Pickman narrowed his eyes. “Do you have combat experience, Mr. Brodie?”
“I do. As does Ms. Taylor. I’ve been in battles like this, minus the robots, and I had the choice of either winning or dying. And if I had gotten killed, I’d have had the luxury of staying dead, not waking up and doing it all again tomorrow.”
Pickman eyed the model of the training grounds. “It’s an issue of speed. The bots move and shoot faster than the Rangers can even communicate. The Rangers can run the same exact play, day after day, to try to refine it, but the bots will react a little differently each time. Not because they’re learning—they’re not—but because of random chance. How the sun hits the buildings, wind kicking up a cloud of dust here or there. And one slight change—a bot choosing to turn right instead of left—leads to a cascade of new actions and reactions, and within seconds the playbook’s in the toilet. But the men are working it out.”
“Actually, they’re losing their minds.”
The captain looked back at Brodie and clenched his sizable jaw. “We all have our duties here, Mr. Brodie. As I understand it, yours is to either find or rule out foul play. How is that going?”
“Fantastic,” replied Brodie. “Everyone’s a suspect.”
Pickman did not react to that.
Taylor, looking to change the trajectory of this conversation, turned her attention to Cousin May-bell. “Who has access to this room?”
The specialist replied, “All officers and NCOs. But camp regulation is that an individual trained on the system—in this case, myself—needs to be present to access and operate the computers and headsets.”
“Have members of the DEVCOM team viewed these playbacks?”
She nodded. “Yes, ma’am. One or two of them are always present at the after-action assessment following each exercise.”
“Have they come in independent of the after-action assessments?”
“Only Major Ames.”
“How often?”
“Oh, a lot.”
Brodie and Taylor shared a look.
Brodie asked her, “For what purpose?”
Christiansen Blair shrugged. “Above my pay grade, sir. But I’d say the major was a meticulous man. He wanted to take more time with the recordings than was typically afforded in the after-action reports, which are basically a real-time playback as you just saw but live-narrated by Sergeant First Class Miller or one of his subordinate NCOs.”
Taylor followed up: “Was this practice of his consistent throughout your time stationed here?”
The SPC thought a moment. “No, ma’am. More in the last couple of months. Like, March. Maybe late March.”
Brodie recalled that the first of Major Ames’s three nighttime visits to the Vault to visit with Bucky had occurred on April 3. Something had spurred that behavior. Something, maybe, that he’d seen in this room.
Brodie turned to the captain. “We’ll need a few minutes alone now with the specialist. Thank you, sir.”
The captain offered a creepy little smile and said, “If you need to interview May-bell in private, that can be done anywhere, Mr. Brodie. If you are interested in continued access to this system, an officer or NCO must be present.”
Taylor said, “Sir, we may or may not need Specialist Christiansen Blair to access the after-action review system. That will be determined by me and Mr. Brodie. In order for us to conduct a fair and thorough investigation, that determination is not, and cannot be, your business.”
That was the most tortured and long-winded “fuck off” Brodie had ever heard. He put a bow on it by adding, “Thank you for your time and attention, Captain Prickman.”
“It’s Pickman.”
“Isn’t that what I said?”
Pickman opened his mouth to reply, thought better of it, then just nodded sharply. “You know where to find me.” He said to Specialist Christiansen Blair, “Whatever they need, May-bell.”
“Of course, sir.”
Pickman looked at the agents one last time, then left the room and shut the door.
