First Nanocontact

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“It’s all just fuzz. See? And only a month out of warranty. Doesn’t that figure? Doesn’t that just figure?”

Kevin Mitchell Conrad shrugged. Chomping on his gum, he thought about how sick he was of making these damn service calls. Computers, TVs, VCRs. What a waste. He was cut out for more. He could feel it. But a guy had to make a living, didn’t he?

“Don’t sweat it, Pop,” he said, turning his cap around so the control goggles would fit. “Used to be, I’d have to take ’er into the shop, break er down, charge you out the—I mean, charge you an arm and leg on labor, all just to replace a chip or maybe clean up some dust that was shorting out a component.” He put on the gloves, tested the leads to the control box. Then he clicked on the goggles. Green lights winked happily. His view, at the moment, was only of darkness.

“I just hope you can get this thing working,” said Mr. Meekly, the middle-aged customer. “I’ve got three grand tied up in that dish outside, and tonight’s the big game, and, well, I know it’s illegal but the boys down in the city are blacked out and I promised them I’d tape—”

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