by Terry Persun
Morning drew near, and Fenny rushed to get home. In the kitchen, he used a hand towel to clean the dirt from his legs. He rubbed them until they were spotless, all the time sensing the cold of the towel, the dampness, then dry sensations afterwards.
Brought on by his minor accident in the woods, his rising concern was whether he’d have enough spare parts. What would he do if one of his legs were to break? He would have to be more careful where he walked and how he explored.
He didn’t have a lot of time before morning. As much as he wanted to continue experimenting with his new limbs, he also wanted to order replacements. He double-checked the availability of arms as well as extra sets of legs. A part of his mind suggested that all the ordering might alert someone that Dr. Klein was up to something unusual, so Fenny used the doctor’s email account to put in a report. In the report, he explained that one of his experiments had caught fire in the night and destroyed several boxes of components. He admitted to reordering extras to be sure that his experiments would not be interrupted had another accident occurred. He added that he was at a very critical point in his research, but did not suggest what that point might be.
Fenny knew that the report would go on file and probably not even get read unless someone watching over the deliveries became suspicious. It was implemented as a backup. Just in case. He laughed at the very idea. It was absurd. The US government paid for everything Dr. Klein ordered, what company, even a suspicious one, would take a chance on losing a contract like that? He punched the enter button with the force of finality. Done.
Fenny heard the coffee maker kick on with a little snap and gurgle. He only had a few minutes before Dr. Klein’s alarm would go off and he would come out for his first cup of coffee.
He began to wander back and forth until he realized what he was doing. He was acting nervous. What was the cause? His new legs. What was the solution? Hide them. But he couldn’t hide legs. They were just there. Fenny heard Dr. Klein rustling in the bedroom and ducked down behind a box in the corner of the room as though he had gone into rest mode for the night.
The bedroom door opened and Dr. Klein emerged. “Good morning, Fenny. Today is the day.”
Fenny feigned a startle. “Oh, Dr. Klein, you are awake.” He did not move from his position.
Dr. Klein pointed at Fenny. “Are you ready?”
“I am,” Fenny said. And he was more ready than he thought Dr. Klein would want him to be. But he kept his wandering thoughts to himself.
In a moment, Dr. Klein came back into the workspace and instead of sitting in his stuffed chair to sip his coffee he went straight to the workbench and set the cup down. “Looks as though you were busy last night,” he said. He put some of the tools away and rearranged others as though he was going to work. “What’d you do last night, Fenny?” He swung around.
Fenny shuffled into the corner without lifting onto his legs. Dr. Klein’s stare was like an accusation. His eyebrows raised, and his words charged Fenny with a crime.
“Fenny? What were you up to?” Dr. Klein’s question turned more playful, less angry.
When Fenny sensed the lack of aggravation, he lifted onto his legs. He didn’t know what to expect. But when he saw Dr. Klein’s broad smile, he became confused. He expected anything but joy. “What is it, Doctor? Are you laughing at me? Do I look funny?”
“Not at all, my boy. What you have done is prove my most recent theory.”
“Which is?” Fenny asked.
“That you would somehow let me know when you were ready for the next step in your evolution. Like a child begins to push the envelope of his parents’ rules when he is ready to step out on his own.” He nodded his head in apparent agreement with his assumption. “Last night, I ordered the DNA-enhanced circuits on a hunch, but now I can see that you’ve also anticipated that it is time for you to grow to the next level.” He waved Fenny toward him. “Come, come, we have a lot of work to do before the circuit board housing the material shows up this morning.”
“This morning?”
“Due for a ten o’clock delivery,” Dr. Klein said in a pleased tone of voice.
Fenny walked over, but also kept an eye on Dr. Klein’s reaction. The man acted differently than Fenny had anticipated. His shoulders slid back and his neck stretched as Dr. Klein admired Fenny’s new legs. Then something overtook Fenny and he spun completely around and upon facing Dr. Klein, stepped out with one leg, the loose fitting shoe slapping against the floor. A dance step, a pirouette of sorts. Fenny wanted to try a jig, but couldn’t locate a sample in his memory.
Dr. Klein clapped. “Wonderful. Have you been practicing?”
“I have,” Fenny said, but he left out the part about going outside to run, and was happy that he’d cleaned up as soon as he returned.
“It shows.” The doctor patted his thigh. “Now come closer and let me begin. Right here, between my legs so that I can get at everything.”
Fenny walked over and kneeled next to Dr. Klein. He saw it coming, but remained completely still.
Dr. Klein’s hand hit the “All Stop” button. Fenny quickly let his motors run down and slumped in front of Dr. Klein. He should have expected the doctor’s actions, but the man had appeared so relaxed and happy. Anger flared up along Fenny’s neurogrid circuits. He wanted to lash out at Dr. Klein, shove him away. Instead, he waited to see what the doctor would do next. As long as Dr. Klein did not notice the jumper wire Fenny had used to bypass the “All Stop” everything would go smoothly.
But the doctor did not even open Fenny’s side panel. Instead, he used an electric screwdriver and removed the screws that held the flex shafts in place. He let each shaft, with an eye mounted at its tip, hang over the side of Fenny’s torso so that he could see nothing but the floor. Then he disconnected the mechanical arm on the top, with the hand at the end. He let that hang along the torso too. Finally, Dr. Klein unscrewed the top of Fenny’s torso to expose his main circuitry.
Fenny had to stay still as the doctor drilled new holes for his mechanical arm. He felt the vibration and heard the noise, but could not feel anything. There were no sensors where the doctor worked. But Fenny could sense pressure that was put on his body from different angles. He could hear the noise and feel the vibration of the drill and screwdriver. Dr. Klein hummed happily as he worked. Listening closely, Fenny assumed that the doctor was feeding additional wires, perhaps with a connector through the hole he had made.
After an hour and ten minutes, the doctor went into the storeroom and retrieved several boxes. He worked continually until he reassembled Fenny in a new configuration and screwed his torso back together, then the flex shafts with the eyes. But the doctor wasn’t finished. Fenny still couldn’t sense his hand. It had been disconnected completely.
Fenny had the urge to look around, but stayed in his fake off position.
The doctor took a break for a second cup of coffee, and Fenny still. He listened as the doctor traveled back into his bedroom and then came back out, as he hummed, as he moved items around on the workbench. The anger Fenny felt toward the doctor for shutting him down had subsided. Now only curiosity arose.
By the time the doctor finished, it was nearly nine o’clock in the morning. Just before the doctor punched the “All Stop” to turn Fenny back on, he flicked a switch on Fenny’s main circuit board. Fenny came to life, but something was very different.
CHAPTER 21
NEIL PARKED HIS CAR in a rambling new home development near the temporary storage facility Smythe had texted him about. From there he jogged the next seven blocks in the early morning air, duffle slung over his right shoulder. The sun had brightened the day nicely, even though it was only creeping over the mountains in the east. He slowed whenever he saw a car coming. Once he came up to the warehouse, he walked around to the rear of the building where it was still shaded from the sun. Cool air helped to keep him from sweating.
An unmarked truck occupied a space against the loading dock, which lay wide open, the door
s slid behind one another. He glanced at his watch. He expected two types of activities to take place. The night guard would hand over his duties to the day guard, and the moving crew would get back into their truck and leave. He wondered how many people there would be, and how he’d be able to sneak inside. What were his options?
Neil wandered up to the truck as though he was meant to be there, thinking that if he got caught he would make up some quick story about being lost. But no one was around. He could see over the high docking area into the warehouse. A forklift truck sat in the center of a large open area, and a newly built crate the size of the time machine sat on the forks. Behind the truck there were aisles and aisles filled with boxes and crates. He wondered how many failed projects and how many abandoned ones had been stashed away on those shelves. And how many of those projects would have worked had they only received the proper amount of financial backing?
He walked to the end of the dock and took the stairs two at a time to the loading area. As he got close to the open doors, he peered inside the truck compartment. It was empty. He rushed to the warehouse doors, and waited and listened with his back against the wall. After a moment he heard muted laughter coming from around the corner. People in an office with the door closed. He heard mumbling and then another group laugh. It sounded like four or five people were in there telling war stories.
Neil leaned forward and peered around the corner. He could only see one person in the office. Blinds had been shut on all but one window. The visible man listened intently to someone telling a story. Neil heard more mumbling. The other men must have been sitting or standing around the room behind the closed blinds.
He waited.
At the punch line, the man he could see began to laugh then closed his eyes and shook his head like he couldn’t believe the tale. That’s when Neil sprang for the forklift truck and ducked behind the crate that held the time machine.
The scent of fresh wood filled his nose. He reached into a side pocket of the duffle and removed a small transmitter. Holding it between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand he peeled away a band of plastic exposing the sticky adhesive surface. Reaching under one of the boards at the bottom of the crate, Neil stuck the listening device into a corner where two pieces of wood were screwed together.
One down.
But he wasn’t out of the woods yet. Heavy boots thumped down a side hall and a door clicked open. He peeked over the forklift truck and saw the day guard enter the office where the rest of the men were still in conversation. The man was tall and thin and wore the navy uniform of a security guard. On the way into the office, the guard raised his hand to say hello to the men, then walked behind one of the closed blinds and out of site. The door closed behind him, on its own.
Neil didn’t have a lot of time left. The new guard would sign in and go right out to make his rounds.
On both sides of a long aisle behind him, stacks of boxes and crates sat on racks similar to the local warehouse department store. He wondered how many of these temporary items ended up being permanent. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands of packaged items of all shapes and sizes, each labeled with a long number and a short description. He glanced back at the office. The other man, the one he could see when he first arrived, had walked out of sight.
That was his chance, he thought, but before he could run down the aisle, the office door opened and all the men poured out, still laughing and talking. Neil kneeled on the cold concrete, closed his eyes for a second, and breathed as shallowly as he could. He listened as the men headed for the truck.
“Nice seeing you guys again,” one of the guards said. “Too bad it had to be such a rush job.”
“Yeah, but it’s double-time pay, so I’m not going to worry about it too much.”
Neil listened as someone slid the truck’s rear door into place. Someone asked, “Where do you want us to move this thing?”
Neil held his breath, waiting for the answer.
“Leave it for now. It won’t be here long according to the paperwork. I’ll just park it in the corner. It’ll be fine there for a week or two.”
As the men said their goodbyes, Neil rushed quietly down the aisle, keeping the forklift truck and time machine crate between him and the men. Moving sideways down the aisle, he kept one eye on where he was going and the other on the small group of men. The truck driver and his helpers opened the truck doors and climbed inside, and the guards had their backs to him while they waited for the truck to pull away.
Neil speeded down the aisle. At the end of the row, he took a left and ran down several rows and up another aisle, examining the containers on both sides at the same time. He stopped when he noticed several crates labeled furniture, one large enough to be the size of a sofa. So they weren’t all failed projects. He thought that if they were going to leave the time machine somewhere in the front while waiting for it to be moved, this aisle would be perfect, far enough away that he should be able to sneak up on the robots once they arrived.
If the furniture crate did hold a sofa there would be a bit of space inside where he could wait. He set the duffle on the floor and unzipped it enough to reach in and remove a hand drill with a screwdriver tip.
“What was that?” one of the guards said.
“I don’t know. Something shuffling around,” the other one said.
Neil halted all movement. The warehouse was silent. He couldn’t hear the truck engine either, so the movers must have pulled away leaving only the guards.
“I’ll go on your rounds with you before I leave.”
Neil placed the drill back inside the duffle and shoved it between two of the crates labeled furniture. He squeezed in next to it and moved around to an opening in the back large enough to ball up in and hide.
The men walked up and down each aisle. At first they were silent, but then began to chitchat about their families. Neil figured the more engaged they got into their conversation, the less attentive they would be to their quick search. He was right. The closer they got to his hiding place, the more involved they were telling stories about the funny things their kids did. They were no longer listening for noises or inspecting the area.
They walked right past Neil even though they could have seen him had they been paying enough attention. He saw them peripherally and was careful not to look directly at them. In a few more minutes, the warehouse door to the docks was closed and the two of them went into the office. The warehouse fell quiet again.
He waited another ten minutes for the night guard to leave. When he heard the radio go on and music playing, Neil relaxed and went into action.
He had hidden behind the crate he hoped held the sofa inside. As quickly and quietly as possible he pulled the drill from the duffle bag. He wrapped a hand towel around its case to muffle the sound and unscrewed about thirty screws in the rear of the crate. He placed the screws inside a plastic bag and then inside the duffle. He pulled the panel away at one end, just enough that he could climb inside. He was relieved to see that his assumption had been correct. Inside sat a six-foot long leather sofa. There was also a foot of space around the sofa. The feet were cupped in a Styrofoam material of some kind that held it into place.
Neil shoved the duffle into the corner of the sofa and climbed inside the crate and lay down. He pulled the panel back into place and using only two of the screws, one on either side, secured the panel temporarily. Too easy, he thought. When Smythe said low security, he meant it.
The closed crate held in the darkness. Only a slight line of light came in from an ill-formed corner where the boards didn’t match. The sofa accepted Neil’s weight easily. It was comfortable to lie on, nicer than the one he had at home. It smelled like a combination of the warehouse and the leather it was made from, but wasn’t offensive. He used his cell phone as a flashlight and looked around for signs of rodents, but everything looked clean.
Idle was not a word Neil understood very well. He maneuvered the duffle around so that he could peer inside i
t. He pulled out the ear buds for the listening device he secured to the time machine crate. He removed the food he had packed and placed it in the one-foot area at the front of the sofa. He organized what he had brought with him so that it would be easy to reach when hunger struck. He also had his locator device in case the robots called using Mavra’s phone. Once settled, there wasn’t much to do but wait. He pulled up the internet on his phone and researched dark energy, finding articles about the dark matter and dark energy in space, then ran across some pieces about the dark energy of the brain.
With plenty of time on his hands, he also thought about Mavra, how her readings had been correct from the start. Men had died, and he was thankful that it wasn’t either of them. Had he listened from the start, no one would have had to die at all. He accepted that she was as good at her work as he was at his, and promised himself that he’d take her more seriously from then on.
The first rumbling from the listening device came several hours later. The battery-operated lift truck whined when it was started, and soon after the wood crate creaked as the forks lifted it. The truck beeped as it backed up. Then the beeping stopped and Neil listened as the forklift was driven away. Knowing the layout of the warehouse and where the lift truck had been parked, Neil imagined the guard driving it to the far end of the unloading area. The crate was lowered and the beeping began again while the truck was backed out from under the crate and turned around. It sounded as though the man drove the lift truck all the way back to the office before shutting it down. “What a job,” Neil thought.
He heard the office door open and the music get louder. It closed again and he imagined the guard putting his feet up on the desk and reading a book or taking a nap. “Probably Union pay,” Neil whispered. He knew that the man must have had his forklift license, which meant that he was probably a Union worker and not just a rent-a-cop. Not that they didn’t have their own union, but the man would make more if he could also drive a forklift. Neil was thankful for men like the guard who took jobs that many other people couldn’t stand doing, including Neil.
