HCB Chapter 1094 Uncle Kim, who seems to have stepped into the future
Chapter 1094 Uncle Kim, who seems to have stepped into the future
The slight sound of the door hinges turning broke the intimacy and quiet of the corridor. Jack and Dr. Witt froze, as if they had been burned, and separated abruptly, their faces showing lingering panic and a hint of barely perceptible embarrassment.
Dr. Witt subconsciously straightened his clothes and lowered his eyes to avoid eye contact, while Jack quickly concealed the regret and heartache in his eyes, forced himself to remain calm, raised his hand to rub his temples, and tried to regain the proper manners expected of a member of the Adams family.
After calming themselves down, the two turned to look at the door of the ward. Their gazes fell on Jin Wumai, who was leaning against the door frame, and their panic was gradually replaced by astonishment.
Hearing Uncle Jin tell them to move the equipment inside, Jack's gaze unconsciously swept over the ward behind Jin Wumai, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes.
It was a spacious private hospital room, exquisitely furnished. Against the wall was the door to the ensuite bathroom, with a thin frosted curtain covering the glass door. On the bedside table next to the bed, a bouquet of fresh white roses was neatly arranged, and next to it was an elegant fruit plate filled with brightly colored apples and grapes, clearly brought by a caregiver.
Such treatment is something that ordinary officers or soldiers cannot enjoy. High-level wards at Walter Reed Army Hospital are already scarce, and these specially equipped private rooms are reserved only for people of extremely high rank and special status.
His gaze returned to Jin Wumai, scrutinizing the man before him.
His face was pale, and his body was wrapped in bandages, clearly indicating that he was seriously injured. However, his eyes were sharp as an eagle, exuding an oppressive aura of someone who had long held a high position. Looking at his distinctly Asian face, the composure and sharpness between his brows and eyes gradually overlapped with the figure he had heard about in informal CIA-related settings.
Jack's heart skipped a beat as he instantly remembered the other person's identity—Uncle Kim, the CIA's Far East intelligence chief.
That legendary figure who single-handedly built multiple intelligence networks in the Far East, and who commanded respect even from high-ranking CIA officials, was also one of the few Asian high-ranking officials who managed to gain a foothold within the white-dominated CIA.
Dr. Witt also realized what was happening, and moved closer to Jack, lowering his voice with a hint of nervousness: "Jack, he is... King? The CIA's Far East director?"
Jack nodded slightly, his fingertips unconsciously clenching, his eyes filled with even greater surprise, but also with a hint of apprehension.
This high-ranking CIA official actually took the initiative to ask to try out the Chinese computer that no one else dared to use.
The two exchanged a glance, both seeing a do-or-die determination in each other's eyes.
Since they've already been rejected by the dean, the worst that can happen is that they'll be rejected again. If this CIA official is genuinely interested, their $20 won't be a waste, and they might even be able to leverage his influence to break out of their current predicament.
Jack was the first to regain his composure, not rushing forward in a flustered manner. Instead, he pushed the small trolley unhurriedly to the ward door, gave Jin Wumai a slight nod, and displayed the propriety and tact ingrained in the Adams family, without a trace of the humility of a down-on-his-luck individual, only just the right amount of politeness.
"Of course, Mr. Jin. It would be our honor to have you try it out."
Dr. Witt instinctively protected the machine covered with a dust cloth on the trailer, as if it were his own child, and followed Jack into the ward, maintaining a respectful demeanor throughout and not daring to overstep his bounds in the slightest.
Jin Wumai stepped aside to make way for the doorway and leaned back in the chair beside the hospital bed. His fingertips were still resting on the typewriter that barely produced any words. His gaze was calmly fixed on the two of them, like a lurking eagle silently observing its prey's every move.
He had already taken in their panic, fear, and surprise, and he was increasingly certain that these two boys were indeed desperate.
With ample space in the ward, Dr. Witt immediately got to work, carefully lifting the dust cover to reveal the prototype of the second-generation Big Yellow.
Uncle Jin's gaze fell on the machine, and his pupils contracted slightly.
This wasn't the first time he had seen a computer from his homeland.
The CIA's underground headquarters on that farm housed the first-generation yellow computer delivered by the French. Although it was only the first generation, it was still much smaller than the mainstream transistor computers of the time, but it still required a large server rack.
The one in front of us is at least half the size. The overall design is more compact, and the lines are smoother; it doesn't look like research equipment, but rather...
A meticulously designed piece of industrial art.
My family members are so capable now?
The thought flashed through his mind, but he quickly suppressed it. His expression remained that of a seasoned CIA official, utterly composed.
"Is this what you call the 'second generation of Big Yellow'?" he asked casually. "It's considerably smaller than the first generation."
Dr. Witt's eyes lit up: "Sir, you've seen the first generation?"
Uncle Jin didn't answer directly, but simply reached out his hand, gesturing for him to push the machine closer.
Dr. Witt quickly plugged in the power and pressed the start button. The screen lit up, a string of characters flashed, and he entered a fairly simple-looking user interface.
This prototype was clearly specially adapted for Western audiences – all the prompts displayed on the screen were in English.
What Uncle Jin didn't know was that Mulan had specially instructed Jin Zhen and Pang Dun to train it. The one at the IEC conference was entirely in Chinese characters.
Mulan is ruthless when it comes to money, and that's perfectly understandable.
“Word processing,” Dr. Witt expertly brought up a program, “is one of the most amazing applications of this machine. You see, you can type directly on the screen and edit in real time, without needing the mechanical structure of a typewriter at all…”
He demonstrated, the cursor blinking on the screen, characters popping up one by one as the keys were pressed.
Uncle Jin's brow twitched.
No need for the word-pulling cart anymore.
This seemingly insignificant detail stirred a ripple within him. He recalled the pathetic sight of himself gritting his teeth as he painstakingly typed, the excruciating pain of his wound tearing open with each keystroke, and the application form, only half-typed and already stained with blood…
If there were such a machine...
"Let me give it a try," Uncle Jin said.
Dr. Witt quickly made way for him.
Uncle Jin stretched out his right hand... but he really couldn't lift his left hand.
I carefully placed it on the keyboard. The moment my fingertips touched the keys, a strange yet familiar sensation washed over me.
He tried knocking on it.
A letter popped up on the screen.
Tap it again.
Another one popped up.
There's no mechanical resistance, no worry about paper jams, and no trouble with the printing press veering off course. The characters appear on the screen quietly, obediently, and neatly.
Uncle Jin's breathing paused slightly.
He continued typing, initially a little rusty, but soon his decades of typing skills came through. His right hand moved faster and faster, and lines of English text appeared smoothly on the screen.
Jack and Dr. Witt, standing to the side, exchanged a glance and saw the surprise in each other's eyes—this Asian man who looked quite ill was actually a typing expert!
nonsense!
The keyboard layout was actually a lazy choice by the young man, who simply used the familiar key layout from later generations. And since later key layouts were derived from typewriters, Uncle Jin had no trouble using it.
Uncle Jin's left hand typed more and more smoothly on the keyboard, and the English characters jumped out of the screen one after another, arranged neatly. There was no need to pull the type carriage, no need to change the paper, and no need to worry about ink getting on his hands.
This feeling made him feel as if he wasn't in a hospital bed, but in a scene from a science fiction movie.
But as he was writing, he suddenly stopped.
Uncle Jin stared at the screen for a few seconds, then looked at his left hand, which was wrapped in bandages, before raising his head with a hint of confusion in his eyes:
"This thing... once typed out, can only be displayed on the screen?"