Dale Brown - Act of War

Bolton stepped forward and stood in front of the first unit. “CID One, activate,” he shouted in a drill-sergeant-like voice. The other unit shuddered to life and within moments it was towering over him. Moore did likewise with CID Two, a bit more hesitantly but he got the job done.

“Very good. Ari, help Sergeant Moore. I’ll show Agent Bolton. CID One, pilot up.” The machine leaned forward slightly, its arms extended backward to act as railings. It bent its left leg then extended its right leg backward; finally, a hatch popped open in the center of its back.

“CID Two, pilot up,” Ari commanded. The second unit did as the first. She hopped up on the robot’s right arm. “C’mon up here, Doug,” she said. Moore carefully, gingerly approached the machine. “C’mon, Sergeant, it won’t bite. Hop on up here.” She gave him a mind-blowing smile, which definitely encouraged him.

Moore stood over the entry hatch and peered inside CID Two. The interior looked like a very comfortable satiny padded pillow, with a half-helmet with breathing apparatus and a large electronic visor near the eyes. The inside portion of the open entry hatches were similarly covered in satiny pads. Ari moved beside him. “Here’s your ride, Doug,” she said. “Once you’re inside, you’ll slip the gloved portions on and your feet into braces. Everything will be locked down, so you won’t be able to move until the unit powers up, but then you’ll be able to move freely. You give the command, ‘CID Two, lock me in,’ and the hatch will close. Everything will be automatic from there on out.”

“It looks like I’ll be squished in there pretty tightly.”

“Yes you will, but it won’t feel like it once power is applied,” Ari said. “You’ll be able to move perfectly normal. Just be careful—the kinesthetic algorithms in the software should keep you from hitting yourself and breaking sensors with your limbs, but they take time to adapt to your movements. Move slowly at first until you get the hang of it. Ready?”

Moore faced the open hatch, both hands on either side, but he didn’t go in. “Will I be able to breathe and talk normally?”

“Sure. It’ll be like wearing a motorcycle helmet. Your breathing will be a bit restricted but you’ll get used to it. There will be a lot of symbology and messages flashing on your visor but you’ll be able to see just fine. Ignore them for now—we’ll teach you what it all means later.”

Moore looked down into the place where his head needed to go like a young child staring down into a pool before jumping in for the first time from a diving board. “I…I’ve never been on a motorcycle before.”

Ari sensed the growing fear in Moore’s voice. “Hey, Doug,” she said gently. He looked up at her. “It’s okay if you don’t want to do this. The major just wanted everyone to see how easy it is to run this thing. He thought you’d do it no sweat. But if you’d rather not, it’s cool.” Moore said nothing, but nodded numbly and looked back down inside the machine again, not moving in either direction. “You have a call sign, Doug? All you Air Force guys have call signs.”

“No.”

“How long have you been in the Air Force, Doug?” she asked.

“Eight years.”

“Gonna hang in there for twenty?”

“Yes.”

“What else do you like to do?”

“I like being in the Security Forces,” Moore said. “Security, patrol, law enforcement, weapons.”

“I mean, what do you do for fun, relaxation?”

He looked up at her, a little embarrassed, and shrugged. “I read up on tactics and procedures, practice on the range—you know, study all there is to know about my job.”

“You like guns?”

“Sure I do.”

She could see his eyes brighten. Aha, she thought, he’s paying attention to me and not the CID. “What kind of guns?”

“Every kind,” he replied. “I know a lot about handguns, rifles, machine guns, cannons—you name it. I even reload my own ammo.”

“I’m a little afraid of guns—no, I’m a lot afraid of guns,” Ari said.

“There’s absolutely nothing to be afraid of,” Moore said. This was definitely the chattiest he’s been, Ari thought. “They’re tools, implements—just like CID Two here. The more you learn, the better you feel about them.”

“What does your wife think about guns?”

His expression turned embarrassed again. “I…I’m not married.”

“Me either.” He looked up at her, and she affixed another mind-blowing smile on him with her enticing red lips. “Hey, would you teach me how to shoot a gun?”

His face practically exploded with glee. “Sure!” he replied enthusiastically. “Most girls I know hate guns. They don’t want anything to do with them.”

“Well, I’m not a girl,” Ari said, giving Moore a playful slap on the back of the head, “and I’m definitely not like most women, Doug.” His use of the term “girls” told her a lot: this was a guy who didn’t have much of a life outside the Air Force Security Forces. He was afraid to try new things—not a good choice for someone picked to use CID for the first time. But Jason wanted him for this demonstration—she’d have to see if she could make this work. “Besides, I work for the army—I’m around guns all day. I don’t hate guns, and maybe I’m not afraid of them, but I do respect them. I don’t pick them up and fire them myself. But if you teach me, maybe I won’t be afraid.”

“You won’t be, I promise.”

“It’s a date, then,” she said. She nodded toward the interior of the CID unit. “Now, what about this thing, Doug? It’s no biggie if you want to get down. I’ll do the demo with Bolton over there, wax his ass, and then when you get off you and I will go out to the desert and you can teach me about guns.”

Ari could see the transformation on Moore’s face when she said the word “date”—he felt as if he was ready to take on a band of nuclear terrorists all by himself. “Let me give it a spin,” he said resolutely.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

She gave him another smile and a pat on the cheek that melted his heart completely. “All right, Doug. Wait until you see the weapons we have for this thing—it’ll blow your mind. Climb on in and let’s get started. Breathe normally and try to relax until we get the power on.”

Slowly, gingerly, Moore eased his legs into the interior of CID Two. He paused about three-quarters in until his boots found the braces, then slowly lowered himself inside. He gave Ari one last worried smile, received a smile of encouragement in response, then lowered his face into the helmet so his entire body weight was resting inside the body supports. His arms withdrew inside the machine and slipped between the smooth padded coverings until his hands found the rough gloves inside; then he slipped his fingers in. He tried to flex his fingers and move his head but everything was frozen solid, and a thrill of panic crept up his spine. He was blind, almost deaf, and the padded interior molded itself to his body so well that he felt as if he were floating in a sensory-deprivation chamber.

“Okay, Doug,” he heard Ari say. “You have to give the command to close the hatch.”

“Ahh…” He didn’t think he could do it. It was hard to tell which way was up. He knew he should be almost upright, leaning forward a little, but he felt horizontal, maybe even past horizontal, a little head-down. It was starting to get warm, and he hated the feel of his own breath on his face and going back into his own nostrils. Where’s the air in this thing? Wasn’t it dangerous to breathe your own exhalation? Isn’t that mostly carbon dioxide, and it’s bad to…

“Hey, Doug? We’re waiting, tiger. Go for it.”