by Hammond, T.
The approaching heavy tread of hiking boots preceded Bas, who called out, “Did you find it? It looks like we have a drone missing from the house security program too. The readout shows we lost it last night in almost the same place as the second drone.” He joined us outside.
I released David to give Bas a one-armed, good morning hug. “Hey, Handsome. I’m betting you’re working off a donut too. I’m feeling left out.”
“Don’t worry,” Red called out from his hiding spot, “we saved a chocolate one for you.”
“Are you guys giving donuts to the dog?” I’m pretty sure I sounded suspicious as well as grumpy. Amazingly, no one spoke up to deny my accusation; I took that as guilty silence. I made a mental note to bring up the subject of the dog’s diet again later, when donuts weren’t at stake. “I can’t believe the dog got a donut before anyone offered one to me,” I pouted. Yeah, I know, really mature. But they all knew I loved donuts.
Ken followed Bas out from the house and rattled his handful of hijacked hardware. “Super Dog took out the drone, plus most of the metal ones you were missing from last week.” I heard a clatter that sounded like Ken spilling the drones on the picnic table beside us.
“Don’t you guys use GPS or something? Can’t you just find them when they go missing?” I asked.
“Whatever is disabling them seems to turn the drones off, so there’s no signal. Kinda like when you turn off your cell phone,” Bas answered. “These are the cheaper, lightweight versions we use for speed and maneuverability tests; they are pretty low tech compared to the military-grade stuff we haven’t unpacked from the egg crates yet.”
David chuckled. “Is it too late to trade him in for a Chihuahua? At least they can’t jump higher than a few inches off the ground.”
Red’s voice piped up from somewhere under the deck, “I caught them fair and square.” There was a thoughtful pause. “I think I should get a finder’s fee.”
When I repeated Red’s suggestion, David retorted, “Finder’s fee? They wouldn’t be ‘lost’ in the first place if you left them alone.”
Call it a moment of weakness, I took this opportunity to defend my faithful canine companion. “You have to concede that when the darned things are flying around the property, they look like small balls. You know his favorite game is ‘fetch’; talk about waving a cape in front of a bull. Red may be able to talk to me like a person, but he is still a dog - of course, he’s going to chase them.”
“I’ve been tempted to come out here a couple of times with a tennis racket,” Ken admitted.
“Coffee?” I asked hopefully.
“Brewing,” Ken reassured.
“I suppose I should confess, the cat next door caught one of the metal ones last week when it flew close to the fence line. When I chased her, she dropped it so I added it to the pile I had already caught.”
“Red tells me the cat next door caught one of them.” I grinned, “Obviously you forgot to review The Rules with all the surrounding animal life.”
Bas started laughing. “David, you have to admit that ten feet away from the deck is a great catch. Not to mention it was going almost fifteen miles an hour. We’ll have to review the cameras and watch.”
“Red,” I called. “Come on out. You’re not in trouble.”
To my two warriors, I said, “What we have here, is a failure to communicate. You guys renegotiate the rules. I don’t want the dog hurt by leaping off the deck. A no-fly zone should apply to the dog as well as the drones. Add power words and phrases to your discussion like: no treats, no steak, and kennel. Those seem to work for me.”
“We don’t want him hurt either, this was why we explained Rules of Engagement to him in the first place,” Bas told me. “We even set up a no-fly zone over the deck to reduce temptation.”
“Maybe you guys should include me in on the human-canine negotiations from now on? He may understand your words, but you can’t hear Red’s replies to make sure he understands the finer details of your instructions. You know that nuances sometimes escape him, resulting in a loose, and often advantageous, interpretation of the Rules.” I grinned, “Such as him thinking, if he can catch it from a leap off the deck, then he can go for it. He’s very smart, but he’s a dog. If he wants something he just takes it and begs forgiveness afterwards.” I frowned in thought. Actually, when I think about it, I can recall the ‘it’s better to ask forgiveness, than seek permission’ strategy has been in Bastian’s repertoire for years. My smile widened; it seems like Sebastian Declan is getting a little of his own back.
“I thought we made it clear to him,” David complained.
“Yeah, we even used small words and visual aids,” Bas added, with a laugh.
“Bas-Terd,” Red contributed as I heard his nails clicking up the stairs.
I smirked, and kept the dog’s last remark to myself. “You neglected to clarify that if he has to fly to reach it, it’s out of bounds. It’s pretty obvious to me that your idea of a red zone and his idea of a Red Zone are at polar opposites.”
“We need to do something,” David grumbled. “These are the basic prototypes, but they are still pretty pricy. Even more importantly, we can’t afford to have the testing halted every time Red wants to play fetch. We need to run the full program, uninterrupted.”
“Actually, they don’t look too bad,” Bas said. “The propellers are bent on all of them, but no broken tails. They should be easy to fix. Depending on whether Red damaged the bodies, we may be able to salvage most of these, or use them for parts. If I can put them back into working order, we can add them to the current twelve drone security pattern. We have five metal ones here that we had written off as lost, carted off by wildlife, or broken.”
“Do you mean ‘broken’ like the one that smashed into the tree last week?” Ken asked, in all innocence. “It must have been going ninety miles an hour when it hit that elm at the fence line.”
My voice was low and threatening when I asked, “The golden elm near the pond? I love that tree.”
“The top half is smashed to smithereens,” Ken said, with all the glee of a destructive five-year-old.
David’s warm arms wrapped around me pinning my arms against my body, I was not unaware of the comparison to a strait jacket. Oh Man! I really, really like that tree. “Does it make a difference if I say that it was an accident?” He asked. “The tree guy we called seems to think he can save seventy percent of it.” He placed a string of tiny kisses over the bridge of my nose, ending with a warmer one on my lips. My head dropped forward on David’s very wide, rock hard chest. Mmm, he smelled nice with the hint of sandalwood cologne mixed with clean sweat.
Tree? What tree? “Very almost effective distraction technique, Mr. Preston,” I said with a sigh. “Try and save it if you can. I knew there might be accidents with the testing.” Pause. “It was an accident, right? You’re not targeting trees are you?”
“No, of course not,” he assured me. “I zigged when I should have zagged. Operator error. Totally an accident.”
“I’m just happy you don’t fly them that fast towards the house. Be safe, okay?”
A tight hug was all the affirmation I needed. Although that chocolate donut wouldn’t hurt right about now.
We had set up the twenty mile per hour maximum speed limit over any area with a manicured lawn or structure; the average was closer to ten miles per hour. In other parts of our acreage the drones were allowed higher speeds as long as it was directed away from the house, and the homes of the few neighbors around us. David and Bas were currently buying up a total of twenty-two additional acres to the west for range expansion - that was his story anyway. I suspected their main motivation was to build an extra layer of privacy.
Our property abutted forestry lands and a wildlife conservation area on the south and east, so we didn’t worry about people wandering into the area from those directions (the incline off the Little Spokane River was too steep and marshy). There were quite a few undeveloped lots on the third si
de that, theoretically, could be developed, bringing neighbors closer to where we were nestled in the terrain. Those vacant properties ran along the sanctuary boundary also; the guys were looking at securing a strip of land almost a quarter-mile long.
I grinned, not only did David lay siege to win my heart, he was now building a fortress to protect his prize… well, okay, his prize and maybe a couple hundred thousand dollars’ worth of military-grade equipment. I was still amazed at the amount of money the government threw his way to keep him supplied for all his projects. He may have been Navy for twenty plus years, raking in a respectable military salary, but he was making some serious money now, and his budget seemed unlimited.
David was a combination computer programmer and electronics wiz, with some seriously advanced hacking skills added to the mix. With Bastian’s help, the two of them built and modified drones to work with David’s programs. Many aspects of this work were top secret, but he shared enough that I knew he and Bas were concurrently working on two programs, one offensive and the other defensive, that involved the use of mini-drones.
The defensive aspects were already in use as part of our home security system. Miniature drones monitored activity on the property. The guys were constantly refining data and upgrading them to perform a combination of increasingly delicate movements and more sophisticated target identification. The drones were currently learning to distinguish between images that walked on two feet versus four feet; something to do with height and the way the head moved. I was impressed by the feature that allowed the drones to override their own program momentarily to avoid an unknown moving obstacle in their path, such as a deer, going around or over it, before resuming its grid pattern. Bas and David needed to add that feature to all of the drones if they insisted on testing close to the house. If the drones can react fast enough with an avoidance feature, it may help them circumvent leaping canines. Just sayin’.
The offense programs seemed to have more solemn applications, from what little David would say about them. Although the majority of the offensive test drones are basic shells to test maneuverability, a half-dozen of them have cameras or sensors feeding back infra-red, sonic, still images, and streaming video data to a main computer located somewhere in the depths of the Cave. The guys were using the imagery to develop three dimensional and holographic maps. They assured me that their prototypes would not carry explosive payloads (Yeah, like that had really crossed my mind before they said that, right?), which led me to wonder, how much harm could a golf ball-sized drone cause anyway? It didn’t seem like that much explosive material could be packed into one. The guys had a secretive smugness to their tone, when I scoffed at them. I’m sure the joke was on me, but some things I just don’t need to know.
At last count, we had over thirty drones engaged in a variety of tests or duties, buzzing around the house and grounds. Add this to the security cameras, two vigilant military strategists, and a super smart German shepherd - we were pretty much impenetrable.
The doorbell rang.
And there it was folks! The security is only as good as the person paying attention to the consoles and readouts. I scoffed, “Gee, I wonder who managed to breach our perimeter, Ken.”
“I’ll get it,” Ken said, his voice turned away toward the door. He saw something he didn’t like in the security camera in the entryway because his voice dropped, becoming hesitant. “Hey guys? Are these G.I. Joe wannabes friends of yours?”
Chapter Two
Ken and David stood at my side as Bas answered the second, more insistent, ringing of the doorbell. When he opened the front door, I heard the sound of a dozen or more of our drones buzzing like angry mosquitos. David whispered to me, “The drones are in a holding pattern behind our visitors. It can be disconcerting to have them crowded so closely, aimed in your direction.”
“They should have called first,” I replied. “Do you think they’re here to talk with you and Bas?”
“Nope, our employers would not think to show up at the house uninvited; it’s a respect thing. I believe we are about to find out who Officer Blair emailed the video of our police demonstration to. It’s bugged the hell out of me that I haven’t been able to trace the email recipient. Officer Blair was very systematic in covering his trail, and without access to the laptop that was used, I couldn’t track down the account.”
“Damn, Bas has gotta cut back on the weights,” Ken griped. “His shoulders have gotten so broad I can’t see around him to identify anyone in the doorway.”
“Oh, and the fact he’s six-foot-three has nothing to do with blocking the view?” I teased.
“David is six-five and we can see some daylight around him when he stands at the door,” Ken joked. “Although, his shoulders are almost as wide across as Bastian’s.”
“Gentlemen,” Bas said, his tone suggesting he thought they were anything but. “How can we help you?”
One man replied in a high, nervous voice, “We are here to have a conversation with Team Red.”
“Ah,” David said thoughtfully. “Our visitors knows about the Team. What’s most interesting is Gil didn’t come up with the Team Red designation until after the illegal video was taken.
We had been secretly taped last September inside the police department, when Red and I did a demonstration of our unique mind-speak abilities for a special task force that wanted our help to catch a rapist. Red discovered, by accident, that an officer took illegal photos and video of us, emailing it to a person we never identified.
“These guys know our group works as Team Red. Officer Blair must have contacted the email recipient again, after the email account we were trying to trace was cancelled.” David contemplated. “I may find something in the former-officer’s personal email or his cell phone records.”
Bas was still talking to the people at the door, his tone abrupt and irritated, “I see. And, is there a reason why you didn’t call first and make an appointment?”
“What’s going on?” Red asked. His body brushed against my leg so I knew where he was. “Why have Bas and David gone into Alpha posturing?”
I relayed Red’s question. “Unexpected visitors,” David explained. “Can you approach the door, but stay behind Bas? Let Teresa know your impressions? Watch Bas for sign language.”
Red’s nails tapped across the linoleum and I continued my interrupted conversation with David, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but peeking at the former officer’s email would be considered hacking, wouldn’t it?”
“Only if they catch me. If I don’t get caught, I will disavow any prying on my part,” he said smugly.
“Red leaned a shoulder into Bas to let him know he’s there,” David commented, apprising me of what was going on. “I can’t hear what the uniforms are saying, can you?”
My hearing was excellent, to offset my lost eyesight, but not in this case. “No, sorry,” I answered. “The drones are too loud.”
“Let’s freak them out by putting the drones in stealth mode,” David said, with an evil chuckle.
Bas had recently finished the design of a handheld touchpad control panel the size of a paperback book; David had probably had it in his back pocket when he came up from his lair to find the missing drone. I grinned a calculating and wicked grin - if that welcome kiss had lasted a few seconds longer, I may have found the control pad myself. There was the faint tapping of a stylus against the touchpad screen. It took five seconds for the buzzing to be replaced by a strange whispering noise. “There, that should do it,” David sounded pleased with himself.
“Way to go!” Red praised. “I think the guy in the back almost wet himself.”
“According to Red, you are having the desired effect,” I drawled to David, skipping the specifics. I added, “I didn’t know the buzzing noise was on purpose.”
“It gives us an idea of where they are. Also, we want intruders listening for drones, that way I can have some moving around in stealth mode that would probably remain undetected.”
Ke
n, can you go down to the Cave and grab my laptop from my desk? Just unplug it and bring it up. Be quiet on the stairs, I don’t want them clued in that we have a basement.”
“No problem. Back in a sec.” Ken’s sneaker-covered feet were quiet as he headed for the secret pantry entrance. Luckily the foyer wall shielded most of the house’s interior from view, so no one would have any idea where Ken was. I remembered Ken’s remark about Bas’ shoulders with a smile - they probably couldn’t see around the huge body standing in the door frame anyway.
“There are four men. All of them are wearing guns,” Red said. “Bas is very angry with the talking man. The talking man says he will send the police department video to the media if we don’t talk with them.”
I swear David growled when I mentioned the last part of what Red communicated me. “Oh really? Teresa, I need to sit down and concentrate. Do you want to come to the couch to sit with me?” David asked.