by Alex Schuler
“Where the hell is Frankie?” Kevin asked.
“Obviously not with me,” Ted replied flatly. “Why do you think I need the tow?”
“How bad is it this time?”
“Nothing a little duct tape won’t fix.”
“Holy shit, Ted. You’re bleeding!” He pointed at the blood dripping from the cloth around Ted’s hand. He reached out and uncoiled the rag to expose the cut. “That’s a bit deep. You should get that stitched up.”
“I’ve seen worse,” Ted said, shrugging.
“We need to at least get you bandaged up. Follow me.”
Obediently, Ted shuffled behind him to the main office and sat down at the front desk in the small dingy room. The chairs were covered in tattered, cracked navy vinyl, and the faux wood covering the particleboard desktop was peeling away from the chrome edges. Fisher Tuner’s main showrooms, such as the one in Reno, were sleek and modern but their workshops were not intended for the public. Very few customers ever got to see them. Ted scanned the trophy-filled case on the opposite wall. Fisher Tuner designs were renowned for their excellence and had the awards to prove it.
Ted grabbed a tissue from the box on the corner of the desk and wiped his face while Kevin rummaged for a first aid kit in the storage closet. Tossing the oil-stained tissue into the trash, Ted again shoved the edge of his bleeding hand into his mouth and turned his attention beyond the dust-covered windows to glance at the stars. No clouds. The loose-fitting front door rattled as a gentle breeze buffeted against its frame.
Kevin returned, a box of gauze bandages and roll of adhesive tape in his hands. Looking around, he spotted an old napkin on the desk next to Ted and used it to clean the wound. The gash was just over an inch long and ran from the base of Ted’s thumb to just above his wrist.
“That’s going to leave a scar,” Kevin said. “I wish we had some rubbing alcohol to disinfect it.”
“Or whisky,” Ted added with a grin.
Kevin chuckled as he retrieved a pair of scissors from the top drawer.
“Let’s get you patched up first. We can have a drink when I’m done.”
“Don’t forget about Frankie. It’s getting dark out. He needs to be towed back.”
“I tried to stop you before you left.” Kevin frowned and shook his head as he sliced the adhesive tape into strips. “No helmet. No radio. You should know better, Ted. You’re taking unnecessary risks.”
Ted winced as Kevin pressed the gauze against the wound.
“Relax, Kevin. What’s a little spilled blood in the name of progress?”
As Kevin finished bandaging Ted’s wound, the shop phone rang. “Who would be calling at this hour?” Kevin said as he left the office and went over to his workstation to pick up the handset on his desk.
“Fisher Tuner,” Kevin said. “Kevin here. How can I help you?”
Ted smiled at the drawl of Kevin’s heavy Boston accent and his inability to pronounce the letter “R.” As Kevin spoke, Ted went to his own workstation to put down his things.
“That was sent out yesterday,” Kevin continued. He held the handset away from his ear and looked at Ted. Kevin waited several seconds before returning the phone to his ear and speaking. “Sure thing. Not a problem. My apologies.”
Kevin slammed the phone down and shook his head.
“Why are people so impatient?” Kevin asked as he stared at the phone.
“You’re asking the wrong guy,” Ted replied. “Tell me something, Kevin. How many people call here thinking they somehow got a fish market?”
“What?”
“Fish a Tuna?”
Kevin smiled and flipped him the middle finger. They both burst out laughing.
“So, what happened out there, Ted?”
“Frankie did great. I finally got through all three dunes. I just pushed him a bit hard when I was done.”
“Of course you did.”
Walking to the rear of the garage, he leaned against the workbench next to Kevin and shoved his injured hand into the front pocket of his faded denim jeans.
“I’m probably going to need to raid the supply room.” Ted pointed to the door in the back corner of the garage. “I have a feeling once we get Frankie on the lift, there’s going to be a lot that needs replacing.”
“Just ‘a little duct tape,’ right?” Kevin chuckled. “If you take anything from the warehouse, just be sure to log it.”
“I know. Hey, when is Kyle due back?”
“The boss is flying into Reno next Wednesday. He’s got business in town and then plans to come by here on either Thursday or Friday. Why?”
“That gives me plenty of time to fix Frankie. I don’t want him walking in here seeing him in a mess.”
“What in God’s name were you testing today?”
“God had nothing to do with it. I wanted to supplement the air suspension I’ve been designing with magnetic shocks.”
“So that’s your latest secret gizmo. And they failed?”
“I’m not sure. I think it may be something structural attached to the chassis. I won’t know until we get him up on the lift. I got the idea to try that last dune in the opposite direction and ended up coming down pretty hard. The decline and airtime were severe.”
“I know that one. Why take last-minute risks like that?” Kevin said, shaking his head. “Maybe if you had more carefully planned for the test you could have prepared the structure and calibrated the system to handle it.”
“I did the math. It should have worked.” Ted could see the disapproval on Kevin’s face. “I’ve told you before. The only way to know the limit on something is to break it.”
Kevin rolled his eyes and walked over to the royal blue Toyota Tacoma in the bay behind his workbench. He shoved his arm over the top of the huge forty-inch tire and tapped his index finger against the bright yellow coil shock absorber.
“I still don’t get why you test your stuff on an old muscle car, Ted. People don’t race those in the desert.”
Ted was about to answer when his cell phone rang out from his workstation on the other side of the garage. He started to walk across as he pulled his injured hand from his pocket. The cut was still fresh and bleeding. He frowned when he noticed the blood stain on his jeans.
“I told you, Kevin. If I can build it small, it’s much easier to scale up. If I can get Frankie to take a beating, then something like that Toyota will be a breeze to customize.” Ted grabbed his Nokia cell phone and answered the call. “Hello?”
“Ted, it’s your father,” John Wolff said. The connection was weak, and his voice crackled through the speaker. “How are you, Son?”
“I’m fine, Dad.” Ted took a moment to inspect his wound. His temporary bandage of soiled napkins was now saturated in blood. “What’s up?”
“I’ve got good news. I know you don’t want to work at corporate. You’ve made that very clear. But with your skills, I think you can make a real difference at the plant. I talked with my boss and told him all about you. He’s ready to bring you on board. Just say the word.”
Ted lowered the phone and sighed. John Wolff worked at a General Motors assembly plant and had been badgering Ted to take a job with GM ever since Ted left college. His father’s demanding attitude was one reason Ted had decided to move from Ohio to Nevada.
“This isn’t a good time, Dad.” Ted rubbed his bleeding hand against his stained jeans. “Can we talk later? I’m busy at the shop.”
“Why are you still at work? I thought you’d be home by now.”
“I’m just wrapping up a few things.”
“They’ve got you working crazy hours. I bet you don’t get paid overtime. Do you?”
“No, Dad. Look, the way it works is—”
“For the life of me, I still have no idea why you ran off to the West to work in that stupid shop.” John�
��s tone was terse. “Desert-racers? You’re wasting your skills, Ted.”
Here we go again, Ted thought. He lowered the phone and squeezed it with both hands. The last thing he wanted to do was get in another argument with his father. He grabbed the bag he’d brought back with him and retrieved one of the notepads and a pen. He began reviewing his data, ignoring the sounds coming through the earpiece.
“Come back home and get a union job, Son,” John continued, his tenor now sounding more consoling than lecturing. “You need to think about your future.”
“I came here for a better future, Dad. I’ve told you that many times. You don’t understand.”
“I understand your mother and I broke our backs to get you a college education. And this is how you repay us? Why can’t you be like your brothers?”
“I need to go, Dad.”
“Run away as always, Ted. You call me when you’re done dicking around out—”
Ted ended the call and sent the phone tumbling across a mess of papers and tools onto his workbench. He felt his body tremble and eyes well up with tears. Frantic, he looked around for a towel or napkin. Landing on a rolled-up terry cloth rag splattered with oil stains, he grabbed it and pressed hard against his eyes to prevent the tears from falling.
“My father’s an ass, too,” Kevin said from across the garage. “Do you two ever have a conversation that doesn’t end in a fight?”
“Rarely. My parents don’t get me.” Ted sighed as he lowered the rag, leaving smears of grease across his cheeks. “They never have.”
Ted wrapped his wound in the dirty rag and walked over to Kevin at his desk.
“My dad wants me to follow in his footsteps,” Ted continued. “He thinks I can make a big splash at GM. But I know my future lies elsewhere. I’m sure of it.”
“Is that future here?” Kevin asked as he turned to face Ted. “Don’t get me wrong. You’re brilliant. The customers love you. But we both know you’re wasting your skills here. I hate to say it, but I kind of agree with your dad. You could easily work your way up the chain at GM. You’ve got the skills and education. Tell me something. Where do you see yourself in five years?”
“Five years?” Ted looked around the garage, taking in the vehicles, tools, and equipment. The scent of oil and gasoline brought a slight grin to his face. “Maybe in five years I’ll be Kyle’s right-hand man. Or maybe own my own chain of custom tuner shops.”
“Well, don’t tell the boss that.” Kevin gave him a reassuring smile. “I always plan my life in five-year chunks. It’s good to have goals. It sounds like your dad is trying to help you aim for a better future.”
“Thanks. I’m sure he means well. He and I just don’t see eye to eye. You’re a good friend, Kevin.” Ted wiped his nose as he surveyed the various components spread across Kevin’s desk. “What are you working on?”
“Just some suspension components for the Toyota.”
“Not that.” A large metallic cylinder, over two feet tall, was jammed in the far corner of Kevin’s desk. Ted pointed at it and said, “That.”
“The boy genius doesn’t know?”
Ted ignored Kevin’s dig and walked past him to inspect the unit. “This is a lidar system.”
“It was—before I dismantled it.”
Kevin’s workstation was covered in motors, lenses, mirrors, and circuit boards. Ted studied the components with a mix of envy and curiosity.
“Looks like I’m not the only one with secret projects.” Ted’s eyes widened in awe as he ran his fingers across the equipment. “What are you planning on doing with it?”
“The boss got a request from some prince in Qatar. The guy wants to dominate the next Dakar Rally. He’s setting up his own road course and wants to map the entire area digitally. Kyle, of course, tells him we can do it. The guy doesn’t know the word ‘no.’ So now I’m trying to make it desert-worthy.”
“How’s that working out for you?”
“Too soon to say. The problem is these things only see in one direction. The detail they can give you is incredible. It’s just limited to where they are aimed. They are also fragile as shit. Very temperamental when you shake them around.”
“Maybe I can help you with it.” Ted picked up a scanning mirror to study the design.
“Maybe. But before anyone’s helping with anything, we gotta go get Frankie. After that, you need to get a doctor to look at that wound.”
“This is fine.” Ted said holding up his thumb, blood already beginning to seep through the bandage Kevin put on. “Nothing a good cleaning and bandage can’t fix. Let’s go get Frankie.”
“If you say so, Ted.”
3
Within a few days of the accident with Frankie, Ted had the car back up and running. Thumb still bandaged, he stood hunched over his workbench engrossed in thought. With his good hand, he frantically flipped through piles of notebooks he’d kept from college. A tap on the shoulder brought him out of the pages and focusing on Kevin standing behind him.
“What are you looking for, genius?” Kevin asked.
“I’ve got a problem I’m trying to solve,” he replied, his voice a bit nasally. He turned back to his pile of papers. “I know I figured this out in school. I’m just trying to find it.”
Kevin frowned as he let his eyes scan across the cacophony of items scattered around Ted. A stapled group of yellowed papers resting on Ted’s oscilloscope caught his eye. Kevin picked them up, curious.
“What’s this?” he asked.
Ted snatched the papers from Kevin’s hand and glanced at the front page. “It’s an essay by Vernor Vinge. You familiar with it?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“He wrote it in the early nineties. I did a research paper in college on the history and future of artificial intelligence and this essay was one of my major sources. Vernor believed AI would become so advanced it would replace humans in the intellectual pecking order on the planet.”
“You mean like in those Terminator movies?”
“Who knows?” Ted chuckled and tossed the weathered pages onto his desk. His smile faded as he scanned the opening paragraphs of the essay. “I have to admit, he’s gotten quite a few things right. It’s pretty amazing how quickly AI is advancing. I think we’ve only scratched the surface.”
“So, no robot domination on the immediate horizon?”
“No.”
“Good.” Kevin turned and walked back to his side of the garage. His bald head glistened beneath the harsh light. “I like being at the top of the food chain. Speaking of food, are we still on for dinner this weekend with the girls?”
“Dinner?” Ted said absently as he searched for his notes. He picked up a small three-by-five-inch notebook and flipped it open to the first page. “Was there something planned?”
“No, I just assumed after last weekend, we’d all go out again.”
Ted closed the notebook and let out a heavy sigh. As much as he enjoyed working with Kevin, he preferred to keep the non-work socializing to a minimum. Especially when it came to dating. There were times when Kevin reminded him of his mother, always pushing him to be with women who didn’t interest him. Last weekend, the two of them had gone to a dive bar for some cheap wings and met two women, sisters, who had ended up joining them for drinks and a few games of pool.
“I’ll pass.”
“Why? Katie likes you.”
“Was that her name?” Ted grinned at the disapproving glare Kevin shot him. “She was nice and all, Kevin. But, she’s not my type.”
“Another one not your type. You’re too picky, Ted.”
“I know what I like. And what I like is to be challenged—pushed. I’m looking for an equal. That wasn’t Katie.”
“I don’t get you, Ted.”
“Few people do.”
“So, then, what are you going to do th
is weekend? Don’t even tell me you’re going to be back here with Frankie.”
“Maybe.”
Kevin rolled his eyes and began organizing the tools spread across his workbench.
“It depends on how tonight’s playground run goes,” Ted said. “I want to get in one last test run before the sun goes down.”
“Really? What’s the rush? There’s no deadline.”
“I know. But I’m trying something new.”
“Care to share?”
“Not really. I’ll show you when I’m ready.” Ted slowly turned his gaze to the notepad in his hand and scanned the mathematical formulas scrawled across the page. “It’s that last hill. I just can’t nail it.”
“You’ll get there, Ted.” Kevin came back over to his workbench and placed his hand on Ted’s shoulder and spun his chair around. “The systems you create are amazing. You build shit I couldn’t even dream of. I still don’t understand why you are out here in the Nevada desert in the middle of nowhere.”
“I have my reasons.” Ted stood up and grabbed his small black canvas bag from beneath his desk. Sorting through the papers piled on his desk, he selected a few notebooks along with some pens and tossed them into the bag. “You know I won’t rest until I figure this out. Don’t wait around for me. I’m not sure how long I’ll be out there.”
4
Gary “Rusty” Abrams leaned back in his chair and glared at his computer screen. The spreadsheet listing key project deliverables was peppered with cells shaded dark red, flagged as past due. He glanced at the October picture of the USS Ronald Reagan aircraft carrier on the 2005 wall calendar pinned to a corkboard beside his screen. Below that, each day of the first week had a bright red “X” through it.
Taking the marker, Rusty stood to cross out Friday the seventh—another day complete. Crossing to the bank of windows overlooking the David Silver University Robotics Lab on the main floor below, he gazed intently at the dozens of workers, mostly students, milling about the massive garage, hard at work on what he believed to be ground-breaking technology. He noticed that several stood around the faded red 1988 Humvee, the focus of all this work. As he watched, he had a momentary flood of disbelief. Heading up the robotics lab for DSU was a role the veteran had never imagined himself taking.
