The Applications of Force

Tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. Sweat dripping down the two men's faces as they stared at each other across the small table. Their attention centered on the chess board, more than half the pieces collected by either side.

And I was so fucking bored. I leaned over one of the chairs on either side of them, my arms folded over the top of it as I rested my chin, looking down at what could only be described as a farce. Allen had forced mate in six, but he didn't see it. I decided to give him a hint, since they were glacially progressing to an inevitable stalemate. "Why not take the horse?"

Some of the tension in Allen's brow unfurled as he looked up at me with a baleful gaze. "Betty, didn't I already tell you what 'kibitzing' is? And I can't take the knight," he gave the piece's correct name eye roll-inducing emphasis, "Because when he retakes, he'll have a fork on my rook and my queen." He helpfully pointed out the follow-up move for me.

But of course, he didn't see that he could sacrifice his queen to put his knight in position to begin an unstoppable sequence of chasing the enemy king into the perfect spot for checkmate, delivered alongside his two bishops and either the queen or the rook (since Percy couldn't capture both).

It was my turn to sigh. When Percy had suggested playing chess--and Allen had cavalierly warned him that he'd used to play in amateur leagues--I'd thought it would be funny to pretend I'd never played chess before. Now, after at least half a dozen condescending explanations from Allen about how the pieces moved and why the moves I was suggesting were stupid (which, to be fair, all of the ones until now had been), I was annoyed.

I looked over at Percy, who had actually given my question serious consideration. He'd turned white as a sheet. Percy watched Allen's deliberations with bated breath, not daring to say anything. Lest he encourage Allen to think about my idea more deeply.

Maybe I was being too harsh. I'd actually been impressed by how well Allen was playing. I'd always known that his burly, unkempt appearance belied a keen intellect and cleverness. But I hadn't realized his talents extended to chess. He'd probably done pretty well in those amateur leagues of his.

Percy, on the other hand, definitely looked like the kind of guy who would suggest playing chess to pass the time on a long jump. He was stringy, and the bagginess of his combat uniform made him look like a kid in his dad's clothes, especially next to Allen, who filled out his own so nicely.

As Allen made his move, completely failing to capitalize on Percy's mistake, the game was interrupted by the construct.

[Beatrice, Allen, we are approximately one hour to exit. Please proceed to the armory.]

"Thanks for the reminder, Frost," Allen replied to the construct. He looked back to the board and shook his head. Turning to Percy, he said, "I gotta help Betty get suited up. Want to call it a draw?" He held out his hand across the board.

"Oh. Uh, sure," Percy replied, returning the handshake with a bemused look. He didn't seem to mind. He gave the impression of someone who played games for fun, with victory or loss only signaling that it was time to begin the next game.

"Want to watch me put on my armor?" I asked him as the two were getting up. Seeing him a bit uncertain, I added, "It's pretty cool. And it's not like you have anywhere else to be before we exit." With another milquetoast 'sure' from Percy, we headed to the armory.

The armory was unusually spacious for a jumpship, due in large part to the platform in the center. It was affixed with a number of mechanical arms. Allen crossed the room to the wheeled crate containing my armor, releasing the breaks and moving it within the platform's reach.

I got into the center of the platform, slipping out of the sandals I liked to wear before missions. With my bare feet on the cold metal, I grabbed the hem of my t-shirt, then lifted it over my head. I was bare chested underneath, and I took hold of the waist of my pants next. I stopped when I noticed Percy's reaction.

He had a look of horror, holding up his arms to hide me from view even as he averted his gaze. "Wh-what are you--?" he stammered, unable to even finish the sentence. It was oddly endearing.

"What, never seen a naked woman before?" I asked teasingly, swaying my hips a bit more than was necessary as I shimmied out of my sweatpants. No panties, of course. I kicked my discarded clothes towards him, continuing "Or are you the sort of pervert who gets turned on watching his teammate gear up?"

"I--uh," he staggered back to evade my clothes-turned-projectile, almost tripping over himself in his haste. He seemed torn between his nervous shock at the immodesty, which told him to look away, and his virile desires.

Allen had finished opening the crate behind me. As he re-engaged its brakes, he spoke in a voice of complete disinterest. "I don't think anyone's ever been turned on seeing you strip, Betty."

"Still get more bitches than you, asshole," I shot back, giving him the finger over my shoulder for good measure.

My figure could be politely described as 'petite'. Allen preferred 'scrawny'. It was hard to put on weight, either muscle or fat, thanks to how fast my metabolism was. Coupled with my naturally small frame--and my near-nonexistent breasts--I had virtually no curves to speak of, and very little definition.

Not that I minded. After four years of training in the Sisterhood, surrounded by women who all inexplicably looked like supermodels (although I was an outlier, the correlation between chest size and psionic abilities was well-documented), I'd all but gotten over any insecurities about my appearance. And as Percy could no doubt attest, seeing a naked woman was a sublime experience no matter what she looked like.

Percy's lust had been overcome by his embarrassment. He'd fully turned his back from me, his gaze fixed on the door we'd entered from. Only his reddened ears were visible on either side of the brown ponytail tied behind his head. He'd crossed his arms, apparently not sure what else to do with them.

"Percy, come on," I called out, taking on a more serious tone. "You're not here to stare at the wall. The construct's about to get started. You don't want to miss the show."

On cue, five of the platform's arms grabbed me. Four of them grabbed my limbs, one at each wrist and ankle. The fifth secured my waist, keeping me fully supported as it lifted me off the platform and suspended me in the air.

As chipper as I was trying to sound, I hated this. The cool metal's grip on me was ironclad, keeping me splayed out in a star pose. Its arms held me just tightly enough to completely restrict my range of motion. Thanks to how gentle the grip was, it wasn't exactly uncomfortable. But I had to resist the building urge to start struggling against it.

My coaxing was enough to convince Percy to turn back around so that his beet-red face came into view. His eyes widened when he saw my current state. "Sheesh!" he blurted out, his eyes darting to my fully exposed pussy. It had spread slightly with the opening of my legs.

"Wow, you really are a pervert," I chided. Being seen naked didn't really do anything for me, but making fun of Percy was a nice distraction from the unease I was feeling being restrained like this. I shivered in the cold air at the armory. Continuing to funnel the discomfort into humor, I called back to Allen, "See? Percy thinks I'm sexy."

"Yeah? I'm surprised he passed his psych eval," was Allen's blithe reply. He was monitoring the console on his side of the platform, keeping an eye on everything the construct was doing.

The remaining arms whirred into motion, grabbing the metal and ceramic plates behind me. They worked from bottom to top, starting with my feet. There were three segments of each boot, designed to allow for as much range of motion as if I were barefoot. One fitted over the middle, one over the toe, and then one over the heel. These were joined with a pair of plates which met around my calves, the joint constructed in a way to allow full mobility for my ankles.

At the same time, dozens of pieces were fitted together like a jigsaw around my hands. Unlike my toes, which didn't need to be able to individually articulate, my fingers needed as much freedom as possible while wearing power armor. The design made fine motor control possible, allowing me to operate hand tools or consoles. These were likewise met with a similar design to the calf plates, allowing me to twist my wrists their full 270°.

The rest of the armor followed a similar design, metal and ceramic interlocking in intricate sophistication so that I would be able to move almost as well as if I weren't wearing anything. I tried to ignore the feeling of being encased. The arms had shifted their grip on me, now more supporting my weight than keeping me in place since the armor could hold me down without help.

As more and more of my pale flesh was hidden beneath gray metal, Percy's embarrassment diminished (especially once the plates had gone up my waist and hidden my nethers). It was replaced by wonderment and curiosity at the complexity of it, although he also seemed confused. He asked, "Isn't it a bit loose?"

He was right. The armor hung off me a bit, not perfectly molded to my form. I was filling it in about as well as he was filling in his combat gear, which was to say, not very well. The construct was putting the large chest and back plates on, and it was apparent that they wouldn't exactly be flush.

Noticing that I was practicing my deep breathing exercises to stay calm, Allen answered on my behalf: "There's an inner layer that gets filled in afterward. You won't be able to see since the armor's in the way, but in a second the construct is going to start pouring in a black goo. It processes waste, and it interfaces her psionics with the armor so that she can control it with her brain. It also absorbs shock."

As he said that, a metal tube extended from the platform and slotted into the neck of the armor, snaking past me. I shivered at its cold touch, closing my eyes as I forced myself to focus. As gallons of the slick, sticky substance gushed over me, I willed it to flow into every crevice, creating an even layer between my skin and the armor. I pushed any air-bubbles up and out of the neck.

Allen guided me through the process as he watched the panels, giving tidbits like "right pinky toe isn't filling" or "lot of air in the left arm still". Finally, he gave a satisfied nod. "I'm not detecting any air. Bonding."

My entire body began to tingle as an electric current ran through the ooze, activating and solidifying it. It went from a gooey, sticky substance I felt like I could swim in to a soft-but-unyielding encasement. For a moment, my eyes widened with primal terror as I felt completely trapped. But then the bonding finished.

I dropped to the platform as the arms released me. I reached my arms above my head, getting on my tip-toes in a big stretch. I felt an immense sense of relief now, and a feeling of complete freedom like when I had been standing naked on the platform. I looked down at myself, slightly disoriented by the extra few inches of height I'd gained.

Despite the fact that I was encased in gray metal and ceramic, I felt totally unburdened. Thanks to the psionic bond, the armor was no longer something I was constrained in, but an extension of myself. I flexed my fingers and toes, nodding with satisfaction as they moved exactly the way I wanted to.

"Time check?" Allen asked the construct. When it affirmed that we still had about fifteen minutes to exit, he said, "Let's do a quick calibration."

There was a calibration routine included in the armor's manual, which Allen would have had open on his console. But after the first half-dozen missions, Allen had decided that the calibration routine was boring and came up with a new one. He began his instructions.

"Lean forward and wrap your arms around your legs without bending your back."

I complied, hinging at the hips to point my head straight toward the ground. My shoulder-length platinum blonde hair flowed down, almost brushing the platform. I held that pose for a few moments, craning my neck to look up at Percy who I flashed a bright smile.

His eyes had gone almost as wide as when he'd gotten an eyeful of my pussy. My flexibility was incredible enough in normal circumstances, but being able to move like this in power armor was a sight to behold.

"Go into a handstand," Allen ordered.

I released my legs and put my hands on the platform. I needed to bend my elbows a bit thanks to already being bent over, and I pushed off the ground with my feet. I swung them up over my head, going fully inverted.

"No disturbances in the gel," Allen said. Part of the point of the bend-into-handstand was to make sure the gel had solidified properly. It would be a massive issue if it were still partially liquid and started flowing around. "Do a few push-ups to make sure."

I bent my arms until my forehead was touching the cold metal of the platform. Then I raised myself back up. I repeated the process a few times, pausing at the top when I heard Percy's low voice saying, "Holy shit."

"It's too early to be impressed, Percy," Allen said, sounding amused. "That's all the armor. Betty isn't even enhancing herself yet."

As Allen said, this was more a question of balance than strength. Power armor (whether it was made for psions or normal humans) used advanced kinematics to increase the wearer's physical capabilities, and the most basic element of that was supporting its own weight. If wearing it was a constant effort, even the most well-conditioned soldier would be exhausted by regular use, let alone fighting. So despite the fact that the armor weighed almost a ton, I felt none of that as I held myself up.

"Go into a scorpion," Allen said. From between my arms, he was smirking at me. "And touch your head this time. I don't want you getting lazy on me."

Being treated like a trained monkey was a bit annoying, but I had to admit that his 'custom diagnostic routine' was better than the pre-programmed one, so I put up with it. Keeping my hands on the ground, I lowered myself onto my elbows. I leaned my head forward so that it was over my hands, and arced my back to bend my legs in the same direction. Usually I would stop here, but I grit my teeth as I felt the stretch in my spine, pushing myself to bring the tips of my toes to the top of my head.

"Good. Come out of that with a backflip."

Normally he would have me bring my feet all the way to the ground to sort of roll to a standing position from here, but it seemed like Allen wanted me to show off for Percy today. I took in a deep breath, psionically enhancing my arms as I prepared myself for the movement.

It was a two-part maneuver. First, I leaned forward, bringing my elbows off the ground so that my bent arms were supported only by my hands. Before I could fully pitch forward, I tightened my core to bring my legs back, killing my momentum. For a brief moment, I was back at the bottom of a handstand push-up. But I pushed off much harder this time.

I launched into the air, bending my legs as I did to bring them to my chest. The momentum from that brought me into a backward spin, completing the flip at the apex of my jump, which took me about six feet off the ground. As I came back down, I extended my legs. I bent my knees at the end to soften the impact. I didn't want to dent the platform--shit was expensive.

As I stood back at my full height, Percy was gaping at me. While I'd joked about him never seeing a naked woman before, it was possible he'd actually never seen a human move like this. Acrobatic performances had fallen out of vogue in the last century. These days, they were reserved for private demonstrations for the wealthy. Demonstrations which usually ended in the performer doing acrobatics on the audience's cocks.

Allen ran me through a few more motions including a jumping split, a front flip, and my least favorite, the butterfly. This one was a breeze outside the armor, but one of the main flaws of power armor was the lack of flexibility in the upper legs. Still, I managed the routine with little difficulty.

As I was finishing, the construct ordered us to find secure seats for the exit. We all made our way to the cargo bay, which was mostly empty. There were a dozen seats built into either wall of the expansive space. Allen and I sat next to each other, and after a moment's hesitation, Percy sat on the other side of me.

I'd brought my helmet, the last piece of the ensemble. I began putting it on and securing it as the construct gave its spiel about how we were absolutely not to leave our seats until we'd exited the jump. Nobody seemed to know why (personally, I'd never had a jump with any kind of turbulence), but I knew better than to argue with a construct.

The gel in the body of the armor formed a vacuum, and the helmet kept my head separated from the outside world. The armor could filter hazardous environments, and it even had an hour of air supply which it stored... somehow. I didn't really understand the armor's internals. That was Allen's job.

The inside of the helmet had a heads-up display which showed the armor's current condition. I could even use my psionic connection to the armor to cycle through other potentially-useful information like air quality, current date and time, and friendlies in comms range. Virtually the entire front of the helmet was made of transparent material to give me a wide field of view, but from the outside, it looked like polished obsidian. I was completely obscured in my shell.

As I was finishing my preparations, Allen and Percy were discussing the mission. Allen said, "So, what do you think caused the quarantine?"

"I'm not sure. They were studying a lot of nasty stuff," Percy replied. "There's three possibilities: the first is that one of the engineered, airborne viruses they were researching infected someone. That's probably the best case scenario since our hazmat will protect us from it. I'm more concerned about the alien pathogens, though. One of them zombifies people, and if it infected the whole station..."

"...That's a lot of zombies," Allen finished with a nod. "What's the third possibility?"

"They also had a live alien that likes to... implant eggs in other organisms. Zombies would be bad, but that one would definitely be the worst. They've had a lot of time to incubate a lot of eggs, and the adults of that species are extremely dangerous. It's no wonder they were doing this research in secret; I can't imagine their company's risk assessment would have allowed it."

Basically, we were en-route to recover some advanced technology from a deep space research station. The station had three wings. One had the living quarters, one studied biology, and one studied materials science. Our goal was in the third, but the entire station was quarantined thanks to some kind of containment failure in the bio wing.

We were not part of the company that owned the station. They'd specifically hired independent mercenaries because our employer was worried that the containment breach had been a result of internal sabotage. And we in particular had been chosen because we were not beholden to any Corporate Authority.

Our Captain liked to refer to us as "Extra-Corporate Mercenaries". But that was a fancy way of saying "Pirates". We earned most of our keep from raiding ships that were operating in the contested or unclaimed zones outside direct corporate control, but occasionally we would take jobs like this that required discretion and--especially for jobs I was sent on--unadulterated violence.

It was possible we were about to find a station full of corpses and would waltz over to the materials labs. But our employers were offering us a lot of money for the technology we were retrieving, and our Captain liked to prepare for the worst-case scenario. On that note, I asked Allen, "You've got the collar, right?"