before. But Mike Nevins, the psychiatrist who had been helping him with his PTSD, had recommended it for him.
“It’ll be good therapy,” Mike had said.
Bill hoped Mike was right. And he hoped it would take the edge off his nerves to try it out with Riley.
Bill and Riley took positions next to each other among upright four-by-four wooden posts, facing across a wide grassy field toward a paved area. On the pavement were vertical barriers marked with bullet holes. A few moments ago, Bill had talked to a guy in a control booth and everything should be ready now.
Now he spoke to that same guy through a little microphone in front of his lips.
“Random targets. Go.”
Suddenly, human-sized figures appeared from behind the barriers, all of them moving about in the paved area. They were wearing the uniforms of ISIS-style fighters and appeared to be armed.
“Hostiles!” Bill called out to Riley. “Shoot!”
Riley was too startled to shoot, but Bill fired one shot and missed. Then he fired another shot that hit one of the figures. The figure bent completely over and stopped moving. The other figures turned to avoid the gunfire, some of them moving faster, others hiding behind the barriers.
Riley said, “What the hell!”
She still hadn’t taken a shot.
Bill laughed.
“Stop,” he said into the microphone.
Suddenly, all the figures were motionless.
“Today we’re shooting at fake guys on wheels?” Riley asked with a laugh.
Bill explained, “They’re autonomous robots, mounted on Segway scooters. That guy I talked to in the booth a minute ago is punching in programs for them to follow. But he doesn’t control their every movement. In fact, he doesn’t really control them at all. They ‘know’ what to do. They’ve got laser scanners and navigation algorithms so they can avoid each other and the barriers.”
Riley’s eyes were wide with amazement.
“Yeah,” she said. “And they know what to do when the shooting starts – run, or hide, or both.”
“Want to try it again?” Bill asked.
Riley nodded, starting to look enthusiastic.
Again Bill said into the microphone, “Random targets. Go.”
The figures began moving as before, and Riley and Bill fired single shots at them. Bill hit one of the robots, and so did Riley. Both of those robots stopped and bent over. The other robots scattered, some gliding about capriciously, others hiding behind barriers.
Riley and Bill kept firing, but the shooting was getting harder. The robots that stayed on the move darted in unpredictable patterns at varying speeds. The ones who hid behind the barriers kept popping out, taunting Riley and Bill to shoot at them. It was impossible to tell from which side of the barrier they might appear. Then they either scurried around in the open or took shelter again.
Despite all this seeming chaos, it only took about half a minute for Riley and Bill to take out all eight of the robots. They were all bent over and motionless among the barriers.
Riley and Bill lowered their weapons.
“That was weird,” Riley said.
“Want to stop?” Bill asked.
Riley chuckled.
“Are you kidding? Absolutely not. What’s next?”
Bill swallowed, suddenly feeling nervous.
“We’re supposed to take out hostiles without killing a civilian,” he said.
Riley looked at him sympathetically. He understood her concern. She knew perfectly well why this new exercise made him feel uneasy. It reminded him of the innocent young man he had mistakenly shot last month. The boy had recovered from his wound, but Bill still couldn’t shake off his guilt.
Bill was also haunted because a brilliant young agent named Lucy Vargas had been killed in the same incident.
If only I’d been able to save her, he thought yet again.
Bill had been on official leave ever since, wondering if he’d ever be able to get back to work. He’d completely fallen apart, lapsing into alcohol and even contemplating suicide.
Riley had helped him through it – in fact, she had probably saved his life.
Bill felt like he was getting better now.
But was he ready for this?
Riley kept eyeing him with concern.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” she asked.
Again, Bill remembered what Mike Nevins had said.
“It’ll be good therapy.”
Bill nodded at Riley.
“I think so,” he said.
They resumed their positions and raised their weapons. Bill spoke into the microphone. “Hostiles and civilian.”
The same actions as before began to unfold – only this time, one of the figures was a female draped in a blue hijab. It certainly wasn’t hard to distinguish her from the hostiles in their drab, brown outfits. But she was weaving among the others in seemingly random patterns.
Riley and Bill began to pick off the hostiles to the same effect as before – some of the male figures dodged the bullets, while others took shelter behind the barriers, only to dart out at unpredictable moments.
The female figure also moved as if frightened by the gunfire, hurrying to and fro frantically, but somehow never bothering to hide behind a barrier. Her simulated panic only made it harder not to accidentally hit her.
Bill felt cold sweat forming on his forehead as he fired one round after another.
Soon he and Riley had shot all the hostiles, and the woman in the hijab stood alone unscathed.
Bill breathed a slow sigh of relief and lowered his weapon.
“How are you doing?” Riley asked, a note of worry in her voice.
“Pretty good, I guess,” Bill said.
But his palms felt damp against the weapon, and he was shaking a little.
“Maybe that’s enough for now,” Riley said.
Bill shook his head.
“No,” he said. “We’ve got to try the next program.”
“What’s that?”
Bill gulped hard.
“It’s a hostage situation. The civilian will be killed unless you and I take out two hostiles simultaneously.”
Riley
