Servo 15:2
Servo 15:2
That night, after supper, I went to the barn. My mission was a strange one. I wanted the bot’s faceplate. My reasons were obscure, even for me. After returning to the house, I went up to my room and closed the door. The memory core was tucked under the bed. I reached under and grabbed the shoe box containing it. Piling everything on the bed, I got my tablet and plugged it into the wall outlet. The battery was getting old and not able to hold a charge long. I doubted that I’d ever get a replacement. I went to the wardrobe and opened one of the burled walnut veneer doors. It was a massive piece of furniture: six feet tall, five feet wide, two feet deep, and very dark in color. Much of one wall was taken up by it. Inside the door was a mirror about three feet long. Some of the silver backing had peeled off, leaving dark splotches near some of the edges. Grandpa told me he’d bought it at an estate auction. Despite the age of the furniture, I loved my room and the privacy it afforded me. As I stood in front of the mirror, I studied my features. Those who knew my father said I looked quite a lot like him. Perhaps I did. I had the same blue eyes, sandy brown hair, and jaw line of my father. Of course my mother had blue eyes—in fact, everyone in the family did. I guess being GEEs meant we had a close blend of our parent’s genes. Rory had slightly darker hair than me, and Suz was blonde like our mother. Leaning closer to the mirror, I put a hand to my face and felt the warmth of my skin. Then I retrieved the bot faceplate from the bed and again appeared in the mirror. Slowly I brought the faceplate up. It was smooth, cold, and unfriendly. I pressed it to my face, wanting to become the bot. Gazing into the mirror, I saw my face replaced. Smooth soft skin became shiny hard metal; my lightly curved lips transformed into a slit for a mouth, and my delicate upturned nose, now just a bump. How unhuman I’d become. Deep inside, my motivation simmered. I wanted bots to become more human. Bots needed to have warmth, compassion, and a heartbeat. Had anyone in the family entered my room at that very moment, they would have thought me mad. Why was I wearing a bot’s face? To me, it all seemed illogically logical. I was attempting to channel my inner designer. Maybe I was a bit crazy, I don’t know, but I needed to feel what it was like to be a bot. After several moments of wearing the face, I removed it and went to the bed. Turning on my tablet, I waited for it to boot up. I took the memory core from the box and connected the interface cable to the tablet. A little green light on the core lit up. That was normal. At first when I’d started working on the core, a red light had shone, indicating damaged or corrupted lines of code. After weeks of work, the core had finally returned to functionality. Or had it? The bot was not working and everything Otto checked could not produce an error. So it had to be me.I opened a program and began reviewing each line. It was like staring at alphabet soup. Grandma made excellent chicken alphabet soup, it was one of my favorites. This mess was far from fun and tasty. My eyes began to bug out after half an hour of work. I knew I better stop or risk missing something. I scrolled through the lines slowly.
<setup/boot/2334569/cut/log98/mode/trans5454/fin><setup/boot/2334570/cut/log98/mode/trans5455/fin><setup/boot/2334571/cut/log98/mode/trans5456/fin><setup/boot/2334572/cut/log98/mode/trans5457/fin><setup/boot/2334573/cut/log98/mode/trans5458/fin>
And on and on it went. The more I checked, the less I found wrong. Why would this bot not function? I felt like an island: alone and with no one to discuss the code. Otto was good, but he’d never dealt with the very private inner workings of a memory core. I wondered if he’d be able to get me a new one. Probably not. I’d be stuck trying to fix this one until I graduated school. Feeling utterly hopeless, I closed the program and disconnected the core. I returned it to the box and put the lid on. Then I grabbed a memory stick and plugged it into the tablet. Dad, please help me.I started the playback and listened carefully. My father never kept secrets from us, not even on special occasions. I remember fondly my sixth birthday. He took us to a wonderful amusement park in Florida. The sun felt so good on my face. How I missed it now as winter raged on. And I miss seeing my mother and father so happy together. I listened to his words until it was time for bed. Once in a while, Grandma would come up and “tuck” us in for the night. I wasn’t sure why she did it; perhaps it was to make sure we actually went to sleep. There was a light tapping on my door.“Yes?”“Come to tuck you in, Jonah,” Grandma said.“Okay.” I quickly flipped the bedspread over the bot’s faceplate.She opened the door and approached. “You’re not ready for bed.”“I was just about to change.”“Well, then I’ll just give you a good-night kiss.”As she leaned down to me, I listened intently. No ticking, no whirring. She was not a bot and would never be a bot. How she accomplished everything she did on a daily basis boggled my mind. Her warm lips touched my forehead. “Get a good night’s sleep.”“Yes, Grandma.”She straightened up. “Were you listening to your father?”I nodded.“He was such a good husband to your mother.”“And a good father to us.”She smiled broadly. “The best!”
That night, after supper, I went to the barn. My mission was a strange one. I wanted the bot’s faceplate. My reasons were obscure, even for me. After returning to the house, I went up to my room and closed the door. The memory core was tucked under the bed. I reached under and grabbed the shoe box containing it. Piling everything on the bed, I got my tablet and plugged it into the wall outlet. The battery was getting old and not able to hold a charge long. I doubted that I’d ever get a replacement. I went to the wardrobe and opened one of the burled walnut veneer doors. It was a massive piece of furniture: six feet tall, five feet wide, two feet deep, and very dark in color. Much of one wall was taken up by it. Inside the door was a mirror about three feet long. Some of the silver backing had peeled off, leaving dark splotches near some of the edges. Grandpa told me he’d bought it at an estate auction. Despite the age of the furniture, I loved my room and the privacy it afforded me. As I stood in front of the mirror, I studied my features. Those who knew my father said I looked quite a lot like him. Perhaps I did. I had the same blue eyes, sandy brown hair, and jaw line of my father. Of course my mother had blue eyes—in fact, everyone in the family did. I guess being GEEs meant we had a close blend of our parent’s genes. Rory had slightly darker hair than me, and Suz was blonde like our mother. Leaning closer to the mirror, I put a hand to my face and felt the warmth of my skin. Then I retrieved the bot faceplate from the bed and again appeared in the mirror. Slowly I brought the faceplate up. It was smooth, cold, and unfriendly. I pressed it to my face, wanting to become the bot. Gazing into the mirror, I saw my face replaced. Smooth soft skin became shiny hard metal; my lightly curved lips transformed into a slit for a mouth, and my delicate upturned nose, now just a bump. How unhuman I’d become. Deep inside, my motivation simmered. I wanted bots to become more human. Bots needed to have warmth, compassion, and a heartbeat. Had anyone in the family entered my room at that very moment, they would have thought me mad. Why was I wearing a bot’s face? To me, it all seemed illogically logical. I was attempting to channel my inner designer. Maybe I was a bit crazy, I don’t know, but I needed to feel what it was like to be a bot. After several moments of wearing the face, I removed it and went to the bed. Turning on my tablet, I waited for it to boot up. I took the memory core from the box and connected the interface cable to the tablet. A little green light on the core lit up. That was normal. At first when I’d started working on the core, a red light had shone, indicating damaged or corrupted lines of code. After weeks of work, the core had finally returned to functionality. Or had it? The bot was not working and everything Otto checked could not produce an error. So it had to be me.I opened a program and began reviewing each line. It was like staring at alphabet soup. Grandma made excellent chicken alphabet soup, it was one of my favorites. This mess was far from fun and tasty. My eyes began to bug out after half an hour of work. I knew I better stop or risk missing something. I scrolled through the lines slowly.
<setup/boot/2334569/cut/log98/mode/trans5454/fin><setup/boot/2334570/cut/log98/mode/trans5455/fin><setup/boot/2334571/cut/log98/mode/trans5456/fin><setup/boot/2334572/cut/log98/mode/trans5457/fin><setup/boot/2334573/cut/log98/mode/trans5458/fin>
And on and on it went. The more I checked, the less I found wrong. Why would this bot not function? I felt like an island: alone and with no one to discuss the code. Otto was good, but he’d never dealt with the very private inner workings of a memory core. I wondered if he’d be able to get me a new one. Probably not. I’d be stuck trying to fix this one until I graduated school. Feeling utterly hopeless, I closed the program and disconnected the core. I returned it to the box and put the lid on. Then I grabbed a memory stick and plugged it into the tablet. Dad, please help me.I started the playback and listened carefully. My father never kept secrets from us, not even on special occasions. I remember fondly my sixth birthday. He took us to a wonderful amusement park in Florida. The sun felt so good on my face. How I missed it now as winter raged on. And I miss seeing my mother and father so happy together. I listened to his words until it was time for bed. Once in a while, Grandma would come up and “tuck” us in for the night. I wasn’t sure why she did it; perhaps it was to make sure we actually went to sleep. There was a light tapping on my door.“Yes?”“Come to tuck you in, Jonah,” Grandma said.“Okay.” I quickly flipped the bedspread over the bot’s faceplate.She opened the door and approached. “You’re not ready for bed.”“I was just about to change.”“Well, then I’ll just give you a good-night kiss.”As she leaned down to me, I listened intently. No ticking, no whirring. She was not a bot and would never be a bot. How she accomplished everything she did on a daily basis boggled my mind. Her warm lips touched my forehead. “Get a good night’s sleep.”“Yes, Grandma.”She straightened up. “Were you listening to your father?”I nodded.“He was such a good husband to your mother.”“And a good father to us.”She smiled broadly. “The best!”
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