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The American laced his fingers around the grip of his Staccato.
The machine was bipedal, and in place of the face there was a small screen where the mouth and nose would be, and a bank of several cameras and other sensors in place of eyes. Its body was white and appeared to be made of some sort of composite material that shone under the fluorescent lighting. A small backpack of similar-looking material was affixed behind the unit between the shoulder blades.
Black rivets held the various surface pieces together, as if the machine were wearing some sort of head-to-toe armor.
Its hands were down by its sides, and each hand was a gripper with what looked like three metal fingers.
On the robot’s right hip, Zack saw a holster and, more ominously, the grip of a Walther PPQ pistol jutting out.
A three-magazine rack on the robot’s left side was empty, but there appeared to be a magazine in the pistol’s grip.
In a low, soft, and utterly serious voice, Zack Hightower said, “If this motherfucker moves, I’m gonna dump a twenty-one-round mag into its ass.”
Wren said, “You can be my guest. It’s powered down, so if it should move, I’ll join you.”
“What is it?”
“Exactly what it looks like. It’s called Safe Sentry.”
“SS. Well, that’s ironic.” Looking at the other covered objects, Zack asked, “How many are there?”
“Sixteen. These guys used to monitor the interior at night. I was a little worried at first, but Anton was insistent, so I didn’t press.”
“He made them?”
“No. They were developed and designed at Massachusetts Automation. These are the babies of an old colleague of Anton’s named Lars Halverson. You’ve probably seen him on TV.”
“Probably not.”
Wren shrugged. “Completely state of the art. The Safe Sentry has balance sensors all over, so it’s coordinated like you wouldn’t believe. You can wrestle these things and lose.”
“Gonna have to pass.”
“These blokes can broad jump ten feet, run at twenty klicks an hour, shoot, punch, deploy tear gas or Tasers. All powered by artificial intelligence, with a human controller only giving rules-of-engagement commands before it can employ lethal force.”
“I don’t like them.”
“Anton ordered all the units powered down, and the ammunition confiscated and put in a separate locker. He’s trusted them with his life for the past year, but now he’s having second thoughts.”
“Like, they could be hacked or something?”
“Yeah. Anton thinks there are people in the American government who could take control of these Sentries. Halverson is a friend, and he’s not even American, but he lives in Boston and does work with the U.S. government, and that’s enough reason for Anton to be suspicious.”
Zack walked behind the machine, put his hand on the Walther’s grip, and pulled.
The black pistol did not come free of the white drop leg holster.
Wren saw what he was trying to do, moved around next to him, and manipulated the magazine release on the weapon. Zack pulled out the mag now and confirmed it was empty.
Wren said, “They always move around unarmed, just another level of safety. We keep the empty mags in so that the locals don’t know. Still, these guys can release the empty mag, load a fresh one, aim at their target, and fire in four point two seconds.”
“Jesus,” Zack muttered.
“I timed it myself.”
They were, Zack admitted to himself without saying it aloud, terrifying. “How do you kill it?”
“They are nearly three million dollars each. Plus about fifteen K a year per unit for upkeep.”
