chapter 19
TEAM 3, YEAR: 2095
Time Remaining: 164 Days
Within days of the three brothers inserting themselves into the lives of their past counterparts, they had become as immersed as they had the first time around. All three contended with an unexpected phenomenon—their days were frequently punctuated by spells of intense déjà vu. Also, having the advantage of hindsight perspective, the brothers knew exactly how the project would progress, what would work and what would not. The siblings exercised caution, careful not to let on that they knew more about the project than they should. While they tried to let things progress as they had the first time around, it was hard even for the twins not to do exceptional work when it now came so effortlessly.
Spencer stared at his CI screen, deeply engrossed in a document as Kalen walked in and sat in the chair opposite his desk. Her view of him was mostly obscured by the projected screen that hung in the air between them, but she could make out his outline through the display.
“Are you ready for our three o’clock?” Kalen asked. She held up a steaming cup of coffee for him in his favourite coffee mug—shaped like the goggly, yellow-eyed, deep sea antagonist SquidoPus from the 2074 classic movie, Tales from the Trench, where the genetically-faulty monster offspring of a squid and octopus threatens the peaceful, deep sea human colony on the floor of the Mariana Trench. Spencer gratefully took the be-tentacled coffee mug from Kalen’s disembodied arm as it appeared through his screen and the clock above her head caught his attention. His smile evaporated, seeing that another day had whizzed past leaving him with little feeling of accomplishment.
“Thanks for this Kale, I’m going to need it. It’s going to be a long night.”
“Is that Brad’s file you’re looking at?” Kalen asked.
“Yeah.” The mug warmed his hands. “I was reviewing his initial assessment again.” As Spencer sipped his coffee, he mentally instructed his CI to shut down. The document closed and within seconds the screen disappeared and the quiet humming noises of the device fell silent. He grabbed a small cardboard box off his desk then he and Kalen left his office.
“I’ve been looking forward to meeting this guy. He’s had a pretty amazing life. It’ll be interesting to meet him as a robot when this is all said and done, eh?” said Spencer.
“I think interacting with all the robots after meeting the people who donated their personalities will be fascinating,” said Kalen, as the pair walked briskly toward the glass elevators. Kalen stuck her arm into a closing elevator door and it reopened so they could enter.
“Thanks again for the coffee Kale, I really appreciate it.”
“I thought you might need it. You’ve been working late a lot. Well, later than your usual ‘late.’ You know we don’t get paid overtime, right?” Kalen asked, smiling.
Spencer feigned shock and surprise. “What? You’re just telling me this now?”
The elevator chimed for the main floor and the door opened. They walked through the eco-atrium foyer and Spencer, as he always did, took in the intriguing clash of textures the vertical gardens made against the smooth glass walls, the contrast of nature and manmade. At the other side of the atrium, he and Kalen entered a small meeting room already occupied by a middle-aged man wearing an expensive, tailored suit. Brad Jamison had arrived to begin the process of capturing a digital copy of his personality. He was one of the twenty-two people volunteering their personalities for the project.
“Mr. Jamison,” greeted Spencer with a friendly smile. They shook hands. “I’m Spencer Grayson and this is my colleague, Kalen White.”
“Nice to meet you,” said Mr. Jamison. “But please, it’s Brad, I insist.”
With the offers of coffee and small talk out of the way, Spencer offered Brad a seat and dove right down to business. “As you know…”
The glass door of the meeting room flew open and Ian Turner strode in smiling from ear to ear. “Bradley!”
“Ian!” said Brad, standing again. “Hey, it’s great to see you!”
Ian greeted Brad like an old friend and they shook hands heartily. “Brad, I’m so glad you agreed to this. You were the first person who came to my mind when this project came up. After me, of course.” Ian winked.
“Always the kidder,” said Brad chuckling.
Spencer and Kalen looked at each other and knew what the other was thinking—that Ian was not joking.
Brad continued. “Well, I wasn’t too interested at first. I thought it seemed a little egotistical. But after thinking about it for a while, I thought what the hell? Why not? It’s in the interest of science. And now that I’m making my donation to science before my death I can change my will and cancel that substantial endowment.”
“Who’s the kidder now?” said Ian, pointing at Brad and laughing.
As Ian smiled, Spencer was sure he could see every one of his teeth.
“Anyway, I was just walking by and I saw you in here so I thought I’d pop in and thank you personally again. We should hit the links, eh?” Ian mimed swinging a golf club. “Stay in touch, eh?”
As fast as Ian had entered, he was gone.
“Walls: tint, twenty percent, ripple, eighty percent,” said Kalen to the room when the door had closed. Brad sat back down at the table. The glass walls darkened slightly and the clear glass changed into a pattern that looked like frozen water ripples.
“Mr. Jamison, Brad, sorry,” said Spencer diving back into business. “I know that you’re familiar with the procedure because you’ve made it this far in the process. But we’ll quickly go through it one more time, just to make sure nothing’s been missed. Then we can answer any questions you may have.”
“Sounds good,” said Brad.
“You passed the psychological evaluation and criminal check with flying colours, so now we’ll begin the process of collecting your personality. The personality data collection process is long but not hard or painful. It’s a two-part process. The first part is answering a series of questions, which you’ll do today. The second part is wearing a brain wave interceptor and documenting your daily activities.”
“Does the interceptor read my mind?” asked Brad.
Spencer noticed Brad shift in his seat ever so subtly as he asked. Spencer knew that the concept of recording brainwave data was mind-boggling for the participants. People were familiar with having their thoughts interpreted by Icomm lenses to deliver commands, but having their private, inner monologues documented, saved and analyzed was different. They felt naked and exposed at the idea of having their minds read.
“No, it doesn’t read minds. While that would be faster and probably a lot more accurate, I don’t think anyone would have volunteered for the project if that were the case. It just records the emotions you feel as your day-to-day events happen to you. We’re trying to understand how different situations make you feel and how you react to them.”
“Sounds easy enough,” said Brad.
“The hardest part will be remembering to document your activities,” said Kalen.
Spencer removed a small translucent disc from the box he had brought from his office. He held the tiny disc on the tip of his index finger to show it to Brad. As he touched the disc, its colour changed to match the colour of his finger.
“This is the brain wave interceptor. As you can see, it’s pretty small and unobtrusive, making it virtually invisible. After your next shower, just remove the adhesive back and stick it behind your ear. At the end of the collection period, we’ll remove it.” Spencer returned the tiny disc to its box and handed it to Brad. “The disc will intercept your brain activity, moods, emotions and stress levels and transmit them directly back to us. In the meantime, you’ll keep a log of your daily activities. This will allow us to match up what you were doing when you felt each emotion or feeling,” said Spencer.
“So that covers the data collection portion,” said Kalen. “Now we just need you to answer a series of questions.”
“Sounds mor
e like an interrogation,” said Brad good-naturedly. “Your assistant said to block off at least two hours for it. Reading my mind might have been faster.”
“It’s definitely thorough,” said Spencer. “The questions deal a lot with your past, the experiences you’ve had, how you dealt with them and how they affected you. Things like that. It helps us get the whole picture of you so we can program the personality accurately. Feelings and emotions tend to fade over time, but your answers to these questions give us the scope of who you are and the brainwave activity will add the feeling and the spark. Do you have any questions before we move to the questionnaire?”
“Yes, one. How does all this work? How do you take my personality and emotions and put them into a robot?”
“That is an excellent question.” The AEI Project employed cutting-edge technology and not even Spencer could fully wrap his mind around some of its aspects. The concept of giving a machine a free-thinking and feeling personality was a foreign concept to most people. “All of the data we collect from you—the answers from today’s questions, your activity log and the data from the brain wave collection—will be formatted by our team then compiled into a functional program. This working, digital version of your personality is called a Personality Application. We’ll verify it through another program called the Real Life Simulator and then it will be installed into one out of every twenty-two robots.”
“So it’s like a program or app. Like the ones I use on the Nexus?” asked Brad.
“Well, yes and no. Yes, it’s the same concept, but it’s specifically designed for the hardware that is used in the robots Central thought processor,” explained Spencer.
“So there will be a bunch of robots that will think and react and behave in the same manner I do?”
“Precisely,” agreed Kalen. “But that’s only in the beginning. As time goes on, each robot’s personality will grow and change. Each robot’s life experiences will be different—different jobs, different social circles and different circumstances. The situations that the robots encounter as time goes on will shape their personalities into one that is different from the original and unique to each robot.”
“That is pretty amazing,” said Brad. “Alright. Bring on the questions.”
Spencer and Kalen waited in a small boardroom that overlooked the Neural Programming CI lab where Brad answered the questionnaire. The glass wall was set to two-way mirror mode, and the pair waited on standby should Brad have any questions.
Kalen watched Brad, who sat at one of the lab’s CIs. Although too far away to read the words, she saw the text of his answers appearing on the screen as he mentally answered the questions. “I couldn’t believe how many questions were on this questionnaire. I thought there was only supposed to be around fifty, but it looks like there’s closer to a 150?”
“Actually, 163 to be exact,” confirmed Spencer. He leaned back as far as his chair would allow and locked his fingers behind his head, grateful for a few moments of downtime before spending Friday night behind his desk. “Didn’t it seem like there were a lot of important areas missing? I mean, there were a few questions about the recent past, but didn’t it seem odd that there were no questions about the personality donors’ formative years? No questions about the donors’ childhoods? No ‘How did your mother treat you?’ kind of questions?”
“I reviewed them when they first came in, but nothing really jumped out at me. Nothing like this has been done before. It’s hard to say what would be needed for sure. Ian said he’d had the tests designed by top psychologists. Honestly, it never really occurred to me to question them.”
“I guess so,” said Spencer casually. This was one of those moments where he had to be careful not to let on that he knew too much. “I analyzed the questions over a couple of evenings and it just seemed like we wouldn’t really get a full snapshot of who these people were with that set of questions. So much of who we are is developed when we’re young. Without that data, there’d be gaps, and I don’t think the program will be able to generate a whole personality. The last thing we want is to have to go back to all these people for more information. So I made some additions to the survey.”
“Does Jim know that you added some questions?”
“Oh, yeah, I told him I was adding a few,” said Spencer with a sheepish grin.
Kalen raised an eyebrow and smiled. “I see. A few, eh? Not 113?”
Spencer smiled innocently and shrugged.
Kalen looked at her watch and saw the time neared five o’clock. She stood and stretched. “What are you up to this evening, Spence?”
“I’m going to stick around here for a bit.” Spencer watched Brad, though his mind had already drifted to some ideas for testing that he wanted to map out. “I’ve got some planning I need to get finished up. You?”
“I was going to meet some friends for dinner. Why don’t you come? We’re going to the Oriental Pearl.” She struck Spencer with a look loaded with meaning, which he missed as Brad had finished the questionnaire and stood to collect his things.
Spencer stood and picked his documents up off the seat beside him. “I’m sorry Kale, I can’t. I need to start planning how best to test these things. Another time?” Kalen’s invitation was not unique—they had been best friends since their first day on the job and frequently did things together outside of work. He moved toward the door, but she blocked him before he could open it. She put her hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes with meaning, as if to a child onto whom she needed to impress something of importance. Spencer looked up at her, startled.
“First of all, Ian is getting the testing data from the same psychologists who wrote the questionnaire, so you don’t have to worry about that.” She ran her finger over the fine lines around his left eye. “Secondly, I think you’re working too hard. Life isn’t all about work. If you’re not careful, you’re going to find yourself an old man, and all you’ll have are robots for friends. Come out and live a little.”
Her touch sent an electric sensation down his spine and shook up his feelings for her that he routinely bottled up. Unable to quantifiably predict the outcome of him expressing them to her, he stashed them away not wanting to risk ruining their friendship.
“I…I can’t,” he stammered. “I’m sorry. I’ve got some good ideas and I need to get them out before I forget them.” Spencer watched her face fall and wondered if he had just made a big mistake. After all, it was work he could do from home later.
Kalen walked into the hallway outside the observation room. “No worries, Spence. If you change your mind, we’ll be at the O.P. at eight.”
“Thanks for the offer, and I promise I’ll come out next time. Have fun.” He watched her walk down the hallway toward the foyer. With each step she took putting distance between them, a nagging feeling grew in his gut.
Spencer returned to his office and bumped into Jim leaving for the weekend.
“Spencer! I’m glad I found you,” said Jim. He looked down at his watch. “Look, I know this is really last minute but my kids have convinced me to go skiing with them, so I’m flying to the Rockies tonight to meet them and I’m late, late, late!”
Jim threw his jacket on as he walked and talked. Spencer followed in his jiggling wake. “You’ve got such a handle on this project that I feel like I’m barely needed here. It’s like you’ve got some kind of bloody intuition for this stuff and it’s making my job so much easier. Everything here is pretty much under control and I’ve got some banked days that HR’s been bugging me to use up, so I’m extending my weekend. I won’t be back until Thursday. I’m leaving you in charge. I’ve sent an email to everyone in the office and cc’d Ian so they know what’s going on. Have a great weekend!” Jim charged out the door before Spencer could respond.
After half an hour, Spencer had done nothing more productive than move icons around on his screen. His thoughts bounced back and forth between Jim and Kalen. While Spencer could not recall every single minute of his life two an
d half years ago, Jim taking this vacation and Kalen asking him out to dinner were two events that had not happened the first time around. Spencer pondered the ramifications of these two changes. Should he have made up an excuse, causing Jim to stay? Was he right to decline Kalen’s offer?
Every thought he had ended with his conversation with Kalen. They had gone for dinner together many times in the past; getting dinner together was not unusual. However, her invitation today seemed different, as if loaded with unspoken words. He tried to measure the thrill of what that could mean if he was right—against the horror and mortification he would experience if he was wrong. Between the surprise of being left in charge and his conversation with Kalen, he found he could focus on nothing and called it a day.
Logan peered into the Sensory Development lab and much to his surprise, found Asher still working. As he walked through the lab, Logan surveyed the work left out on other workbenches. Robot limbs, tools and containers of spare parts lay strewn across the workbenches in various stages of work. On one table, a robot’s hand and arm lay in a fireproof pan wearing a winter glove. As he neared it, he noticed the glove was charred and missing two fingers. Logan nearly tripped on the propane torch and fire extinguisher at the foot of the table. He made his way to the back of the room where Asher stood hunched over his workbench, concentrating intently.
“What are you working on?” Logan asked.
Asher looked up, surprised to see his brother standing next to him. “I didn’t even hear you come in.” He focused again on the items on his work bench. “I’m working on a theory I had. Check this out.”
Logan looked at the object of Asher’s interest—a miniature, Frankenstein monstrosity of mismatched and ill-fitting robot parts. Both men watched as the tiny wheeled device moved through an obstacle course of coffee mugs, office supplies and battered pieces of fruit. The device inched its way around a badly bruised apple. Asher seemed extremely pleased with its slow progress.
“What is that thing?” asked Logan. The device encountered a pencil and adjusted its course to the left.
“It’s just some ramshackle robot that I threw together out of some spare parts. But really, it’s just a vehicle for this.” He pointed to the top of the robot.
Logan leaned in closer to get a better look at what Asher had pointed to. Perched atop the body sat a half-moon-shaped eyeball with wires hanging out the back. The eyeball rotated several degrees side to side. “It looks like your robot’s brains are spilling out.”
Asher chuckled. “I need to make adjustments on the fly. This is one of the first eyeball prototypes we developed.”
“Okay, but I still don’t get it. What are you trying to accomplish?” asked Logan.
“Well, funny you should ask. I was in the shower the other day…”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Logan held his hands up in front of him in mock defence and backed away. “I don’t know if I really want to hear what happened in the shower that has you making a mobile robot with an eyeball.”
“Smart-ass.” Asher threw the battered apple at Logan and it bounced off his chest before he caught it. “What I was going to say, was that I had a revelation in the shower last week. I think I found a way to make robots actually see. As in, giving them the ability to reliably gather accurate and comprehensive data by what they see with their eyes and not from other sensors. Data collected visually that they can use to draw conclusions and make decisions, for both their personal mobility and quantitative assessments required for learning and completing tasks.”
“Are you kidding me?” asked Logan. He set the battered apple back in its place in the obstacle course. “That’s huge! What have you got so far?”
Asher picked up the robot, unplugged a red wire at the back of the eyeball and plugged in a blue one. He drew Logan’s attention to his CI monitor behind his workbench. A video screen appeared. Asher placed the robot back on the course and the video feed showed different coloured shapes; an orange sphere and then a black cylinder sitting on a flat plane. Logan looked back at the obstacle course and saw the round orange and the black mug sitting on the work bench.
“So this is what your robot sees as it goes through the obstacle course?”
“Yes, in a way. Well, as you know, robots don’t see anything. I mean, we can put a camera in their eyes so we can see their perspective, but robots don’t derive information from their eyes. They’ve got various sensors to detect the proximity of objects around them. They can’t necessarily tell what the objects are, they just know they have to go around them. People just assume they see it with their eyes because that’s how humans see. A person can tell it’s going to rain because they can see the sky is stormy. A robot can tell it’s going to rain because of the barometric pressure change.”
“Wait, are you telling me it’s not because their knees get squeaky?”
Asher made a face at Logan. “What you’re watching on this video feed is a visual interpretation of what the different sensors have perceived its surroundings to be.” He tapped the small square box under the eyeball. “The sensors are here in the body.”
Logan put his hand in front of the robot and a vague shape resembling Logan’s hand appeared on the screen.
Asher picked up the robot again, unplugged the blue cable and reinserted the red one. He set the robot down and the video feed again showed the obstacle course from the robot’s perspective but this time, as clear as the human eye would see. The robot’s eye shifted to the right. Logan watched the scene on the video feed shift to the right. It looked back to the left again and at the orange. It zoomed in so closely to the orange peel that the entire screen filled with a yellowy-orange blur. It zoomed out again and focused on the outer skin. A circular, three-dimensional grid appeared on the screen over the orange. A white horizontal line scanned the orange from top to bottom. An information table with small text and numbers appeared on the screen next to the orange and the data in the table began to change and refresh itself so rapidly that Logan could not read any of it. The grid disappeared, as did the table of text and numbers. The robot moved forward and the brothers watched its progress on the screen. It manoeuvred around the orange and stopped. The eye examined the coffee mug the same way it had the orange.
“That robot is seeing and analyzing its surroundings.”
“That’s amazing,” said Logan. He was impressed with his brother’s work. “I sometimes forget that robots can’t see. I mean, they’ve got eyes.”
“Right. People assume they can see because they’re designed with decorative eyes. But it’s a mental thing. I mean, if these robots are going to integrate into everyday life, they need to resemble the human form to a certain degree for people to relate to them. People won’t really see them as equals if they look like kitchen appliances.”
Logan laughed at the thought of going for drinks on a Friday night with a blender. “No, I suppose not.”
“If I can crack this thing, it will open up a whole world of possibilities for these robots. I mean, think about it. A robot can’t do reliable visual inspections. As an example, a robot couldn’t go through a building and do a fire safety inspection. It couldn’t reliably inspect the quality of the safety items to determine a pass or fail. Think of the advancements this could do for law enforcement. Lightning fast, reliable, facial recognition that could identify criminals or suspects and nab them on sight? The possibilities are endless.”
“I didn’t realize you were working on this again. I didn’t think optics was being revisited?”
“No, you’re right, it isn’t. Not officially anyway, but I wanted to test my theory. It’s been a little slow around here because some parts were on back order. It gave me some free time to work on it. But the new sensors have been delivered, so it’s back to solving the ol’ slip and slide problem.”
“How’s that going by the way?” asked Logan.
“Not good. We may have to add some additional sensors, but I don’t like that idea. It doesn’t truly solve the pr
oblem and it overcomplicates the construction. If I can crack this vision thing, it will resolve this issue as a by-product.
“So I decided—brace yourself now—that I’m going to spend a couple of evenings here and see if I can come up with some concrete results. With a solid proof of concept, I might get some time allocated to revisit optics again officially.”
Logan stared at his brother, his face deadpan. “You’re right. I don’t believe it. I thought you didn’t believe in overtime? Didn’t you say that too much work destroyed your soul?”
Asher chuckled. “Don’t get me wrong. That is still the foundation of my occupational belief system. But I wouldn’t call it overtime, think of it more as a hobby. How’s that?”
“It’s unnatural,” said Logan. He looked disgusted. “Okay, what are we doing tonight?”
“Working. Sorry, I mean, exploring my hobby,” said Asher.
“What? Tonight? It’s Friday. I thought you meant like next week or something.”
“I’ll just stay another hour or so. Where are you heading?”
Logan thought for a moment. He came up with nothing and shrugged. “Without you? I don’t know. I guess I’ll probably just go home and catch a game on TV or something.”
“I’ll call you when I’m done, and then we can go out and paint the town Gray-son.” Asher watched Logan leave as he picked up his robot. He switched some of the wires, placed the robot at the beginning of the obstacle course again and watched it inch toward a box of tissues.
Spencer stood rooted to the sidewalk outside the doors of the Oriental Pearl. Paralyzed with fear, his gaze had become locked on the neon restaurant sign like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. He wondered if he was crazy. How long have I been standing here? he asked himself. Oh man, what am I doing? Her invitation didn’t mean anything, she’s just out with friends. She’s eating dinner and she knows you eat dinner, too. Because people eat dinner all the time. Nothing more than that. The two of you have eaten dinner together plenty of times and this is no different. Or is it? Why does it feel different? Okay, you need to do something, you’re going to have “Oriental” burned into your retinas for a week. You’ll be looking at her and instead of her head, all you’ll see is “ental.” “Ental,” like mental, which is what you are for coming here.
Spencer closed his eyes and turned to lean on the brick wall beside the door. Neither of the twins would agonize over what an invitation to dinner did or did not mean. He sighed heavily and walked toward his car, staring at the pavement and wishing he had just a fraction of the twin’s confidence. Burned into his vision, the blackened word, “Oriental” stayed two steps ahead of him on the sidewalk as he walked.
“Spencer?”
His eyes shot up from the sidewalk and he saw Kalen and her friends approaching him.
“Spence! You came!” She ran up to greet him.
Her face lit up with a smile and Spencer saw her blue eyes sparkle. Her honey brown hair seemed almost blonde in the glow of the street lamps. Although Spencer had none of the twins’ height, at five-foot-eleven, he towered over Kalen, barely a shade over five feet. Spencer’s stomach felt like it had come loose and was sliding down toward his navel. He thought of everything and nothing simultaneously. He tried to say “hey” but it came out as a squeak. He coughed quickly. “Uh, hi. Am I late for dinner?”
“Well, you will be if you keep walking the wrong way.” She grabbed him by the arm, spun him around and marched him toward the restaurant.
The dinner party broke up well after ten. Kalen followed Spencer to his car before joining her friends.
“I’m really glad you came out tonight, Spence.” She took his arm as they walked. “I think you’re working too hard. You need to take more time to relax and enjoy life.”
“I know. You’re right. It’s just a busy time at the office. Well, you know. Thanks for inviting me. It was nice to get out and I had a great time.” He smiled at her, unsure where the conversation was going. An awkward silence fell between them and he found himself rambling to fill the void. “Well, thanks again. It was a lot of fun.”
“Yeah, it was,” said Kalen. She smiled up at him.
Spencer saw the city lights reflected in her impossibly large eyes. She was wearing more makeup than usual and he thought to himself for the thousandth time how beautiful she was. She radiated a warmth that made him feel at ease with her, usually. At this moment, his heart pounded so loudly he worried she would hear it. Nervous and unsure of what to do, he gave her an awkward hug. He walked around to the driver’s door of his car and got in. Kalen sighed, gave him a small smile and weak wave through the passenger window. He waved back and forced a smile that he knew was too big and cheesy.
Three blocks later and with the advantage of hindsight, Spencer felt sure that Kalen may have been expecting something more and he had just failed spectacularly.
Time Remaining: 161 Days
Monday rolled around and as expected, no one had heard from Jim. Spencer worried about what his initial encounter with Kalen would be like. He wondered if it would be awkward or maybe he had just misread the entire situation altogether. Whatever the case, he came prepared. Two Starbucks coffees, hers with a shot of caramel—the way he knew she liked it. He hoped to give it to her in private, worried that if his co-workers saw him give it to her, they would see how he felt about her as plainly as a blinking neon sign.
Secretly relieved she had not yet arrived, Spencer left the coffee on her desk and returned to his office to prepare for the weekly meeting he would run in Jim’s absence.
Spencer, Lisa, Erik and Kalen—with her coffee—congregated in the boardroom. Lisa asked Kalen about her weekend and Spencer jumped right into the meeting before she could respond. Erik began his report on his risk assessment when Ian charged into the boardroom.
“I have some bad news, folks. Spencer, can I talk to you for a moment?” Ian sat across from Spencer, looking grave. Taking this as a cue to leave, the others left the room.
“Spencer, there’s been an accident.”
“What? Who?” His thoughts turned immediately to his idiot brothers and their usual weekend antics. He had spoken to neither of his brothers all weekend.
“It’s Jim.”
“Jim? What kind of an accident?” Spencer had visions of a plane crash or Jim careening off the side of a mountain out of control on a pair of skis, an avalanche…
“Skiing accident. Don’t worry, he’s fine, just a few broken bones. Well, a lot of broken bones. What business a man with that little skiing ability has on a double black diamond is beyond me. I think he went over the edge of a small cliff or something, or was skiing at the base of a cliff and hit a rock…” Ian paused in thought. “Well, I’m really not too sure of the details but the bottom line is, he’s going to be out of the game for a while. He’s got a broken hip, fractured and bruised ribs, a compressed spine I think, and a bunch of other things. He hit his head pretty good too, I think. He’s conscious at the moment, but it sounds like he’s got some surgeries lined up and months of rehab.”
“Wow,” said Spencer taking in the news. “So what happens now? Who’s taking over for him?”
“Well, you are.” Ian said this as if it should have been obvious and Spencer was slow to catch on.
“I’m sorry?”
“Jim’s been going on and on about you and how brilliant you are and how you seem to have an intuition for this stuff. In the brief conversation I had with him on the phone, he said to let you continue running things and the project would be more than fine,” said Ian with a quick smile. “But then he did follow that up with a story about a lobster on a rollercoaster, so make whatever you will out of that.” Spencer noticed Ian seemed fidgety and distracted, like this meeting was taking too long and he had somewhere else to be.
“Alright then,” said Spencer slowly, processing the last two minutes’ conversation. Jim’s health and well-being concerned him to be sure, but at the same time, fireworks went
off in his brain about this extension of his foray into leadership.
“I’ll send you details about what I need from you in terms of status updates, deliverables and whatnot. I’ll also get you access to Jim’s files. Congrats kid, you’ve levelled up. I’ll get HR to do up the papers and get them to you to sign. I’ll let you get your team up to speed on this. Not too much will change for them.”
“Uh, thanks,” stammered Spencer.
“Keep up the good work!” Spencer blinked and Ian was gone. His co-workers milled about in the hallway trying to look busy as Ian sped out. As soon as Ian was out of sight, they rushed back in. With their mood dampened by the news of Jim, they continued solemnly through the meeting.
Time Remaining: 159 Days
“Well, I’ll be damned. Hell must be freezing over.” Delaney folded her black leather jacket over her arm as she walked into Motor Skills Lab to find Logan working in the corner. “Is that Logan Grayson…putting in overtime?”
“Very funny.” Logan made a face at her. “I could say the opposite of you. This is uncharacteristically early for you to be leaving.”
She walked over to his workbench. “I’ve got a university friend in town for a couple of days. He’s insisting that we go out every night this week to break me of my bad work habits.”
Logan looked up from his work. “And how’s that working for you?”
“I’ve been having a lot of fun actually. I can see his point. I might try this spontaneity thing a little more often. Maybe, if I can schedule it in somewhere.”
“You’re going to schedule in spontaneity? Isn’t that the opposite of being spontaneous?”
“Maybe, but I’ve got a limited amount of free time. So, I’ll leave some room open in my schedule here and there, and when that time comes, I’ll do something spontaneous.” She walked toward the door to leave.
Logan chuckled at what could only be a workaholic’s definition of spontaneous. “Well, have fun and stay out of trouble, eh?” He watched the door close behind her and focused his attention back on the robot.