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Rated: E · Other · Sci-fi · #1945044
An origin story. Likely to end up either later in time frame of world to which it belongs
"Torch, could you light this for me?"

Mark held out the welding torch towards the young man. A mixture rich in gas with a slight touch of oxygen to keep the soot level down. It wasn't the safest way to go but Mark did it anyway.

Torch hadn't totally accepted the name. He didn't think it fit. All he could do was start things on fire. Not light his whole self like that guy in the movie. He lit the welding torch because it was fun. And because he was asked.

As he heated the metal Mark asked Trayvon if he'd try and help heat the metal. Using the blue tip if the flame to point to where in the joint to add the heat. Trayvon focused what he could but didn't think it helped much.

"So Mark, how did you get here? I mean, what got you into The Junk Pile?" Mark continued heating the metal holding the filler wire at the ready. The puddle was developing a bit faster than the acetylene torch would have done it. Especially given the little tip he was using.

"My dad left it to me." "I know that. We all know what." replied Trayvon. "It's on the company home page." A moment of focus as Mark added rod to the puddle of melted metal and moved it up and around the stem of bike.

Calmly speaking so not to disturb his work Mark inhaled and thought of his response. It was a personal issue of sorts. It was something he'd long ago accepted. What he didn't want was the reaction people made when they found out his parents had dumped him in a recycle bin.

They'd blamed it on the drugs in court but a bit of court ordered "Truth Serum" made it clear that the drugs only made them brave enough to finally pull the trigger on the escape they had wished for since his unintentional conception.

"I'll, ah, tell you after we get done fixing your bike." The puddle of molten steal continued around the tube where it joined the bottom bracket. He had backed the tip of the acetylene torch off as the heat was a bit high. Trayvon was adding more then he thought he was. He fed in rod to absorb the heat and to fill in the break.

It took a few more minutes to finish the weld. He wasn't his father who likely would have continued the weld up and over the tube for at least half it's circumference. Mark had to reposition the bike frame so that he was welding mostly on flat. He couldn't weld upside down, or vertically for that matter, very well like his father could. It takes years of consistent and good practice to be able to do that. Mark's infrequent welding was mostly prompted by a desire for a chance or to keep his skills from degrading too far.

Mark had Trayvon wire brush the weld as he put away the equipment. It would be ready for primer in a couple of minutes. A quick request to the servant-bot brought them both drinks. They moved to the couch outside of Marks motor home as they waited for the metal to cool.

At the end, Trayvon says, "Call me Heater, not Torch."
"Makes sense, Heater". Replied Mark.

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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1945044