“No.” She tightened her jaw. “Because it’s a stupid idea, and I don’t want to see you dead.”

Genuine concern filled her eyes, which only added to my irritation. I didn’t need her pity. All I needed was to get my mission completed, so I’d never have to sweat through another night on the edge of that airfield.

I switched my attention to the gawky and unshaven medic beside me. “What’s your name, Doc?”

“Preston.”

“Well, then. Help me up, Preston.”

* * *

The skeleton’s ribs clamped over mine like the jaws of a slowly closing trap. I felt them cup, squeeze and lift my injured torso even as further struts clipped themselves to my arms and legs. Even my fingers and thumbs were being reinforced. The skin prickled at the back of my neck as the suit’s neural filaments burrowed into my spinal cord, and a needle pushed into the skin on the back of my right hand, installing a drug line for sedatives and painkillers. Now the spinal link had been made, it would take a skilled surgeon to unpick the microfilaments and unhook me from the suit’s embrace, and Preston didn’t look up to the job. If I wanted to avoid damage to my central nervous system, I’d have to keep the suit on until after the mission.

Once the carbon-fibre bones were in place and aligned properly, Preston moved around, tightening elastic straps and closing manual fastenings. The whole process took around ten minutes, and his hands shook the entire time.

Finally, he stepped back and left me standing by myself, buoyed by the rigidity of the suit alone.

“How do I look?”

He gave me a critical once-over. “How do you feel? Are you comfortable?”

“I feel like I got gored by a bull.” My eye jerked again. “Aside from that, it’s not too bad. Kind of weightless, like I’m being carried.”

“Try moving your arm. Do you feel any discomfort?”

I wanted to punch him. Instead, I tried an experimental swing.

“No, but it feels weird.” I clenched and unclenched my fist. I had been expecting the servomotors in the joints to buzz or whine with each change in posture, but the mechanism moved with firm, silent efficiency. I felt as if I could rip the bed in half, or tear my way through the bulkhead, into open space.

I turned to Laura. “What do you think?”

She rubbed her plastered thigh and sighed. When she looked up at me, her eyes were weary and disappointed. “I still think you’re making a huge mistake.”

“You would.”