2.2 ROBOT INTEGRATION PROGRAM HQ
Mr. Dorgas led Max to a door marked FORUM, a mini-auditorium meant for school choral concerts and plays. But Vanguard had done away with music and drama classes, so the room was never used.
Now there was a little sign taped to the wall. ROBOT INTEGRATION PROGRAM HEADQUARTERS. ROSSUM TECHNOLOGIES. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
When Mr. Dorgas hit the button, the door swooshed open and Max saw what looked to her like paradise.
Computers and vid screens and wires and spare parts filled the space, and in the middle of it all, she saw the robot.
Her first thought was Oh cool, but then she realized it was just propped up against a table, not moving. So her second thought was Oh zark, it's still broken. Maybe Biggs was right and I really did break it somehow.
"Here is the student you requested, Dr. Jones," said Mr. Dorgas, and he pushed Max forward. Then he turned around and stomped out the door.
Everybody in the room—seven technicians, four security guards, and two people wearing weird helmets—turned to look at her.
One of the people in the weird helmets stepped forward.
"Uh … Maxine? Is that right?"
"Just Max, really," she said nervously.
The man pulled the helmet off over his head and introduced himself.
"I'm Dr. Jones, RosTech project manager." He was a lanky middle-aged white man with a receding hairline. Max noticed that he wore glasses. He must have been one of those rare types who couldn't tolerate ocular implants.
"And this," said Jones, waving at the other helmeted person, "is Lieutenant Colonel Nina."
A colonel? Max stepped back. Why would there be a colonel here? Was she going to be some sort of gung ho army soldier who would yell at her for messing with the robot?
But when the "soldier" removed her helmet, Max saw that she was a friendly looking black woman, about thirty years old, with a nice, reassuring smile. She looked more like somebody's cool aunt than a soldier.
The woman gave Max another pleasant smile, and Max found herself smiling back.
"Hi, Max. Jones has to call me Lieutenant Colonel, but you can call me Nina."
"Hi, Nina," said Max. "It's nice to—"
"Right," interrupted Jones. "And this is my team …" He gestured at the technicians—brainy-looking twenty-somethings, mostly—who had come forward to meet Max. "And they're all getting back to work, because we're on a very tight deadline and yesterday morning's failure sure didn't help."
The brainy-looking twenty-somethings slunk back to their qScreens.
Max's ears turned red.
"About yesterday morning," she said. "I didn't mean to—"
"Oh, we know that," said Nina.
"Is the robot OK? Did I break it somehow … ?"
"Break it?" Nina laughed. "Max, you couldn't break Fuzzy with a bulldozer."
"Fuzzy?" asked Max, getting less worried but more confused.
And then came a third voice:
"I am Fuzzy. Hello, Object 321."
Max looked at the robot, but it didn't appear to have spoken. It didn't even appear to be turned on. It was still leaning against the table, not moving.
"Uh, was that the robot?" she asked, unsure of whom to talk to.
"Yes," said the voice again.
Then she noticed another head nearby. This one looked less human at first, but then she realized it was just missing the wig.
"Uh, which head is talking?" asked Max.
Nina let out another laugh. "Oh, I think Fuzzy's voice is coming from the speakers on that qScreen right now. When he's running again, his voice should come from the head attached to his body. That other one is just a backup."
"A backup head?" asked Max.
"Yeah, life with Fuzzy takes a little getting used to. He's more than an ordinary robot, but he's definitely not a flesh-and-blood human, either."
"And its name is Fuzzy?"
"Yes, my name is Fuzzy," said the voice again.
"Why do you call it Fuzzy?" Max asked Nina.
"Do you like it?" asked Nina, smiling. "I named him. His real name is—"
"Classified!" interjected Jones.
Nina rolled her eyes.
"Classified?" asked Max. "Why would it be classified?"
"Ha! Well, the reason it's classified is also classified," said Nina.
Max felt more confused than she had ever been in her life.
"Basically," explained Nina, "the government wants a smarter robot, so we've hired Jones and his team to create Fuzzy."
Then Nina leaned in close to Max and, rolling her eyes again, said in a loud whisper, "They're civilians."
"You still haven't told her why you named it Fuzzy," said Jones.
"I was about to when you interrupted me!" Nina said with mock outrage. Jones and Nina were starting to remind Max of her grandparents. They must have been working together for so long they were like an old married couple.
"Anyway … ," continued Nina, "we call him Fuzzy because he is designed to use fuzzy logic. Have you heard of that?"
"Uh, yeah," said Max. "Isn't that the thing where two plus two isn't always four?"
"Sort of," said Nina. "Basically, most robots and computers are programmed to calculate, or even to analyze, but not to really think. We're trying to create a robot that thinks for himself. So he has to figure out for himself what two plus two is."
"Tutu," said Fuzzy.
Max found herself grinning. "Was that a joke? Does it tell jokes?"
"We're not exactly sure yet. We're still trying to understand him," said Nina. "By the way, please feel free to talk to Fuzzy directly."
"He's one of the most advanced robots ever created," said Jones. "State-of-the-art speech recognition and language processors, plus we've loaded several slang and idiom databases to help him talk to you kids. So, if you speak clearly, he'll understand you most of the time."
"Hello, uh, Fuzzy?" said Max, still completely unsure where to look.
"Hello, Object 321," said Fuzzy.
"Oh, uh … I think that's you," Nina told Max.
"What? I'm an object? Or is that another joke?"
"Well, no," said Nina. "We have turned off some of his nonessential programs. The name database must be part of that."
"Yes. Fuzzy's sort of in recovery mode right now," said Dr. Jones, a hand brushing at his nonexistent hair. "We had a little problem yesterday, as you probably saw when you approached him."
"Oh zark … ," Max began. "Like I said, I hope I didn't—"
"No, no, it's OK," Nina quickly reassured her. "It wasn't you. We know exactly what happened— Well, sort of. We've just been watching you on the playback. These helmets let us see whatever Fuzzy sees and does. We're still trying to figure out why he fell."
"Would you like to try it out?" asked Dr. Jones.
Max couldn't believe it: She didn't seem to be in trouble, and it looked like she was going to get to play with the stuff! The helmet was a NebulonVirtX—a virtual reality device. Insanely expensive. She had only read about them on the net. She had never seen one.
"Absolutely!" she said. "But why me?"
"I'm not exactly sure," said Jones. "But Fuzzy asked us to find you and ask for your help."
"My help?" asked Max. "I mean, yeah, sure, I'd love to … but what can I do?"
"Well," said Nina, "have you ever heard that thing about walking in someone else's shoes so you can understand them?"
"Um, I guess … ," said Max.
"Well, with Fuzzy's technology you can actually do that."
Nina carefully eased the helmet down over Max's head and onto her shoulders.
"Uh, it's all black."
"It hasn't started yet," said Jones. "OK, Fuzzy, playback from mark eighty-three."
