by Dale Brown
Richter’s eyes lit up in surprise. “Oh, goody,” the army officer said with a quirky smile as he slowly raised his hands. They were empty. “We get to start the demonstration early.”
“What did you say?” She watched as the army officer reached over and touched some buttons on his wristwatch, which she could now see was a very large device, more like a small computer keypad. “Don’t touch that! Keep your hands up!”
“What’s going on here?” the National Security Adviser was demanding. “Put that pistol down…!”
At that moment Kelsey noticed a blur of motion. Someone, a woman—Secretary Calhoun, Kelsey realized—screamed. Kelsey glanced to her right…just in time to see a large robot-looking thing running at her as fast as a track and field sprinter. She dropped to her left knee and just had time to aim her pistol at the running machine.
“CID One, stop,” Richter spoke in a quiet voice—not as a warning but as a gentle command. The machine stopped instantly—Kelsey couldn’t believe a thing that big moving so fast could stop so quickly. “Please don’t shoot it, Agent DeLaine,” he added. “It won’t like it very much.”
Kelsey froze but kept her pistol aimed in the center of the machine’s torso. The machine had both its arms upraised, mechanical fingers extended like claws—and mounted on its right shoulder, Kelsey was staring into the muzzle of the biggest machine gun she had ever seen, not ten feet away from her face. “I believe I have the drop on you,” Richter added with a smile.
“I see you’ve decided to start the demonstration on your own, Major Richter,” Robert Chamberlain said. “Agent DeLaine, you can put your weapon away. Major Richter’s machine is part of the reason we’re here this morning.”
“Sorry, sir,” Kelsey said a little sheepishly, rising to her feet and holstering her pistol. “I asked for this man’s ID, and he said he didn’t have any.”
“Obviously you don’t watch much television, Agent DeLaine—you’re probably the only person in the world who’s never heard of Major Jason Richter and his robot here and what they did at Kingman City yesterday,” Chamberlain said. He nodded toward Jason and Kelsey. “Major Jason Richter is deputy director of the Army Research Lab’s Infantry Transformation BattleLab, the creator of the Cybernetic Infantry Device, or CID, unit you see before you. Major Richter, this is FBI Special Agent Kelsey DeLaine, deputy chief of intelligence in Washington.” To Calhoun and Lemke, Chamberlain said, “I propose that these two individuals together with this hardware, among other innovations, form the backbone of America’s war on terror.”
Jason’s eyes bugged out in surprise, and he looked at DeLaine, who immediately looked at him with the same expression. Neither of them knew what to expect after that announcement, but what they got…was bedlam.
“You mean, you propose to use that thing to hunt down terrorists?” Secretary of Homeland Security Calhoun retorted. “You’re joking, aren’t you, Chamberlain?”
“I’ve never been more serious—and neither has the President,” Chamberlain said. “It will be the first federal law-enforcement task force created to specifically detect, identify, pursue, and destroy terrorists around the world. I intend it to be an ultra-rapid response force that will be primarily investigative in nature but equipped to handle a wide array of threats, including military adversaries.”
“You can’t do that, Mr. Chamberlain—it’s prohibited by the Posse Comitatus Act,” Homeland Security Secretary Calhoun pointed out. “We’ve stretched the boundaries of that law for years, but having a military unit actively and purposefully involved in law-enforcement actions is against the law.”
“First of all, Madam Secretary, CID doesn’t belong to a military unit—it’s just an experimental design,” Chamberlain pointed out. “Second, CID will be used in a support role, which is permitted under the law. I’ve verified this with the White House counsel. The President will issue a classified executive order secretly implementing this new FBI task force, code-named TALON, reporting directly to the White House and funded by National Security Council discretionary funds…”
“Meaning, run by you,” Jeffrey Lemke interjected skeptically.
“The President will be responsible for all of TALON’s activities and will be briefed on a daily basis of its operations and status.”
“But you will be managing it for the President, right?”
“I will propose that the operational unit be supervised by Command Sergeant Major Ray Jefferson, a veteran special-ops leader and the noncommissioned officer in charge of operations for the National Security Council,” Chamberlain went on, motioning toward the soldier standing behind him at parade rest. Like Richter, Jefferson was wearing a green camouflage battle dress uniform, but with a very large sidearm. “They will set up operations at a secret location and begin organizing, planning, and training together.
“But we will go farther than this, Director Lemke, Secretary Calhoun,” Chamberlain went on. “The President proposes to use the current Threat Level Red condition to ask Congress to repeal the Posse Comitatus Act of 1878. He will then reveal the existence of Task Force TALON and request full funding, provided by Department of Defense, Homeland Security, and Justice Department allocations.”
“But…but what about this thing?” Calhoun asked. “Where does this thing come in?”
“Madam Secretary, technology like CID represent the evolution of the U.S. infantry and possibly law enforcement. This is the perfect opportunity to put this new weapon system into action.” He turned to Richter. “Mount up, Major, and let’s give them a demonstration. Tell us what we’re seeing.”
“Yes, sir.” Jason stepped forward and stood before the machine. “Ladies and gentlemen, CID is more than a robot and more than an exoskeleton—it is designed to be a fighting unit all by itself. It can replace an entire four-man infantry or special-operations squad, except it has capabilities that are far superior to a normal rifle, machine gun, or rocket squad. It has the firepower of an infantry squad but is as fast and as self-protective as a Humvee, has the communications-and intelligence-gathering capability of a Stryker light armored reconnaissance unit, and the rapid deployment capability of a Marine Corps special-operations platoon.
“The Cybernetic Infantry Device is composed of a lightweight composite framework, many times stronger than steel but only a fraction of the weight, covered in impact-resistant composite armor,” Jason went on. “It is powered by several different sources: a rechargeable hydrogen fuel cell, lithium-ion batteries, and solar power. Locomotion is provided by very small hydraulic systems that support the structure, coupled with a computer-based haptic interface that precisely translates human muscle and limb movement into exoskeleton movement, even against forces that would make a human muscle fail. This CID unit has the strength of ten men, and that strength can be enhanced even more with improvements we’re making in its microhydraulic systems. Other CID systems provide global communications, satellite datalink, multi-spectral sensors, and precision-weapon fire control.
“As you can see, this CID has one weapon already installed, a twenty-millimeter cannon. CID One, about-face.” The machine smoothly and quietly turned around. “The weapons are modular, contained in quick-don, reloadable backpacks that allows weapons to be employed without having to lift or point them with the arms and hands or aim them with the eyes. We have developed other modules including grenade, rocket, unmanned aerial vehicle, missile launchers, and even long-range reconnaissance and communications relay.”
Jason motioned to the side of the warehouse, and a Humvee drove up. “CID One, stow the backpack,” Jason spoke. The machine stepped over to the left side of the Humvee, turned around, and backed into a cutout on the side of the vehicle. Seconds later, the cannon folded itself inside the backpack, and the backpack detached itself from the machine and disappeared inside the vehicle. “Inside the special Humvee, the module is automatically tested, serviced, and reloaded in about five minutes, while the CID can attach another module. The Humvee is designed to
support two CID units and can carry four modules with one reload apiece along with the two CID troopers, a driver, and a support technician.
“Here’s the best part: CID One, retire.” At that command, the machine started to fold itself. Seconds later, it had compressed into a box-shaped object that resembled a large old-fashioned steamer trunk, complete with handles. Jason and Ari Vega squatted down and picked the object up. “Weighs about eighty to ninety pounds—easily transportable by two persons.”
“So, this thing does…what?” Lemke asked. “Follows a couple special-ops guys around? Runs beside the soldiers? Sounds pretty ridiculous to me.”
“You called it an ‘exoskeleton,’ ” DeLaine asked. “Is there someone inside?”
“I’m sorry—I got a little ahead of myself,” Jason said. “CID One, activate.” The machine unfolded itself in less time than it took to fold. “CID doesn’t follow you around, sir—the pilot wears it. CID, pilot up.” At that command, an access door opened up in back of the machine. Using the backs of the legs, Jason climbed up and slid inside the machine, and the door closed behind him. A few seconds later, the machine came alive.
It was almost comical to watch: unlike before, when the machine moved in a characteristic robotlike gait, the machine now moved exactly like a human—smoothly, fluidly, almost randomly. Its arms, fingers, head, neck, shoulders, hips, and legs articulated as if they was real. Every unconscious gesture, quirk, reflex, and adjustment that a normal human made could be seen, except it was being accomplished not by a human being but by a three-meter-tall machine. They could not see his face—his head was completely covered in armor, his eyes with an electro-optical visor; the machine’s ears were dielectric sensor panels—but it almost seemed as if they could feel him looking at their stunned reactions just by observing his body language—yes, they could all notice body language in this amazing machine.
“As you can see, CID’s haptic interface, powered by fast computers, fly-by-wire controls, and even faster microhydraulic actuators, gives the pilot a very easy, free range of movement,” he said, his voice amplified via a hidden speaker. Its right foot lifted up, and the machine did a perfect spin on its “toes.” He then started to hop, skip, and jump around the warehouse, resembling some sort of hulking child. The jumps got longer and higher, eventually reaching several meters, but he landed with virtually no noise. After the jumps, Jason started running around the hangar—and within moments, his speed was breathtaking, circling the entire football-field-size building in about twenty seconds.
Jason then jumped back over to the Humvee. Ari threw him three tennis balls, and Jason began to juggle them. “That concludes my demonstration,” he said as he juggled. “Any questions?”
There was no reaction to the amazing showing for several long moments. Finally, Kelsey asked, “How…how long can your power last, Major?”
“Depends on the activity,” Jason replied. Ari retrieved a bowling ball from the Humvee and threw it at Jason, and he started juggling it along with the tennis balls. “Full combat operations with a couple backpacks and reloads, covering an AOR of twenty square miles: five to six hours. A reconnaissance mission or light armed patrol: perhaps two days. The fuel cells can be changed in a few seconds; the battery lasts between fifteen and sixty minutes for emergency power; and the solar panels can charge the batteries in about two hours.”
“Can you please stop that, Major?” Donna Calhoun asked perturbedly. Jason caught the three tennis balls in one hand and the bowling ball in another. Calhoun shook her head. It was very hard to take this machine seriously—or maybe it wasn’t the machine, but the man inside it, that she couldn’t stand. “Mr. Chamberlain, it’s very impressive, but if you expect Homeland Security support for this project, you have to give us more time to evaluate this system and design performance and operational guidelines for it. You can’t just take something like this out of the lab and put it in the field without tests, evaluations, measurements, and some planning about how it can be used. We have no idea what it’s capable of.”
Jason handed the tennis balls to Ari, as casually as a grade school kid passing a note to a buddy—and then he took the bowling ball between his two hands and, with a loud “POP!” crushed it into black powder, right before their eyes.
All of the observers jumped in complete surprise. “Goddamn it, Major, as you were!” Sergeant Major Jefferson snapped in a voice that made even the civilians jump. Jason immediately dropped the powderized bowling ball and assumed parade rest—Kelsey practically had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing at the sight of this horrific yet impressive machine standing before them like a Marine guard at the White House. “Take that thing off…I mean, shut that thing off…I mean, get out of that damned thing, Major!” The machine assumed its special stance, with its left leg extended backward and both knees bent; the access hatch flipped open, and Jason climbed out. His hair and uniform were slightly rumpled, but he looked as he did when he first climbed inside. He stood at parade rest beside the machine.
“This is all very impressive, Mr. Chamberlain, but I’m not going to sign off on this thing without some study,” Lemke went on, impatiently looking at his watch, obviously ready to depart.
“I’m afraid I agree with Jeffrey,” Donna Calhoun said. “The Department of Homeland Security can’t even begin to start designing doctrine and training with the CID units until we can study how it works, how it’s maintained, what its flaws and limitations are…”
“You don’t understand, Madam Secretary,” Chamberlain said with a tone of firm exasperation in his voice. “This project is going forward. Sergeant Major Jefferson prepared an operations plan, including the initial TO&E, and the President signed it.” He withdrew envelopes from his jacket pocket and handed one to each of them. “Full authorization from the President for a pilot program, ninety days. We are requesting a written report within the next three days on the budgetary, equipment, and personnel support you can provide TALON, and all of the listed support items delivered to the base within fifteen days.”
“What?” Lemke exclaimed. He snatched an envelope from Chamberlain’s hand, opened it, and quickly read. “You want a hundred personnel, an airbase, computers, satellite Earth stations, aircraft…all in fifteen days? Mr. Chamberlain, I can’t even guarantee I can staff this request within fifteen days, let alone deliver all this stuff…”
“Then you’ll personally explain to the President why you can’t comply,” Chamberlain said. “Director, I know you’ve done a lot more in a lot less time. I’m sorry you weren’t given more time to provide your input…”
“I wasn’t given any time!”
“…but Kingman City has changed everything. We want to do everything we can to prevent another incident like this, and the way we’re going to do it is form a task force that can deploy at a moment’s notice and hit the enemy hard.”
“We have that already, Robert—it’s called U.S. Special Operations,” Calhoun said. “It’s called the U.S. Marines. You don’t need to start all over again.”
“I agree,” Lemke said. “It sounds to me as if you need to bring the FBI in on this.”
“It’s been considered and rejected because of our legal limitations,” Chamberlain said. “I suggested, and the President concurred, that to carry out these operations with the current legal and political limitations would not be efficient or effective. When I was made aware of the CID weapon system and the other innovations being developed by the Army Research Lab, immediately after the Houston attack, I decided that making TALON a separate unit instead of part of the FBI was a better way to proceed. Again, the President concurred.”
“Mr. Chamberlain, it’s a little unusual for the President’s National Security Adviser to be setting up any kind of direct action military unit,” Donna Calhoun said, “let alone one that combines direct action military hardware like this with a federal law-enforcement agency like the FBI. We already have such paramilitary organizations in place, like the Coast Guard, Cus
toms Service, and Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms, which frankly work very well with the FBI. It seems like you’re duplicating your efforts.”
FBI Director Jeffrey Lemke nodded in agreement. “After Kingman City, Robert, we’re stretched to the breaking point,” he added. “We can’t afford any manpower to hand over to this task force of yours, especially not my deputy for intelligence.” Lemke motioned to Kelsey DeLaine. “Kelsey is one of my best and most trusted analysts.”
Lemke nodded to Richter, then let his eyes roam over his unkempt hair and unshaven face with a disapproving expression. “The major here…well, he seems like a fine young man, but how well do you really know him? How long have you known him? Have you checked out his background? Is that his real name? Who are his parents, his relatives?” He glanced at Special Agent DeLaine and saw her looking at him suspiciously. “Did he really graduate from Georgia Tech? Is he really twenty-nine years old? Did you even know how old he was? Do you…?”
“Stop, stop—I get the picture,” Chamberlain said, holding up his hand. He stood silent for a few moments, collecting his thoughts; then: “No…no, I’m determined to see this through. I don’t care if this is not the way it’s usually done; I don’t care if the military doesn’t like the way I’m doing it. It’s got to be done. It’s been years since 9/11, and I don’t think enough has been accomplished—and the attack on Kingman City proves it. It’s time to get tough on terrorists before they attack and destroy Washington, not just an isolated oil terminal outside Houston or a couple skyscrapers in New York City.”
It was obvious from their expressions that Calhoun and Lemke did not agree or share any of Chamberlain’s excitement. But for Jason Richter, this seemed like an important moment. The war on terrorism, it seemed, was preparing to enter a newer, deadlier phase—right here in the United States. And he was going to be part of it!
“I’m asking for your full support,” Chamberlain said earnestly. “The President will back you up all the way. I appreciate your time and attention, and I’ll give you any information and constant reports on our progress. Thank you for being here.”
