing with arms folded behind her head against the wall. She looked sleepy.
"Well, doc?"
"I should've expected this; the lattice which is supposed to pull the fluid is too small for all constituents. Not only are the anticoagulents lacking, but we're not seeing any nuclei. On second thought, the block might not be working at all. I bet it might react with any type of moisture." He thought. "I think we can fix this. We'll have to size some of the equipment down or..." Goyle had stopped listening; so — it was an engineering problem. Closed systems and radios downsized very well because comparative molecular size didn't matter; forces of repulsion were relatively same and no subjects could walk through walls or go through floors different from normal, however biochemical mechanisms were less forgiving; they would not let one shrink the glass slipper and still keep its function as a litany test for some same-sized princess. If effective atall, a downsized Hookpoint (and block) would only work on shrunken blood, which was perfectly useless given that potential specimens would be perfectly normal, just as with jif/upshot/scene/event(?) with/between Leo and Dougless.

"We'll get you on highspeed for reactions and we're calling it a day." When Goyle had said systems, he must've meant selected biosystems aswell.
There was relief. And a room full of opinions, as there ever was. They were kept silent. As Goyle had said, "If you don't have anything nice to say, you oughtta think of a joke. Only failing that should you shut up."
The doc had produced a small pocket-sized camera, and set it down as Goyle indicated he do. He was about to explain. Cassidy interjected. "And for the next trick, our heroes shall jump through an anti-matter hoop."
"Ah, now you've spoiled the finale." Sauda.
"Sauda." Flatly. It was Steiglitz, a rarity; everyone listened: "That isn't the finale for ' the doc saws you in half. ' " Cassidy scowled but didn't try him.
Ralieur backed him up. Counting on some fingers: "Right, it goes: ' cut in half ', ' jump through hoops ', ' put back together'." He was nodding satisfiedly with himself.
"Hrrrh now you've really spoiled the finale!" A tapir back in mock outrage. A few snirks. No-one could top it — Sauda's point.
Goyle back to business, motioning. "C'mon guys."
He'd hopped up onto the exam-table. The camera lay a bit before it. Der and Leo were stationed between the two.
Goyle, tersley: "Move when I move. Stevens, no cheating." It was hardly needed for an empath; unless he was to really put a lot of emotion behind a given action, over others Stevenson would not have any greater cue. Kallay was coming by, probably to better view the action. Not breaking stride, she shoved Goyle in the lower back off the edge of the exam-bench toward the two ' heroes . ' They both dove. Cassidy with the suit might've been fine had she stayed put, likely putting Goyle in danger of a poor landing. Stevens likely would've been at risk if he'd taken the weight. Neither had to find out; they both cleared the Lieutenant's paws as they touched down squarely where the two had been standing. Neither had sprawled and both had come to their feet. Stevens snorted exasperation. About the only thing I haven't had almost happen to me is being sat on.
"But it beats pencil-pushing, don't it?" Although he hadn't spoken, Kallay had almost filled in the blank of the next sentence for him.
"Diwe get that, doc?" The hare had plucked up the camera, plugged it into the main screen and thumbed through the footage. It looked good. "Alright, then."
Moments later, the two were back on the steel cart and being wheeled west. The crowd of others ambled behind the vehicle, with both passengers standing center front and giving the pilot a very evil eye, which did not show any signs of letting up. Sabbow was close to laughing... Really, just because the tests had gone so well; there were a number of inconvenient but feasible solutions to address the issue of the Hookpoints, and someone still needed to spend a few minutes' analysis on the video, it wasn't likely anything else would crop up. He would admit the design of the blocks had been a stupid oversight, but of all he could have forgotten, this was probably one of the mildest.
Cassidy spoke again, apparently not too shaken by the near stomp — she'd seen it coming. "So here's whereyou tell us 'Sizeup's not ready until mission accomplished, yeah?" A short pause. "Uh-huh. I thought so." The crew ignored her.
From the rear, "So the highspeed comes back," starting to speak hypothetically, "and kids are too slow." Leo, no sheen nor hint of lunacy now. "What do we do then?"
Goyle shrugged with his lip out and held his palms up, walking. "I doe know. Drugs?" It was a good wordplay. He meant they'd administer stims, not ' wallow in a drug-addled(?) stupor once defeated. '
Then he addressed Cassie. "Tell you what, outlaw, I'll give you both a brevet* if it doesn't work in Sizeup."
* author's note: a brevet is essentially a military promotion which comes in name only, resulting only in an upgrade in title, without pay or more authority
Fire for fire: "Thanks boss."
Rallieur checked his watch. "Whew. Time sure flies when we do science."
Goyle: "You can go to bed right after this. I don't want to hear you complain about cheerleading; I do it all the time; it's my job!"
"''Don't know what'd we'd do without those pompoms, boss." Korra, tired but smartly.
"Yeah, yeah." Goyle conceding; he couldn't top it. "Let's go make some brownouts." He received an acute look from the doctor at this, before he put his mind back to other things. He wanted to think that superstition over hexes and such never factored in, but the comment had been rather close to the bone. Though Goyle would not leave him in a time of need, he also couldn't push back their deadlines if there was a power-failure.

The Sizeup was perhaps a half-dozen doors away from its counterpart. The room where it was housed was more modest but the chamber itself was much the same as the sister from what seemed like much further off than just that morning — unadorned, smallish, and nondescript. The gang kept well out of the way of preparations and it wasn't long before the two test-subjects were situated inside. The lights in the outer room were now dimming a bit; the buffer had been loading from the grid since late morning, however a greater period of flow was required to fully prime it. About five minutes to go. The municipal power system wasn't quite designed to handle the volume. Then again, scientists weren't really meant to be changing the size of matter at will. Sabbow let the tech handle the monitors. A watched pot... Another minute. Briefly, the lights flicked off then came back again. Sabbow gave a very tensioned sigh. It happened again. Then once again only now it stayed black. From before the Sizeup entry, Stacy's outline could be seen crossing its arms against the green background of the exit-lighting. Rallieur locked his fingers and rested his hands on his head, palms up. For a few moments, nothing seemed to happen there in the dark.

The two inside didn't have as many cues but they'd seen the diodes go out and remain out.
One of them hummed a bit. They'd both been seated on the floor this time. Rotation occurred about their inertial moments and they were more likely growing to fall off their benches, so they were more secure on the ground to spring back. Cassidy sucked the straw in her suit's collar contemplatively. She flicked a rounlet on her suit and a blip came. Her light bloomed on. She looked at Stevenson. The mesh on her neck could direct the beam and it shined toward him.
"You know we can't even drink water when we're like this? Not regular water, anyway." Again a sip.
He rubbed an eye. "Water's actually one of the simplest things to downsize. There's a lot less to break and orientationally preserve. More or less any amount high or trivial can be done at once as needed."
"But you don't have one in your back yard — the machine to do it."
Stevenson sighed. She was being difficult. He wanted to roll his eyes but the light was on him and it was some wee hour and he'd had enough crazy felines for the day so he figured to play it straight. "No I don't."
"Another ball and chain."
He looked at her. "This again," not meanly.
"Hey, not that I don't trust the Doc, but the other guys in charge? No faurther than I can throw 'em. And even clicked I don't think I can throw anybody as this height."
"Well, they're workin' on that, I'm sure."
"Even so, Doug! It used to be that I could go off into the hills and never speak to another soul again. Now I need wrenching once a month. And machine-grease doesn't just grow on frickin trees out there, that's for sure."
"C'mon. T'save the world? You can't be that antisocial." A serious note on his brow. "The costs could be greater."

Outside, Sabbow was talking on a phone. He'd eventually produced a lamp and now a few people had them in hand, some really playing with them like children. Beside them, an adult world spun all on its own. They neither knew it nor were allowed to know, so they didn't care — how could they? For it, they'd get only worry and headache... Most of them were a bit slaphappy given the time of night anyway. Any other science-lead and Goyle would've had them stop as this would surely gall anyone else, but he knew all the cues from Sabbow to tell him to bark and he saw none of them. The lank hare still conversed hushly. With the amount of cybernetics in the room, probably anyone could have listened, but the Lieutenant had cocked an ear; it was all codes, protocols and numbered locations — contingencies. Perhaps slightly legible to the people in the room due to overlap with the coded phrasing they learned as agents under Five, but the major specifics were masked so it was mostly garble.

Back in Sizeup, Stevenson still wasn't getting her drift.
"Okay, Dair. I'll explain how it is; ' save the world ' 's the easy part. After. That's when it gets bad. So your dealer has a merger. Whatever you bought from them, musical instrument, vehicle, gard'ning equipment, you name i — it's something that you use. What about the extended care -plan you paid all that money for? Will you be able to get the rest of your free checkups? Will they honor that lifetime discounted repair -voucher? Will the company continue to make the old parts you need? Will fragile tools be discontinued?"
"Really, Cass. They didn't slap a synthi heart into ya, did they?" this was rhetorical. He knew they hadn't.
"This isn't about death, loverboy, this is about the party's over and they botch you when trying to retrofit. No more cozy save-the-world gang. Been there, done that. While we were so busy spreading goodwill to the people of Onr everything else goes to shit. No more cashflow, and assuming they even release them, the nearest streetdoctor misreads your schematics. Hello lifelong debilitation, goodbye quality of life."
"I don't think that's gonna happen."
"No, it won't. What's gunna happen is I get to stay in the military all my life otherwise no-one provides the maintenance. Hello lifelong deliration, goodbye quality of life."

The door slid open. The installation-lights were off but a few handhelds bobbed in the unlit space. The doc was at the door. He'd opened it and done his glasses-routine again. He'd handed his lamp off to someone else so he could pull it aside. The two were easy enough to find without as the Boxer still had her light shining. It swiveled in her suit with the motion of her head that way. He cupped his paws and they hopped up into them. It was clear now that more than just their own machine needed reset.
To Stevens' surprise, nothing derisive came here, just: "So what's the plan, doc?"
His answer: "We're going for a ride."
Cass and Doug were carried toward the fore, cradled low against the hare's mid-chest, his slow inward breath seeming to last endlessly. Sabbow's nod to Goyle. The translation: "Okay sweettarts, let's take a drive."
Confusion came at this but the order itself was clear.

Rali jogged off down the corridor, illumination bobbing before him. He turned the corner. Kallay pulled her head back into the room fatuously, having just watched him trod off. To her disappointment, no-one had been watching either of them, but it had amused her nonetheless, though she kept the inane comment she'd prepared to herself. The somewhat joyful should-be-asleep phase was just hitting her but some of the others were now getting off it. In moments as a group, they fared the halls north for the lot. Still no light; they had some auxiliary power but no-one had any use for it, so it hadn't been activated. The doors up front were locked, check-in desk was empty. The major research was all finished, so they were up; that's why the pressure was on for them to dressrehearse; there were the only ones there in the building. Sauda was more-or-less bringing up the rear, so he was the one to see Ralieur climb the plated stairs at the corner just in time for them. The set lead up from the underpassage which came straight from the barracks*. He winked as he joined back up. Now he was wearing a black stretch jacket with white trim and two pockets in the front astride the zipper. He looked good. But the tapir had the distinct advantage of those hooded eyes; he never showed the slightest difference whether he was tired, or rewarded, or disabused and nonplussed. He just nodded to the smiling possum.
* here ' barracks ' simply refers to the far end of the facility where lockers, quarters, ranges, and outdoor exercises are found.

Having part gotten it out of his system, he canned his exuberance as they walked out past Goyle into the idling truck, which stood alone there in the lot, this one much distinct than the others they'd seen there and about town; the smaller vans had a cover logo and a name on them, where this one was bare and greenish, giving off a typical grim military vibe. The sleek sport-jacket he'd just slid under didn't seem to match, but Rali didn't get any grief as he went by Lieutenant to climb in, just the quip: "Yeah, yeah, Gehrtz. I've felt the chill out here. Stay as warm as you want."

As they rumbled along in the truck, Cassidy broke the silence with some speculation. "This seems a bit much. Can't we just stay short until the op's ready? No fuss no muss then, right?"
Goyle replied in a serious tone; "Our cover-company isn't called First Cybernetics for nothing. That's what they've told us. We're first. We have to be ready."
"Isn't the sizeup just a formality, anyway? I mean, once we save the day who actually cares if we are allowed to resize after that? Why couldn't they just say 'mission accomplished' and let bygons?"
"The materials alone for a single hardsuit are more than enough to justify the second resize."
"To have researched and built the entirely separate machine required for it, though? And the juice? And the media-control when the grid goes black because of us? The government usually doesn't work like that. Why not defer research for second Resize to after they've have a successful op?"
"Who would actually volunteer knowing there wasn't a way back 'yet'? "
"That one's easy. Make 'em small when they sign up. Softsoap 'em into believing it's a fully tested technology and that power requirements are too great to bother with beforehand and move on. When the team gets back just break the bad news that there's no reverse." Most of them were shaking their heads at this. It continued: "No need to even candycoat it and say that it's out of commission for a broken part or something. What are they going to do? — Bite some toeclaws off? Just keep them in the fake Upsize 'er some room with that label until they cool off." She hesitated. "Ah... wait. I get it. They're short on suits. If we fail First's suits go to Second, then Third, Fourth, and Final."

At this point the doc had donned his unbeatable pokerface, the way the hare always did this, whenever they discussed theories about what was going on behind the scenes. Goyle had pointed it out to them early on, and though subtle, they quickly saw it enough to learn to recognize it; it meant he was turning a blind eye, and perhaps they weren't even too faur from the truth; ' need to know ' was a tricky business. The doc was too good though for them to play 'hotter' or 'colder' with him, even if Goyle would have allowed it.
Only on one occasion had Sabbow ever actually partaken in one of these dialogs, when he once sprang in and offered an ostensibly probable scenario which was much briefer and sleeker than anything they had been coming up with. So he did listen. It was confounding. The pitch was impeachably bogus; he could not have just given them such a vital piece of the puzzle like that, but it was too perfect for otherwise. It had stopped the conversation dead. They were too shocked to crossexamine him. He had stonewalled them utterly.
Over time, Goyle had taught them his own respect for the prof. Although each could imagine it, no one had ever made him say "Now, you know I can't tell you about that." The lagomorph's disposition contributed to this. Even at their most childish, no-one ever felt that he deserved to have things any harder.

"She has a point." Kallay. "Nanoy layers are much a fine liqueur; they take a long time to ferment, and there's a lot to spoil them. Once one's ready you really don't want to waste it." All her jokes about her own poor qualifications for Five were deceptive. As a telepath, though untrained, she could have taken any position whatsoever on the team. It was just hardest to find wetware -talent, so that's how she'd been assigned. Stevenson sat with her and listened. It was intimate at this size. Her warmth was a comfort. She had always been willing to act 'sisterly' to him. He'd said nothing more to her about his own motives than to anyone else. It was as if he had. He had been tempted. Either way she could just sense it — that hardship. Blast it was frore! He checked the temperature level... 8. That shouldn't be uncomfortable... he reasoned with himself, Well, hm. Less thermal mass than otherwise. More exposed surface area. Anybody's guess if 0^ is still zero for heat-production. Nah. 'Couldn't be. He left his climate off; for the moment he had Kallay.
* The suit's temperature-measurement system, shows 0 at what's called neutral temperature, describing an average person's body at rest generating heat equal to its diffusion. 1000 describes average body-temperature itself. For the supergeeks among you, conversion's:
* .. deciDegas = (celsiusDegs - 18)/0.019
The truck stopped.
"Are we there already?"
"No." - It was Leo - "My guess is probably changing drivers to one of theirs."
Sure enough, the professor and the one labtech who was along up-front climbed in back with them. The vehicle lurched into motion once more.
"I'm surprised you didn't make me take my suit off, Loot." Cassie again, still shockingly unphased by the whole situation.
Goyle replied. "If we monkey with it we might loose a screw or something." Some of said screws were custom.
She explained: "I could just use the signal-telemetry to figure out exactly where we're going. Ha. Or I could even just snap a photo of the sky and triangulate from there. But simplest would be to just leave a beacon back at HQ. It wouldn't matter where they took us, then, 'cuz those things are designed to work out there in the soup."
Goyle looked cross. "You didn't."
Obviously: "I didn't... you know if I were you, I would throw some sparktape over my cam right now just in case I get photojournalistic."
"No. we don't want to go next door again for that cup of sugar because we tried to sizeup some adhesive residue." Here he was correct, but the tape-solution was nonsense from the beginning; with the right settings, the cams could see right through some taping, and would likely adjust themselves reasonably well given no visible spectrum. Even so, they recoded in raw digital data; playback spectra could be adjusted to gain picture.

The truck halted again.
"It's going to get crowded in here if they send any more drivers to come sit with us." Leo, lamely.
"This other Fifth* we've tapped for a favour is actually a massive cabal. With planning specifically for this event, they have designated a dozen increasingly trusted drivers to take us on along precarious route into their underbelly to mask their actual location." Sauda.
* Each piece of the Onr-solution project (' Five ') was referred to as a Fifth for simplicity, given that outside of the team under the cover-firm First Cybernetics, the specific chain of precidence for attempts was unknown. It was also possible that some might get more than one attempt after their initial, if they had additional contingency-plans.
Cassie oneupped him: "Yes. Indeed this Fifth is so insurpassibly evil, that despite their own fullproof solution, they think that it will be fun to see us go first and mill around in the soup all short like a gang of ants."

Kallay felt Stephenson shifting against her leg. It must be some girl he's out for. I bet he'd stay just like this just to know she's safe. But he might even get some piece of mind hearing she's nolonger; I'm sure it'd be better to know she's at peace rather than trapped in some waking coma. She suspected how tough it must be on an empath not knowing how someone else was doing; it was his job to know... Here was part of the reason he was given such a hard time; since he wasn't much for counselling, such an empath was mostly a bug for Goyle to make sure no-one went and got too rumpled over anything. Indeed cohesion was vital, but having it policed by Goyle was so kiddy. For this they pushed back against him if he got too nosey.

All this while they sat idly in the truck. The doc was up and left. They sat some more. It was some ungodly hour. The benches were cramped. The only ones who had space to sleep were Derick and Cassidy. The former wasn't wired enough to shun it. He lay back against an idle thigh, finally shaking off a bit of that feeling of cold thanks to her. The material was tempered but flexed. 'Scarskin'. An unromantic name. Stevens couldn't be bothered. He rubbed his head and eartips on the plasticy material. The leg behind it might have been superficially pappier, but barely, really. Its strength and solidity lay deep inside it. It held its own structure, the Skin was just a glove. Which fit, not altering much at all — not to his mind.

Most everyone started looking drowsy. Kallay slouched back and put her weight forward so she could angle her back up against the wall a little. When she slid forward, she'd cupped Stevenson against her for a second, as one would hold a lunch-tray or other light object momentarily while scooting somewhere at a sit. She barely realized she'd done it, not until she'd already completed the action. He'd been startled but couldn't do anything. Swiftly, he went back to relaxing. It didn't require a telepath to know he understood. In the tents, I'd do the same thing for a cup of beer, he told himself. He lazily opened one eye and peered over toward the edge of the bench, which was closer now. Without getting up, he couldn't measure the sheer drop, but he was sure it was a long way. In good hands, he got back to nodding off. Forgiveably, Kallay fidgeted to stay awake without the luxury of a willing body to lean against; she had Steiglitz to one side, one of the last other than Goyle still sitting upright. His eyes were weren't saucers but he was focused on something. Probably breathing exercises; there wasn't much else to do. Regardless he wouldn't appreciate her leaning on his shoulder and neither would Goyle to her left. The only people who would've definitely tolerated it were shrunken (Stevens and Cassie). Lombardy might've if the mood was right — thatis, were he feeling benevolent for her sake, though he never was just cuddly. Raily might also let, but he'd be quite likely to make passes then or be irritating about it later, which he'd arguably have every right to do if she asked to move just to use him like that... so for now it was a push to stay awake.

Korra ran a claw back and forth on her upper leg, just having the the rough material barely sounding, resisting slightly, and sending some sensation down it for a short distance. More carefully this time, she shifted so she wouldn't start tingling and go dull at a sit. The whole waiting period had been interspersed by Cassidy raising curses about the delay. Korra got back to the routine. A bunch of minutes went by in silence and Railieur started reciting a scene from a movie that he liked, and a few tried to guess its title and theme, and what was going on in the scene. She hadn't noticed her stropping over the Scarskin had sunk lower with the distraction. She eventually noticed when the resistance from the base of Steevens' ears became great enough. She'd been bushing his eartips for what had to've been atleast a minute or so. Did she bother him? Sod it. If he was even much awake for that he coulda piped up. Maybe he even... nah. Not worth sweating over. He had however picked up on the mental blush. Yeah, I enjoyed that, Kallay, Stevenson thought, What would it take to get a little more of that treatment? For once he'd been able to hang loose for a little while; there wasn't much he himself could do to remedy the situation.

Ages later they were allowed out into an unassuming brick garage over concrete. They had fully pulled in. The door was shut. It might've been starting to lighten outside.
"So, here it is, huh?" Cassie started before Goyle shot her a look. Everyone else got it too; they were to say nothing. They thinned the ice they were on by asking for favours, though the potential scrapping or postponing First's attempt had probably already been considered and rejected. This gave some traction to the theory that each subsequent operation by each Fifth would be less and less surgically precise, which only left one to wonder what the final fix might look like. A tactical planetary strike did not seem out of the question. Having to stay silent at this point was harder than ever. Here were all these new clues to what was going on and they weren't even allowed to pool their smarts on it. How exactly was another Fifth supposed to help them? Their approaches were all supposed to be completely different, right?
They were lead down a flight of stairs to a device. A chamber. It looked sharply out of place. There were wall-dividers up. The doc looked quite serene and motioned toward the door. This was too much; had there really been another truck following them with the tech from HQ to do this, or was there more technical overlap than they thought? Some of the crew looked mad. Cassie especially. She'd started grumbling since they'd reached the stairs and she chouldn't shut up. She got louder. "You know, I'm beginning to think this whole Onr thing is just some Biecseuki's mean little fieldtest," Goyle was regarding her fiercely, but was yet to step in. She continued. "...and we're the good-enough folks who get to go clean it up. All of this running around is just a sour loyalty-check. Once we're done here it's just going to be war war war! Exactly like it used to be! Forget the damn aliens. Fates! I can't believe I signed up for this. But I'm so faur damn cyborged now, they can just shake my guts apart if they want to; I'm a maintenance addict! I guess I'll have to go kill my neighbors to get what I need." Good, Goyle thought, 'just blowing off steam, whether 'e knows it or not. I've seen 'er less civilized.

Kallay was carrying the two subjects and ushered them into the space, backed out and slid the door shut at the doctor's word.
Cassie to Stevens — "Let's hope John from up the road plays the rubics cube like we can." — A reference to the brief but strange visuals they'd seen in Sizedown, and a hope that no borrowed equipment would fail. As usual for her, an awfully mixed metaphor.
"Well, I've heard he's great at a jigsaw."

Sabbow and the tech stepped behind one of the dividers, clear others were not to follow. The lights were dimming again, fighting to stay on.
"Where have I seen this before?" Leo this time.
"Oh, let's not make anyone jealous; big brother's watching." Sauda. He'd gotten a reasonable count of the number of other bodies under the garage when they came in, even though they were out of sight. Intels were good at things like that. They were also good at math; Sauda could've given fighting chances for the gamut of different friendly and enemy loadouts in that little bunker. If not for Lombardy's extensive field-experience, the tapir would've been the ranking officer missing Goyle. An outlyer in he never froze-up — most deciders who relied heavily on books (whether physically in front of them or not) had issues getting too wrapped up in charts to see them fall through, but Sauda knew the stats too well. Thanks to his summing tricks he'd done exceedingly well in combat exercises, though to his chagrin he was slightly below average when it came to timed assembly for beacons and other equipment — another reason why he'd been picked as Intel. As long as he wasn't alone he was an asset, and a very good coach; especially in munitions-diffusing he'd soaring stats whenever paired with either Steiglitz or Rallier.

A deep ruff voice from behind the wall: "Powered up."
Kallay: "That went pretty painless."
"Ayehh, so maybe they have better access to the grid, but our first week on the job didn't involve scrubbing the grease-stains outta concrete. And..."
"That's enough, Rali.," Goyle said.
"...yeah." Kally, absently. She really had her mind on other things; she suspected that this other Fifth used the same kind of power-buffering units that they had; she'd gleaned a few specs for the Resizing equipment while prospecting before she was First's Wetware. It didn't seem likely that they could unload and set one up in such a short pan, even figuring a hauler had been ready with a spare. Which wouldn't have helped unless they had some kind of massive elevator to lower it down here... which wouldn't make sense... she nodded to herself, unless we're at Final, who are going to have the big guns. So this left them with either a visit to Final, or a visit to anyone because Five shared grid-buffers. We really need to compile a flow*... she wondered what Goyle would do if it were seen — probably tear it up. Depending on who had studied it, this would be largely symbolic.
* flowchart

A few moments, and a knock came at the inside of the chamber — Cassidy's voice, snarking but unintelligible. Sabbow had come back 'round the corner, pointing and spoke for his aide to grip the door. Cassidy had only just stepped back but both were in plain view and at normal size. They all expected her to take a bow but nothing. In a second she motioned back toward Stevens, nodding in agreement with herself. "We talked about one of us hiding but we decided better of it."
Everyone was relieved visibly, for the two most obvious reasons.
"I don't suppose they have any bunks here for us?" Ralieur, directed to Goyle but Sabbow shook his head.
A wave from the doctor and Goyle herded them overtly toward the stairway.
Starting effeminately, on their way up: "Auhh! And we couldn't just get a hotel because then we could call the room-service and then look up the bellboy in the directory, and get his mother, and then have her come back to visit, and then eventually put a tracking dot in her vehicle, and then learn that her husband is the owner of N-th-Order Skinbank, and on, and on, and on, and on." Goyle had winced when he'd come to the part of naming where he thought they were, figuring they might not be past earshot of the very one who was indeed more than likely to be that exact director of said Fifth. Rali had looked him in the eye, though, and he relaxed when he just heard the placeholder cover-firm mentioned.

With the rear door shut, the engine came belching to life. Sitting down, he looked at Goyle. "I didn't have you worried there, did I?"
Sarcasm oceanic, "Ralieur, you are a master of subtlety."
"Yeah, 'cuz we would hate to munge up all your politics." Kallay. Glancing, "Ssspeaking of which... we forgot about Sabbow?"
Goyle responded. "'Turns out they only have a bed for Sabbow."
"Aaaand the tech? Kallay again. "Bliery?" remembering the name.
"Maybe the tech gets to sleep on the floor." Ralieur.
"Aww, no fair." Cassidy. "Why do they get a good night when we still have to do a reverse goosechase?"
Before they could start speculating about who the subservient tech could instead sleep with for the trouble, Leo interjected. "By counting we aren't any diff'rent than before, but notice how we're taking up more seats. They'll be right behind us."
Cassie: "Yeah! 'Cuz what's some extra mileage like that when y'just put half the city outta commission?"
For once Goyle partook. "Sabbow might be politicking. Then Bliery gets sent home alone."
Ralieur, enthusiastically: "Oooh, straight home, though, that's a good one."
Goyle shrugged truantly. "That's up to the brass."
"Hey, you are the brass. Or, were the brass." Cassidy. Goyle had been involved in some decisionmaking early on, but had decided to command boots on the ground after the major Fifth structure had been determined. After that, Goyle had been kept in the dark about who did what. He knew the names though.

In short moments, they rolled to a stop; it was time to switch the drivers in the cab. Goyle got up.
"Don't you need a co-pilot, buddy?" Guess-who.
Expectantly, the Lieutenant: "Lombardy." The second Boxer silently rose and jumped out with him. Everyone rolled their eyes — if he was going to glean any clues about where they were they'd never hear about it; he hardly talked!
By the time they reached the facility and Goyle pushed the door up, the light was blazing.
Sauda: "Now I see — this was a double-experiment to see how many hours they could stretch into an evening! The power-failure wasn't our doing atall!" He jumped down and then toward that angled patch of shade part of the building had drawn.
Cassie jogged after him. "Last one to the beds hears me snoring!" Some strides. "And for those in doubt, I can snore if it's daytime." Confidently, this was more complaining than explanation.

A nice lieutenant, Goyle would let them get their fill; they'd had plenty to stay up over.

tl;dr

*gets stomped*

Really, Dino ? I don't think even stomping you would make me feel any better.

I know, but I never have time for long forum visits anymore.

Okay, so I just read it.

I guess as a summary for deepness, allow me to illustrate.

Dino stands before a spinning spiral vertigo wheel, a camera also pointed at it and rotating as well, and then starts yelling, "Aaaaaaaah!" and flailing his arms, the image the camera sees that he's falling down into an endless vortex as it zooms out.

I used to think Blue was the worssssssI mean, the most Raptorlandish Raptor in Raptorland™, but damn, Patch. Really...all this effort for some shrinking and growth? It's too much! This is like saying that someone make the Super Mario Bros. movie to show off Yoshi. He was in it for like 2 seconds, and even though the movie was about evolved dinosaurs, you never saw any!

See, this is what you get for making me read on a Sunday morning. I blame YOU, mommy! Er...Patch.

Well, regardless of how much you pained and suffered (and griped about it) you made my day. ^^ I was rather hoping you hadn't gotten that old and crusty/krufty that you'd tl;dr me and have that be that.

So 'tell you what. Next time I'm ready to bang out one of these chapters I'll put some tildas near the stompy part so you can race straight down to it, and I'll even give a little synopsis if you want some context, k? 'That sound good, huh?

Yes. Yes, that sounds very good indeed.

Hey, I'm sick, I'm allowed a brief reply this time.