Starcross

Chapter Seventeen

Department of Science Building

Lab 23 – C

Washington D.C.

 

            Like in every lab, hospital, and clinic he had ever been in the air conditioner was running on full blast, sending a chill down the DCI’s back. Even with power rationing and black outs rolling through the suburbs, the Department of Science had enough juice to keep the building cold enough to hang meat in the halls. Just a little colder and I can see my breath, he thought.

Of course, they had been given priority and could use all the power they wanted. The scientists here had been given a very important assignment, one that couldn’t wait until the siege broke. Lovett stopped before a shining stainless steel door and swiped his PAN card across the reader. The florescent lights above quietly buzzed and reflected off the white walls, floors, and ceiling tiles. Pure white to make it easier to see any dirt or other contaminates.

The keypad in the wall beeped twice and flashed green and Lovett pulled the door open before stepping through into the laboratory. Young men and women, most recruited right out of college and some out of high school, wearing white lab coats or white scrubs worked at various tables or consoles that filled the expansive room. Lovett noticed the smell of ozone, the tell-tale sign that a plasma rifle had been discharged recently and sure enough, he saw a plastic mannequin propped up against the wall, half melted, and surrounded by jugs of water. Scorch marks where missed shots had hit the wall and burned into the fireproof ceramic.

He passed a disassembled set of Druidth armor, taken apart all the way to the gel layer that rested against the skin of the wearer. A tech was taking samples and ignored him as he stopped to look at the various layers: first there was a gel layer, then a layer of mesh, covering that was a layer of soft material that looked and felt like wood putty but was solid like a piece of cardboard. Finally the black outer layer, which was the thickest at nearly a half inch. Lovett tapped his fingernail against the armor, running his fingers around the trio of holes in a tight group just above the right breast.

“What’s this stuff?” He asked the tech, pointing at the putty cloth.

The tech turned from his microscope and shrugged. “No clue, Sir. It doesn’t compress, it’s not antiseptic… it’s just there.”

Confused but unwilling to show it, he pointed at the gel. “What about that?”

Scratching his head and grinning widely, clearly excited, the tech held up a sample for Lovett to hold. “That is the real prize here. It absorbs almost all concussive shock. That’s why our grenades barely work, our heavy shells too — the main way they kill, other than shrapnel, is Sudden Nerve Trauma which, in essence, causes the spinal column to turn to jelly. Well this stuff absorbs it so the Drids remain unaffected by it. When this is all over, Sir, this stuff will change sports equipment, car safety, and so much more…”

“Let’s focus on winning first son.”