Servo 11:3
Servo 11:3
Being bedridden for nearly a week had its ups and downs. The upside was I had plenty of time to spend with Dad. The power cord for my tablet was stretched to the max, but I could keep it plugged in and resting on the edge of the bed. And the boxes of data sticks were tucked into the nightstand—within easy reach. I spent many hours listening to his log entries, my eyes closed, envisioning him sitting at his desk, how I’d seen him so many times in the evening after he came home from work. The more words I heard, the more I missed him, the more my resolve grew and I knew I had to bringing the bot back to life.The definite downside to being so ill was Grandma wasn’t about to let us out of the house. No trips to the frigid barn to work on the bot. I wanted to be well so I could continue my work. The bot’s memory core was still under my bed. I’d found an old shoebox and placed it inside to hopefully eliminate any suspicion Grandma might have when she was in our rooms. I could tell she didn’t like bots. Any mention I made of them received a glowering expression on her part. After a few times I decided it was just best to not say anything about what was going on in the barn. Perhaps she was in a state of ignorance is bliss, I can’t be sure. As I lie in bed, my head finally beginning to feel like it belonged to me again; I picked up my tablet and scrolled through my father’s log entries. I was listening to the year 2045. That was a very good year for father—he’d invented the cerebral actuation servo, or as he called it, CAS. It wasn’t anything special by today’s standards, but it revolutionized how a bot’s neural-electrical signals were fed throughout its body. Consisting of a very tiny motor and a of couple micro switches, the CAS was the main functioning system of the bot’s neural network. Earlier bots had a clunky system referred to as the neural gain feed. It consisted of thousands of tiny wires that ran all over the bot’s body. As a signal from the memory core was sent out, there was a single wire that ran to the part being moved. Needless to say, that when a bot was damaged, it was far too simple to accidently reconnect the wrong wires together and the bot would do strange things. Father told me one time he mixed up a couple of wires and the bot, instead of raising its arm, as instructed, would jump up and down! The CAS fixed those problems. It made my father famous in the world of robotics. I don’t really remember any of that; I was just three years old at that time. All I know is there were many elaborate parties we were taken to—Suz and me, and lots of fuss made of us. There is one faded memory I do have of a party: an older man picked me up, held me in his arms, and declared that I would be the next great robotics scientist. My father beamed with pride, I remember the smile on his face. He was so thrilled to hear that. I bet secretly he wished it would come true. Now, at this tender time in my life, I wanted so badly to please my father. I wanted him to be here with me as I made advances in his work. Could I? Well, not with the deplorable working conditions I had, and a bot that was ancient. Maybe after I was grown and found my way back to the Inner States, I’d get a job at Servidyne and pick up where he left off. That seemed like a million years and a million miles away right now. I sat motionless for a moment while contemplating the next installment of my father’s log. Ever so slowly, Rory and I had been rebuilding the old bot. At first we started at the top, but then realized that parts were hard to come by. So we took a different approach and started at the bottom by rewiring the legs and torso. That alone had wasted several months of precious time. I wanted desperately for the bot to function. There was something I wished to breathe into it.Sighing deeply, I rested my head against the headboard and clicked play.
“Log entry number 185. August 10th, 2045. Today was an excellent day. After three successful trials on the CAS, I’m ready to demonstrate it to Servidyne management. I think they will be very pleased with this new system…I have experienced one difficulty: the main drive actuator tends to stick once in a while—”
I giggled upon hearing this. In robotics history class at our former school, this was a test given to students. They were required to figure out the acceptable method for remedying the sticking servo. As the son of the inventor, it wasn’t exactly fair of me to ace the test having prior knowledge and expertise from the creator himself. My instructor was surprised that I had the answer—and the correct answer, so quickly. I guess she thought I was an absolute brain-child. But my short-lived glory was cut even shorter when father came to pick us up from school one day. My instructor immediately recognized him, and subsequent tests for me became increasingly difficult.
“I feel that with time and advancements in technology, the CAS will eventually become a thing of the past like the neural gain feed that my predecessor and mentor, Dr. William Benke, designed. His work in the field of robotics was years ahead of his time. I only wish I could have had more time spent with him before his untimely death.”
My heart froze. What did he just say? Untimely death? How convenient that seemed. A brilliant scientist dies before his time. Shivers went down my spine. This whole mysterious case just got even more mysterious. Had I stumbled into a conspiracy? Or was this just absolute coincidence? Knocking on my door snapped me into the real world. “Yes?” I called.“Can I come in?” Rory asked.“Yes.”The door opened and he wandered in, still looking pale from his bout with influenza. “What are you doing?”“Listening to Dad.”“Oh.” He climbed onto the bed. “Have you been able to access the bot’s memory core?”“Nope. I’ve tried with no luck. All I can think is we’re missing a part.”“Missing what? It looked like it was all there.”I set my tablet aside and sluggishly climbed from bed. My feet, upon reaching the floor, slowly gave way allowing the rest of my body to slouch miserably on the hardwood. Most of the aches had left me, but I was shattered from fighting the virus. Who would think that something so microscopic could wreak such havoc upon a life form thousands of times its size? With care, I inched under the bed and retrieved the shoe box. Normally it was barely a feather-weight, but in my compromised physical state, it felt like a brick of pure cobalt. I sat it on the bed and climbed back into my plush divan. My fingers rested on the edges of the box top. “If we are missing a part, it could be difficult to get.” Rory motioned for the core. “All that work would be for naught.” I handed it over. “Maybe not…”“What do you mean?”“Dagwood came by for a visit.”“Yeah, heard him.”“He’s got someone that has an old 108.”Rory perked up. “Really?”“A cousin or something. He said they get together often and next time he’s going to bring him over and introduce us.” “Excellent!”
Being bedridden for nearly a week had its ups and downs. The upside was I had plenty of time to spend with Dad. The power cord for my tablet was stretched to the max, but I could keep it plugged in and resting on the edge of the bed. And the boxes of data sticks were tucked into the nightstand—within easy reach. I spent many hours listening to his log entries, my eyes closed, envisioning him sitting at his desk, how I’d seen him so many times in the evening after he came home from work. The more words I heard, the more I missed him, the more my resolve grew and I knew I had to bringing the bot back to life.The definite downside to being so ill was Grandma wasn’t about to let us out of the house. No trips to the frigid barn to work on the bot. I wanted to be well so I could continue my work. The bot’s memory core was still under my bed. I’d found an old shoebox and placed it inside to hopefully eliminate any suspicion Grandma might have when she was in our rooms. I could tell she didn’t like bots. Any mention I made of them received a glowering expression on her part. After a few times I decided it was just best to not say anything about what was going on in the barn. Perhaps she was in a state of ignorance is bliss, I can’t be sure. As I lie in bed, my head finally beginning to feel like it belonged to me again; I picked up my tablet and scrolled through my father’s log entries. I was listening to the year 2045. That was a very good year for father—he’d invented the cerebral actuation servo, or as he called it, CAS. It wasn’t anything special by today’s standards, but it revolutionized how a bot’s neural-electrical signals were fed throughout its body. Consisting of a very tiny motor and a of couple micro switches, the CAS was the main functioning system of the bot’s neural network. Earlier bots had a clunky system referred to as the neural gain feed. It consisted of thousands of tiny wires that ran all over the bot’s body. As a signal from the memory core was sent out, there was a single wire that ran to the part being moved. Needless to say, that when a bot was damaged, it was far too simple to accidently reconnect the wrong wires together and the bot would do strange things. Father told me one time he mixed up a couple of wires and the bot, instead of raising its arm, as instructed, would jump up and down! The CAS fixed those problems. It made my father famous in the world of robotics. I don’t really remember any of that; I was just three years old at that time. All I know is there were many elaborate parties we were taken to—Suz and me, and lots of fuss made of us. There is one faded memory I do have of a party: an older man picked me up, held me in his arms, and declared that I would be the next great robotics scientist. My father beamed with pride, I remember the smile on his face. He was so thrilled to hear that. I bet secretly he wished it would come true. Now, at this tender time in my life, I wanted so badly to please my father. I wanted him to be here with me as I made advances in his work. Could I? Well, not with the deplorable working conditions I had, and a bot that was ancient. Maybe after I was grown and found my way back to the Inner States, I’d get a job at Servidyne and pick up where he left off. That seemed like a million years and a million miles away right now. I sat motionless for a moment while contemplating the next installment of my father’s log. Ever so slowly, Rory and I had been rebuilding the old bot. At first we started at the top, but then realized that parts were hard to come by. So we took a different approach and started at the bottom by rewiring the legs and torso. That alone had wasted several months of precious time. I wanted desperately for the bot to function. There was something I wished to breathe into it.Sighing deeply, I rested my head against the headboard and clicked play.
“Log entry number 185. August 10th, 2045. Today was an excellent day. After three successful trials on the CAS, I’m ready to demonstrate it to Servidyne management. I think they will be very pleased with this new system…I have experienced one difficulty: the main drive actuator tends to stick once in a while—”
I giggled upon hearing this. In robotics history class at our former school, this was a test given to students. They were required to figure out the acceptable method for remedying the sticking servo. As the son of the inventor, it wasn’t exactly fair of me to ace the test having prior knowledge and expertise from the creator himself. My instructor was surprised that I had the answer—and the correct answer, so quickly. I guess she thought I was an absolute brain-child. But my short-lived glory was cut even shorter when father came to pick us up from school one day. My instructor immediately recognized him, and subsequent tests for me became increasingly difficult.
“I feel that with time and advancements in technology, the CAS will eventually become a thing of the past like the neural gain feed that my predecessor and mentor, Dr. William Benke, designed. His work in the field of robotics was years ahead of his time. I only wish I could have had more time spent with him before his untimely death.”
My heart froze. What did he just say? Untimely death? How convenient that seemed. A brilliant scientist dies before his time. Shivers went down my spine. This whole mysterious case just got even more mysterious. Had I stumbled into a conspiracy? Or was this just absolute coincidence? Knocking on my door snapped me into the real world. “Yes?” I called.“Can I come in?” Rory asked.“Yes.”The door opened and he wandered in, still looking pale from his bout with influenza. “What are you doing?”“Listening to Dad.”“Oh.” He climbed onto the bed. “Have you been able to access the bot’s memory core?”“Nope. I’ve tried with no luck. All I can think is we’re missing a part.”“Missing what? It looked like it was all there.”I set my tablet aside and sluggishly climbed from bed. My feet, upon reaching the floor, slowly gave way allowing the rest of my body to slouch miserably on the hardwood. Most of the aches had left me, but I was shattered from fighting the virus. Who would think that something so microscopic could wreak such havoc upon a life form thousands of times its size? With care, I inched under the bed and retrieved the shoe box. Normally it was barely a feather-weight, but in my compromised physical state, it felt like a brick of pure cobalt. I sat it on the bed and climbed back into my plush divan. My fingers rested on the edges of the box top. “If we are missing a part, it could be difficult to get.” Rory motioned for the core. “All that work would be for naught.” I handed it over. “Maybe not…”“What do you mean?”“Dagwood came by for a visit.”“Yeah, heard him.”“He’s got someone that has an old 108.”Rory perked up. “Really?”“A cousin or something. He said they get together often and next time he’s going to bring him over and introduce us.” “Excellent!”
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