Price of Duty

EPILOGUE

Trailed by his security detachment, Gennadiy Gryzlov strode onto a huge factory floor. An assembly line surrounded by computer-driven industrial robots ran down the middle of the enormous space. Dwarfed by their surroundings, a tiny group of scientists and engineers waited nervously near a pair of large doors at the end of the production line.

He joined them. “Well, what have you got?” he demanded.

One of the engineers keyed in a code, unlocking the doors. They slid smoothly aside. One by one, arc lights flared on — revealing a series of tall, motionless, human-shaped figures.

Gryzlov stood transfixed, hungrily staring up at the massive machines. They were more than ten feet high, with spindly arms and legs and elongated torsos. Smooth ovoids bristling with antennas and other sensor arrays took the place of heads.

Smiling now, he turned toward the senior scientist. “You have done very well, Dr. Aronov,” he said. “I congratulate you.”

The portly professor of cybernetics dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Thank you, Mr. President. My team and I have worked hard.” He hesitated briefly. “But I confess that we would not have been able to achieve so much without being able to reverse-engineer so many systems.” He shook his head in amazement. “I would never have believed the Americans were so far ahead of us in so many fields. It would have required many years of painstaking research and development to achieve similar advances in actuator, sensor, and battery technology.”

Gryzlov nodded in satisfaction. While he would have preferred a live prisoner to interrogate, components salvaged from the Iron Wolf combat robots wrecked outside Perun’s Aerie had proved their worth a thousand times over. “And the neural interface technologies required to make these war machines fully operational?” he asked. “Have you been able to re-create them?”

Aronov looked apologetic. “I am afraid the haptic control interfaces suffered too much battle damage for us to replicate them,” he admitted. “My people have been working very hard on various alternatives, Mr. President… but without success so far.”

Gryzlov waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t be too concerned, Aronov.” He smiled coldly. “After all, we now know where to go to acquire the necessary information. When the time comes, you’ll have what you need to bring these machines to life.”

He nodded toward his guards, who ushered the scientists and engineers away — leaving him alone to revel in the knowledge that Russia would soon have its own lethal war robots. He smiled nastily, remembering Martindale’s arrogant boasts. The man had sneered when Gennadiy Gryzlov had promised that this war was not over. Well, the days were fast approaching when he would redeem that pledge — and this time it would be a war fought entirely on American soil.