Servo 10:2
Servo 10:2
We rode for what seemed hours. I’m sure Dagwood was going far slower than he normally would for my benefit. After a couple of miles, I was feeling better about this outing. My hands were shaking less, and I had better control over the bike. The cars and large trucks screaming by still had me worried. Finally, when I thought I could pedal no more, we turned down a long gravel drive. The farm resembled Dagwood’s family farm; in fact, most of the farms in the area looked very similar. I wondered why. “Dagwood?”“Yeah?”“May I make an observation?”“Make anything you want.” He pulled the bike up near the large white farm house.I struggled to stop the awkward conveyance without looking too inept. “Why do many of the farms in the area look alike?”“Goes way back to the settlers. They came out here with only the technology they possessed. So they built the houses and the barns how they knew. Most of the metal buildings are newer.”“Settlers?”“Yeah, came here a couple hundred years ago.” “And everyone likes living in buildings that are so old?”“Sure! Don’t you think your grandpa’s farm house is cool?”“A bit creepy more like.”Dagwood hooked his toe against the bike frame and deployed the kickstand. I followed his lead. Then we tromped onto the wide, heavily aged porch. He rapped loudly on the rickety screen door. Moments went by and I thought no one was home. Finally there was the sound of approaching footsteps on the wood floor inside and a young man appeared. He was in his early twenties and boasted a head of scraggly long brown hair. His clothing was typically the farmer style, and he had on heavy black boots covered with dust. “Jimmy Pineapple!” Dagwood said gleefully.“Hey, kiddo,” Jimmy replied, stepping onto the porch.“This is my friend, Jonah—the one I told you about.”Jimmy extended his hand toward me. “Hi.”I gingerly accepted his offering of palm-flesh. “Hello.” As quickly as prudent, I let my hand slide. Shaking hands wasn’t commonplace in the Inner States. The Japanese practice of bowing had mostly replaced handshakes. It was far more sanitary. “Dagwood says you got an old bot?”“Yes, a model 106, manufactured in 2022,” I replied.“Boy-howdy, that is an old one.”“What is the model you work with?”Jimmy skipped down the three steps and headed for a large red barn. “The one at work is a 118.”“Oh,” I said, feeling dismal.“But, I got a partial 110 here in the barn.”“Partial?”“It had an accident.”Behind, I could hear Dagwood giggle. “Accident?”“It was working the fields with my grandpa and it fell out of the tractor and got run over. After that, he didn’t buy another bot because it was getting too expensive to own and license them.” He opened a door and waved us inside. “You might be able to use some of the parts for your 106.”“You’re okay with that?”“Sure. This bot’s just been sitting around for years. I’d take it to the junkyard, but they’d want the papers for it.”“And you don’t have any?”“Nope. Grandpa lost ’em.”“I see.”“Dagwood said your daddy worked for Servidyne.”“Until the day he died.”“Sorry to hear that.”“They said it was an accident.”Jimmy went to a dark corner of the barn and paused for a moment. There was what I gathered to be a bot under a dusty blue tarp. “I keep to my own business. If you want the parts from this bot, that’s fine by me.” He pointed a finger directly toward my face. “Just don’t you ever tell me that you got it runnin’ again, okay?”I nodded. “I might never get it running.”He pulled off the tarp. “Here it is.”My eyes beheld a bot. Well, most of it. The head and part of the upper torso were smashed flat. I could even see the imprints of the tractor tires across it. Admittedly, it was kind of comical. The rest of the silver-colored bot remained intact. I only hoped the parts were close enough they would be interchangeable. “I don’t have any way of getting it back home, and I don’t want Grandpa Cranwinkle to know.”“You’re more than welcomed to come over and strip parts as needed.”“Dagwood said you might be able to get me new parts if I needed some.”Jimmy shook his head. “On a bot that old, it’s next to impossible.”“Ah, well, it was worth a shot.”He nudged the bot’s foot with his. “Why do you wanna have a bot?”I sighed and leaned against a massive old post. “Maybe I’m crazy, but I wanted to rebuild the bot so I could put my father’s memories inside it.”Jimmy eyed me. “You want your father back, huh?”I’m pretty sure the expression on my face told him the answer. “A boy needs his father. Abe Cranwinkle is a fine man, but he’s not your daddy.”
We rode for what seemed hours. I’m sure Dagwood was going far slower than he normally would for my benefit. After a couple of miles, I was feeling better about this outing. My hands were shaking less, and I had better control over the bike. The cars and large trucks screaming by still had me worried. Finally, when I thought I could pedal no more, we turned down a long gravel drive. The farm resembled Dagwood’s family farm; in fact, most of the farms in the area looked very similar. I wondered why. “Dagwood?”“Yeah?”“May I make an observation?”“Make anything you want.” He pulled the bike up near the large white farm house.I struggled to stop the awkward conveyance without looking too inept. “Why do many of the farms in the area look alike?”“Goes way back to the settlers. They came out here with only the technology they possessed. So they built the houses and the barns how they knew. Most of the metal buildings are newer.”“Settlers?”“Yeah, came here a couple hundred years ago.” “And everyone likes living in buildings that are so old?”“Sure! Don’t you think your grandpa’s farm house is cool?”“A bit creepy more like.”Dagwood hooked his toe against the bike frame and deployed the kickstand. I followed his lead. Then we tromped onto the wide, heavily aged porch. He rapped loudly on the rickety screen door. Moments went by and I thought no one was home. Finally there was the sound of approaching footsteps on the wood floor inside and a young man appeared. He was in his early twenties and boasted a head of scraggly long brown hair. His clothing was typically the farmer style, and he had on heavy black boots covered with dust. “Jimmy Pineapple!” Dagwood said gleefully.“Hey, kiddo,” Jimmy replied, stepping onto the porch.“This is my friend, Jonah—the one I told you about.”Jimmy extended his hand toward me. “Hi.”I gingerly accepted his offering of palm-flesh. “Hello.” As quickly as prudent, I let my hand slide. Shaking hands wasn’t commonplace in the Inner States. The Japanese practice of bowing had mostly replaced handshakes. It was far more sanitary. “Dagwood says you got an old bot?”“Yes, a model 106, manufactured in 2022,” I replied.“Boy-howdy, that is an old one.”“What is the model you work with?”Jimmy skipped down the three steps and headed for a large red barn. “The one at work is a 118.”“Oh,” I said, feeling dismal.“But, I got a partial 110 here in the barn.”“Partial?”“It had an accident.”Behind, I could hear Dagwood giggle. “Accident?”“It was working the fields with my grandpa and it fell out of the tractor and got run over. After that, he didn’t buy another bot because it was getting too expensive to own and license them.” He opened a door and waved us inside. “You might be able to use some of the parts for your 106.”“You’re okay with that?”“Sure. This bot’s just been sitting around for years. I’d take it to the junkyard, but they’d want the papers for it.”“And you don’t have any?”“Nope. Grandpa lost ’em.”“I see.”“Dagwood said your daddy worked for Servidyne.”“Until the day he died.”“Sorry to hear that.”“They said it was an accident.”Jimmy went to a dark corner of the barn and paused for a moment. There was what I gathered to be a bot under a dusty blue tarp. “I keep to my own business. If you want the parts from this bot, that’s fine by me.” He pointed a finger directly toward my face. “Just don’t you ever tell me that you got it runnin’ again, okay?”I nodded. “I might never get it running.”He pulled off the tarp. “Here it is.”My eyes beheld a bot. Well, most of it. The head and part of the upper torso were smashed flat. I could even see the imprints of the tractor tires across it. Admittedly, it was kind of comical. The rest of the silver-colored bot remained intact. I only hoped the parts were close enough they would be interchangeable. “I don’t have any way of getting it back home, and I don’t want Grandpa Cranwinkle to know.”“You’re more than welcomed to come over and strip parts as needed.”“Dagwood said you might be able to get me new parts if I needed some.”Jimmy shook his head. “On a bot that old, it’s next to impossible.”“Ah, well, it was worth a shot.”He nudged the bot’s foot with his. “Why do you wanna have a bot?”I sighed and leaned against a massive old post. “Maybe I’m crazy, but I wanted to rebuild the bot so I could put my father’s memories inside it.”Jimmy eyed me. “You want your father back, huh?”I’m pretty sure the expression on my face told him the answer. “A boy needs his father. Abe Cranwinkle is a fine man, but he’s not your daddy.”
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