Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines

C.21

Three-star General Robert Brewster paused in the doorway to the expansive CRS presentation lounge a few minutes after four. He was a compact man with short dark hair and an air of resigned authority. These had been a tough few days.

A dozen high-ranking civilians and Air Force officers with whom Brewster had worked over the past four years were seated in front of the big video screen watching the start of the new CRS disk.

The slick promotional piece, complete with multiplane graphics, computer-aided animation, music, and sound effects had cost the corporation nearly two million dollars, and that for only fifteen minutes of what his wife would have called techno babble.

But the promo disk wasn't meant for the Saturday matinees. It was targeted at key members of the Pentagon, many of them still skeptical, as well as a large segment of the Congress who thought the entire Skynet project was not only astronomically expensive, but exceedingly dangerous.

"Turning over our entire defense network to a goddamn computer is nothing but nuts," New York Representative Howard F. Stevenson argued. He was the ranking member on so many House oversight committees that the media called him Mr. Watchdog.

The disk was for Stevenson, if for no one else. Convince him, and everyone else would fall into line.

The CRS symbol, interlocked branches within a six-sided figure, came up on the screen with the words

CYBER RESEARCH SYSTEMS.

The narrator, who was actually a tech sergeant from Andrews Air Force Base, spoke over the logo.

"Cyber Research Systems, America's first line of defense — creators of the weapons technology of tomorrow — invites you to preview the most exciting ordnance of the twenty-first century."

Music swelled from speakers around the room as the video ran through the opening montage of weapons and weapons systems: high-tech hydraulics, highly reflective metal surfaces, sculpted into compound curves, plastics, electronic circuitry, advanced electromechanical devices, the uses of which could only be guessed at, and finally the barrels of a deadly looking chaingun.

"No ordinary think tank, our mission here at CRS — to make human warfare a thing of the past — is just a funding cycle away."

General Brewster squared his shoulders and marched into the room. Yesterday and last night had been disasters, with outages throughout the system, from Alaska to Guam, and from Andrews outside Washington, D.C., to Ramstein outside Kaiserslautern, Germany, and even right here at Edwards.

None of them had gotten much sleep, and so far, today had been a repeat performance of putting out fires as fast as they popped up.

Now it was his task to begin selling a system he was no longer as sure of as he had been two days ago.

"Sorry I'm late, gentlemen," he said.

A young CRS executive operating the video system hit pause as Thomas S. Shelby, CRS's chief financial officer, looked up.

"We just got started, Bob. Take a seat," Shelby said.

Brewster slipped in next to the CRS money man.

"Once you all sign off, I'll send the promos to the Joint Chiefs and Armed Services Committee," Shelby's young assistant said. His name was Sherwood Olson. He was a Harvard MBA. He clicked the remote and the video came on.

"Say hello to the soldier of tomorrow," the narrator said.

The screen widened on a sleek, menacing robot, armed with an array of sensors in its small head structure, with heavy, articulated arms that ended in deadly looking chainguns. The machine moved nimbly on a pair of wide treads, and it was very tall, nearly eight feet.

"The T-l battlefield robot. A fully autonomous ground offensive system."

It would have to be explained to the Washington crowd that T-l was deadly, but it was nothing more than a first generation. The T-l-7s were more sophisticated. But there were even better projects on the near horizon. Much better.

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 Cyberdyne'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.