Tucking the hem of her floral dress beneath her, a teenage girl seated herself in a green velvet armchair, and with wide eyes drank in a living room cluttered with brightly-colored mechanical toys. "I've never babysat for a mad scientist before!" Shiloh said, brushing a few stray strands of red hair behind her ear.



Mr. Strait chuckled and shifted in his chair, crossing his legs with the aid of both hands. "I prefer the title of Inventor, but I do suppose some of my creations would suggest I am mad."



On the end table next to him, a potted cactus split itself down the center, and Shiloh jumped a bit in her seat. A yellow canary sprung out. Cuckoo! it said.



"...My wife certainly thought I was." He itched his thick white mustache, twisting a few hairs between his finger and thumb as if in thought.



"No, it's amazing," Shiloh said, gathering her wits. "I can see your passion for children's toys just by looking around."



"Well thank you very much, Miss Bluth," Mr. Strait said, watching his cactus close itself back up. "Anyway, Logan's upstairs, demoing a few items from my toddler line. Before I go, I'll fetch him and show off my newest piece of tech. Hopefully it'll make your job tonight just a little bit easier."



He pulled himself to his feet with effort, and with a few stiff steps, made his way to the stairs. He must've noticed Shiloh watching him slowly climb, because he called down, "My fingers are about the only part of my body that haven't aged!" before slipping out of view.



Shiloh immediately leapt up from her chair, wanting to touch every toy and technology she could reach. There were dozens of pieces on display, each named with tiny silver plaques. There was the Automatic Hotdog Octopusser, which Shiloh could guess used its little arms to split the ends of hotdogs into 8 tentacles. Those were always fun to eat. Then there was the Magic Seamstress, a large plastic sewing machine with a squishy pink cuff attached to the side. She wasn't sure what made it so magical, until a fuzzy arm snuck into her peripheral vision and placed itself in the cuff.



She jumped back with a yelp, but saw it was just Mr. Strait, a teddy bear in one arm, a squirmy toddler in the other. With a mechanical rush of air, the cuff inflated itself around the bear's arm.



"It's taking measurements!" Mr. Strait said, raising his voice over the sound of the machine. With a hiss, the cuff deflated, and the silver instrument that did all the sewing whirred to life. Several pieces of blue fabric unfurled from inside the machine, spilling out like freshly made strips of pasta, and were automatically sewn up. Shiloh's eyes lit with excitement as a tiny shirt came into shape, which, when the machine slowed to a halt, Mr. Strait slipped over the torso of the bear. He handed it to Shiloh so she could inspect the craftsmanship, but from the corner of her eye, she saw Logan make grabby hands and pout. "I know that look," she laughed, "Here you go little dude."



Mr. Strait watched the two with a warm smile. "I've become more and more fascinated with automation," he began, "as my body becomes less and less able to make things itself..."



Shiloh didn't quite know what to say. She nodded, tried to broadcast to her new client a meaningful glance. But he seemed to perk right up. "And that brings us to what I need to show you before I'm off to carouse for the night! It's in the basement. Follow me."



He beckoned her with a wave, filling the air with words as he walked into the kitchen. "First of all," he said to Shiloh as she crossed the threshold, her boots clacking on the linoleum tiles, "I really do have to thank you again for agreeing to sit on such short notice. Raising the boy by myself, I still need some time alone to just be Thad."



Shiloh scrunched up her nose. "Your first name is Thad?"



"No, but wouldn't it be strange if it was!" He laughed loudly to himself and continued without taking time to breathe. "See, those toys in the living room, they're small time! Trading a silly idea for a quick buck. No more than infomercial fodder. I've been in the biz long enough to know that I need something big! Something I can sell business to business. Contracts! Five-year maintenance agreements! That's where the money is."



Shiloh didn't understand everything he was saying, but suddenly understood why the pay was so good. Mr. Strait was a shrewd businessman. She wouldn't have guessed it, riding her bike up to the shabby brown row home, situated midway down a steep hill. Or from entering into a small room with shabby brown carpet and worn woodwork. He must be rich, even though Mr. Strait's house looked more like an oddities museum than a place to live when she had first opened the door. But past the colored plastic and metal clutter, Shiloh was beginning to see how, for this eccentric inventor and his son, this house was truly a home.



As they passed through the kitchen, the gently-stained counters were full of their own contraptions, some on display, some recently used and caked with food. Mr. Strait hung a left into a tall, slender hallway, and opened a white door that sat crooked in a narrow frame. "It's an old house," he said, pardoning it before Shiloh had a chance to comment. His heavy footfalls echoed as he descended, and she followed. The steps themselves were just exposed wooden planks, and her heels clacked, clacked, clacked, all the way down.



It was still dark as they approached the bottom of the stairs, but the basement looked unfinished. Once she heard Mr. Strait's feet hit concrete, Shiloh watched a single light bulb flicker on. Hung from the ceiling with a piece of metal tube, it was operated by a brass pull-chain.



"Pardon the... state of things down here," Mr. Strait began.



"It's an old house?" Shiloh offered.



"Precisely!"



There wasn't much foot room, however. Her client shuffled slightly ahead, giving the teen enough space to stand at the bottom of the stairs. Looking out at the basement proper, Shiloh saw why. Dominating the room was a huge box of flat gray metal that stretched from wall to wall and from ceiling to floor. Close to where Mr. Strait stood was a sort of protrusion wrapped in a black, pillowy sort of fabric, and beyond that, a tall, dark hole that led deeper inside the box. Just to the right of the opening was a panel of colored buttons and a display screen.



"What on earth is this?" Shiloh asked. She looked to Mr. Strait, but his attention was on Logan.



"Ready, sweetie?" Mr. Strait said, laying Logan down on the black fabric. The toddler giggled and said, "Spaceship!"



"Fantastic." his father replied, checking a series of boxes on the display screen and flicking a single, silver switch.



He turned to the still speechless Shiloh and said, "You thought the Hotdog Octopusser was cool? You are going to get a kick out of this."



"And what exactly is this?" she replied. All she got in response was a shush.



With that, he pressed a large red button beneath all the more complicated panels. The big black opening lit up, the machine made a pleasant series of blips, and the black fabric lurched into motion, drawing Logan inside. "It's cushioned conveyor belt!" Mr. Strait said, once again raising his voice.



He must be so accustomed to yelling over his inventions. Shiloh thought. Or not-- who does he have here to talk to?



"The 'Start' button really didn't need to be this big either!" he added, pointing to the big glowing dome. The more he spoke, the more Shiloh thought she heard a hint of childish glee in his voice. Inventor or Mad Scientist? The jury was still out.



Suddenly, with a click, the lights in the machine's opening shut off, and a muffled eruption of engine noise and lasers emanated from inside. This time, it was Shiloh's turn to raise her voice.



"Is something wrong?!" she panicked. "How could you put your son inside something like this?"



She pushed past Mr. Strait and placed her hands on the conveyor, squinting, trying to find Logan inside the machine. All she could see were flashing lights. A myriad of space noises continued to pour out of the opening, and the belt moved along at the same steady pace. Because she was leaning on it, it pulled her ever so gently inside. But then that stopped too. Shiloh jerked herself upright. "What's happening now?"



Mr. Strait chuckled his same warm chuckle. "Relax. He's safe. He's just at the end of the belt. Now she works in reverse."



The belt crawled back into motion, this time pushing Shiloh away from the dark opening. The flashing lights died down, and a gruff voice stated, "Mission accomplished. Great job, Star Soldier."



Shiloh backed up once she saw Logan emerge from the mouth of the machine. He looked to be in one piece, except his t-shirt has ridden up a little bit, and the back pockets of his tiny jeans were now located just below his exposed belly button. Like his torso had been rotated 180 degrees.



"Oops!" Mr. Strait said. "Looks like a minor glitch!"



Blanching, Shiloh plucked the toddler up off the belt and held him up to examine the damage. "Oh god! His--"



"Pants are on backwards!" Mr. Strait finished, a hint of frustration in his voice. "Still haven't worked out all those kinks in getting different types of clothing on."



Shiloh felt a little silly, exhaling for the first time she could remember since the sounds had started up.



"Could you be a dear, dear, and turn those around for me? I want to fiddle with the settings for a bit."



"Uh, right," Shiloh said, "Sure."



She stood Logan up on the belt and tugged down his pants. To her surprise, they had an elastic waist, and to her greater surprise, beneath them was a colorful plastic diaper, peppered with spaceships. She flipped the pants around and pulled them back up the toddler's legs. "All done!" she said, offering her hand to Logan for a high-five.



She leaned over to Mr. Strait and whispered, "I didn't know he wasn't potty trained..."



Mr. Strait looked confused for a moment, and then his head perked up. "Shoot!" he said. "Forgot to tell you that! Which is fine! Because this contraption is going to make your job easier tonight!"



"This contraption," Shiloh said, "Please tell me. What is it?"



Mr. Straight chuckled again. "I thought it was self-explanatory!"



He surveyed Shiloh's face for a hint of understanding. There was none to be found.



"My dear, it's going to make me millions! One for every daycare in the country! It's a Diapering Machine!"