by Scott Meyer
“It’s funny,” the programmer said. “It’s almost like the forklifts are building a fort.”
There was a tremendous crashing noise. Both men winced.
The floor manager said, “In my day, we knew to put the heavier pallets at the bottom of a fort wall, not the top.”
The surgeon held out his hand and barked, “Forceps!”
The nurse said, “Forceps,” as he slapped the instrument into the surgeon’s outstretched hand.
“You need to pay attention if you’re ever going to assist me again, nurse.”
“I’m sorry, Doctor. I gave you the forceps as soon as you asked.”
“But you waited until I asked to get them. Son, you should anticipate my needs and be ready to meet them. The forceps should have been in my hand before the command left my mouth.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
The surgeon said, “Observe. Suction.”
A spotless white robot arm extended from beside the table. It ended not in a claw or a spot welder, but in a complex-looking multipurpose head and a camera. The arm reached into the patient’s incision and emitted a pronounced slurping noise.
“See that?” the surgeon asked. “Mindless obedience. My boy, you need to be better than this machine, and you’re not.”
While the robot cleared the incision, a deep male voice said, “Ew!”
“Keep your commentary to yourself, nurse.”
“But Doctor, I didn’t—”
“Shush! There’s no place for backtalk or weak stomachs in my operating room. Understood?”
“Yes, Doctor.”
The doctor put down his forceps and said, “Scalpel.” The instrument slapped into his hand before he’d finished asking for it.
The surgeon looked at the scalpel, then glared at the nurse. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself. It was obvious even to an idiot like you that I was going to need a scalpel.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
The surgeon looked back to the incision. A voice said, “Jerk.”
“What did you say?” the doctor asked.
“Doctor, I didn’t say that. I swear!”
“Then who did? It wasn’t the anesthesiologist. She’s not even paying attention.”
“Hey,” the anesthesiologist said, “I’m concentrating on my work! This is a complex job.”
“Yes,” the surgeon said. “How stressful it must be, drugging the patient, then watching him take a nap.” He turned back to the nurse. “So she didn’t say it, and I didn’t say it, and you claim that you didn’t say it. I suppose the robot said it.”
The robotic arm lifted out of the incision. Its multitool head rotated, then pumped twenty CCs of saline solution into the surgeon’s face.
Hampton Crouse exhaled to test his headset mic. He scanned the sky for clouds and found none. Then he looked up into the bleachers and found them packed.
Gotta love these corporate gigs, he thought. One show, some schmoozing, more money than I make in a month, hop a quick flight, and I’m back in LA by bedtime. And the best part is, when I’m in the chair tomorrow morning and the makeup girl asks me what I did with my weekend, I get to say, “Sorry, I can’t tell you. It’s classified.”
Crouse was handsome and in great shape for a man in his fifties. He had wavy jet-black hair and wore an impeccable dark blue suit with an oversized American flag pin in the lapel.
“Good morning, ladies, gentlemen, generals, senators, congressmen, Madam Director, and Mr. Secretary,” he said. “Thank you for joining us. We hope dinner last night and your suites on the Strip were to your liking. And the private performance of Cirque-uitous was good, I hope. Spectacular, isn’t it? You can see why it’s the longest-running leotard-based show in Vegas. And to those joining us via satellite this morning, sorry you missed out on dinner. I still think you’ll find the presentation worthwhile. It is the reason we’re all gathered here—at least, as far as the Senate Ethics Committee is concerned.”
He waited for the predictable ripple of smug laughter to subside, then shielded his eyes from the sun and surveyed his stage: a standard military-base football field and running track, which had been partially removed and carefully landscaped to resemble a bombed-out war zone. Broken asphalt, rubble, and dark, viscous mud covered the ground. Around the sides and back of the stage were sets depicting partially demolished buildings with fully intact doors, windows, and one fire escape ladder.
Crouse turned back to the audience and spread his arms wide. “The American people have been asked, time and again, to send their brave young men and women into war zones like this one where they risk their lives. I don’t have to tell you this. I only play the secretary of state on TV. You’re the ones who have to do the asking in real life. It’s a terrible business, but there’s a better day coming. A day when, with your continued support, Arlington Technologies will deliver an alternative to sacrificing our young. I present to you the future of war: the Arlington Technologies Synthetic Soldier.”
The air filled with a high-pitched whining noise, like hundreds of people trying to kill each other with power drills. Then, behind the presenter, a door at the top of a small flight of stairs burst open and a Synthetic Soldier walked out.
It resembled a collection of bent metal tubes, chunky-looking mechanical joints, and gray armor plates. It was the approximate size and shape of an adult person but with a longer torso and shorter legs. It kept its knees bent more than a real human would, causing it to walk in a sort of continuous bouncing squat. The Synthetic Soldier’s upper legs and head were the only parts not covered with armor plating. Its head was a cylinder that protruded from its shoulders and spun very fast, protected by a tube-steel cage. The upper legs were covered with flat panels of knobby rubber, as if it had on thigh pads made of old off-road tires.
The Synthetic Soldier’s torso remained perpendicular to the ground at all times. Every time it moved any of its joints, a loud whine came from it, like a bogged-down power drill. Its human-like arms held an assault rifle straight out, against its shoulder, ready to fire. It swiveled at the waist as it walked, scanning the area for perceived threats.
As the Synthetic Soldier walked carefully down the stairs, another identically armed Synthetic Soldier emerged from the door and followed it. At that moment a window broke, and another Synthetic Soldier climbed through the shattered glass. Another appeared on the roof of one of the fake buildings before descending the ladder without a single stumble.
Synthetic Soldiers emerged from every opening, each walking at a careful, deliberate pace over the various obstacles built into the set while keeping its torso upright and its weapon ready to fire. Hampton Crouse said nothing, because the sight of the Synthetic Soldiers was impressive enough on its own, and also because the sound of electric motors was deafening.
The Synthetic Soldiers formed into two rows of four, then stood at attention with their rifles at parade rest. The sudden silence felt as obtrusive as the noise before it had been.
Crouse smirked. “It would appear that the future of warfare will not include many sneak attacks.”
Again, he waited through a wave of polite laughter before continuing. “I kid. In fact, the noise issue is something Arlington’s engineers are working on. But we aren’t here to talk about the system’s few flaws; we’re here to show you its many attributes. To start with, our robotic warfighters conform perfectly with a standard humanoid body type. Sure, the legs are a size small and the upper body is an extra large, but the point is, they are standard sizes. That means we can up-armor them with body armor meant for humans, transport them in any vehicle designed for humans, and use them to control any equipment that would usually be controlled by a human.”
Crouse took a giant step backward and, on cue, an armored personnel transport drove straight through a breakaway wall and skidded to a halt. The driver’s and passenger’s doors opened, and two more of the robots stepped out to a round of applause.
“This transport has been slightly modified for
our Synthetic Soldiers’ use. It has charging ports in the seats and a rack of spare batteries. But I assure you, they can also ride in any vehicle designed for people.”
Crouse stepped out in front of the ten Synthetic Soldiers, all of which were still standing at attention. He said, “Squad leader, step forward.”
The Synthetic Soldier on the leftmost end of the first row stepped forward.
“The Synthetic Soldiers are autonomous, armored, and hardened against electromagnetic radiation, and they can be issued orders remotely, individually, or as a group. They can each be directly controlled when the need arises, and individuals can be programmed to take voice commands. Squad Leader, present your weapon.”
The Synthetic Soldier held out its rifle for inspection. Hampton Crouse took it.
“It’s a standard-issue rifle,” he said. “Or it could be. These are fakes, of course, but our combat Synthetic Soldiers can operate any firearm a human can, thanks to our revolutionary hand design. Squad Leader, hold up your hand.”
The Synthetic Soldier held its hand up to the crowd. The wrist assembly consisted of a roller joint and a high-strength hinge. The hand extended upward, a dull metal rectangle for the palm and five fingers that looked like rubbery, grayish-green wieners.
Crouse said, “Wiggle your fingers.”
The fingers moved with the smooth, organic, jointless motion of a worm. All five of them moved independently, wiggling back and forth in directions no human finger could. The audience’s reaction was immediate and negative.
“I know,” Crouse said. “But I remind you, these Synthetic Soldiers were not designed to be pretty.”
He held out the dummy rifle to the squad leader. “Squad Leader, take back your rifle.”
The Synthetic Soldier reached for the rifle, but Crouse let go before it could grasp the weapon. The Synthetic Soldier paused for a second, then bent down to pick the rifle up off the stage. Before the robot could get a grip, Crouse kicked the rifle away. The Synthetic Soldier stood up straight, remained still for a moment, then started doing its loud, laborious squat-walk across the stage toward the rifle.
“Processing speed will increase in time, but as you can see, they’re already capable of perceiving when the parameters of their task have changed—and adapting as necessary.”
The Synthetic Soldier reached its rifle and bent at the waist to retrieve it. Crouse ran across the stage and kicked the Synthetic Soldier square in what, on a human, would have been its butt. The Synthetic Soldier toppled over headfirst onto the hard ground.
“And when the mission goes really wrong, they’re able to adapt to that as well.”
The Synthetic Soldier lifted itself into a push-up position, then into a kneeling position, then to a toe touch, and finally it stood upright again. The audience let out its largest round of applause yet while the Synthetic Soldier bent down again and finally retrieved its rifle.
Crouse gave the Synthetic Soldier a chummy pat on the shoulder. “Well done, Squad Leader. Up until now, ladies and gentlemen, we’ve focused on things our Synthetic Soldiers can do that human soldiers can also do, and if we’re honest, the Synthetic Soldiers aren’t yet as good at any of it as a well-trained human. That said, there are also things the Synthetic Soldiers can do that our human soldiers simply can’t equal.”
He patted the Synthetic Soldier on the back again. “Squad Leader, destroy your rifle.”
There was a pause while the Synthetic Soldier parsed and processed the request. Finally, the robot held the rifle forward in its left hand. It raised its right arm. The wriggling-sausage hand bent backward and disappeared. In its place a metal claw, like the business end of a very large set of bolt cutters, rotated into place. The Synthetic Soldier used the claw to pinch the rifle’s barrel. The metal bent and twisted like taffy.
Crouse took the prop rifle’s flattened and bent barrel and held it up for everyone to see. “As I said, this is not a real weapon. We wouldn’t have destroyed it if it were. That’d be a waste of taxpayer money! Well done, Squad Leader. Sorry about your weapon, though. It’s garbage now.”
Crouse bounced the ruined rifle in his hands, judging its weight, then threw it to the far corner of the stage. The presenter looked at it for a moment, then said, “Hmm. That’s littering, isn’t it? Squad Leader, go pick that up. And bring it back to me.”
The presenter and the audience watched in silence as the Synthetic Soldier made its way through a sloppy mud puddle, over a small pile of two-by-fours and cinder blocks, and across a patch of deep gravel.
The Synthetic Soldier bent down, grasped the rifle, and returned to an upright position.
Crouse said, “Squad Leader, hold.”
The Synthetic Soldier stopped.
Crouse said, “You’ve seen that the Synthetic Soldier can walk like a person, albeit slowly and carefully. We all know that combat situations often call for speed, and I have to admit, our warfighting Synthetic Soldiers simply can’t move very fast on their feet. Squad Leader, return to me in high-speed mode.”
The Synthetic Soldier crouched down and then leaned back until it sat on the ground, its legs stretched out. Suddenly its knees hyperextended, its lower legs lifting off the ground at a steep angle, and the rubber patches on the backs of its thighs propelled it forward like tank treads. It scooted across the stage, moving much faster than a human could run.
“There you have it,” Crouse said after the predictable round of applause subsided. The Synthetic Soldier got to its feet again beside him. “They’re not ready to replace living soldiers yet, but Arlington Technologies is closer than anyone else, and with your continued support, we can be the first to deploy our synthetic infantry, keeping our servicemen and women safe while placing the enemies of freedom at greater risk. Thank you.”
Crouse tried to look humble while the crowd continued to applaud.
The Synthetic Soldier he’d been referring to as Squad Leader turned at the waist to face him and, in a deep voice, said, “These robots are cool!”
Crouse said, “What?”
The squad leader held up its hand and wiggled its sausage fingers. “That’s so weird! I said the robots are really cool. I watched your whole show. So cool! You were mean to them, though. I didn’t like that.”
The squad leader swung its arm hard, hitting Crouse in the chest and knocking him backward into the mud pit. Then it got into the cab of the troop transport as the rest of the Synthetic Soldiers walked in very slow, loud, precise formation around to the loading ramp and into the back of the vehicle.
When all of the Synthetic Soldiers were loaded into the transport, there was a moment of stunned silence. Then the squad leader started the transport’s engine and said, “So cool!”
The transport backed off the stage and drove out of sight.
13.
When Robert Torres had become CEO of OffiSmart, he’d custom designed his office suite to suit his work style: a large room for meetings, entertaining guests, and impressing people, and a simple office hidden away where he could get actual work done. Most visitors assumed the door in the executive conference room led to some sort of closet, but it was, in fact, his sanctuary. Torres sat in there now, slumped in his chair behind a desk piled high with clutter. He was reading sales reports and fighting off drowsiness when the intercom buzzed.
His secretary’s voice asked, “Mr. Torres?” It was his nervous voice, reserved for occasions when he was about to convey unwelcome news.
“Yes, Chet?”
“There’s a call from an Agent Taft from the NSA. He says it’s urgent.”
“The NSA?”
“Yes, sir.”
“As in the National Security Agency?”
“Yes, sir.”
Torres put his tablet down and sat up straight. “Put him through, and please bring me a cup of coffee when you get the chance.”
When the wireless handset rang, Torres answered it immediately.
“Hello, Mr. Torres. I’m Agent Andrew Taft. I’m
with the NSA.”
“So I hear,” Torres said. “What can I do for you?”
“You can help me track down the source of a series of cyberattacks that have disrupted Internet-connected systems all over the country. We’ve traced several of the attacks, and they’re coming from your corporate headquarters.”
“Attacks? From here?!”
“I’m afraid so. We have people on the way, but I wanted to call so we could try to nip this thing in the bud as quickly as possible.”
“What kind of attacks? If you’re accusing OffiSmart of industrial espionage or sabotage, I should probably contact legal.”
“Oh, you should definitely contact legal, but I’m not accusing you or your company of anything. I’m just saying that the attacks are originating from your building. They don’t seem like any sort of organized effort intended to accomplish anything. It’s more like someone with Olympic-level hacking skills and a juvenile sense of humor is messing around.”
“Messing around?”
“Making industrial robots do stupid things. They had some autonomous floor buffers race each other at a mall in Portland. Destroyed thousands of dollars worth of merchandise. They took down most of the rides at Walt Disney World. They somehow took over the autopilot of a 777 and made it swoop around while making airplane noises.”
“Was anyone hurt?” Torres asked.
“Bumps and bruises, that’s all. We need to put a stop to this before worse happens.”
Torres closed his eyes. “And you say the attacks are coming from our system?”
“No, but they seem to be coming from your building. We’ve traced the signal to a cell phone. We believe it’s being used as an access point. We’ve attempted to bump it from the network, but it’s protecting itself somehow.”
“Agent, I’m going to put you on hold for just a moment while I get in contact with some people who can help us get to the bottom of this.” There was no question in his mind as to who was likely responsible. He removed the wireless handset from his ear and poked at its screen as he got up from his desk.
“Chet?”
