chapter 16
TEAM 3, YEAR: 2095
Time Remaining: 183 Days
Spencer arrived at the office two hours earlier than usual to reacquaint himself with the project. He preferred to do this alone so as to avoid being asked a simple question he could not answer.
As he entered his office, the lights turned on automatically. Much like his home, he noticed his workspace looked identical to that of 2097. The same art hung on the walls. The same mug waited on his desk along with the same family photos. The walls of his office, like every other office, were glass from floor to ceiling.
“Walls: Tint, sixty percent. Blur, eighty percent,” commanded Spencer. The glass walls instantly darkened to resemble the tint of a car’s window. It also took on a blurred quality so he could no longer make out the details of the colourful art hanging in the hallway outside his office.
Spencer removed his CI from his bag and set it on the desk. As his CI went through its boot sequence, he reviewed the files on his desk to see where his past counterpart had left off on Friday afternoon.
During the AI Project, the Neural Programming Division was the largest division in the entire project. They developed the Central thought processor, or CTP—the brain of the robot. Similar to how a human’s brain sends signals to the rest of the body to walk, run, throw a baseball and talk, the robot’s brain needed to do the same. When the AI Project was complete, the robots’ capabilities and movements were extremely realistic in comparison to a human’s. But the failings of the AI Project were due to the robots’ disinterest in doing any of those things. Adding a human’s personality and emotions to each robot would give it the desire to be, and the want to live life and thrive. However, adding a human personality into the existing brain was a considerably smaller task than designing and building the robot’s Central thought processor from the ground up. As a result, only a handful of the original Neural Programming employees had their contracts renewed for the AEI Project, and Spencer was one of those employees. Their primary task was to collect twenty-two donor personalities and compile them individually into software programs. Each robot would have one of the twenty-two personality software programs installed on their CTP.
After reviewing his past counterpart’s work, Spencer felt confident that he could answer any questions that may be asked of him. However, his resolve began to crack as he walked to the departmental boardroom for their Monday morning meeting. Anxiety gripped his chest as he neared the meeting room. He knew he could deliver a progress report consistent with what his past self would have, but his fear grew at the possibility of drawing attention to himself in some unforeseen way and blowing his cover. Walking into the room, he saw his co-workers had already arrived.
Kalen White was chatting with Erik Kristensen and Lisa Chan—all three robotic engineers like Spencer. His stomach did a little flip when Kalen looked up at him. Her warm smile was quickly replaced with a look of concern. “Spence, are you feeling alright?”
“Geez, what happened to you?” asked Erik. He set his cup of coffee down on the table and studied Spencer as he sat.
“What are you guys talking about? I’m fine.” Their comments surprised Spencer; he felt fine, in fact, surprisingly well considering he had tossed and turned in bed all night. Their concern over his appearance, of all things, caught him off guard and he wanted desperately to switch the topic of conversation to something other than himself.
“Uh, Spence? It’s March, and I’m pretty sure that you’re way more tanned now than you were on Friday,” said Kalen. Her blue eyes washed over him with concern.
“And your eyes look tired,” added Lisa.
Spencer laughed nervously. “I’d just like to thank you all for starting my Monday by telling me I look old.”
“Not so much old, Spence,” said Erik. “Just really shitty.”
The team sniggered quietly as they watched their boss, Jim, coming toward the boardroom through the glass walls. His approach would have been evident without the glass walls—his booming laugh echoed down the hallway as he conversed with another director. Jim’s gregarious personality always seemed to enter a room before he did, a remarkable feat considering he was an extremely sizeable man.
“Good morning everyone! Let’s get this meeting started.” Jim sat down at the head of the boardroom table. “I know you’re all really excited to be here on this perfect Monday morning, so what’s everyone got on their plates this week? Spencer, what the hell happened to you?”
Logan, like Spencer, arrived at the office earlier than usual. Even with a detailed explanation from past-Logan, he had no real clue where his past-self had left off in his work and he wanted to get up to speed before the weekly meeting. Getting caught unprepared would not be a good way to start his first day. He wanted his early arrival to go unnoticed by his pit bull of a boss. She was smart and keenly observant, and while he wanted to avoid raising any suspicions, his larger motive was to keep her from expecting early starts more frequently. Logan was unaccustomed to being up so early and he hauled himself through the maze of halls half asleep, despite the extra large cup of coffee in his hand. He wore his aviator sunglasses to block out the relentless morning sun that shone through the glass walls of the building like light through a kaleidoscope.
The Motor Skills Division was divided into two subdivisions: Arms and Legs. For the AI Project, Logan had been the primary engineer overseeing the development of the mechanics and movements of the robots’ arms.
Like the Neural Programming Division, the Motor Skills team had been slashed for the AEI Project. The modifications required to accommodate the AEI updates were relatively minor. Again, only a fraction of employees had received renewed contracts for the AEI Project, and Logan’s boss was not one of them. Instead, Logan, now the head of his subdivision, learned he would be reporting directly to the director of the Motor Skills Division. His new role was to oversee the small group that would accommodate any minor changes to the robots’ physical structure as needed for the AEI upgrades, and to streamline the mechanics of what already existed.
When Logan learned he would be reporting to Delaney Levitt, he entertained the thought of changing careers to something more fun like cleaning up roadkill or becoming a rectal thermometer tester. Knowing there was no person less like him in the world, he had concerns about how well they would work together. Logan’s entire existence revolved around the weekend. Delaney’s entire existence revolved around Monday mornings. He could never understand how some people could have so little interest in fun.
Logan slid his hood back as he neared his office. With several sips of hot coffee in his system, his mind had finally kicked into gear. He racked his brain, trying to estimate where he was at with his work this time nearly two and a half years prior. He turned around a corner and collided with a tall brunette, completely engrossed in a report she was reading from inside an open folder. The lid popped off of his paper coffee cup and hot coffee spilled down the front of her red wrap dress. Her papers fell and fanned out across the hall as they settled to the floor. Logan’s stomach jumped into his throat.
“Dammit Logan! Watch what you’re doing.” The Director of the Motor Skills Division, and the person he was specifically trying to avoid, pushed up her three-quarter length sleeves and wrung out the front of her dress.
Logan found himself at a loss for words and discovered he was more nervous about his first day than he had thought. Delaney Levitt was concise in her interactions with people to the point of being abrasive and was demanding in the expectations she set. Her broad shoulders and high, wide cheekbones gave her a natural look of authority, sophistication and unwavering professionalism. Her harsh nature was offset somewhat by her colourful, professional wardrobe. She dressed elegantly—and whether she realized it or not—this softened her and made her more approachable in a way her personality could not. Logan noticed how the red dress flattered her body—one that could easily grace the cover of a fitness magazine—toned and flat where
it should be but voluptuous elsewhere.
Delaney knelt down and angrily snatched up her papers. She picked up the wettest ones and shook them to rid them of excess coffee. She started in on Logan before he could to apologize. “Where are you at with the CAD mods for the new mounts in the skeletal structure?”
Logan knelt down to help her. This was the exact situation he wanted to avoid—caught off guard and unprepared. He had no answer, but he knew that would never fly with her.
“I’m making some headway,” he said vaguely and flashed her a smile. He handed over the papers he had retrieved for her.
Clearly this was not the answer she wanted. “What the hell, Logan? We just discussed this last Wednesday. You said you’d have the initial draft done by the end of the week.” She took the papers from him.
Logan searched for something intelligent to say and Delaney was surprised by this uncharacteristic wordlessness. Logan usually knew the answer to anything she asked and if not, he at least had some half-witted response lined up; never was he speechless. Delaney was always harder on him than most of her subs because she knew he was extremely sharp. However, he seemed to have no interest in using his brain outside the hours of nine to five. As much as his lackadaisical attitude irritated her beyond belief, Logan was one of her smartest and most reliable engineers. Delaney felt something was off about him though she could not put her finger on it. Wearing heels, her height nearly equalled his and she stood eye to eye with him. After a moment, the expression on her face changed from scrutiny to dawning comprehension.
“Is something wrong, Logan?” She raised an eyebrow and eyed him quizzically. The extra large coffee, hoodie and sunglasses were a dead giveaway and she concluded he was hung over. She had no patience for people who let their personal lives interfere with their performance at work.
Though unsure of what, Logan knew he had been busted for something. He suspected for dumping his coffee all over her dress, not because she suspected he was an imposter of his own self.
Like the past version of Spencer had in the kitchen on Saturday night, Delaney leaned in to get a closer look at his face. “Logan, what the hell happened to you? Did you spend the entire weekend in the sun? You look like shit.” Delaney shook her head and smiled to herself. Men will be men and nothing will ever change that, especially this man. “This can only mean one of two things. You’ve either botched the CAD mods and you’ve travelled back in time to fix it before I find out, or you passed out in the sun on the weekend.”
Sensing he was off the hook, Logan gave her a mischievous, trademark twin smile. “Definitely the CAD mods.”
Delaney’s interest in science started at a young age. She had no interest in spending Friday nights talking about boys, shopping or clothes, leaving her with little in common with most girls her age. Her life was further complicated by the well-intentioned teachers and group organizers who, wanting to encourage her interests, failed to realize the special treatment she received alienated her from the few remaining kids who did accept her. In high school and university, the pendulum swung in the opposite direction. Not being “one of the boys” or a school hockey star made it harder for her to gain access to the same resources and lab time that some of the men got. Delaney learned that she would have to work harder and do better to prove she was better than her male counterparts. Even when she graduated from university in the top percent of her class, she got passed over for jobs inevitably filled by lesser male candidates.
When she finally did land a job, she worked harder and longer than anyone else and her efforts paid off. She quickly established a name for herself as one of the brightest robotic engineers in the NRD.
Delaney’s hard work and dedication had come at a high price on a personal level. Having finally achieved her career goals, an inventory of her personal life revealed that other aspects of her life had suffered as a trade-off. Eighty-hour workweeks meant that making friends and socializing always got pushed to the back burner. The few friends she had from university were spread around the world—easy enough to talk to, but difficult to go out with on weekends. Friday nights for the grown-up Delaney were very similar to that of her sixteen-year-old self. The only difference was now if she curled up with a good book, she could do so with a glass of wine.
Despite being perceived by many as cold and aloof, people enjoyed working with Delaney. Even Logan had to admit that she had some good points. She was highly-respected and had the brilliance of a visionary. True, there were no practical jokes and less fun in the lab, but Logan did appreciate her to-the-point personality and that instructions given by her were clear and well-defined. He knew that her expectations were high and sometimes hard to achieve, but if he put the goofing off aside and honestly focused, they were always attainable.
Asher overslept. He ran out the door of his condo with water from his shower still dripping down his back. He hit the down elevator button repeatedly and finished buttoning his shirt while he waited. He stared at the illuminated number seven, waiting for it to change. He tucked his shirt into his pants, zipped his fly and tapped his foot as he waited.
After another thirty seconds had passed with the number seven still illuminated, he raced to the stairwell door at a speed would make an Olympic sprinter proud. He flung the steel door open and the crash of the handle colliding with the concrete wall echoed down the stairwell. He charged down the fourteen flights, taking two and three steps at a time. He burst into the lobby, startling an elderly couple shuffling out of the elevator with their walkers, then ran through a door at the back of the foyer into the parking garage.
Asher dashed past the rows of parked cars and toward the door to his private garage. As he approached the entrance, he and the keys in his pocket entered the proximity of the door’s lock and he heard the click of its release. He threw the door open and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the vehicle inside. He had forgotten that two and a half years ago he owned a Toyota Thrill—a sporty, sky blue, two-seater convertible. Fond memories of the car flooded back and a smile broke out on his face. He remembered vividly how the car hugged the curves as he sped too fast down the freeways. He recalled the day he traded this car in and bought his current vehicle, a new 2096 Honda Mudslinger. He remembered how torn he was with the decision, but the Thrill was impractical for bikes, skis, snowboards and other sports equipment. But it was practical for picking up women, he thought with a smile.
Excited at the prospect of spending time behind the wheel of his Thrill again, his already heightened sense of urgency to get on the road increased. He sat in the driver’s seat and reminisced in the familiar environment. The smell of the interior—a mix of faded air freshener and leather—brought back vivid memories of road trips and starry nights with pleasurable company. The bucket seat felt custom-designed for his body, and the steering wheel and instrument screen looked more like something out of a rocket ship than a car. He ran his hand across the dash and admired the car’s ergonomic perfection when his eyes fell on the time illuminated on the windshield.
Asher voiced his commands for the garage door to open and mentally commanded his car to start. He listened with great delight to the throaty sound of the engine as it fired to life. He simultaneously fastened his seatbelt and stepped on the clutch. He threw the car in reverse, hit the gas and turned around to look over his shoulder realizing too late that the garage door had not gone up. Unable to stop in time, he shut his eyes just in time to hear a metallic crunch as the car slammed into the door.
The Sensory Development Division developed the robots’ five senses. During the AI Project, Asher collaborated with two other engineers to develop the robots’ vision. Despite the leading-edge technology they employed, Asher was never happy with the end result. He always felt like they were on the edge of a breakthrough, but their lead insisted they had run out of development time and needed to deploy what they had. In many respects, the AEI robots were cutting-edge technology, but Asher felt that the eyes were not of the same calibre. Robo
t eyes were mostly decorative—the machines relied on other sensors to perceive the world around them. Asher always felt there had to be a better way, but he had failed to crack the mystery.
Asher’s division had not been included in the AEI Project until a serious flaw was discovered with some of the robots’ sensors. Some of the robots had problems perceiving certain surfaces if indirectly touched. For example, boots worn in poor weather to protect their feet and mechanisms from water, snow and salt, smothered the sensors located in their feet. To compensate, the robots relied on other sensors to calculate the properties of the surfaces they encountered. In some cases, like icy or wet sidewalks, without direct contact the robots were unable to determine the slipperiness of a surface, which created a safety hazard for both humans and robots.
When Asher finally made it into his office, his mood was foul. Sensing his uncharacteristic disposition, his co-workers left him alone when he came in and this suited him fine. Between the fury of smashing his car and being on edge about the integration, he had no interest in talking to his co-workers.
By noon, he had returned to his usual self and like his other siblings, he too was harassed by his co-workers about how he appeared to have aged over the weekend.
“It’s working with you morons that’s making me old before my time. Before you know it I’m going to have grey hair.”