In Gadgets We Trust

From The Files of Recon Agent Roger Steele...

The ruse: a civilian engineer inspecting joint works orchestrated by the White Coat Crew’s Public Development Firm.

The goal: a pinch of reconnaissance.

His associate for the task: “Professor Jonathan Smith.”

For both the sharp-cut gray Roger Steele and his tall, white-furred Avenger’s Creed companion, in lieu of their respective ensembles came navy blue suits to match the gaggle of touring technicians being led through the blindly white show floor. The compound’s hard-cut angles and steel furnishings gave it the air and aroma of a hospital, but instead of turquoise beds lined with patients, the bespectacled White Coat representative toured her dozens through table upon brass table of electric confections. From advancements in holograms that grew increasingly lifelike to children’s games doubling as security devices, it seemed to be a festival of lateral innovation than upward invention.

Steele, under the moniker of “Dr. L.M. Trevanian,” faked a fine North district accent as he traded thoughts with Professor Smith. “Ratio of wolf-to-computer input?” he postulated to the towering Englishman beside him.

“70-30,” Smith nodded, glancing back at the children’s toy table. “That’s the odd duck of it. She’s everywhere, but she can’t be everything at once. Hence why we’re here. Hence why my labs stay in commission.”

“Devil of it, though.” Steele continued, thumbing his gray snout between written notes. “Go through two centuries of post-scarcity to wind right back here.”

The white wolven gentleman scoffed. “M’dear Trev, ‘tis but our nature. So goes the Comm/Ent. line. After all, without real work, real money, what better way to while the hours away, hmm? Besides, it’s merely the afterbirth of true invention. Invention kept between WCC and Ace, bless ‘er. Hence a P.D.F. to begin with.”

Steele nodded, his cold, ice-blue eyes analyzing every line he had taken down. He would have brought his pocket-camera, but the programs handed out itemized every solitary creation shown, with full-color photographs to match. And even if they hadn’t, the five security checkpoints would surely have found it during scans. He couldn’t even have a ballpoint pen in the facility, having to make his notes with a wispy, brush-like marker.

The Professor tapped the agent’s chin as though he were a child, drawing his gaze towards the major announcement he wanted him to see.

“I believe the boys at your firm will be very pleased with this one.”

Guarded by two, towering Caza-6 androids, the robotic wolves well-known to Steele and the Force back east, was a massive, spherical sculpture, with 16 telescreens wrapping its center. Topped and tailed with bronze, and a Latin inscription across its base: In Inventione Speramus.

“In Invention We Trust,” muttered Steele.

“Or alternatively, Trev,” Smith interjected. “We Hope For A Discovery.”

The fair-furred, female White Coat at the procession’s head gestured to the grand display as the rest of Smith and Steele’s “fellows” gasped.

“No, it’s not a Comm/Ent. pop-up.” she politely clarified, “We’ve plenty of those for all our many districts. This is the Carmino Memorial Mood Booster. Taken from designs by the late, great Vincent Carmino, father to the A.C.E.S. of today. Right until the end, Carmino was a man of peerless vision, one blessedly continued by his son Thomas. Among the late technician’s designs was this addition to the Health Center. Operating on the same Atom Bath technology, you take one of the eight seats, lower the four-pad headset, and in 15 minutes time, all manner of stress and anxiousness is syphoned from the mind, and displayed upon the cloud-tank. The pains and worries of the day made into brilliant abstract art. Those who partake feel instant improvements to their mood, and those passing by are treated to a brilliant display of color.”

She was diving into the specifics of the technology when the black screens flooded with a single color: red. Bright red clouds coursed from both ends, the civilian scientists mesmerized by the display. The White Coat stammered for a moment before bowing and gesturing to the brilliant array of color. She stepped past the android guards and around to the back of the machine. While most couldn’t see anything, Steele leaned over the velvet rail long enough to see the short light-gray lady hunched over someone seated, taking their pulse with a feverish hands. She spoke softly into the watch on her wrist, and quietly sauntered back around, her smile as broad as ever.

“One of our technicians was performing a brief test on the machine, hence the surprise display. Staff will be here shortly to help him analyze results, so it’s best to move on for now. Come this way.”

Thinking nothing of it, the scientists soldiered on, with plenty of electronic trinkets and peculiar creations to keep their minds occupied. With one backward glance, however, the spare gray spy and his tall white companion noted the stretcher being brought to the back of the machine.

“Truly,” Smith nodded, his grin now forced, “a trusty-worthy gadget.”

“And it appears,” ventured Steele, “a great deal discovered too.”

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