Chapter 5
Life had not been easy for Issac Sumdac since the departure of the Autobots. For one he missed his daughter, not only would she have been useful in the negotiations that had been plaguing his conference hall since reconstruction of Detroit began, but he also had no one to talk to. Sure his workers were always available, but it was a grating experience to talk to someone who wanted a promotion or more funding to their pet projects.
That said, a college science fair was probably not the best place to avoid that kind of conversation.
It was a habit he'd gotten into early on after the founding of Sumdac Systems.
It was no secret that Isaac held nothing but disdain for the military, mostly thanks to their early attempts in getting him to design robotic soldiers. Porter had been understandably furious when he'd refused, as the funds from the multi-million dollar deal would've been enough to pay for the factory his company so desperately needed at the time.
Isaac, however, could've never lived with the knowledge that his creations were being used to destroy. It was blood that he'd never be able to wash out of his hands, so there was no point in getting them dirty in the first place.
Thus, he made it his mission to keep invaluable knowledge from being abused. He visited science fairs every chance he got, hosted annual contests for scholarships and grants, provided funding to multiple schools and universities, and overall became the single biggest pain in the neck he could to companies with military contracts.
And thus, his frequent visits to young engineers.
This time, however, he was looking for something in particular. Just like his daughter was to recruit scientists on Cybertron, he too was looking for a very specific skillset they needed.
He heard a rumor from an old friend of his that a certain prodigy in nanotechnology would be here. A young scientist that could be very useful for the project he and his daughter had planned.
"Isaac!" called the voice of his old friend, "Glad to see you here."
"Archie, it's been too long."
Archibald Witwicky, Isaac's old friend and Headmaster of Blackrock Polytechnic University, was a spindly 70 year old man that made Mayor Edzel look like a body builder. He was often seen wearing vividly colored suits on his days off, but in the relatively formal affair that was the Blackrock Polytechnic Science Fair, he opted to wear a plain grey suit.
"How do you like this year's harvest?" Jested the older man as they clasped hands.
"Impractical as usual," he admitted, "it's a shame that too many confuse 'unused' with 'innovative'."
He made it a point to jerk his head at a table showing off stationary bike in a fish tank being used by a girl with scuba gear.
"But that's not why you're here," pointed out Archibald as the two walked towards a specific table, "I understand you're interested in the Circuit Breaker?"
"Circuit Breaker?"
"No idea why she picked that name," he admitted, "honestly I think she just thought it sounded cool."
"I really don't think he can talk," stated a new voice, "not with the FARTS and all."
The voice came from a young woman in her early twenties. She had dirty blonde hair, amber eyes, and wore a lab coat over a red shirt and blue khakis.
What really caught Isaac's attention however, was the presence of a motion assistance exoskeleton strapped to her legs.
This woman, it seemed, was paralyzed from the waist down.
But there was a more pressing matter.
"FARTS?" he asked, "I don't remember giving that name to any of my products."
"She means the train, Isaac," pointed out Archibald.
"The Fully Automated Rapid Transport System? What about it?"
There was a momentary pause.
"Wait, that wasn't on purpose?" asked the blonde.
"What wasn't on purpose?"
The headmaster and the student gaped at him momentarily, turned to each other, and burst into laughter.
Isaac looked at them in confusion for a moment, wondering what the two were going on about.
"Ok, ok, I'm sorry," the blonde managed to say through her laughter, "but the fact you didn't notice makes it even funnier."
"Notice what?" he insisted.
"Nothing my friend," cut in Archie before they could start again, "never change."
Isaac was visibly confused at that comment, but chose not to reply to it.
"Let's get back to the subject," he proposed, "I understand you've been experimenting with biomechanical nanobots, miss…?"
"Beller! Josie Beller, at your service," she quipped, "and yes. I have been experimenting with nanobots that manipulate individual cells. This should allow me to give them instructions directly."
"What do you hope to achieve by doing that?" asked the portly scientist.
"Well, it would help direct stem cells exactly where we want them to go," she pointed out, "this would allow them to reconstruct damaged structures, even neural structures and perhaps even whole organs, faster than modern stem cell treatment is able to with fewer repercussions or major surgery. And that's just the beginning."
She smiled in a way that Isaac had only seen once before.
"I could heal genes," she proposed, "eventually, these nanobots could go into a damaged body, correct genetic damage, and rearrange the cells to the correct manner if necessary."
"That sounds like viral therapy," pointed out Archibald.
"Controlled viral therapy," she corrected, "by making the nanobots bond with the cells, they would be able to heal any wound, cancer, or disease in a matter of days. Maybe even create rejection-proof hardware to wetware patches. I could turn genes on and off in fully-formed subjects, a genetic and cellular switch, hence the name Circuit Breaker. Well, that's what I'm hoping for anyways."
Isaac did not miss the way she drummed her fingers against her exoskeleton.
"Anyways, you'll be able to see what I mean during my demonstration," she continued, "it's at 3! Don't be late!"
With that, she shot off back to her table.
"That was rather pleasant."
"Flirting with a young girl in her twenties?" teased Archibald.
A glance from Isaac let him know exactly what he thought of that statement, "I meant talking to someone like a human being."
Life had not been easy for Porter C. Powell as of late. The debacle with the Soundwave toys had been an expensive mistake that would've ruined a less intelligent man. Fortunately, he was able to call in enough favors to keep himself afloat as he tried to figure out how to get back in the game. He wasn't ready to give up on the robotics market just yet, there was just too much money in it, but he was not the kind of genius that could be given a lab and engineer gold. No, his genius lay in people.
He was a master of the sale. He was quite proud to admit that he could sell an igloo in a desert or a snow cone in Alaska if he were so inclined (the igloo was a lot more difficult). However, his gift was useless if he had nothing to offer. He needed a product, and an engineer or inventor that would design it for him to mass produce.
"If there is a God, he's obviously a fan of yours truly," he mused to himself as he reviewed the present he'd been given.
To be perfectly honest, the blueprints he was examining could've been hand-delivered by Satan himself, and he wouldn't give a frog's derriere. The robots, labeled CN-ERD by the designer, were absolutely genius. Humanoid in form, the ERDs were 1.90 meters tall and as versatile as any human worker. He'd have to do something about the more unnecessary aspects of the design like the v-shaped visor and the skates, the designer must be an Autobot groupie, but other than that he'd practically been sent a money printer.
A ping from his smart watch alerted him to a message from the designer.
Are the designs satisfactory?
Satisfactory? They were a lifesaver to be honest, but he might be able to pinch a few pennies yet.
"Truth be told, they require a massive overhaul," he told his watch, which dutifully typed out the message, "it will be very difficult to have them ready for the holyday season with all of the changes that we'll need to make. I'll have to consider the purchase of the design."
He snapped his fingers, sending the message instantly.
He'd played this game for a long time. This was a young inventor, unaware of the true value of his work and desperate to get his name known. He had plans for the ERDs, plans that peacekeeper Sumdac would've never approved of.
"You're an idealistic fool Sumdac," he chuckled as he picked out his favorite smoking blend for his pipe, "you refused for so long, but the ERD can and will be the next synthetic soldier."
His watch pinged again, nearly startling him into dropping the expensive tobacco/cannabis blend.
He hadn't expected such a prompt reply.
I am willing to submit a second design for a full-sized battle mech for the same price. See attached.
So he knew what he wanted the blueprints for. Porter had not foreseen this. He'd assumed this kid would be one of Sumdac's many groupies, trailing after him to kiss the ground he walked on. It was obvious that this was a more pragmatic individual.
He pinched the air above the watch and flattened his hands against his desk, bringing up the file. Porter nearly drooled at what he saw.
The CN-VH/1 was outstanding. A ten-meter-tall warmech, fully equipped with enough weaponry to bring down a platoon. It had the same v-shaped visor as the ERDs, but was broader in appearance. Where the ERD's reminded Porter of Prowl in build but with more human-like feet, these were similar to the Decepticon Blitzwing, minus the wings and with added armor.
The CN-VH/2 had the wings and much more. Virtually identical to its land-based counterpart, the VH/2 was obviously meant for air-support. It lacked the heavier armor from its counterpart, had a sleeker helm that was vaguely similar to a racing bike helmet, and bore a set of turbine-tipped wings on its back.
"This will do nicely," he admitted to his watch, "they need some work though, so I'll have to cut some of your commission to make adjustments."
He sent the message, and received a reply before he could even pick up his pipe again.
That is understandable. Do we have a deal?
Porter smirked, there's a sucker born every minute.
"I believe we do Mr. Wave. It's a pleasure doing business with you."
Isaac was somewhat worried as he stalked the halls of Banes Science Hall. After her less-than-stellar performance, Miss Beller had run off the stage and into the labs. He'll admit that it was the second-worst nanobot-related disaster he'd seen, the biggest being a fair bit more notorious, but he still saw the potential of such technology.
He just hoped the young girl hadn't done anything she would regret.
He stopped when he heard sobbing coming from the right.
He followed the heartbreaking sound to a lab near the end of the west hall, to what he identified as her personal laboratory. Isaac had been quite impressed when he found out Josie had been granted a personal lab, even he hadn't gotten one in college.
"Miss Beller?" he called out before knocking, "Miss Beller, are you in there?"
The sobbing stopped.
"Pro-professor Sumdac?"
"Yes, it's me. Are you alright?"
"Of course I'm all right!" she called out, "I mean, it's not like I just watched my life's work go up in flames!"
"So you had a hiccup," he admitted, "you will have many more."
"That's not helping."
"Isn't it? My father always said that one only reaches success by piling up one's failures and standing atop them."
He heard her do an odd sound, something between a sniffle and a chuckle.
A snuckle.
"That's so dorky," she called out, "but so are we so…"
"Yes, I suppose we are," he admitted with a chuckle of his own before turning serious, "don't give up yet Josie."
"I melted a monkey," she pointed out, "on a stage, on TV!"
"I made a cockroach kaiju," pointed out the older scientist, "I thought we'd have to call in Ultraman by the time the Autobots showed up."
"I still say that's a hell of a coincidence," she grumbled, "how can you trust those things?"
"They saved my daughter," he explained, "kept her safe when even her own species wouldn't. I owe them my life."
She said nothing, he sighed.
"If you wish to keep moping, be my guest and waste your talent," he told her, "but if you wish to move forward and realize just how close you are to greatness, come to my tower tomorrow at noon."
He slipped his card under the door, unknowingly having it stop next to her ankle, where she'd been curled up with her head in her arms.
"My experiment failed."
"Yes," he admitted, "It did. But you're closer than you think."
Josie Beller stared at the card in her hands as Isaac Sumdac's footsteps faded away.
""Closer than you think?" What does that even mean?"