The Age Atomic

EIGHTEEN

Doctor X had not been let out of the laboratory complex in as long as he could remember. He had free run of the main lab and his cell-like quarters, and everything in between, which included storage rooms, a kitchen, bathroom, communal toilet, and a large common room, the latter two of which were really only used by him and Laura. But the corridor that led from the main lab to his quarters ended at a large green door with an arched top. It was locked, of course. He’d never seen it open, but he was aware of its presence, its potential. It was there in the morning, closed, solid, unmoving. It was there in the evening, in the same state. He’d begun to find it reassuring, strangely — maybe it was the fact it was green, as green as the grass that he hadn’t seen for months. It was a doorway to another world.

He’d asked Laura about other places; she came from somewhere called California. But the distance, the scale she had described, made his mind spin, made the buzz saw vibration behind his eyes return. He had acclimated to the Origin universe, but occasionally the world around him liked to remind the good doctor that he was a visitor here.

In fact, he was a prisoner — and a dangerous man, according to the President. Doctor X had even met him once, when he came to open the facility. The ceremony had been secret; only the President and a dozen uniformed men even knew that there was more to Atoms for Peace than just a speech given to the United Nations General Assembly. The President, introduced to Doctor X as Dwight D. Eisenhower, had been one of those uniformed men too, once. That explained it, in a way; it explained Atoms for Peace, the way the President had looked at the equipment, the way he held himself when the Director glided around, explaining their set-up, the reason why he had employed the extraordinary for his secret purpose. He’d kept a distance like Doctor X was electric, like he was dangerous.

But it wasn’t him that was dangerous. It was the machine, the Project, the thing in the cage that they needed to be worried about. He hoped they knew that, all of them. The Project was a wonderful and deadly thing.

“Well now, look who’s back!” said the voice from the cage. “So, you live to fight another day, eh, bud?”

Doctor X ignored the Project as he walked into the laboratory. It was late, and Laura had already left. Just today she’d made a minor alteration that allowed the latest test fusor reactor to run for nearly three minutes before the overload shut it down. A dramatic improvement, even if three minutes was of as much use as eighteen seconds. If he was honest with himself, it was Laura doing the heavy lifting now.

Then she was in the laboratory, her blue glow mingling with the light from the bench lamps in a way that made Doctor X feel ill.

“Are you going to kill me?” he asked, not quite meaning to but wanting to fill the silence with something. His usefulness was up, he knew. He was a prisoner and he was expendable, and the bulk of the work had been done. But he regretted asking it, and when the Director didn’t reply he finally did look up into her face. She was smiling sadly behind the veil.

“You have much work to do, doctor,” she said. “The fusor reactor must be stable according to the original calculations. Atoms for Peace must have a never-ending power source. We cannot proceed without the power. When the prototype reactor is complete, we can go into full production.”

Doctor X closed his eyes and took off his glasses. “I’ve told you-”

The Director was suddenly standing — hovering — beside him. He tried not to flinch, but he did anyway. She didn’t seem to notice.

“Do not delay, Dr Farnsworth. We must prepare ourselves for war.”

Doctor X blanched. She never used his name; she refused to acknowledge that he existed in this universe. For her to use it now filled him with a cold fear, as cold as the waters of the East River. Then she disappeared from the workshop; Doctor X barely noticed.

“She’s going to kill you,” said the Project. “Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but some day. Some day.”

It was right. The Director was going to have him killed, and Atoms for Peace would install the young Dr Laura Richardson as their Chief Scientist. It was just a matter of time.

“You and me, buddy, we’d make such a team.”

If he fixed the fusor, got it working as required, providing power for the terrible machine army Evelyn was building, then he was unnecessary. Perhaps more important, with the fusor operational, war would come: the Director would have her army; the results would be terrible to behold.

But if he could delay fixing the fusor…

Doctor X removed his glasses with a shaking hand.

If he delayed the work, deliberately, then his life would be prolonged and war would be postponed, if not averted altogether. Doctor X could save himself and the lives of countless others.

“The things we could do. Oh, the things we could do.”

But she would find out, and he would be killed, and the work would continue.

But maybe there another option, an alternative, one that would not only keep him alive… maybe it would set him free? If the fusor was operational — if the Project was operational…

Doctor X shook his head and slipped his glasses back on. He pulled the stool out from under the bench and sat heavily on it.

“Just you and me against the world, pal.”

Doctor X glanced at the cage. The Project was locked into the frame, but the bright red eyes were on him, unmoving.

The Project wasn’t just running through a set of recorded phrases. It was… alive, in a way. The Project was aware of its surroundings, was aware of the situation. Its offers of assistance… perhaps they were genuine.

And with a fully operational fusor installed, the Project would be unstoppable, the first — if the Director had her way — of a whole army, a wonderful, terrible robot army.

Doctor X cleared his throat. He was alone in the laboratory — it was nearly three in the morning now. How long had he been sitting at the bench? The artificial lights blazed high above, removing any sense of time.

Alone, except for the Project.

He looked at the workbench. Then he asked, “How much do you know about the fusor reactor?”

The Project laughed. “Oh, Philo, my friend. I thought you’d never ask. That thing, I can feel it working when you put it inside me. It’s a real buzz.”

Doctor X took his glasses off. “You can… feel it?”

“Sure. I can also feel what’s wrong. But don’t feel too bad. It’s an easy mistake — anyone could have made it. But don’t sweat it. You and me, we can make it work. No problem.”

Doctor X said nothing. Was it that easy? Was the solution sitting inside the isolation cage, just a few feet away? He replaced his glasses. “Can you help me?”

As soon as he said the words they felt inadequate, incomplete. He needed to explain himself, explain the situation, explain what he thought was going to happen.

Then he laughed. He was tired, exhausted. The Project was a machine, like the many others that filled the laboratory. The silence grew in his ears like the roaring of the ocean. He closed his eyes.

“Yes,” said the Project.

Doctor X gulped a breath and held it. When he stood, he felt dizzy, his heart racing, and when he opened his eyes the world was fuzzy at the edges. He moved to the cage, lightheaded, like he wasn’t in control of his own body. His eyes were dry and he blinked and blinked and rubbed them, and when he opened them again he saw the clamps holding the Project to its frame were unlocked, open.

The Project was free. Doctor X took a step back, looking at his own hands; he didn’t remember releasing the locks on the frame. Now this was it, really it. Because now the Project was going to kill him. But it was better this way. He’d be dead and the fusor reactor would be unfinished and there would be no war.

“I’m not going to kill you,” said the Project. It turned its head left and right and left again, and the glassy red eyes rolled back and forth in their sockets.

“Can you read my mind?” It was a ridiculous question but he asked it anyway.

The robot’s head stopped moving, and it looked at the scientist.

“I don’t need to read your mind, Prof. I can read your face like an open book. Remind me to play poker with you sometime.”

Doctor X stared at the robot, not quite following the conversation. The robot turned its head again but was otherwise motionless.

“Little help here, buddy,” said the Project.

Doctor X’s jaw went up and down, and he looked around him like he didn’t know where he was.

“Hey, Prof, there.” The Project didn’t move, but its eyes indicated to Doctor X’s left. On a table was a replacement arm. “Gonna need that back. And I need me some juice, real quick.”

“Juice?”

“The fusor, dummy. You need to install it.”

The doctor turned around and shook his head.

“But it isn’t ready. Even with the modifications it can only run up to three minutes now. That’s not enough.”

“I know,” said the Project. “But I’ll tell you what to do. So let’s get it up and running and then we can get moving along, nicely nicely.”

“How do you know my name?”

The Project’s face was fixed, a metal sculpted approximation of an artificial man, but the laugh that came from behind the faceplate sounded surprisingly warm and real.

“Philo Farnsworth, the hottest ticket in the Empire State. I’ve got a friend who speaks highly of you, pal.”

Doctor X nodded. His knees wobbled and for a moment he thought he would hit the floor with them, but he stayed upright.

The Project’s eyes rolled as it watched Doctor X. “You don’t look so good. Looks like you could do with some juicing yourself.”

Doctor X took his glasses off again. He closed his eyes and rubbed them until he saw blue spots dance.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. We’ll fix you up,” said the robot. “And you can call me Elektro.

“And you and me, we’re going to set the world on fire.”