Megajeeves worked with a clock-maker’s precision, moving the scraps of copper and wire that comprised his hands to the best of their antiquated ability; he clutched a rusted knife that he slowly moved through a tomato, and loud pinging sounds of calculation shot like bullets from his rounded brass head. He could quantify to the nearest millimeter the precise thickness that would most please his master.
That’s something those newer electrical models will never be able to do, he thought, they’re all algorithm and network synchronization.
Seed-speckled redness seeped from the tomato and marched across the marble countertop. Megajeeves halted slicing and cranked his head around to stare at the mess, his twin telephoto lens eyes spinning in and out of focus with a gentle whirr. He dropped the knife, which clattered across the countertop, and dusty cogs sputtered and coughed inside of his squared chassis as his entire upper torso creaked to life. He spun to face the pool of tomato juice on the counter, and steam oozed out of the top of his head.
He knew that he would score extra power rations for a tidy kitchen, and he needed the extra energy if we wanted to go and watch the horses run after work-hours.
He was running out of time.
He picked up a dishtowel and wiped up the juice with rough impatience; his inner-workings scraped harsh cries of protest as he quickly spun back around to face his task again. He dropped the towel, picked up two slices of pockmarked sourdough from the breadbox on the counter and, placing them on a chipped ceramic plate waiting to his left, fumbled to stack the tomato slices next.
Forty seconds, he estimated. He’d wasted too much time with the tomatoes.
A head of lettuce on the counter was next. He convulsed with the stress of his movement to his fragile, brass body as he shakily ripped shreds of the lettuce off and let them drop onto the slices of bread.
Thirty seconds. Why can’t my servos move more efficiently!? were the words that scattered through his electronic mind, surging with ones and zeroes, echoing through his processors and filling his entire metal body with the ethereal screams of data.
At this point, he was beginning to sputter and hiccup with the malfunctions of a robotic structure that wasn’t designed for such stress. He struggled to pick up the package of turkey from the countertop, but as he reached in to grab a slice, his jittery hand sent hunks of the meat skittering across the room. He finally managed to clasp on to a jumbled ball of the stuff, and harshly fisted it onto the plate, which instantly shattered under the weight of his arm.
Ten seconds, he thought. Ten seconds to fix all of the betrayals of his obsolete body.
He desperately reached over for a jar of mayonnaise, grasping it in his shaking hands just as a loud buzzer screeched throughout the room. A steel door to his right popped open, and a man in a shabby grey jumpsuit stepped in.
“It’s time for the master’s sandwich,” the man dead-panned.
He eyed the mess and assumed a look of true contempt.
“For Christ’s sake, you worthless sack of bolts,” he spat, “I’ll personally see to it that you get no extra power rations for a month.”
Megajeeves looked up with eyes like shattered moons as his convulsing slowly died out. He allowed the mayonnaise jar to slip out of his hands and smack onto the countertop, and slowly spun to face the man.
“Megajeeves at your service, m’lord. I’ll get right on it,” was the closest thing to an apology that his phrase banks had.
He wheeled his way through the steel door and thought of horses galloping.
