Peach Picking Protocol
Wells said peach picking was going to be simple.
PDU-016 processed the statement for exactly one suspicious second.
Then looked at Wells.
Then looked at the orchard.
Then looked back at Wells in the full shiny gold uniform, stretched tight across his chest, WELLS 58 gleaming like a warning label.
“Simple,” PDU-016 said carefully, “is not usually what happens when Wells declares simplicity.”
Wells grinned. “Bro, that sounded almost judgmental.”
“Negative. Pattern recognition.”
“Still counts.”
They stood at the edge of the peach orchard under a late-summer sun, surrounded by rows of trees heavy with soft golden-orange fruit. A wooden sign near the entrance read:
PICK GENTLY. RIPE FRUIT BRUISES EASILY.
Wells read it once.
Then again.
Then slowly turned toward PDU-016.
Exactly the kind of look that made Wells want to become a problem on purpose.
“Do not,” PDU-016 said.
“I haven’t said anything.”
“Wells looked at the sign like it personally invited inappropriate commentary.”
Wells put a hand over his chest. “Sixteen. Bro. I am here for fruit.”
“Correction. Wells is never just here for fruit.”
Wells leaned closer.
“Pick gently, huh?”
PDU-016 sighed.
“Here we go.”
“Ripe fruit bruises easily.”
“That is what the sign says.”
“Important to handle it properly.”
“Yes.”
“Firm grip. Gentle twist.”
PDU-016 stared at him.
Wells smiled.
“Educational.”
“Secondary implication detected.”
“Look at you. Learning.”
“Survival protocol.”
They were handed two baskets by the orchard staff and directed toward row seven, where the peaches were apparently at peak ripeness.
Wells immediately decided row seven was destiny.
PDU-016 decided row seven required responsible fruit acquisition, basket integrity, and minimal emotional damage.
They walked between the trees together: Wells in bright gold, all smug athletic shine and loose confidence; PDU-016 in gold and black, focused and precise, trying to treat the outing like a normal summer activity despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary.
PDU-016 inspected the first peach carefully.
“Colouration acceptable. No bruising. Stem resistance minimal.”
Wells watched him reach up.
“Bro, you talk to every peach like that?”
“Assessment improves yield.”
“You could just say it looks good.”
PDU-016 twisted the peach free and placed it into the basket.
“It looks good.”
Wells smiled. “See? Natural.”
PDU-016 glanced at him. “Wells is very proud of that.”
“Always.”
“That tracks.”
Wells stepped beside him, reached above PDU-016’s shoulder, picked a peach from the same branch, and held it between them.
“Now this one,” Wells said, turning it in his hand, “this one has potential.”
PDU-016 looked at the peach.
“Potential for consumption.”
“Sure.”
“Potential for jam.”
“Also sure.”
“Potential for Wells to say something that damages orchard dignity.”
Wells looked offended. “You wound me.”
“I am attempting prevention.”
“To the fruit?”
“To everyone.”
Wells laughed and leaned against the tree, gold kit bright against the leaves, peach resting in his palm.
“You’re learning fast, Sixteen.”
“I have spent enough time around Wells.”
“So I’m educational.”
“Wells is a recurring hazard with abs.”
Wells held the peach a little higher.
“Look at it, though. Round. Soft. Golden. Dangerous if handled wrong.”
PDU-016 took the peach from him and dropped it into the basket.
“Confiscated.”
Wells smiled. “That one did seem ripe.”
PDU-016 tried not to smile.
Failed slightly.
“Continue walking.”
They continued deeper into the orchard. PDU-016 picked carefully, selecting good peaches, twisting them loose, and placing them neatly into the basket.
Wells, somehow, made the exact same task look like a calendar shoot.
He reached up into the branches, shirt stretching, arms flexing, boots planted in the grass, face smug beneath the sunlight. Every peach he picked looked personally flattered.
PDU-016 noticed.
Of course PDU-016 noticed.
He also tried very hard not to.
Wells glanced over. “You checking my technique?”
PDU-016 looked back at his basket. “Fruit quality inspection.”
“Sure.”
“Correct.”
“Bro, your fruit quality inspection has been looking at my shoulders for like twenty seconds.”
PDU-016 adjusted his grip on the basket.
“The branch was behind Wells.”
“The branch was above Wells.”
“Nearby.”
Wells’ grin went slow.
“PDU-016. Was that a lie?”
PDU-016 cleared his throat.
“Approximation.”
“That’s adorable.”
“It was tactical.”
“Still adorable.”
PDU-016 picked three peaches in complete silence after that.
Very precise silence.
Suspiciously flustered silence.
Wells behaved for almost four minutes.
Then he found a low branch.
Which meant bending.
Which meant the gold uniform did what gold uniforms did best: turned a normal movement into a Golden Army recruitment poster.
PDU-016 turned his head away.
Then immediately looked back.
Wells glanced over his shoulder.
“Need help with your basket?”
“Negative.”
“You sure? Mine’s getting heavy.”
“Wells selected excessive fruit volume.”
“Abundance mindset.”
“Overloading.”
“Big harvest energy.”
“Structural concern.”
Wells stood, peach in hand, smiling like the sun had personally encouraged him.
“You saying this basket can’t handle my load?”
PDU-016 stared at him.
Then closed his eyes.
“Verbal hazard confirmed.”
Wells laughed so hard he nearly dropped the peach.
PDU-016 caught it before it hit the ground.
“Fruit safety maintained.”
“Good catch.”
“Required.”
“Good boy.”
PDU-016 froze.
Just a little.
But Wells saw it.
Of course Wells saw it.
“Oh?”
PDU-016 looked at the peach in his hand like it had betrayed him.
“Do not make that a thing.”
“It is already a thing.”
“Negative.”
“You paused.”
“I was saving the peach.”
“Sure you were.”
PDU-016 placed the peach into the basket with unnecessary care.
“Maturity selected.”
Wells stepped a little closer.
“And I respect that.”
“No, Wells does not.”
“No,” Wells admitted. “But I like watching you try.”
The orchard went quiet except for the leaves moving in the warm breeze.
PDU-016 looked at him for one second too long.
Then turned back to the tree.
“More peaches. Less commentary.”
Wells smiled.
“Whatever you say, Sixteen.”
PDU-016’s basket became neat and solid: good peaches, good spacing, no bruising, no wasted effort.
Wells’ basket looked like a golden retriever had been given agricultural authority.
Peaches everywhere. Leaves included for vibes. One twig. Possibly a bug.
PDU-016 stopped and examined it.
“Basket integrity compromised.”
“It has personality.”
“It has a twig.”
“Texture.”
“It has a bug.”
“Protein.”
PDU-016 stared.
Wells grinned.
PDU-016 removed the bug with a leaf and released it onto the grass.
“Wells is exhausting.”
“And yet, still invited.”
“I did not invite Wells.”
“Spiritually, you did.”
“That means nothing.”
“It means everything.”
Halfway down the row, PDU-016 spotted a peach hanging higher than the rest. It was perfectly golden, round, and glowing in a shaft of late-afternoon sun.
He stared at it.
Wells followed his gaze.
“You want the top shelf peach?”
“Affirmative.”
“Need a boost?”
PDU-016 glanced at him. “I can reach.”
He could not.
He tried once.
Then again.
Wells said nothing.
PDU-016 pointed at him without looking.
“Do not smile.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Bro, you can’t even see me.”
“I can hear Wells smirking.”
Wells laughed and stepped behind him.
“Come on. Step up.”
PDU-016 turned. “Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“Because I know Wells.”
“Exactly. I’m reliable.”
“Wells is smug.”
“And reliable.”
PDU-016 looked at the peach.
Then at Wells’ linked hands.
Then at the peach again.
“This is for fruit purposes only.”
“Obviously.”
“No commentary.”
“Would never.”
“That is already a lie.”
“Step up, bro.”
PDU-016 sighed, placed one boot carefully into Wells’ linked hands, and let Wells lift him.
Wells lifted him easily.
Too easily.
PDU-016 reached for the branch, stretching upward while Wells held him steady.
“Stable?” Wells asked.
“Affirmative.”
“Comfortable?”
“Focused.”
“Cute.”
“Wells.”
“What? You are.”
PDU-016 plucked the peach triumphantly.
“Target acquired.”
Wells held him there one extra second.
PDU-016 looked down.
“Lower PDU-016.”
“You sure? View’s good from here.”
“Wells.”
“Yeah?”
“Lower PDU-016 before PDU-016 drops this peach on Wells’ head.”
Wells laughed and set him down carefully.
PDU-016 adjusted his shirt, peach secured.
“Premium fruit acquired.”
“Premium drone behaviour too.”
PDU-016 rolled his eyes.
But he smiled.
Barely.
Enough.
By the time they reached the end of the row, both baskets were full. The sun had dropped lower, turning the orchard gold, and Wells had peach juice on his thumb because he insisted on testing ripeness.
PDU-016 watched him take a bite.
Juice ran down Wells’ fingers.
Wells looked at it.
Then at PDU-016.
“Messy.”
“Napkin recommended.”
Wells licked his thumb instead.
PDU-016’s eyes tracked the movement for exactly one beat.
Then snapped back to the basket.
“Napkin still recommended.”
Wells smiled slowly.
“Problem?”
“Negative.”
“You sure?”
“Affirmative.”
“Because you looked like you had a thought.”
PDU-016 picked up another peach and inspected it very seriously.
“I am thinking about fruit storage.”
Wells leaned closer.
“Hot.”
“It is not hot.”
“Sixteen, bro, when you say it like that, it kind of is.”
PDU-016 sighed, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him again.
Wells held out the half-eaten peach.
“Want a taste?”
PDU-016 looked at the peach.
Then at Wells.
“That is Wells’ peach.”
“Sharing is wholesome.”
“This entire outing has not been wholesome.”
“Then sharing is consistent.”
PDU-016 took the peach carefully.
Their fingers brushed.
Half a second.
Long enough.
PDU-016 bit into the peach.
Wells watched.
PDU-016 chewed.
Swallowed.
Then said, perfectly serious, “Sweetness level acceptable. Texture satisfactory. Juice content elevated.”
Wells burst out laughing.
“Bro. That’s the hottest review a peach has ever had.”
“It was a normal review.”
“Not from you.”
“Further testing may be required.”
Wells’ eyebrows lifted.
PDU-016 held up the peach.
“For flavour confirmation.”
Wells leaned back against the tree, smiling like he had just discovered a new sport.
“Sure. Flavour confirmation.”
They started back toward the farm stand, baskets heavy and sun low, when PDU-016 suddenly stopped walking.
Wells turned.
“What?”
PDU-016 was staring at the back of Wells’ uniform with the quiet intensity of a drone solving a crime.
“There is peach fuzz on Wells.”
Wells looked down. “Bro, we are in an orchard.”
“Not there.”
Wells followed PDU-016’s gaze.
Paused.
Then slowly smiled.
“You looking at my peach, Sixteen?”
PDU-016’s face went very still.
“I was identifying contamination.”
“On my peach.”
“On the uniform.”
“Back of the uniform.”
“Correct.”
“The rear produce section.”
PDU-016 closed his eyes.
“Please stop renaming anatomy.”
Wells turned slightly, just enough to make the gold fabric catch the sun and make the situation worse.
“Be honest. Orchard peach or Wells peach?”
PDU-016 stared straight ahead with heroic determination.
“Fruit comparison declined.”
“Declined means considered.”
“Negative. Declined means survival selected.”
“Mine has better firmness.”
PDU-016 made a sound that was almost a laugh and absolutely not a denial.
Wells looked victorious.
“There it is.”
“That was not laughter.”
“That was orchard trauma.”
“That was orchard joy.”
PDU-016 lifted his basket and started walking faster.
“I am returning to the farm stand.”
Wells followed, laughing.
“Fine. But for the record, I think my peach won.”
“Contest invalid.”
“Because you’re biased?”
“Because Wells is impossible.”
At the farm stand, they paid for the peaches, two jars of peach jam, a bottle of peach cider, and a peach pie that Wells claimed was “for research.”
PDU-016 looked at the pie. “Research into what?”
Wells looked at the pie.
Then at PDU-016.
“Mouthfeel.”
PDU-016 inhaled slowly.
Then nodded, very serious.
“That is a valid tasting category.”
Wells nearly dropped the basket.
“Bro.”
“What?”
“That was either innocent or lethal.”
PDU-016 looked pleased with himself.
“Ambiguity retained.”
Wells laughed all the way to the truck.
At the truck, Wells loaded the baskets into the back and looked at the haul.
Golden peaches.
Warm sun.
Sticky fingers.
PDU-016 who had successfully acquired fruit, maintained basket integrity, survived ninety minutes of Wells being Wells, and still somehow looked pleased with himself.
Mostly.
PDU-016 stood beside him, shiny gold shirt catching the sunset, one small peach juice mark on his thumb.
Wells noticed.
He reached out and tapped PDU-016’s hand lightly.
“Fruit breach.”
PDU-016 looked down.
“Minor contamination.”
“Need cleanup?”
PDU-016 looked at him.
Then at the peaches.
Then back at him.
“Later.”
Wells smiled.
“Oh, now who’s escalating?”
PDU-016 placed the final peach into the basket.
“One-word response. Wells supplied escalation.”
“Yeah. Good one-word response.”
PDU-016 opened the passenger door, then paused.
“There is also one unresolved matter.”
Wells leaned on the truck door. “Hit me.”
PDU-016 looked directly at him.
“My speedo.”
Wells blinked.
Then smiled too fast.
“What about your speedo?”
“The gold speedo that appeared in Wells’ locker.”
Wells looked offended with championship-level commitment.
“Bro, lockers are mysterious ecosystems.”
“It was Alton’s gift.”
Wells paused.
PDU-016’s expression sharpened.
“Correction: it was Alton’s gift to PDU-016. PDU-016 is Alton’s good boy. The speedo was assigned accordingly.”
Wells looked toward the orchard.
PDU-016 continued.
“Then, by unknown process, it appeared in Wells’ locker.”
“Okay,” Wells said slowly, “first of all, unknown process sounds very official.”
“It is accurate.”
“Second of all, I am also confused.”
“Wells is smiling.”
“I smile when confused.”
“Negative. Wells smiles when guilty.”
Wells put one hand over his heart. “That is profiling.”
“That is pattern recognition.”
“We were having such a nice peach moment.”
“We are still having one. PDU-016 is harvesting answers.”
Wells laughed. “Okay, first of all, that speedo looked lonely.”
“Wells just claimed confusion.”
“Emotionally lonely.”
“Fabric does not experience loneliness.”
“Not with that attitude.”
“Wells.”
“What?”
“Did Wells move the speedo?”
Wells looked at the baskets.
The peaches.
The sunset.
Anywhere but PDU-016.
Then he grinned.
“Maybe.”
PDU-016 crossed his arms.
“For what purpose?”
“Motivation.”
“Whose?”
Wells opened the driver’s door.
“Mine, apparently.”
PDU-016 stared at him.
“Alton will require notification.”
Wells’ smile flickered.
“Bro. Do we need to involve Alton?”
“Affirmative.”
“Sixteen.”
“Alton’s good boy status includes wardrobe accountability.”
Wells sighed. “That is devastatingly formal.”
“Also accurate.”
“What if the speedo is returned?”
“Was it washed?”
Wells paused.
PDU-016 stared.
Wells cleared his throat.
“Define washed.”
PDU-016 opened the passenger door.
“Alton is definitely being notified.”
Wells climbed in, still laughing, and tossed one last peach into PDU-016’s lap.
“Good work today, Sixteen.”
PDU-016 caught it without looking.
“Peach picking complete. Speedo investigation pending. Alton notification probable.”
Wells started the engine.
“Wholesome, right?”
PDU-016 looked at the peach.
Then at Wells.
“Negative.”
Wells grinned all the way home.
Ready to pick something ripe with the Gold? Join the Golden Army, follow Wells and PDU-016 into the orchard, trust the fruit protocol, and remember: firm grip, gentle twist, no bruising unless instructed. Contact: @alton-gold77, @polo-drone-125
Featuring: @danielgold-16
Mentions: @alton-gold77
