Servo 1:2
Happy 4th of July! Hubby drove down to Tennessee and came back with a carload of fireworks. Gonna be mighty noisy in this neck of the woods tonight! At least the weather is supposed to be good- last year we had massive thunderstorms and tornado warnings. The sun is out and the temps quite comfortable. Ahhhh...
Here's your weekly installment of Servo. Much more to come.
Servo 1:2
We were sent home via a bot taxi. Mrs. Lowe called for one and programmed our address into its computer while still in the comfort of her office. I didn’t figure she was the kind to be out in the weather very long. She didn’t look happy at the funeral. On the way home, I’d had thoughts about reprogramming the taxi to take us somewhere else. The problem was, I didn’t know where else to go. Home was our sanctuary and refuge, no other place brought us that solace.“Good evening, children,” one of our service bots said as we trudged into the house. I paid it no mind, instead, I headed for my room. The clothes I wore now reminded me of my father’s death, and I wanted to be far from them. Once changed, I brought the clothes to a bot. “Incinerate these.”“But Master Jonah, these clothes are not damaged,” the bot replied. “Shall I clean them for you?”“No, I want them gone, out of my sight!” I could feel the cracks forming in my mental fortitude. Another few minutes and I might snap. “Just get rid of them.”“Yes, Sir,” the bot mindlessly replied. I watched it turn and head to the garbage disposal chute. It opened the door and piled the clothes in, then closed the door and returned to its station near the kitchen. My father had only been dead a few days, buried a few hours, and I missed him like it had been years. I was at a complete loss for what to do. I only knew I needed to do something to keep his memory alive. I headed back to my room, but on the way, paused at the doorway of his home office. Everything was there: desk, computer, digital files, papers, and his old trusty chair. I crept in. The lights were off, but I knew my way around quite well. I’d spent hundreds of hours in this very office discussing things with my father. He would tell me the advancements they were making on the bots, show me schematics, and one time, took my suggestion and incorporated it into the software. Imagine how proud I felt about that!Going around the desk, I pulled out the chair and sat down. It was so strange. This was his chair. I usually got one of the spares and sat next to him so I could watch what he was doing. My hand stretched forward and turned on the computer. Technically, I had no right to do that, it was Servidyne property for the most part. But something egged me on. My gut told me his death wasn’t an accident. Did I expect to find the motive buried somewhere in his files? Was there something he was working on that warranted his death? I might never know, but my mind wanted to hear him again.The screen flashed bright blue and then the desktop icons started showing up. My father kept an audio log of his work. Copies were kept at Servidyne and here at home. I knew the police had confiscated the work files, but did they realize he had a second set? The cursor moved over the icon, it flashed, waiting for me to click on it. My finger tapped the inteli-pad and I watched the log open. A blank white screen appeared followed by a chronological listing of his log entries for the last six months. I glanced over my shoulder and saw several plastic cases containing data sticks of his other years’ entries. Somehow I knew they would find their way into my suitcase. I wasn’t going to leave the last shreds of my father around for the cleaners to discard. His words were precious to me, and I was going to preserve them.I moved the cursor down to the last entry and clicked on it. The screen blinked and then a black box showed with a white arrow on it. I tapped the pad and closed my eyes as the voice of my father filled the room. His voice was deep, commanding, yet ever so loving toward us children. His entry began:
“Log entry for March 29th, 2055…Today I suffered a setback. The graphene base for the neuro circuit board failed for some reason and caused the whole thing to catch fire. Good thing I had a fire suppression canister right by. Although I don’t think Mr. Pierce was too happy when I informed him of the failure. I probably set the company back six to eight weeks…And then there is the other problem: the main gyro-servo…I’ve completely redesigned the mechanism to perform on a much lower voltage. But the problem I’ve encountered is that even with the correct voltage, it’s not working when installed into a bot body for testing. It was designed to allow longer time in between charges for the bots; thus creating less down time. And being lighter, more energy efficient, and an overall better servo, it should have worked like a charm. Instead, all it does is sit there. Maybe I’ll have to build a bot with the old servo and submit that. It may take me a lot longer to perfect the new servo, and I can’t hold up production much longer than I already have…Signing off.”
The audio ended, leaving a low static hissing that enveloped the room. An eerie silence made my heart pound. I’d heard his voice, that comforting voice, and it made me want to cry. My father was a proud man, and to hear the disappointment and frustration in his words pained me. He was a brilliant man, how could a dumb little servo cause him such grief? I’d built them by the dozens at school in electronics class. My instructor was impressed with my skill. How I wish father was alive now. We could work through the problem and then he'd get recognized at work for his achievements. Instead, he'd be remembered for his past achievements.I opened the desk drawer and rummaged around. A small box of data sticks was hidden under papers. I took one and inserted it into the computer port. Then I downloaded all the recent files. Father’s ghost was going with me. No one but me would know that I had all the data sticks.Turning off the computer, I got up and carefully removed three boxes from the shelf. They weren’t big, probably four inches square, but they were all I had of my father. I would guard them with my life. Perhaps over the next few years I can learn from them. Maybe when I'm older I'll be able to return to the Inner States and get a good job. I fear there is nothing for me in the nowhere land. How could our parents have done this to us?
Here's your weekly installment of Servo. Much more to come.
Servo 1:2
We were sent home via a bot taxi. Mrs. Lowe called for one and programmed our address into its computer while still in the comfort of her office. I didn’t figure she was the kind to be out in the weather very long. She didn’t look happy at the funeral. On the way home, I’d had thoughts about reprogramming the taxi to take us somewhere else. The problem was, I didn’t know where else to go. Home was our sanctuary and refuge, no other place brought us that solace.“Good evening, children,” one of our service bots said as we trudged into the house. I paid it no mind, instead, I headed for my room. The clothes I wore now reminded me of my father’s death, and I wanted to be far from them. Once changed, I brought the clothes to a bot. “Incinerate these.”“But Master Jonah, these clothes are not damaged,” the bot replied. “Shall I clean them for you?”“No, I want them gone, out of my sight!” I could feel the cracks forming in my mental fortitude. Another few minutes and I might snap. “Just get rid of them.”“Yes, Sir,” the bot mindlessly replied. I watched it turn and head to the garbage disposal chute. It opened the door and piled the clothes in, then closed the door and returned to its station near the kitchen. My father had only been dead a few days, buried a few hours, and I missed him like it had been years. I was at a complete loss for what to do. I only knew I needed to do something to keep his memory alive. I headed back to my room, but on the way, paused at the doorway of his home office. Everything was there: desk, computer, digital files, papers, and his old trusty chair. I crept in. The lights were off, but I knew my way around quite well. I’d spent hundreds of hours in this very office discussing things with my father. He would tell me the advancements they were making on the bots, show me schematics, and one time, took my suggestion and incorporated it into the software. Imagine how proud I felt about that!Going around the desk, I pulled out the chair and sat down. It was so strange. This was his chair. I usually got one of the spares and sat next to him so I could watch what he was doing. My hand stretched forward and turned on the computer. Technically, I had no right to do that, it was Servidyne property for the most part. But something egged me on. My gut told me his death wasn’t an accident. Did I expect to find the motive buried somewhere in his files? Was there something he was working on that warranted his death? I might never know, but my mind wanted to hear him again.The screen flashed bright blue and then the desktop icons started showing up. My father kept an audio log of his work. Copies were kept at Servidyne and here at home. I knew the police had confiscated the work files, but did they realize he had a second set? The cursor moved over the icon, it flashed, waiting for me to click on it. My finger tapped the inteli-pad and I watched the log open. A blank white screen appeared followed by a chronological listing of his log entries for the last six months. I glanced over my shoulder and saw several plastic cases containing data sticks of his other years’ entries. Somehow I knew they would find their way into my suitcase. I wasn’t going to leave the last shreds of my father around for the cleaners to discard. His words were precious to me, and I was going to preserve them.I moved the cursor down to the last entry and clicked on it. The screen blinked and then a black box showed with a white arrow on it. I tapped the pad and closed my eyes as the voice of my father filled the room. His voice was deep, commanding, yet ever so loving toward us children. His entry began:
“Log entry for March 29th, 2055…Today I suffered a setback. The graphene base for the neuro circuit board failed for some reason and caused the whole thing to catch fire. Good thing I had a fire suppression canister right by. Although I don’t think Mr. Pierce was too happy when I informed him of the failure. I probably set the company back six to eight weeks…And then there is the other problem: the main gyro-servo…I’ve completely redesigned the mechanism to perform on a much lower voltage. But the problem I’ve encountered is that even with the correct voltage, it’s not working when installed into a bot body for testing. It was designed to allow longer time in between charges for the bots; thus creating less down time. And being lighter, more energy efficient, and an overall better servo, it should have worked like a charm. Instead, all it does is sit there. Maybe I’ll have to build a bot with the old servo and submit that. It may take me a lot longer to perfect the new servo, and I can’t hold up production much longer than I already have…Signing off.”
The audio ended, leaving a low static hissing that enveloped the room. An eerie silence made my heart pound. I’d heard his voice, that comforting voice, and it made me want to cry. My father was a proud man, and to hear the disappointment and frustration in his words pained me. He was a brilliant man, how could a dumb little servo cause him such grief? I’d built them by the dozens at school in electronics class. My instructor was impressed with my skill. How I wish father was alive now. We could work through the problem and then he'd get recognized at work for his achievements. Instead, he'd be remembered for his past achievements.I opened the desk drawer and rummaged around. A small box of data sticks was hidden under papers. I took one and inserted it into the computer port. Then I downloaded all the recent files. Father’s ghost was going with me. No one but me would know that I had all the data sticks.Turning off the computer, I got up and carefully removed three boxes from the shelf. They weren’t big, probably four inches square, but they were all I had of my father. I would guard them with my life. Perhaps over the next few years I can learn from them. Maybe when I'm older I'll be able to return to the Inner States and get a good job. I fear there is nothing for me in the nowhere land. How could our parents have done this to us?
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