David Hagberg - Rise of the Machines

The narrator continued. "And in the air, the H-K aerial weapons system—or, as we like to call it, the Hunter-Killer."

An H-K drone hovered in midair, It looked like a futuristic, rotorless helicopter, armed with a variety of weapons systems, but with no pilot.

Like the T-ls, the Hunter-Killers were autonomous battlefield systems. They could think and fight for themselves.

The H-K fired a missile that homed in on a target tank in the distance, completely obliterating it

"This isn't science fiction," the narrator assured his audience. "It's reality, thanks to our top-secret innovation—Skynet—the revolutionary, artificially intelligent battlefield management network."

The video displayed a computer screen that showed the Skynet worldwide network of satellites.

"From strategic weapons to the individual soldier in the field, Skynet is able to control it all."

A model of the neural net computer chip that Cy-berdyne's Miles Bennet Dyson had used as the basis for the first models of Skynet came up on the screen. It looked otherworldly. From another time or place. From what could have been an alien, nonhuman mind. Brewster thought that Dyson had been anything but an ordinary man.

Without Dyson leading the way before his tragic death, there would have been no Cyber Research Systems, and certainly no Skynet

On the screen, Boris Kuznetskov, one of the best chess players in the world, moved his white knight into a position threatening the black queen and king.

He played against a robotic arm of gleaming copper-gold metal, with finely articulated fingers. The Russian's board position appeared to be unbeatable.

"Not only can Skynet outthink the most inspired human adversary, but it designs the weapons it needs to meet its war-fighting plans.

"It is the definition of thinking outside the box." The robotic arm moved a rook from a middle rank. Suddenly the outcome of the chess match wasn't so clear. The Russian was rattled.

"During this match alone, Skynet invented twenty-six thousand one hundred twenty-three new variations of chess, and over six million new moves."

It was clear that the Russian was defeated and he knew it.

"Meanwhile, human generals are still playing a four-thousand-year-old game," the narrator said.

Kuznetskov flipped over the chessboard in exasperation, looked bleakly at the robot arm, and then stalked off camera.

"Great leaders are not born," the narrator continued. "They're made. Right here. With technology developed at CRS."

Typical of multinational corporations, Brewster

thought. If something is said loud enough, often enough, and with absolute conviction, it will be believed.

"Actually the patents were obtained from a private vendor. Cyberdyne," he said as an aside to Shelby.

"Ancient history," the CRS financial officer replied.

Images of high-tech workshops where T-l battlefield robots were being readied for service came up on the screen. Scientists and technicians in white lab coats used a variety of test equipment to check every system in the machines.

"T-l and H-K research and development is complete," the narrator reported. "On budget, ahead of schedule."

Rows of T-ls ready for action were moving into holding areas.

"Working prototypes are now up and running, ready to face action in the conflicts of tomorrow."

Suddenly the video image cut to a military funeral on a bleak, overcast day. A coffin was draped in an American flag.

"Today, the loss of even one soldier in combat is intolerable—ask your constituents."

The video image switched to a chart that showed the evolution of robotics from the first primitive factory machines to the T-ls, to the skeletal Terminators, and finally to cybernetic figures in full battle armor and infiltration coverings.

"But with sufficient funding we need no longer risk the well-being of our men and women in uniform," the

narrator promised. "Robots will take their place on the front lines."

The image cut to a lab where an extremely well-muscled athletic man with narrow hips, broad shoulders, and powerful legs was running on a treadmill. He was dressed only in Spandex shorts. Sensors were placed all over his body, which glistened with sweat Doctors and medical techs monitored the man's progress.

"Motion capture studies are being applied even now to the development of the next generation of robotic defense systems," the narrator said.

In an inset an animated steel robot mimicked the human test subject's motions.

The camera moved to the front of the athlete who stepped off the treadmill and wiped his square, ruggedly cut handsome face with a towel.

The new cybernetic systems were being called Terminators, Brewster thought. This one, the T-600, with a similar model, the T-800, in development.

"I'm Chief Master Sergeant William Candy," the athlete model said, his Texas drawl thick. "I was honored to be selected in the ongoing effort to save American lives." Brewster frowned. He hadn't seen this part before. He glanced over at Shelby's assistant running the video. The man had been responsible for much of the production work "Laying it on a little thick, wouldn't you say?" "It's a sales tool, General," Olson replied. "I don't know about that accent," Shelby groused. "We can fix it, sir," his assistant assured him.

Brewster's chief engineer, Tony Plickinger, came into the presentation room and went to his boss.

"Systems are crashing all over the place," he said in Brewster's ear so that no one else could hear him. "I don't know if we can stop it."

Brewster got up, his heart skipping a beat, his stomach tied in a knot.

Shelby looked up, puzzled, even a little angry by the interruption. "Bob?"

"Sorry, something important," Brewster said.

"What could be more important than this?" Shelby asked. The video image on the screen was on pause. The others in the room didn't look happy either. "Budget hearings start next week. If we don't land the production contract—"

"You'll have to excuse me," Brewster said, and he left with his chief engineer.

"That man will not focus," Shelby's assistant muttered, and he hit the remote to continue the video presentation.

Sergeant Candy was in uniform. He stood beside the skeleton of a nonfunctioning Terminator.

"It's now within our power to make war safe," Candy said. "And that truly is priceless."

The image cut to an injection mold from which the shell of a head had been formed. There were no teeth, no eyes, no flesh tones, but it was the face of Sergeant Candy.

"CRS brings you the face of the future," Candy said.

c.22

Above the Mojave

As they crested Soledad Pass and started down into the desert, Kate tried the dash-mounted cell phone again to see if she could get through to her father.

She got a dial tone, but after the first three numbers, the signal strength faded and dropped to zero.

Thirty seconds later it was back. She cleared the keypad and tried again. This time after only one number the phone received a series of squeals and warbling tones as if a computer were trying to connect with them.

It was frustrating to her. And frightening not only because of what might happen to her father if the T-X got to him first, but also because of the chaos in everything else that seemed to be going on.

Last night she would not have believed any of what she had gone through this morning was possible. Nor had it been conceivable to her that the world was on the brink of all-out nuclear war. Global thermonuclear war. The ultimate sword of Damocles.

Now she wasn't so sure of anything. Least of all her

own senses. This had to be a dream. Yet she knew that it was not.

She broke the connection and replaced the cell phone on its bracket. "The whole cell network's down," she said.