“Excuse me, Dr. Richter,” Martindale interrupted politely, though with the faintest hint of an edge to his voice. “But I believe you wanted to demonstrate some sort of revolutionary new space hardware for us?”
The other man visibly dragged his mind away from the complex problem of improving the LEAF’s mobility and back to the present. “That I do, Mr. President,” he agreed, grinning again. He guided them over to the edge of the Neutral Buoyancy Lab tank. “You came at the perfect time. We’re right in the middle of an operational systems test. And I’m betting a huge portion of the Sky Masters R&D budget that you’ll be mightily impressed by what you see.”
More curious than ever, Patrick peered down into the blue-tinted depths. There, near the bottom of the enormous pool, he saw three strange machines maneuvering slowly around what appeared to be a space station module. They were egg-shaped spheroids — about nine feet tall and a little under eight feet in diameter at their widest point. The spheroids were equipped with several mechanical limbs ending in flexible appendages that resembled large, articulated metal fingers. Dozens of tiny thruster nozzles studded surfaces covered in advanced composite materials.
“Dr. Richter?” Martindale asked slowly. “Just what the devil are those machines?”
“They’re a newly developed variant of CIDs, our Cybernetic Infantry Devices,” the other man said proudly.
Patrick raised an eyebrow in disbelief. CIDs were combat robots — twelve-foot-tall human-piloted machines with two arms, two legs, and a six-sided head equipped with a wide range of advanced sensors. Covered in highly resistant composite armor, their powered exoskeletons were faster and stronger than any ten men combined. Feedback from haptic interfaces translated their pilots’ smallest gestures into exoskeleton motion, allowing them to move with extraordinary precision and agility. In battle, they employed a wide range of deadly weaponry, everything from 20mm autocannons to electromagnetic rail guns. In conflicts over the past several years, CIDs had shown themselves to be lethal killing machines — as had Russia’s own marginally less capable war robots.
Frankly, though, the egg-shaped spheroids he saw leisurely gliding through the depths of the NBL tank bore about as much resemblance to one of the Iron Wolf Squadron’s manned combat robots as an octopus did to a grizzly bear.
“We’ve optimized this new design for zero-G operations and orbital construction work,” Richter explained. “When it comes to maneuver and combat, a CID’s humanlike arms and legs make sense in Earth-normal gravity. Not so much in space. Those multipurpose limbs attached at various points all around each spheroid are a lot more practical in an environment where there’s essentially no ‘up’ or ‘down.’ That’s also why their thrusters are oriented to fire in all directions. Right now they’re fighting a lot of drag from the water in that tank. But out in space, in a vacuum, they should be extraordinarily maneuverable.”
Martindale nodded pensively. He looked up at Richter. “Do these marvelous new machines of yours have a name?”
The other man hesitated. Selecting equipment names and acronyms had never been his forte. No matter how hard he tried to come up with something that was both descriptive and memorable, people usually told him his choices were awful — like the CIDs themselves and that LEAF he’d built for General McLanahan. “Well,” he said nervously, “I was going to call them Cybernetic Orbital Construction Systems—”
“Oh God, no,” Patrick said hastily, knowing exactly how any red-blooded pilot and astronaut like Hunter Noble or his own son would pronounce COCS. “Please tell me you did not stick that label on those things.”
Richter winced. “There was some pushback,” he admitted.
“So what are they called?” Martindale wondered. From the pained look on his face, he was prepared for something even worse.
“Cybernetic Orbital Maneuvering Systems, or COMS for short.”
Martindale relaxed. “Well, at least COMS has the virtue of being a relatively safe choice,” he said carefully. “Which I suppose is a blessing in these troubled times.”
Relieved, Richter turned back to Patrick. “If you’re interested, General, I can transmit copies of the technical specs for the COMS to you.”
Patrick nodded. “I’m definitely interested.” He frowned. “But one thing bothers me right off the bat. Those machines are way too big to fit through any standard airlock. How are we supposed to deploy a COMS from one of our spaceplanes?”
Richter shrugged. “You could retrofit a larger airlock into the S-19 and S-29s.”
“That sounds rather expensive… and time-consuming,” Martindale said. His mouth creased in a thin, dry smile. “There are limits to our resources, even with access to the federal government’s top secret black-ops budget.”
“The trade-offs would be worth it,” Richter said persuasively. “Our data show that a single COMS can do the EVA work of any five conventionally suited astronauts… and in half the time.”
Patrick whistled. “Okay, that’s pretty damned impressive.” He turned to Martindale. “One of the things we learned in building the ISS and Armstrong Station is that EVAs are incredibly demanding — both physically and mentally. Mechanical tasks that require only minor exertion on Earth take a lot more effort and time in orbit. The simple becomes hard. And the hard is almost impossible. If these space-rated robots are as good as Dr. Richter claims, they could be a real game changer.”
Martindale nodded. “Acquiring this capability is extremely tempting,” he agreed. Then he frowned. “But I worry that we may not be able to afford the time we’d need to retrofit our spaceplanes. Further flight delays could put us fatally behind the Russians.”
“You know, come to think of it, you might not even need to change out the airlocks in the first place,” Richter said suddenly.
Both men turned to stare at him. “Come again?” Patrick said slowly.
“Each COMS is effectively a miniature spacecraft, with its own life support,” Richter pointed out. “So their operators should be able to ride them safely to orbit inside the cargo bay of any Sky Masters spaceplane. All each COMS would need is some bracing against acceleration and hard maneuvering. Plus, the haptic interfaces we use to control each machine should be a fantastic cushion against G-forces.” His eyes lit up. “Once the S-plane reaches orbit, it just opens its cargo bay docks, the robots unlatch, and out they fly — ready to perform their tasks.”
“Are you sure about this, Dr. Richter?” Martindale asked seriously.
The other man nodded. “We’ll run some more tests and simulations to confirm that it’s feasible, but figuring out if this will work or not isn’t really rocket science.” He saw their pained expressions and hurried on. “Okay, yeah, it actually is rocket science. Trust me, though, it’s not the complicated kind. We can do this.”
Patrick nodded slightly to Martindale. From an engineering and flight safety perspective, Richter’s proposal sounded plausible enough. Sending COMS operators to orbit inside a cargo bay was probably somewhat riskier than he made it sound, but there were always risks involved in any spaceflight. Space was an incredibly hostile environment. You could improve your odds of survival with careful planning, rigorous training, and reliable equipment — but you could never entirely guarantee it.
“Very well,” Martindale told Richter. “I think we have a deal, assuming your numbers pan out.”