“Kinetic absorption fibers,” he told her. “Fancy name for shock absorbers built into the legs. Use your body weight to counter.”

She did, settling down onto the supporting structure of the suit’s legs. It was firm, but didn’t really slow her down.

“Ok, now jump.”

Lyssa looked at him, but nodded curtly and did as she was told.

“Holy!” she blurted out as she reached the apex of the jump at about thirty feet and began to windmill her arms in an attempt to hold herself steady.

“Stop that! Suit gyros will keep you upright,” Weston called as she started to come back down. “Stick the landing! Flex!”

She did, legs taking the force as she hit the ground, lightly touching down in a three-point landing as she reached out with her right hand to control the motion.

“Trust your armor. It will keep you upright and informed,” he said as she rose back up. “Energy is stored with every movement. If you don’t use it in a jump, it’s converted to stored potential energy and bled off into the suit’s battery.”

He handed her a rifle. “Here. Link this to your suit.”

She closed her hand around the big grip of the battle rifle and it automatically lit up as her armor queried it and the two objects linked. She noted that the weapon was empty and automatically grabbed one of the magazines from the nearby box, slapping it home. The red lights turned green instantly, taking away one of Lyssa’s many unhappies.

“Will this take down one of those things?” she asked, turning her focus back to Weston.

Eric nodded. “Yeah. They’re armored, but these were designed to take out tanks toward the end of the war.”

“Good.” She walked over to another crate and settled down to strip and clear her weapon.

She’d used one just like it while she was in the service, and was well aware that while they came out of the crate at about eighty percent ready to use, that was a far cry from one hundred percent. She had a little work to do.

Eric watched her from a distance, not saying anything. He just grinned under his helmet and went back to his preparations. Lyssa had her contacts to bring in, but Eric had made a few over the years himself and New York housed more than one old friend.

In the distance behind him, an explosion tore through the city.

CLEARVIEW, QUEENS

THE CHIME WAS out of place in the darkened home, but it was insistent and refused to be silenced until a burly man with graying hair thumped up the stairs from the basement and grabbed the link slate from where he’d left it on the local counter. He grunted, glaring at the message in more than a little disbelief before shaking his head finally.

“Melanie, I’m going out.”