The Inventor's Apprentice
I pulled the brakes on my bicycle, and it screeched to a halt. I looked at the house and wondered, half hoping I was at the wrong house. The place looked old and decrepit. Then I looked at the written address on the piece of paper. To my dismay, it was correct. Written in my father's handwriting. My father, who sent me to this place, answering an ad in the paper, or so he told me. Apparently, it said,
“Inventor seeking apprentice. Apply in person. 2678 Imperial St. London, England.”
He told me I was too lazy, said I should be doing something with my life. Said it would be a useful opportunity. I could tell he just didn't want me around the house and wanted to get rid of me.
I'll show him! I thought.
I walked up to the door and knocked. A man answered. He was surprisingly young for his profession, as I had heard that most inventors were old men who had been to universities and had official degrees and all that nonsense. His hair was graying, but he still looked relatively youthful, although with a look of experience and age. He wore glasses.
“Well, are you going to stand on my porch all day?”
He asked gruffly.
I broke out of my thoughts.
“I'm Thomas Clarion, your new...apprentice.”
I was not looking forward to the implications of that word.
“You're younger than I expected,”
He said.
“So are you,” I retorted.
“Don't be impudent!” he said with a fierce glare. I shrunk back a little.
He sighed, then said,
“Come in.”
I walked in the door. The room I entered had plans and drawings hung on the walls, with immense bookshelves of volumes on what I assumed must be mechanics, energy and the like. Topics that bored me out of my skull when I tried to read them at home. There were also various bits and pieces of metal and machines lying about.
“I don't get many visitors, so my home won't be as clean as you are used to.”
He led me into the kitchen, in which there was also a table for eating. He gestured for me to sit down. I sat. He looked at me, then said,
“My name is Derek Stathinson. I will be your master and teacher for the next 12 months. You will address me as Mr. Stathinson or Sir. I will teach you what I know about invention over the course of your stay with me. Dinner is usually on the table at seven o'clock. If you miss it, I will not serve it later. You must learn to be punctual.”
I nodded, with a slight look of boredom.
“I do not tolerate apathy. Invention is an art, not a science. I do not care whether you came of your own free will or were sent to me. You will have to make the most of it. Am I understood?”
I nodded again, slightly frightened.
“Follow me.”
I followed Mr. Stathinson up a flight of stairs to the second floor.
“That will be your room,” he said, pointing to a small room to his right. “The bathroom is next to that room, over there.”
I looked into the room. It appeared to be a workshop of some sort.
“You will get to know all of these rooms more than you would like before long, so don't stop and stare,” he said.
He led me up another flight of stairs. He pointed to a glass door.
“That is the observatory,” Mr. Stathinson said, “and that,” he pointed to a closed mahogany door, “Is my study. That room is off limits. If I find you in there, you will be severely punished.”
We went back downstairs, and then to the basement. Bookshelves lined the walls. Mr. Stathinson took 3 heavy books off the shelf.
“Have these read by tomorrow,” he said to me, then left.
I slumped down on the couch and sighed. It wasn't fair that I was sent here. After a few minutes, I decided I may as well get my reading over with. I picked up the first book and opened it. The title read,
“The Philosophy of Invention: The Art behind the Science.” I began to read. It wasn't an adventure novel, but it was surprisingly less dull than I expected. Halfway through, I looked up at the clock. It was 7:00. I went upstairs and ate. Mr. Stathinson was quiet, and somewhat thoughtful. I finished my dinner and took the books up to my room. I read late into the night, and in the middle of “Basic Mechanics”, the third book, fell asleep.
When I awoke, the sun was shining in through my window. I finished the book, then went downstairs.
Mr. Stathinson was waiting.
“I will expect you to be more prompt in the future, Thomas.”
he said, slightly bemused.
“I'm sorry,”
I said, and I almost was. While I was not at all well disposed to Mr. Stathinson's strict rules, I could tell he held high expectations for me, and I felt, unexpectedly, motivated to live up to them. I tried to ask myself who I was trying to prove myself to by doing so, but I could not find an answer. Mr. Stathinson interrupted my thoughts.
“Come,” he said.
I followed. He led me into the room I had seen the other day, that resembled a workshop.
“Most of your work will be done in here. Today will be your first lesson. You have read the material I gave you?”
I nodded.
“Good. Quote the first passage from 'The Philosophy of Invention'.”
I was caught off guard by this request, but my school teachers had drilled into my head that memorization was key to success. I had thought to myself then, Or at least, success in the machine of school. But I had the book reasonably memorized in my head.
“Invention, contrary to many people's belief, is not a science. It contains outer elements that require the mind of a scientist. But at its core, in its purest form, invention is an art. Every successful invention begins with an idea, just as every painting begins with inspiration, and every book begins with an idea in the author's mind. The mechanics are merely the medium, the instrument, for expressing the art. Ideas are the thing invention is made of,” I recited.
“Well done. Now, what does that say to you?”
I thought for awhile, then said,
“That the idea should express itself through the mechanics, rather than the other way around.”
“Is that an answer you believe in?”
“No,” I admitted.
“I am not interested in answers that simply answer the question. You may have been able to get away with that where you were schooled, but not here. I expect you to put your heart and belief into what you say. If you disagree with what you have read, be honest. I am not opposed to argument. Only lies and empty words. Now, do you agree with the statement you quoted?” Mr. Stathinson asked
“No, not really,” I said, feeling somewhat embarrassed that Mr. Stathinson had called my bluff.
“Why?”
I thought, then replied,
“Invention, as I know it, is purely mechanical. How can there be expression through rigid rules of motion, energy and force? Creativity cannot be expressed through nuts and bolts, gears and screws. They are simple objects, and while they can be made into something more, they remain rigid and inflexible, unable to be expressed through.”
Mr Stathinson looked respectful of my argument, but rather disappointed, although he seemed to be disappointed in me, rather than the fact that I didn't agree with the book's opinion.
“You make a point, but tell me. Is a pencil an object?”
“Yes.”
“And are paint and paintbrush simple objects?”
“I suppose.”
“But do they limit expression, simply because they have their own uses?”
“No,”I admitted, sheepishly.
“Apathy will get you nowhere, especially here. You must learn to appreciate life, and see it as more than the sum of its parts. Invention is the same way. Nuts, bolts, screws and metal have rules and limitations, but they are capable of far more together then they are alone. Invention has its rules, but so does any other art, and an artist must learn to use their medium to express something more than simply the ordinary. Invention is not only a form of expression, but its result is capable of providing great help to others.”
I thought about that, then resolved that even though I was forced to come here, I would try to truly learn, and appreciate life, if only to show my family that I wasn't as useless and worthless as they seemed to think.
“I think I understand.”
“Now that is an honest answer,” he replied. “Now. Any invention begins with an idea. Once you have an idea, the next thing to do is make a blueprint, or a plan. Have these books given you any ideas as to something to try?”
I honestly hadn't really paid much attention to the books with regard to their use and meaning. But I flipped open 'Basic Mechanics' to a page I had dog eared as an interesting diagram that I might consider as a project. It was a machine that made music from outside wind. I showed it to Mr. Stathinson.
“Ah, yes. The Aeroflute. I built one myself once. It makes music that I find to be very relaxing and focusing. I tried to convert one to make music from both air and steam, making a sort of duet or harmony, but it ended up being a cacophonous mess. However, they are relatively easy to build. Have you read the parts list?”
“Yes,” I replied. Again, it had been something I did out of random curiosity, but it was a true answer.
“Very well. Come with me.”
He led me outside, to a small field nearby his house. It was littered with old machine parts and scrap metal.
“I own this field. Whatever unused machine parts or pieces of failed inventions I have end up here. Whenever I need parts, I look here first. It saves a lot of money from buying machine parts. See if you can get the parts for the Aeroflute, then come back. I will be in my study. Knock, but don't enter,” Mr. Stathinson said, emphasizing the last words with a stern tone.
“I will.”
After a few hours, I had found everything I needed. I went back inside and knocked on Mr. Stathinson's study door. We went back to the workshop. I opened the book to the page that contained the instructions for the Aeroflute. Mr. Stathinson said,
“Try it without directions. Improvisation is a useful tool.”
I smiled slightly, as he seemed to be making a challenge. I turned to the page with the diagram and started to build. I had hated the very idea of inventing before, when I had first arrived. But now that I was actually creating something, even if it was not my own, I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it. I didn't even look up until I realized it was 7:00. I ran downstairs. Mr. Stathinson was there.
“How are you coming?” he asked.
“Pretty good. I have the base of it finished. It's harder without instructions, but I realized some of the work is pretty intuitive, and up to the creator.”
The slightest trace of a smile appeared on Mr. Stathinson's face.
“So you admit there is more to it than simple 'nuts and bolts'.”
“Yes,” I said admittedly.
“Let me tell you something that you may not have heard before. Despite your appearance to the contrary, when you walked in here, I had a feeling that you had more potential than it seemed. I still don't know you well, but I hope you remember that you are more than some people say and think you are.”
I smiled, then said, “Thank you.”
A week went by. I had finally finished the Aeroflute. I opened the window and put it facing the breeze, to give it a test. For several minutes, nothing happened. I checked, and saw that one of the pipes was blocked. After using a screwdriver to unblock it, I waited again. After a few minutes, a soft tune began to play. It had no repeating notes (being entirely formed from the impulse of the wind), but it had a pleasing rhythm and flow to it. I turned around to go downstairs and show Mr. Stathinson, but he was already there.
“Well done! I'm impressed by your skill. And I think the Silvaurium pipe produces a better sound than my own Aeroflute. Interesting idea.”
Months passed. I learned more and more from Mr. Stathinson every day. One day, after breakfast, he bid me to follow him. We walked outside until we reached an enormous building, which Mr. Stathinson apparently also owned. Opening a panel next to the large metal door, Mr. Stathinson tapped the various buttons, in what I assumed was an access code. After a moment, he pushed a large button and the door began to rise. We went in. The garage door closed behind us. Mr. Stathinson flipped on a light switch.
We were in an immense hangar. All kinds of amazing vehicles, machines and other strange things filled the enormous room. Underwater vehicles. Vehicles for digging, and even flying machines! I was amazed.
“You built all of these?” I exclaimed.
“I did indeed. Some with outside help, others completely by my own hand. I wanted to show you this place because today we will begin your study of vehicles and other large machines. Now, quote the third passage from Motion, Mechanics and Motors,” Mr. Stathinson said.
“Um...well, now that you mention it, it sort of...slipped my mind,” I said sheepishly.
“Is that an honest answer?” It was a saying he had used frequently, since my first day.
“Um...” I sighed. “No. I didn't read it. After working on that artificial intelligence robot, I was so tired I could barely see straight, much less read,” I said, hoping Mr. Stathinson wouldn't be too angry. He always insisted that...
“Study is one of the most important parts of invention,” he said, finishing my thought. I braced myself for a lecture, but instead he said,
“But no matter. I actually was looking forward to showing you this area of work. If you didn't read, then I will just have to teach you myself,” he said with a smile. “From Basic Mechanics, I assume you know the laws of motion?”
I nodded. That was true, at least.
“Good. The only thing left then is to teach you how they are applied. Follow me.”
I did. We reached a medium sized ground vehicle. It had two large wheels, but was, at this point, just a frame.
“This will be yours, so you are going to finish it. Once you know how, of course. Now, you've used gears before, correct?”
“Yes.”
“This runs on a combination of gears and motors. Or at least it's supposed to. I haven't had much time to work on it, so I left it, in case I ever had an apprentice. Which I now do.”
He gave me a slight side smile. I laughed.
“Anyway, this vehicle uses three motors: One as the main motor, which is connected to the engine, to power the vehicle, and one for each wheel, to give it extra boost. So, the first thing to do is to attach the main motor to the frame.”
I quickly found the motor laying nearby. I took a welding tool and fused it in.
“Good work. Now. The main motor powers the gears that turn the other motors. So you'll have to...”
Before he had finished, I was attaching gears. I made it so that they reached each wheel. Then I hooked them in.
“Wow. You're quick, Thomas. I'm impressed.” He checked my work. “Perfect. Now, you should oil the gears, and affix a mini engine to the other motors.”
I did.
“Now all that remains is to...”
“...Weld a sheet of metal on, to cover the gears?” I finished.
“Well done! Correct.”
I went and got a large sheet of metal.
“Do you have a cutting tool? Saws go rather slow,” I said.
“Try this. I warn you, it's not perfected yet, but if you wear protective gear, you shouldn't get hurt.”
He handed me a strange device with a narrow nozzle. A label on the side read,
“Do not use without the express permission of Derek Stathinson.”
I saw the on switch. Pointing the device at the metal, I switched it on. A bright beam of blue light appeared. At first, I was confused, but then I realized it was cutting through the metal. I was impressed by this creation of Mr. Stathinson. Moving the beam, it cut wherever I moved it. I “drew” the shape of the body with the beam, then pulled it out. After a little bit of hammering it into shape, it was ready. I fused it to the frame. I repeated this process until the frame was covered.
“Good work! Now, as for fuel for the engines, I've still been working on that. The most commonly used fuel for vehicles is extremely polluting and noxious. I'm currently working on creating a fuel that will produce almost no fumes, and will not be toxic to inhale. Until then, however, we shall have to wait for you to ride it. Still, I am close, I think. Tomorrow, perhaps, I will show you, and you can see if you can help. But for today, you have done enough,” Mr. Stathinson said.
The next morning, after breakfast, Mr. Stathinson led me to a large bench with a desk inside the hangar. On the desk were several beakers, filled with different liquids.
“After many failed attempts, ineffecient results, and a few explosions, I've narrowed things down to three solutions. These are the top three most efficient, least polluting and easiest solutions to make that still live up to the first two requirements.” He pointed to a shimmering white solution.
“That one is the best so far, in theory, but I haven't been able to make it flammable. It puts out any fire it touches. These are the chemicals I've been using, and my analyses of the formula,” he indicated several bottles and papers.
I looked at the papers.
“These are confusing,” I said.
“You should see how an actual chemist writes!” Mr. Stathinson said with a laugh. “But in all honesty, I can reduce it to simple terms. I sympathize. This isn't exactly easy for me to comprehend either. Basically, these are the chemicals I'm using, and these are the results they produce.”
I looked at it for a few minutes, then said,
“Well, if the only issue is to get it to be flammable, then why not replace the three parts Lumigen with 1 part Lumigen and one part Hydrolium?”
Mr. Stathinson looked surprised. He checked over the sheet.
“I never thought of that! Thomas, you are a natural.”
I smiled with part embarrassment and part pride. Mr. Stathinson began to reformulate the fuel. We were finished by lunchtime. After lunch, Mr. Stathinson said,
“I have to go into town to buy a few things. Amuse yourself. You can play around with anything I've taught you how to use. Make something interesting, perhaps I will examine it when I get back.”
“OK,” I replied.
He gathered his coat, hat and gloves, then left. As soon as he did, I went up the stairs.
I knew I shouldn't, but I just had to know what was in Mr. Stathinson's study. I opened the mahogany door, and quietly went in. It was a nice room, with a large skylight. A hardwood desk sat at one end of the room, with a large telescope looking up at the skylight next to it. On the other end of the room, there were shelves packed full of books and papers. Suddenly, something on Mr. Stathinson's desk caught my eye. I picked it up. It was a photo of a young man who looked much like Mr. Stathinson, but I could tell it wasn't him. I looked on the back of the frame. Several papers were taped to it. I took them off. At the top of the page, there was a description of the picture. 'My son, Nathaniel' it read. Below was what looked like a journal entry, I was just about to read it when I heard a voice from behind me.
“You had better have a fantastic explanation for what you're doing here, or I will have to send you back to your parents with a recommendation to punish you to the fullest extent of their abilities!”
I whirled around. It was Mr. Stathinson.
“I...I'm sorry. I just had to know...what was in here.”
“Get out! Out of my study and out of my house!”
“But...”
“OUT!!!” he roared.
I ran down the stairs, and went out the front door. It was raining. I took a step, but then looked back at the house and faltered. I couldn't bear to leave the charming little house that had become more like home to me than my real home ever had been. I sat down on the porch and got soaked with the rain. After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only a few minutes, Mr. Stathinson came out. Forgoing any pride or dignity, he sat next to me in the rain.
“I'm sorry, Thomas. I behaved badly. It's just...for all these years, I've kept all my most private thoughts and memories in there, and I...”
“What happened to your son?” I interrupted, then immediately wished I hadn't. “I'm sorry, Mr. Stathinson. I didn't mean...”
He sighed. “It's all right. Well, on his 15th birthday, we had planned a surprise party when he came home. He was out late that night. We waited, and waited, but it was after midnight and he still hadn't come. Shortly after, a policeman came to our house and told us he had drowned. Fell into the Thames. We were, as you can imagine, devastated. Three years after that, my wife died. I've been all alone ever since.” There were tears in his eyes.
“You have no relatives?” I asked, though from his story, I already knew the answer.
“None, except a few great uncles and aunts on my father's side who hated me for marrying my wife instead of someone with their social status.”
He had his head in his hands. For a long while, we were silent. Then he said,
“After they were both gone, I moved everything I had left from them into my study, and have kept it there ever since.”
I was silent for a moment, then said,
“Thank you for trusting me with this,” I said.
He sighed.
“You are welcome. By the way, I received a letter from your parents. You may not want to hear it now, since we are already on sad topics...” he trailed off.
“Tell me. I may as well hear it now, instead of later,” I said grimly.
“Very well. The long and short of it is this: Your father does not want you back. Says you've caused too much trouble in the house, and good riddance to you. Your mother doesn't feel quite the same way, but is unwilling to go against his decision. They have moved and....Thomas, do you really want to hear the rest of this?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“moved and officially disowned you.”
I was shocked for five minutes I couldn't say anything, then
“How...How could he?! I should have known, but honestly!! Well, a curse be upon him then!! Some family I was born into,” I raged.
“Thomas. If you wish to listen to me further, I have a...proposition.”
“What is it?” I asked, still furious at my parents but interested to hear this.
“Well, next month your apprenticeship will expire. But there is always more to learn, so I think you could stay longer on the pretext of being an apprentice. I must now ask you a question: Would you like to live with me always?”
I was overjoyed.
“Yes, Mr. Stathinson!! Thank you!”
“It will take some time, but I can work on the paperwork, and if all goes well, officially adopt you as my son.”
“Your son? Mr. Stathinson...I...I don't deserve,”
“On the contrary, Thomas, you deserve it more than anyone else I've met. You could never...replace my real son, but you remind me of him almost daily. And I think you and I would be happy together.”
“Thank you! I really don't know what to say....this is too much!”
“You are welcome. And now that you know its...secret...you may enter my study whenever. It would be pointless to forbid you now that there is no longer a secret to be kept.”
“I will be as respectful as I can of everything in there, Mr. Stathinson, don't worry.”
“Thank you. Tomorrow we will finish your vehicle, and give it a test run. Tonight I will begin to fill out paperwork for your extended apprenticeship and adoption. Get some rest, Thomas.”
“Good night,” I replied.
The wind roared through my hair as the world raced by. I was fast. I was in control. I was riding. That morning, Mr. Stathinson and I had finished the vehicle.
Mr. Stathinson came up from behind me on his bicycle. He was moving much slower than I was, but I was impressed with his speed.
“Ease up on the throttle! You don't want to crash!” he exclaimed.
I rolled my eyes a little, but nodded. I slowed down enough to make the turn, then just to joke around with him, I revved to almost full speed, leaving him in the dust. Mr. Stathinson laughed.
I realized I felt a sense of freedom I had not felt in my whole life. Finally, I was appreciated, and had found a calling that I thought I would loathe, but now greatly enjoyed. The fuel tanks ran out and my motorbike cruised to a stop, interrupting my thoughts.
A few minutes later, Mr. Stathinson caught up with me. He looked stern. I got off the vehicle and prepared for the worst, or at the very least a long lecture.
“You shouldn't have left me behind like that...” he began.
I looked away. This was it.
“But that was amazing!” he finished. Then he laughed. I laughed with him. Finally, Mr. Stathinson said,
“Let's go home.”
Home. It was still sinking in that the little house I had come to love was to be my home. I smiled at the thought. We finally reached the door. We had no sooner entered the house, and Mr. Stathinson begun to prepare lunch, when the doorbell rang.
“Will you answer it, Thomas?”
I nodded.
I went to the door and opened it. Outside stood a tall man in a very expensive purple suit, top hat, stuffed shirt and all. I was so used to Mr. Stathinson wearing button shirts, or occasionally a plain suit jacket, when he went into town. He always dressed simple, but elegantly. So this man looked to me rather like a peacock. I didn't say as much.
“Please give this to Derek Stathinson,” he said, handing me a gold colored envelope with a wax seal.
“I will,” I replied.
He bowed and left. I handed the envelope to Mr. Stathinson. He broke the seal, and began to read. As he read, his expression grew more and more angry, until finally he threw down the letter in disgust.
“What is it, Mr. Stathinson?”
“A letter from the king. He has heard of my inventions and wants me to serve in his army, designing machines for England's war with Russia.”
“A royal commission?” I said, half impressed, half curious.
“You don't understand, Thomas. I have sworn never to use my talents for war, as did my teacher, as did his!”
“Then why not turn him down?” I asked.
“That is impossible. If I refuse to come there, he will come here, and he could and most likely would order my death.”
“The what are we to do?” I asked.
“We shall have to escape,” Mr. Stathinson said grimly.
“How, Mr. Stathinson? the king has scouts all over England! And he can follow you through any country!” I exclaimed.
“There is a solution. It will be a difficult one, but we must do it. Oh, and Thomas, call me Derek. If you're my son (or nearly, by official records), you should at least be able to use my first name,”
“Would you object to me calling you father?”
“Of course not, Thomas! Why would I object?” he said with a smile. “But there's no time to lose. The king's men will be here in a few days. We must begin.”
He led me to the hangar. I expected him to start working on a blueprint, or a frame, so I was surprised to see him lead me all the way to the back of the hangar. An immense object was covered by a black tarp. Derek removed the tarp. The object was a gigantic ship of some kind.
“Ad astra, Thomas,” Derek said with a proud smile.
“You mean...” I said, amazed.
“Yes. We're going to the stars!”
The next few days were spent in a flurry of preparation. Each morning, my new father and I would get up two hours before dawn, enter the hangar, work until sunrise, then stop to eat breakfast. After that, we would continue working for the rest of the day, eating our other two meals in the hangar.
It was exhausting, but also exhilarating. Finally, the ship was finished. I looked up in awe at the task we had completed, like Hercules completing one of his twelve labors.
“Amazing,” I breathed.
“I agree,” Derek replied.
It was immense, probably 20 ft tall. It was made entirely of a shining whitish silver alloy that my father had crafted himself. Oblong windows lined its sides. I could not see the interior, but I knew that it was equally amazing, having spent a week fine tuning the controls.
As we stood in front of our massive creation, the doorbell rang, and their was a banging on the door.
“Open up in the name of his Royal Majesty!” said a muffled, but loud voice from the front door.
“They're here!”
“We must act quickly! Go into the receiving room and remove the book Intelligent Algorithms.
Behind the book is a button. Push it. It will activate my security system, which should give us enough time to prepare the ship. Go!”
I ran through the back door of the hangar, and followed Derek's instructions. When I pushed the button, an alarm went off, and a thick sheet of reinforced metal slid over the entire front wall. A hissing of steam was heard as several pressure locks clicked into place. A matrix of glowing yellow lines appeared, ready to attack anyone who got in. I heard a mechanized, clanking voice say,
“Scanning room. One entity present. Name: Thomas Stathinson. Status: Friend. Do Not Fire.”
I realized that Derek must have fed me into the security system as a friend, recently too, judging by the altered last name. I returned to the hangar.
“Everything's locked down!”
“Good. I took the time to gather up my blueprints and models, along with some personal mementos. They won't gain anything to use in their inane war, even if they burn my house down!”
I paled slightly at the thought.
“I'm sorry, Thomas. I hope it won't come to that. But we can't be sure. And to escape royal attention, we'll have to be in space for at least a month.”
“A month?! Father, are you sure?”
“Perfectly sure, but don't worry. This war is coming to an end, I can sense it. We'll be back home soon.”
And with that, we strapped in. Derek altered the controls, and set a course.
Ad Astra, I thought, realizing the magnitude of it all. Then I smiled boldly. To the stars. And with that, there was a tremendous boom, and we took off.
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