After the coffee break Sean tagged behind Mr. Turner, as Team Violet filed into the uncomfortably crowded elevator. They were joined by a representative from the Gibbs Consortium, who Julia introduced only as Bryson. The man was clearly ex-military, with a narrow weatherbeaten face and eyes of pale grey that seemed devoid of life. A small goatee and close-cropped hair complemented the no-nonsense impression. Dark military-style jacket stitched with the Gibbs logo. He was clearly not in marketing and didn't shake hands with anyone.

Just before the doors closed, Sean noticed pithy corporate slogans posted on banners: ’Peacemaking for Profit since 2002’. Julia's elbow jabbed Sean in the ribs, as she waved her access card before a scanner and punched the basement-level button. The elevator disgorged them into a small tomb-like concrete room. A featureless steel door sunk into the concrete barred the way. Sean felt a sense of deja vu like he was back in the Fullers' bunker. Ceiling cameras tracked them from within plexiglass hemispheres from all four corners. The word ARMORY was stencilled on the door in large black font on yellow paint, along with a notice picturing a grinning death’s head:

UNAUTHORIZED ENTRY WILL VENT INCAPACITATING AGENT

LETHAL DOSE POSSIBLE

“Don’t worry, the system is fool-proofed against false alarms,” Turner reassured Sean as he punched into a hooded keypad. Sean felt a sudden breeze against his back as the door slid open.

The concrete-lined bunker beyond was cavernous and brightly lit with fluorescent lights. Every square feet of wall space displayed a weapon of some sort. Automatic rifles, semi-automatics, rocket propelled grenades and even SAM launchers. Every handheld firearm in service around the globe had its place alongside more exotic stuff. EM pulse weapons. Landmines wrapped in neural nets to discriminate combatants from civilians. Sean gazed enthralled. He came to a walk-in wall safe, the massive hinged door securely shut and painted with the symbol of a brain within a black hazard triangle. The bespectacled young man from the meeting earlier - who introduced himself as Zack - told Sean the safe contained memetic weapons in the form of information hazards, patterns deadly enough to trigger neurological circuits that were a natural part of the human psyche. Sean stared suspiciously at Zack's deadpan face wondering if he was being taken for a ride. He knew that the human mind was infested with doomsday mechanisms that went by names like murderous revenge, intense grief or berserk rage. Emotions that seemed irrational because they were detrimental to those in its grip, but honed by nature precisely because they were uncontrollable deterrents. Who would dare mess with someone with a penchant for violent revenge. But to trigger such impulses using the printed page, something like a memetic analog to erotic fiction, was that even possible? Sean decided he didn't want to know.

Soon Sean found himself alone and saw the group had gathered near a wall around a large metallic statue. He strolled over to join them as Turner was finishing his spiel.

”...unit shipped to South Caucasus Republic is an exact duplicate,” Turner gestured to the grinning skeletal humanoid that loomed half again as tall behind him, “along with a belt of smart ammunition which Dawn predicts will tip the balance in favor of a negotiated peace. The autocannon alone is adequate to neutralize infantry...”

Another land-drone, Sean realized uneasily as he neared the artifact, and this one looked like a scaled-up Terminator. Telescope lenses for eyes. An exhaust pipe sticking up behind its right shoulder. Gaps between exposed ribs appeared to be breathing or cooling vents. Steel jackboots that could crush bone. The entire right arm below the elbow was a rotary auto-cannon, its multi-barrel gleaming black under overhead lights, trailing a bulky ammunition belt over its other shoulder. The left arm was some sort of launcher tube with three squat missiles strapped to a loading mechanism near the elbow. How had they transported this thing down here? Sean looked around and spotted a portcullis at the very end of the cavernous space. The solid steel was painted in yellow and black zebra stripes and wide enough for two semi-trucks abreast. A shipping and receiving gate probably leading to the street above.

"Why use armor-penetrating rounds on infantry?" Sean peered at the multi-barrel, "That's a fifty caliber Gattling, for goodness sake. Overkill, isn't it?"

"Good question," Turner seemed pleased, "The caliber is actually constrained by the chip for the guidance system. Can't go any smaller."

"Guidance system?" Sean stared blankly at his physics instructor,

"Self-guided bullets," Turner touched the ammunition belt reverently, "the latest breakthrough from Gibbs in intelligent combat. Each bullet deployes aerodynamic control surfaces in flight to keep it on track to assigned target. A pinhole camera scans for human silhouettes on the battlefield."

Sean gaped, "The bullets choose their own targets?"

"Actually," Turner pointed up to the brushed stainless steel skull, "the realtime computing cluster within the Doomtrooper assigns targets. Every tenth bullet is a local network node sending battlefield intel back to the cluster which is capable of simultaneously guiding ten thousand bullets to their targets. A rain of precision death. Can you imagine the effect on an enemy infantry battallion?"

A single burst from that autocannon would be devastating, Sean swallowed and nodded, "What about friendly fire?"

"That's a drawback," Turner admitted, "the Doomtrooper is not designed to be used alongside allied armies. Whoever is piloting the thing better make sure there are no friendlies in the gun's HUD."

"Piloting?" Sean frowned, "It's not autonomous?"

"No," Turner shook his head, "Manual operation only via remote link. Makes it a lot cheaper than one of Fuller's autonomous drones. The hybrid diesel powertrain is also cheaper than fancy fuel cells. The Gibbs Consortium hopes to whittle away the stranglehold Fuller has on the killer drone market."

Sean relaxed a bit on hearing the drone wasn't going to suddenly run amok. But Turner's comment reminded him what Elliot had said regarding the cutthroat competition that Fuller faced. Would the Gibbs family really use one of their own kids to make an attempt on Judith's life? He thought of Phyllis and her brother Reginald. They were snobs of course, that came with the territory. But Sean couldn't believe either of them were capable of harming Judith.

"Which is where you come in, Sean," Julia interrupted, pointing to an LCD display on one wall hooked up to a high-end gaming rig, "you'll be monitoring the situation through the Doomtrooper's satellite link, while Dawn and Bryson are on site."

"You want me to pilot the thing?" Sean felt a surge of apprehension, "I am not getting involved in someone else's war."

Dawn pulled out a set of VR goggles trailing a thick cable to the gaming rig and a cordless joystick. Bryson was setting up what looked like a "deathray" emitter on tripod.

"Just observe through the remote goggles, Sean, that's all you need to do, " Turner clarified, "Bryson will be piloting the Doomtrooper onsite using the portable maser console. Technically you are the backup pilot in case of an emergency. There's a tutorial DVD from Gibbs that'll get you up to speed. Up for it?"

Sean nodded slowly, excitement winning over, "Why me? Why not use someone... better trained?"

"We don't have anyone else ready," Julia walked around the Doomtrooper unit, giving it an experimental kick, "This bucket of bolts only arrived yesterday. The backup pilot is just a precaution in case the drone signal is jammed, but there's zero chance of that happening. Besides you are a teenager, you probably have faster reflexes than anyone in this building."

"Zero chance of jamming?" Sean's laugh was bitter, thinking of the Cereborg drone which also had been declared tamper-proof. Fat lot of good that did for him.

"That's correct," Turner nodded seriously, "line of sight control with encrypted maser tightbeam. The are only two channels to the Doomtrooper, one through the console that Bryson will demostrate to SCR army command, the other through a specialized communications satellite we are manouvering over the South Caucasus for you to monitor."

"What about my broken arm?" Sean frowned.

"There's only one joystick," Dawn chipped in, "Isn't that right, Bryson?"

Bryson nodded curtly, his glance conveying contempt despite the lack of expression. There's was something in his stance, a tautness that reminded Sean of Elliot.

Sean walked closer to the Doomtrooper to inspect the launcher. There was something unwieldly about the trio of projectiles strapped around it. Each cruise missile was two feet long with jet intakes and razor sharp fins. They were painted military green with SADM stencilled in white.

Sean froze, "You got to be shitting me."

"Special Atomic Demolition Munition," Turner smiled, "a.k.a suitcase nukes. The Doomtrooper is meant to singlehandedly wage tactical nuclear warfare."

"You're selling that to an unstable regime?" Sean paled, "Are you fucking insane... sir. How the heck do you get it past ITAR regulations?"

"We're not actually offering SADM missiles to the South Caucasus Republic, only the smart cannon," Turner exchanged a glance with Julia, "but the tactical nuke platform is... critical to the deal."

"Are you saying Russia is cool with you peddling nuclear platforms in their backyard?" Sean sounded incredulous.

"What I'm about to tell you is secret," Turner stared intently at Sean, "It's well known that both the United States and the Soviet Union developed man-portable nukes during the Cold War. Unfortunately some of the old stockpiles are scattered across parts of the former Soviet Union, including the South Caucasus Republic which still has a handful of these tactical nukes. Each of these is 1 kiloton yield max, big enough to take out a city block but hardly earth-shattering. The guidance system on these relics is encrpted, which the SCR high command is desperate to have the keys for. The Russians are concerned that SCR will simply sell them on the black market for cash. Not something you want an extremist group to hotwire. From Russia's point of view, it's safer for these warheads to be used up by SCR in a local pissing contest. The computing cluster on the Doomtrooper can unlock the old Soviet encryption."

"Oh," Sean looked dazed, "why can't the Russians supply the encryption keys to SCR themselves?"

"Regional politics," Turner barked a laugh, "they can't be seen playing favorites among their former republics."

Sean sighed, international politics was giving him a headache.

"Use the next couple of days learning the Doomtrooper's interface, Sean," Julia ordered, "The demo is scheduled Friday morning, EST. Is your itinery confirmed, Dawn?"

"South Caucasus Republic via Istanbul," Dawn took a deep breath, her captivating smile missing.

#

Sean's phone beeped a text receipt as they emerged back to ground level. It was from Elliot.

Master Sean,

Thought I'd let you know. Miss Judith's doctors worked through the night to concoct a new treatment regimen. Based in part on your insight regarding the likely viral pathway. I am pleased to report that Miss Judith's condition is now stable, though she isn't out of the woods yet. But, they assure me, her survival is no longer in question.

P.S: the doctors needed a little persuasion before they took your speculation seriously.

The tension exited Sean like air out of a ballon. His legs felt like jelly as he sank into the nearest chair, face in his hands. He hadn't realized how much the news of Judith's illness had been weighing on him since yesterday. His sleep last night had been troubled, frequently tormented with images of her guileless smile. His anguish relaxed its icy grip and with it his anger - old and new - came roaring back. Burning hatred for her perpetrator, whoever that might be. Simmering fury against her brother. Resentment against her parents. It was odd how much Sean's consideration for Judith contrasted with his dislike for her family. Well, they could all jump in a lake, he scowled. Except Judith ofcourse (and Prisicilla, her grandma was a good sport too). Once again Sean promised himself he'd find a way to take down that smug prick Jason...

"She certainly knows how to pick 'em," Zack carried a bundle of folders, "eh, Seth?”

”It’s Sean,” Sean got up slowly, “What do you mean?”

Zack's smile was a permanent sneer, “Come on, let‘s get you settled into the intern desk.”

They were on the working level below the upper floor conference rooms. Zack led Sean along a gently curving corridor that divided the adminstrative section from the analysts. Glass-inset doors of polished wood interrupted the concrete wall on the left. Julia's name was on one of the doors. Her sunlit glass-fronted office was located beyond the concrete inner structure, along with offices for marketing and accounting bigwigs. Desk jockeys were located within the main structure honeycombed with featureless cubicles. Sean wondered darkly if the reinforced core was meant as an added layer of protection for the offices outside. Perhaps some of the nastier munitions in the Armory below were less secure than ideal. The intern desk was the smallest and dingiest of all the soulless cubicles they'd passed.

“I was referring to the Titanium Bitch,” Zack lowered his voice in a conspiratorial whisper, “I think she's on your school board just so she can recruit impressionable youngsters to brainwash. Just like the girl who joined up last year.”

“Oh?” Sean’s attention wandered away from Zack, as he spotted Dawn heading their way.

"The other student from your school," Zack explained, "the one who interns here on weekends."

"Wait," Sean turned back to Zack, "there's someone else from Cardiff High interning here?"

"Sort of," Zack nodded, "Harmony, I think her name is... no wait, is it Cassidy... Tiffany, that's right. Her name is Tiffany."

"Tiffany?" Sean stared. No, it couldn't be. What would one of Jason's coterie be doing here? How many Tiffanys did Cardiff have, anyway?

"Part-time co-op," Zack clarified, "She gets paid." Unlike you, the sub-text was clear, even as Sean tried to make sense of it.

"There you are," Dawn walked up to Sean, her slight smile turning into a grimace when she saw Zack, "I see you found your desk."

"Hey Dawn," Zack drawled, "I know Seamus here is your intern and all..."

"It's Sean," Sean muttered with annoyance.

"...but I was wondering if I could use him to take a crack at my backlog," Zack dumped the pack of folders on the desk, "...cases that Julia has already reviewed. There’s a payoff matrix for each case that needs to be summarized into an abstract, so Julia can signoff on it. I know it's undergrad level, but Simon here seems smart enough..."

"It's Sean," snapped Sean.

"Actually," Dawn interrupted, "I was going to get him started on my case backlog... so he isn't available, sorry."

"Alrighty then," Zack grinned insolently, "I'll inform Julia to expect your portfolio on her table before she can expect mine. It's only fair, you get all the interns."

"Dammit, I walked right into that one," Dawn scowled at Zack's retreating back, "Do you mind if I give you work, in case Julia asks?"

“Sure thing, Dawn,” Sean gave a demented grin, "say, does someone called Tiffany work here as a co-op? Tiffany Brooks?"

"That's right, another wiz-kid from Cardiff High," Dawn's compliment was as genuine as her smile, "She only works weekends, because of school. She's really bright. Oh, do you go to the same class with her?" Dawn trailed off looking slightly confused, perhaps wondering why Sean didn't have school.

"But... but she's just a cheerleader!" Sean blurted, unable to reconcile Tiffany's image with Dawn's description.

"Not sure I get your point?" Dawn's smile faltered.

"Nothing... never mind," Sean muttered hastily, "by the way, why do you need to risk yourself in the field? If that Bryson guy is conducting the demo, can't you manage things remotely?”

"Julia believes strongly in what she calls skin-in-the-game," Dawn chewed her lip, "It's one thing to make policy analysis from the safety of a desk, but actually experiencing the situation in person gives us a whole new perspective.”

Sean looked thoughful, “What are your... long-term plans, if I may ask? "

“Hoping to go into foreign policy and International Security, with my experience here,” Dawn smiled dazzlingly again, making Sean’s heart flutter, “which reminds me... let me get you all my casefiles that need an abstract. Don’t worry if you don’t make any progress, just put them on my desk before you leave.”

Sean’s 'feel good' neurotransmitter levels abated with Dawn’s departure and he kicked himself for his silly crush. Dawn was a few years older and most certainly saw him as a clueless noob. He languidly opened the first folder and touched the document within, cascading its contents into his mind. Next...

He yawned feeling sleepy and bored. The Doomtrooper training software still hadn't finished installing on the desktop, and he'd reviewed Dawn's entire caseload in his mind. Sean had spotted faulty assumptions which - to his newfound intellect - gleamed like diamonds in the sand. There was one scenario involving a sizeable contract for Fuller Dynamics as part of the ‘optimal move’. Interesting. Sean’s phone beeped a text receipt a second time that morning. Sean stared uncomprehending for a second, before hurriedly texting back .

Tiffany: 0Sum's noob intern? Don't trash my desk. Or won't save ur sorry ass again.

Sean: Tiff? is that u? I owe u 1... make it 2.

Tiffany: yes u do.

Sean: BTW, what r u doing @ 0Sum?

Tiffany: Research, duh. Wanna see?

Sean: u bet.

Tiffany: Outer Lab #7. DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING. Keys in botton draw.

Sean: on my way

#

Sean stopped bemused inside the room marked Outer Lab 7, brightly lit through the glass wall by the late afternoon sun. There were notes and diagrams scattered on desks around the room. The center of the room was taken up by a bewildering spagehetti mix of transparent tubes, bottles and pipettes crammed inside a wood frame the size of a refrigerator. Water dripped through metered stopcocks and pooled within calibrated bulbs. Water wheels spun analog flow gauges. Sunlight diffracted tiny rainbows through many captive droplets. It was oddly peaceful staring at the contraption, like something from a lab in 1920s. His phone dinged.

Tiffany: well?

Sean: It's dazzling.

Tiffany: what do u think it is, genius?

Sean: Water Integrator. Differential equation solver.

Tiffany: party pooper, how did u know?

Sean: what does Julia want it for?

Tiffany: bootstrap society without electricity. if it gets nuked back to stone age.

It was an old concept. There were far more efficient ways to crunch differential equations than digital computers. The simplest was to use a calibrated bucket to add up the rate at which water flowed through a hose. The rate could be any time-varying function and the volume collected in the bucket was the integrated solution to that function. One could link up any number of differential equations to model any system. It was massively parallel without digital constraints simply by harnessing physics itself. Sean imagined a medieval-level human settlement, armed with such physical computers. How fast could they rise again with such a cognitive assist? Manage fish stocks with predator-prey equations and avoid starvation? Precisely compute trebuchet artillery trajectories and crush their rivals?

He walked around the wood and glass structure, savoring the compactness of the design which was truly inspired. He could see it was meant to be modular, to allow it to connect to other such cuboids. How far could one go with this? Neural nets? Was it possible to have AI without electricity and let the machine bootstrap society? Had Tiffany really built this? Sean sat down dazed. It was pure genius. What was a girl like that doing with Jason? He remembered Kaitlyn's admonition against judging people one-dimensionally. Sean had always been intimidated by Tiffany's pretty face, but he'd assumed the blond cheerleader was "dumb". It dawned on him that he often ran into Tiffany in his advanced placement classes. She was most certainly not "dumb" and at least as smart as he was if the device before him was anything to go by. And she didn't have the benefit of cheating with a superpower like he did. Sean felt chastened as he texted back.

Sean: can see 1 or 2 ways to make it better.

Tiffany: Prove it, asshole.

Sean: is that a date?

Tiffany: In your dreams, punk. time & place TBD. Don't get fresh with me.

END OF CHAPTER