The Future is the Mind
Second: Construction
by Lady Virgo
"Restless thinking,
pushing on
Creation, dedication,
now and beyond"
///
It had been almost 10 years since the trio's break into the robotics world and their projects gained ground-breaking attention world wide.
Asides from the EDIE, which was an instant success among the supply and storage companies, several other small droids were placed into the mass market with similar results.
And Alfred, with both Randolph and Thomas happily encouraging it, took charge of the industry.
Then came that first day that everything slowly began to fall apart.
Thomas, spending a rather uneventful and over done day of sitting around, daydreaming about beautiful, mobile, intelligent pieces of art and getting inspiration from mass media, had plopped himself on the couch and turned on the view screen to see what new creation he could come up with from the newest cheesy kids' show.
"-is still in shock when a high-ranking Russian dignitary was assassinated during the grand opening of the transcontinental, underground rail system created in coordination with the Chinese government three hours earlier. The authorities are trying to find who had orchestrated the attack. There is reason to believe that it was done by a rival political faction, unhappy with the Russian government's recent turn to conservative socialism. At this time, though, all that is known for certain is that the UN has decided to investigate Civsec Robotics, the creator and distributor of the assassination weapon in question:"
Coffee sprayed over the knee high table.
The Mobility Enhanced Tunnel Operation Optical Lead....
"-or METOOL, designed by Dr. Albert Wily, head of the Civsec Robotics technology branch. Though obviously modified, its small, explosive projectiles, designed to make precision exoplosions in rock foundations, was replaced with a high, point area pulse weapon, banned by the Second Geneva Convention. Originally used in mining and construction, mainly in smaller, more dangerous areas- tiny and sturdy and having a rather cute design -the METOOL would be the last thing one would suspect to be used as a murder weapon-"
The view screen droned on unheeded as the phone rang and a voice, harsh and urgent, rasped in Thomas's ear.
"Get me Wily."
///
The media destroyed the story with all the charisma and skill that hadn't been seen since oil drilling in the Pacific Ocean had inadvertently caused underwater earthquakes, tidal waves destroying several tiny Micronesian islands. In a matter of days, not only was Albert's credibility as a community-based scientific genius destroyed, but also out went the trust in his skill, vision and his creations by the public. Like many things before them, music, sports, television, games, Albert's droids were considered by many to be a menace to society. Many companies quit their contracts with Civsec, others destroyed the robots they had purchased.
Droids were now a danger to human society, the deeply seeded, hidden fear finally finding room to burst its anxiety, blossoming into a panicked rush. For two years the science community, more understanding to what normal society would blind themselves of being helpful, tried to keep Civsec going, their personal underground project. But Alfred's plans began expanding further and faster than they had originally imagined, making the chairmen more than slightly wary. That, and they were having trouble trying to explain where their equipment and funds were going. The investigation was pressing too close for the chairs to handle, the pressure from high up slowly crushing them, forcing them to sever all ties to Civsec.
It was late by the time Alfred got that call on the vidphone. He was alone in the house, working on composites for his next project.
He pulled away from the phone, burned by betrayal. "What do you mean 'no'? The plans for the prototype were being drawn up! We managed to cut the cost and time estimate by 2%! We were planning to start construction in five months!"
"No means what it means, Dr. Wily." The Chairman said calmly. "We've been getting heat by the Science Safety Boards. They know we're still supporting Civsec and they're waiting for you to slip up so they can wrap up the assassination investigation."
"That was years ago!"
"Time doesn't matter so long as someone with power is still interested. There's nothing we can do to change anything. As of 2400 tonight, we're pulling Civsec out of your possession and shutting it down. All products and orders are to be destroyed."
BADUM. He felt his heart falter.
"Y-You're joking." Alfred began to shake finely. "This project is my whole life and you're just going to let them take it away from me? You're going to /help/ them take it from me? Don't you know how important this is? Have you told them why-"
"Dr. Wily." The Chairman said sternly, trying to keep from exposing his own anger and impatience to it all. "Your proposition is an ideal one, but the board does not judge on dreams, nor does the public. The hard facts are that someone used one of our constructs to assassinate a highly influential person. It's that sort of thing the board cares about."
The frustration nearly made him want to pull his already thinning hair out. "But it wasn't any of us that did that! We know better than to-"
"That's right, Albert." He interrupted gently but firm. "We know better, but not everyone else does and because of that, we're being punished for the world's lack of foresight and respect. I'm sorry, Albert, but there's nothing I can do. Goodbye."
And the screen blinked off, leaving Alfred to roll the disgust like vomit in his mouth.
Over ten years later and he was still hating his social science teacher even more.
But, spending his entire childhood and adolescence in the ghettos taught him a thing or more about what one does when someone screws them up the ass.
"Al... don't think me as being /rude/ or anything..."
"Mm."
"And, maybe I'm just imagining all this..."
"Mm."
"But, um..." Randolph picked up a lid to the electron pulse modulator. Civsec's logo glaringly painted upon it. "Did you steal all this stuff?"
Alfred didn't even break a twist as he assembled the components to the table saw. "No."
"Ah." He nodded. "Thought so." Randolph closed the lid and walked back up, out of the basement. "If the board calls, I went back to Russia."
"Be sure to clean up your Mother Country." He called back. "Your closet's overflowing all over the floor again."
"Of course, you realize, once Tommy gets wind of this, he'll blow his gut."
"Good. He could stand to lose a bit of weight."
"Um, ew."
So maybe Thomas didn't really blow any body parts, but he certainly did let off a rather good, long ranting session. He wasn't really the most moral of all men, but stealing- especially so many expensive devices, so easy to notice missing was a big no-no in his book.
Not only did it take an effort on Alfred's part to keep from getting the cops called on him, he also had to pull major strings to get Randolph to defend him and keep him from having to take back all the stolen equipment.
"But why the hell did you steal all this stuff?" Thomas gritted out, hand weeding his hair.
"Because they shouldn't have let this project go so easily." The German scowled. "It was the perfect plan and it was coming along perfectly, but they just had to screw it all up! But I'm /not/ going to let it all go to waste. I'll show them what exactly they threw away just because a few people go scared."
"You can't expect people to invest in something they fear." But he shook his head. "What's it matter? You don't try to understand people, that's why you hate them so much."
"Because they don't try to understand me! They're not even attempting to see what it is I'm trying to do for the world, for them. They don't see that this is the way to make the world a better place for everyone."
"I know, Al, I know. I agree with everything and you know it. But stealing equipment from a big-name corporation like Civsec won't get /anyone/ on your side!" Thomas took a deep breath and placed his hands on Alfred's shoulders. "Just wait a while, people will get over it after the investigation is over and the committee will take us back. So don't worry."
In a numb frustration, the other nodded. "Right. Just a little while, just wait."
///
"Oh how the years go by.
Oh how the love brings tears to my eyes.
Through all the changes the soul never dies.
We fight, we laugh, we cry,
As the years go by."
So the song, old and melodic, yet beautifully fitting weaved around the Kalashnikov-Cossack wedding reception.
Carolina Kalashnikov, from a long line of Russian military and weapons enthusiasts- including the developer of the AK rifle series so long ago -was a combat engineer in the Russian military, trained in nuclear, biological and chemical warfare. And Randolph's girlfriend for nearly 12 years. She was the typical Russian bombshell. Beautifully blonde, eyes as icy blue as her exterior and a welcoming heart so warm it could thaw an Arctic chill in minutes.
Not long after the marriage did the trio's skill in robotics grew dramatically now that it also gained her own talent and her family's money. They were free to do all the differentiating and costly experimenting to gain all the varied and useful results to further their projects. With it, they came to realize how much of an impact chemical reactions had on the conscious and unconscious mind, making the artificial brains all the more effective, life-like and humanly unpredictable.
Then they began finalizing the plans on the first of what would be called bioroids. The prototype, the 'failure'.
"The gel is too thick."
"What do you mean? We narrowed down the consistency as much as we could."
"But look. It's getting blocked up in the smaller areas. See how it's causing the cables in the ankles to swell? It's not flowing through it smooth enough to not be a problem."
"It works just fine in the other droids."
"But they're smaller. Their cables aren't as complex."
"How is this more complex? Oh, forget it. Never mind. What do you want to do? Water it down?"
"Maybe not so much as 'water it down' as it is just taking out some of the thicker chemical components."
"What?"
"Just something not as essential but that's taking up space and easy to come by and integrate back into the system."
"Like...what? Oxygen?"
"Would that thin it out?"
"Well... Right now the formula has more oxygen in it than the ratio of effectiveness really calls for. I don't know, really. We could just take it all out and put in an adapter to incorporate the oxygen from the air they breath in."
"It's kind of bothersome that now they'll have to breath, but..."
"It's not so bad, they won't need that much oxygen to 'live'. Hell, we build an effective enough adapter, they'd be able to survive off the oxygen they could filter right out of the water."
They were still struggling for another 2 and a half years when the trio had finally broken apart with the death of Carolina and the birth of Kalinka Kalashinkov-Cossack.
For a week the three spent in Russia, mourning and comforting the weeping family and broken Randolph. Carolina's intelligence in NBC and combustion was an invaluable asset to the research- though it would also help to build some of the most frightening terrors history would come to see. But she was still loved and trusted by all, the trio most especially for said intelligence and help. Her death was a harsh blow to them all.
The doctors didn't know exactly how the fatality happened. An unforeseen complication in the birth, Carolina's anemic system, the sudden water breaking. But, from the force of her cry and the strength of her miniature grip, Kalinka would prove to be a strong, healthy girl. As beautiful and intelligent as her mother.
Perhaps it was because he had never really had to live through someone close to him dying so suddenly in a way he could clearly remember. Perhaps it was because he was the one that kept his relationship with Carolina the most professional. Or perhaps it was his social skills- or lack thereof biting him in the ass again. But after a week, Alfred was antsing to return to the lab in Japan to return to his project.
However, Randolph refused to leave the land his most beloved was buried at, wanting his daughter to grow up in the land of her heritage and the family that would love and treat her as kindly as the daughter they had just lost. Thomas understood this, of course, and persuaded Alfred that the two of them should return alone under the pretense that Randolph needed more time to mourn.
But as a few days stretched on to a week, Alfred became annoyed at the lack of communication and called up Randolph, demanding to know when he'd return to finish up the project.
He was denied.
"A few days just isn't going to cut it, Albert." His voice strained over the phone. The view screen wasn't activated, but it was obvious Randolph was in a bad way.
"But we're too far along! You can't give out on us now!"
He rubbed his forehead tiredly, idly wondering if his hair was prematurely graying like his cohorts. "No, Albert. I am, I'm sorry."
Alfred's temper grew audibly on the other line. "I understand how upset you are, but this is our lives you're working on. If you stop now, you'll be throwing it all away. Now, if you' talking about maybe another weekend off-"
"/No/, Albert." His voice hardened. "You /don't/ understand. This is much more important than anything. This project is /your/ life, this is the culmination of /mine/. I hadn't planned on leaving Kalinka after her birth and isolating myself from her for the next Lord knows how many years. I want to be there for her, I want to be a /father/, Albert. I have to leave the project. I'm sorry."
It didn't get much better after that. The conversation quickly deteriorated into an argument and that, in turn, became a shouting match, re-opening old wounds long forgotten and never truly healed.
And afterwards, when one slammed the other off, they reflected back once the tempers cooled somewhat, and both became increasingly upset at the event. One saddened and anxious, thinking there should've been a better way to handle the situation. The other just became more and more frustrated and angry of it all.
But it was a real blow to Alfred. In terms of the project, emotionally, socially and mentally, the fight shook him to the core. He spent a growing number of hours experimenting on the prototype, trying to find the right combinations for anything. The hours expanded rapidly and soon he would be found sleeping in the lab, then it grew to him not sleeping at all but collapsing into exhaustion every few days. He only ate when Thomas managed to get his attention, but they were just sparse bites before he hurried back to his work.
It was as if he was filled with an unexplainable gripping terror that all his support would leave him, falling right out of his goal's fingertips. He was so close to reaching his dream, but his support was slipping from him, one after another. It was a race he felt he was almost on the verge of losing, one that he wouldn't lose without a fight, tooth, nail and life.
And the obsession began to make Thomas doubt both his grip on his own limitation and his sight.
He helped, though, because they were friends. Because it was now as much his project, his experiment and life pride as it was Alfred's. Because he couldn't see how it was ripping Alfred deep inside, where it was undetectable, irreparable.
And when he tried to stop Alfred, when he had enough courage to ask 'why':
"Because this is all I have to my name. This is the only thing I'll be remembered by."
Because he wouldn't end as he began: No one. Worthless. Nothing.
But Thomas still couldn't seem to agree as hopefully as he once did, what seemed so long ago. But he was equally un-inclined to quit. It ate at his mind every time he was away from the partially constructed body. The more he worked on it, the more he couldn't stop thinking about it. He became anxious, antsy, irritable. Soon he was right by Alfred's side, working just as diligently, attention wrapped and warped on it as his friend's.
They rarely talked anymore, rarely slept, stopped or ate. When one breaked for barely ten minutes, the other was there to take his place. It was an addiction, a Siren's song halfway sung. Perhaps that was what moved Thomas to nickname it: Blues.
Five years. Five long, struggling years they labored over the body, perfect in its formed plastics and metal, wires, electricity and fluids.
It was near midnight that they had finished, dark as death and quiet as sin. Fitting as the two prepared to slap God in face, defying that only he could grant life and were rather smug in the fact.
Before them on the laboratory table laid a young man, as polished and well formed as any other human male. Pale skinned, his crest of black-brown hair brushed across lidded red eyes and a serious, boyish face. The two men shifted and trembled with anxious energy, knowing what to do, but yet not knowing at the same time. The room was thick with their contradicting emotions, excited and afraid, bold but cautious. It was a dream that was waiting for one final flick of a switched, but neither of them really wanted to be the one to initiate it.
What if it didn't work? What if something went wrong? What if, what if?
Thomas, the occasional man of action, finally couldn't take the fight his emotions rolled inside of him. It wasn't so much as an act to a man seeing his life's labor completed, it was more as an act just to get it done, because it was the only thing to stop the uncomfortable struggle within.
The lights dimmed slightly as energy was diverted into the central computer, booting up the bioroid in front of them. The body crackled and whirled, beeping from inside as life slowly began to move in his body. The fluid that flowed in his veins touched and lubricated his insides, activating them and coating them, sending messages back to his brain, alerting it all systems go.
Albert and Thomas were nearly bouncing with anticipation. So slowly, a slender hand twitched slightly, shifting to grip the edge of the lab table. Just as slowly, with careful precision as the brain struggled to factor in the sudden shift of gravity's pull, angles and vertigo to stabilize equilibrium, Blues sat up. And opened his eyes.
"I am DRN #000: Blues. All systems check."
Second: Construction
by Lady Virgo
"Restless thinking,
pushing on
Creation, dedication,
now and beyond"
///
It had been almost 10 years since the trio's break into the robotics world and their projects gained ground-breaking attention world wide.
Asides from the EDIE, which was an instant success among the supply and storage companies, several other small droids were placed into the mass market with similar results.
And Alfred, with both Randolph and Thomas happily encouraging it, took charge of the industry.
Then came that first day that everything slowly began to fall apart.
Thomas, spending a rather uneventful and over done day of sitting around, daydreaming about beautiful, mobile, intelligent pieces of art and getting inspiration from mass media, had plopped himself on the couch and turned on the view screen to see what new creation he could come up with from the newest cheesy kids' show.
"-is still in shock when a high-ranking Russian dignitary was assassinated during the grand opening of the transcontinental, underground rail system created in coordination with the Chinese government three hours earlier. The authorities are trying to find who had orchestrated the attack. There is reason to believe that it was done by a rival political faction, unhappy with the Russian government's recent turn to conservative socialism. At this time, though, all that is known for certain is that the UN has decided to investigate Civsec Robotics, the creator and distributor of the assassination weapon in question:"
Coffee sprayed over the knee high table.
The Mobility Enhanced Tunnel Operation Optical Lead....
"-or METOOL, designed by Dr. Albert Wily, head of the Civsec Robotics technology branch. Though obviously modified, its small, explosive projectiles, designed to make precision exoplosions in rock foundations, was replaced with a high, point area pulse weapon, banned by the Second Geneva Convention. Originally used in mining and construction, mainly in smaller, more dangerous areas- tiny and sturdy and having a rather cute design -the METOOL would be the last thing one would suspect to be used as a murder weapon-"
The view screen droned on unheeded as the phone rang and a voice, harsh and urgent, rasped in Thomas's ear.
"Get me Wily."
///
The media destroyed the story with all the charisma and skill that hadn't been seen since oil drilling in the Pacific Ocean had inadvertently caused underwater earthquakes, tidal waves destroying several tiny Micronesian islands. In a matter of days, not only was Albert's credibility as a community-based scientific genius destroyed, but also out went the trust in his skill, vision and his creations by the public. Like many things before them, music, sports, television, games, Albert's droids were considered by many to be a menace to society. Many companies quit their contracts with Civsec, others destroyed the robots they had purchased.
Droids were now a danger to human society, the deeply seeded, hidden fear finally finding room to burst its anxiety, blossoming into a panicked rush. For two years the science community, more understanding to what normal society would blind themselves of being helpful, tried to keep Civsec going, their personal underground project. But Alfred's plans began expanding further and faster than they had originally imagined, making the chairmen more than slightly wary. That, and they were having trouble trying to explain where their equipment and funds were going. The investigation was pressing too close for the chairs to handle, the pressure from high up slowly crushing them, forcing them to sever all ties to Civsec.
It was late by the time Alfred got that call on the vidphone. He was alone in the house, working on composites for his next project.
He pulled away from the phone, burned by betrayal. "What do you mean 'no'? The plans for the prototype were being drawn up! We managed to cut the cost and time estimate by 2%! We were planning to start construction in five months!"
"No means what it means, Dr. Wily." The Chairman said calmly. "We've been getting heat by the Science Safety Boards. They know we're still supporting Civsec and they're waiting for you to slip up so they can wrap up the assassination investigation."
"That was years ago!"
"Time doesn't matter so long as someone with power is still interested. There's nothing we can do to change anything. As of 2400 tonight, we're pulling Civsec out of your possession and shutting it down. All products and orders are to be destroyed."
BADUM. He felt his heart falter.
"Y-You're joking." Alfred began to shake finely. "This project is my whole life and you're just going to let them take it away from me? You're going to /help/ them take it from me? Don't you know how important this is? Have you told them why-"
"Dr. Wily." The Chairman said sternly, trying to keep from exposing his own anger and impatience to it all. "Your proposition is an ideal one, but the board does not judge on dreams, nor does the public. The hard facts are that someone used one of our constructs to assassinate a highly influential person. It's that sort of thing the board cares about."
The frustration nearly made him want to pull his already thinning hair out. "But it wasn't any of us that did that! We know better than to-"
"That's right, Albert." He interrupted gently but firm. "We know better, but not everyone else does and because of that, we're being punished for the world's lack of foresight and respect. I'm sorry, Albert, but there's nothing I can do. Goodbye."
And the screen blinked off, leaving Alfred to roll the disgust like vomit in his mouth.
Over ten years later and he was still hating his social science teacher even more.
But, spending his entire childhood and adolescence in the ghettos taught him a thing or more about what one does when someone screws them up the ass.
"Al... don't think me as being /rude/ or anything..."
"Mm."
"And, maybe I'm just imagining all this..."
"Mm."
"But, um..." Randolph picked up a lid to the electron pulse modulator. Civsec's logo glaringly painted upon it. "Did you steal all this stuff?"
Alfred didn't even break a twist as he assembled the components to the table saw. "No."
"Ah." He nodded. "Thought so." Randolph closed the lid and walked back up, out of the basement. "If the board calls, I went back to Russia."
"Be sure to clean up your Mother Country." He called back. "Your closet's overflowing all over the floor again."
"Of course, you realize, once Tommy gets wind of this, he'll blow his gut."
"Good. He could stand to lose a bit of weight."
"Um, ew."
So maybe Thomas didn't really blow any body parts, but he certainly did let off a rather good, long ranting session. He wasn't really the most moral of all men, but stealing- especially so many expensive devices, so easy to notice missing was a big no-no in his book.
Not only did it take an effort on Alfred's part to keep from getting the cops called on him, he also had to pull major strings to get Randolph to defend him and keep him from having to take back all the stolen equipment.
"But why the hell did you steal all this stuff?" Thomas gritted out, hand weeding his hair.
"Because they shouldn't have let this project go so easily." The German scowled. "It was the perfect plan and it was coming along perfectly, but they just had to screw it all up! But I'm /not/ going to let it all go to waste. I'll show them what exactly they threw away just because a few people go scared."
"You can't expect people to invest in something they fear." But he shook his head. "What's it matter? You don't try to understand people, that's why you hate them so much."
"Because they don't try to understand me! They're not even attempting to see what it is I'm trying to do for the world, for them. They don't see that this is the way to make the world a better place for everyone."
"I know, Al, I know. I agree with everything and you know it. But stealing equipment from a big-name corporation like Civsec won't get /anyone/ on your side!" Thomas took a deep breath and placed his hands on Alfred's shoulders. "Just wait a while, people will get over it after the investigation is over and the committee will take us back. So don't worry."
In a numb frustration, the other nodded. "Right. Just a little while, just wait."
///
"Oh how the years go by.
Oh how the love brings tears to my eyes.
Through all the changes the soul never dies.
We fight, we laugh, we cry,
As the years go by."
So the song, old and melodic, yet beautifully fitting weaved around the Kalashnikov-Cossack wedding reception.
Carolina Kalashnikov, from a long line of Russian military and weapons enthusiasts- including the developer of the AK rifle series so long ago -was a combat engineer in the Russian military, trained in nuclear, biological and chemical warfare. And Randolph's girlfriend for nearly 12 years. She was the typical Russian bombshell. Beautifully blonde, eyes as icy blue as her exterior and a welcoming heart so warm it could thaw an Arctic chill in minutes.
Not long after the marriage did the trio's skill in robotics grew dramatically now that it also gained her own talent and her family's money. They were free to do all the differentiating and costly experimenting to gain all the varied and useful results to further their projects. With it, they came to realize how much of an impact chemical reactions had on the conscious and unconscious mind, making the artificial brains all the more effective, life-like and humanly unpredictable.
Then they began finalizing the plans on the first of what would be called bioroids. The prototype, the 'failure'.
"The gel is too thick."
"What do you mean? We narrowed down the consistency as much as we could."
"But look. It's getting blocked up in the smaller areas. See how it's causing the cables in the ankles to swell? It's not flowing through it smooth enough to not be a problem."
"It works just fine in the other droids."
"But they're smaller. Their cables aren't as complex."
"How is this more complex? Oh, forget it. Never mind. What do you want to do? Water it down?"
"Maybe not so much as 'water it down' as it is just taking out some of the thicker chemical components."
"What?"
"Just something not as essential but that's taking up space and easy to come by and integrate back into the system."
"Like...what? Oxygen?"
"Would that thin it out?"
"Well... Right now the formula has more oxygen in it than the ratio of effectiveness really calls for. I don't know, really. We could just take it all out and put in an adapter to incorporate the oxygen from the air they breath in."
"It's kind of bothersome that now they'll have to breath, but..."
"It's not so bad, they won't need that much oxygen to 'live'. Hell, we build an effective enough adapter, they'd be able to survive off the oxygen they could filter right out of the water."
They were still struggling for another 2 and a half years when the trio had finally broken apart with the death of Carolina and the birth of Kalinka Kalashinkov-Cossack.
For a week the three spent in Russia, mourning and comforting the weeping family and broken Randolph. Carolina's intelligence in NBC and combustion was an invaluable asset to the research- though it would also help to build some of the most frightening terrors history would come to see. But she was still loved and trusted by all, the trio most especially for said intelligence and help. Her death was a harsh blow to them all.
The doctors didn't know exactly how the fatality happened. An unforeseen complication in the birth, Carolina's anemic system, the sudden water breaking. But, from the force of her cry and the strength of her miniature grip, Kalinka would prove to be a strong, healthy girl. As beautiful and intelligent as her mother.
Perhaps it was because he had never really had to live through someone close to him dying so suddenly in a way he could clearly remember. Perhaps it was because he was the one that kept his relationship with Carolina the most professional. Or perhaps it was his social skills- or lack thereof biting him in the ass again. But after a week, Alfred was antsing to return to the lab in Japan to return to his project.
However, Randolph refused to leave the land his most beloved was buried at, wanting his daughter to grow up in the land of her heritage and the family that would love and treat her as kindly as the daughter they had just lost. Thomas understood this, of course, and persuaded Alfred that the two of them should return alone under the pretense that Randolph needed more time to mourn.
But as a few days stretched on to a week, Alfred became annoyed at the lack of communication and called up Randolph, demanding to know when he'd return to finish up the project.
He was denied.
"A few days just isn't going to cut it, Albert." His voice strained over the phone. The view screen wasn't activated, but it was obvious Randolph was in a bad way.
"But we're too far along! You can't give out on us now!"
He rubbed his forehead tiredly, idly wondering if his hair was prematurely graying like his cohorts. "No, Albert. I am, I'm sorry."
Alfred's temper grew audibly on the other line. "I understand how upset you are, but this is our lives you're working on. If you stop now, you'll be throwing it all away. Now, if you' talking about maybe another weekend off-"
"/No/, Albert." His voice hardened. "You /don't/ understand. This is much more important than anything. This project is /your/ life, this is the culmination of /mine/. I hadn't planned on leaving Kalinka after her birth and isolating myself from her for the next Lord knows how many years. I want to be there for her, I want to be a /father/, Albert. I have to leave the project. I'm sorry."
It didn't get much better after that. The conversation quickly deteriorated into an argument and that, in turn, became a shouting match, re-opening old wounds long forgotten and never truly healed.
And afterwards, when one slammed the other off, they reflected back once the tempers cooled somewhat, and both became increasingly upset at the event. One saddened and anxious, thinking there should've been a better way to handle the situation. The other just became more and more frustrated and angry of it all.
But it was a real blow to Alfred. In terms of the project, emotionally, socially and mentally, the fight shook him to the core. He spent a growing number of hours experimenting on the prototype, trying to find the right combinations for anything. The hours expanded rapidly and soon he would be found sleeping in the lab, then it grew to him not sleeping at all but collapsing into exhaustion every few days. He only ate when Thomas managed to get his attention, but they were just sparse bites before he hurried back to his work.
It was as if he was filled with an unexplainable gripping terror that all his support would leave him, falling right out of his goal's fingertips. He was so close to reaching his dream, but his support was slipping from him, one after another. It was a race he felt he was almost on the verge of losing, one that he wouldn't lose without a fight, tooth, nail and life.
And the obsession began to make Thomas doubt both his grip on his own limitation and his sight.
He helped, though, because they were friends. Because it was now as much his project, his experiment and life pride as it was Alfred's. Because he couldn't see how it was ripping Alfred deep inside, where it was undetectable, irreparable.
And when he tried to stop Alfred, when he had enough courage to ask 'why':
"Because this is all I have to my name. This is the only thing I'll be remembered by."
Because he wouldn't end as he began: No one. Worthless. Nothing.
But Thomas still couldn't seem to agree as hopefully as he once did, what seemed so long ago. But he was equally un-inclined to quit. It ate at his mind every time he was away from the partially constructed body. The more he worked on it, the more he couldn't stop thinking about it. He became anxious, antsy, irritable. Soon he was right by Alfred's side, working just as diligently, attention wrapped and warped on it as his friend's.
They rarely talked anymore, rarely slept, stopped or ate. When one breaked for barely ten minutes, the other was there to take his place. It was an addiction, a Siren's song halfway sung. Perhaps that was what moved Thomas to nickname it: Blues.
Five years. Five long, struggling years they labored over the body, perfect in its formed plastics and metal, wires, electricity and fluids.
It was near midnight that they had finished, dark as death and quiet as sin. Fitting as the two prepared to slap God in face, defying that only he could grant life and were rather smug in the fact.
Before them on the laboratory table laid a young man, as polished and well formed as any other human male. Pale skinned, his crest of black-brown hair brushed across lidded red eyes and a serious, boyish face. The two men shifted and trembled with anxious energy, knowing what to do, but yet not knowing at the same time. The room was thick with their contradicting emotions, excited and afraid, bold but cautious. It was a dream that was waiting for one final flick of a switched, but neither of them really wanted to be the one to initiate it.
What if it didn't work? What if something went wrong? What if, what if?
Thomas, the occasional man of action, finally couldn't take the fight his emotions rolled inside of him. It wasn't so much as an act to a man seeing his life's labor completed, it was more as an act just to get it done, because it was the only thing to stop the uncomfortable struggle within.
The lights dimmed slightly as energy was diverted into the central computer, booting up the bioroid in front of them. The body crackled and whirled, beeping from inside as life slowly began to move in his body. The fluid that flowed in his veins touched and lubricated his insides, activating them and coating them, sending messages back to his brain, alerting it all systems go.
Albert and Thomas were nearly bouncing with anticipation. So slowly, a slender hand twitched slightly, shifting to grip the edge of the lab table. Just as slowly, with careful precision as the brain struggled to factor in the sudden shift of gravity's pull, angles and vertigo to stabilize equilibrium, Blues sat up. And opened his eyes.
"I am DRN #000: Blues. All systems check."