December 19, 2036 Feven The winter wind of eastern Massachusetts beat against the windowpanes and a delicate frost had accumulated on the fogged windows. The only sounds were the high-pitched whistle of wind howling through gaps in the windows and the low hum of the soldering station’s exhaust fan. On the workbench before me lies the prototype. It is a micro-actuator designed to translate bio-synthetic neural impulses into mechanical movement with near zero latency. If it works. Right now, it’s dead. The diagnostic monitor displays a flat, mocking blue line. I try again but, once again, the circuit spits a thin curl of blue smoke and dies. I slam the soldering iron into its rest, rubbing my weary eyes, and lean back into my groaning stool. Every single try results in failure. The response time I need is too fast and the circuit keeps blowing itself. My mind drifts to my first year professor: Dr. Harrison. I still remember how my spine stiffened when he stopped at my schematic. “The Maxwell-Bose equation cannot be inverted for low-frequency currents without destabilizing the entire array, Feven. It’s a fundamental physical wall. Do not waste your semester trying to prove physics wrong.” I look down at the copper traces of the micro-actuator. Everything inside the box had been tried. Everything outside was unknown. The box was safe. It was where multiple consecutive failures lived, neat and orderly, where the next would dutifully follow. I reach for my wire cutters, my hand hesitating for a second before I clip the leads and bridge the gap with a bead of solder. I’m bypassing the entire safety circuit. It isn't standard. It violates two separate safety protocols. I’m going to destroy the hardware. I plug the interface cable back into the actuator and press. The low, disappointing whine begins and my heart drops into my gut until the tiny mechanical joint of the actuator flexes. It bends once, twice, holding the position with absolute precision. It’s working. I lean back in my chair, the green glow of the monitor reflecting off my safety glasses. I take a breath. Once, twice. The micro-actuator continues to respond. The murmur of early voices ease into the room. It's four in the morning and the workshop is trickling back to life. 2019 - The Girl “An engineer,” Ms. Gable's voice was gentle, a crinkly smile on her face. “That’s a very big dream, you know. Lots of difficult math and grueling work. Have you ever considered nursing? Or maybe teaching? You have such a way with people. You’d make a wonderful teacher.” _________________________________ The house was quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator. She walked over to the kitchen table and pulled out her homework folder. The bright yellow sheet of paper stared at her. My Future Career. In the center of the page, The Girl had written a single word in rounded, elementary print: ENGINEER. She thought the word felt right but Ms. Gable had circled it with her red mistake pen. The Girl walked into the living room and turned on the television. Flipping past the cartoons she stopped on a public broadcasting channel. The words DR. ELENA VANCE: CHIEF ENGINEER fills the screen with a woman's smile. Could I really do that too? _________________________________ 2024 - The Girl The Girl stood near the back of the room. She was a freshman now, the youngest addition to the high school's robotics team. I don't belong here. “Alright, listen up! We need the freshman volunteers to handle the pit handouts.” Before she could volunteer, she was handed a bin of embroidery floss. “We need friendship bracelets,” a man said. “To hand out to the other teams.” Three older girls were already sitting in a circle on the floor braiding colorful strings of thread. They were laughing, talking about a chemistry test. They were happy to be here, in the quiet, away from the grease and the screech of the metal saws. The Girl sat down on the floor beside them. She picked up three strands of blue thread and began to knot them. She didn't like it. April 19, 2037 Feven “Let’s talk about your early years, then,” the interviewer says, his voice a modulated tone. “You must have been naturally talented to achieve your brilliant discovery with the micro-actuator.” “I was the only one who looked like me on my high school’s engineering team,” I say simply. “My first year they had me make bracelets for the other teams. For a long time, I thought I was tolerated, but not expected to actually contribute.” “How did you overcome that?” “A role model,” my fingers relax on the armrest. “I saw a woman named Dr. Elena Vance on television. She was a chief engineer for a satellite program. I didn't understand half of the words she was using, but seeing her on my TV made me realize that someone like me had already done it. She inspired me to spend hours on my laptop, watching videos on how to read a wiring schematic, memorizing the symbols for resistors and capacitors. The next year, I didn't make bracelets.” “What do you remember most about her?” the interviewer asks. “Her words,” I say, a genuine smile reaching my eyes. I take a deep breath and look directly into the camera lens, courage lacing my voice. "The world is built in boxes. These boxes separate what is probable from what is insanity." I say, my voice steady and clear. but being told that what's outside of the box is impossible isn't the same as proving it's impossible." 2019 - The Girl “Feven, turn off the TV,” The girl's mom yells from the kitchen, “Dinner!” Feven blinks, breaking the spell of the silent screen. She reached out and clicked the remote, plunging the living room into sudden, comfortable shadow. “So, how was school sweetie?” Feven's mom asks. “I want to be an engineer, just like Dr. Elena Vance from the TV.”