Qubit's Incubator

“Excuse me.” She stepped away from him.

Without replying, he took his bowl to the microwave. As his food warmed, he wrote ‘Chunky Beef Soup’ on the dry-erase board mounted on the wall where several other grocery items were listed.

He leaned back against the counter next to the microwave, folded his arms, and stared at Catalina.

His two-day-old beard was dark brown and neatly trimmed. His Persian blue eyes could have been cheering, had he let them. His longish hair was a shade lighter than his beard. Athletic and trim, he just missed being likeable.

She ignored him as she checked the freezer for something to heat for her lunch.

“Pissants eat Ramen Noodles.” He glanced at the timer on the microwave.

Catalina took a packet from the freezer; ‘Barbeque Beef and Rice.’ She read the instructions.

“Seven minutes,” he said when the microwave dinged.

“It says ‘Five.’”

“It takes seven, Pissant.” He took his hot food and cold drink, then brushed past her. “And clean up after yourself.”

She watched him go to one of the cubicles.

Obnoxious Drone dick.

She set the timer for five minutes.

After taking a Snapple Straight Up Sweet Tea from the fridge, she sipped it while waiting for her lunch to heat.

The barbeque beef was barely warm after five minutes. She set the timer for two more minutes.

Rude Drone McGill. He could have been nice about it.

She returned to her desk, and while eating, she found an article on synthetic nerves.

As she read about an artificial nerve system developed for use with prosthetic devices, she clicked on the links to more research papers.

Her forgotten lunch grew cold as she studied tiny organic circuits printed on a person’s skin.

Thirty minutes later, she was startled when her phone chimed.

“No phones!” someone shouted from behind her.

She turned to see several people glaring at her. The old man made a cutting motion across his neck.

After clicking her phone onto ‘Airplane mode,’ she answered the call.

“Hey, Cat. How’s it going?” Marilyn, her roommate, asked.

“I’ll text you,” Catalina whispered.

“Why can’t you talk?” Marilyn whispered also.

“Just text.”

“Okay.”

‘I just pissed off all the Pissants again with the phone call,’ Catalina texted to Marilyn.

‘You can’t use your phone in that stupid place?’

‘Apparently not. Like everything else, I learn by being yelled at.’

‘So, you got in?’

‘Only for thirty days. If I produce something in that time, I might get to stay longer.’

‘At least you’re in.’

‘Right.’

‘I’m ordering pizza. Cecil, Mack, and Debbie are coming over. What time will you be home?’

‘Don’t wait up.’

‘You ordering in?’ Marilyn asked.

‘No, they have food here.’

‘All right. I’ll see you when I see you.’

‘KK.’

Catalina went back to her reading and found a post-grad student at MIT had used a 3-D printer to produce a human-like hand with synthetic nerves.

She was startled by someone standing beside her chair.

The redhead she’d seen in Victor’s office stood staring at Catalina’s computer.

Oh, God. Another obnoxious Drone.

“What’s up?” Catalina asked. The redhead’s dangling jade earrings held her attention.

“It’s five after four, Saylor.”

Catalina glanced at the lower right corner of her screen. “Yes, it is. Thank you.” She stared at the redhead.

“You have an appointment with Mr. Templeton.”

“Oh, crap!”

She scooted back and grabbed a notepad. The woman led her toward the door of Victor’s office, opened it, then went in ahead of Catalina.

“Miss Saylor.” Victor waved her to a chair in front of his desk.

The redhead took the chair next to her. She crossed her legs, adjusted her emerald green skirt, and positioned a note pad on her thigh.

“What do you think of this place so far?” he asked.

Catalina thought for a moment. “Hostility, rudeness, everyone is mean…” She glanced at the redhead. “Except for Joe.”

“Yeah, he’s a nice guy. Did you find everything you need?”

“I see we have printers, a scanner, and a copy machine, but no Three-D printer.”

“Why do you want a Three-D printer?”

“I want to print a hand, and also some organic circuits.” Catalina noticed from the corner of her eye the redhead looking at her, then the woman looked at Victor.

“What type of Three-D printer are we talking about?”

“A Dremel Three-D-Twenty.”

The other woman wrote on her notepad. “How do you spell that?” she asked.

Catalina spelled it for her.

“What will you do with the hand and circuits?”Victor asked.

“The echolocation AI program I’m writing will need tons of data for machine learning.”

“Yes, I suppose it will. What computer language are you using?”

“Python.”

“Is it hard to learn?”

“Well, if you’re familiar with Perl and Java, it’s not too difficult.”

“Hmm…I see.”

“What’s with the dorm rooms?” Catalina asked.

“Candidates with special circumstances will sometimes be assigned to a dorm room.”

“Define ‘special circumstances.’”

“After two weeks, if you’re still here, we’ll talk about that. In the meantime, I need your statements from the four credit card companies and any other past-due bills you have.”

“They don’t send paper statements anymore.”

“But you can email them to me, right?”

“Yes.”

“And your bank statement.”

Catalina glanced at the redhead, who was taking notes again.

“Mr. Templeton,” Catalina said. “Why do you need my financials?”

“Curiosity. Is it a problem?”

She shrugged. “I guess not.”

“Is there anything else you need?” he asked.

“AWS Cloud Computing would be nice.”

“Why do you need that?”

“My iPad won’t be able to handle the data-crunching.”

“We have a Power Edge T-Six-Thirty server.”

“I used that to get online, but it’s too old and slow. It would take a year to process one hour’s worth of data.”

“We’ll discuss AWS after two weeks. Anything else?”

Catalina shook her head.

Victor opened a manila folder and removed some papers. He slid them across the desk.

“What’s this?” Catalina asked.

“Our contract.”

She flipped through the papers. “Eight pages?”

“No, just four. There’re two copies.”

After reading the first paragraph, she turned to page four and saw a place for her signature. He’d already signed his name.

“Take it home with you tonight and read it over. You can sign it tomorrow.”

“And if I don’t sign?”

“Then we can’t help you.”

She stared at the contract for a moment. “Can you give me the abridged version? Just the high points?”

“It says Qubit’s Incubator agrees to provide a safe and quiet workspace for you in exchange for five percent of the net profits, if any, from any product or idea produced during the term of this contract. You may receive other benefits as deemed necessary.”

“It takes four pages to say that?”

“There’s a lot of legal details. That’s why I think you should take the time to read it before you sign you name.”

“What if I never produce a marketable product?”

“Then we terminate the contract, and you’re free to leave us, owing nothing.”

Catalina held out her hand to the redhead, palm up.

“What?” the redhead asked.

“Your pen.”

Catalina signed the first copy, passed it to Victor, then signed her copy.

“Okay.” He placed the contract in the folder. “How’s your workspace?”

“It’s fine. A little bleak, but that’s okay. What’s the work schedule?”

He handed her a key card. “If you leave after six p.m., be sure the door is locked. I expect everyone to be here from eight to five, except Sunday and Sunday Plus One.”

“Sunday Plus One?”

“We used to call it Monday, but we no longer have Mondays. On the day after Sunday, everyone comes in late and leaves anytime after two. Tuesday is the start of eight-to-five. Saturdays are casual, come in late, leave early. You’re free to come in on Sunday if you want to.”

“Okay. Do many people work late?”

“Most of the probationers put in a lot of time.”

“Probationers?”

“You’re here on probation for the first thirty days. I think probationers are called ‘Pissants’ out there.” Victor tilted his head toward the bullpen.

“Yes, and the Drones get cubicles.”

“They do.”

“And Monarchs get upstairs offices?”

He nodded.

“How does a Drone become a Monarch?” Catalina asked.

“Receive a patent on an idea or device.”

“A patent. Okay.”

“Do you have to give that café…” He glanced at the redhead.

“Hugo’s Blue Plate Special,” she said.

“How did you…” Catalina began. “Nevermind.”

“Do you have to give notice when you decide to quit?”

“It’s just a phone call. I don’t have to do anything like a two-week notice. Hugo can easily find someone to take my place.”

“You should probably make that call today.”

“All right.” She stood. “I better get busy.”

“Don’t forget those financials.”

Chapter Three

At 7:30 p.m., Catalina heated a cup of Ramen noodles.

“How you liking those noodles?” a slim Black guy asked as he took a glass bowl covered with aluminum foil from the fridge.

“Not bad,” Catalina said. “I like them because they’re quick and easy.”

The microwave dinged, and she took out her steaming mug, while holding the door open for him. “Your turn, Drover.”

He wrinkled his brow. “You know me?”

“Yes, and also your name is on the tin foil.”

He laughed.    “Call me ‘Alex.’” After removing the foil, he placed his bowl of mashed potatoes and gravy in the microwave.

“I’m Catalina Saylor.”

“Really? Catalina is an island. How you spelling that last name?”

She spelled it.

“Cool play on words by your parents. An island and a sailor.”

“Yeah, they were pretty cool.”

He glanced at her but didn’t ask about the word ‘were.’ “Whatcha working on?”

“Converting echolocation sound waves to tactile impressions.”

“Holy crap.”

“I know, and I have only twenty-nine days left to prove the concept. How about you?”

“I’m working on flexible solar cells,” Alex said.

She sipped from her cup of noodles. “How flexible?”

“Like a cloth that could be made into clothing.”

“Nice. I could take a walk in the sunshine and charge my dead phone at the same time.”

“And your boyfriend’s phone, too.”

“Screw him,” she said. “He can get his own charger.”

“Ouch, harsh. What he do to you that’s so bad?”

“He dumped me. I’ve got to get back to it.”

“Yeah, me, too. I got seven days till I drop dead.”

“You’ll make it,” she said.

The microwave dinged. “Later.”

At the edge of the bullpen she noticed a large chalkboard on the wall next to a projection screen. It had a list of names, dates and information. Across the top was ‘Patents Granted.’

The first one was Wayne Ponicar, Therapeutic Water Body.

Next was Dwight Calister, Stair Climbing Wheelchair.

Followed by several more names and their inventions.

When she walked back through the bullpen, she saw nine people still working.

As she ate at her desk, she watched a YouTube video of a prosthetic hand. She turned off the sound so she wouldn’t get yelled at.

Halfway through her noodles, she began coding a new program.

When she leaned back to stretch her arms over her head, she realized it was after midnight. Swiveling around in her squeaky chair, she saw all the pissant desks were vacant. Through the doorway into one of the cubicles, she saw a guy working at his computer.

Drone dick McGill. Why are you still here?

She shrugged and turned back to gaze at her brick wall. After a moment, she stood, shoved her chair out of the way, then pulled the desk away from the wall.

She noticed McGill scowl at her when the screeching of the desk on the concrete floor caught his attention. She ignored him.

In front of her desk, she stared at the bricks for a moment, then opened her box of colored chalk.

Around 1 a.m., Catalina heard McGill make a lot of noise at his desk, apparently preparing to go home.

I guess he wants me to know he’s leaving. Good riddance to an ugly annoyance.

She didn’t turn to give him the satisfaction of knowing how irksome she thought he was.

It was after 4 a.m. when she went out through the side door, then checked to be sure it locked behind her.

* * * * *

Catalina got almost three hours of sleep, then rode her moped back to the Incubator.

With a cup of coffee and cream-filled donut from a Krispy Kreme box left over from the day before, she was back at her coding.

At 9:30, Joe came to her desk.

“You’re drawing something on your wall,” Joe said.

Catalina looked at it for a moment. “Yeah, I started on it last night.”

“What’s it going to be?”

“Not sure yet. What’s your project?”

“Telephoto glasses.”

“Really?” She was quiet for a moment. “How do you control them?”

“It’ll be a heads-up display on the inside surface of the glasses. Eye movement will turn it on and off, and operate the amount of zoom.”

“I would love to have a pair of those,” she said. “I could be on a road trip and zoom in on a mountain range in the distance without ever taking my hands from the wheel.”

“Exactly.”

“Cool idea.”

“Thanks,” Joe said.

“Who’s that redhead?”

“Victor’s assistant, Tracy.”

“She’s not very friendly.”

“All business,” Joe said. “Well, back to work.”

* * * * *

In the outer office, Tracy pulled open her desk drawer. She picked up a dangly earring with an oval jade stone encircled in gold and slipped it through the hole in her left earlobe. When she looked for the second one, it wasn’t there. She shoved aside pencils and paperclips but couldn’t find it.

“What the hell?” she whispered as she opened another drawer.

* * * * *

At 3 in the afternoon, two workers wheeled a large crate up to the side of Catalina’s desk. Without a word, they opened the box and removed bubblewrap.

Catalina grinned. The 3-D printer!

Tracy came to watch the men work.

They soon had the machine setup and plugged into Catalina’s surge protector.

One of the men turned it on and ran some diagnostics, while the other man cleaned up the packing material.

Apparently satisfied all was in order, the guy handed a clipboard to Tracy. “Your signature, please.”

Tracy signed the form, then traded the clipboard for a thick manual.

The two men took the crate and packing material and left the building.

Several people in the bullpen stared at Catalina, Tracy, and the new printer.

After Tracy gave the manual to Catalina and started for the outside office, one of the pissants asked, “Why does she get a Three-D printer?”

“Beats the hell out of me, Crammer.” The door swished closed behind Tracy.

As Catalina read the manual, McGill came to examine the printer.

“Why do you get a Three-D printer?” he asked.

“It’s not mine, McGill. It belongs to the Incubator.”

“How can we use it when you have it way the hell over here?”

“It has Wi-Fi. If you’ll get your crayons and a large poster board, I’ll try to draw a picture of how a Wi-Fi peripheral device can be connected to a server. The drawing will be big and simple, something you might comprehend.”

Joe laughed as he left his desk in the bullpen.

McGill turned to glare at Joe when he came toward them.

Joe smiled at McGill.

“I know how Wi-Fi works, Pissant,” McGill snapped. “But why didn’t they install it next to the server instead of way the hell over here?”

Catalina took a 32 gig memory chip that came with the instruction manual and plugged it into a slot on her iPad. “That’s something you’ll have to take up with Tracy.” She flipped a page in the manual.

* * * * *

By 5 p.m., she’d installed the nylon filament roll that came with the printer and was ready to print the sample image from the memory chip.

As the printer hummed and nylon filament was pulled into the print head, a bright red object began to form.

Several pissants and two drones came to watch as layer upon layer built up on the bed of the printer.

“What is that?” someone asked.

Catalina shrugged as she watched.

“Some sort of statue?” another pissant asked.

“Maybe.”

“It’s a chess piece,” Joe said.

Catalina smiled.

“A knight.”

“Yeah,” McGill said. “A knight.”

It took only five minutes to produce the three-inch tall knight.

Catalina cut it free from the printer bed, examined it, then handed it to Joe.

“Nice.” Joe passed it to McGill.

“The edges are rough,” McGill said.

“So?” Journey Covey, the Black woman who’d told Catalina to get out of the cubicle, took the knight from McGill. “Five minutes ago, it was just a coil of red nylon string.”

“Can a Three-D printer print a Three-D printer?” Joe asked.

Everyone stared at him.

“Probably the outside parts,” Catalina said. “But not the internal structure, or the electronics and coding.”

“You could print all the parts,” Journey said. “But you’d have to code the programming.” She passed to knight to another drone.

“What are you going to print next, Catalina?” Joe asked.

Using her phone, she clicked a photo of him. “Your hand.”

* * * * *

It was almost midnight when the last pissant left the building. All the drones and monarchs had left hours before.

Catalina went to the storeroom and took a spray bottle of Windex, along with a roll of paper towels.

She opened a back window and stepped out onto the fire escape.

After glancing around, she went up the metal stairs to the roof, then made her way along the parapet in the dark until she came to the skylight above her desk.

She looked down at her workspace for a moment, then at the bullpen and rows of cubicles.

It took a lot of Windex, and a half-roll of paper towels, but she finally cleaned away the years’ accumulation of crud, leaving the glass sparkling in the moonlight.

* * * * *

The next morning at sunrise, she was back at her desk. The glow from above, cast her work area in a warm, yellow radiance. Turning in her chair, she saw the bright sunlight painting the far wall in golden orange while filling the whole place with beautiful natural light.

Just before seven, McGill came in and glanced about, smiling. When he saw Catalina watching him, he frowned. She duplicated his ugly grimace.

The brightened work area seemed to cheer everyone else as they came in, even old man Edison.

“When did they clean your skylight?” Joe brought his coffee and a spare chair to her desk.

“I have no idea.” She grinned. “It was like that when I got here.”

“You know…” He sipped his coffee. “That cleaning guy could have slipped and fell off the roof in the dark.”

“Or he could have fallen through the skylight.”

“Yeah, that would’ve made a mess on your desk.”

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