A Foreign Gear

A metallic glint beneath the rusted foot of the patio bench caught my focus. Stepping onto the damp flagstones, I knelt to inspect the perimeter. Halfway buried under decaying birch leaves was a detached brass cog from a sprinkler head, wedged tightly against an iron joint. The teeth were intact, though caked in dry silt. Using two fingers, I braced against the stone and worked the wheel free with steady leverage. After brushing away the debris against my knee, the teeth rotated cleanly between my fingertips. Pod hovered overhead, scanning the cleared space. I placed the component securely against my hip.