By Pamela Love
“I hired a mechanic, not a food service worker. What’s with the hairnet?” Greg Hahn sniffed, as if I were trying to smuggle improperly preserved twentieth century school lunches from my shuttle onto his shiny space station, and he smelled something foul.
Don’t let his attitude bother you, Joe. You can handle another Z Job. “Keeps my hair out of systems and stuff.” I tugged it down a bit more in back.
“Oughta get a buzz cut instead.” He ran a hand over his own blond stubble. His eyes were almost the same shade.
“What’s the problem?” I wrapped my fingers more securely on my toolbox’s handle—I didn’t want it floating away. Didn’t need or want to give Hahn another reason to criticize me.
“That.” He pointed at a panel covering a storage cabinet, one of many that ringed the one-operator space station.
I pushed off from the entrance for a closer look at the cabinet door. It was definitely damaged—multiple tiny holes covered it. Looks sorta like the Gemini constellation. “What happened?”
He looked away. “General wear and tear. You know how it goes on a dump like this. Can you replace it?”
A quick glance around the station—which was under two years old—revealed no similar markings elsewhere. “I can fix it so well you’d never know it was punctured.” I pulled out the Mark 12 Rectifier from my toolbox.
“Do it.” Hahn tried to sound cool, but his pupils dilated in awed recognition of this state-of-the-art tool.
That’s right, pal. You get the latest gadgets when you hire Joe Enza.
I slid open the cabinet for a careful check of its contents. Something made those holes, after all. It was empty. Then I shut the panel and switched on the Rectifier, which let out a series of beeps as it warmed up.
Behind me, ear-piercing noises rang out. Bang! Bang! Bang!
Alarmed, I bolted upward. Grabbing a handgrip, I spun around. “What the—”
Bang! Bang!
Something inside another cupboard was generating maxi-decibels and more mysterious mini-holes through a second panel.
“Usual wear and tear and stuff, huh?” I folded my arms.
Hahn shrugged. “I guess you want an explanation of what’s going on.”
Got it in one. “And for how long.” And why you would give me attitude when I came aboard? I’m the one you’ll need to fix the mess I bet you caused.
The stationer slid open the other panel and pulled out a bird-shaped robot, about the size of his two fists. “I built Flip during my off hours. He can fly.” There was a gleam of pride in the man’s eye.
I blinked. “Why—”
He interrupted, raising his voice. “I wanted to prove I could make one that flew by flapping its wings. Watch.” Extending his arm, he started to open his fist.
I held out both hands. “Don’t let go of that thing. I meant, why did you make it destructive?”
“It wasn’t supposed to be. I’ve read about other stationers making birdbots. Phyllis Park, out by Europa, made the first one—a canary that sings. A cousin of mine in the asteroid belt built a penguin. But theirs are just toys. I wanted something that would act alive. Okay, a pet. Gets lonely out here.” He slumped—which looked weird in microgravity, let me tell you.
“I grew up in a forest. Used to hear woodpeckers all the time. Just the idea of one made me less homesick.” Hahn smiled at the memory. “Programmed it with that bird’s daily behavioral algorithms, including pecking at random times. Real woodpeckers access their food supply that way.”
I jerked a thumb toward the panel behind me. “Those panels are metal, not wood.”
The stationer opened another. Behind it was a piece of wood about the size of my toolbox on end. “I imported that for him. Flip will peck it multiple times each station day. But his programming also includes wanting to claim territory. Other birds do it with song, but Earth woodpeckers will often peck on metal, such as vents. It’s louder than wood.”
You’re telling me.
“Either he thinks you’re another bird”—he gave me a weak smile—“or more likely, he thinks your Rectifier is. It kind of sounds like one. He messed up the first panel after an alert went off. Same problem.”
“Doesn’t that bot have an off switch?”
“No. He’s not a machine. Well, he is, but to me, he’s a companion.” The stationer was stroking Flip’s back. “How much for that fancy tool of yours to fix the holes he makes?”
I shook my head. “I need it. Besides, every time you turned it on, that bot would just make more holes. If only you’d picked a different bird!” That gave me an idea. After sticking my toolbox in a cabinet, I began researching woodpeckers on my comm link.
In a few minutes, I found what I was looking for. Then Hahn and I clamped the bot on a work surface and did some reprogramming.
“You sure it won’t peck the panels anymore?”
“Let’s test it.” I switched on the Rectifier and Hahn released his pet.
Flip tilted its head back. “Chur! Chur! Chur!” Its authentic woodpecker call was both loud and annoying but not destructive. Most importantly, I wouldn’t have to live with it. The stationer and I shook hands.
He was so happy, he didn’t even complain when I charged him extra. Guess he figured it was for the work on his bot, not his crack about my hair. The Z in “Z job” stands for zero, as in, I add an extra zero to the end of my bill—which can be just as damaging as a woodpecker’s, in its way.
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This story is dedicated to the woodpecker who used to bang on my house’s dryer vent.
It’s a nice companion to my groundhog I can’t seem to get rid of!
Great pun at the end. What a unique story. I never would thought of placing Joe Enza in this setting, but he fits.
Thanks for the praise!
Woodpeckers prefer to peck metal??! WHAT! What’s next in this crazy world! Seagulls that prefer the ocean? Timberwolves that prefer concrete? Groundhogs that prefer to zip around the sky with miniature jetpacks??!
There used to be a woodpecker in my neighborhood that would peck on various metal things, especially during the spring. There was also a groundhog that didn’t use a jetpack, but did face off with a cat once–the cat ran for it! (I didn’t blame it. The groundhog was the same size.)
Groundhog v cat, your neighbourhood is a real world Redwall!
I never thought of it that way, but yes! Occasionally I’ll see a fox strolling down the sidewalk, too.
Such a great story! And I love stories about animals–even robotic ones!
Thanks so much! And I’ve got another animal-focused Joe Enza story in Havok later this month, titled “If the Zoo Fits”.
Been enjoying all the “Joe Enzas” but this is a really creatively different one – yet you nail his voice and personality and it all fits. Nice characters, nice story, and yes, a nice pun at the end.
I appreciate the compliments!