Robots vs. Fairies(12)
“I don’t know,” she said. “I do know that if you are afraid of looking foolish, you’ll never look like a genius, either.”
“I thought you weren’t into inspirational quotes.”
“I might make fun of the myths of our corporate overlords a lot,” she said. “That doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy seeing a good tale play out. I’m still in the Valley, the biggest dream factory on earth, after all these years, aren’t I?”
Think impossible!
I decided to go straight to the source. Dr. Vignor listened to my presentation without saying a word, and then sat with his eyes closed for ten minutes, as though he had fallen asleep.
I couldn’t have been that boring, could I? I was miffed. I had worked hard on the slides, citing figures and papers—admittedly I didn’t understand everything I had read. And I thought the use of that animated clip-art rat was particularly inspired.
“It’s worth a try,” he said, eyes still closed. “We’ve never worked with such an advanced animal, but why not? Everything’s impossible until we try.”
*
The next few months were a blur. Pushing a new product through weRobot was one of those experiences that transformed you. Design specifications turned into cobbled-together proofs-of-concept turned into 3-D–printed models turned into handcrafted prototypes tethered to workstations running debug code. Engineers had to be herded and testers rallied and schedules drawn up and resources allocated. There were presentations to the sales staff and market research and the legal department and the supply chain.
I worked sixteen-hour days during the week—and only eight hours on the weekends because Amy programmed my computer to lock me out if I stayed too long on Saturdays (“You need some nonwork time to replenish your soul, kid. The River Temarc in winter. You don’t get the reference? Here, go watch these Star Trek DVDs”)—apologized to my sister and mother profusely for not being able to visit for their birthdays, and ignored texts and invitations from my nonwork friends. I had to set an example for my team. How could I demand 100 percent of them if I didn’t do the same for myself?
The Rattus norvegicus is the most successful mammal on the planet (other than us). Since the European Middle Ages, the species has learned to live wherever we live, making their homes in our sewers, basements, attics, and subsisting on our food and heat. Some estimate that there are as many rats in the world as humans.
“We can’t use any of this,” said the guy from marketing. “We’re trying to get people to buy something instead of calling exterminators. What else have you got?”
Right, the key is to tell a good story. I flipped through more slides.
An adult rat is so flexible that it is able to squeeze through a hole the size of a quarter. It can swim for kilometers, even staying afloat for days in extreme circumstances. It is capable of scaling smooth, vertical poles as well as scurrying up the insides of pipes, and it is skilled at navigating the maze of ducts and conduits in human dwellings, its natural habitat.
I admired the resiliency and resourcefulness of the common rat. If they were corporate employees, they would certainly win the race.
“Let me chew on this some more—ha-ha—and get back to you,” I told the marketing guy.
When you were working for the realization of a dream, work didn’t seem like work at all.
*
In the end, the official marketing literature explained that the Vegnor was named after Dr. Vignor, the world’s leading expert on nonbehavioral robotics; a good origin story was critical to a superhero.
And we sold the Vegnor as a superhero for the busy homeowner.
Imprinted with the neural patterns of R. norvegicus, the sleek little robot, a ten-inch-long segmented oblong form studded with advanced sensors and a Swiss Army knife’s worth of tools, was the modern incarnation of the hearth spirit. It could scurry up downspouts and clear accumulated leaves from gutters, saving homeowners from the dirty work and the danger of falling from ladders. It could swim through the plumbing, unclogging drains and pureeing any garbage with its swirling saw-blade teeth. The flexible body squeezed through tight turns and expanded to gain purchase against vertical tubing, allowing it to wander through ducts and conduits, cleaning away gunk and crud. It patrolled the sewer connection pipes, slicing apart tree roots and dislodging toilet-paper wads. It knocked down ice dams in winters and cleaned out chimneys in summers, saving homeowners thousands of dollars a year in professional maintenance fees. It washed itself and charged itself. Best of all, it guarded a house against unwanted pests such as the common rat by emitting an annoying ultrasonic whine—and for those pests undeterred by such warning, it was capable of fighting them with gnashing teeth and glinting claws made of stainless steel.
The Vegnors flew off the shelves. Glowing reviews filled the web, and users on OurScreen posted videos of the antics of their beloved “Vegnies”—driving away snakes in Florida, crunching over scorpions in Arizona, making “speed runs” from one toilet to another in the house (to the delight of children and the befuddlement of their parents, and so this last behavior had to be patched away via an over-the-air update).
I received an invitation from Jake and Ron to attend the annual Fall Picnic held at their house. It was understood around the company that the only attendees were the top ninety-nine employees who embodied the “weRobot way.”