“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
