CHAPTER FIVE

The Great Man’s Assistant’s Great-Great-Grandson

On Sunday night I beat Jake at Gravity Force III four games out of six. “Schist, Leo! What did you do to your controller?” he asked.

“I just fixed it a little.”

“Will you fix mine a little too, then?”

“Sure, as long as you promise not to complain if it makes all your ships fly backward.”

I couldn’t go to the repository on Tuesday because I had a history test the next morning. I had to ask Sofia to turn down her music so I could study. The trouble with me, she told me, was that I didn’t appreciate the brilliance of a well-made fugue.

I thought about all the alternate worlds in which I was actually good at tests. According to some physicists, there are zillions and zillions and infinite zillions of universes branching off from each other. Every time anything happens—a leaf falls, say, or a hurricane strikes, or you choose A instead of C as the answer to question 7 on your history test—that causes new worlds to branch off the old one.

If the physicists are right, there’s a world somewhere in which the Leo passed the Cooper Tech entrance exam. That Leo is probably doing his science fair project on particle physics like Dmitri. Maybe he’ll even win first place with his project—if he’s good at tests, he’s probably good at science projects too. But he never met Ms. Kang, and she never told him about the repository.

There’s another world in which my dad took that job he was offered five years ago out in Silicon Valley. The Leo in that world is the son of a zillionaire now. He has his own workshop in the family compound, with lemon trees out his window. But he never set foot in the repository either, and he never met Jaya.

There’s another world where Leo doesn’t get visions like I do. He can’t fix things or invent stuff. I don’t know what that Leo likes to do instead—maybe he plays hockey. Hockey Leo is probably more popular than me, especially if he makes a lot of goals. But he didn’t even try to enter the science fair, and he never saw the time machine.

Okay, so I probably didn’t do as well on my history test as some of the other Leos in other universes. But it isn’t actually so bad being this Leo, in this universe.

• • •

I went back to the repository after school on Wednesday. I decided to check out the later robots—the ones listed under robot in the catalog. I copied out the call number for the earliest one I could find: a 1921 robotic servant from a Czech company called Rossum’s Universal Robots.

In the Main Exam Room, under those glowing windows, Jaya was working with the pneumatic tubes. She waved at me.

Simon was at the desk. I handed him my call slips. He put the first two in a tube and passed it to Jaya, but he gave me back the call slip for the Czech robot.

“Sorry,” he said, not actually sounding very sorry at all. “This item is in one of the Special Collections. You need permission from a supervisor to examine it.”

“Okay. How do I get permission?”

He sighed, like I was asking him to do a huge favor instead of his job. “I’ll have to send a request to a supervisor.”

“Can you do that, then, please?”

“Can I see your card?”

“It hasn’t arrived yet,” I said. “I just applied for it last week.”

“Well, come back when you’ve got it. Next, please.” And he turned to the person behind me on line.

“Hang on, Simon,” said Jaya. “Leo, can I see that call slip?”

I handed it to her and she scrutinized it. “I’ll take it downstairs to Dr. Rust when the shifts change,” she said.

An hour later she came over to the table where I was working.

“I’m sorry, Leo,” Jaya said. “That Rossum’s robot is restricted access and Dr. Rust isn’t willing to make an exception. You can try again after you get your card. Doc will want to talk to you first, though.”

“Okay. Thanks for trying. But how come . . .”

“How come what?”

“Well, what’s so special about that particular robot? They let me handle the Leonardo da Vinci knight. That one must be incredibly rare! Why is this one restricted when that one isn’t?”

“Oh, well, the Rossum’s robot . . .” Jaya paused, as if trying to decide what to say. “It’s in a Special Collection, that’s all. Some of the collections have restrictions because . . . because of the way the repository categorizes things.”

“I see,” I said, although I didn’t. “Well, thanks for asking.”

• • •

On Saturday, I took my lunch with me to the repository. When my stomach started growling, I put my robots on the reserve shelf and went to the park to look for Jaya.

She was sitting on the same bench, this time with Simon and the page I’d seen at the front desk. “Leo!” she called when she saw me. “Come join us!” She scooted over to make room.

“Hi, Jaya,” I said, sitting down. It was exciting to be so close to her. Our arms touched.

“You know Simon and Francis, right? No? This is Leo. He’s doing a project on robots. Leo, this is Simon FitzHenry and Francis Chu. So how’s it going with the robots?” asked Jaya.

“It’s interesting. The repository has a great collection. Some of them are thousands of years old! But most of the old ones aren’t exactly what I would call robots.”

“What do you mean?” asked Francis.

“Well, a lot of them are really just hyped-up windup toys. I mean, the mechanisms are amazingly clever sometimes, but they only do one thing. Once you wind them up or get the hydraulics going, they just do whatever they were built to do—pour out soup or wash the floor or whatever.”

“What’s wrong with that? Shouldn’t they do what they’re built to do?” said Simon.

“Yes, but a real robot would do more.”

“Like what?” asked Francis.

“Respond to directions, at least. Ideally, it would be able to make some decisions for itself,” I answered.

“I see what you mean,” said Jaya. “If a windup floor washer counts as a robot, then your dishwasher is a robot too.”

“I wish our dishwasher was a robot,” said Francis. “Our dishwasher is me.”

Jaya laughed. “I always thought there was something a little robotic about your eyebrows.”

Francis wiggled his eyebrows rhythmically.

Simon said, “The repository has the earliest remote-controlled robot ever made. That should fit your definition. My great-great-grandfather helped to invent it.”

“What? Really?” said Jaya. “Was your great-great-grandfather an inventor?”

“Yes. He worked in Nikola Tesla’s lab.”

“Nikola Tesla? The guy who invented AC electric engines and the radio?” asked Jaya.

“That’s right,” said Simon.

“So your great-great-grandfather invented a remote-controlled robot?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Simon. “That is, Tesla always gets the credit for inventing it, but my great-great-grandfather did most of the heavy lifting.”

“But wasn’t Tesla from Eastern Europe?” objected Francis. “I thought your family was English. Didn’t you tell us you were descended from some king of England?”

“That’s on my father’s side,” said Simon. “Tesla had a lab in New York. My mother’s great-grandfather worked there. My father’s family is descended from Henry VIII—hence our name, FitzHenry.”

“That’s the one who kept beheading all his wives, right?” asked Jaya.

Francis snorted. “You do look a little like Henry VIII, Simon, except much thinner and without the turkey leg,” he said.

Simon clenched his jaw and glared. I could easily imagine him beheading wives.

“So if your great-great-great-grandfather or whatever was Henry VIII, why aren’t you the king of England?” I asked him.

“That’s the Fitz part of FitzHenry,” explained Francis. “It means Simon’s really-great-grandmother wasn’t the queen, just one of King Henry’s girlfriends. Maybe she was one of the serving wenches with the turkey legs.”

Simon had gone pale. “My family is descended from the Tudors,” he said. “Who is your family descended from?” He sounded furious.

“Sorry, Simon, no offense meant,” said Francis.

Simon didn’t answer.

I tried to change the subject. “Tell me more about the remote-controlled robot,” I said.

“I’m afraid I’d better be getting back,” said Simon. He got up and walked quickly out of the park.

“Francis, you shouldn’t tease him,” said Jaya. “You know how sensitive he is.”

“Sensitive isn’t how I would put it. He’s a royal psycho,” said Francis. “He thinks he’s such a hotshot because his family are big patrons at the Burton Repository in London. But your family’s just as important here, and you’re not stuck-up.”

“Well, he’s a long way from home. And you did give him a hard time about his ancestors.”

“You’re right. Maybe that was mean. But he does look exactly like that painting of Henry VIII,” said Francis, starting to laugh again.

• • •

I’d heard of Nikola Tesla, but I didn’t know much about him. I checked out his autobiography and a few histories of early electrical technology.

Tesla’s remote-controlled robot was actually a robotic submarine that he controlled with a radio device. It was the first time anybody had done that. Tesla invented lots of amazing things. He had a pretty sad life, though. He worked for Thomas Edison when he was young, but after Edison refused to pay Tesla some money he’d promised, they ended up becoming bitter rivals. They had a long fight—called the War of the Currents—over whose kind of electricity would control the world’s standards: Edison’s direct current or Tesla’s alternating current. Tesla’s AC won, but he didn’t get the money or credit for it. His boss, George Westinghouse, did.

Some people say Tesla was a way better inventor than Edison, but he was never anywhere near as successful. People like Edison and Westinghouse kept taking credit for his work. Then there were the crazy things he claimed to have invented but could never get to actually work, like a death ray that he thought would end war.

He died poor and alone instead of rich and famous. He went nuts at the end, too. His best friend was a pigeon.

What amazed me most, though, were Tesla’s visions.

In his autobiography, Tesla described how, as a kid, he sometimes had such vivid memories that he didn’t know if he was remembering something or actually seeing it. Later on, the same thing happened with his inventions. While he was thinking about an idea for a new machine, he would see it in front of him. He described seeing his first great invention that way, a new kind of electric motor. “The images were wonderfully sharp and clear and had the solidity of metal,” he wrote.

When I read that, my jaw dropped. That’s exactly what happens to me. Did that mean I was a genius—or crazy?