the gardener
Amanda Sun
I’m up before the dawn and even before Mrs. Blackmore, though that doesn’t mean as much as it used to. She’s let things go lately, but hers is the standard that Mr. Wilde expects me to maintain. “It wouldn’t hurt to wipe that grin off her face,” he told me once as he threaded the cables into my elbow. “Would shut the wife up for a while, at least.” The Gardeners aren’t programmed to annoy the neighbours or shut up the wives, but all the same, I input his comments as a custom request in my datastream. It’s in my coding to please the holders.
The timer sends an electric pulse through the cables to jumpstart my program. I unclip the charger and wrap it around the power station. The station connects to the solar panels on the garage roof, which gives the Wildes the s
