Free Good King Sauerkraut by Barbara Paul Page A

line of sight. So we’re going to have to come up with reliable tactile sensors.”
    Ha! King thought. I knew it!
    â€œIf you need something more specialized than what we’ve already got in development,” Osterman continued, “let Rae know and we’ll subcontract the firm that can provide it. The point is, we’ve got to get this baby right. Because the quality control is going to be rigid .” Osterman paused for a breath. “Defense has been caught with egg on its face just once too often. They don’t want any more turkeys like the Bradley Fighting Vehicle or the Aegis Radar Detection System showing them up. The time when no one gave a damn whether a weapon worked or not just so long as everybody made a little pocket change out of it—well, those gravy days are over. Too many watchdogs now. So … no short cuts, people.”
    Dennis asked, “Who’s doing the mobile land mines?”
    â€œAutomated America,” Osterman answered. A Japanese-owned firm. “Personally, I think that one’s going to be a dead end. But as long as it keeps the competition busy and out of our hair, I’m not going to say so where anybody can hear me.”
    King looked up from his sketching. “Supply? How are these platforms to be kept supplied with ammo?”
    â€œThat’s part of the project, a supplier and loader. Find a way.”
    King nodded and turned back to his sketches. He needed another legal pad for notes; without looking up he reached out and took Rae Borchard’s. Rae didn’t notice; she was busy passing out the folders containing the minimum specifications Defense insisted on.
    Osterman spent some time speaking about various technical requirements, his voice rumbling like a worn-out machine. “Rae’s also got reports on earlier attempts to meet all these specs. Earlier failures, that is. They might save you some time.” She passed them out, and Osterman glanced at King, amused that the latter was already on the job. “Dennis, I hope you’re getting all this because I’m not sure your partner is.”
    â€œI’m listening,” King said without looking up.
    Mimi was reading something in the specifications folder. “Warren … Defense wants computers in the control units that are voice-responsive?”
    â€œRight. Defense figures there are going to be so many screens to watch at once that the soldier-operator won’t have time to type out instructions. They’re planning on using Carnegie Mellon’s Sphinx—another DARPA project.”
    Gregory waved a small hand dismissively. “That won’t work,” he said. “The Sphinx computer is still talking baby talk. I attended a demonstration at CMU, and the poor thing got confused by the different accents people have. It couldn’t understand Southern at all.”
    So Gregory’s been in Pittsburgh recently , King thought and then carelessly dropped his pencil. When he bent down to pick it up, he looked under the table and was surprised to see Dennis’s hand in Mimi’s lap. Her legs were just far enough apart to give him room. King barely avoided bumping his head when he straightened up.
    â€œThat must have been an early demonstration you saw,” Rae was saying to Gregory. “The computer now recognizes eight basic groups of dialects, and its vocabulary keeps growing each day. Sphinx will be ready before we are.”
    Gregory smiled at her. “You guarantee that?”
    She smiled back. “I guarantee nothing.”
    â€œGuarantees or no guarantees,” Osterman said, “Sphinx is what Defense wants to use, so you’ll have to program for it. Before we go any further with the specs, though, you’ll want some time to study them as well as Rae’s reports on our other projects that may have applications you can use. Say we meet again at two tomorrow—that should give you time to familiarize