"There are several large tech companies with research facilities in this city," Vega explained. "The country gives them a huge tax break to operate here. South Africa truly embraced upcoming technology and they are now the country known around the world for being home to the brightest minds in this field."
"And so what do you plan to do? Go buy a robot brain from one of these big companies?"
"No, no. The things we need are not commercially available. The stuff used in appliances that are available on the market today would not fit the bill. We need a custom job by someone who is not affiliated with a company. We don't want someone who will keep records."
"Do you have someone in mind?" Greg asked.
"There is a club I heard about," Vega said, nodding his chin down a street.
Greg walked as though in tow, head on a swivel, studying a future he would be too old to appreciate when the time came. Cars were not flying across the pavement. Tire still met pavement, as in his day. The vehicles here had an autopilot that navigated the city streets while the occupants enjoyed the ride. In the sky, small craft, a cross between blimps and helicopters, flew across the city, landing on rooftops. All told, seventy years into the future and little had changed. Greg was slightly disappointed.
"Apparently this club is an open-member establishment and is a favorite spot for the type of intelligence engineers we need," Vega said.
"I think they may get the idea that I am a bit underage to be in a club," Greg said.
"Oh, it will be fine. It's a social club, not a discothèque. And besides, you would be surprised at the ages of some of the geniuses that work in this city," Vega said. He stopped and consulted a sign. "This is the place."
Greg had a bad feeling when Vega ducked into the dark, narrow stairwell. The steps led down into a sub-surface level. Following Vega's lead, they were plunged into the darkness. The walls were white plaster with tan dust clinging to every non-vertical surface. The concrete ground was damp and the ceiling was too low.
The pair passed two random doors inset from the walkway, a single blue light bulb marking their location. This was the type of shady place that Greg's mother had warned him about; a place where you were just asking to get mugged if ventured through late at night.
Despite the fact that it was still technically noon, Greg felt like he had just used the coin to jump to a whole new time and location. The door at the end of the hall was like the others, except for the red light overhead and a foreign word painted in modest lettering.
Vega pushed open the heavy door and went inside.
Greg shuffled after with apprehension, but crossed the threshold. He found himself on a small platform with stairs that led down to the main floor. There were two dominant colors, crimson and black, the latter being painted all over the walls and floors. Mirrors were everywhere, and where they weren’t, long swooping curtains covered the blank walls. Red lights highlighted crimson curtains. Black leather couches surrounded circular tables with decorative iron fasteners. A full bar faced the door. Lots of dark space haunted the depths of the club.
Greg felt completely outside his comfort zone, but Vega strolled right up to the barman and sat down. They were the only ones in the vacant club.
"For you, Sirs?" The bartender asked in his thick South African twang.
"Lemonchello. Two," Vega said.
"And what brings the two of you in?" The bartender asked as he went about making their order. He wore a clean white shirt with a Chinese collar, sleeves tailored to three quarters length, and a black satin vest. His hair was slicked back and several days' worth of stubble grew from his cheeks.
Greg's head swam, as he took in the unfamiliar environment.
"We are from America, on a business trip," Vega said, accepting his yellow drink.
Greg inspected his in curiosity. He picked up the glass, attempting to look like he knew what he was doing. He put his nose to the crystal before taking a small sip.
"Business, eh?"
"Beating the bushes, as it were," Vega said. He took a small swallow and nodded in approval to their server. "Perhaps you could help us. What is your name?"
"I am Mohammed," the well-dressed barmen said.
He leaned back against the shelves of alcohol, and took out a pen-like device and put it to his lips. He drew in and exhaled smoke, nodding to the older gentlemen’s request. The fragrant cloud dissipated almost instantly.
"We are here on an errand of recruitment, you see." Vega said. "We have much to do and little time. Our goal is to interview qualified individuals for a lucrative job opening."
"What sort of individuals?" The barkeep replied.
"Well, this place is famous for engineers, is it not? We are looking for unencumbered professionals that would fit our bill. Someone very skilled. Someone who can build a device and program it. Anyone you know come to mind?"
Mohammed made a noncommittal affirmative gesture, considering the smoking device in his hand.
"We would pay a finders fee of course," Vega added. He glanced at Greg, who had tried his second sip of the forceful lemon nectar. Greg got the hint and opened his coat, digging through an inside pocket for something small. He fished around and drew out a small coin the size of a dime. Greg clapped it on the bar in front of Vega. It was a tenth ounce of gold, worth around two hundred dollars in Greg's time.
Mohammed set his smoke stick down and came forward to his customers. He eyed the coin. "I know of three men who may fit your bill. I do not program computers, but the customers talk and you can get a sense of their specialties. I don't know exactly what each does for work, but they could likely be what you need. "
Vega studied at the man for a moment and slid the small coin over without diverting his gaze. "Pick one, the best one; the one that needs the employment the most. Choose well and you may get a bonus. We are not in town long and have many people to interview. Now tell me: where do we find him."
"These engineers," the bartender said, making the coin disappear and spreading his hands in apology, "they work their own hours. No one tells them when to show up to work or when to go home. The come and go at their own whim. As long as they get their work done, no one cares. But the man I am thinking of, he has recently been let go. His separation package has almost been exhausted and he comes in here every night to drink and talk to his ear. He is looking for work. He will be here tonight, at least by ten. That seems to be his habit."
"Ten, it is then," Vega said, sliding from his bar chair and tapping Greg on the shoulder. The pair left, one glass empty, the other with two sips gone. They made for the exit, then returned at ten that night.
Mohammed was still there, having stayed longer than normal to await his two benefactors. He had high hopes the Americans would return and reward him for a job well done. When Binno Terrace came in the club that night, the free drink offered up to him was a surprise. Mohammed usually never gave anything for free, but tonight he was smiling and extra hospitable.
For Vega and Greg, no time had passed as they walked back up to the bar, and Mohammed pouring their drinks. Greg waved his off. "That's him, over there. He is called Binno," their host informed.
Vega nodded in appreciation and scooped up his drink. He took the lead past Greg and crossed through the sparsely occupied club to where their hopeful engineer sat alone. "May we sit?" Vega said over the soft music.
Binno's eyes came back into focus after being zoned out, engulfed in his own personal trance, melded with technology. He gazed at the two, then agreed, speaking to the device in his ear while they took up seats.
"Our friend at the bar said we should have a chat with you," Vega opened.
Mohammed nodded from across the room, his endorsement calming the apprehensive out of work intelligence engineer
"Okay..." Binno said. "Who are you, then?" He asked, his Italian accent that had been diluted with the local jaw. Binno Terrace was tall and thin, black close cut curls and patchy facial hair giving away his young age.<
br />
"I am Professor Vance and this is Tom Gregory, one of my grad students."
"Binno Terrace."
Binno gave Greg a closer look after hearing of his position but continued to listen to Vega's sales pitch. The young man was extremely nervous, sitting on the edge of his seat, and seemed to be ready to bolt at any time.
"It's very nice to meet you Mr. Terrace," Vega said, tipping his drink to the man across the table. "I was told you are an experienced intelligence engineer, is that right?"
"Sure. Are you from Alonstrat? Is this about my severance package?"
"We have come on a business trip, looking to interview several candidates to fill a position with our university," Vega said. "We are not affiliated with your former employer."
"Which university?" Binno asked.
"University of Jefferson at Yreka, in America," Vega said. "I am Chairman of the sciences division."
"And you come to a place like this to recruit people out of the blue?"
"Oh, of course not. We have several interviews lined up this next week. But I am not a man of such strict methods!" Vega said. "No! In fact, I like getting out of the polished academia circles to walk where the real people are. I do things my own way when I am free of ridged governance. I like to see what non-standard individuals, not just perfect candidates on paper, are capable of. I seek the undiscovered geniuses."
"Well," Binno laughed, "I am not quite the professor type!"
"Nonsense! And the opening is an assistant professorship, to be precise. You do research and teach introductory classes; an easy way to spend a few years gaining connections as you plot your next big move. The U.J. is not a top end school in your field, but we want to take a page from South Africa’s book. Our goal is to really develop our Artificial Intelligence program. What do you say? Interested?"
"Well, sure, I suppose..."
"But there is a catch!" Vega interrupted. "I take personal advantage of these trips! We have a little project we are working on that needs its final piece! And it will serve as a test for you!"
Still off guard by the whole encounter, Binno said, "What?"
"We need an operating system for a mechanical."
"That's not so hard," Binno said. He gazed at both of them and added, "Let me guess, it needs to be special..."
"Not miraculously so, just an independent system with some special skill sets that can be incorporated."
"All tight," Binno answered. "Let me take a look at the hardware you want it matched with and I can figure out the brain requirements. I can do most of the setup at my apartment with my equipment. How is that?"
"Fine," Greg jumped in.
"There is one thing, I'm kind of on my last leg here. I could use some funds to float me for a couple days. My severance has almost been exhausted, you see and..."
"Tom, give him pocket money," Vega ordered.
Greg raised one eyebrow, but dug in his jacket pocket, drawing out a wad of South African Rand. He pulled a half dozen from the thin stack. Vega nodded and he handed them over to the desperate engineer.
Vega leaned over the table and handed Binno a card.
"That is the address of the garage we have our project parked in. If you could come by tomorrow at eight in the morning, that would be ideal. We are in a particular hurry to get your consulting part in this venture done, for we have a lot of work ahead of us this week."
Binno agreed and the two time travelers stood.
Greg and Vega walked out of the club, never to be seen by Mohammed the bartender again. Once they were into the dark passage, the suited men disappeared before reaching the street.
At five till eight, Greg and Vega emerged from a closet inside their rented garage and walked out onto the main floor. The facility was no more modern than spare work garages in Greg’s time. The floor was polished concrete; the walls were thin sheet metal covering a steel frame. Chain link fencing separated further stalls and work areas that were empty on Saturday. The large roll-up doors were down, but fresh sunlight still found places to spill through cracks onto the floor.
Greg was playing with the flaccid arm and hand of the killer robot when a tentative knock came at the walk-up entrance.
Vega glanced down at his pocket watch and opened the door to their expected guest.
Binno's eyes went wide when he saw the robot standing in the center of the work bay.
"This is your project? Is this really one of the Signature combat robots?" Binno asked, full of astonishment.
"Yeah," Greg said, standing back and admiring the metal soldier as well. "Not many left these days."
"I thought they destroyed all of these after the war," Binno said. "And, I thought combat robots were made illegal. Is this really one of the Devil's Companies? Not a reproduction?"
"I said the project was special, didn't I?" Vega said. "But, as I also said last night, we want an independent system, not to restore original programming."
"Well, all that data was supposedly destroyed along with the mechanicals, forty years ago," Binno said, circling the robot like a shark. "A class three matrix could easily hold everything you need to operate him. I can use liquid flash processors to absorb any movement, since this is not going to be a stationary device... What are you going to use this for, exactly? I should have an idea, so that I can program him the way you want."
"We want an obedient, non-curious personality. We only want a tool, not that new stuff that tries to mimic humanity. The additional programming should be heavy on infiltration, security systems, bio-med devices, touch-less access and stealth. Also, language skills would be beneficial; all languages you can find as well as linguistic innovation. If there are any ruminants of this model's specific fighting programs, it may be a useful option for activation."
Binno Terrace squinted at the mention of the very serious particulars. "You guys are a trip! When you first mentioned modifying a mechanical, I assumed it would be something cheery and lighthearted, like as a tour guide or historian. But you want something that is more along the lines of this bots' original programming. But who am I to question my perspective employers' wishes? If this can get me a job..."
"I'm sure you have done less ethical things working for Alonstrat..." Vega winked.
Binno nodded.
"I'll need to take a look at his head. They kept the majority of the directive center up there," Binno said unlatching the back and peering in. "I will have to remove a lot of the unnecessary components."
"And take out the remote control units. This will be an independent unit, not to be commanded by remote. Any wireless receivers should be impenetrable by anyone trying to gain access to his controls. I want Tom and myself to be the only ones to be able to give him commands. There will be two others I will want to add to that list, but they are not here."
"Sure, I can make it so you can designate them at a later date. But there are going to be a few speed bumps to your specifications," Binno said to Vega. He glanced at Greg, giving him a silent apology.
"Well?"
"The fluid flash brain unit? Fine, I can get my hands on one of those. I bet I even have a couple kicking around in my stuff. But this hardware is old. I'll have to search the nets for their specifications so that I can run interfaces. That could take some time. The biggest thing will be a bracing framework. Unless I have a mount kit, I'll have to cobble something together in order to connect the brain inside the head. If I could get my hands on a kit, that would save days of work.
"And then there are the connecters. This hardware is fifty years old. That is custom work to make adapters to hook this old equipment up to the mounted brain. I know that kind of stuff is not accessible around here. I know a guy in South Korea who makes retro hookups, but we would have to wait for it to be shipped."
"What about De-Mat Transportation?" Vega said.
"De-materialization? I wouldn't trust that with complex connectors. A mount kit, maybe. But it's really expensive to use. And I don't know where the closest c
ommercial receiver is. Alonstrat had a small one, but only for very important uses."
"Fine, fine. Give a list of what you need to Tom, along with the address of your guy in Korea. We will take care of it. You just get to work on that brain. How long will it take you to get all of it working, if you had everything tomorrow?"
"Twenty hours?"
"Sounds great. This time tomorrow morning, everything on your list will be on that bench there. The code to the door is 3033. We will come back on Tuesday to pick up our bot."
Binno nodded and pulled out a pad to start compiling the list of supplies he needed. A thought struck him and he turned to Vega, who stood with arms folded on his chest.
"What kind of documents do you want from me for my application as an assistant professor?"
"Whatever you think best, you are an intelligent individual," Vega said, crossing his arms over his chest. "We will collect them when we check out our finished metal friend."
CHAPTER 15