… and then suddenly the robot stood up, and it started hopping up and down, shaking its shoulders, and shadow-boxing with its immense arms and knotted fists like a boxer warming up and getting ready to step into a boxing ring. Chastain couldn’t believe how fluid and humanlike it moved — it was nothing like any other robot he had ever seen in his life.
“Pretty cool, huh?” an electronically synthesized voice said. It had Turlock’s phraseology, but definitely not her voice. “How do you like me now, Agent Chastain?”
“Amazing,” Chastain said. “How does she… er, it move like that?”
“Thousands of microhydraulic actuators being operated at increased pressure, acting like muscles and ligaments on multiaxis joints, responding to haptic commands using advanced processors,” Richter said. Chastain scowled at Richter, who was obviously trying to show up the FBI special agent. “A conventional robot might use one or two large hydraulic actuators to move a limb in one axis — up or down, left or right, in or out. The limbs on the CID are mounted on joints connected with powerful microhydraulic actuators that work completely different from human muscles. The CID has so many of these microactuators that some of its limbs can move in unhuman ways.” To demonstrate, Charlie rotated the lower part of the CID’s left leg around in a complete circle.
“How strong is it?” one of the other agents asked.
“Let’s find out,” Charlie said. She walked over to the C-57 Skytrain and carefully placed the CID’s hands under the center of the left wing.
“Don’t break my plane, Charlie,” Jon Masters warned.
“I’m doing it on the jack point, Jon, don’t worry,” Charlie said. Moments later, they could all see the left strut begin to extend. Charlie moved the plane about four inches up before carefully letting it back down. “It registered about twenty thousand pounds before I got a limit warning.”
“It just lifted ten tons ?” the agent exclaimed.
Charlie climbed out from under the wing. “How about I direct some of that power downward this time?” The CID crouched a bit, then flew upward about fifty feet, grasping onto the steel trusses overhead. “Hey, I think I can see my house from up here!” she deadpanned before dropping back to the concrete floor.
“The CID has survived drops from an aircraft exceeding two hundred feet in altitude and two hundred knots airspeed,” Richter said. “The previous version has survived RPG rounds and even thirty-millimeter cannon hits. It can operate underwater up to a hundred feet, and in a chemical, biological, and even radioactive environment for short periods. We can increase its effectiveness with packs that contain different weapons, sensors, even unmanned aircraft. It can—”
“Absolutely no weapons,” Chastain said firmly. “Director Fuller made that exceptionally clear, and I concur with his directive: the robot is not to be armed with any weapons. In fact, I don’t even want it out in the open unless involved in an actual operation against armed extremists or terrorists and it’s been determined that our capabilities might not be superior to theirs. As far as I’m concerned, it’s for heavy lifting, and that’s all.”
“That’s a big mistake, Agent Chastain, but it’s your call,” Richter said. He nodded to the robot, and in a few minutes Charlie had dismounted and stowed the robot back into its self-molded container. “The CID has thousands of advanced capabilities that can easily—”
“Richter, do me and yourself a big favor and shut the hell up,” Chastain interrupted. “I don’t need your robot or its ‘thousands of advanced capabilities.’ The FBI uses its own resources to investigate crime and make arrests, and if we use any outside agencies at all, they are directly controlled and supervised by the FBI, and function in a support role only.”
He looked at Whack. “You Macomber?” Whack nodded and scowled at Chastain. “You’re here with the other setup, that electronic armor or whatever it is?”
“We call it ‘Tin Man,’ ” Jon said. “Armor made of a special material that—”
“Masters, you just can’t shut it off, can you?” Chastain interrupted. He looked at Whack dismissively. “I don’t think we’ll be needing it at all, if the robots work as advertised.” He looked at the folded-up robot. “Normally I wouldn’t even accept military hardware, but with loose radioactive materials around, I will.” He motioned to one of the agents behind him. “That’s why you will train Special Agent Brady in how to operate the CID.”
Both Richter and Turlock looked at Brady. “He’s a little big for the CID,” Charlie said, looking directly at Brady’s waistline. “It’ll be a tight squeeze.” She motioned toward Renaldo. “She’ll fit much better.”
“She’s Homeland Security, not FBI,” Chastain said. He looked back at the other agents. “Savoy, front and center.” An agent stepped up beside Brady. He was much more trim, about a head shorter, and ten years younger than Brady, wearing rimless spectacles that made him look like a middle schooler. “You’re going to train to operate the robot.”
“I’m C-Four-I, sir,” Savoy said, looking apprehensively at the folded-up robot. “I’m in charge of communications and computers — I don’t know anything about robots.”
“You’re the gadget geek, so you’re going to learn. Besides, you get to work with Miss Turlock here.” Savoy gave Charlie a nod and a toothy grin. Chastain turned to Jon. “Now, what about the drones, Masters?”
“We’re unloading them now and we can have them airborne tonight,” Jon said. “The Sparrowhawk series of unmanned aircraft are small, lightweight, but very capable—”
“ ‘Sparrowhawks’? What in hell are they?” Chastain asked derisively. “I thought I was getting Predators. I’ve been trained in Predator deployments for years.”
“Predators? Are you kidding me?” Jon responded with an incredulous roll of his eyes. “Predators were hot five years ago. True, they set the stage. But the technology has advanced way beyond Predators.” Chastain’s expression told Jon he obviously didn’t believe him. “Sky Masters, Inc., manufactures the next generation of unmanned aerial vehicles — smaller, lighter, easier to deploy, easier to manage, more autonomous—”
“I’m not interested in your sales pitch or the sweetheart deal you obviously got from your buddies in the White House or the Pentagon,” Chastain said. “Tell me what I have to work with here, or get them out of my face and away from me so I can do my job.”
“With pleasure, Special Agent,” Jon said. “The Sparrowhawk is designed for medium-altitude, high-resolution, long-range, long-endurance surveillance. It is small, easy to deploy, easy to program and flight-plan, and all-weather capable. You’ll love it.”
“All I want is for it to be where I want, when I want, and look at what I want to look at,” Chastain said. “Let me know when they’re ready to fly.”
“They’ll be ready for a test flight tonight and should be ready to start patrolling tomorrow morning.”
Chastain blinked at this information, obviously not expecting them to be ready so soon — and not sure if he should believe Masters. “We’ll see. Keep me informed.” He spun on a heel and walked away, followed by the others except for Savoy, who stayed with Charlie.
“So…” Savoy said uncomfortably. “I’m… ready to get started, I guess. Do you have a manual or training video I can use?”
“First things first,” Charlie said, “I need to know your first name.”
The FBI agent looked rather uncomfortable for a moment, then responded, “Randolph.”
“Randolph?” Jon asked.
“What do your friends call you, Randolph?” Charlie asked.
“Randolph.” He looked at the growing smiles of those around him and scowled, which made Jon’s chuckling even more pronounced. “Is there a problem?”