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and I cryed Bobby I luv you and he sed will you give me a shot of the spacial wadder and I sed yez and he said wil you ride it down and I sed yez an I think I did but I
    cant reely remember I see wurds but dont no what they mean
    I have a Bobby his nayme is bruther and I theen I an dun riding and I have a bocks to put this into thats Bobby sd full of quiyet air to last a milyun yrz so gudboy gudboy every-brother, Im goin to stob gudboy bobby i love you it wuz not yor fait i love you
    forgivyu
    loveyu

II - ORSON SCOTT CARD - SALVAGE

    The road began to climb steeply right from the ferry, so the truck couldn't build up any speed. Deaver just kept shifting down, wincing as he listened to the grinding of the gears. Sounded like the transmission was chewing itself to gravel. He'd been nursing it all the way across Nevada, and if the Wendover ferry hadn't carried him these last miles over the Mormon Sea, he would have had a nice long hike. Lucky. It was a good sign. Things were going to go Deaver's way for a while.
    The mechanic frowned at him when he rattled in to the loading dock. "You been ridin the clutch, boy?"
    Deaver got down from the cab. "Clutch? What's a clutch?"
    The mechanic didn't smile. "Couldn't you hear the transmission was shot?"
    "I had mechanics all the way across Nevada askin to fix it for me, but I told em I was savin it for you."
    The mechanic looked at him like he was crazy. "There ain't no mechanics in Nevada."

    If you wasn't dumb as your thumb, thought Deaver, you'd know I was joking. These old Mormons were so straight they couldn't sit down, some of them. But Deaver didn't say anything, just smiled.
    "This truck's gonna stay here a few days," said the mechanic.
    Fine with me, thought Deaver. I got plans. "How many days you figure?"
    "Take three for now, Ill sign you off."
    "My names Deaver Teague."
    "Tell the foreman, he'll write it up." The mechanic lifted the hood to begin the routine checks while the dock boys loaded off the old washing machines and refrigerators and other stuff Deaver had picked up on this trip. Deaver took his mileage reading to the window and the foreman paid him off.
    Seven dollars for five days of driving and loading, sleeping in the cab and eating whatever the farmers could spare. It was better than a lot of people lived on, but there wasn't any future in it. Salvage wouldn't go on forever. Someday he'd pick up the last broken-down dishwasher left from the old days, and then he'd be out of a job.
    Well, Deaver Teague wasn't going to wait around for that. He knew where the gold was, he'd been planning how to get it for weeks, and if Lehi had got the diving equipment like he promised then tomorrow morning they'd do a little freelance salvage work. If they were lucky they'd come home rich.
    Deaver's legs were stiff but he loosened them up pretty quick and broke into an easy, loping run down the corridors of the Salvage Centre. He took a flight of stairs two or three steps at a time, bounded down a hall, and when he reached a sign that said SMALL COMPUTER SALVAGE, he pushed off the doorframe and rebounded into the room. "Hey Lehi!" he said. "Hey it's quittin time!"
    Lehi McKay paid no attention. He was sitting in front of a TV screen, jerking at a black box he held on his lap.
    "You do that and you'll go blind," said Deaver.
    "Shut up, carpface." Lehi never took his eyes off the screen. He jabbed at a button on the black box and twisted on the stick that jutted up from it. A colored blob on the screen blew up and split into four smaller blobs.
    "I got three days off while they do the transmission on the truck," said Deaver. "So tomorrow's the temple expedition."
    Lehi got the last blob off the screen. More blobs appeared.
    "That's real fun," said Deaver, "like sweepin the street and then they bring along another troop of horses."
    "It's an Atari. From the sixties or seventies or something. Eighties. Old. Can't do much with the pieces, it's only eight-bit stuff. All these years in