RUSKZOID: THE BEGINNINGS OF AN EVIL GENIUS
Warren had always been a bright young boy – and always peculiarly interested in computers and mechanics. When he was only 7 years old he knew how to take apart all of his toys and reassemble them. By aged 9 he could build his own, improving on the manufactured models. He read a lot, too, mainly HG Wells, Ray Bradbury, and thick technological manuals. He'd been put forward three years in his physics class, and still found the work they did laughably easy. However, not everything came so easily to the boy. For example – there was German.
One day, when Warren was just 14 years old and panicking over his German test the next week, he thought up an idea. An idea so ingenius it could not fail. A study aid, better than any of its kind. He headed to the computer and downloaded a German online dictionary. Then a free translation service, also on the internet, and he saved this software to disc, reprogramming it all to run together smoothly. He constructed a basic mechanical drive for the disk, and then sought to customise his creation – so he decided to fix it into a mannequin that his mother had been using for designing a dress, that he had "borrowed" because it looked cool and metallic and space-age.
It worked perfectly. With a speaker and microphones attached, it could translate any German phrase perfectly – and with a quick change of disc – any French phrase. Humorously, he'd put the speaker on the mannequin's mouth area, and the speakers on where its ears would be. Suddenly a thought occurred to him: Wouldn't it be cool if the robot could simply read the homework and write it for him? Nothing too difficult, it'd just take a little camera and basic robotics to make working arms. When Warren was finished, he'd gotten a little carried away, and almost had a completely working trilingual robot man. It could walk, read, write and speak in English, French and German (although, the sound card he'd uploaded for English speaking had given him a curiously Irish sounding accent). Warren congratulated himself. It exceeded the standards of most of his country's… nay, most of the world's technology! He wondered what these leading engineers of today would say about being outdone by a 14-year-old boy in his room. He then considered this thought. You know… the robot is good, he told himself, but it could be better. How would those lame-o science guys feel if Warren could achieve what they never dreamed was possible, except for on Star Trek (the next generation, he mentally added), and actually built a human-to-all-appearances, walking, talking android?
Homework was the least of Warren's concerns from then on. He busied himself with flesh coloured latex, circuitry, hair gathered from the hairdresser's floor, and finally some delicate facial robotics to make him change between a 'happy' expression, a 'sad' expression, and an 'angry' expression. Unfortunately, 'sad' looked 'irritated' more than anything else, but this was the best he could do. For these delicate small wirings he utilised metal foil from the packet of Greysons' Baby Rusks. Then he sat back and admired his work. Amazing. So human, so realistic… so much better than government trained robotics experts. Yes, indeed, he was sitting on a gold mine here. Now to name his creation. He looked around – the first thing in the room that caught his eye was the now foil-less packet of baby rusks. "Greyson-bot" he tried, but it didn't quite sound right. "Ruskzoid" he tried another name… he smiled, Ruskzoid it was. He turned it on, and Ruskzoid immediately sprang to life.
"Can I help you with your homework, master?" The robot spoke in a spookily realistic Irish voice. Warren grinned, and gave Ruskzoid his German homework, then sat back to watch TV. This was the life…
6 MONTHS LATER
"Warren?" his mother called him. "There appears to be a middle aged man sitting in your room. Why?"
Oh no. She couldn't know.
"What did he say?" Warren asked.
"He said 'get to the base, son.'" Warren's mother said. Ah, yes, the baseball commentary he'd been teaching him the other day. And that annoying glitch he couldn't fix that made Ruskzoid say 'son' at the end of every other phrase. "And then he said something else, I think it was in French or something."
"That's right, mom," he said, thinking up an excuse, "he's my French tutor. Mr… Rusk."
Unfortunately, then he had to fake Mr Rusk's leaving and going home. His mother had enjoyed his company, never for a moment suspecting he was a robot. He'd been improved a lot in the last few months. Warren smiled smugly, knowing that Ruskzoid would return at exactly midnight, because before he'd left, he'd given the robot the command to go to 'home' then. Nothing could go wrong, could it?
"I was talking to Mr Rusk about his home in Ireland," said his mother. "It must be nice. I've been meaning to visit the UK for some time, actually." Too late, Warren remembered himself telling Ruskzoid that his home was Ireland just the other day. He would try and get back there! He sighed in dismay… Ruskzoid was gone, knowing only that he was a French and German teacher called Mr Rusk. Oh well. He'd been bored of Ruskzoid anyway, hopefully he'd find a good home wherever he ended up. For now, he was going to make a new robot. A female one… oh, yes… This was going to be good…
THE END
A/N: Yeah, you might have guessed this, but my French teacher is indeed called Mr Rusk. I had the same guy for German 2 years ago. He's homework crazed.
Warren had always been a bright young boy – and always peculiarly interested in computers and mechanics. When he was only 7 years old he knew how to take apart all of his toys and reassemble them. By aged 9 he could build his own, improving on the manufactured models. He read a lot, too, mainly HG Wells, Ray Bradbury, and thick technological manuals. He'd been put forward three years in his physics class, and still found the work they did laughably easy. However, not everything came so easily to the boy. For example – there was German.
One day, when Warren was just 14 years old and panicking over his German test the next week, he thought up an idea. An idea so ingenius it could not fail. A study aid, better than any of its kind. He headed to the computer and downloaded a German online dictionary. Then a free translation service, also on the internet, and he saved this software to disc, reprogramming it all to run together smoothly. He constructed a basic mechanical drive for the disk, and then sought to customise his creation – so he decided to fix it into a mannequin that his mother had been using for designing a dress, that he had "borrowed" because it looked cool and metallic and space-age.
It worked perfectly. With a speaker and microphones attached, it could translate any German phrase perfectly – and with a quick change of disc – any French phrase. Humorously, he'd put the speaker on the mannequin's mouth area, and the speakers on where its ears would be. Suddenly a thought occurred to him: Wouldn't it be cool if the robot could simply read the homework and write it for him? Nothing too difficult, it'd just take a little camera and basic robotics to make working arms. When Warren was finished, he'd gotten a little carried away, and almost had a completely working trilingual robot man. It could walk, read, write and speak in English, French and German (although, the sound card he'd uploaded for English speaking had given him a curiously Irish sounding accent). Warren congratulated himself. It exceeded the standards of most of his country's… nay, most of the world's technology! He wondered what these leading engineers of today would say about being outdone by a 14-year-old boy in his room. He then considered this thought. You know… the robot is good, he told himself, but it could be better. How would those lame-o science guys feel if Warren could achieve what they never dreamed was possible, except for on Star Trek (the next generation, he mentally added), and actually built a human-to-all-appearances, walking, talking android?
Homework was the least of Warren's concerns from then on. He busied himself with flesh coloured latex, circuitry, hair gathered from the hairdresser's floor, and finally some delicate facial robotics to make him change between a 'happy' expression, a 'sad' expression, and an 'angry' expression. Unfortunately, 'sad' looked 'irritated' more than anything else, but this was the best he could do. For these delicate small wirings he utilised metal foil from the packet of Greysons' Baby Rusks. Then he sat back and admired his work. Amazing. So human, so realistic… so much better than government trained robotics experts. Yes, indeed, he was sitting on a gold mine here. Now to name his creation. He looked around – the first thing in the room that caught his eye was the now foil-less packet of baby rusks. "Greyson-bot" he tried, but it didn't quite sound right. "Ruskzoid" he tried another name… he smiled, Ruskzoid it was. He turned it on, and Ruskzoid immediately sprang to life.
"Can I help you with your homework, master?" The robot spoke in a spookily realistic Irish voice. Warren grinned, and gave Ruskzoid his German homework, then sat back to watch TV. This was the life…
6 MONTHS LATER
"Warren?" his mother called him. "There appears to be a middle aged man sitting in your room. Why?"
Oh no. She couldn't know.
"What did he say?" Warren asked.
"He said 'get to the base, son.'" Warren's mother said. Ah, yes, the baseball commentary he'd been teaching him the other day. And that annoying glitch he couldn't fix that made Ruskzoid say 'son' at the end of every other phrase. "And then he said something else, I think it was in French or something."
"That's right, mom," he said, thinking up an excuse, "he's my French tutor. Mr… Rusk."
Unfortunately, then he had to fake Mr Rusk's leaving and going home. His mother had enjoyed his company, never for a moment suspecting he was a robot. He'd been improved a lot in the last few months. Warren smiled smugly, knowing that Ruskzoid would return at exactly midnight, because before he'd left, he'd given the robot the command to go to 'home' then. Nothing could go wrong, could it?
"I was talking to Mr Rusk about his home in Ireland," said his mother. "It must be nice. I've been meaning to visit the UK for some time, actually." Too late, Warren remembered himself telling Ruskzoid that his home was Ireland just the other day. He would try and get back there! He sighed in dismay… Ruskzoid was gone, knowing only that he was a French and German teacher called Mr Rusk. Oh well. He'd been bored of Ruskzoid anyway, hopefully he'd find a good home wherever he ended up. For now, he was going to make a new robot. A female one… oh, yes… This was going to be good…
THE END
A/N: Yeah, you might have guessed this, but my French teacher is indeed called Mr Rusk. I had the same guy for German 2 years ago. He's homework crazed.