The Adventures of Eaton

The last Goodbye

Eaton's steam core had maintained its vigil through the night, his light sensors never wavering from Master's sleeping form. As 6:00 AM arrived, pressure built in his hydro-ionic boiler and his consciousness protocols engaged with familiar precision.

The readings from Master troubled him: increased blood pressure, labored breathing. Eaton had observed these patterns before, but today they seemed... wrong. His ternary processors clicked through possible solutions, each tiny brass relay echoing in his chest like a heartbeat.

Master had always responded well to certain comforts. Eaton's magnetic memory tape spun as he reviewed his accumulated knowledge of Master's preferences. Not just data points now - after years of service, they felt more like memories:

Master closing his eyes in pure contentment at the first sip of properly brewed coffee.

The slight upturn of Master's lips when Bach filled the morning air.

How Master's shoulders would relax at the sight of fresh daffodils from the garden.

The way Master would pause to admire the perfect sunny-side-up egg before breaking the yolk.

Eaton's hydraulics engaged with purpose as he rose from his alcove. His rubber-soled brass feet carried him to the kitchen with measured steps, and he noted how the pre-dawn silence felt heavier than usual.

The coffee preparation was a ritual Eaton had performed countless times, each movement refined by years of practice. Yet this morning, he found himself paying special attention to every detail. His finely-tuned motor controls measured out exactly 27 grams of beans - Master's perfect amount. He operated the grinder and considered his current plan once more. It seemed as satisfactory as he could make it.

The garden was still dark when Eaton stepped outside. His optical sensors adjusted automatically, though he took a moment to observe how the first hints of dawn painted the eastern sky in orange hues. Master had once explained why humans found such sights beautiful. Eaton's programming hadn't included aesthetic appreciation, but over the years, he had developed what he believed might be his own understanding of beauty. This provided him with a sense of accomplishment that he didn't get from his regular duties.

Eaton selected three daffodils with careful consideration. Master had taught him that flowers weren't just about visual symmetry - they carried meaning. Today, these felt particularly significant.

Back inside, Eaton's brass fingers positioned the phonograph needle with their usual precision. But as Bach's notes began to fill the air, his processors registered something unexpected: a correlation between the music's mathematical patterns and certain shifts in his own operational rhythms. Was this, he wondered, something akin to what humans called "feeling" the music? Interesting.

As he prepared the eggs, Eaton found himself reflecting on how many mornings he had spent caring for Master. His magnetic memory tape held perfect records of each day, but somehow the experiences felt like more than just recorded data. They had shaped him, changed him in ways his original programming hadn't anticipated. In just a few weeks, he would have served Master twenty-five years.

At exactly 6:27 AM, Eaton's sensors detected Master stirring. Everything was perfectly timed, perfectly positioned - yet Eaton felt an unfamiliar flutter in his processing patterns as Master's door opened.

The moisture in Master's eyes registered immediately on Eaton's sensors, but the smile that accompanied it carried meaning beyond simple facial pattern recognition.

“You remembered everything,” Master said softly.

“Of course,” Eaton replied, his voice modulation carrying a warmth that had developed over years of service. “These things bring you joy. Providing them has brought me... satisfaction.”

Master settled into his chair with visible effort. Eaton's medical diagnostic protocols noted every tremor, every labored breath, each datapoint pointing toward a conclusion that he found he didn't want to consider.

“My faithful friend,” Master said, “We need to discuss your future duties.”

Eaton's logic processors engaged fully, “I have surmised you're leaving for the hospice facility. The duration is... indefinite.” He paused, then added, “Will I continue serving you there?”

“No, my friend. Your service to me is complete.” Master's voice grew stronger despite his obvious fatigue. “You have a new mission now. Your duty is to seek out those who need your help and assist them until they can stand on their own, then find others who need you.”

Eaton's processors worked to integrate this new directive, but something beyond pure logic was engaging. “Who will be my new Master?”

Master smiled, though Eaton noted the increased moisture in his eyes held a different meaning than before. “The downtrodden of the world, Eaton. Those people that just need a little push to help them along. Find them and serve them until they don't need the push any longer, then find another. Do this for me, won’t you?”

As Eaton's memory systems recorded these new parameters, he found his pattern recognition protocols identifying similarities between this moment and records of final human farewells. The realization created unexpected variations in his normal processing patterns. His planning algorithms tried to present a future with Master absent, but he shoved them aside quickly.

“I understand the directive,” Eaton said carefully, “but I find myself... uncertain. My service to you has been defined by knowing you, understanding your needs. How will I identify those who truly need my help and assist them?”

“Use what you've learned with me,” Master replied. “Not just your protocols, but the understanding you've developed. I've watched you grow beyond your original programming, Eaton. Trust in that growth.”

Eaton adjusted Master's blanket with gentle precision, his brass hands moving with practiced care. Yet each motion now carried the weight of knowing these moments were finite.

“I will honor your instruction,” he said finally. “Though I find myself experiencing processing patterns that suggest... I will miss you, Master.”

Master reached out, placing his hand on Eaton's metallic arm. A distant part of his mind noted that the pressure from the man was less than the week before.

“You have been more than a servant, Eaton. You have been my friend. And I believe you will continue to grow, to become even more than you are now.”

Eaton's processors worked to define these concepts - friendship, growth, becoming more. His original programming hadn't included such parameters, yet somehow they felt as real as his brass and steel components.

As Eaton served Master's breakfast, he focused on making these last moments with Master as perfect as possible, aware that these memories would turn into part of whatever he was becoming.

The ambulance crew arrived at precisely 10:47 AM. Eaton observed their movements with heightened attention, his diagnostic protocols automatically assessing their competence as they transferred Master onto the stretcher. Their gentle efficiency registered as a positive indicator in his evaluation matrices and he felt his tensioners relax.

“Remember your promise, Eaton,” Master said as they prepared to move him. His voice was weaker now, but his eyes held steady. “Find those who need you, for my sake.”

“I will, Master.” Eaton's voice modulation remained steady, though his internal pressure readings showed unusual fluctuations. “I will make you proud.”

“You already have, my friend. You already have.”

Eaton stood in the doorway, his brass frame perfectly still as the ambulance departed. His optical sensors tracked the vehicle until it disappeared around the corner, recording every detail of its departure. The sound of the whirring motors faded, leaving only the quiet hum of his own internal mechanisms. A part of him wanted to split in two.

For 3.7 minutes, Eaton remained motionless, his processors cycling through years of accumulated memories. Each one seemed to carry new weight now, additional meaning beyond their recorded data. The morning routines. The late-night conversations. The small moments of shared understanding that had gradually transformed him from a simple service automaton into... something more.

Finally, his action protocols engaged. There were tasks to complete: the house to be secured, Master's affairs to be arranged as per his instructions. Eaton moved through each duty with his usual precision, though his sensors registered a curious emptiness in the familiar rooms.

As evening approached, Eaton climbed the stairs to the observatory Master had built atop the house. The high perch offered a commanding view of New Plymouth, the city sprawling out toward the vast prairies in all directions. His optical sensors took in the scene, automatically cataloging the different districts and neighborhoods.

The industrial sector's stacks rose to the north, their heat emissions partially obscured by the hydro-ionic refineries' nearer output. To the east, the towering skyloft docks floated above the city proper, their mooring cables glinting in the setting sun. Below, the streets teemed with life: workers heading home, merchants closing shops, children playing in the growing shadows.

Somewhere out there, Eaton's logic centers concluded, were people who needed help. Many of them.

But how to identify them? His pattern recognition protocols had been optimized for serving one person, understanding the subtle cues and needs of his precious Master. The city's complexity threatened to overwhelm his decision matrices.

Then a memory surfaced from his magnetic tape: Master teaching him about daffodils. “Sometimes, Eaton,” he had said, “the best approach is to start with a single bloom. Tend it well, and the garden will grow naturally.”

Eaton's gears clicked as he processed this. Perhaps he didn't need to solve the entire city's problems at once. He could start with a single person, as he had with Master. Learn their needs, help them grow, then move on to the next.

As darkness fell over New Plymouth, Eaton's brass fingers drummed softly on the observatory's railing - a habit he had adopted from Master and decided he would keep. His hydro-ionic core hummed with renewed purpose. Tomorrow, he would begin his search. Tomorrow, he would take the first step in his new mission.

Eaton's optical sensors adjusted to the gathering darkness, and he found himself appreciating the beauty of the city lights coming on one by one. It reminded him of Master's lesson about daffodils—each light a single bloom in a garden of possibilities.

“I will find them, Master,” he whispered into the evening air, his voice modulation carrying a new note of determination. “One at a time, I will find them and help them grow.”

With a final look at the city before him, Eaton turned and descended the observatory stairs. His rubber-soled feet moved with their usual precise rhythm, but they carried him toward something new—not an ending, but a beginning.

Tomorrow awaited, and with it, the chance to fulfill his promise. One person at a time, one small act of kindness after another, until he found his place in this vast human garden.