Читать книгу Qubit's Incubator - Charley Brindley - Страница 2

West Chelsea, New York City

Tuesday morning, 10 a.m.

“Thank you for the opportunity.”

Catalina took the offered straight-back oak chair. She watched the man behind the desk as he read her CV.

Thirtyish, confident, well-dressed. I wonder if he’s the owner or manager?

She adjusted her short blue skirt, then rested her tightly clasped hands on the iPad in her lap.

Victor Templeton was clean-shaven, with a little gray sprinkled throughout his sun-bitten hair. His face looked weathered, tired. He watched Catalina for a moment, but her steady gaze didn’t waver. He wrote the number “7” on his notepad.

“Whatcha got…” he glanced at her CV, “Miss Catalina Saylor?”

Catalina’s hand shot to the right side of her thigh, where she patted her skirt.

They’re gone! She panicked. How could I lose them?

Her heart raced. Jerking her hand one way then another, she finally felt a familiar object, then the second one.

There you are. Thank God!

The concealed pocket held her treasures. All her skirts and dresses had pockets hidden within the folds of cloth. She never wore pants or shorts. Without her talisman, she would be lost.

“Sound imaging for the blind,” she said in answer to his question.

Victor spun a yellow pencil on his desk. “Hmm…like a bat’s echolocation?”

Catalina’s breathing returned to normal as her heart rate slowed. “Something like that, but using AI to convert the radar bounces into a non-visual image.”

Victor scribbled the number “8” on his notepad. “Non-visual image.” It wasn’t a question; he repeated her phrase as if trying to give it substance. “Being fed into the blind person’s optic nerve?”

“No. To her fingertips, making her surroundings into a tactile image.”

“You have ten minutes to sell this idea to me.”

Catalina tossed her head to the side, like a girl with a long strand of hair irritating her face; however, her short chocolate-brown hair, neatly brushed and pushed back, hardly covered her ears. A little blush on her cheeks would have added depth to her statuesque beauty, but she never wore makeup, thinking it was a waste of time. Maybe someday, if she ever wanted to advertise her availability for dating.

She opened her iPad and placed it on the desk, facing him. Reaching over the top, she pressed a key.

A stick-figure with a long cane materialized on the stark white screen.

Catalina sat back, keeping her eyes on Victor.

As he watched the iPad, the figure mobilized and made its way along a sketched-in street. The figure slowly morphed into a human form—a woman, then clothing was added; a flowery blouse and long skirt, both in black and white.

She tapped her cane on the sidewalk, feeling her way along.

The sidewalk and buildings took on more detail as the sounds of murmured voices and traffic came from the iPad speakers.

Color was added to the woman’s clothing as she made her way through the passing pedestrians; chartreuse for the skirt, and a shocking orange for her blouse. The outlined buildings became shops, with books and jewelry displayed in the windows, while a convenience store came into view ahead of her.

“Who did this animation?”Victor asked.

“I did,” Catalina said. “Most of it.”

He used his pen to slash through the “8” and wrote “9” beside it.

The blind woman came to a street crossing and stopped when the end of her cane dropped off the edge of the curb.

She tilted her head, listening.

“Anyone there?” Her voice came from the speakers.

A girl, maybe ten years old, came to her side. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m blind. Can you help me across the street? This is Forty-seventh, right?”

“Yes, it is.” The girl took her hand. “What happened to your eyes?”

“Afghanistan.”

“Step down.” The girl led the woman off the curb and into the street. “We can cross now. You were hurt in the war?”

“Yes. What’s your name?”

“Monica. We’re in the middle of the street, but we still have the light.”

“Do you live nearby?”

“Two blocks. Mama sent me to the store for baking powder. Get ready to step up on the curb.”

The white cane tapped ahead of the woman. When it touched the curb, she felt for the height.

“If you can’t see, why do you wear sunglasses?”

After stepping up on the sidewalk, the woman felt for her glasses and removed them.

“Oh,” Monica said.

The woman’s eyes were cloudy orbs, scared and misshapen.

“I see what happened. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Thanks for helping me.”

“What’s your name?” the girl asked.

“I’m Cindy.”

A knock came at the office door, then a young woman with red hair peeked in. “Your next appointment is here.”

Victor kept his eyes on the video as he held up his hand toward her in a ‘Tell the applicant to wait a few minutes’ gesture.

Catalina stared at the redhead. Dangly earrings. Perfectly shaped, gold enclosing jade stones. Ovals!

The young woman glanced at Catalina, then nodded to Victor and closed the door.

The video suddenly rewound back to the stick figure in the first frame. It started as before, but now, as the animation progressed, the white cane was equipped with a shiny metal cylinder wrapping around the shaft, near the handgrip. A bracelet of similar design circled the woman’s left wrist. Both had blinking green LEDs while emitting a soft beeping sound.

When the woman came to the curb, she shifted the cane to her right hand, then held up her left, with the palm forward. The beeping sound accelerated. She cocked her head to the side, then after a moment she slowly shifted her open palm to her left. She paused there, then moved her hand all the way around to the right.

The blind woman waited until the sounds of traffic stopped, then held out her palm to her left, apparently checking for any cars turning right, and into her path.

Satisfied it was clear, she stepped off the curb and walked confidently forward, avoiding a yellow taxi that had stopped halfway into the crosswalk.

She was soon on the other side of the street and striding toward her destination.

Victor leaned back in his chair as Catalina took her iPad, turned it toward her, and clicked off the video.

“Nice. I understand the concept,” he said. “But not only will it require some very dense coding, you’ll have to work out the computer-human interface.”

“I know it won’t be easy.”

“Are you a coder?”

“I did most of the programming of the demo video.”

“Where did you learn to code?”

“I’m teaching myself.”

Victor marked out the “9” and wrote “10.” “Why do you need Qubit’s Incubator?”

“For a place to work. And I’ll need electronic test equipment, too.”

“Why can’t you work at home?”

“I share a small apartment with a roomie who loves to party and make lots of noise.”

“You don’t party and make noise?”

“I used to.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

“No other place to live?”

“I can’t afford a place by myself, or the equipment I need.”

“Your parents?”

“Not an option.”

“Do you have a job?”

She nodded.

“How much do you make?”

Catalina hesitated, wrinkling her brow as she gazed at a picture on the wall behind Victor. It was a large horizontal oval containing Egyptian hieroglyphs. The symbols were embossed characters chiseled into stone.

“I work in a café.” Die with…She tried to work out the translation. “With extra shifts and tips, I clear around four thousand a month.” Die with what?

“And you can’t get your own place on that?”

“I have…um…other expenses.” Die with memories…but what is that last part?

He marked out the “10” and went back to “8.” “What are they?”

“Why do you need to know all this?”

“Miss Saylor, do you want help from the Incubator?”

“Of course I do.”Dreams!

“Then I need enough information to make a decision. If you’re over your head in credit card debt and all you can do is make minimum payments, you’ll never get out from under that load of debt working at a café.”

Die with memories, not dreams. She smiled. All within a perfect oval frame.

She took a deep breath, examined her nails for a moment, then exhaled. “I dated a guy for almost a year. I thought we had a future together, but he tricked me into running my four credit cards up to the limit, then when we couldn’t charge anything more, he bailed on me.”

Victor lined through the “8” and wrote “10” again. “You see that door?” He pointed across the room, opposite from the door the young woman had opened earlier.

Her shoulders slumped. She nodded. “You’re rejecting me?”

“Go through that door, pick out a vacant desk, and get organized. Then–”

Catalina squealed with delight, jumped from the chair, and stepped to the end of his desk. “I’m accepted?! I can’t believe it. Can I hug you?”

“No. As I was saying, come back to see me at four this afternoon. Now, wipe that smile off your face and go find a desk. You’ve got thirty days to prove yourself.”

“Yes, sir.” She actually did wipe her hand across her broad smile, leaving behind a serious frown. “I’m on it.” She hurried toward the door.

Victor smiled as he made a note on the edge of her application—30 days.