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"As for the model designation, we'll go by the old convention and call it Apollo-1."
"That's a good name." Mason rubbed his head off to the side, swallowing back down the stale, worn-out names like "Future" and "Prospect" that had just bubbled up in his mind.
The others listening in broke into applause one after another, all of them thinking it was good.
"This name goes perfectly with our Triton-1 to form a mythology series!"
"Not just that. Argus over on the AI side is named from mythology too. I bet our company's in-industry nickname is going to end up being Mount Olympus!"
"This name really is good. Wasn't it firm will and never-stopping legs that Apollo's chariot ran on as it carried the sun across the sky?"
"And what our prosthetics do, isn't it exactly to help those in need stand up again, to walk, to run, and even to raise up their confidence and will once more?"
The crowd on the team discussed it, and they broke into smiles despite themselves.
Everyone was familiar with this kind of smile. When Triton-1 had been completed, this kind of smile had appeared on their faces more than once.
And it was precisely this kind of smile that had been able to sustain them all the way from a university campus to where they were now.
The volunteer Wesley had come down off the treadmill at some point, standing behind the crowd and listening to everyone's conversation, his eyes rimmed a little red.
"Thank you." Shy as he was, he scratched at his hair, and still didn't dare speak the words out loud.
Ever since losing his left leg, his life had sunk into a trough.
He didn't want to go to school, and even when he did, he was willing only to be the last one to leave the classroom and the campus. He didn't want anyone seeing his incomplete body from behind, and even less did he want his walking posture drawing others' attention.
He could sit motionless in a chair for an entire day, and could go a whole day without saying a single word to anyone.
He would rather be ignored by the world.
He was like a walking corpse. Everyone around him was worrying for him, yet his heart was as if fitted with a layer of filter mesh, unable to receive the care of others.
It wasn't until Triton-1's release that his hope was reawakened, that the layer of filter mesh in his heart was finally broken.
Through videos he saw the people who'd installed Triton-1. Their prosthetic hands, as long as they put on long sleeves and disguising gloves, showed nothing out of the ordinary at all.
The smiles on those people's faces were his hope.
The only pity was that Triton-1 was an arm prosthetic, and there was no way he could install an arm prosthetic on his leg.
Life was like flint, striking off sparks for him. The only pity was that the ground was covered in wet leaves.
His spark went out, and his life didn't change.
Until one day, he saw that Prism's new prosthetic research program was recruiting volunteers.
And what they were researching was exactly the leg prosthetic he'd been hoping for all along.
He signed up like a man possessed, and was selected too, becoming a one-in-ten-thousand lucky soul.
Under his every entreaty, his parents finally agreed to process his leave of absence from school, and the family moved temporarily to this world-famous Mech Town, beginning the work of an experimental volunteer.
During this stretch of testing at the research center, his face carried a smile every single day.
Not because something funny happened at the research center every day. In fact, the researchers and engineers here wore stern faces every day, rushing about, and ordinarily no one would show any excess expression on their face, nor pay him any mind outside of the experiments.
But he could feel a flame-like warmth from Mason and the others' set, rigid faces, a kind of hope.
It was precisely bathed in this fire of hope that he broke into a smile from the bottom of his heart every day.
He touched the Apollo-1 prototype now installed on his leg.
Perhaps the sun wasn't off in the distance, and needed no chasing. It was right there on his foot.
"All right, all right, everyone stop chatting for now and hurry up and continue the test." Mason, seeing everyone getting happier and happier in their conversation, forgetting even the actual work, hurried to remind them.
Only then did the crowd come to their senses, turning to find the red-eyed Wesley and pulling him along familiarly toward the treadmill again.
"Come on, Wes, the uncles and big sisters will take you to keep testing."
Ryan, meanwhile, pulled Mason off to one side.
"Apollo-1 shouldn't have any major problems now. What are you planning to arrange for the prosthetics center next?" he asked.
Mason answered, "According to the company's requirements, our center's main task next is to upgrade the products of those companies we acquired earlier."
When the team had been expanded earlier, Prism had acquired one of the country's higher-ranked prosthetics companies.
A prosthetics company, generally speaking, didn't have a business scope limited to prosthetics alone. It also included many products like orthotic devices.
An orthotic device's main function was to stabilize joints and protect bone grafts or fracture sites, and it could also be used to correct deformed parts of the body.
Walking aids like wheelchairs were also within the normal business scope of a prosthetics and orthotics company.
Other companies in the industry all developed along diversified lines. It was only that oddball Prism Prosthetics that had, against all odds, relied on a single prosthetic to set a sales miracle.
That was right. Triton-1, in the eyes of everyone in the prosthetics industry, was a godlike existence.
Simply perfect to the point that it couldn't be any more perfect.
It had directly forced prosthetics manufacturers at home and abroad to outright abandon the arm prosthetic market, while also expanding the market dramatically, getting even some people entirely indifferent to prosthetic installation to install a Triton-1.
And now, Prism Prosthetics was going to shore up its shortcomings, develop along diversified lines, thoroughly digest the acquired technologies, and expand its own product line.
Mason thought about it. "There's one more task, and that's to begin research and development on Triton-2."
Ryan shook his head. "There's no rush on Triton-2. Have you forgotten something I told you about before?"
"What thing?" Mason really hadn't recalled it.
Ryan said, "The brain-controlled exoskeleton."
"Hss."
"Boss, you're serious?" Mason couldn't believe Ryan really meant to send him off to research this kind of exoskeleton-like equipment.
"You thought I was joking? The other party's six hundred million in funding has already been transferred to the company's account. Go ahead and spend it however you like. Hire people if you need to hire people, buy equipment if you need to buy equipment, and ask for more once you've spent it all."
Ryan reckoned Mason wouldn't manage to spend that six hundred million anytime soon. Whether he could actually build the exoskeleton on that six hundred million alone, though, was very hard to say.
"Boss, I feel like I'm not up to it," Mason said in a dejected tone.
"What do you mean you're not up to it? You've developed both Triton-1 and Apollo-1. If you're still not up to it, then go study up again. You're not even twenty-five yet, so don't you go giving up on learning." Ryan patted Mason on the shoulder.
Mason opened his mouth.
There was nothing wrong with "don't give up on learning" as such, but Boss, you're younger than I am, so hearing that line come out of your mouth is a little strange...
Mason shook his head, knowing Ryan had made up his mind, and that this was clearly a promotion for him as well. If he declined any further, then he'd be the one giving up on himself.
"Okay, I understand."
Ah, well.
The ship bound for baldness had set sail once again.
Who knew whether the salt wind it kicked up could still lift what remained of his lovely hair.
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