“The Green light room. Professor Wingnut is ready for you.” Hank merely nodded and motioned for me to follow him. Yet again he hoisted the large suitcases one in each hand and motioned with his head for me to follow him. I got a really good feeling that Hank wasn’t a great communicator for so far all he had said to me on arrival and on the journey here seemed to reinforce that opinion. I’d tried a few words of small talk but all I had received in return was either being completely blanked, or at best just a small nod or shake of the head. I could only hope that professor Wingnut was a man of more words, or it was going to be a real bastard of an interview.
We made our way down a brightly lit wide corridor, the walls of which were interspersed with firmly closed wide double doors off to both sides every five yards or so. I found it a bit weird that none of these doors had any signs at all, and yet Hank continued down the corridor at a brisk pace, the two suitcases still clutched in his hands. We swung a left at the end and joined another corridor which ran in both directions before ending about four doorways away at a dead end, double doors forming the end of the hallway here too. The only difference between this set of doors and the others was a row of three small chairs set up against the wall. At the moment they were all completely vacant. Hank reached the double doors and placed one of the suitcases on the floor before knocking twice quietly on the door. There was a muffled sound of what could have been “enter” from the other side and Hank turned the handle on the door, and over his shoulder told me to take a seat before hefting the suitcases up once again and going through the entrance which closed quietly behind him.
I sat myself down, staring at the plain pinstriped wallpaper and began to anticipate the interview. I had only been there for about a minute before the door opened again and Hank popped his head through the gap. “Professor Wingnut will see you now.” He said in the same monotone voice and I stood and entered the room, which was surprisingly large. The office was roughly square inside. The far end of the room comprised of ceiling to floor bay windows, through which the grounds outside were clearly visible. A large set of French doors that led out into the gardens stood half open in the wall of glass, before which was placed a large desk. The side walls seemed to be covered almost entirely in bookcases, and a small mobile ladder to access the higher shelves stood off to one side. The books were almost entirely encased in what appeared to be leather of various colours, and there was a definite air of opulence about the room. Behind the desk across the wide room sat a small figure, which I presumed was the professor. Hank stood off to one side, completely motionless, the suitcases at his feet.
“Ah! Luke!” exclaimed the man who I assumed was the professor as I entered, and walking around the desk he approached me and we shook hands in the centre of the room, confirming that it was indeed Wingnut.
Professor Theodulus Wingnut was the perfect embodiment of his name. He wore an almost full length white lab coat, at the lapel pocket of which sat several different coloured biros. He appeared to be anywhere between sixty and eighty, wearing a pair of small round spectacles that seemed almost balanced on the bridge of his nose, as if daring gravity to sweep them to the floor. A wide forehead gave way to a shock of thin white hair that looked to me as if the professor had been plugged into the mains just minutes before as it rose wildly in all directions. He had a wide smile though, and a warm friendly handshake, which seemed to last just a few more seconds longer than was entirely necessary, his enthusiasm seeming almost to radiate from him. I smiled in return and noticed Hank in the corner of the room standing as still as a statue. “Come in. Come in!” fussed the professor as he led me to a large chair that was positioned in front of his desk. “Splendid!” he said as if delivering a verdict and made his way back behind his desk. He made a bit of a thing about pulling his chair beneath the table and then clasped his hands together and looked me up and down a few times, pausing only to clean his glasses on his lab coat once. I sat there patiently waiting for the interview to begin, but the professor seemed to be content to continue to beam a warm smile at me as if waiting for me to begin. Awkward doesn’t even begin to describe it.
This seemed to go on for at least three or four minutes, but was probably actually only about two before I cleared my throat and said, “Technical support job?” which the professor seemed to either not have heard or even understood. He just sat there beaming at me. From the corner of my eye I saw Hank move and place a single piece of A4 paper in front of the professor and from the corner of his mouth muttered, “The interview” before returning to the same immobile state as before. At this the professor sprang to life and snatched the piece of paper up from the desk.
“Ah yes. The interview. Technical support person.” he smiled from ear to ear. “There you are.” He glanced at me once more before thanking Hank and then turned to face me once more. He removed his glasses once again, forgot to clean them and balanced them back on his nose again. The thick glass in the lenses made his eyes look twice as big as before. I felt as if I was about to interviewed by a vaguely eccentric owl. “By the way Luke did you feel a small discharge of static electricity when you entered the building?” I nodded and the professor seemed pleased at this. “Was it rather strong?” he enquired, and seemed to be genuinely concerned
“No.” I replied. “Just a tingle.” The professor sat bolt upright at this. “A tingle?” he enquired and I nodded again, wondering what in the name of God all the fuss was about a bit of static. “Probably a little over - enthusiastic on the protective radius of the electron capacitor feedback circuit more than anything.” he said almost half to himself and I noticed out of the corner of my eye Hank turning slowly to face the professor. “Turn the feedback circuit down 3 Sharples will you please, Hank?” and Hank nodded stiffly once and then picking up the cases strode with purpose from the room. I heard a bit of a kerfuffle as the door and suitcase juggling thing went on and then the door pulled shut and footsteps could be heard fading down the corridor. I glanced up from the desk and saw the professor beaming at me once again. “Wonderful chap is Hank.” he enthused. I nodded in agreement before the professor continued, “Well, for an android anyway.”
I thought I’d misheard him to be honest so just blurted out a quick, “Sorry?”
“For an android.” repeated the professor as if it was a fact that was plain to see. “1963 model. Completely self-determining, of course. Quite cutting edge for the time.” He paused slightly, before leaning slightly over the desk conspiratorially. “Cheats at chess though.” I nodded my head in a slight daze. Was he really serious? He seemed to be!
The professor almost seemed to hear my thoughts. “All quite foreign to you of course, Luke. I understand that. But perfectly normal around here. “He smiled broadly for a second. “Hank is one of the last generation of androids. But he is as I have said completely self-determining, and been tested in various locales that a mere man could only ever hope to attain.” I nodded dumbly, playing along but also keeping a very careful eye on the exit. The French windows seemed to be the best bet. “Yes. Hank here we have tested in various areas that would cause grave discomfort and danger to a normal man.”
He leaned across the desk conspiratorially as if imparting a great secret. “He has attended every five a.m. “Next” Christmas sale for the last three years without injury. Quite remarkable.” He paused to give me a quick smile before a frown crossed his face. “He has bought quite a few questionable ties though. Still, no accounting for taste. He was indeed extremely advanced technology for the sixties. Quintuple multi-threaded processors working in very close harmony with a titanium positronic matrix makes all the difference.” He paused as if thinking of something else. “Knows 53 languages as well.” he smiled. “Even Glaswegian.” I stifled a small squeal of discomfort. “I know.” continued the professor, mistaking my squeal for one of acceptance, which it most definitely was not. “He can run 37 trillion calculations per microsecond and is physically locatable within 0.00003 of a millimetre from anywhere
on the planet. Never eats. Never sleeps. Doesn’t require payment of any kind at all. Though I do believe he is quite fond of Ginger snaps. We always ensure that the canteen has some in stock at all times.”
I gulped, trying desperately to think of a question that would not send the professor off on the by now inevitable axe wielding jamboree, for surely he was some kind of nutcase. There were no such things as androids! I began to look for hidden cameras in case I was going to be the star of a new series of Candid Camera or something.
I asked the only question that I could think of. “What is it with the suitcases?” I said and the professor’s face fell.
“Ah.” he mumbled, as if admitting a guilty secret. “They are his batteries.”
“ANYONE”
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Barf the Barbarian in The Tower of the Anas Platyrhynchos (The Chronicles of Barf the Barbarian Book 1) Page 7
