An antique hovercycle rumbled into the parking lot and an attractive young woman stepped off the saddle, removing her AR headgear in a practiced movement that released a flame of red hair. She walked around the bike and unlatched the sidecar in which an elderly gentleman sat patiently. The sidecar continued to levitate on its own and the woman guided it to an empty table in an outdoor cafe.

 

“What’ll you have to eat today, Penelope?” asked the old man.

 

She smiled at the oft-repeated joke and replied, “I guess I’m not very hungry today, Reggie.”

 

Penelope keyed Reggie’s lunch order into her pocketcom just as two large, rough-looking men strolled past them and noticed their hovercycle. They wore identical mustard-colored vests with the word DESPERADO embroidered across the backs. As they approached Reggie’s vintage vehicle, Penelope rose and walked swiftly toward the two ruffians.

 

“Move away from that bike!” she said.

 

The men turned to face her as she approached. Reggie saw their hands disappear behind their backs to grab something he knew would be in holsters beneath their vests.

 

“Pen, stop! They won’t hurt anything. They’re just admiring the hardware, isn’t that right, boys?”

 

The situation now defused, Penelope returned to her seat and the two Desperados relaxed and followed her. The larger one had a wild shock of grey hair and a belly that partially obscured an ornate belt buckle.

 

The Desperado asked, “You say that bike is yours, old man? I ain’t never seen nothing like that. It’s an old Shadow model, isn’t it?”

 

“Yep,” said Reggie. “I bought her about fifty years ago, I guess. She’s still in pretty good shape, thanks to Penelope here.”

 

“Fifty years ago?” The biker was impressed, and a little confused. “How old are you, old-timer?”

 

“Just turned one-hundred thirty last year.”

 

“Oh, wow. I’ve never met anyone older’n one-ten. You know, that’s the same kind of bike me and my boys ride.”

 

“I know,” said Reggie. “I rode with your club, a long time ago.”

 

Now having two reasons to be impressed by this impossibly old man, the biker went for a third. “And this one? She your mechanic? Or your girlfriend maybe?” The two men snickered as they stared at the pretty woman sitting motionless now.

 

“This is Penelope,” the old man said. “She’s my personal assistant. Has been since my accident back in…“ He searched his fading memory for a moment until his assistant provided the correct date.

 

“Personal assistant?” echoed the big man. “She doesn’t look old enough to have been around that long.”

 

Reggie reached across the table to touch the girl’s hand and said, “Pen doesn’t get older, do you dear?”

The woman smiled back at him without answering.

 

“Oh, shit,” the Desperado said. “She’s an android?” He was clearly astonished that someone like Reggie could afford such extravagance in these times. The state provided all the necessities for a happy life — food, housing, entertainment, education, and so on — because no one worked anymore. There were no jobs left for humans to perform. But anything beyond the necessities, anything the state deemed an extravagance or unnecessary luxury, must still be purchased to be enjoyed. And those things were not cheap.

 

“Pen was a gift from my wife before she passed away. She saved from her allowance for the down payment, then took out a mortgage to buy her for me. She knew I’d need help and a companion when she was gone.” Reggie’s eyes became glassy at the memory of his late wife.

 

The old man locked eyes with Penelope and continued his story. “But the government reduced my allowance when I turned one-thirty, so I can’t afford the payments anymore. The bank’s going to sell her at public auction. This is our farewell lunch, boys, so I’d appreciate it if you’d let us enjoy it.”

 

A tear fell from Reggie’s eye, and Penelope looked down at the table with an expression that was the best facsimile of profound sadness any robot could ever make.

 

* * *

 

Penelope stood on a makeshift stage in the front yard of a farmhouse. People from town wandered around or stood in the shade of a giant oak tree.

The auctioneer shouted, “What am I bid for this lovely robot assistant here?”

 

Immediately, a big man with wild grey hair raised his hand and said, “I’ll bid one cent!”

 

There was a ripple of nervous laughter, then a louder round mocking the girl on the stage. One of the men raised his hand and said, “Make that one dollar!” Then the whole crowd guffawed, knowing the appliance they were bidding on was worth much, much more than that.

 

The wild-haired man in the front turned to glare at the other bidder and spoke above the laughter, saying, “I bid a dollar and a penny!”

 

“Five dollars!” yelled someone else.

 

Just then, the tittering of the group on the lawn was drowned out by the sound of thunder rolling over the hill and moving toward the stage in a cloud of dust. A hundred hovercycles roared into view and stopped by the big oak tree. The riders, all wearing mustard-colored vests, dismounted. A member of the hovercycle club threw a rope over the lowest limb of the oak tree so the crowd could clearly see it. There was a noose on the end of it.

 

The townspeople quickly understood the not-so-subtle implication. The only sounds were a bird chirping in the boughs, and the lone voice of the wild-haired biker as he quietly made his final bid.

 

“I bid five dollars… and a penny.”

 

After the gavel fell and the crowd dispersed, Reggie paid the biker what he owed him — a five-dollar bill and one penny extra — in return for the deed to his dear friend and personal assistant.