Servo 13:1
Servo 13:1
By mid-afternoon the great Nebraska snowball fight was over. Rory and I lay in a huge pile of smashed snowballs. Behind the other berm Dagwood and Otto were probably doing the same. I don’t think we’d ever laughed so much in our entire lives. What amazing fun. As much as I grumbled about winter, there still seemed valuable playtime that could be enjoyed when the temperatures dropped into the 20s.I sat up and began brushing show off my coat. “Dagwood?”“Yeah?”“How did the battle go?”He surprised me by plopping down in the snow next to me. I hadn’t heard him approach.“Helluva fight!”Grandma must have had ESP. She opened the door and hollered: “Boys? Do you want some hot chocolate?”Music to my ears! I struggled to stand and helped Rory up. “Yes!” I called loudly. We met Otto halfway to the house. He was an odd boy—if you could call him a boy. At age eighteen, he was quite content to live at home. His hair was raven-feather black; his skin, on the pale side with dark eyes. He was thin as a rail and always wore black or dark clothing. To me, he didn’t look like he belonged in the Outer States. Well, maybe he didn’t look like he belonged in the Inner States either. But Otto was sharp as a tack and I wagered that his IQ was close to Rory’s. “Good game,” Otto said, walking up the steps.“I enjoyed it,” I replied, nudging open the door.The rich aroma of chocolate filled the house. I took in a huge breath. No, not just hot chocolate; Grandma made cookies. Had I died and gone to heaven? She knew the secret to our hearts, and I love her dearly for it.With snow gear removed and piled haphazardly about the entry hall, we thundered into the kitchen, licking lips and eager to thaw out. I loved Grandma’s kitchen. It held a love and warmth that I’d never experienced with any other food preparation chamber. Kitchens in the Inner States were cold, sterile, and utilitarian in nature. Here, the only thing that might have made Grandma’s kitchen better would be an old-fashioned wood stove like Dagwood’s mother had in their kitchen. Then we could sip our cocoa and thaw our frozen toes by the flickering flames. I sat down and immediately grabbed the mug that was placed in front of me. It burned my frosty fingers but I didn’t care. The sting reminded me of my place in humanity: fragile, transient, and sensitive. “Did you boys have fun?” Grandma asked, bringing a plate of hot, soft cookies.“Loads!” Rory said, snatching a cookie before the plate even hit the old wooden table. Dagwood and Otto were more reserved and politely waited until Grandma removed her hand before gingerly plucking a cookie. “Thank you for the goodies, Grandma Cranwinkle,” Dagwood said, bringing the gooey delight toward his mouth. “You’re welcome, boys.”Otto leaned toward me and kept his voice soft. “To the barn next?”I nodded. Picking up the mug, I silently wished the frothy beverage would cool some so I could drink it. Grandma had even put mini marshmallows on top for us. All my life I’d known my parents loved me. They said it, they showed it, and I felt it despite the coldness of our society. But somehow, Grandma exuded a love and warmth I’d never felt. If she were indeed a machine, she was one of the finest bots I’d ever encountered. My dream had taken on new dimensions. I didn’t just want to create service bots; I wanted to create the finest bot in the world. Reading Ray Bradbury’s story had inspired me. I saw a vision of a bot that would fully integrate into a family, not one that would stand at the fringes and serve their masters. Bots were cold. This new bot must be warm. It must be able to carry on a conversation, interact, nurture, bond, and protect. It would be the perfect parent.Suz wandered in and sat down. She gave Otto a sidelong glance. He tried his best to manage a polite smile. It was then I noticed something about my sister. Suz’s pouty scowl had softened somewhat. Had she taken interest in Otto? They were close to the same age after all. I did my best to disguise my curiosity, eyes flicking back and forth as Suz and Otto feigned indifference to each other. Was I really witnessing cracks forming in her impenetrable walls? I’d never formally introduced Otto, but I’m sure Suz heard us talking about him.“Uh, Suz, this is Otto. He’s Dagwood’s cousin.”“Oh, yes,” she replied in a dull tone.Maybe I was wrong about her curiosity. It didn’t matter; Otto was my friend and he was helping me with the bot. Despite his interesting personality, we got along quite well. And today I was really hoping he’d help me with the memory core. It had become the bane of my existence. I wanted it fixed. I wanted it working! For months Rory and I toiled painstakingly putting the bot back together. We cleaned it, we rewired it, and we even managed to keep a family of mice from trying to move back in. I’d spent all my allowance on parts. But it still had yet to move a mechanical muscle.Once the cocoa and cookies were gone, we geared back up in heavy clothes and trudged to the barn. With the bitter cold, we couldn’t work long. Fingers would numb and soon we’d be dropping parts on the dusty floor. Grandpa had a heater in the barn, but he refused to buy kerosene to make it function. Secretly I think he didn’t want us out there for very long. And our work on the bot didn’t exactly make him happy. We were breaking the law on his property. Otto told me that if the “authorities” found out, they could—under the current law, seize the bot, the property, and everything on it should they so desire. Grandma and Grandpa could see jail time and us kids would be sent to a home for delinquents. Despite all the fear, we persisted. I pulled back the cover on the bot. The heavy canvas was stiff from the cold. My eyes met with the dead eyes of the bot. How I longed to bring life to them. From my reading, the Model 106 had amber eyes that would faintly glow. I found that curious. Newer bots had eyes that were constructed of small circular computer screens with mega-pixel capacity. The makers had attempted to give the bots some human characteristics, but I feel they sadly failed. Bots still had a composite and metal frame that was exposed. There was no attempt made at creating skin, hair, or other human-distinguishing features. The bots of my generation were so unlike those of Bradbury’s story, and I wanted them to be like his. But how?“Looking good,” Otto said as he ran his hand over the bot’s chest plate. It was still a bit tarnished; Rory and I had been unable to scrub it clean. “Getting there,” I replied, carefully removing the face plate and exposing the inner workings of the bot’s head. Rory and Dagwood stood close by watching.“You say you can’t get the memory core to work?” “Nope. I think there’s a part or two missing.”Otto took a small headlamp from his pocket and flipped it over his head, turning it on. The light was blinding. “Let’s take a look…” He poked around with a needle-like probe, inspecting my rewiring job. “Were you able to get a connection with your tablet?”“I tried, but I don’t think I have the right cable.”“Hmm. I’ll have to dig through my drawer at home and see what I’ve got.” “Appreciate it.”Otto stopped when he reached the area I’d questioned. “Yup, you’re missing the junction interface with the neural gain feed.”“Crap,” I said, “But not having that shouldn’t affect the memory core.”“Ah, it actually does. There’s a tiny little servo that creates the link—and it’s found in the junction interface.”“Can you get us one?” Rory piped up. He’d been unusually quiet while we worked.Otto went to the window and looked out. Big snowflakes were once again falling. “I can try, but it’s a really hard part to get.”I folded my arms. “Figures!”“What about Jimmy Pineapple?” Dagwood asked. “Maybe, but it’s too stormy to get over to his place.”“We might have to wait for a while. Let the snow melt some,” Rory said as he peered into the bot’s “brain” cavity.A long, low groan escaped me. I wanted so much to make this bot function that it was driving me insane. Just hearing my father on the data sticks wasn’t enough. This bot needed to become the essence of him. He was taken from me too early in life. I—we needed a father. “Thanks, Otto. See what you can do, okay?” “Sure. I’ll give you a call in a few days.”
By mid-afternoon the great Nebraska snowball fight was over. Rory and I lay in a huge pile of smashed snowballs. Behind the other berm Dagwood and Otto were probably doing the same. I don’t think we’d ever laughed so much in our entire lives. What amazing fun. As much as I grumbled about winter, there still seemed valuable playtime that could be enjoyed when the temperatures dropped into the 20s.I sat up and began brushing show off my coat. “Dagwood?”“Yeah?”“How did the battle go?”He surprised me by plopping down in the snow next to me. I hadn’t heard him approach.“Helluva fight!”Grandma must have had ESP. She opened the door and hollered: “Boys? Do you want some hot chocolate?”Music to my ears! I struggled to stand and helped Rory up. “Yes!” I called loudly. We met Otto halfway to the house. He was an odd boy—if you could call him a boy. At age eighteen, he was quite content to live at home. His hair was raven-feather black; his skin, on the pale side with dark eyes. He was thin as a rail and always wore black or dark clothing. To me, he didn’t look like he belonged in the Outer States. Well, maybe he didn’t look like he belonged in the Inner States either. But Otto was sharp as a tack and I wagered that his IQ was close to Rory’s. “Good game,” Otto said, walking up the steps.“I enjoyed it,” I replied, nudging open the door.The rich aroma of chocolate filled the house. I took in a huge breath. No, not just hot chocolate; Grandma made cookies. Had I died and gone to heaven? She knew the secret to our hearts, and I love her dearly for it.With snow gear removed and piled haphazardly about the entry hall, we thundered into the kitchen, licking lips and eager to thaw out. I loved Grandma’s kitchen. It held a love and warmth that I’d never experienced with any other food preparation chamber. Kitchens in the Inner States were cold, sterile, and utilitarian in nature. Here, the only thing that might have made Grandma’s kitchen better would be an old-fashioned wood stove like Dagwood’s mother had in their kitchen. Then we could sip our cocoa and thaw our frozen toes by the flickering flames. I sat down and immediately grabbed the mug that was placed in front of me. It burned my frosty fingers but I didn’t care. The sting reminded me of my place in humanity: fragile, transient, and sensitive. “Did you boys have fun?” Grandma asked, bringing a plate of hot, soft cookies.“Loads!” Rory said, snatching a cookie before the plate even hit the old wooden table. Dagwood and Otto were more reserved and politely waited until Grandma removed her hand before gingerly plucking a cookie. “Thank you for the goodies, Grandma Cranwinkle,” Dagwood said, bringing the gooey delight toward his mouth. “You’re welcome, boys.”Otto leaned toward me and kept his voice soft. “To the barn next?”I nodded. Picking up the mug, I silently wished the frothy beverage would cool some so I could drink it. Grandma had even put mini marshmallows on top for us. All my life I’d known my parents loved me. They said it, they showed it, and I felt it despite the coldness of our society. But somehow, Grandma exuded a love and warmth I’d never felt. If she were indeed a machine, she was one of the finest bots I’d ever encountered. My dream had taken on new dimensions. I didn’t just want to create service bots; I wanted to create the finest bot in the world. Reading Ray Bradbury’s story had inspired me. I saw a vision of a bot that would fully integrate into a family, not one that would stand at the fringes and serve their masters. Bots were cold. This new bot must be warm. It must be able to carry on a conversation, interact, nurture, bond, and protect. It would be the perfect parent.Suz wandered in and sat down. She gave Otto a sidelong glance. He tried his best to manage a polite smile. It was then I noticed something about my sister. Suz’s pouty scowl had softened somewhat. Had she taken interest in Otto? They were close to the same age after all. I did my best to disguise my curiosity, eyes flicking back and forth as Suz and Otto feigned indifference to each other. Was I really witnessing cracks forming in her impenetrable walls? I’d never formally introduced Otto, but I’m sure Suz heard us talking about him.“Uh, Suz, this is Otto. He’s Dagwood’s cousin.”“Oh, yes,” she replied in a dull tone.Maybe I was wrong about her curiosity. It didn’t matter; Otto was my friend and he was helping me with the bot. Despite his interesting personality, we got along quite well. And today I was really hoping he’d help me with the memory core. It had become the bane of my existence. I wanted it fixed. I wanted it working! For months Rory and I toiled painstakingly putting the bot back together. We cleaned it, we rewired it, and we even managed to keep a family of mice from trying to move back in. I’d spent all my allowance on parts. But it still had yet to move a mechanical muscle.Once the cocoa and cookies were gone, we geared back up in heavy clothes and trudged to the barn. With the bitter cold, we couldn’t work long. Fingers would numb and soon we’d be dropping parts on the dusty floor. Grandpa had a heater in the barn, but he refused to buy kerosene to make it function. Secretly I think he didn’t want us out there for very long. And our work on the bot didn’t exactly make him happy. We were breaking the law on his property. Otto told me that if the “authorities” found out, they could—under the current law, seize the bot, the property, and everything on it should they so desire. Grandma and Grandpa could see jail time and us kids would be sent to a home for delinquents. Despite all the fear, we persisted. I pulled back the cover on the bot. The heavy canvas was stiff from the cold. My eyes met with the dead eyes of the bot. How I longed to bring life to them. From my reading, the Model 106 had amber eyes that would faintly glow. I found that curious. Newer bots had eyes that were constructed of small circular computer screens with mega-pixel capacity. The makers had attempted to give the bots some human characteristics, but I feel they sadly failed. Bots still had a composite and metal frame that was exposed. There was no attempt made at creating skin, hair, or other human-distinguishing features. The bots of my generation were so unlike those of Bradbury’s story, and I wanted them to be like his. But how?“Looking good,” Otto said as he ran his hand over the bot’s chest plate. It was still a bit tarnished; Rory and I had been unable to scrub it clean. “Getting there,” I replied, carefully removing the face plate and exposing the inner workings of the bot’s head. Rory and Dagwood stood close by watching.“You say you can’t get the memory core to work?” “Nope. I think there’s a part or two missing.”Otto took a small headlamp from his pocket and flipped it over his head, turning it on. The light was blinding. “Let’s take a look…” He poked around with a needle-like probe, inspecting my rewiring job. “Were you able to get a connection with your tablet?”“I tried, but I don’t think I have the right cable.”“Hmm. I’ll have to dig through my drawer at home and see what I’ve got.” “Appreciate it.”Otto stopped when he reached the area I’d questioned. “Yup, you’re missing the junction interface with the neural gain feed.”“Crap,” I said, “But not having that shouldn’t affect the memory core.”“Ah, it actually does. There’s a tiny little servo that creates the link—and it’s found in the junction interface.”“Can you get us one?” Rory piped up. He’d been unusually quiet while we worked.Otto went to the window and looked out. Big snowflakes were once again falling. “I can try, but it’s a really hard part to get.”I folded my arms. “Figures!”“What about Jimmy Pineapple?” Dagwood asked. “Maybe, but it’s too stormy to get over to his place.”“We might have to wait for a while. Let the snow melt some,” Rory said as he peered into the bot’s “brain” cavity.A long, low groan escaped me. I wanted so much to make this bot function that it was driving me insane. Just hearing my father on the data sticks wasn’t enough. This bot needed to become the essence of him. He was taken from me too early in life. I—we needed a father. “Thanks, Otto. See what you can do, okay?” “Sure. I’ll give you a call in a few days.”
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