“What does that thing do, Doc?” the driver asked over his shoulder while observing the robot in his rearview mirror. The New Mexico desert sprawled in all directions toward the horizon, which was a little less yellow than it had been in recent days—a hopeful sign that the last of the fallout from the most recent attacks in California was finally abating.
“Robbie’s a MAD bot, a medical assistance device,” Craig explained over the noise of the bus engine. “He has a built-in tricorder, and he’s programmed to diagnose injuries and illnesses better than a team of board-certified doctors.”
“Does it treat injuries?”
“He can,” Craig replied as he scanned the bot to make sure it was operating properly.
“Holy… so isn’t that an A.I.?” the driver asked, his tone both intrigued and suspicious.
“He’s narrow A.I. Don’t worry. Robbie won’t be taking over the world anytime soon.”
“I’m here to help, sir,” Robbie said to the driver.
“Did that thing just talk to me?” the driver reacted, surprised.
Craig grinned. “He did. Robbie, say hello to Private Lee.”
“Hello, Private Lee,” Robbie said, turning his head to face the driver.
The driver’s eyebrows rose. “Creepy. So, if you don’t mind me asking, Doc, why don’t they just send the robot? I mean, if it’s better than a team of doctors like you say, then why even have medical officers anymore?”
“Maybe someday,” Craig replied. “For the time being, MAD bots are expensive and haven’t had enough field testing to guarantee that they won’t make a serious mistake.”
“Mistake? Like what?”
Craig scratched his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think they’ve ever made one before, but—you know—just in case.”
“Ah.” The driver nodded. “Gotcha.”
A light suddenly twinkled brilliantly in the distance on the horizon in front of them, backdropped by dark mountains. Craig’s eyes locked on the gleam.
“There it is, Doc,” the driver announced, “Spaceport America.”
5
Craig and Robbie stepped down the ramp of the shuttle bus onto the tarmac of Spaceport America.
A squinting figure strode toward them in the blinding sunshine. The figure rose his arm to salute before adding, “Captain Emilson, sir!”
“At ease,” Craig replied as he saluted in return.
The figure stuck out his hand to shake Craig’s and smiled warmly, his skin wrinkling around his cheerful eyes. “I’m Commander Wilson, the officer in charge of this mission, but you will be the ranking officer, sir.”
“Just call me ‘Doc’ for the duration of the mission, Commander. You’re the OIC here, and I defer to you completely.”
“Thank you, Doc.” Commander Wilson turned to Robbie. “I heard you’d be bringing one of those.”
Robbie saluted. “Commander Wilson, sir!”
Wilson laughed, tilting his head back. “That is something else. Will wonders never cease? Can I actually talk to it?”
Craig nodded. “Treat Robbie like another member of the team, Commander. He understands you and will respond appropriately.”
“Robbie? Ha!” Wilson saluted the MAD bot. “At ease, Robbie.”
Robbie lowered his arm and stood at ease.
“Well, you sure know how to make an entrance, Captain Emilson,” Wilson observed with a smile. He turned toward the hangar. “The rest of the team is already suiting up. Let’s go meet ’em, shall we?”
“Lead the way, Commander.”
As the two men and the MAD bot walked briskly toward the giant hangar, Craig’s eyes scanned the remarkable building. It was sleek, as though it had been designed in a wind tunnel, yet it appeared to have been constructed with a 1950s conception of a UFO in mind, its roof silver and smooth. It was as though it had been built with a rearview mirror—one eye on the future, while keeping the other on the past. There was something about it that made Craig uneasy—as though Spaceport America belonged outside of the bounds of normal time and space.
“Correct me if any of my information is inaccurate, Doc,” the commander began as they walked and talked, “but I understand you’ve completed the twenty-eight-week Special Forces qualification training and an abbreviated special ops combat medic course, in addition to your suspended animation professional development training. Is that right?”
“That’s right, Commander,” Craig replied.
“Ten HALO jumps too?”
“Right.”
“That experience will serve you well, Doc. HALOs are the best training for suborbital jumps, though nothing can really prepare you.”
“How many SOLOs have you done, Commander?”
“That’s classified, Doc. Needless to say, this won’t be the team’s first rodeo. There’s no such thing as a training suborbital jump, though. The logistics and expense—not to mention the fact that the military is trying to keep this tech secret—makes training jumps a luxury we can’t afford. You’re gonna have to pop your cherry the way the rest of us did—on a real mission.”
Craig considered Wilson’s words. He’d had the impression that his addition to the team was haphazard, as though it were highly irregular for a brand new special ops soldier to be participating on such an important mission. He found Wilson’s assertion of the opposite oddly comforting. “It’s actually nice to hear that I’m not the only one to have gone through this.”
Wilson laughed and shook his head. “Nah, Doc, you’re definitely the rookie of the group, but we were all rookies once. Besides, there’s no pressure. I think the addition the brass was really interested in was Robbie back there,” Wilson said, pointing his thumb in the direction of the robot as it walked behind them, a mechanical whir accompanying every step as it remained in Craig’s shadow.
Ironic, Craig suddenly thought. “That’s a good point, Commander,” he said, suddenly feeling far less important.
“I gotta warn ya,” Wilson began to confide, “the team isn’t exactly feeling the love for your robot friend.”
“Why’s that?” Craig asked, his eyebrow cocked inquisitively.
“Don’t get me wrong, Doc. These men are pros all the way, but the addition of a robot that specializes in heavy trauma suspended animation body bags doesn’t exactly fill anybody with confidence.”
“I understand,” Craig replied. “I’ll speak to the team about it.”
“I think they’d appreciate that,” Wilson replied as they entered the shade of the hangar, the temperature immediately dropping to a relieving degree.
Several feet away, in the shadow of WhiteKnight3’s ninety-two-foot wingspan, the three other members of the team came to attention and saluted.
Wilson returned their salute and addressed his team. “SOLO Team Three, this is Captain Emilson. He is our newest and highest-ranking team member!”
“Sir!” the three other members shouted in unison. Each man had been in the process of putting their SOLO suits on. Craig had never seen a SOLO suit before and was amazed at their intricacy. They were black, though the material had a brilliant sheen. Lining the suit appeared to be some sort of metal exoskeleton, the likes of which Craig had never seen, even during his days training at a DARPA facility with Robbie. The boots were reminiscent of those worn by astronauts on the moon, as were the gloves. He shook himself back into the moment and saluted the team.
“At ease. As I said to the commander, from now on, please don’t salute me. Refer to me simply as ‘Doc.’ I am here to learn from you and support you. I defer to each of you from this point forward.”