The car was automated, too.
Carter’s panic was immediate but short-lived. The computer brain controlling the car was probably more attentive than the human driver on his best day, and with 360 degrees of constant observation through integrated video and radar surveillance systems, it was certainly more aware than any human driver ever could be. The human operator, though he probably didn’t realize it, was only there to facilitate the transition to a completely automated system. In five years, nobody would think twice about sliding into the back seat of a fully automated taxi.
She settled back and tried to enjoy the ride, but everywhere she looked, she saw reminders of the recent upheaval — downed trees and power lines, cracked concrete, boarded-up windows, and broken glass. There had been several small quakes in the area, all occurring simultaneously, multiplying the destructive intensity of the seismic waves. Fortunately, no lives had been lost.
Fallon’s corporate complex was situated a few miles to the north of the airport, on the shores of Lake Geneva. The ride was short and uneventful. As the taxi pulled to a stop at the gated entrance to the walled compound, the LED screen flashed to life with the message:
You have arrived.
The voice of the computer echoed the message, and then asked if she wanted the taxi to wait for her.
“No, thank you,” she said, feeling a little awkward speaking with the machine, and ignoring the real flesh-and-blood human sitting in the front seat. The driver — or rather the driver’s-seat filler — did come to life long enough to let her out. Then without a word, he got back in, and the car drove off.
At least he didn’t act like he expected a tip.
The gate was unmanned — what a surprise — so she put herself in full view of the security camera and waited to see what would happen. She expected to hear another disembodied voice from an intercom, but instead the gate rolled back. As she stepped through, an electric golf cart rolled up and stopped beside her. Unlike the taxi, this vehicle did not have even a token human operator.
“Welcome to Tomorrowland, Dr. Carter.”
The male voice — smoother than the automated system in the taxi, but no less artificial — did not surprise her. The fact that she had been recognized did. “I…ah…thought this place was called ‘Space Tomorrow,’” she said, trying to hide her dismay.
“Space Tomorrow is the name of Mr. Fallon’s company. Tomorrowland is our unofficial nickname for this facility.”
Our? Maybe the voice did belong to a real person.
“Please, get in. I’ll take you to Mr. Fallon.”
“Actually, I’m here to see…” She stopped herself. “Were you expecting me?”
“Not exactly, but I will let Mr. Fallon explain.”
She hesitated a moment, looking around at the manicured green lawn and sculpted topiary. In the distance, she could see buildings, but there was not a living soul anywhere to be seen. She settled onto the cart’s cushioned bench seat. “I guess I’ll talk to Mr. Fallon, then.”
The electric vehicle executed a smooth, precise turn and headed down the paved drive, while behind her, the gate rolled back into place, sealing her in.
Over the low hum of the electric motor, she heard the noise of activity. The high-pitched whine of saws tearing through wood, the grinding of concrete mixers, the rapid-fire report of nail guns… She hoped they were just nail guns. Tomorrowland had not come through the earthquakes unscathed, but the repair crews were already busy fixing the damage. But as the first of the buildings came into view, she realized that one of her conclusions was mistaken. There were no repair crews, at least not human ones. The work was being done by robots.
They were utilitarian, more upsized WALL-E than C-3P0, though even that was an imperfect comparison. Their bulldozer-sized tracked bodies sprouted numerous appendages, articulated with hoses and telescoping chrome hydraulic actuators, some tipped with pincer-like clamps, and others with the power tools she had heard from afar. The robots moved with abrupt efficiency, performing a complex but beautiful synchronized ballet. Damaged sections of wall were cut down and removed, and just as quickly replaced with studs and sheets of plywood, cut to size and fastened in place in a seamless and unending progression. There were no mistakes, no ‘measure twice, cut once’ redundancies of effort, and no rest breaks. Carter recalled that Dourado had described Tomorrowland as a facility for testing robotic systems for space stations, but the reality was far more impressive than her wildest sci-fi fueled expectations.
The cart pulled up to one of the buildings and stopped. Carter noted a conspicuous lack of signage to differentiate the buildings, which seemed odd. The disembodied voice spoke again. “Mr. Fallon is in the Operations Center. A guide will show you the way.”
“Thank you,” she said, feeling the same strangeness about the interaction as she had earlier. It occurred to her that she had not experienced a meaningful interaction with an actual human being since leaving the airport.
Her guide turned out to be another robot, albeit much simpler in design than the builder-bots. As she stepped through the door, something that resembled a scaled-down Segway scooter with a round yellow disk where the handlebars should have been, rolled toward her. “Hello, Dr. Carter,” The voice was female and pleasant, and Carter detected a faint accent. Some kind of personality subroutine, no doubt. “Please, follow me.”
The guide-bot spun around, facing down the carpeted hallway, but did not move until Carter started walking. Once she did, it managed to stay just a couple of steps ahead of her. As they went along, Carter noted the plain décor. Evidently, there was no room in the budget for interior design or creature comforts. Stranger still, none of the doors had doorknobs. This mystery was explained when the guide turned toward one of the doors and it swung out into the hallway without any direct contact.
Automatic, Carter mused. Naturally.
The door led into a large open room — it reminded her of a budget hotel conference room — and she was relieved to see two actual living people seated in folding plastic chairs around a folding plastic table, which was lined with laptop computers and other electronic devices. On the back wall of the room hung three large plasma screens, each one depicting rows of mathematical formulae. The men at the table turned to look at her, and one of them — he had pale, freckled skin and wiry red hair, and he looked far too young to have any sort of authority — began walking toward her, a tablet computer still gripped in one hand.
Carter tried for a winning smile. “Mr. Fallon, I presume?”
“Who are you?” he said, with more than a trace of suspicion.
She wondered at his ignorance. Hadn’t her identity already been well-established? She decided to roll with it. “I’m Dr. Felice Carter.”
The guide-bot spoke up. “You selected Dr. Carter for Proteus Team, Mr. Fallon.”
This explanation surprised Carter, but seemed to resolve the confusion for Fallon. “Ah, I see. My apologies, Dr. Carter. You’ve come at a rather bad time for me.”
“I…ah, actually, I didn’t…” She stopped and forced a smile. “I’m sorry, but what is Proteus Team? And how do you even know who I am?”
Fallon glanced back at the table for a moment as if trying to decide whether she was worth his time. “From time to time, I need to bring in freelancers to consult on some of my projects, so to save time, I pre-screen potential candidates and assign them to project teams. If you were selected for Proteus Team, then your field must be biology, correct?” He looked down at his tablet. “Display Carter.”