Tag: Reference

The A to Z Challenge – Z is for – “Zed, where is Zed?”

“Have you seen Zed?”

Matilda came out of the species laboratory looking flustered.  It was the second time this week one of her robots had gone missing.

“You haven’t put the homing device in yet, have you?”

The homing device enabled us to call the robots back to their homes in the laboratory and then to wherever they were sent in the world.

“I’m trying to juggle too many projects.  When did you say I was getting an assistant?”

I didn’t, she had to wait in line.  “Just put a device in when you find it.”

It was not as if it was the first time this had happened, and it seemed to be a common issue with the assemblers.  We had half a dozen assemblers, but only one who was human, the other hybrid androids from the human-cyborg division.

There was an extreme shortage of human engineers and programmers that we had switched to making them.

Matilda was one of the androids, one of the better models, and I had done her programming enhancements myself, but there seemed to be a glitch when it came to homing devices.

I had been doing it myself, at the end of the day when the cyborgs went into hibernation.

“Found him,” I heard Matilda cry out.

I gave her a stern look as she went past, the tiger cub snuggling into her arms.

“Alright.  Soon as I get back to the bench.”

The mark 7 series was the best we’d made, but they were still not perfect.  These had been augmented with a learning routine that was meant to Gove them better self-awareness, and therefore more lifelike.

At times I had to stop and remember that I was actually talking to an Android that had mostly programmed responses.  But Matilda had developed an individual personality and just a little attitude, the sort of behavior you would expect from a human.

Which was a topic I was going to bring up at the meeting I was almost late for.

…

I was just one of a dozen section heads sitting around the table, with the chief designer, chief programmer, chief engineer, and head of production.  Almost too many chiefs.

Usually, this meeting was a quick one, the management attendees flying on from the other dude of the country where head office was located.  We were lucky our location had a world-class resort the chiefs could combine a stay with attending the meetings.  Otherwise, it would be a teleconference.

We had raised all the issues up the line in accordance with protocol, and we were supposed to get a definitive answer to the problems, that, for safety’s sake had put a hold on shipments.  That was how we got this meeting, out of the cycle.  Stop the flow of funds, and panic sets in.

The chief engineer was almost in holiday mode when he and his three management colleagues arrived.

He looked around the table and then his eyes rested on me, the chief troublemaker.

“Our programmers assure me there is no flaw in any of the assembly droids’ work routines, and they believe it is an issue in the specific instructions you give them during the assembly process that conflicts with their built-in instructions.”

Not unexpected, I knew the programmer who had vaginally come to the conclusion, simply because he would have taken the stance there was nothing wrong with his base program and refused to investigate.

It didn’t help that I was the one insisting there were problems, as a result he would tell managers of kicking me out of the programming team on false accusations of code flaws that I was supposed to be responsible for.  Management wasn’t sure if it was true or not, so they didn’t sack me, they sent me here.

The chief engineer dared me to speak, any of us.

“That may be the case, it might not.  Coster has obviously allayed the fears of management, which means we are to resume shipping products.  That’s fine.  It’s not the animals that are going to glitch.  It’s the working droids, and it’s got something to do with the self-awareness routines.

“But think about this.  Ninety percent of the workers at the resort you’re busting your gut to get back to are our series seven androids.  If you completely trust what Coster is telling you, then by all means go and snatch a few days away with your families.”

“There’s been no issues with any of the series sevens since we rolled them out.”

“Go down to customer returns and repairs.”

“Those I’m told are all mechanical issues.”

“You’ve read all the customer reports that were filled when the units were returned?”

“That’s not my job.  And I’m going to remind you that your job is to keep the factory running and maintain production.  It is not to spread rumors and innuendo.  I’m going to ignore all of this nonsense, and you’re going to report that you are implementing the new protocols that are in this manual.”

He held up a large book that would be full of Coster waffle.

“As you wish.”

“Good.  The other issues are production issues, and Stevens, here, will take them up with the local plant superintendent.  That’s it, meeting done.”

Half an hour.  It was a record, but it could be excused. He had to issue an admonishment.

…

A few minutes with the others, all of whom were disappointed with the result but understood the nature of the problem with Coster.

But their jobs were high paying, with benefits, and it would a fool to be on the wrong side. They were happy for me to argue on their behalf, and just on the right side of the fence.

I went back down to the floor where Matilda was waiting outside my office.

“It’s done.  We’re trusting you.”

“You do realize, at times, you scare me.”

“Because I understand what common sense is better than your friends?”

It wasn’t a revelation when she came to me a few weeks before and asked if she was a robot.  I had no idea how she came to that conclusion other than how we treated her as against how we treated the humans.  She was not supposed to know she was a robot, and there was nothing in her programming to suggest it.

“Because you are a woman, and I don’t understand women at all.”

“Well, perhaps we’ll have to do something about that. Soon.”  A smile and she went back to her bench.

Five minutes later my phone rang.  It was the chief engineer.  “Can you come up to the board room urgently?”

I didn’t run.  I knew what it was going to be about.

As soon as he saw me, he said, “We’ve got a situation.  Several of the droids at the resort are malfunctioning.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Don’t play games with me.  You know what I mean.”

“What exactly is the problem?”

“Four of the droids are the resort have taken hostages.”

“That’s unusual considering that’s not something in their programming.  Their just service robots, ordained to do the jobs no one else wants to do.  What series?”

“Seven.”

“OK.  Advise the police I’ll go down there and assess the situation, and if it’s safe I’ll shut them down.  Anything else I should know?”

“The hostages.  They’re my family.  How…”

“Think about it.  The new self-awareness module, it’s not beyond the realms of possibility they know who they are and where they come from.  You’re self-aware, and you know where you come from, why can’t they?”

“Just fix this and do it without it making the news.  The company can’t have any bad publicity because of a huge contract were just about to sign.  I promise that there will be an investigation.  Now, go.”

On the way down I collected Matilda.  “You’ve won a field trip, Matilda.”

“Will they pull the self-awareness modules?”

“More than likely, but don’t worry, you will be exempt.  I like you the way you are.  But that’s tomorrow’s problem.  Let’s go sort this out.”

© Charles Heath 2022

Sayings: Flogging a dead horse

This wouldn’t be so apt if it didn’t bring back a raft of bad memories, those days I used to go to the races, and back all of the wrong horses.

I had a knack, you see, of picking horses that fell over, or came dead last.

Perhaps that’s another of those sayings, dead last, with a very obvious meaning.  Dead!  Last!

But…

In the modern vernacular, flogging a dead horse is like spending further time on something in which the outcome is already classed as a complete waste of time.

However…

Back in the old days, the dead horse referred to the first month’s wages when working aboard a ship, usually paid for before you stepped on board the ship.  At the end of the first month, the theoretical dead horse was tossed overboard symbolically, and thereafter you were paid.

It still didn’t make sense to me that someone would tell me I was flogging a dead horse, until I realized, one day, the lesson to be learned was never to get paid in advance.

 

In a word: Bill

Yes, it is a name, short for William, though I’m not sure how Bill was derived from William.

But…

As you know, like many words this one has several other meanings, like,

A bird has a bill, particularly those birds with webbed feet

A bill is something you are sent to pay for goods or services, and often turns up when least expected, or when money is tight

And, sadly, they are never-ending.

Then there’s fit the bill, which means it is suitable.

It could also be a list of people who appear in a program.

It is used to describe banknotes, such as a twenty-dollar bill.

It could be a waybill, used for the consignment of goods.

It could also be a piece of legislation introduced into parliament.

In some places in the world, it could be the peak of a cap

But the most obscure use of the word bill goes to the point of an anchor fluke.

NaNoWriMo – April 2022 – Day 27

First Dig Two Graves, the second Zoe thriller.

…

It’s the final battle.

Never trust anyone else to do the job you should have done yourself in the first place.

It’s an interesting premise, but somehow encapsulates the ethos of this story.

Who is Romanov?  Zoe, Irina, whatever you want to call her, he’s her father.

But…

The notion that anonymously putting out a finder’s fee on his daughter’s head, coupled with the ire of Olga over the death of her son, sent everyone from the Minister in the Kremlin down into a tailspin.

The first effort, had the kidnappers just followed the rules, would have got an enormous payday, and everything would have been resolved there and then, in Marseilles.

No, people got greedy.

So did all the others, getting wind of what was at stake, enough to retire, or continue to retire in style.

Dominica, Yuri, and even Olga had she been smart.

She was not.

People didn’t have to die.  Zoe could have been spared a killing spree, and John some maybe quality time with Olga.  It’s a mistake Olga won’t make again.

And John, now with a father in law, well it’s just another surprise in a long list of surprises.

…

Today’s writing, with everyone, almost, getting their just desserts, 2,111 words, for a total of 65,265.

Sayings: Before you can say Jack Robinson

Once upon a time, you could have told me Jack Robinson was a jack in the box, the name meant nothing to me.

Not until Phryne Fisher came along, a rather brilliant 1920s private detective series set in the back streets of Melbourne, as well as more salubrious houses of the rich and famous.
In this series, there is a policeman, a foil for her detective moments, and a love interest that is always just beyond her grasp, a man by the name of Inspector Jack Robinson.

How coincidental.

But…

As for the saying, before you can say Jack Robinson…

It has nothing to do with Phryne Fishers Inspector.

Instead,

There is one story of a politician, Jack Robinson, in the late eighteenth century who was accused of bribery on the floor of the house of commons in England. His accuser was another MP who was asked to name the culprit, and thereby coined the term, ‘I could name him as soon as I could say Jack Robinson’.

The second was a Jack Robinson, the hero of a story written in the nineteenth century who came home to find his intended wife married to another, and to assuage the pain of it was back to the sea, ‘afore you could say Jack Robinson’.

I’m sure there’s a ton of other saying that could be attached to the name, but these seem to be the accepted reason for the term ‘before you can say Jack Robinson’.

NaNoWriMo – April 2022 – Day 26

First Dig Two Graves, the second Zoe thriller.

…

I’m going over the conversation Olga is having with John now that he is her prisoner.

On the first run through it seemed to make sense, but as we all know, when you read the conversation out loud, often it sounds terrible.

A question of, “Would I say that?”

Whilst snatching John off the street was a rather simple task, made easier by the fact he was not expecting it, Olga is not sure whether it is a big act.

Working with Irina has made her wary of everyone and everything, even more so since Irina had left her charge, but she knows just how much Irina evolved into the Zoe her son tried to keep on a leash, with spectacularly awful results.

Had she been training John to be like her?

Has Sebastian been training John to become a spy, or was he one already?  After all, why is someone like John, if he is that reputed computer nerd type, doing with a girl like Irina.

Her preference would have to be someone strong, authoritative, masculine, like Alistair.  The problem was she hadn’t driven out all of the emotions  in the time she spent with her.

So, sitting opposite each other, John and Olga try to do their individual assessments.

She finally admits that she doesn’t want to kill Irina, just rehabilitate her.

John, of course, is horrified at the thought of them brainwashing her, especially if they send her after him again.

It comes down to a single point.  Will he do as she asks, and invite her to come and get him?

What neither of them realizes Irina already knows where they are, and any plans Olga might have will be useless.

…

Today’s writing, with Irina, otherwise know as Zoe, on the way, 1,232 words, for a total of 63,154.

Sayings: Flogging a dead horse

This wouldn’t be so apt if it didn’t bring back a raft of bad memories, those days I used to go to the races, and back all of the wrong horses.

I had a knack, you see, of picking horses that fell over, or came dead last.

Perhaps that’s another of those sayings, dead last, with a very obvious meaning.  Dead!  Last!

But…

In the modern vernacular, flogging a dead horse is like spending further time on something in which the outcome is already classed as a complete waste of time.

However…

Back in the old days, the dead horse referred to the first month’s wages when working aboard a ship, usually paid for before you stepped on board the ship.  At the end of the first month, the theoretical dead horse was tossed overboard symbolically, and thereafter you were paid.

It still didn’t make sense to me that someone would tell me I was flogging a dead horse, until I realized, one day, the lesson to be learned was never to get paid in advance.

 

In a word: Bill

Yes, it is a name, short for William, though I’m not sure how Bill was derived from William.

But…

As you know, like many words this one has several other meanings, like,

A bird has a bill, particularly those birds with webbed feet

A bill is something you are sent to pay for goods or services, and often turns up when least expected, or when money is tight

And, sadly, they are never-ending.

Then there’s fit the bill, which means it is suitable.

It could also be a list of people who appear in a program.

It is used to describe banknotes, such as a twenty-dollar bill.

It could be a waybill, used for the consignment of goods.

It could also be a piece of legislation introduced into parliament.

In some places in the world, it could be the peak of a cap

But the most obscure use of the word bill goes to the point of an anchor fluke.

NaNoWriMo – April 2022 – Day 25

First Dig Two Graves, the second Zoe thriller.

…

In all of the goings-on, with Zoe chasing down old acquaintances in Bucharest, then moving on to  Yuri, then Olga, we forget that Isobel and Rupert are on her trail, with Sebastian in tow.

It’s not so much Sebastian in charge anymore, not after going rogue and shooting his boss and John’s mother, an act that Rupert witnesses after following Sebastian on the hunch that he was up to something.

Rupert realizes that Worthington still presents a major problem, and on the basis that Worthington was going to realize it’s not Zoe shooting at him, Worthington had to be taken off the chessboard.

Unfortunately, he has to enlist Sebastian to get a crew together to kidnap him and take him to a safe house.

Meanwhile, Isobel, with a computer in hand, takes up vigil at the hospital with John’s mother, pretending she is her daughter.  There she tracks Zoe via her cell phone to an address in Zurich.

Then, miraculously John’s cell phone reappears and is active long enough for her to get a location, and see that a 96-second phone call is made to a phone in Zurich, Zoe’s.

Then it disappears again.

Isobel then calls Zoe and gives her the address.  It’s a short call.

Calls to Sebastian and Rupert mobilize them, and everyone is on their way to John’s location.

…

Today’s writing, with Zoe languishing in a dungeon waiting for a white knight, 2,011 words, for a total of 61,922.

Searching for locations: Driving in ice and snow, Canada

This morning started with a visit to the car rental place in Vancouver.  It reinforced the notion that you can be given the address and still not find the place.  It happened in Washington where it was hiding in the back of the main railway station, and it happened again in Vancouver when it was hidden inside a hotel.

We simply walked straight past it.  Pity there wasn’t a sign to let people know.

However…

We went in expecting a Grand Jeep Cherokee and walked out with a Ford Flex, suitable for three people and four large suitcases.  It actually seats 7, but forget the baggage, you’d be lucky to get two large suitcases in that configuration.

It is more than adequate for our requirements.

Things to note, it was delivered with just over a quarter of a tank of gas, and it had only done about 11,000 km, so it’s relatively new.  It’s reasonably spacious, and when the extra seats are folded down, there is plenty of baggage space.

So far, so good.

We finally leave the hotel at about half-past ten, and it is raining.  It is a simple task to get on Highway 1, the TransCanada Highway, initially, and then onto Highway 5, the Coquihalla Highway for the trip to Kamloops.

It rains all the way to the top of the mountain, progress hampered from time to time by water sprays from both vehicles and trucks.  The rain is relentless.  At the top of the mountain, the rain turns into snow and the road surface to slush.  It’s 0 degrees, but being the afternoon, I was not expecting it to turn to ice very quickly.

On the other side of the mountain, closer to Kamloops, there was sleet, then rain, then nothing, the last 100kms or so, in reasonably dry conditions.

Outside Kamloops, and in the town itself, there was evidence of snow recently cleared, and slushy roads.  Cars in various places were covered in snow, indicating the most recent falls had been the night before.

We’re staying at the Park Hotel, a heritage building, apparently built in the later 1920s.  In the style of the time, it is a little like a rabbit warren with passages turning off in a number of directions, and showing it is spread across a number of different buildings.

It has the original Otis elevator that can take a maximum of four passengers, and a sign on the wall that says “no horseplay inside the elevator” which is a rather interesting expression that only someone of my vintage would understand.  And, for those without a sense of humor, you definitely couldn’t fit a horse in it to play with.

The thing is, how do you find a balance between keeping the old world charm with modern-day expectations.  You can’t.  Some hotels try valiantly to get that balance.  Here, it is simply old world charm, which I guess we should be grateful for because sooner rather than later it’s going to disappear forever.

In my writer’s mind, given the importance of the railways, this was probably a thriving place for travelers, and once upon a time, there were a lot more hotels like this one.