Dale Brown - Puppet Master

Smart Metal’s vast array of projects was both an asset and a detriment from a business point of view — an asset because it continually presented fresh areas of commercialization, and a detriment because it divided the attention not just of Massina but his staff as well. If the company had been publically traded, it would have had to stop and focus on one area or another — probably robotics, as that was not only its most profitable area but also the one with the best growth potential. But that was one of the reasons Massina kept the business private: he wanted Smart Metal to do what he wanted it to do, which was varied and full of possibilities.

Massina went down to what they called “Underground Arena One,” a very large workspace under the back of the building. It had been excavated during World War II for some reason no longer remembered, then covered by a two-story addition to the building. During his renovation, Massina had had the floors above the basement gutted so that the space was just under fifty feet high, and completely open; some municipal convention centers were smaller.

Peter — RBT PJT 23.A to Massina — was undergoing new tests this morning on “his” intuition system, the AI component that was supposed to let the robot spontaneously make decisions. The tests were open ended, as the engineers did not know exactly what the machine would do — more or less the point, after all, of the whole spontaneity concept. Massina came in when the robot was surveying a row of cages occupied by puppies. The dogs, curious about the roving mechanical creature, barked wildly as it approached. Massina went over and stood by Chelsea, who was in charge of the AI section and had designed the test.

“What’s going to happen?” Massina asked as the robot paused in front of a rather rambunctious Dalmatian.

“I’m not sure.”

“What are you going to do if it decides to kill them because they’re so loud?”

Chelsea held up the unit’s remote. There was only one command showing on the touch screen: stop.

Massina smirked.

Peter peered in the cage, taking a series of measurements. Then it moved on to the next. Massina went to one of the monitoring units and saw that the bot was primarily interested in the dogs’ heartbeats and body temperatures. It worked its way down the row, then came back to the Dalmatian.

The bot reached one of its arms toward the cage. The Dalmatian, which had been barking loudly, quieted, then moved back. Haunches up, it prepared to spring. Massina heard a distinct warning growl above the yip and yap of the other dogs.

Peter withdrew its hand, snapped the lock on the cage, and pulled the door open. Then it backed out.

The bot had decided to free the dogs.

Confused, the Dalmatian hesitated before bolting from its pen. The robot, meanwhile, freed the shepherd mix next to it.

“You better turn it off,” Massina told Chelsea, suppressing a laugh. “We’ll never round them all up.”

Peter managed to free two more dogs before Chelsea pressed the Stop button. The animals took a victory lap around the caged area, then went over and sniffed their savior, perhaps wondering if there was a way they could return the favor. The support team went to work trying to corral them, moving in with treats and leashes.

“I’ll bet it thought they were in distress,” said Chelsea.

“A good theory,” said Massina. “I want to talk to you about something. Maybe upstairs, where things are a little quieter.”

“Tell me where we are with the ATM project,” said Massina as he pulled out his desk chair to sit.

“I have to pull together a proposal,” said Chelsea. “I didn’t get to it — I needed to make sure Peter was ready for the test so we stay on track.”

“You have a reasonable idea of what happened with the ATMs, though?”

“Reasonable, yes.”

“And it involved the girl?”

“Yes.”

“I was wrong.” Massina put his elbows on the desk and leaned forward. “I should have told you not to look at the accounts.”

“I didn’t go into the accounts or the banking system,” said Chelsea. “I looked at the video.”

“You didn’t hack into the systems?”

“No, Lou. Not at all.”

“Good. Good on you.” He sat back in the chair. “I got carried away about working with the FBI. I should have been more thoughtful.”

“OK.”

There was a faraway look in his eyes, as if he’d already started thinking about something else.

“The girl,” said Chelsea.

“What about her?”

“She’s worth saving.”

“I’m sure the FBI—”

“They’ll throw her in jail,” interrupted Chelsea.

“That’s not where she belongs?”

“Hell no. And I’m not completely sure it was her,” added Chelsea. “Without hacking into the account—”

“Which you’re not going to do.”

“Check. So I don’t know with one hundred percent certainty that it was her.”

“But you strongly suspect her.”

“Yes.”

“Then we have to tell Jenkins that.”

“I agree. But I’d like to do it my way. And yes, I think she can be saved. She’s not evil. She’s just… a girl.”

Borya answered her cell phone as soon as it started to ring.

“Daddy?”

“Borya? This is Chelsea Goodman, from Smart Metal.”

“Oh.… Hello.”

“I was wondering if you’d like to continue your tour today.”

“Of your labs? Sure.” Borya glanced at Mary Martyak, who was sitting across from her at the kitchen table, finishing her lunch.

Always eating, the fat slob.

“Great,” said Chelsea. “I’m just driving up your block.”

“You are?”

“Can you come now?”

“Um…” Borya searched her mind for an excuse to give Martyak. “Wait a minute.”

“What’s going on?” asked the babysitter.

“A friend, um…”

Martyak looked at her. Borya couldn’t find the right words for a plausible lie.

Tell her the truth. Why not?

“A friend of mine wants to give me a tour of this cool lab where they make robots.” The words gushed from Borya’s mouth.

“Oh?”

“Want to come?” Borya asked.

“Where is it?”

“It’s here in Boston.”

“We were going to that movie.”

“This is way cooler. Let me ask her.”

Chelsea’s plan hadn’t included a “friend,” but it was obvious that she was more babysitter than friend. As soon as Chelsea determined that Borya’s father wasn’t around, she decided the babysitter would do, at least temporarily.

Chelsea led them to the SUV. Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in Underground Arena One at Smart Metal, watching as Peter selected one of the dogs — Dusty, a collie-shepherd mix — to go for a walk. The dog pulled eagerly at its leash, venturing around the massive work area in search of interesting smells.

“You don’t have to control it?” asked Martyak.

“Only in the most general sense,” said Chelsea, trying to keep her explanation to the simplest terms. “It’s the same as if I asked a person to take the dog for a walk.”

“But you programmed it to do that,” said Borya.

“No, we programmed it to learn. It picked up the routine on its own. And it has taught itself how to deal with dogs based on trial and error.”

It might not sound like much to a layman, Chelsea continued, but for a computer system, it was extremely advanced. It wouldn’t be long before commercial versions of “home assistants” would be available, and capable of much more complicated tasks. A robotic home assistant could stay with a bedridden patient, fetching medicine and common items, even making the bed and cooking a simple meal.