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the helmet can perform properly. Static electricity generated by your hair will interfere with the neural connection points.”

    One of the advantages of my special enlistment privileges was that they wanted me to look less military, so I never had to shave my head or keep the standard military high-and-tight haircut. My thick, jet-colored locks remained intact. I was not about to lose them now.

    I gave a warning point of my finger to the frozen scientists. They remained where they were as I helped myself to the spare parts on the shelf. I grabbed a face mask and blue oval goggles. Both conveniently folded and clipped to my belt. I gave them my best menacing glare, “This will do. Does anyone have a problem with that?”

    They looked at me wide-eyed. They were afraid of me. I had tangled with rookies back in the arena who had that exact same look. I liked it back then, and I liked it now. I decided not to play with them too much and made nice. “I understand some of the features will not be available, but will this suffice?” I motioned to the pieces I took.

    The line of bald heads nodded in disappointed unison. I think they were just upset that I would not be joining their stylish no-hair club. They had de-haired for the equipment testing, essentially, for nothing since I wasn’t putting my head in anything that required me to be bald. Oh well, failure is one of the risks of science. They’ll adjust.

    They all had stunned looks on their faces as they glanced to each other over the confusion about whether they needed to report me or hide. It reminded me of my one year at prep school when all the squids had to hand lunch money over to the jocks. I think one of their lips actually started to quiver. I hated to be viewed as a bully, but it’s my hair we’re talking about.

    The setting was getting a little sad, so I left.

    My excitement jumped upon entering the next laboratory. This was the one I was most looking forward to. Clear isolation boxes lined three of the walls. Another handful of scientists were huddled around each test box while one person used controls to move the automations inside their experiment pod. I didn’t care about what they were doing. My attention was held by what waited in the center of the room.

    A shimmering black linen was draped over several pieces of technology. Whatever the cloth rested on made it rise and fall like a miniature mountainscape. There were many other deadly looking prototypes in that particular lab, but I knew that one was for me. I could feel it.

    “At last, Captain Rycard has arrived.” One of the scientist emerged from the center group to face me. He ushered me to the draped counter as the rest of the room crowded around their colleague. “Weapon development is not unlike crafting a fine suit,” he lectured to his staff as he began his presentation as though I were simply a subject to be observed. “It must be fitted to the individual. In the past when a blacksmith armed an army with swords and axes, he would mass produce the same weapon over and over. Here we have created a unique instrument suited for one person. Hand width, arm length, the soldier’s past, his personality profile, strengths and weaknesses –All taken into consideration and then formulated to build from the ground up a perfect specimen of ergonomics and armament. This fine piece of craftsmanship is meant for this soldier, and this soldier only.”

    He was getting me even more excited. I tried to peek under the cloth, but he slapped my hand back. “Is it a sword?” I asked him.

    His pride was gushing in almost tangible waves of smugness that I actually admired. “If you have to get close enough to your target to use a sword, then you’ve failed, and by extension, so have I.” He looked me in the eye, his gaze was piercing. He was confident in himself, and at what he was doing. This man was serious about his creation, and he seemed more like a father preparing to give away his child at