I looked upon the assortment of combat robots with a trickle of utter shock slowly percolating through my mind. How in the hell did they get a Mark IV Sentinel? Those were new pieces of kit, fresh off the Shaw Industries assembly lines. I wouldn't be surprised if Mark I and Mark II Sentinels were available on the streets by now, but this was a newer model! Judging by the look of the goons outside, these guys were one of the smaller mob operations. How could they possibly have swung this?
I cleared my throat and turned to the man escorting me. "How'd you get a Mark IV Sentinel?"
Someone else cleared their throat in an obnoxious manner. "Actually, it's a repainted Mark V. Take a look at the head."
I turned toward the voice and saw a skinny kid, maybe nineteen or twenty, emerging from behind one of the Dreadnoughts. He had the kind of pale complexion that screamed "too much time indoors" and thick-rimmed glasses that he kept pushing up his nose. His dark hair was messy in that deliberate way college freshmen thought made them look intellectual, and he wore a faded Iron Man t-shirt under an oversized army surplus jacket.
"See, you can tell by the head shape," the kid continued, walking over to the Sentinel with a distinctly cocky strut. "Mark IV has the classic rounded dome configuration, but the Mark V switched to this more angular design with the modified sensor placement. Plus, look at the neck articulation, that's a completely different joint system."
He pushed his glasses up again, warming to his topic. "The Mark IV was basically a remote-controlled toaster with legs. No independent AI whatsoever. They had to be piloted from a control center. Made them easy to jam or hack, which is why Shaw Industries upgraded to the Mark V's autonomous systems. This baby's got a proper neural net and can adapt to combat situations in real-time. Way more dangerous than the IV, but also way more valuable."
I blinked. "And you are?". He walked over and enthusiastically pumped my hand.
"Jimmy Gallo. My uncle needed some help with the robots and I'm a first year mechanical engineering undergrad at Empire State University"
I barely managed to stifle a groan. First I found out about the retcons,then got the robots dumped on me, then a zealous undergrad freshman. When it rains, it pours.
He waved off my escort. "I can brief Quince on the status of the bots."
The mobster gave us both a nod, then swiftly exited the room.
"The Sentinel is in immaculate physical condition, but has some sort of software problem. I'm not the biggest software guy, so if you could take a look, I'd appreciate it." He paused, scratching his head. "The first dreadnought's gyroscope is completely fucked,might need to fabricate new parts for that. Second dreadnought's in even worse shape, if you can believe that."
Jimmy gestured toward the damaged machine with a mixture of pride and exhaustion.
"The power coupling is completely fried. It looks like someone hit it with some kind of energy weapon that overloaded just about everything. The main reactor's intact, but all the power distribution relays are slag. We'd need to completely rewire the torso section, assuming we can even find compatible components."
He pushed his glasses up again and walked over to the HYDRA Mankiller. "This one's interesting. The missile launch system jammed. Something got wedged in the loading mechanism and when they tried to force it, they bent the missile rails. Plus there's what looks like acid damage on the left leg servos,along with the obvious slashing damage."
Moving to the Walking Stiletto, Jimmy's voice took on a more technical tone. "The AIM bot's the real puzzle. That energy projector in the forehead? It's not just chipped—the focusing crystal's cracked internally. Without a replacement, it's basically a very expensive flashlight. And the damaged blade hand has stress fractures running through the entire assembly. Try to use it in combat and the whole thing'll shatter. Not even going to start to guess how the whole arm assembly got bent."
He stepped back, surveying the collection. "Honestly? The Sentinel's your best bet for getting operational quickly. Fix the software issue and you've got yourself a twenty-foot killing machine. The others..." He shrugged.
Taking a superficial look at the bots, I assumed his assessment wasn't completely detached from observable reality. "I'll hook up to the Sentinel and take a look. You got a computer around here somewhere?" Jimmy pointed me to a terminal in the corner of the room. I cracked my knuckles and got to work.
The terminal was another standard UNIX one, as evidenced by the return from the help command. I looked around. "What type of port does the Sentinel use?"
Jimmy slapped a connector on the desk. "Proprietary Shaw Industries on one end, standard serial on the other."
Unprompted, we both rolled our eyes in unison.
Jimmy snickered. "Wise to the ways of defense contractors are you?"
I sighed through my teeth. "Let me guess. The data link protocol is a proprietary wrapper on some standard DoD protocol..." I plugged the serial end into the computer, and slowly unspooling the rest of the cable, walked towards the Sentinel. "You got a manual? I'd love to know more about this, starting with where the Sentinel's diagnostic port is?"
Jimmy scratched his head and pointed up at the Sentinel's massive head, twenty feet above us. "Well, here's the kicker. These Sentinels are built to be maintained in a gantry, mainly because Shaw Industries wanted to deploy them from missile silos. So the connector for data is alllll the way up there on the head."
I craned my neck back, following his finger to the robot's imposing head. "Of course it is."
"Worry not." Jimmy smirked. "I have a cunning plan." He gestured toward a corner of the warehouse where a tall rolling scaffold sat folded against the wall. "Help me roll this thing over here."
The scaffold was heavier than it looked, but between the two of us we managed to wheel it into position next to the Sentinel. Jimmy kicked the wheel locks into place and tested the stability with a practiced shake.
"You've done this before," I observed.
"Had to get up there to poke around when we first brought this thing in. Couldn't make heads or tails of the proprietary plug, but I figured out where the diag port was at least." He gestured up at the robot's imposing head. "After you."
I climbed up, located the interface panel, and connected the cable. The connector slotted in with a satisfying click.
After I climbed down, Jimmy slapped a thick manual down on the table. "Here's your bedtime reading," he said with a grin. "This manual is classified Top Secret SCI, requires WIDEAWAKE compartment access. Uncle Sam really doesn't want the unwashed masses seeing this."
I flipped through the manual's first few pages, noting the classification markings. "You realize neither of us should have this, right? Plus those guards definitely know what they saw."
Jimmy waved dismissively. "These guys have been with the family for years. They're solid."
"That's still two people who can put you at this location with stolen military hardware," I said, settling at the terminal. "Just saying."
Jimmy just shrugged. "My uncle's been running operations like this since before you were born. He knows what he's doing."
Mentally adding overconfidence to my assessment of Jimmy, I decided there was no time like the present to start trying to connect to the robot.
Opening the terminal, I flipped through the manual first, scanning for connection parameters. "Let me see what this thing expects..." I found what I was looking for in Section 4.2: Maintenance Interface Configuration. "115200 baud, 8 data bits, no parity, 1 stop bit."
I configured the terminal emulator with the manual's specifications and decided to try writing some data to the serial port, mainly just to see if there was anything home. When I sent a simple carriage return:
Code:SHAW INDUSTRIES SENTINEL MK-V v2.3.1
SYSTEM STATUS: STANDBY
AWAITING AUTHENTICATION...
"Yahtzee," I exhaled. "It's alive. Good news is the basic systems are online. Bad news is it wants authentication before it'll talk to us."
I flipped through the manual, scanning for authentication requirements. "Says here it needs a physical auth key plugged into the terminal for wired access. Did your boys or whoever picked this up grab the authentication hardware?"
Jimmy shook his head. "Nah, we didn't see anything like that."
I bit back a string of profanity. Of course it wouldn't be that simple. Military hardware was designed by paranoid engineers who assumed someone would try exactly what we were doing. I was going to have to reverse-engineer the authentication protocol, figure out how to bypass it, or find some other way in. I definitely wasn't lucky enough for them to have some piss-easy vuln like a buffer overflow. This was going to take months if at all.
"Actually," Jimmy said with a grin, pulling a small device from his pocket, "I was just messing with you. We got this little guy too." He held up what looked like a small block with a male DB-25 connector at the end. "One of the guys thought it might be important when they were loading everything up."
I stared at him. "You were screwing with me?"
"Had to see how you'd react. My uncle always says you learn more about a guy when things go wrong than when they go right." Jimmy tossed me the authentication key. "So, can you get us in or what?"
I caught the device and examined it. "Yeah, I can work with this. Just... don't do that again. My heart can't take it."
I plugged the device into the parallel port, then tried the serial connection again. This time when I sent a carriage return, I got a full menu.
Code:SHAW INDUSTRIES SENTINEL MK-V v2.3.1
SYSTEM STATUS: STANDBY
AUTHENTICATION: VERIFIED
DEVELOPER ACCESS GRANTED
MAIN MENU:
1. System Diagnostics
2. Hardware Status
3. Software Configuration
4. Sensor Calibration
5. Movement Systems
6. Weapons Systems
7. Communication Protocols
8. Memory/Storage Management
9. Emergency Procedures
0. Exit
Please select an option (1-9, 0 to exit):
>
"There we go," I said, cracking my knuckles. "We're in developer mode now. I can access the full command set, diagnostic systems, maybe even reprogram some functions."
Jimmy leaned back in his chair. "Well, this is the furthest I've gotten. Everything past this point gets... buggy."
"Buggy how?"
"That's what I need you to figure out. Something's not right with the software, but I can't tell what. Every time I try to get it to do anything useful, weird shit starts happening."
I stared at the command prompt blinking on the screen. "Define 'weird shit.'"
"You'll see. Try running some basic diagnostics first - see what the system thinks is wrong with itself."
"Makes sense," I said, turning back to the terminal.
I selected option 1 for System Diagnostics. The screen refreshed:
Code:SYSTEM DIAGNOSTICS MENU:
1. Basic Boot Test
2. Hardware Component Check
3. Sensor Array Test
4. Power System Analysis
5. Memory Integrity Check
6. Communication Link Test
7. Full System Scan
8. Error Log Review
0. Return to Main Menu
Please select diagnostic option:
>
"Let me start with the basic boot test," I said, typing '1'. "Should give us a baseline of what's working."
Code:BASIC BOOT TEST INITIATED...
Checking core processors... OK
Checking memory banks... OK
Checking power distribution... OK
Checking motor controllers... OK
Checking sensor interfaces... OK
Loading base operating system... OK
Loading tactical protocols... OK
Loading target identification... OK
BOOT TEST COMPLETE - ALL SYSTEMS NOMINAL
Press any key to continue...
I stared at the screen, frowning. "That's... odd. Everything passes, but I'm getting intermittent character corruption on the display. See how some of those 'OK' messages flickered?"
Jimmy nodded. "Yeah, that's part of the weirdness. Sometimes commands work, sometimes they don't. Sometimes the display gets garbled."
The symptoms were familiar - I'd seen this kind of behavior before. "This reeks of a memory error. The boot test is probably too simple to catch it - looks like they just recycled old test code without updating it for the newer hardware." I stood up and cracked open the manual. After finding the location of the memory on the robot, I headed for the scaffold. "Let me check the physical RAM."
I climbed up and located the memory panel. Inside were six brick-sized memory modules. Apparently the 616's advanced tech hadn't solved every engineering problem - these things were massive compared to what I'd expected. I pulled them out one by one, and the third module had obvious damage
"Found it," I called down. "One of the memory chips is physically damaged. That'll cause random corruption that the basic diagnostics won't catch."
Jimmy cursed. "That would explain it. The problem is, we don't have any spare modules sitting around." He pushed his glasses up his nose with a sardonic grin. "Because of course Shaw Industries made the memory modules proprietary. Heaven forbid someone repairs their sixty-million-dollar killing machine with commercially available parts."
"So we're stuck?" I asked, climbing back down.
Jimmy hummed to himself. "Let's think it over. You want to grab lunch? I think we'll brainstorm better if we're not staring at the problem."
I nodded, realizing I hadn't eaten since the bagel that morning. "What's good around here?"
"Well, we're in Queens, so we got options." Jimmy pushed his glasses up. "There's a decent Italian place about ten minutes away, or we could hit up this Greek joint my uncle likes. Makes a mean gyro."
I considered this. Back in my timeline, the obvious choice would've been finding the nearest halal cart - quick, cheap, and surprisingly good. But in 1984, those weren't ubiquitous yet.
"Greek sounds good," I said. "I could go for some lamb."
"Dimitri's it is, Quince" Jimmy grabbed his jacket. "Fair warning though - the old man who runs it doesn't speak much English, but his daughter translates. And the portions are huge."
As we walked toward Jimmy's beat-up Datsun pickup truck, I found myself missing the simple convenience of being able to grab a chicken over rice from a cart on any corner. The 80s had a lot of things going for it, but halal carts weren't one of them.
"You look like you're mourning something," Jimmy observed as he started the engine.
"Just thinking about food options. Different times."
"Yeah, well, wait till you try Dimitri's lamb. You'll forget all about whatever you're missing."
The Datsun's engine settled into a steady rumble as we pulled away from the warehouse district. Jimmy navigated Queens streets with casual confidence, taking shortcuts through residential blocks that looked oddly sparse to my eyes. I'd expected more high-rises, more density - but this was 1984, before decades of development had transformed the borough. Most buildings topped out at two or three stories, with plenty of small houses and corner delis that would probably be luxury condos in my time.
Jimmy found a radio station just as the DJ's voice crackled through the speakers: "Here's a golden oldie from everyone's favorite disco queen - Dazzler!". He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat. For a few minutes we drove in comfortable silence, the familiar rhythm of city traffic oddly soothing to me.
"Wait, hold on. There used to be this European Maggia bigshot - Bushmaster - who handled specialty imports from Europe for all of the East Coast Maggia families. Military electronics, advanced components, that kind of thing. He had connections with suppliers in Eastern Europe who could get their hands on Soviet tech, reverse-engineered Western stuff." Jimmy's expression fell. "But he's been dead for a couple years now. Got himself killed trying to mess with Power Man."
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, thinking. "Thing is, Bushmaster used to work with my uncle's crew sometimes. We're part of Hammerhead's organization, but things have been tight since the boss got pinched last year. My uncle's been scrambling to find new supply lines ever since."
I blinked. "Your uncle works for Hammerhead? I thought the traditional families were pretty strict about the old ways."
Jimmy snorted. "My uncle gave up on all that traditionalist bullshit years ago. Two reasons: first, Silvermane. That old bastard sold out to HYDRA. When the wheels fell of that he uploaded his brain into a fucking robot body. Surprise surprise, that shit also flopped and now, he's stone-cold dead." His voice took on a disgusted edge. "My uncle decided that if that's where 'tradition' leads you, maybe tradition ain't worth shit."
"What about the other families?" I asked. "The Nefarias seemed pretty non-traditional."
Jimmy's expression shifted to thoughtful analysis. "See, that's the thing - you gotta find the right balance. The Nefarias went full cape-twirling supervillain. Count Nefaria holding Washington D.C. for ransom with a force dome? Madame Masque declaring war on Tony Stark? That's the kind of flashy shit that gets the Avengers kicking down your door every other Tuesday."
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "But then you got the traditional Cosa Nostra families on the other end - so obsessed with 'honor' and 'the old ways' that they can't adapt. That's why they're running a distant third in the city. Meanwhile, Silvermane was ranting about tradition while partnering with Nazis and uploading his brain into a robot."
Jimmy's voice took on an admiring tone. "That's what makes the Kingpin such a force, you know? He's got the organizational skills and respect of the old ways, but he's not stupid about it. No flashy costumes, no declaring war on the government, no robot bodies. Just methodical, intelligent crime. He modernized without losing his mind or painting a target on his back for every cape in New York."
Jimmy paused, something clicking. "Target..." He muttered the word under his breath, then his face lit up. "Target - that's it! AIM! They target grad students, they've got the tech expertise..."
"Eureka!" he shouted suddenly, cranking the wheel hard to the right. "I'm an idiot! Of course!"
The truck bounced over the curb as Jimmy executed a highly illegal U-turn in the middle of the street, earning a flurry of angry honks from the cars behind us.
"AIM!" he said, accelerating back the way we'd come and changing lanes without much warning. "I know a guy from school..."
I grabbed the door handle as we took the turn a bit too fast. "What the hell, Jimmy?"
"Not necessarily stuck," Jimmy said, grinning as he straightened out and blasted through a yellow light that was definitely more red than yellow. "My uncle gave me a discretionary budget for exactly this kind of situation. I know someone who knows someone in an AIM cell - might be able to get compatible hardware."
I stared at him while he took the next corner with a little too much enthusiasm. "You're connected with AIM? The guys with the beekeeper suits who build doomsday weapons?"
Jimmy shifted gears more aggressively than necessary, making the engine rev. "Which university did you go to?"
Shit, that's an issue. Hope he doesn't pick up that my uni wasn't exactly well....in this universe. Might as well keep it vague.
"I went to a private research university, why?" I said, steadying myself as he swerved around a double-parked car with maybe six inches to spare.
"Right." Jimmy nodded, taking one hand off the wheel to gesture while talking. "At most research universities, if you know the right questions to ask, you can get a hold of someone who knows someone. If you get my drift." He grabbed the wheel again as we hit a bump. "AIM is pretty academic nowadays- some cells recruit heavily from STEM grad programs. The friendlier cells are basically just a bunch of unethical grad students with deniable government contracts. They're not all megalomaniacal world-conquerors."
"Just... some of them?" I asked, watching him slide into the next lane with minimal signaling.
"Well, yeah." Jimmy shrugged, rolling down his window to get some air. "But the ones I know mostly stick to selling hardware on the side and publishing papers with questionable review processes. Think of those cells as really sketchy defense contractors with better lab equipment."
He hummed thoughtfully, mercifully slowing down as we hit some traffic. "Now the guys who use Cadence Industries as a front, they're what you'd think of when you think stereotypical AIM, complete with cackling."
I raised my eyebrow. "AIM fronts are common knowledge?"
Jimmy smirked, finally coming to a halt at a red light. "They are if you're in the right circles. You know what they say—you're already a little cracked in the head if you do a PhD, and those guys really show it. The academic ones just channel their crazy into patent violations and selling stolen tech instead of doomsday devices."
I processed this as Jimmy drummed his fingers on the wheel. "And you think they'd have compatible memory modules for a stolen Sentinel?"
"Only one way to find out." Jimmy shrugged, taking off perhaps a half-second before the light actually turned green. "What say we pop over to Jersey, grab some grub there, and hit up the AIM cell my friend works with afterwards?"
I pondered what my life had become then shrugged.
"Might as well