Angst and Improvision

August 15th, 12,006 (actual time frame: 9:35AM, Saturday; January 26th, 2007)______________________________________________________________________

I didn't want to disappoint my mother by not showing up for breakfast. I wolfed down what was given to me that day, but the problems with my hovercycle still persisted and I didn't know what to do next.

I remember telling my mother this and she suggested that I improvise on the lining issue; as her experience with faulty and stubborn equipment (namely the T-17 Firefly) had given her plenty of insight into how to deal with this particular problem.

And hers was quite simple: "Fix it."

Sure mom! I recall thinking to myself. Easy for you to say! You don't have to travel the 450-mile corridor each day to Shark's Bay!

"So improvise." She followed up--after I tried to explain to her that I did not have a spare. But knowing how moms operate, Maye wasn't about to give up on me.

She knew that I was much more smarter and intelligent than this--and I found myself kicking myself in the head silently for trying to back out of this problem; and let my mother come to my rescue like she had a few times in the past.

Maye only did that because she wanted to show that she loved me, but she soon discovered that I had more potential growing up--and starting allowing me to tackle my own problems; without any adult supervision.

This was was one such moment in my life where I had the power to make my own solutions.

But technology was still a pain in the ass and I wasn't known for my patience. Last time my bike gave me this much of a problem, I ended up by putting a blaster bolt into the engine block--costing me my ride for three weeks while Calis pissed up and down Repair Bay #4 fixing the problem and cursing teenagers (and me), in general.

Mom grounded me for 2 months following that incident last year. But I learned my lesson.

No...

This time, I was going to solve the liner problem. I was stupid last year. This year, I was going to use my head rather than my standard impulsiveness.

Good ol' mom...she wouldn't take no for an answer. She told me to use something for a substitute for the damaged liner and then fix it.

Staring down at my now empty plate, I tried as hard to picture what the damned thing looked like inside my head and then tried to come up with a passable replacement.

It needed to be something that would act as a filter; allowing for the fuel and air to come together without interruption--but trap any foreign elements like dirt and sand particles.

But there was too much sand, which caused the compressor to jam on its own accord. I told my mom this and she threw out the notion that their might be a hairline crack somewhere--which would account for the excess build up.

But I disagreed with her openly--telling her that I had already run a diagnostic. Nothing was found.

Mom wouldn't accept that as a final answer and told me to check again.

I told her that I did, but didn't want to fight with me again on this front. She could tell that I was getting steamed and quietly put the dishes in the sink.

Coming back, she told me in no uncertain terms that I would have to look again.

I sat there and stewed. I'm sure that smoke was pouring out of my ears then.

Mom had proven me wrong on this front and I was forced to accept the fact that I may have overlooked something important. After all, technology wasn't impervious.

I relented and told her that I was going to check--just to humor her. Even if I didn't like it.

***

I returned to the outshed while my brother was busy fighting the effects of ration addiction. He was a brave little boy--but he needed to be shown the errors of his ways.

I wished that mom hadn't been so cold in showing mine. I wished she hadn't. But I knew that in the world we all lived in never afforded such luxuries.

I ran an integrity scan on the bike and watched as a pencil-thin beam of light washed over my hovercycle--before shutting off. After a moment or two of ingesting the collected data, I was finally given the results of the scan.

It wasn't good.

Naturally, I expected this. But I wasn't expecting a four-inch hairline crack underneath the engine compartment; which ran lengthwise and stopped shy of the aft hover control matrix.

Of course, I wasn't expecting to see this. The damage was practically invisible when I stood back up from personally inspecting the site in question.

I went back to my tool box and retrieved a special sealent which would instantly bond with the crack and fuse it temporarily together. A cosmetic improvision at best. But repairs would have to wait another time.

I thought about asking Calis for a favor. But given my track record, I was sure that this wouldn't count! (laughing)

After applying the sealant and tossing it back into the tool chest--I sat there and waited for the bonding agents to do their thing while I did mine.

The lining problem was going to be a real bitch--primarily because I didn't have anything from which to work with that could be used as a replacement. (A point I made to my mom--but once she was set in her ways, nothing short of a hovertram accident could shake her resolve loose.)

I thought about calling it quits and finding another fuel pump--complete with brand-new filter linings--while telling the old man that I had failed.

That would certainly make his day, all right. I thought to myself then. This setback didn't sit well with me at all.

I absently dusted the sand off the front of my shirt and noticed how the sand particles didn't stick to the fabric at all.

It was then that inspiration struck me.

My shirt!

I could use it as a substitute!

Running back to the work bench, I fished out an old pair of scissors that were a gift from my grandmother and began to cut into my shirt.

I carefully excised a small patch of fabric from the lower half of my garment--knowing my mom was going to have a fit when she found out. But it was much better than complaining all day.

I reassembled the fuel pumps in record time afterwards--and within 15 minutes--and prayed that this jury-rigging would work. I had nothing else left to give if it were to fail outright.

Installing the pump, I ran the bike through its startup sequence and found everything read green across the board.

It was ready to go and so was I.

Isis