Qubit's Incubator. Charley BrindleyЧитать онлайн книгу.

      “Thank you for the opportunity.”

      Catalina took the offered straight-back oak chair. She watched the man behind the desk as he read her CV.

      Thirtyish, confident, well-dressed. I wonder if he’s the owner or manager?

      She adjusted her short blue skirt, then rested her tightly clasped hands on the iPad in her lap.

      Victor Templeton was clean-shaven, with a little gray sprinkled throughout his sun-bitten hair. His face looked weathered, tired. He watched Catalina for a moment, but her steady gaze didn’t waver. He wrote the number “7” on his notepad.

      “Whatcha got…” he glanced at her CV, “Miss Catalina Saylor?”

      Catalina’s hand shot to the right side of her thigh, where she patted her skirt.

      They’re gone! She panicked. How could I lose them?

      Her heart raced. Jerking her hand one way then another, she finally felt a familiar object, then the second one.

      There you are. Thank God!

      The concealed pocket held her treasures. All her skirts and dresses had pockets hidden within the folds of cloth. She never wore pants or shorts. Without her talisman, she would be lost.

      “Sound imaging for the blind,” she said in answer to his question.

      Victor spun a yellow pencil on his desk. “Hmm…like a bat’s echolocation?”

      Catalina’s breathing returned to normal as her heart rate slowed. “Something like that, but using AI to convert the radar bounces into a non-visual image.”

      Victor scribbled the number “8” on his notepad. “Non-visual image.” It wasn’t a question; he repeated her phrase as if trying to give it substance. “Being fed into the blind person’s optic nerve?”

      “No. To her fingertips, making her surroundings into a tactile image.”

      “You have ten minutes to sell this idea to me.”

      Catalina tossed her head to the side, like a girl with a long strand of hair irritating her face; however, her short chocolate-brown hair, neatly brushed and pushed back, hardly covered her ears. A little blush on her cheeks would have added depth to her statuesque beauty, but she never wore makeup, thinking it was a waste of time. Maybe someday, if she ever wanted to advertise her availability for dating.

      She opened her iPad and placed it on the desk, facing him. Reaching over the top, she pressed a key.

      A stick-figure with a long cane materialized on the stark white screen.

      Catalina sat back, keeping her eyes on Victor.

      As he watched the iPad, the figure mobilized and made its way along a sketched-in street. The figure slowly morphed into a human form—a woman, then clothing was added; a flowery blouse and long skirt, both in black and white.

      She tapped her cane on the sidewalk, feeling her way along.

      The sidewalk and buildings took on more detail as the sounds of murmured voices and traffic came from the iPad speakers.

      Color was added to the woman’s clothing as she made her way through the passing pedestrians; chartreuse for the skirt, and a shocking orange for her blouse. The outlined buildings became shops, with books and jewelry displayed in the windows, while a convenience store came into view ahead of her.

      “Who did this animation?”Victor asked.

      “I did,” Catalina said. “Most of it.”

      He used his pen to slash through the “8” and wrote “9” beside it.

      The blind woman came to a street crossing and stopped when the end of her cane dropped off the edge of the curb.

      She tilted her head, listening.

      “Anyone there?” Her voice came from the speakers.

      A girl, maybe ten years old, came to her side. “What’s wrong?”

      “I’m blind. Can you help me across the street? This is Forty-seventh, right?”

      “Yes, it is.” The girl took her hand. “What happened to your eyes?”

      “Afghanistan.”

      “Step down.” The girl led the woman off the curb and into the street. “We can cross now. You were hurt in the war?”

      “Yes. What’s your name?”

      “Monica. We’re in the middle of the street, but we still have the light.”

      “Do you live nearby?”

      “Two blocks. Mama sent me to the store for baking powder. Get ready to step up on the curb.”

      The white