Steven Kent - The Clone Republic

“Cover me,” Lee called, over the interLink. Keeping his rifle trained on the cave, Lee stooped into a crouch and cautiously walked toward the foot of the cliffs. He pressed his back against the obsidian wall, then inched his way toward the cave. He came within arm’s reach of the opening and paused. “See anything?” he asked Shannon over an open channel.

“All clear,” Shannon replied.

“Great work, Lee,” Shannon said. “Okay, everybody, stay put. Captain McKay is sending a technician to check for traps.” Shannon and I joined Lee just outside the mouth of the cave, but we did not enter it. Shannon took a single step into the fissure. He patted a clump of obsidian with one hand. Glancing back at us to make certain that no one was too close, he fired into the wall.

“Sergeant?” I said, rushing over to see what happened.

“It’s nothing, Harris,” Shannon said. “I’m just testing a theory.”

An AT hovered toward us, hanging low over the valley and landing in our zone. The kettle opened, and a Navy lieutenant came down the ramp wheeling a bell-shaped case behind him. The engineer wore a breathing suit. It was not stiff like our combat armor, but it protected him from the environment. Shannon met the lieutenant at the bottom of the ramp. I followed.

“What’s that?” I asked Shannon.

“That, Corporal Harris, is our eyes,” Shannon answered. “Right now we have the enemy trapped in these caves. We’re going to send in a recon drone to make sure our positions do not get reversed.”

“A recon drone,” I repeated. “That makes sense.”

The case looked like it had been made to hold a tuba. It was three feet tall and wide on the bottom. The metal wheels under the case clattered as they rolled down the ramp.

“Are you the one that requested a drone?” the lieutenant asked. “What’s the situation?”

“There are hostiles in those caves, sir,” Shannon began.

“I know that, Sergeant,” the lieutenant interrupted. This was no fighting man. He was a technician, the lowest form of engineer—but he was also an officer, and he had all of the attitude that came with wearing a silver bar on his shoulder.

“The enemy had several men guarding this entrance, sir,” Shannon said. “My men were able to neutralize the threat. We want to send your drone to look for traps and locate enemy positions before going in, sir.”

“Playing it safe, Sergeant?” the lieutenant quipped in a voice that oozed sarcasm.

“Yes, sir,” Shannon responded.

“I didn’t know you Leathernecks were so squeamish,” the man mused. “I suppose I can help.” He opened his case.

“What an asshole,” I said over the interLink.

“Steady, Harris,” Shannon answered in a whisper. “He’s not just an asshole, he is an officer asshole…a second lieutenant. They’re the buck privates of the commissioned class; and they always have chips on their shoulders. Besides, we need this particular asshole.”

“Heeere’s Scooter,” the tech said to himself as he opened the bottom of the case. Scooter, a chrome disc on four wheels that looked like a slightly oversized ashtray, scurried out of the case. This demented officer treated the robot like a pet, not equipment. He’d painted the name “Scooter” across its front in bright red letters, and he stroked its lid gently before standing up.

“I do not believe I have seen that model of recon drone before, sir,” Shannon said in a respectful voice that would certainly curry favor.

“It’s a prototype. I built it myself,” the man said. I could not see his face clearly through his breathing mask, but the lieutenant’s voice perked up. “Let’s have a look in that cave, shall we.”

The lieutenant pressed a button on the outside of the case, and a four-inch video monitor flipped out of its lid. When he turned on the monitor, I was amazed by the panoramic scope of Scooter’s vision. The silvery top of the robot was a giant fish-eye lens, offering a 180-degree view. Looking at that screen, I saw the case from which Scooter had emerged, the cliffs, and everything in between. The camera caught everything, and the monitor displayed it in stretched, but accurate, detail. This engineer was both a dork and a brilliant engineer.

“Impressive little specker,” I said over the interLink for only Shannon to hear.

“Stow it, Harris,” he replied.

Issuing the command “Scooter, enter cave” into a small microphone, the tech sent the drone on its way.

“Audio commands only?” Shannon asked.

“I programmed Scooter myself. He uses onboard sonar to find the best paths. He has dedicated self-preservation circuits. The only thing a human controller can do is slow him down.”

Judging by what I saw on the monitor, Scooter used the same basic night-for-day vision technology we used in our visors. He was a stealth drone with no lights or weapons.

Skirting around rocks and holes, Scooter sped toward the cave like a giant, silvery beetle. The men in our platoon stopped and watched as it scampered by. When it reached the lip of the cave, it paused. For a moment I thought the little tin can might actually be scared.

“It’s taking a sonic reading,” the lieutenant said, as if reading my thoughts.

“Damn,” Shannon said, with respect.

Pulling a small stylus from his case, the lieutenant said, “Sergeant, take this. If you want a closer look at something on the monitor, tap it with the stylus. That will send a message to Scooter.”

The monitor turned dark as Scooter hurried into the cave. The little robot had a good eye for stealth. It traveled in cracks and crevices along the side of the wall, well concealed from enemy eyes.

That was good for Scooter, but not so helpful for Shannon. Even with enhanced night-for-day photography, Scooter was not showing us what we needed. It was showing us the safest path for creatures that were less than four inches tall. Also, Scooter moved too quickly. A squad patrolling such terrain might creep along at one or two miles per hour, but Scooter covered it at a steady fifteen miles per hour. Images flew across the monitor. Five minutes into its patrol, Scooter stopped and ran another sonar scan.

“Okay,” the lieutenant said, “the Mogats are at least two miles deep into the caves.”

“You’ve located a path to them?” Shannon asked.

“Sergeant, they’re two miles down,” the technician said, sounding shocked and mildly offended. Scooter has scanned for traps, and the entrance comes up clean. He’s also verified their campsite.”

I turned to look at the cave in time to see Scooter motoring out of the shadows. The lieutenant must have programmed it to think like a puppy when it was not performing a mission. The goddamned little robot detoured into a crowd of Marines milling near the cliffs and ran circles around their feet. When they did not respond, it returned to the lieutenant and parked itself beside his foot.

“But you did not locate the path to the enemy’s position?” Shannon asked.

“Scooter could not get to them; they’re too deep in,” the technician said.

“Does Scooter have a map that leads to their locations?” Shannon asked, his irritation beginning to show.

“If you mean a map to their doorstep, that is out of the question, Sergeant. I am not going to risk a valuable prototype reconnaissance unit.”

“I know a safe dark place where we can stick his drone,” Lee muttered over the interLink as he came up beside me.

“But you’re willing to send in an entire platoon,” Shannon added. “My men…”

“Clones,” the technician corrected.

Shannon made one last attempt to explain himself. “I am not going to lead my men into that cave blind,” he said in a reasonable tone.