It was published in a local short story magazine and won first place in it's category. It may not be a masterpiece, but it's a fun little story that I'm quite proud of, if I do say so myself. And I hope you will like it as much as my friends and I do.
OTTO
By William Bowles
It was another gray
day in Industry City, and as always, the morning found Otto pushing
his old steel-mesh supply cart from house to house.
Despite the
distances he had to walk each day, he rather enjoyed his job. It was
not what you'd call a dream job. Or a nice job. Or even a respectable
job. But it was a job. A real, legitimate, occupation. Most others
like him would never achieve anything in life, working as servants or
manual laborers: slaves in all but name.
When he reached the
next house on his route, he approached the front door and pulled the
cart up just behind him and to one side. He knocked three times on
the door and waited patiently for a reply. It wasn't long before the
door opened to reveal a curly-haired, middle aged woman. She looked
at Otto with a slightly puzzled expression, but listened nonetheless.
“Evvvning ma’am.”
Otto greeted in a friendly tone.
“Good
evening....” she said, unsure of how to respond.
“My nammmme is
Otto. Are you havinggg agoodday?”
“Yes, I am. Thank
you for asking. What can I do for you?”
“It’s nnnot
what youcando for me,” Otto said, “it’s what I can do for
yooou.”
“Oh?” She
looked behind him and saw the cart. “Are you selling something?”
It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure out his agenda at this
point. He gave his regular sales pitch, displaying various trinkets,
devices, tools, and parts. It was all mechanical goods. People in
Industry City would basically buy three things from mobile venders:
mechanical goods, edible goods, and subscriptions to magazines that
would never show up.
Although she found
nothing she needed, she gave him a tip. According to another of
Otto's philosophies, these small donations were, in a way, better
than sales. For one, they are given out of good will rather than for
personal gain, which cheered up the young salesman on hard days.
Secondly, they did not deplete inventory.
Meeting a friendly
person always improved Otto’s mood, and gave him the courage to
keep going on through rough times. Some days he needed all the
support he could get.
When Otto knocked
on the next door, the resident seemed to stall as long as he could,
no doubt waiting to see if the visitor would leave of his own accord.
Finally, however, the door opened. The man was large, unshaven, and
not happy at all to see Otto.
“Gooood
eveningsir!” Otto said. “Howareyou?”
Otto could already
tell the man was uninterested, but he had to ask regardless.
“Nope. Sorry. I
don’t buy from robots.” The man said plainly, his apology being
nothing more than an empty word, most likely spoken unaware.
“But sir, if
you’d jussst...” Otto said in as friendly a voice as he could
muster.
“I don’t buy
from robots.” The resident said, with finality, and closed the
door. It wasn’t even slammed, just closed, as if a full slam was
more effort than the mechanical vendor was worth.
Otto was left
standing at the door step, dejected and embarassed. This sort of
treatment, though unfair, was not uncommon.
Despite his
hardships, a robot’s lot was not as bad in those days as it had
been in years past. He in particular was better off than most of his
kind. Even so, rejection hurt him as much as it would a man of flesh
and blood.
The fact that sales
had been down didn’t help matters. His inventory was beginning to
run low and he hadn’t received any supplies in a long time.
As sales continued
to escape him, even he--usually so perky--was beginning to lose
confidence. But a ray of light came to him at that time, personified
by a familiar face.
Lewis was a
distance down the road, and walked quickly towards Otto, waving to
catch his attention. He too was a salesman; one of the few that had
managed to escape the factory work of common machines. The encounter
brought Otto some confidence.
“Hey there,
Otto!” Lewis said cheerfully as he approached. He was a V
twenty-four: Mk2, a newer model of android than Otto, a V
twenty-three. The two were of very similar outward appearance, but
the improved twenty-four had an upgraded voice card that was more
durable than Otto's, which was already damaged.
“Hello
Lllllewisss.” Otto said, his mood already beginning to lighten.
“Are you alright
Otto? Something seems to be troubling you.” Lewis inquired. “Have
sales been down?”
“Twentyyyyy
percentanddropping.”
“Aren’t you due
for a re-supply?”
“Prrrobably not.”
And then, for optimism sake added “Maybe withinthemonth...”
“My sales are up
12.66 percent this month. Maybe you just need a break. I know you
work all day.”
“I’m ok-k-k---
ay.” Otto insisted. His argument was unconvincing.
“You really don’t
sound too good.” Lewis said to him. “You remember Bart, right?”
“He raaaan like
clockwork.”
“Yes.” Lewis
agreed. “And no one has heard from him in months. No doubt he wore
himself out and short circuited.”
“You don’t,
don’t, donnnnn’tknowthat.”
“Listen to you,
Otto. You’re about to blow that old voice card of yours yourself.
Let’s take some time off. It’ll do you some good.”
Otto agreed to take
a break. To Lewis he seemed reluctant, but in fact he welcomed the
change from routine. But Otto was a hard worker, and he only allowed
himself rests when necessary. Within the hour, he was back to work.
The next day (as
gray as usual), as Otto pushed his old cart along, he came across a
house that seemed to be illuminated less by lamps or light fixtures
than by sparks. He could hear the buzz of power tools inside as he
knocked on the door, and waited for the resident to answer. After a
second, the sparks stopped and the lights came back on.
The young man who
answered was wearing heavy-duty machining gloves and a welding mask,
which he raised after opening the door. When he saw Otto, a smile
appeared on his oil-smudged face.
“Hey buddy!
What’s going on?” He said, clearly a robot enthusiast. When he
saw the cart, he added “You selling stuff?”
Otto nodded.
“Well, let’s
see whacha got.” To him, the idea of buying mechanical parts from a
robot seemed a novel idea.
The machinist
stepped out of his house, approached the cart, and scanned Otto’s
inventory with child-like enthusiasm. It wasn’t long before he
found something that really caught his eye. He pointed to the parts
and shouted out to Otto, an excited grin on his face.
“Are these parts
to a V twenty-four?”
“Mk2.” Otto
specified.
“Wow!” He
exclaimed, picking up an arm here, a battery there. “You got like,
the whole guy in here!”
“I have parts for
the entire model.” Otto confirmed. “Except for the voice card,
I’m afraid.”
- THE END -
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The idea behind this story was to start out giving the readers the least information possible, and then allow them to find out more a little bit at a time. First, Otto's just walking along with a cart full of supplies. Then you learn more and more about him as the story progresses. I hope I was able to do so as well as I would have liked.
In contrast to Sun and Mountain, there isn't any specific lesson here. At least, not that I'm aware of. And certainly not one that was a driving focus or motivating factor in it.
If you think there is, then by all means, enlighten me.
As mentioned before, Otto is part of my short story bundle "An Introduction of Sorts", which is available on Kindle and Kindle apps. It's only a dollar, and because of Kindle's hosting fees, I don't get much at all per sale, but it is nice to be able to see how many people cared enough to purchase it.
Again, I hope you enjoyed this story, and I look forward to posting further pieces here in the future.
Until next time!
