Part 1
It was late night in the city, but as noisy as midday. With the neon glare over the streets, you
could be excused for thinking it was still daytime save for the sky. Dominating the skyline was the
Genom Tower, rising a full kilometre over the city streets. The view was suddenly shut out, as the
blinds snapped closed. Carlisle West, elegant and beautiful, walked away from the shutters and took
her place in front of her colleagues. She had medium-length silky brown hair and eerie red eyes. She
spoke with an untraceable accent.
"Your training is practically complete. These files will display the boomers we’re most likely to
encounter in operations. Pay attention; this information could save your life."
Outside, a man walked unnoticed across one of the busiest streets in town, into oncoming
traffic. A driver cried out in panic, and swerved his van to the side to avoid hitting the madman. He
caught the van’s front full-on in the chest - and held it to a standstill.
"First." The screen on the opposite wall flicked to life, showing technical schematics of a
mechanical nightmare. "The BU-55C combat boomer. Genom’s best selling model of armed boomer.
Main weapon is the standard mouth laser; it is also armed with-" the screen changed on cue to a
picture of the same machine, with its chest blossomed into a number of highly reflective panels, "-a
high-powered chest-mounted heat cannon."
The man grasped the van underneath its bumper, and showing almost no strain, heaved it up
into the air. It flipped over onto its roof, badly damaging the car behind it. As the driver scrambled out of
the van, the monster held back its arms and roared a challenge into the sky.
"Primary target is the boomer’s head. This will knock out all sensory capabilities as well as the
main weapon. The boomer will most likely shut down with its artificial brain destroyed, but occasionally
its autonomic system will continue."
"Like a headless chicken?" Piped up Freya, one of the women she was addressing. She was
of a medium build, and had short-cropped and somewhat messy blond hair and grey eyes.
"Yes. Although it will be seriously disabled, it will still pose a threat. Aim for the arms; taking
out one will disable its only remaining weapon."
"An’ if it’s still going?" asked Shamus, the elder of the two men present in a heavy Scottish
accent. He was solidly built, with short-cropped red hair.
"Then it won’t be much of a threat," she replied coldly.
It lowered its head and looked around. People were fleeing in panic. The creature tensed
slightly, then rapidly grew, bursting out of its unneeded skin. It now stood a full two meters tall, and was
dark crimson in colour. Armour plating covered its body, and a pair of glowing sensors surveyed the
world around it. It back and calves blossomed open, and firing up its newly-developed trusters, the
boomer tore away from the scene.
“Next.” The display now showed another boomer, but more solid. Whereas the previous one
could have passed for human, this one had no chance. “The BU-12B battle boomer. Heavy combat
boomer armed with a high-powered railgun and rapid-fire gattling cannon. Currently the most common
battle boomer in the world. Main target is once again the head; if that fails, go for its weapon mounting
or the right arm joint. These two balancer pods,” she pointed out odd protrusions on the boomer’s back
“will prevent the boomer from flying if destroyed, hampering its mobility.”
“What about Dobermen?” asked Shamus.
“Hopefully we won’t have to fight any. I’ll warn you if it seems likely.”
“What exactly are Dobermen?” asked the other woman, Carla, slim with longish brown hair
and blue eyes. “Another kind of boomer?”
“Yes. A Doberman is a spaceborne battle boomer that stands four meters tall, and is armed
with a variety of powerful laser weapons. Fortunately it’s only deployed on space stations for
emergency purposes; we aren’t likely to encounter them.”
“Phew!”
The other man, Adam, young, with dark blue hair in a short ponytail spoke up. “They’re called
Dobermen ‘cause that’s about how smart they are.”
“If you’re finished…”
“Ha-ha. Sorry!” said Carla.
The image on the screen changed to show two more boomers, one similar to the 55C, but
larger and blockier. The other was hunchbacked and red. “These are two older models of combat
boomer. The first, the BU-C-139, is a predecessor to the 55C. It’s weaker and has inferior armaments,
so shouldn’t be much of a problem. The second is the BU-C-208. Once again weaker, it has a more
powerful mouth laser and is very agile. Neither of these are common any more, but are available
relatively cheaply on the black market. As a result, they’re liable to be nearly untraceable.”
The radio set in one corner of the room suddenly came to life, crackling out a faint message.
Carlisle switched on the lights, then she and Adam went over to the set.
“I wonder what it is.” said Carla.
The radio message amplified. A woman’s voice came over the set, slightly panicking.
“…operations to all E-SWAT units. Rogue combat boomer reported in district twelve. Unknown design.
Repeat: unknown design. Extremely dangerous-“
Carlisle cut out the radio. “I doubt they can handle it alone. Time to make our first presence
known.”
They all rose from their seats, and went to a concealed elevator. “How good are they at
handling these things, Shamus?”
“Useless.” Came the sharp reply.
The elevator sped them quickly to the basement, where they fanned out to claim their gear. It
was a large, plain room with several exits, five lockers and five large motorbikes parked by a garage-
style door. Each of them went to a locker, and pulled out a plain grey and blue skinsuit. Carlisle was the
fastest, as she then went over to one of the change rooms on the side. Carla was about to follow her,
but Freya held her back. “Give the lady some privacy.”
They all changed in turn, and stowed their clothes as they returned. Carlisle went over to a
large storage unit in one wall, and opened it up. The five hardsuits, open and beckoning to their
wearers. They all suited up - Carlisle into her heavy red and grey hardsuit first, then Shamus into his
solid deep purple machine and Freya into her green hardsuit, followed by Adam into his small dark blue
hardsuit and finally Carla struggled into her red machine. As the others suited up, Carlisle briefed them.
“The Tempests are complete, but their assault cannons aren’t ready yet. We’ll only use them for
transport to the battle.”
Each mounted one of the cycles. The garage door opened, revealing a ramp leading up to a
second opening door. They sped out into the alleyway behind the building, and off towards the battle.
Adam spoke up from the rear. “I’ve keyed into E-SWAT frequencies. They’ve deployed a Blackjack,
which is engaging it near eastern highway, section three.” He paused. “He’s not holding out well.” They
turned onto the elevated highway and sped towards the scene.
The group quickly found the place. On the road below them was chaos, with wrecked cars
strewn about. When they arrived, they saw the boomer smash its hand through the faceplate of the
badly damaged battlesuit. It drove the arm in up to the elbow, then drew it out bloodied. The battlesuit
collapsed to the ground, and the boomer stood over the crumpled wreck, as if gloating.
“Freya, attack it close up. Carla, Shamus, give her fire support. Adam, jam its comms.”
The three combat hardsuits leaped off their motorslaves. Freya engaged her jumpjets, and
soared through the sky down to the boomer. Covering her, Shamus fired his arm-mounted railgun at
the boomer, driving one hypervelocity spike each into its right arm and leg. The boomer seemed
unfazed, and its chest blossomed out into six large microwave panels. It fired a searing blast of heat up
at Shamus and Carla, who both managed to leap out of the way, leaving the boomer’s shot to blaze a
path through the night. As she leapt to the side, Carla fired her own railgun. The boomer leapt back,
leaving the two spikes to drive themselves into the concrete road. As the boomer landed, Freya landed
next to it. Two large panels raised themselves on the front of her hardsuit’s right arm, and the whole
battleglove flared up with a burning green glow. She drove the plasma bomber straight at the boomer,
which desperately twisted out of the way. Freya followed through with the punch, and was rewarded
with striking the boomer square in its left hip, the plasma energy cutting through the armour and
artificial flesh of the boomer like butter, messily cleaving its leg off. Off-balance as it was, the boomer
desperately tried to stay upright, and only managed by grasping a street sign, twisting it with its
crushing grip.
Shamus fired his laser cannon at the crippled boomer, blasting it straight in the chest. The
shot knocked it down, tearing the sign out of the ground as it fell. Carla jumped down towards the
boomer with her own jumpjets, and Freya stepped right up to it and drove her glowing fist straight
through the creature’s head. The head exploded, leaving a broken stump, and Freya’s arm went
straight into the concrete, cracking it and leaving a small crater. The boomer twitched briefly, then was
still.
Freya switched off her plasma bomber, and the others jumped down around the boomer to
examine the corpse. It was smaller than the 55C, but still built very solidly. Its armour also seemed
more solid. “A new model, superior to the 55. What is he planning?” Carlisle muttered to herself.
“Sorry, what was that?” asked Shamus.
“Nothing. Let’s move out.” They engaged their jets, and launched themselves back onto the
raised highway. When the E-SWAT cars arrived, all they found was a dead boomer, the remains of
their battlesuit, and the signature of the Star Angels.
Freya stifled a yawn as she meandered into work the next morning. The car factory was
relatively silent, which could only mean one thing; machinery on the blink again. She mused on the
factory; it was proud that it completely avoided boomer labour. But it wasn’t easy; it drove cost up and
reliability; she sighed as she saw a robotic arm had welded the conveyor in front of it to a standstill;
was way down. She sighed again, got her tools out of her locker, and started work. Her job was to
make sure the machinery kept going, and around here that was full time work.
After a while with no progress, one of her workmates, Dave wandered over. “Mornin’. How’s it
going?” Freya asked him.
“Welder’s gone nuts again. Fused the conveyor.”
“I’ve been having problems like that too. Number two’s carked it, and I’ve pulled it apart and
put it back together twice already, and I still can’t find the problem.”
“I’ll have a look at it when…” she yawned again “When I’m done here.”
“Bad night?”
“Not quite. What’s new?” she said hurriedly to change the topic.
“Haven’t you heard the news? Some kind of boomer was running through the city. It trashed a
battlesuit but got totalled. They say it was taken out by some vigilantes. No-one got a good look at them
though.”
Freya turned back top the conveyor, and feigned disinterest. “Shame that.”
Shamus walked into the work room at police HQ. He felt about as wonderful as he looked;
hideous. They’d cooled down a bit after the fight, as well as having an extensive de-briefing session.
Maybe I’m not cut out for the late nights… he wondered. He slumped over to his desk and sat down,
before pitching forwards into the paperwork.
Amy, an operator, stopped by his desk just after he’d arrived. “Morning Shamus.”
“Bug’r orf,” he muttered, face in the mess of papers that passed for his desk.
Amy ignored that one. “Good to see you so bright and perky this morning.”
“Ha ha. What’s happening?”
“Didn’t you hear? There was an emergency call last night. Combat boomer on the rampage.”
“Uh, no. Pager must be on the blink. So what happened.”
“Well, it showed up somewhere around district ten. Must have gone mad, because it started
trashing things, then sped off. But the weird bit is that it was totalled before we got to it. Some group
called the ‘Star Angels,’” Shamus winced at the name, “from reports.”
“Fine. Can I die now?”
“Nope. Chief wants you.”
Shamus sighed, and pulled himself upright. Straightening his uniform a bit, he wandered over
to the chiefs office. He rubbed his eyes, then knocked.
“Enter,” said a gruff voice from inside.
Shamus stepped inside the all-too-small office. The man behind the desk was of average
height, but seemed much larger due to his extremely solid build. He had short-cropped black hair, and
spoke in a rather loud voice.
“You wanted to see me?” asked Shamus.
“Yeah. I suppose you’ve heard the stories already. Why didn’t you respond?”
“Pager’s on the blink, sir.”
“Ah, well. Report it to stores, and get a new one. The target was a new model of combat
boomer. The lab boys are busy analysing what’s left of it. I’m afraid Martin was killed trying to stop it.
I’m sorry.”
“The memorial service?”
“This afternoon.”
“Sir, I’d like to investigate this one personally.”
“I’ve already assigned someone to it, Shamus. Dismissed.”
Shamus walked out of the office and cursed his bad luck. Chances are some overenthusiastic
glory hound’s going to be on it, he thought. Her headed down to mechanical bays, where they were
working on the boomer.
The place was a mess. What was left of the combat boomer was spread out on a large table,
and opened up for dissection. It was surrounded by unco
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