Master of Space and Time Read Free Page A

drove to New Brunswick. Harry’s shop was in a crummy neighborhood near the train station. There was a bus station too, and next to it was a place called the Terminal Bar. Some terminal-type guys gimped past in the wet, one of them an obvious wirehead. He was so far gone that he used a mechanical walker. You could see the bulge of his stim-unit under his overcoat.
    â€œWhere’s Gerber Cybernetics?” I asked. “Man.”
    â€œGug-ger-bub-ber? Ruh-hight thu-there. Man.”
    The shop had a big plate-glass window, a dirty window crowded with junk: a plastic toad wearing a crown, an old cookie tin with cityscapes embossed on its sides, an out-of-date girlie calendar from the Rigid Tool Company, an oriental lamp, some listless houseplants, a coiled-up orange extensioncord, and a terrarium with a mean-looking little lizard in it. I squatted down to get a better look at the lizard. He was like a miniature Godzilla, with powerful rear legs and a long, toothy jaw. He looked as if he’d been in a fight recently, and seemed to be in some pain.
    The letters GERBER APPLIANCE arced across the plate-glass window, but with the APPLIANCE only a pale, scraped-off shadow. In place of it, crudely brushed in, was the new designation: CYBERNETICS. I opened the door and entered, feeling like a twelve-year-old come to play with his best friend’s train set.
    The front of the shop was cramped, with a waist-high counter. A partition behind the counter divided the store from the actual work area in the rear. A robot stood behind the counter, scanning me. It was a multipurpose Q-89, with the small, bullet-shaped head and the long, snaky arms.
    â€œWhat can we do you for?” The machine was programmed to sound like a friendly old woman. I’d talked to it on the phone.
    â€œI’m Joe Fletcher. Mr. Gerber’s expecting me.”
    â€œYou can call me Antie,” said the robot. “A-N-T-I-E. Harry’s in back.”
    â€œThank you, Antie.”
    She—with the voice you had to think of Antie as female—stepped aside and I went through the door behind the counter. It was a regular workshop back there, with shelves of parts, a wall of tools, and a number of partially disassembled electronic devices. The resinous tang of solder smoke perfumed the air. I felt right at home.
    Harry looked up from a robot torso and gave me a big smile. “Fletcher! It’s been a long time.”
    â€œI’ve been busy with the job and the wife, Harry. Great to see you.” I looked around the crowded workroom. “So this is the Gerber family business, eh? You making any money?”
    â€œYeah, some. But it’s boring. I’m all alone here except for Antie.”
    â€œWhy does she talk like an old woman?”
    â€œMy mom did that. She programmed Antie to talk and act just like her . . . before she died. I keep meaning to change it, but I don’t know, it’s sort of soothing.” Harry sighed and laid down his soldering ray. “But what was that phone call of yours all about? Master of space and time?”
    Before I could really start, Antie interrupted.
    â€œWould you like some soup, Dr. Fletcher?” The robot shuffled into the room, bearing a tray with two steaming bowls of thick, dark lentil soup.
    â€œWell . . . I’d really been planning to take Harry out for lunch.”
    â€œYou two can still go out. It won’t hurt my feelings. I’m just a machine. Should I put some quark in that, boys?”
    â€œQuark?” I inquired.
    â€œQuark,” confirmed Harry with a chuckle. “But not the particle. Quark is a German word for a kind of yogurt. My family always used it to mean sour cream . That’s a big Hungarian thing, you know, lentil soup with sour cream. Try it, it’s delicious.”
    â€œOkay.”
    Antie served us our soup with quark and, at Harry’s urging, went out to the Terminal Bar for some Utz pretzels and Blatz beer. I