by Trixie More
“By the way,” Rob said. “I just sent you a list of sensor suppliers. I’m still blown away by how cheap these things are now.” Rob was by far the oldest of the group. He was an engineer and professor and had about thirty years on Derrick, who was twenty-five. Justin was the youngest, not even eighteen yet.
The three had met on a discussion board during the DARPA challenge finals. The concept behind the competition had been to create robots that could be controlled by non-technical people, use the same tools humans used and perform tasks when it was too dangerous for a person to do so. The goal was to move technology closer to a robot that could fight a fire, clear debris, turn off a valve in a nuclear plant during a meltdown or clear a biohazard.
All three of them had been watching the live feed of the challenge. Their chat turned into a video call, and the rest was history.
In Derrick’s loft, the lead bot found the board, its fingers curling around the edges and lifting a corner. The other bots rushed around it, heading to opposite ends, lifting it several inches off the ground. A cheer went up from Derrick’s friends, and he felt a wash of pride. People who got him—mad good.
“Whoa!” Justin cried.
“Amazing, sir!” Rob echoed. “Just look at the way those fingers are working! Astonishing!”
“Crazy!” Justin sounded like he might be jumping up and down. “You did it, good work. But here’s what bothers me …”
Derrick smiled to himself and plunked down on the stool near the screen, behind him, the bots continued to move the board while the primary went patting around, looking for the hole that presumably needed to be covered. Of course, in the loft, there was no hole. Ben was gonna be in for a surprise when Derrick took over yet another chunk of floor space by creating a deck a few inches off the floor. For now, he settled in to hear the laundry list of problems that Justin was going to layout. Many of them, Derrick probably already thought of, but there would be a few things that hadn’t crossed his mind, and that was why the three met. Plus, having someone else to talk to about this stuff, meant a lot to all of them. When the DARPA challenge had ended, Derrick had felt a keen sense of loss, of having missed something important. He wanted to build things, things that saved lives.
Ruble after the towers fell. That’s what came to mind when he thought of it. People and dogs searching the immense pile of wreckage. Ironworkers breathing in chemicals as they stood on the treacherous debris and used their torches to cut through the steel, to let the firemen get through to try to save who they could. What if there had been hundreds of bots to help? What if the figures running up the stairs in the heat and flames had been robots, inexhaustible, impervious to heat and smoke? What if the next time a beam swung toward an ironworker, there was a bot, able to deflect it? What if nobody ever fell through a deck again? What if it was because of something he built? Then his father and brother wouldn’t be the only Moss family members who saved lives.
On the screen, Justin continued through his list of concerns, and then Rob chimed in. Derrick had the session recording. No way he would be able to take notes as fast as these guys were thinking. Robots that could think that fast and make those disparate connections were coming, but they weren’t here yet. And yet, the pace of change around them was incredible. Artificial intelligence was gaining in leaps and bounds. Blockchain, a super secure method for tracking transactions using bitcoin, was going to unleash changes in commerce that were unthinkable, literally. And in Sweden? Derrick got excited just thinking about the stuff that was happening over there. In a perfect world, he would be there now, working with other people like himself. In his chest, he felt his heart thump. But that would mean leaving the union, and that wasn’t going to happen; he loved that work, loved the raising gang, loved the danger.
Justin’s voice went up an octave, catching his attention again. Good thing this was recorded. “Derrick, earth to Derrick.”
“Sorry, you wanker,” he said. Rob laughed. “I was trying to figure out how to get a robot to fold laundry.”
Justin smiled. Household chores were harder to program for than firefighting.
“What I want to know is why you’re stuck on the humanoid form.”
“Because it’s more understandable to a layman trying to use it.”
“Well, you’re making it a million times more difficult to achieve.”
“Nothing I do will ever see the light of day, so who cares how hard I make it?” Derrick countered. He caught Rob’s micro-expression, but the man remained silent.
“You’re a buzzkill, you know that old guy?” Justin made a crude gesture at him.
“What happened to Southern manners?” Derrick asked.
“You want ’em? Go to Georgia,” Justin said.
“It doesn’t have to be that way.” The words came from behind him. Derrick turned, seeing Ben coming toward him. Their newly refurbished living space had quiet doors.
Derrick didn’t bother to answer Ben.
“Hi Rob, Justin,” Ben said to the computer before turning back to Derrick. “You could just take these damn things to the Union, or quit spending your days climbing steel and actually try to make one of these things a reality. “
Justin and Rob were silent for a moment, and then, they muttered excuses and disconnected. They’d already seen this show before, Derrick supposed.
“Where were you?” Derrick asked.
“Out.”
“So why don’t you go back there?” He was irritated that his time with Rob and Justin had been cut short and he was tired of Ben telling him he should do something with his bots. Both men startled at the sound of plywood crashing to the ground. Derrick got up and began collecting his robots, turning them off.
“I was over at George’s,” Ben said.
“Yeah? What’s up?” Derrick was glad for the change of subject.
Ben took Derrick’s place, sitting on the stool that went with the adjustable work stand.
“Something’s whack over there.”
“How so?”
Derrick ripped off a sheet from the simple sketch pad they used and tossed it into the basket with the rest of their rudimentary designs, their idea starters. Ben picked through the bin, laying a few pages out on the table. Derrick cleaned up, keeping one eye on his friend as he went around picking up the robots and standing the plywood up against the table legs.
“I don’t know. Little stuff.” Ben’s voice sounded tired. “Like, George sold his Camaro.”
“Huh.” Derrick thought about that. George had planned on giving the car to his son, currently only six. “Woulda thought he’d hold onto it longer.”
“Right? And Mom’s thrilled. You want to know why?”
“Little George is never going to drive?”
“No, you jerk. Because Debra, George and the kids are eating over there, like, five nights a week.”
That made Derrick pause. Both women were good cooks, but Debra cooked a whole lot healthier, and he knew for sure, she didn’t want her kids eating at her in-laws every night. “Wow.”
Ben grunted. “George’s business isn’t what it used to be.”
“Right,” Derrick agreed.
Ben toed one of the bots toward him. “When are you going to just do this?”
“I am doing this,” Derrick said. Apparently, Ben was done discussing what was really bothering him.
“You’re doing this a little, but you aren’t actually making it happen the way you could.”
“I gotta make a living.”
“Do you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Derrick asked. Ben knew he had to support himself, had to pay off this loft that they owned together.
“You could go home.”
“Not really.”
“Really, you could sell out your share in this place to someone. I wouldn’t stop you, man. You could move home and put that giant brain of yours to work rather than keep packing on muscle.”
Derrick was silent. They’d had this conversation
a million times too often. Just because he’d built a couple of robots, it didn’t make him a rocket scientist. Or a neurosurgeon.
“Is this about George? You want to let him move in here?”
Ben shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe we could fix up one of the other floors. Maybe he could sell his house, save some cash.”
“I’m OK fixing up the second floor for him if you want to try it.” He pushed the bots under the table. “Stop trying to give him my bed. He made me sleep in the garage.”
Derrick waited, to see if Ben would start talking again but it seemed like he was done. After a bit, Ben got up and started fiddling with the drawings laid out at the end of the table. He had always been the better designer between the two of them. So much so, that it had shocked Derrick when, one after another, the universities they had applied to had come back with no offers of scholarships or grants for his friend. Even worse, the money offered to Derrick, who didn’t need it, had been off the hook. He’d never mentioned it to Ben, but Derrick often wondered if Sophia had.
Ben found something interesting and settled back in the swivel chair at the far end of the table, and started to sketch. Derrick was dying to know what he had thought of, but the air between them was still murky. He cleared his throat. Ben raised his eyebrows but didn’t look at him.
“I’m thinking of setting up a small sheet of decking over by the windows.”
“So you can have a hole for the bots to work with?”
“Yeah,” said Derrick.
“Sounds good.”
“You care where?” Derrick asked.
“Nope.”
“’K.”
They sat in silence working on their respective tasks for a while.
“You know,” Derrick started.
“I don’t want to hear it,” Ben said.
Derrick continued. Their discussions were so predictable and well worn, he couldn’t stand leaving half of it hanging there unsaid.
“You put just as much into these as I do.”
Ben grunted and thunked his sneaker-clad feet on the table, stretching his legs out and blocking Derrick’s view of his face.
“But I didn’t turn down my father’s offer of a free education,” Ben said.
“He didn’t offer.”
“He would have then, and he would now.”
But Derrick wasn’t as sure. Frankly, Derrick thought his dad would rather bungle an operation than see Derrick succeed. And if he did, Derrick already knew the truth. Virginia Tech had been Ben’s dream, not his.
Chapter 3
New York City
November 2016
“I don’t get it,” Allison said. Mastrelo’s was busy tonight, even the tables by the dartboards were full, so she was sitting at the bar nursing her black and tan.
“What’s that?” Sophia had her hip leaning against the ice bin, a bar rag over her shoulder, wisps of silky dark hair falling gracefully against her face.
“OK, so this place?” Allison gestured around at the packed tables. “Is crazy busy tonight.”
“Yeah?”
“And Allison’s Kitchen? Is a tomb.”
“They’re two different businesses, Allie.” Sophia nodded as a man in jeans, and a hoodie took the last empty stool at the bar. She didn’t even ask him what he wanted, just pulled out a beer, poured a shot and headed down to give them to him.
“I should be busy for Thanksgiving, don’t you think? I ran two different ads.”
“That’s not a lot,” Sophia replied.
“It’s all I could afford.”
Someone came in from the November cold, bringing a breeze and the moan of the wind in with him from the dark street outside. Allie looked over her shoulder and into his eyes. Everything stopped, at least for Allison. The activity in the bar, so noticeable a moment ago, seemed a world away. Her breath caught, and she couldn’t have spoken a word on a dare. He tipped his head to the side, just a fraction of an inch and the side of his mouth twitched up. She yanked her gaze away, turning her head so fast she could have snapped her neck.
“Oh, my,” Sophia whispered. “You have it bad.”
Allison snapped her eyes up to meet the other woman’s but Sophia was looking at the man in the doorway, and for the life of her, Allison didn’t know if the comment had been directed to her or construction god behind her.
“Hey, Derry.” Sophia’s greeting sounded like she was a mile away. An ale was already on the bar for him. A strange expression crossed Sophia’s face as she leaned over the bar and spoke to the old man sitting beside Allison.
“Joe, don’t you think you should head home? Isn’t your family getting ready for the holiday?”
Joe sighed. “Right.” He plunked a ten on the bar. “I’ll tell my wife you sent me, Soph.” He pushed off, twisting his neck to look up at Derrick as he passed him. “There’s a seat for you, Derrick.”
“Happy Thanksgiving, Joe.” Derrick moved in, shrugging off his leather jacket, taking the seat next to Allison. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to ward off the wild attraction swirling inside her. He took up far more room than Joe had, and he was throwing off heat like a welding torch. When he raised his ass, and his very, very fine thighs off the stool, to lean over the bar and tuck the jacket behind it, Allison felt her own awareness right between her legs. The slide of his thigh against hers as he settled back down was enough to make her want to leap from her own seat. The problem was if she leaped, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to land three feet away or right in his lap. She looked down and studied her glass. A quarter empty, bits of foam on the side, a condensation ring on the bar—fascinating.
“How’s business?”
Oh, my, fuck. His voice? Was connected to her insides, apparently. Unsettled, Allison propped her boot on the rung of her stool, spinning the glass in front of her. It wobbled, and they both tried to catch it before it tipped. Their fingers touched and just as quickly, they both yanked their hands back.
“Sorry.”
“Careful.”
This was nuts. “Not as good as I hoped,” she replied honestly and glanced over at him. Stubble from his beard shadowed his jaw tonight, the column of his neck banded by muscle that disappeared into his collar. Allison cleared her throat. She should say something but “Holy fuck, you’re hot” was probably not it. “Do me” didn’t seem like an option either, so she kept her mouth closed for once. When she turned her attention from the round, hard, shape of his shoulder, her mind offered up several ideas in the form of images she definitely shouldn’t have in her head while she sat in a public place. Beside her, Derrick coughed slightly, and her pulse leaped. For heaven’s sake, all the guy had to do was breathe and she was ready to go. Allison shifted on her chair and froze. His eyes were on her legs. She could see from the corner of her eye that the moment she moved, he looked. Hard.
That was it.
She got off her stool, pushing her glass away.
“I think I left the stove on.” Allison was already heading to the door. “Pay you tomorrow.”
Behind her, she thought she heard Sophia laugh. “Looks like I sent Joe home for nothin’, Der.”
“She likes you.” His sister whisked away the glass Allison had left when she’d run away. He could see their neighbor walking past the front window of the bar, heading back to her shop. Sadly, her gorgeous bottom was no longer in view. Derrick contented himself with the sight of her very pretty face. Her lips moved. Was she talking to herself as she fled? He smiled and looked at his sister.
“They all do,” he said smugly. That earned him a slap to the shoulder with the bar rag. He grabbed it and pulled. “Give me that, you witch.”
“You’re a dolt,” Sophia replied. “Is Ben coming tonight?”
Derrick sat back and considered his sister. She’d been asking about Ben more often lately. Of course, because he and Sophie were close, she was also friendly with Ben, but …
“Why?”
Sophia glanced down. “Just wondering.
Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving.” As if that explained anything.
She rolled her lips together, a nervous gesture she didn’t often make now that they were adults, and she kept her gaze lowered, offering him no view of her brown eyes.
“So?”
“Are you coming to Mom’s or will you eat at Ben’s?”
“Ben’s.” Derrick didn’t miss the disappointment on his sister’s face, and he looked away. “I always spend Thanksgiving with the Connellys.”
“Not always.” Sophia was vigorously washing out Allison’s glass. He should have followed their neighbor next door instead of putting himself through this. The thought surprised him. He hadn’t overtly understood that following her was one of the options he’d weighed. When had that become a thing?
“You didn’t always eat at their house on the holiday.”
“Soph, don’t make me leave.”
The beer glass was being polished like there was no tomorrow, the white towel whizzing around the smooth surface.
“Come home.” She jammed the glass under the bar and finally looked him in the eye. “Come home, Derrick.”
“You changed the subject.”
“What?”
“Why do you care if Ben’s coming here tonight?”
Sophia was already heading down the bar, collecting more empties, gathering up the dollars and coins left there as the waitresses gave her a list of new orders.
She was lonely, that he knew. His sister, if he stopped to look at her objectively, was stunning, but she was always alone. Among the dozens of short-term boyfriends, not one long relationship existed. She’d bring a new guy around or talk about him for a week and then it would be over, except for the guy’s confused badgering. She seemed to disappear from in front of them, leaving them calling Mastrelo’s, asking for her, or sitting at the bar while she hid in the kitchen.
It was a good image for him to remember. His interest in Allison would end up the same way if he weren’t careful. When things ended, they’d still be neighbors. Better to let whatever filled out those blue jeans stay a mystery.