Revision 7: DNA, Page 2

  Neil slipped into bed beside Mavra without waking her. He fell asleep almost immediately and didn’t wake up until early the next morning. He was up and had his first cup of coffee before she rolled out of bed and walked into the kitchen. He had already dressed for his meeting: business casual in gray slacks and olive green button down. “You look beautiful,” he said as Mavra flowed into the kitchen in her bath robe, a tiny curl of hair circling her left eye.

  She turned her head aside as she stepped to the counter to pour a cup of coffee. “I’m sure.”

  “You always look so innocent and fresh in the morning. And I love the way your hair goes where it wants.” He reached out and stroked her neck lightly.

  After pouring her coffee, she looked up at him. He had one eye on her and the other on the kitchen clock.

  “God, don’t do that right away in the morning. It’s creepy enough sometimes without starting the day like that.”

  “Sorry.” He knew how strange it looked when he let each side of his brain have control over a different eye. Most of his other body parts could do what they wanted and no one really knew that anything was odd about him. But his eyes…

  He brought them back together and locked them into place the way he had learned. He continued to think of two things at once, though, and as he talked with her briefly in the kitchen, he simultaneously ran through possible scenarios for his meeting with Dr. Steffenbraun.

  She pulled close to him while holding her coffee cup out to the side. He loved her odor in the morning, part musky, part perfume. He kissed her on the nose. “I’m going to head out,” he said.

  “It’s still dark.”

  He smiled at her like a little kid. He always felt excited before a new job. And this one was especially exciting because he had nothing at all to go on. It was a complete mystery. They were going to brief him that morning and he couldn’t wait.

  Mavra shook her head. “You are one hundred percent little boy sometimes.”

  “I thought you said I was all man.”

  “You’re that too. Now run along and see what this is all about.” Her face got serious for a moment.

  “I’ll be careful,” he said. “Remember your cards? Nothing to worry about today.”

  “That doesn’t change the fact that things may escalate quickly.”

  “I know.” He gave her a peck on the cheek at the door.

  In the garage, he walked over to the Spree. He opened the door and bent his six-two frame and eased into the front seat. He glanced into the rearview mirror and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. Good enough.

  He had just gotten the car back from the shop where they had installed parallel parking slides of Neil’s design. The mechanics and body workers had to push the engine compartment out a few inches and alter the size of the gas tank, but he was happy with his design and the guys at the shop always loved to see what he came up with next.

  He backed out of his garage, and as he drove he noticed the sound of something rubbing from the rear of the car whenever he went over a bump and made a mental note to have it looked at. Other than that, the Spree ran like it was new. Even though he sped across town in light traffic, he tapped the steering while as he drove. He arrived at the Research Center as the sun was rising over the mountains. Light flashed against the windows along the top of the building. Morning skies always made buildings appear majestic as the sunlight draped over them like cloaks.

  He wouldn’t be able to use the Spree’s parallel parking feature this morning. The parking lot was nearly empty and he pulled into a slot near the front of the building.

  He climbed out of the car and hit the lock button on his key as he bee-lined it for the front entrance. Someone had done his or her job well. Neil’s name and ID were in the building’s computer. Once he swiped his card over the reader, the door kicked open.

  The directory indicated Steffenbraun’s office was located on the third floor. Neil passed through a narrow hall and found the elevator. He took the chute up and quickly paced down the hall until he saw Steffenbraun’s name.

  A tired looking secretary sat behind a large desk. Her hair was in disarray, similar to the desk and the rest of the office, with papers, charts, and what looked like thick reports scattered over the desk, the filing cabinets, and even on the floor. She looked as though she hadn’t slept all night. “May I help you?”

  “I have an appointment with Dr. Eric Steffenbraun,” Neil said.

  “And your name,” she said in a practiced voice.

  “Neil Altman, ah, I’m the investigator he called in.”

  “Oh my.” She knocked the phone off the hook, and rustled through papers strewn across her desk. “The doctor has asked for you several times this morning. I’m glad you’re here. Please, sign this.” She thrust a paper in front of him.

  It was standard procedure for Neil to have to sign confidentiality paperwork. In a quick scrawl, he obeyed her request and handed the sheet back to her.

  She scanned the desk like she wasn’t sure what to do with the paper then placed it on a pile in the corner. She tapped the signed paper as though telling it to stay put, then said, “Follow me” in a nervous tone.

  She came around the desk, keeping her distance from him as though he were too prestigious to get near. It was rather flattering, actually. Respecting her space, he maintained an equal distance as he followed her out of the office and to the right.

  “He’s in the lab,” she explained over her shoulder. “They’re all in there.”

  She scuttled down the hall. “It must be important. “But nobody lets me in on anything that’s going on. Yet I have to sit up all night, escorting everybody and his uncle in and out of the lab.”

  “Everybody?”

  “Oh, you know, other scientists, detectives, Secret Service. No real heavies though,” she said, “except you.”

  “Whoa now, I don’t know if I like being called a heavy,” he quipped.

  The secretary stopped in front of the lab’s double doors and turned. She produced a rather shaky smile. “I’m sorry, Mr. Altman, but from what they say and how the Doctor acts, you are definitely a heavy, like it or not.” She held the door open for Neil. “Go right in. To your left there’s a room for you to dress. Robes are hung in order by size. Further directions are over the door to the Physics Research Lab. That’s where you’re going.”

  “Thank you for your time.” He nodded to her before entering the dressing room.

  He selected a long white robe and placed plastic covers over his shoes as the directions indicated. He got dressed as quickly as he could, a nervous hollow in his stomach. Standing near the door to the Research Lab, he took a moment to close his eyes and take a few deep breaths. He remembered to use his eyes together, at least until he felt a bit more comfortable with the situation. Even when people knew about his training – that’s what he liked to think of it – they often felt uneasy when in his presence. His eyes scanning in two different directions only made it worse.

  He swiped his ID over the reader and entered the pressure chamber, recognizing the hiss once the door closed behind him. Dr. Steffenbraun’s rough and preoccupied voice came over the intercom in a recorded message: Welcome to the Physics Lab. Please be sure not to disrupt those who are working on the project.

  In a moment, a green light went on over the lab door. Neil pushed the door open and walked through. It smelled clean, like a hospital. White uniformed figures were planted near long benches, others sat or kneeled near what must have been the project mentioned on the recorded message.

  Every lab that received high allotments of government money had at least one special project. This one was the hull of an old Army helicopter with fists of coils attached at unusual angles, inside and out of the hull. Wires slid snakelike out of the gutted hull and, climbing up table legs, entered data acquisition systems, data recorders, simulators of various kinds, and oscilloscopes mounted every few feet both vertically on shelves and horizontally along the benches. The e
ntire system looked like the nightmare of a modern-day sculptor.

  Neil paused at the doorway waiting to be acknowledged – by someone. The fingers of his left hand tapped his side. Of the dozen men standing or sitting around the helicopter hull and workbenches, not one glanced up when he came in. He definitely hadn’t disturbed them.

  He hoped he looked presentable enough. He knew that he was lean, muscular in a thin sort of way. But he could be quick if necessary, he thought in reference to Mavra’s warnings. His sandy colored hair, for sure, would be wind tossed as usual. At the moment, he wondered if he should have shaved that morning, knowing that the shadow on his face at best pretended to look like the start of a beard. If anyone looked like he needed a drink, it was probably him at that moment. And he was offered one.

  “Coffee, Mr. Altman?”

  Neil turned to face Dr. Eric Steffenbraun, who held out a cup of coffee. The man stood a foot shorter than Neil and was the spitting image of Albert Einstein from the famous photo, bushy moustache, wild hair, and all.

  Neil took the Styrofoam cup from the doctor and stared for a moment.

  “Spare me the look-alike shit. I’ve heard it before,” Steffenbraun said.

  “I’ve seen your picture in Scientific American and The Physicist. You never looked this much like…”

  “Christ, Altman, I said spare me.” He shook his head. “But since you insist: I use a younger photo of myself. One where I’m all groomed for photos, and without the moustache.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I comb my hair from time to time, too, when I’m not up working all night.” He jutted his chin forward. “That’s something you might try once in a while.”

  Neil mirrored Steffenbraun’s actions, running a hand through his hair, but ignored the comment. “I didn’t mean to offend you, sir. I was merely making an observation.”

  “Not a unique observation, either, Mr. Altman.” Steffenbraun turned away and walked toward the helicopter hull.

  Embarrassed by having gotten off to a bad start, Neil followed Steffenbraun, spilling a few drops of hot coffee onto his hand.

  Dr. Steffenbraun stopped in front of the hull. “This is only the beginning of your processing for the job we have in mind for you.”

  Neil cleared his throat. “Ah, may I ask what we’re looking at?”

  With that, several of the white-robed participants spun around to see who was talking.

  Dr. Steffenbraun continued to face the hull. After a moment he glanced over his shoulder at Neil and produced a smile that said he was going to enjoy the next statement. “I’ve read about you, too, Mr. Altman, and you’re not going to like the answer to that question.”

  CHAPTER 3

  THE SKIES OUTSIDE Dr. Smedley Klein’s window were streaked with a dim glow that stood in striking contrast to the growing dark patches of shadow cascading from the trees into the yard. Dr. Klein seldom flipped the lights on until absolutely necessary, and that time had not yet arrived. His hands moved with a knowing touch, flowing over his work as though playing an instrument. His actions were slow, methodical, accurate.

  Fenny stood as near to the doctor as possible. Like a son might do, Smed thought. The lack of light caused Fenny’s lens shutters to widen, producing a quiet buzzing sound as they moved and a little snap when they stopped. Smedley winked at him.

  Fenny was a Quad-5 robot on the outside, but on the inside, he was so much more. Truth be told, it was when Fenny told him that he felt like more than a mere Quad-5, or what he thought a Quad-5 might feel like, that the doctor recognized the first indication that Fenny was in fact more than a robot.

  Smedley slid from cluttered bench to cluttered bench. Circuit boards, computer modules, and bio tanks spread like debris over much of the small space that previously served as a living room. Tools and various electronics and bio-electronic kits lay scattered around. Some equipment still sat in its shipping boxes, the tops torn off, and emptied boxes lay discarded in the left corner of the room, to eventually be broken down and thrown away.

  “Should we light the room, Doctor?” Fenny said. His voice sounded scratchy and nasal as in old science fiction movies. It was illegal for robots to sound, look, or act human in any way. The laws, created early on during advancements in robotic technology, were to keep robots segregated from humans, as electronic drones, as the science progressed. These laws were put into place to prevent equal rights cases from cropping up, as well as the obvious danger of human look-alikes who could be programmed to commit murder, theft, or any number of crimes, like an assassination, without threatening the life of a person.

  “Too dark for you, Fenny?”

  “Yes, Sir. It is becoming a strain on my memory to make things out.”

  “What you need are the old 20-20s.” Smed pointed to his own eyes. “Sure, turn the lights on.”

  Fenny crossed the room on two short flat pieces of metal, which lifted and moved like a mechanical dolly specially equipped with knee and ankle joints. They were clumsy legs, and slow, but Fenny was thankful to have them. He reached the outside wall and flipped the switch with the arm that protruded from the top of his can-shaped body. He had a second arm that extended from the side of the can, but that one wasn’t long enough to reach the switch. His side arm was shorter, stronger, and used for carrying heavy objects.

  “Ah, that is much better for me to work, my boy. Thank you.” Smedley smiled at Fenny and gave him a dramatic nod. He and Fenny were working on gestures and facial expressions that indicated feelings, and Smedley used exaggerated movements to accentuate what he wished to get across.

  “May I help with something, Dr. Klein?” Fenny asked many questions and always wanted to help.

  “Sure, you can bring me that small box of sensors, please. The one that came in a few days ago. I want to try this thing out a piece at a time before we wire you up. After all, this is a big step for you, isn’t it?”

  “I’ve never had a hand, if that’s what you mean.” Fenny rotated his top arm and snapped the three pincers at the end.

  Pausing at a heap of small boxes, Fenny rummaged through them for a moment before stopping abruptly.

  Dr. Klein waited to see what Fenny would do next. He must have forgotten what the box looked like and was shuffling through his neurogrid circuits for the answer. He began to move boxes again and lifted a small yellow-green one labeled with the Bio-Drean Bio-Sensors label.

  “Found it,” Fenny said. Other containers tumbled to the floor. “Sorry it took so long.”

  “No problem, Fenny, there’s a lot of junk there. Sometimes I wish the government wasn’t so generous with their money.”

  Fenny did not have a head, so when he looked up quickly the two flexible fiber shafts with image sensors mounted to the ends were all that moved. Those eyes jerked around to face the doctor. “You weren’t planning to change that, were you?”

  “No, not at all. I was just joking, you know,” his arm made a sweeping motion to take in the volume of items in the room, “about the condition of this place. How messy it gets.”

  “Would you like me to clean up?”

  Smedley laughed. “I wouldn’t know what to do with a clean place. Now, Fenny, why don’t you plug into the computer over there and read its memory. Then you can wire this contraption for me. Well, for you,” he corrected.

  Fenny unwrapped a cord from around the computer and lifted a panel on the side of his torso, exposing a 33- pin plug that he pushed the cord’s connector into. He picked up a dowel and used it to punch a few buttons on the touch screen before settling down for the upload.

  It had become completely dark outside. Smedley moved to stand near the back window and leaned against a cluttered bench. He stared toward the sky; the tops of trees floated in a rising haze. Through the slight reflection at the edges of the window, he noticed that the skin under his old eyes sagged from long hours of work and contemplation. The once snappy youth was beginning to tire. He felt as though he carried a great weight, unbearable at times. But he was
still a dreamer.

  His workroom wasn’t as bad as it might have seemed from an outsider. He had several projects going at all times, each at a different stage of completion. When he tired of one project, he turned to another, or started a new one altogether. He’d been working on Fenny’s hand for several months though, and now that it was nearing completion he wasn’t so sure he wanted it to end. It had been the one project he had been looking forward to every day. It would be hard to just end it. There were the ethical questions of what he was doing, the legal matters, which pulled unsympathetically at him. But those were easy to sidestep in the name of science, and in the name of his personal goals.

  He let out a low moan as he shoved away from the bench and wandered over to Fenny and the computer. He let his fingers tap the keyboard that sat below the touch screen, entering a message. The interconnection between Fenny and the computer, while uploading, caused the robot’s ears to be squelched. The doctor knew his message would be read last. He placed a hand tenderly behind Fenny’s top arm then let it slide off as he headed for the bedroom that opened off the living room in the small house.

  Smedley was slightly overweight for his five foot ten frame. His shoes looked a little large for his feet, too. He knew also that his clothes, though clean, had a worn and sloppy appearance, and that his close beard had turned completely gray years ago. These were reasons enough to avoid mirrors.

  He closed his bedroom door after entering and went straight to the bed and sat down. He never expected to be where he was today – in the middle of nowhere, working day-in and day-out with complete government funding. Most of the time he worked on projects of his own choice. It was his genius that got him the money for the projects. It was his private dream that kept him going.