Cats vs. Robots #2

by Margaret Stohl

  Pounce rolled back up onto his paws. “Thank you, most charitable chairman. The news comes from Earth.”

  “Pssshht!” Meow hissed. “Strike one. Only bad news comes from that fur-forsaken planet.”

  “Oh, that’s what is so surprising about the news!” Pounce said, forging ahead. “The Furless, the ones who invented the Singularity Chip?”

  “Grrrrr,” Meow interrupted again. “You dare bring THAT thing up? Now? You must really be ready for open space, Pounce.”

  “The same Furless inventors have something new, something far better than”—Pounce paused—“that other thing.”

  Meow began losing patience. He rolled his eyes and yawned. “Oh, Pounce, you’re so funny when you’re desperate . . . making things up like a clever kitten. . . .”

  “On my bean toes, I swear this is true,” Pounce pleaded, rushing ahead. “They call it the Infinity Engine, and it makes the . . . thing that the Binars stole . . . look like a tiny speck of litter in comparison!”

  Chairman Meow frowned. “Pounce, what does that even mean?”

  Before Pounce could respond, Meow continued. “You know what, I don’t care what it means. This is all so BORING,” he complained. “I worked so hard to understand the last chip thing. Now you want me to try to understand something new? Something, what was it, Infinite? A MACHINE no less? Do I look like a chairman that has lives to spend trying to count to infinity?!”

  “Well”—Pounce was flustered—“perhaps not.”

  Meow was in many ways a good ruler, but he never could count higher than nine.

  Pounce looked around, desperate for another idea. “Ah!” Pounce walked to the Royal Treat Dispenser and reached out a paw.

  “Wait! Those are my treats!” Meow said, but was too far away to stop him.

  “If I may, Chairman,” Pounce said, and carefully booped the “TREAT” button with his bean toe.

  KWAK.

  A single tasty kibble dropped down, clattering into the bowl below.

  Meow thundered down the throne at the sound, powered by a sudden burst of treat-fueled energy.

  Pounce smiled. “Imagine, Esteemed Leader, that this single treat is the Singularity Chip.” He pointed at the bowl, but the kibble was already gone.

  “Er, was.”

  “Mmhmmm,” Meow said, crunching.

  “Delicious and satisfying, I’m sure,” Pounce said. “However, in comparison”—he raised one paw with a dramatic flourish—“the Infinity Engine would look something like . . . this.”

  Meow’s eyes grew wide with excitement as Pounce leaned with full force into the “TREAT” button.

  KWAKKWAKKWAK!

  A flood of treats poured out, clanging and bouncing into the bowl, spilling over its rim and out to the surrounding floor.

  Pounce held the button down . . .

  CLATTERKWAKITYCLATTERKWAKKKKK!

  . . . and a mountain of treats buried the bowl entirely.

  Meow was bouncing with excitement at the sight . . . and the smell . . . and the taste, as he could imagine the crumbs on his quivering whiskers, even now.

  Pounce brought it home.

  “To review: Singularity Chip is Single Treat. Infinity Engine is All-You-Can-Treat-Buffet. Is that clear, Chairman?”

  Meow stuck his face into the growing pile, hungrily chomping away. “Got . . . mmumph . . . it . . . mmumph!”

  Pounce smiled. “I thought you might.”

  Meow pulled his head back up for a brief gulp of air. “Let the dumb bots have the puny Singular Chip! I want the INFINITY ENGINE!”

  Pounce sighed in relief. “Excellent choice, Chairman.” He turned to leave (before Meow remembered his threats of banishment), when Meow yelled again through a mouthful of dried party snacks—

  “Prepare my ship!”

  Pounce stopped short. “Prepare your . . . I’m sorry, what . . . sir?”

  “My ship! We’re going to Earth, Pounce. Last time you went you were outplayed by those Binars. Not this time.” Meow was giddy with energy from too many treats. “I’m going to lead this mission and make sure we succeed. I want to see this . . . this Infinity Thing . . . for myself!”

  Pounce shook his head, stuttering. He wanted to tell Meow this was not a good idea, but he also knew Meow wouldn’t hear it.

  The Chairman could not focus on more than one thing, especially if that one thing involved food.

  Instead, Pounce just turned and padded toward the door.

  Maybe banishment wasn’t the worst outcome after all, he thought, as he imagined a long voyage to Earth with Chairman Meow.

  Later that day, Obi contacted Pounce, and they compared notes.

  “So? How did it go?” Pounce asked, hopeful.

  Obi sighed and responded, “We told SLAYAR about the Infinity Engine. He liked it, and we’re no longer dangling above Slag Mountain.”

  “Wonderful!” Pounce said. “Why don’t you sound relieved?” After a pause, he answered his own question. “Oh dear, let me guess,” he said, sounding tired. “SLAYAR wants to go himself to get it from Earth.”

  “Affirmative,” Beeps said.

  “I had a similar response here,” said Pounce. “Meow took some convincing, but he eventually called off the mission to attack Binar and retrieve Obi. Immediately after that, Meow called a new mission to Earth, to take the Infinity Engine, with Meow along for the ride.”

  “Our plan worked too well, didn’t it?” Obi said.

  “I had better tell the two-leggers,” Pounce said. “They need to know what’s happening. In the meantime, do what you can to stall.”

  Pounce ended the connection with Obi and contacted Earth. After a few moments of waiting, his medallion began to hum as a connection was made.

  “Pounce!” the voice of the boy Max came through. “Good timing, we were just talking about you. What’s happening? Is Obi still okay?”

  Pounce cleared his voice. “I have good news on that front at least. We told Meow and SLAYAR about the Infinity Engine, and both leaders were successfully diverted away from the chip and Obi. Meow doesn’t want the chip now, and SLAYAR forgot all about dismantling Obi. He’s safe for now.”

  “Nice work!” Javi’s voice came through. “It sounds like you also have other, non-good news?”

  “You could say that,” Pounce said. “We appear to have generated a little too much enthusiasm. Or perhaps I should say greed, so powerful that it has motivated our maniacal leaders to launch missions to Earth, to take the engine by force.”

  The response was stunned silence.

  Finally, Mom spoke. “Okay, that doesn’t sound good. Try to talk them out of it, but it’s clear we need to speed up our work on the engine in case they do come here. Although I’m not sure what good it will do if they both attack.”

  Max’s voice came through again. “Pounce, just so you know, we’re also trying to find ways we can help from here to convince Meow and SLAYAR that war is not the answer.”

  “Any help is welcome,” Pounce replied, “but let me be clear that this is more serious than with the Singularity Chip. It will not be just Beeps and me. The leaders of Binar and Felinus themselves are coming for the Infinity Engine.”

  “Got it. Not good,” Max said.

  “They are determined to be directly involved. I don’t think we can delay them. You don’t have much time,” Pounce reiterated.

  “Talk about a strict deadline,” Mom said.

  “Good luck, my two-legged friends,” Pounce said. “I will report back when I can. Pounce out.”

  14

  Huggs Wants War

  “The leaders of Binar and Felinus are coming for the Infinity Engine.”

  Huggs stopped the recording and leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his cleanly shaven head. “Well. This complicates things,” he said.

  “An understatement,” House agreed. “We had a difficult time dealing with low-level representatives. Now that the supreme leader and chairman themselves are coming for the Inf
inity Engine, we have serious competition.”

  “Your logic is infallible as always, House, but you need to consider human qualities like ambition, grit, and creativity!” Huggs stood up. “We must not be afraid of competition; we should embrace it. In fact”—he paused—“we may want more than just the leaders.”

  House wasn’t following. “You are happy that their leaders are coming to Earth? You want them to come?” It began running simulations, calculating outcomes.

  “Not just the leaders.” Huggs began to pace, mind racing, plans brewing. “I want both sides to come to Earth with everything they’ve got. Full-scale. All out.” Huggs rubbed his hands together, excited. “Yes. This is the fastest way for me to get the Infinity Engine for myself.”

  House added these new variables to its simulations, rerunning them to find the likely outcomes. “You intend to provoke a fight between them.”

  “The appearance of a fight, House. Enough to convince both sides to come to Earth with not one ship, but their entire fleets. Their best ships, their most advanced technology, everything, bring it all here to me. Saves me the trouble of going there to get it.”

  “This idea,” House continued carefully, “it does introduce quite a lot of risk to an already-challenging proposition. The probability of success plummets when you add in the risk of galactic war.”

  “That’s what I want!” A maniacal look of greed grew on Huggs’s face. “That’s the only way to get ahead. High risk, high reward!” Huggs grew more excited as he spoke. “Of course I want the Infinity Engine. But why not go for more? If we do things right, I can get the engine and conquer the competing nuisances at the same time. Imagine it!”

  “I am trying to, sir.” House kept simulating, but with each word coming out of Huggs’s mouth, the odds of failure seemed to increase. However, House could tell Huggs was determined, and decided to focus on finding out what Huggs was planning.

  “I can imagine near-infinite scenarios to accomplish this,” House fibbed, “but I am afraid I’m not sure what you have in your mind.”

  “Last time,” he said, “I wasn’t prepared. This time, we can take advantage of the circumstances. We’ll be in control from the beginning.”

  House knew Huggs was an expert in dividing his enemies and finding a way to benefit from creating conflict, but this felt different. “I don’t yet see the full strategy,” House said.

  Huggs waved his hand, enjoying the rare moment of superiority. “Consider it a puzzle to solve. Watch and learn, House.”

  “I always do,” House responded.

  “Most of the work has already been done,” Huggs explained. “Binars and Felines already hate each other, and they both want the Infinity Engine. A careful nudge, maybe a shove, should be enough to turn the snowball into an avalanche,” he said. “The first step is contacting the Binars.”

  “For that,” House said, “we will need some help from our friend in the White House. We worked hard to get him there, it’s time to call in a few favors from the vice president.”

  “Ah yes,” Huggs said wistfully. “Pants. My finest achievement.”

  Huggs was proud man; he loved to boast about his zombie-apocalypse-proof underground bunkers or the decommissioned aircraft carrier he bought to hold his private planes. His greatest achievement, however, he couldn’t tell a soul, but he loved reminiscing about: getting a clown elected president of the United States.

  Not just any clown, but a capital-C, classically trained Clown: Hardy (Harr) Quinn, star of the worldwide hit series Clowns, Not Frowns. Quinn traveled the globe doing wacky pranks and good, goofy deeds, all with the goal to bring the world much-needed laughter.

  As part of his act, Quinn ran for president of the United States. His campaign wasn’t serious. It was, in fact, a literal joke, but it had a serious purpose. Quinn was concerned by how angry people got about politics and government, and he wanted to help by bringing some much-needed humor to the election. He gave out free orange clown hair wigs to his supporters, who wore them proudly calling themselves “the Clown Pound.”

  The world saw a joke. Huggs saw an opportunity.

  Huggs didn’t care that Quinn was a Clown, although it didn’t hurt. Quinn the Clown was a distraction, an oddity, designed to confuse, delight, or anger you, depending on who you were. Quinn the Candidate was useful because he was (a) popular, and (b) didn’t care about being president. That way, the real power would fall to the vice president, the one everyone ignores and usually forgets.

  The Clown was always disposable.

  Enter Parker Paul Pants, the ideal candidate—for Huggs. Pants was a young, energetic politician from Iowa, and a man so desperate for power he would make a deal with the devil himself. The devil never made Pants an offer, but Huggs did.

  Join Quinn’s campaign as vice president and I’ll make sure you win.

  Everyone thought Pants was throwing his career away when he offered to run with Quinn. They laughed, much to Quinn’s delight, and he realized that every good act needs a straight man. If Pants brought more people into the rallies, well, who was Quinn the Clown to complain?

  When they won the election by a handful of votes, Pants had the last laugh.

  How did Huggs get a Clown into the White House? It was surprisingly easy for him once he had all the pieces in place. His plan merely required that he was (a) brilliant, and (b) willing to do a few unethical and illegal things.

  HOW TO MAKE A CLOWN A PRESIDENT IN 6 EASY STEPS:

  Step 1: Create hugely effective and popular AI “virtual assistant” House. (Brilliant.)

  Step 2: Give House for free to people to use on their home networks, phones, watches, shoes, dishwashers, any “smart” device with half a brain. (Brilliant.)

  Step 3: Secretly listen to everything and everybody. Collect detailed personal information for almost every person in the country. (VERY illegal.)

  Step 4: Find a candidate he can control (see Step 3).

  Step 5: Use the detailed personal data (see Step 3), and the advanced AI (see Step 1), to design a campaign that tells every person exactly what they want to hear. (Brilliant and illegal.)

  Step 6: Win.

  A few sub-steps were required, of course. Once or twice, Huggs had to knock out troublesome (honest) candidates by searching through the database of illegally acquired information to find embarrassing (usually untrue) secrets and personal information (this one wet the bed, that one lied about recycling). All that remained was (see Step 5) convincing enough people that, by golly, they really did want a Clown for president.

  It worked, and Hardy Quinn was elected.

  Quinn was as shocked as anyone that his publicity prank got him elected, but he rolled with it and stayed true to the Clown Code, spreading the good word of laughter.

  Huggs, on the other hand, now had control over the vice president and had access to the world’s most secret secrets. He appointed judges that would be lenient. He changed rules to help him make more money. He made the government look the other way when he had to do shady business.

  Huggs knew all along that some problems required more than money to solve. Some problems required influence and access.

  Now, with the ultimate prize of the Infinity Engine in his sights, Huggs needed his friends in high places.

  He needed Pants.

  15

  VP P.P. Pants

  “Clowning is not a joke,” the president said from behind his desk in the Oval Office, a twinkle in his eye.

  The rotund man, Hardy Quinn, fiddled with his too-short tie, visibly uncomfortable in his dark suit. “I spent years training under the masters in Paris and Moscow, you know. Hard work, but well worth it.”

  He held up framed diplomas from École Philippe Gaulier, the famed school in Paris, and another from the Moscow Circus School, both proudly displayed on his desk.

  Quinn turned the diplomas around, admiring them. “Really nice paper, by the way.” He set them back down. “Never doubt the value of a quality education.
” President Quinn raised a knowing eyebrow, then leaned back with his feet on the desk, revealing a pair of enormous, clown-sized leather shoes.

  “Speaking of education,” Quinn rambled, “we must always be careful about our choice of words.” Quinn wagged a chubby finger, “For example, the word ‘clown’ should never be used as an insult.” He looked over his too-small spectacles and paused for dramatic effect.

  “Imagine for a moment how it must feel to be a mime. Such an easy target, oh I know, people make fun of mimes all the time, but trust me, getting trapped in an invisible box is much harder than it looks.”

  Quinn heaved himself out of his chair and stepped to the side of his desk but was stopped suddenly by an unseen barrier. He leaned forward and expertly moved his hands along an invisible wall, looking at his audience with a shocked and delighted expression.

  Vice President Parker P. Pants stood behind the president, in his usual spot, eyes glued, listening with rapt attention. He shook his head sympathetically, eyes moistening at the seriousness of the president’s message. He gave no hint that he had heard this same speech approximately twelve billion times.

  Pants took a small step forward and cleared his voice. “If we all clowned around a little more, the world would be a better place,” Pants said with reverence.

  “Exactly!” Quinn exclaimed, throwing his hands up and triumphantly slamming a golden horn on his desk.

  HAAHEE!

  “Pants, I’m lucky to have you,” Quinn said with a rough pat on the back. “You really get it.”

  The vice president gave his Winning Smile™, and the room seemed to glow brighter. Their audience, a group of schoolchildren touring the White House, burst out in applause. President Quinn smiled. He loved this part of his job.

  As for the other parts of what he called “presidenting”—the laws, rules, vetoes, and so on—well, he left that boring stuff to his vice president.

  Which was just how Pants liked it.

  Parker P. Pants (whatever you do, don’t call him P.P. Pants) was the perfect politician, going back to his time as the line monitor in kindergarten. Pants was the kind of person who always said the right thing to the right people at the right time. Listening to VP Pants always made folks feel good, even if deep down they weren’t sure he meant any of it.