The Outcast
Page 2
The robot performs a minor adjustment bringing the shuttle into the exact trajectory that will allow docking with the Science Hub. After a perfect hook up with the Science hub, the robot looks over his metallic shoulder at the fragile human cargo.
“Well, little one, I guess we are finally here.”
· * * *
There is a one-hour decompression to adjust to the Earth like environment inside the reception area module of the Science Hub. The robot, a first generation, and commonly referred to as R-5134, releases himself from the pilot’s seat and walks toward the small baby boy. He takes a seat on a cargo crate besides the child’s incubator. The environment inside the incubator is far richer in oxygen and air borne nutrients then found inside the environment of the craft. He sits there for a time and watches the boy with eyes that are camera lucida, as the boy stares back at him. He gazes into his blue eyes and taxes his artificial intelligence in an attempt to understand the small creation. He rubs his metallic forehead, covered in life-like synthetic skin, pauses briefly, and says, “You’ve come so far little one, and I bet you don’t even know anything about that, do you?”
The boy is fascinated with the sound of the humanoid’s voice, and the appearance of his caring stare.
“Ah, you’re suddenly interested. Well, it’s about time you paid attention. You’re a very long way from home.”
· * * *
“Welcome back Cousin,” Frank calls out over the radio as the robot docks into the Science Hub. He is careful at the controls as he knows the module carrying the child lies in his mechanical, capable hands. The robot picks up the incubator carefully, walks to the door of the craft. Holding the incubator in his metal arms he steps down onto the platform of the hub and into the empty stare of Franklin Spires.
R-5134 strides up to Franklin, “Cousin,” the humanoid defines, “one associated with or related to another, a child of one's aunt or uncle. You are not like me; you are not related to me in the sense of the term. Therefore, Frank you could not be my cousin.”
Frank stares back indistinctly, “You know - just a saying.”
“Understood,” the robot replies, “but you are not my cousin, and I am a robot, so, as there is no resemblance or relationship, I cannot be your relative whatsoever.”
Frank glances at the boy safely contained in the small incubator, “Well I see you got the child here safely.”
“It was no problem. The child was well behaved, for a tiny human and no trouble.”
The Robot opens the container and lifts the child out, as a female humanoid makes her way into the hub. She walks up to R-5134.
“I will take the child.”
R-5134 swings the baby away from the outstretched arms of the humanoid nurse. “No – I mean ... I can take the boy. You are no better than I.”
“Yes, you’re right,” the nurse replies, “But unlike you, I was programmed to be a nurse, a caretaker of humans, not just a chauffeur and a utility droid.”
The robot surrenders the child into the nurse’s waiting arms, “Okay.”
If man is still alive ... Zager and Evans
TWO
FEBRUARY 2038
Timothy Joseph Wade exits the plant and saunters across the parking lot pausing briefly to look for his transportation. He spots his transport among the many within the massive lot and quickens his pace.
He smiles proudly as he approaches the car. He is excited and imparts his happy feelings to his lustrous friend.
"Well baby Lou," he says triumphantly, fondly, to his car, "got the job - better get used to parking here from now on, and next time, don't get lost!"
He was grateful to his father for giving him the car as a present for finishing his degree. This Generator, just three months old, was the latest in a marriage of electromagnetic and ceramic technology. It was powered by plutonium-238, and shielded with a thin layer of depleted uranium. Plutonium-238, with a half-life of eighty-eight years, was an extremely viable resource used to power the vehicle; a power that could last a person’s lifetime.
Timothy briefly reflected on past measures of transportation as he regarded his Generator. transporters not long ago were powered by gasoline, and he imagined the hardship people had to endure in decades past to get from point A to B, having to rely on gasoline as fuel. He imagined how expensive in the long term it came to be and the way it could cause wars, and fluctuate in pricing which could dictate and in many cases downturn an individual’s economical situations.
His father, Anthony James Wade had been a major player in the transition; he fostered, and drove the technology which piloted the age of electromagnetic engineering and turned the automotive industry upside down. He understood fully, as he made the drive home from his new job with Electro-Tech that, realistically speaking; even though his father was not there at his hiring he got his position within the company was guaranteed, due to him. He also knew that when he did reach the house he grew up in, he would not have to say one word about getting the job. His mother and father knew he would get the position. In addition to that he also knew that had he turned the position down he would be able to venture into any realm of electronic engineering of his choosing and garner a position there as well. He knew it – they knew it. It was in the genes, and assured by his father’s accomplishments.
· * * *
MARCH 2019
"Now breathe, Stepphie. Remember all these past months we practiced?"
"I am breathing, Mister Wade," she said trying her best to smile at the same time between gasps, "it's just that your son wants out of here. He's wanted out of here I think, the day he was conceived, and now that the day has finally come, he's ...ouch!" Stephanie yelled all of a sudden, like something had walloped her in the stomach.
"Just breathe baby," Anthony admonished, "just breathe baby, breathe."
Stephanie Ann Wade breathed, beautifully.
"Come on Stepphie, push!" Anthony encouraged, cheering her on.
Timothy arrived. Timothy stuck out his little head into the world right on time, and Anthony was there, first hand and with a big grin on his face.
"Oh Stepphie, he's so beautiful," Anthony said as Timothy came fighting his way into the twenty-first century.
"Does he have any hair?" Stephanie asked craning her neck to get a glimpse of the first and only child she was to ever have.
"Are you kidding? He's got more hair than all the Beagles put together!"
"Beatles," Stephanie corrected with one last grunt.
"Whatever. He's a fine young lad, a fine boy."
· * * *
FEBRUARY 2038
Anthony and Stephanie were waiting for their son sitting in the front yard in lawn chairs as he motored into the driveway. Timothy got out of the car, a big grin on his face.
"You got the job?" Stephanie asked.
"Was there any doubt?"
They celebrated their son's good fortune. Stephanie fixed his favorite, eggplant parmesan and as they all sat down over dinner the talk immediately moved to the new position at Electro-Tech.
"Mr. Watkis told me that I would be a supervisor in no time," Tim said wolfing down a forkful of the tasty meal.
"Watkis… you mean you got to talk to George Watkis?" Anthony asked.
"Sure did. He practically met me at the door and hired me before I got a chance to sit down in his office."
"Most impressive, son," his father said. "I guess I did make a good name for you to follow on."
Stephanie laughed, "Must you carry on in such a way, Anthony Wade?
"Do you hear what your father said, Timothy?"
"Yes, Mom, I heard, but, then again, it's true isn't it? If it wasn't for Dad, and all he did for Electro-Tech, I don't believe I would have been so readily accepted, now, would I?"
"Yes, I believe you would," Stephanie said with bountiful faith in her son’s abilities.
"I know Anthony might have had some influence over your being accepted, but I also want you to remember that if it hadn't be
en for your outstanding academic record, I don't believe Mr. Watkis would have been so aggressive in recruiting you," she said glancing over at Anthony.
"You're very well right," Anthony said in all seriousness, "the bottom line in Watkis' decision was your school records.”
· * * *
The next morning, Timothy drove back to his job at Electro-Tech for orientation. Orientation would consist of a tour of the facility and the position he was hired to do. Upon entering the building, a temporary badge was given to him which he pinned to his shirt. Human Resources would issue him a permanent badge by the end of the day, as well as the numerous forms he would fill out for the new job.
The facility was massive, sectored off between research, and development. He would work in the research end of the concern.
"Well, Mr. Wade, where shall we start?"
She strolled. It seemed like she glided across the floor. There was magic in the air, and Timothy felt it right off. He came to attention like he was in the armed forces, stiffening right up. He marveled at her shoulder length dark auburn hair which flowed onto her pretty head like a full flowing river, which as she sidled up to Timothy, came to the center of his six-foot-one frame. She introduced herself.
“Shirley McAllister,” she announced, extending her hand,” my job is Public Relations. Usually, I give tours of the plant to foreign investors, and VIPs. Mr. Watkis asked me to show you around,” she smiled, “where do we start?”
"I don't know," Tim answered, "what do you say? Let's wing it," he said as he swept out his hand promoting her to lead the way. They started off in the developmental section. Robots were being built all over the place. Robots, small, but highly sophisticated, of all shapes and sizes filled the many areas of the complex.
"These are auto-bots," Shirley said pointing out a specific strain of robots. Timothy asked what their purpose in life was.
"Several functions, relative to various degrees of industry," she said batting her vivid green eyes.
“There primary used in nuclear power plants as well as other industrial uses to perform hazardous functions.”
Timothy examined the squatty robots, supplied with four different types of arms.
"But they are also used for unmanned space missions, and, Mr. Wade, have even been used in bomb squads."
"Tim, please call me Tim. So, in addition to all those appendages, they are intelligent?"
"Most definitely, Tim," she blushed. “Once programmed for their specific task, these auto bots can carry out their tasks completely unaided, and unsupervised."
They moved on through the developmental area. Shirley pointed out other bots, briefly touching on each one's individuality. In another section they toured the massive electronics' section, the brains of the industry. All around various circuit boards filled with high tech circuitry were being assembled in a massive clean room. Finally, they entered the research section and Timothy's future.
"What's that?" he asked noticing a huge vat filled with a gurgling, bubbling viscous fluid.
"Skin," Shirley said with a subtle smile.
"We're researching the idea of a more humanized butler bot. These robots are used in the private sector. They are known as humanoids. Robots that have been placed into service in the private sector are lacking the essential human characteristics making them quite scary to young children.”
“We’re trying to change our tarnished image,” Timothy chimed in.
“Exactly, we're trying to change that by building our butler bots more like a human, and fitting them with silicon, based latex skin."
Timothy studied one of the completed humanoids, “And the hair?”
“Go and run you hand through it.”
Timothy walked over to the robot and ran his hand through the thick, black head covering.
“Feels just like real hair, and it is?”
“Synthetic as well,” she replied.
They finished their tour of the facilities around lunch and Shirley asked Timothy out to eat.
"Is this part of your sales pitch?"
"Why do you think I rushed you through your area so quickly?"
They left the plant, and the City of Industry. They took her car and ventured north into Covina, stopping at one of Shirley's favorite Chinese restaurants. They were seated by a Chinese waitress who recognized Shirley right off.
"They know you here, do they?” Timothy picked up a menu.
"I come here all the time, and though I love to cook at home, I still love the notion of being pampered."
"Chef McAllister.”
"You bet," Shirley said, "I took a course at UCLA, on gourmet cooking. I was never a person of tradition, and when it came to cooking, found that to be true also. Oh, I started out with the basic dishes, right after learning to boil water, but for the most part I found that kind of cooking was a bit unfeeling. In which case I broadened my horizons, went to school, took a course and learned how to really cook."
"Well it sure didn’t seem to me that you were a person who would take up the art of cooking, I mean – “
"Vegetarianism," Shirley said, "I learned to substitute, and it is easy when you learn how to cook your way through different cultures you can draw on many different ideas.”
"Take for example, a particular recipe calls for beef in a traditional dish, all you have to do there is get yourself some soy protein, and form it with some kind of veggie, and presto! You have your meat substitute."
The conversation smattered on through the ordering process; they each ordered egg-drop soup, her without meat, and Dragon tea. After the waitress brought the soup and tea, the conversation moved to business.
"Let me ask you, what do you think of Electro-Tech?"
"I like it fine. I think I will fit in there nicely, and from what I've seen so far, at the outset, I already have an idea for a project."
"You do, already?"
"Yes. When I saw that vat of artificial skin, I got an idea."
"You did, and if I may, could I ask you what that idea might be?"
"Well," Timothy began, "why don't we just wait a few days, let me put my idea into motion, and then instead of telling you I'll show you."
"Sounds fair to me," Shirley replied. "I guess I really didn't have any right to pry. After all, you are the prodigy of one of the most innovative men to have ever worked at Electro-Tech. And one who put this company on the map of the world, and Asian technology in their place. That said, who am I to ask a purely creative person such as you?"
"Don't worry about it. We sit here, we talk, and I gather revealing information about you also. I find myself quite impressed by you, and I can see right off that you are not a traditional person either. I am not. Seems we strike a common ground and balance. We search out new ways to do things, we foster innovation and are not confined to the use of one set of principles."
“I’m not too sure about that,” she replied, “one thing I do know, I’m starved,” she said as the waiter brought the lunch to the table.
· * * *
George Watkis listened intently as Timothy laid out his plans and intents. He spoke like a person in charge, demanding options feverishly, being adamant.
"You know it's strange," Watkis finally said, "you've only been here a day, and already you are taking the place over, just like your revolutionary father. And at first, I was always a skeptic of his plans and principles, but his conviction in his presentation as he would lay out his plans and procedures would finally win out, and as the project completed it would leave no doubt to his brilliance. That amazing man took us from a two bit, and unknown electronics firm to a leader in robotic technology, unheralded, unchallenged.”
"Well then, I promise you Mr. Watkis, if I get my allowance of manpower, we will go at a rapid pace into the future from where we are now."
Somehow George knew that as he regarded the carbon copy of Anthony Wade.
"Okay, what do you need to get started?"
· * * *
"And, you
mean that's all there is to it?" Timothy asked.
"That's all there is to it,” Watkis said, but mind you, it's so much less flack I give you then I gave your father. But I learned a lot from that encounter, and we have much more for research now then we had all those years ago."
Timothy laid out his requirements.
"First, I will need a couple of expert frame men. Then, we should bring in one good silicon latex skin man. Oh, and your top programmer, and another man who is excellent in the field of artificial intelligence, to work on a personal level with me; then finally, to complete the team, two or three assemblers. Last, but surely not least as my close assistant, Shirley McAllister.
"Shirley?" Watkis questioned, "she's just a public relations person. Why would you want her?"
"Because she's innovative, non-traditional, and I'll be taking my meals with her. She's a gourmet."
"Well I’ll be damned, I did not know that at all," Watkis replied.
“Which brings me to another important point,” Timothy replied, “we all learn something new every day.”
Watkis agreed to the terms, even going as far to working on the project through the night when the plant was vacant. Timothy promised results within thirty days.
· * * *
"Why do you want me to go to work with you? And why did you ask for me without first asking me about it?" Shirley asked.
"I thought you needed a change," Timothy smiled.
"Well thank you for considering me for the project, Mr. Wade, but I'm afraid that I have to turn you down on your offer. I am perfectly happy in my position right now."
"Why don't you just give it a shot for a week or two?"
"I don't know anything about manufacturing robots, Mr. Wade."
"Please call me Tim."
"Okay, Tim. But what does this all have to do with me?"