The superyacht revved down its engines, easing into its docking spot at the concrete pier against a backdrop of large boxy buildings in glass and steel. Richard Fuller led the way up a short flight of concrete steps onto a tarmac where a checkpoint had been hastily set up. A squad of  soldiers in camouflage combat uniforms and helmets flanked the egress point, watching the gaggle of highschoolers with intent wariness. Sean and his classmates goggled back. Did the US Army usually provide security details to private defence contractors? The soldiers looked alert and held their M16 rifles at readiness but pointed at the ground.

"The Army has placed the facility on alert," explained Richard turning to the kids, "They have reason to believe that GORGON is planning an attack, and Fuller Dynamics has been deemed vital to national security."

"An attack?" Judith stared at her dad, her voice rising in pitch, "Here?"

"Our drones are deployed against them in the Balkans. GORGON isn't happy about that," Richard shrugged, then smiled warmly at his daughter, "Not to worry, munchkin. Everything that comes into the plant is scanned, sniffed and probed. People, goods, vehicles. Safer in here than Fort Knox. Plays hell with supply logistics though, I can tell you that."

One of the troopers stepped forward with an open booklet, glancing at it and glancing back at high schoolers as they followed Richard in a single file through the check point. Sean recognized the booklet as he passed. It was a copy of their yearbook. Apparently even the chairman of Fuller Dynamics wasn't enough to vouch for their IDs. Another soldier waved an electronic  wand over each student, like some bizzare benediction. A train of golf carts awaited beyond the checkpoint. Instead of forward facing seats each cart had a single bench seat facing to the right without any steering wheel. Richard got into the first one flanked by Judith and Reginald. The land train started on its tour after all the kids had strapped in.

"Welcome to Fuller Dynamics," a recorded feminine voice sounded softly from speakers in their headrests, "the first stop ahead is the Cereborg Final Assembly plant. As many of you may know, the Cereborg land based combat drone is the cornerstone of our product lineup, having proved itself in service for nearly five years. The current production version is designated Release Cupcake..."

Sean rolled his eyes followed by titters from his fellow students at the incongruity of a hunter-killer drone being called cupcake. The convoy crawled through a enormous door, keeping clear of forklift traffic, then rolled smoothly up a metal ramp against one wall. Bright fluorescent lighting replaced the waning sunlight outside. Sean leaned forward in anticipation to look down at the factory floor. Hulking forms stood on conveyors that ferried them at a leisurely pace, as men and women in hard hats and safety glasses maneuvered segments of armor plating onto beast-shaped quadruped chassis. Robotic arms suspended overhead held components for human workers to fasten into place. The Cereborg drones were often in the public eye and Sean had seen pictures of them, but that didn't really prepare him for seeing them up close.

"Holy shit," whispered Kaitlyn beside him. Sean nodded mutely.

Etymology probably derived from the hound of Greek legend, the Cereborg resembled a canine as much as a Tyrannosaurus resembled a gecko. The gunmetal grey torso was the size of a bull moose. Three claws like icepicks on each feet. The slender segmented tail was longer than the torso and almost prehensile in its flexibility, curling upward like a dog's tail until it pointed forward. The tail was tipped with an M134 Mingun held aloft like a scorpion's sting, ready to deal death at 6000 rounds per minute, the ammunition belt packed into the tail itself. Sean's attention was drawn to the drone's head. The elongated skull was half as long as the torso, the blunt torpedo shaped cranium nearly featureless except for a pair of stereoscopic lenses gleaming like dark red apples from within deep set sockets. The lower jaw pivoted on hefty gimbals where the skull necklessly widened into the torso on segmented joints. Six-inch spikes of alloy steel rimmed the lower jaw making it resemble an Angler fish in the way it jutted beyond the skull. A chain-jointed bandsaw ran around the entire periphery of upper jaw like ghastly dentures looping through the skull. Each saw tooth was three inches long and the overhead lights glinted off the razor edge. When the jaws snapped shut the lower spikes meshed protectively around the upper band that could easily dismember a small tree trunk... or a human torso. Spikes for impaling and sawteeth for slicing. Nightmares given form, Sean gulped uneasily, like some superpredator from the dawn age of Man.

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"Is... is that skull design from the movie Aliens?" asked someone.

"We get that a lot," Richard chuckled, "but the designers were actually inspired by an old cult classic called Death Machine. Or so I'm told."

"...armor hardened against most low-yield explosions," the monologue continued softly from the speaker, "and shielded against EMP blasts by an inner Faraday sheath, the Cereborg is immune to most light weaponry in it's theater of combat... redundancy for durability... three widely spaced 500 kilowatt PEM fuel cells output an impressive 1.5 MW of total power for maximum acceleration..."

1500 kilowatts, Sean whistled. That was the peak power of a Lamborghini "The Stig" Murcielago, or a late WW2 fighter plane. The cart train exited the assembly plant emerging onto a skybridge with a sheer drop below, causing Kaitlyn to suddenly clutch Sean's arm.

"Afraid of heights, aren't you?" Sean grinned teasingly, "Hold on tight to... daddy."

Kaitlyn made a rude gesture with her tongue, withdrawing her hand.

"Our next stop will be the Proving Ground," whispered the speaker, "where the Cereborg is put through its paces... only its meele attack is tested here, not its ranged primary weapon for safety reasons.. the tail gun tested at the US Army firing range at... the Cereborg is programmed with the latest advances in neural network facial recognition to target enemy leaders... once acquired the target has little chance of escape... ultra high resolution binocular video cameras that can see a wide range of the EM spectrum..."

Up ahead was an enormous domed structure like a stadium with an entrance high up on its side. The convoy passed into it and emerged in a cavernous amphitheater dimly lit by hundreds of pinpricks of light from the ceiling to simulate the night sky. Far below was a cinder block structure, low and wide like a dwelling. Its roof was missing, no... the ceiling was a transparent slab bolted to the walls, Sean realized, with the floor plan laid out like a labyrinth.

A Cereborg stalked within the simulated enemy base, poking into each room briefly and moving onto the next. It reached the barricaded exit door and rammed through it without slowing down, the thick wood splintering. It paused to look around and stared up a steep slope of rubble in one corner of the amphitheater. At the top of the simulated hillside mannikins in GORGON uniforms moved like puppets suspended by strings. There was just enough light to see each mannikin modeled with unique facial features. The Cereborg snarled with a screeching whine as its bandsaw spooled up and shot forward like bullet. The thing probably weighed as much as a truck, but it accelerated like a cheetah much too fast to follow. It reached the hillside and ran up the near vertical slope without slowing, claws scrabbling with effortless purchase on the rocks. The Cereborg's skull swivelled as it reached one of the mannikins, nightmare jaws opened and closed shredding the mannikin, artificial blood spraying.

A few startled screams sounded from the tour train - both boys and girls  - but Sean turned in surprise as Kaitlyn laughed delightedly.

"Oh, yeah," Kaitlyn yelled pumping her fists, looking utterly engrossed, "That was frickin' awesome."

END OF CHAPTER