That Day.
It began with an accidental discovery. I was wandering, alone, lost in thought and came upon an empty warehouse. A curious, derelict structure from an earlier time, lost in an abandoned steel graveyard. It called to me. I had to explore it.
Inside, I found a robot, its pieces scattered and strewn, obscured by layers of dust. I didn’t know what it was, or how it had come about. The only clue to the origins of this defunct machine was a single word etched onto its hand: “RoboMustache.”
Enthralled by this discovery, I felt a sense of overwhelming purpose. I would find out what RoboMustache was. I would scour the rest of the old, decayed building of junk and crates until I found answers. It was like the warehouse—and the robot—were enlisting me in this quest.
What is RoboMustache?
I located a few tattered documents, worn diagrams, and cryptic journals in an old desk drawer; my only clues into the mystery. Answers were few, brief mentions that gave only cautious reference to a military project developed (and subsequently abandoned) long ago. The true purpose seemed thoroughly erased from any records after a few months of initial trials and all aspects assumed destroyed. What were the intentions of this project? What was it planned to be used for? What purpose was RoboMustache to serve?
Rebuilding.
Here I stood before a long discarded project from decades past, a time when research and development was put forward into creating this robot. The allure and mystique around it was palpable. Even in its state of disrepair I felt drawn to the robot, and though it was just an old husk of a machine, I felt that it could still live. I returned many times to the warehouse over the next few days, doing more research and salvaging parts. With the aid of old diagrams I began to reassemble the robot.
The more time I spent in the warehouse, the more in tune with the robot I became. He spoke to me, in his silent, robot way, as he begged me to fix him, to make him whole again. At last, my labors were finished, yet the robot did not move. It all seemed so futile as I never could figure out how to power it up. Maybe it never had worked at all. Frustrated and defeated, I left the warehouse and the robot behind, never planning to return.
It’s Alive!
Weeks later, I felt compelled back to the warehouse. Lights came on as I entered. I was startled and amazed at what I found: the old piles of junk, filthy windows, rusted parts and decaying interior was now clean. The robot itself was not where I left it. Had someone found it and taken my project? A noise in the distance alerted me to a corridor and there he was. Walking toward me. The robot was alive…
The Introduction.
I approached the robot with some hesitation. Marveling at it’s form, I was fearful but enchanted. The robot began to inspect me as I inspected him. We were fascinated by each other’s moving parts. It seems we simultaneously realized we meant one another no harm.
“What are you?” I asked.
“Prime Mover,” was all it responded.
It moved back to where it had been working before I had interrupted it. I looked closely and saw what it was diligently working on; it was trying to make a robot. Was it building itself a companion? I watched as he worked, the design crude and downright lackluster. The robot companion looked like a disaster. I knew what I had to do.
The Collaboration.
I offered my help to RoboMustache. He seemed to have a good understanding of the inner workings of robotics but no guidance or direction on what to do in constructing them. I offered my assistance and was glad how compliant the robot was to my help. I began sketching out simple robot designs and scouring the crates of the warehouse for parts for RoboMustache to make its own creation. Within minutes of giving it all of the materials, a small robot was created from the design I had made.
“What do you want to call it?” I asked.
RoboMustache simply replied, “Helper.”