Ouch.
“Too slow, too ‘last year,’ too boring,” AZ said, really laying it on.
Triple ouch!
“But mostly because it was too predictable.”
Hmmm, she’s right. Dalk knew what was coming and was ready for every move. How do we change that?
Day Two—Robot Version 1.01
We’ve finally agreed on the plan for the new robot. No more off-the-shelf for AZ, we’re starting this one from scratch. And no more R2D2 style; we are going for a full humanoid.
For three years, I’ve worked alone. Jazz music tumbling out of the speakers fitting in nicely with the zzzt, zzzt, beep, crash of my tools.
Now I have someone to work with. AZ’s been cramming on her programming and hardware skills. They’re not bad, she’s no veteran, but at least she’s useful. The saying goes that two coders doesn’t mean a project is done in half the time. But they also say that two people should feed off each other to produce a better result. At least that’s the idea.
I think this is going to be much better.
Day Three—Robot Version 1.02
This is much worse.
This is just out-and-out frustrating. Why does she do so many annoying things? The spacebar on her laptop appears to be spring-loaded and she clack, clack, clacks it out all day long. She’s constantly leaving her soldering iron on. She likes to play ‘80s music as “it helps me concentrate.” And she’s always saying, “Ok, great,” fifty times a day. Aaargh.
Worst of all, after putting up with this all day long, she says to me, “Do you have to do that?”
“Oh, please, tell me what I am doing to annoy you?” I say, with some of my best sarcasm.
“Well, your keyboard has a broken key that goes duh,” AZ starts, but then, if you can believe it, she goes on, “Also, you keep getting slowed down because you have to wait five minutes for your soldering iron to warm up, and, your music sounds like random instruments, finally, you say ‘technically’ eight times an hour,” she outlines so wonderfully.
My keyboard? My soldering iron? My music? My annoying phrases? Are you kidding me?
This may be the shortest-lived partnership in history. I’ll give it one more day.
Day Four—Robot Version 1.05
Twelve minutes into work, we are yelling at each other. We both walk out, then I realize this is my lab and I walk back in. Then I remember how angry I am and walk out again.
Oh well, back to the old days of working alone.
Day Six—Robot Version 1.08
I haven’t handled this as well as I could. I’m about to send AZ an instant message saying I’m sorry when she sends me the same message first.
We agree to try again. We meet up in the lab and get to work. I almost say something about her soldering iron, but I catch myself, take a deep breath, and keep working. I notice her do the same thing a few times.
It’s not easy, but we made some good progress today.
Day Seven—Robot Version 1.09
Today was hard. We started working on the motherboard early on Saturday morning, but quickly got stuck.
Definition: A motherboard is a printed circuit board containing the principal components of a computer or other device.
Here’s the problem. There are a lot of components we need to put on the robot’s motherboard:
1.CPU—Central processing unit
2.Timer—The clock that controls synchronization
3.Voice—The chip that controls voice activation
4.Graphics—What gets displayed on the screen
5.Machine learning—How the computer learns to think
6.NLP (natural language processing)—Helps the computer understand normal, human language
7.Heat sinks—Keeps motherboard cool
8.Power connector—Provides power from the batteries into the motherboard
9.Memory slot—Stores data the motherboard needs to access quickly
10.Communications chip—Manages communications in and out of the motherboard
For maximum cooling, because the motherboard gets hot, hot, hot, we need to space out the components as much as possible with no overlapping. We also don’t want it to be too big. In fact, it has to stay very small and fit into a square about the size of a piece of bread:
The Motherboard Puzzle
This is the space all the other components need to fit into.
These are all the components that need to fit onto the motherboard. (Cut this page out at the end of the book!)
We tried fourteen variations in the morning—the parts didn’t fit.
We tried twenty-six variations in the afternoon—they still didn’t fit.
We tried thirty-nine variations that night—they still didn’t fit.
After checking in with our parents, we decided to push through all Friday night until we solved it.
2:18 a.m. We were cold. Hungry. Tired.
We got it. Every piece perfectly fit on the motherboard. We did it.
AZ got up from where she was hunched on her stool and did a little dance. Or what might be interpreted as a dance. It wasn’t pretty. Her knees were going out at diagonals. Her head was swaying side to side. She was pointing her pinky fingers up to the sky. All the while turning in a slow circle.
I watched for a mortified second. Then I did the unthinkable. I started dancing, too. It must have been the endorphins. That’s the only logical explanation.
Definition: Endorphins are hormones that interact with the receptors in your brain and reduce your perception of pain. Endorphins also trigger a positive feeling in the body.
A few minutes later, we were both laughing till our stomachs hurt. AZ finally caught her breath and walked over to me with her hand raised in the universal signal for “give me a high five.”
AZ said, “That was, um, good.”
“Yeah, good,” I reply, but I’m thinking, Good? That was heart-grindingly terrible until thirty minutes ago, and now it’s crazy amazing. But I high-five her back to not leave her hanging. It’s awkward, but it’s a start.
Back to building.
Day Twenty-Four—Robot Version 1.26
After more than three weeks of working in our lab, AZ and I are nearly ready for our first real test.
Lucia is in my lab guiding us. Sometimes she looks around, says a very cryptic comment, like, “Urgent is not always important,” or, “In soccer, don’t you have to go backward to go forward sometimes?” and then leaves.
She’s a bit weird, but she has also helped. She lent us some really new, cutting-edge equipment which has made our robot building at least 2.8 times as good. She’s also connected us to robotics experts at some big companies (though not Jax Enterprises, which she despises).
Tomorrow, we do our first field test.
T-Minus Thirteen
After weeks of work, 10 and I brought our new robot to school. The aim was to test it in as close to the final environment as possible, and with the school hall closed, my dad suggested that the school playground was the next best option. I was just happy to avoid anything public or coffee related.
In one of our toughest debates, we had finally settled on a name for the robot. With all my reading and a few conversations over breakfast with my mother, I knew what I wanted, so I put together a pretty slick presentation, including photos. I stood in front of 10 and argued my case…
“10, let me tell you a story about a computer programmer. Hear me out. Ada Lovelace, born in 1815, is encouraged to learn mathematics and logic by her mother to try and stop her going nutso like her dad supposedly did. Not only is she not nutso, but she’s wicked smart and awesome. How awesome? A lot. Count this up for me:
“One, at age twelve, she decides she wants to fly and writes a book with designs, materials, and the anatomy of birds.
“Two, at a
ge seventeen, she gets introduced at the Royal Court of England and meets the world’s best scientists and is referred to as a ‘brilliant mind.’ Remember, this is an age when women can’t vote and have very few rights.
“Three, at age twenty-seven, she translates a mathematical paper from Italian into English and in her notes, she outlines an algorithm by which a computer could do calculations. This is commonly referred to as the first-ever computer program. (First post! Yipee!)
“Four, she also contemplates artificial intelligence and says her computer would never originate anything. (Reminder, she was twenty-seven and this is 150 years ago…so we can let this one go.)
“Five, she was witty, strong, courageous, and she persisted despite being constantly against all odds.
“I’d like to honor her by naming our robot Ada (though of course, our robot will not have a gender; it’s a robot, not a person).”
10 was quiet for about a minute. “Ok, yes, Ada it is. I mean, how am I supposed to argue with that? And that was actually pretty good. You’re getting better at this stuff.”
With Ada ready to meet the world for the first time, we got to school at six thirty, which would give us a full hour before anyone else arrived. I rubbed my hands together quickly and 10 rubbed her eyes.
With Ada lying in the middle of the playground, 10 and I fist bump for luck, with nervous smiles on our faces.
This is a big moment. I know it. 10 knows it. Somehow even Ada knows it.
From her laptop, 10 ran the initializing program. Ada’s lights came on, with some low-level hums, a few beeps, and then Ada spoke.
“Hello,” said Ada in a slow, computerized voice.
I looked at 10 and smiled. So far, so good. We ran the second series of programs to test motion. Ada stood up slowly and took a few awkward first steps. Wobbled. But stayed up. Turned, wobbled again, stepped, wobbled, and fell over. We helped Ada up and tried again. Steps, wobbles, wobbles, turns, wobbles, steps and stops.
10 and I both let out a deep breath at the same time. The look on 10’s face said “not great, but not bad.” 10 ran the third program, where we tested Ada’s conversation skills.
“Hello,” said Ada.
“Hello, Ada. It’s wonderful to meet you,” I said.
“Hello, what is your name?” Ada asks in a cliché robotic, jumpy voice. The voice needs some work.
“My name is AZ, how are you?” I ask, smiling.
“Me. Good,” Ada says.
This will be historic. I need to say something profound.
“Ada, I want to tell you that you are an amazing robot and you can do amazing things. We have big hopes for you and whatever it is you want to do; you can do it.”
“Yes. Me. Can. Do. It,” Ada says, leaving me with a feeling of anti-climax.
The tests are going well, and time is limited, so 10 suggests running a combo test of program two and three. Walking and talking.
“It’s time to step it up,” 10 says to Ada.
Ada started walking in the square formation again.
“Ada, what is your favorite color?” I ask.
“My favorite color is gray,” Ada says.
I smile at the answer. Boring, but a start. “Ada, what is the nearest planet to earth?”
“The nearest planet to earth is earth,” Ada replied, taking a turn and surviving another wobble.
“She’s technically correct, I guess, but the AI needs some work too. Um, is Ada moving a bit faster than she’s supposed to be?” 10 asks.
I shrugged and continued on. “Ada, what is the square root of—”
“Me can do it,” Ada interrupted, definitely going faster.
“I’m looking at the logs, yes, something is going on,” 10 said, typing.
“Yes, you can do it, but slow down and we can—” I said.
“ME CAN DO IT. ME CAN DO IT. ME CAN DO IT,” Ada chanted at full volume and didn’t stop on one of the corners and headed straight for a wall. A collision at this pace could do a lot of damage.
10 pinged her keyboard at ludicrous speed. At the last second, Ada did a 270-degree pivot but kept going, missed the wall but hit a tree.
“ME CAN DO IT. ME CAN DO IT. ME CAN DO IT.” Ada’s legs and arms walked forward but her face and body were stuck on the tree. Dirt flew and leaves swirled. 10 madly typed on her laptop to bring Ada under control, but it didn’t work.
I decided to risk serious injury by turning off Ada’s main power. I ran, leaped, and got hit with an arm across my back that really hurt. With another dodge and a bit of luck, I turned Ada off.
Without power, Ada slowed down, lost balance and fell back. I caught Ada, like in a trust fall. With Ada cradled in my arms, face dented and scratched, covered in dirt and tree fragments, I started to cry.
I smelt the acrid burning of electronics and I heard 10’s labored breath. I looked over and through my tears saw 10 doubled over, vomiting on the dirt.
“Annnnnnnnd cut,” we heard someone yell from behind us.
A window in one of the classrooms was open and a camera lens poked out. The lens disappeared back into the void, and a head appeared. It was Dalk.
“I couldn’t have planned it better myself. Thank you,” Dalk said with a look of appreciation on his face. “When I heard you two were teaming up against me this year I thought, ‘Should I be worried?’ The answer, of course, is no. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go put this on the internet.”
Dalk smiled and looked at me, lying on the ground holding Ada. I’d stopped crying. My eyes, like my breath, were still and clear. I stared at him, through him, with all my love of Ada and all my spite. Dalk’s smirk disappeared, he looked down at the ground, fidgeted with his camera, and quickly turned and walked away.
I turned back toward Ada.
“Ada, this competition is no longer about just surviving it. This is too important. You’re too important.”
I was ready to take this up a level.
T-Minus Twelve
The next day, 10 and I sat with Lucia in her garden.
“Yes, I get what happened. I’m asking why it happened?” Lucia asked.
“Well, technically, Ada’s systems were—” 10 said.
“I’m not talking about the technical mistakes; I’m asking why they happened at all? And ignoring the crash, how did Ada seem?”
“Ada was also fairly stiff…too robotic, which I know sounds funny. But to win we have to be smooth. And the crash? Well, we missed something. A few things,” I said.
“Yes, you missed something. I think you’re missing something… Someone. The team isn’t complete yet,” Lucia said.
10 looked at me and back to Lucia, “Missing someone? Really? What do you mean?”
“I mean your team needs someone else to really do something amazing. You two seem enough to get the job done, but you need more than that. You need something special.”
10’s lip curled at the edge and she gave a shrug.
“It’s simple in principle and complex in action,” Lucia said. “You are both working well together. You complement each other. 10 has the technical depth and AZ has the purpose, while developing her leadership and technical skills. The team is functionally good. Functional is great to build something you already know how to build. But it’s not going to build something more than that. For that, you need creativity and what they call the X-Factor. You need some positive friction.”
“Ok, so how do we get some ‘positive friction’?” I asked.
“Well, who in your school is different? Really different. Someone who can take this to a whole new plane of thinking.”
“Different. How about really, really, really different?” I said looking at 10 with an eyebrow raised.
“No. No way. Not Li,” 10 said, shaking her head.
“I like this reaction. Tell me more,” Lucia s
aid.
“There is an artsy student who would definitely be described as kinda different, named Li,” I said.
“Kinda different? More like giga-strange,” 10 said. “Li does everything opposite. If the obvious thing to do is to go left, Li will go right. If everyone has to wear green, Li will wear orange. If we all have to do a project where you need to write twenty pages, Li will do a five-word poem. Li…Li…oh no, I’m describing the person you want, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” I said with Lucia nodding. “Let’s go see if Li’s up for a challenge.”
The next day, 10 and I were walking down the road in another part of our town. My gaze was sternly toward the horizon and my strides purposeful. 10 was looking at the clouds, her strides all at angles, like she wanted to turn and run.
“Are we really doing this?” 10 asked.
“Yes. We are. We need a third kind of thinking—a third kind of heat—if we are going to win this thing,” I said.
“Ok, as you know, I love your new level of competitiveness. You’re sneering a lot more than you used to, which is awesome, it really is. But technically, we don’t agree all the time and why do we have to be revolutionary?” 10 asked.
“Yes, we disagree on things like which component to use, which structure, using tabs or spaces, if it’s pronounced ‘gif’ or ‘jif’ (it’s gif, BTW), but they are minor. We need someone to think differently about the big stuff. And yes, we do need to be revolutionary. Dalk doesn’t just put the same robot up each year, his robot gets better and better. Significantly. Massively. If we are going to win—and we are going to win—then we need to get exponentially better.”
Definition: Exponential growth is when something grows by a factor of 10. Instead of growing linearly like 10, 20, 30, 40, 50, exponential growth is 10, 100, 1,000, 10,000.
“So where are we going, technically?”
“Um, I kind of don’t really know, but I’m also kind of hoping that we’ll find Li somewhere at the park? I have seen Li here a few times.”
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