Though he was a supervisor, George didn’t exactly know what he was doing. The more he thought about it, he realized that he had never really known what he was doing.
He saw his boss in the glassed-in office, lording it over the assembly line. He was a short, balding man with dark hair and a large moustache. George had always thought of him as a good boss, though the man’s temper was often on a short fuse. George had never really thought about it before, but he didn’t quite understand what his boss did either. His job seemed to entail looking down at George and his fellow supervisors, as they in turn looked down at the robotic assembly line. The robots automatically did everything on their own.
George left his station, his brow furrowed with questions. He took the whirring lift platform that raised him up the boss’s office. The balding man was quite surprised to see him.
“Why have you left your post? That simply isn’t done!”
“But why not, Mr. S?” He fumbled to articulate his question. “What am I actually doing down there?”
“The assembly line can’t be run without you. A supervisor at every station, and a station for every supervisor. How do you expect sprockets to be made and for us to meet our inventory goals if you shirk your duties? The whole company depends on you, um-” He looked at the name patch on George’s shirt. “George.”
“But, sir, what is my job? I don’t even know what a sprocket is.”
The boss scratched his moustache and sat down at his desk. “George, don’t ask me such complicated questions. Sprockets are vitally important items, and you’ve got a job to do.”
“Actually, sir, the robots are doing it. They run everything on the assembly line. In all my years of working here at the sprocket factory I haven’t had to push a single button.”
“Then that proves you’re doing a good job. No breakdowns, no emergencies. Keep up the good work, George.”
“Mr. S, does anybody really know how anything works in this factory?”
“That’s in the hands of the general manager.” With a jerk of his head, Mr. S. nodded toward the ceiling, indicating other floors in the skyscraper overhead.
George went back to his station and watched the robots continue to work for the rest of the day.
That night he came home from work with a brilliant idea. The rest of the family considered it a disaster.
While Judy and Elroy sat at the table and Jane pondered the evening meal in front of the food replicator, George sauntered into the kitchen holding a can of chili and a can of soup. “Let’s try these. It’ll be like nothing we’ve ever had before.”
Judy seemed horrified. “The pictures on the label look gross.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure? We’ll heat up our own food… as soon as I figure out how to do it.”
Elroy got into the spirit of the challenge. “Don’t we have to rub sticks together or something, Pop?”
“Of course not. Maybe we can use a heating plate. I wonder how long it takes.”
The first experiment turned into an unpleasant experience. The instructions printed on the label-which George was proud to read by himself-didn’t say anything about having to open the can first before exposing it to high heat. The soup exploded into a dripping, hot mess.
Rosie the maidbot complained as she wheeled back and forth to clean up every drop.
George did better with the can of chili, and soon each of them had a small bowl of a lumpy red-brown mixture that didn’t look even as appetizing as the faded illustration on the label. Elroy, sitting beside his father, good-naturedly took several bites. Jane was stoic as she tasted the meal. Judy refused and slipped over to the replicator to make herself a different snack, much to George’s disappointment.
He expected that most of them would prepare a different meal for themselves later on, but he insisted that this was quite tasty. The fact he’d made it for himself added a sense of accomplishment that increased the flavor of the meal (though his stomach gurgled unpleasantly and his mouth tasted strange for hours afterward).
In the evening, when it was time for them to plan their upcoming family vacation, Judy was the first to pipe up, bubbling with excitement at her own suggestion. “I’ve always wanted to go to CentroMetropolis. We can see the shows and the museums.”
“And the boys,” Elroy added sarcastically.
“And the shows,” Judy insisted.
“Sounds boring,” Elroy said. “I want to go on a virtual immersion vacation! Every kind of game simulation! We’ve got a dome right here in the city, and Pop can get discount tickets from the factory.”
“We’re not all going to play virtual games.” Judy rolled her eyes. “That’s for kids.”
Jane sighed. “Wouldn’t a few days at a spa be nice? Temperature-controlled water jets, zero-gravity relaxation chambers, massagebots that can work your sore muscles for hours? It’s not easy being a homemaker these days, you know. You kids just wait until you grow up and have families of your own.”
George, however, cut off all further argument. He had already made his decision, and he was sure his family would enjoy it. It would be quite an exciting experience, if only they kept open minds.
“This year we’ll do something we’ve never done before. We’re going out to visit where my Uncle Asimov lived.”
George flew the family bubblecar out past the city and into the next city (which looked exactly the same as the last), then to the next city, and the next. He remained cheerful, anticipating what they would find out in the rugged swatch of uncivilized land in the middle of the barren, reddish desert.
The bubblecar whistled and hummed as it cruised along under its computerized guidance.
Though George sat in the driver’s seat, he didn’t actually fly the craft. The guidance systems took care of everything for him, but he had always felt in control. He ignored the two kids picking on each other in the back seat as the bubblecar streaked onward. Beside him in the front, Jane seemed quite uneasy about where they were going.
“Are we there yet?” Elroy said. “It’s been an hour.”
“It’s been fifty minutes,” George said.
“Seems like forever,” Judy complained. “When are we going to stop? Shouldn’t we take a rest break?”
Eventually, the neatly organized buildings dropped away, the traffic thinned, and soon the landscape was like something George had seen on a Martian pioneer adventure video. The ground was rocky and barren, dotted with sagebrush and cactus, broken by huge outcrops of rock that didn’t look at all like real skyscrapers.
Judy squealed when she saw dark, four-legged creatures munching on the unappetizing foliage. “Look, wild animals! We’re not actually going down there, are we?”
“Those are cattle, I think, Judy. Real cattle.” He searched his memory. “They were the inspiration for many of the meat products our food replicator makes.” Gazing down at the clumsy creatures, though, George didn’t think they looked at all like any of the steaks, burgers, or sausages he happily received on a plate that came out of the delivery chute.
“Do they attack people, Pop? Are they dangerous?”
“Of course not, son. We won’t be going anywhere close to them.”
The bubblecar’s metallic voice said, “Reaching end of automatic guidance network. Air travel no longer safe or recommended. It is advised that you turn around and go back.”
“See, Daddy? We shouldn’t have come here. Let’s go to CentroMetropolis.”
“Aww, that’s two hours from here,” Elroy complained.
George’s voice was firm. “We’re almost there. Uncle Asimov’s trailer is just up ahead.”
The bubblecar said, “Without grid guidance, it is suggested that you land and proceed on foot from this point.”
“On foot!” Judy cried. “Does that mean… walk?”