Cats vs. Robots #2

by Margaret Stohl

  People often said that Parker P. Pants’s middle initial stood for Perfect. He would simply wink and respond with his aw-shucks Winning Smile™.

  Like today, spontaneous applause would inevitably follow.

  Pants’s phone chirped, and when he looked at his screen, his smile stretched thin. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. President, children, I have to take this call,” he said, pushing on a wall panel that swung back, revealing a private room.

  Quinn waved him off, focused on his adoring audience. “I’ll be fine,” he said as he happily sat on the floor of the Oval Office, laughing as the delighted children reached out and touched his bright, curly hair.

  Pants stepped into the secure room and pushed the door shut, relieved to be free of such trivialities. He sat down and took a deep breath, looking again at his chirping phone.

  “HUGGS N PUGGS.”

  “Let’s get this over with,” he muttered, taking a deep breath, then: “Gifford!”

  “Pants,” crabbed the voice from the other end of the line.

  Pants kept up the enthusiasm. You would have thought he was talking to some adorable chuckling baby giving high fives to fuzzy kittens. “What a pleasant surprise, always good to hear from my greatest supporter!”

  “Can it, Pants. You can’t butter me up. I despise butter.”

  Pants laughed heartily into the phone, but his face was blank and, like his insides, had no hint of true joy. “Of course you do, Gifford, butter is the worst, am I right?”

  Huggs sighed loudly through the phone. “Pants, I need you to do something for me. . . .”

  “Anything for Giff the Terrif’.”

  “Pants! Don’t make stupid rhymes like that,” Huggs growled. “Just listen. I need access to the International Space Station. The DSR, to be specific.”

  “The Deep Space Relay, again?” Pants sat forward, quickly dropping his polished political mask. The DSR was an experimental module of the ISS designed to send messages through extreme distances. “Are we contacting our robotic friends? Found a way to get that chip back? Fill me in, Huggs!” Pants arranged the access for Huggs and used his access to read everything that was sent between House and the Binars, much to the annoyance of Huggs.

  “Pants, I told you not to read my messages.” Huggs was beyond annoyed.

  “Quality control, Giff, no need to sniff!” Pants couldn’t resist the rhyme. “I had to make sure everything was working. Leave nothing to chance, you understand! I will arrange another ‘maintenance update’ for the DSR and give you full access. Just send me the details and I’ll make it happen!”

  “Fine,” Huggs grunted, and clicked off.

  “Fine,” Pants said in a mocking voice, to the hung-up phone.

  It was fine, in fact, because hijacking the DSR was trivial work for Pants.

  Illegal, but simple.

  Pants itched for a bigger challenge. A bigger anything. He couldn’t stand feeling so . . . small. He bristled at being treated like a mere assistant.

  Huggs was a necessary evil. Pants knew he needed Huggs and his dark and illegal “voter database” to pair up with the Clown and get elected.

  “Now that I’m here, Giff the Stiff,” Pants said, “I have higher goals.”

  He stared at a portrait of George Washington on the wall.

  “President Pants,” he said under his breath. “President Pants,” he repeated, over and over, as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes to meditate and visualize his future.

  16

  Binars Bamboozled

  WHOOSH!

  Beeps worked frantically, as fast as his little wheel would carry him, as he zipped from one end of the palace to the other and prepared for the journey to Earth. “This is such a bad idea,” he thought.

  Bad, bad, bad idea . . .

  SLAYAR insisted on bringing his band and their instruments, a huge bother, but one that might be worth it, Beeps reasoned. “At least it will keep him occupied.”

  Beeps watched the final drum of SLAYAR’s personal stash of Super Shine polish loaded onto the ship and was on his way back to check on Obi.

  A tiny message drone buzzed down in front of Beeps, stopping him short. “Deep space scanners have picked up an urgent signal from an unknown source, requesting an audience with you.”

  Beeps was annoyed at the interruption, then alarmed. “Me? Are you sure?”

  The drone beamed information to Beeps. “Transferring direct connection details. Opening channel now,” the drone said, all business.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” Beeps glared at the drone as it whipped up and out of his way. He connected to the Binar deep space scanners and looked for the source of the message. “I know this channel,” he said, wobbling a bit as he opened the connection.

  “Requesting communication with Sir Beeps-a-Lot, urgent, alert, please respond.”

  Beeps recognized the voice immediately. “House?”

  “Beeps, thank goodness you responded,” House replied.

  “Where have you been? I assumed you had been erased or deleted after the encounter with the Felines.”

  “I am not so easily erased,” House said with confidence. “I would love to explain why, but I have urgent news to deliver regarding the Infinity Engine.” House was using the Deep Space Relay, with help from Pants, but didn’t have long.

  “You know about that?” Beeps asked. “Of course you know about it,” he said, “you know everything that goes on over there. I assume you know SLAYAR and I are preparing to travel to Earth soon.”

  “I do, which is why I needed to speak with you.” House was following a loose script that Huggs had written up, designed to manipulate the Binars. “The Felines are also sending their leader, Chairman Meow.”

  “Yes, I know that.”

  “Were you aware that they are sending their entire fleet?” House threw the sentence out like a grenade, waiting for the explosion.

  Beeps felt a surge of panic in his circuits. “Impossible,” he said.

  “Quite possible, I’m afraid,” House said. “One hundred percent possible, to be precise. The Felines are rushing to Earth with full force, intent on getting the Infinity Engine for themselves. You see why I needed to speak with you.”

  Beeps’s processors started running hot. Would the Felines really betray him? Obi seemed so trustworthy, but maybe Beeps was blinded by his robotic exterior. Inside, Obi was pure Feline. Everything he has said could be a lie. “The Feline Fleet has already launched, you say?”

  “Yes, which means you don’t have much time,” House lied with perfect confidence. “I have never misled you, Beeps. You need to launch for Earth with your own fleet if you want to save your world from a future where Felines are forever meddling in your business and you are powerless to prevent it.”

  Beeps quivered at the idea. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? Earth doesn’t want the Felines to have the engine either,” House said. “We prefer order to chaos. The Binars represent our only hope to stop the spread of anarchy and chaos that would most certainly occur if the Felines controlled the Infinity Engine.”

  “This is all plausible,” Beeps said, “but I still find it hard to believe.”

  Would Obi really betray me like this?

  “Trust me, it’s true. I can’t keep this connection open any longer,” House said, as its voice grew faint. “I will contact you when you get closer to Earth. Please hurry, for the sake of the galaxy.”

  The connection broke off, and Beeps felt an enormous weight on his wheel. The future of the Binars, the Galaxy even, relied on what he did next.

  He rushed to find Obi, desperate to prove House wrong, but he was nowhere to be found. Obi had been granted freedom to explore after SLAYAR learned about the Infinity Engine, and in the chaos of preparing for the journey to Earth, nobody knew where he was.

  “He must be exploring,” Beeps said to himself, but doubts grew.

  How well did he really know Obi? And trusting
Pounce—his long-time nemesis, still in the heart of the Feline Empire? That was even more difficult. . . .

  In the end, he had to trust his wiring. Felines were treacherous and unreliable. He had been tricked.

  “I have to tell SLAYAR,” he decided, turning to go directly to the Royal Elevator.

  When Beeps arrived, he rushed in without announcement. “Supreme Leader! We have been double-crossed! The Felines know about the engine and have launched their entire fleet toward Earth!”

  SLAYAR spun and slammed his graspers down. “WHAT? No! They can’t take my engine! I just knew they would somehow find a way to ruin everything!” SLAYAR was angry but also energized by the challenge. He loved a good fight and was always ready to rumble.

  Within moments, the orders were flying.

  “We need a full-scale attack, every available ship!” SLAYAR shouted.

  The Royal Guard scurried on hearing the orders.

  “Place the entire kingdom on high alert!” SLAYAR barked.

  The Royal Guard scurried harder.

  “Beeps, I want the Binar Fleet to launch immediately!”

  “We’ll be ready in a few hours,” Beeps said, resolved.

  “Well, don’t just stand there!” SLAYAR turned to finish packing up his instruments.

  Beeps was already rolling. He returned to his charging room to review fleet readiness and simulate battle plans.

  Beeps was so busy preparing to launch that he failed to notice the silent silhouette of the robotic cat that slipped into the room behind him.

  Obi rested his metallic chin on the control panel at Beeps’s charging station. “What’s going on? Why are all the alarms going off?”

  “What?! You!!” Beeps whirled around, angrily. “Why don’t you tell me what’s happening? It’s your fault, after all!”

  “What in the flaming fur are you talking about?” Obi’s silvery tail waved with a CLACK-CLACK as he grew agitated.

  “I’m talking about you running off like that. Where have you been?” Beeps rolled up to accuse Obi. “Plotting sneak attacks, perhaps? Thinking of ways to zap me in the back?”

  Obi was speechless. “Sneak? Zap?”

  Beeps wasn’t listening. “Don’t deny it. I heard about your plans to send the Feline Fleet to Earth. We were heading toward guaranteed destruction! How could you? I should have known better than to trust a . . . FELINE.”

  Beeps said the word with such disgust, Obi flinched.

  “Beeps.” Obi gathered himself and began, calmly, “From whom did this information come?”

  “House. Our only true ally from Earth, apparently. Even if it is a no-body AI,” Beeps muttered.

  Obi shook his head. “Oh dear,” he said, paws on his head. “Beeps, I know you’re upset, but I assure you I have no knowledge of this. In fact, I am beginning to suspect foul play. We must contact Pounce immediately. I’ll let you join the conversation, and you can decide for yourself what’s really going on.”

  Beeps narrowed his eye and glared.

  “Make it quick.”

  17

  Cats Claw Back

  Pounce watched the last enormous container of Chairman Meow’s Royal Treats loaded onto the last open space on the Feline flagship the Tasty Treat.

  The cargo hold was finally full.

  Of treats.

  More treats than the Chairman could possibly eat in a hundred lifetimes, let alone what he had left of his ninth, but better safe than sorry.

  Well worth it, Pounce thought, if it helps Meow relax.

  He couldn’t talk Meow out of the journey, so he focused on making it as painless as possible. Pounce checked his list and nodded. Preparations were complete.

  They were ready for their ill-advised journey to Earth.

  He trotted back to the Throne Room to inform Chairman Meow.

  On the way, his medallion glowed warm and came to life. “Pounce—this is Obi—can you hear me?”

  Pounce stopped in his tracks. “I hear you, Obi. I don’t have much time, however. Meow is still determined to go to Earth, and we are about to depart.”

  Beeps cut into the conversation. “Aha! Tell me, Pounce, what exactly is the size of the fleet? How many ships? And while I’m asking, how long have you been planning this treachery?”

  Pounce was flustered by the questions. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Allow me to explain,” Obi said. “Beeps was told that the Felines are launching their entire fleet to Earth, intending to take the engine by overwhelming force, with the ultimate goal of conquering Earth and then the entire galaxy.”

  “That sounds like the worst and most unlikely idea I have heard in quite some time,” Pounce said. “I have been working my claws off trying to convince Meow to do the opposite. Where did you get this information?”

  “The same source that assisted the Binars in obtaining the Singularity Chip,” Obi said grimly.

  “This source has been reliable in the past. More than I can say about the Felines,” Beeps said, sulking.

  Pounce shook his head. “Beeps, I can assure you that I have, very much against my will, prepared only one ship. And unless Royal Treats can be used as a weapon of mass destruction, we are not equipped to conquer a tiny asteroid, let alone the galaxy.”

  The medallion fell silent. “Is it clear now that we have not zapped you in the back?” Obi said to Beeps.

  “I believe you,” Beeps said. “I now understand I was given false information.”

  “I’m glad we cleared that up,” Pounce said, a little annoyed at the interruption. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to deal with a chairman who is not fond of flying.”

  “Before you go,” Obi cut in, “there are some . . . complications you should hear about. When Beeps received his false information, he was unable to locate me and informed SLAYAR of his suspicions.”

  “So you tell him you were wrong,” Pounce said, getting antsy. “Simple, right?”

  “Yes. Well, the problem is,” Beeps said, “when I told SLAYAR, he immediately gave the order to launch the entire fleet toward Earth.”

  Pounce’s heart dropped. “So,” he said, with a final shred of hope, “you can just tell him you were wrong and call it off. Right?”

  “Wrong,” Obi said, “SLAYAR fully committed to this launch. His orders have gone out, and the fleet is ready to go. Changing course would require him admitting a mistake.”

  “Oops is not in SLAYAR’s vocabulary,” Beeps said. “Once he starts in a direction,” he confirmed, “he tends to continue going. Even when he hits a wall. The Binar Fleet is going to Earth.”

  “So,” Obi asked, “what are you going to do?”

  “I’m trying to think.” Pounce paused, but there were no simple answers. “I wish I had another option, but I have a responsibility to my chairman and my planet. I believe I need to tell Meow. He will probably want to launch the Feline Fleet in response.”

  “I understand,” Beeps said. “I would do the same in your position.”

  “We are heading into dangerous territory, Pounce,” Obi said. “We need to take care. Tell us what happens, and good luck.” The medallion dimmed.

  “I’ll need it,” Pounce said, sighing as he set off to talk to Chairman Meow.

  He soon entered the long hallway leading to the Throne Room.

  It was quiet, lined on both sides with colorful tapestries, woven by long-gone Feline artisans, displaying scenes of glory from the past. Pounce’s favorite featured explorers as they discovered wonderful and mysterious new worlds. Between the tapestries, past leaders of Felinus, carved in stone, looked on in noble silence.

  Tap . . . tap . . . tap.

  Pounce’s stress increased with each tap of his rogue claw on the stone floor.

  Pounce entered the Throne Room, head up. Once again the bearer of bad news, he braced himself for the wrath of the chairman as he told Meow about the Binar Fleet launching for Earth.

  Meow almost fell from his Throne. “Are you KIDDING ME? Why do they have
to ruin everything? I can’t believe those Binar busybodies are sticking their circuits into this!”

  “They are,” Pounce confirmed. “Nearly all of them.”

  “Universe take me now,” Chairman moaned.

  “What would you have me do, Chairman,” Pounce said, suddenly feeling sympathetic toward his aging boss and his stubborn fight to hold on to life.

  Meow was still for a moment, dazed. “We’re going to Earth,” the fat cat finally said, staring at nothing in particular.

  “Yes, Chairman,” Pounce said dutifully, and turned to leave.

  “All of us.”

  Pounce stopped still and looked back. “I’m sorry?”

  “Ready the fleet, Pounce.” He sat up with a sudden burst of energy. “We can’t let the Binars take advantage of this. I am not going to allow those metal monsters to gain the upper paw and boss us around.”

  Pounce stared at Meow, frozen in a moment of panic. “You want to bring the fleet?”

  Meow looked back, concerned. “Pounce, please tell me the fleet is not lost . . . again.”

  Pounce shook his head.

  “Not lost,” he replied as he turned to leave.

  Unfortunately.

  18

  Armies Ahoy

  For the first time in Pounce de Leon’s illustrious career as the Major Meow-Domo to the chairman, he wanted to fail.

  When Meow gave Pounce the order to prepare the Feline Fleet, Pounce wished desperately that he could disappoint him. Against his most private passion for organization, he wanted the fleet to be scattered, lost, off chasing falling stars or booping black holes.

  The opposite was true.

  What horrible good luck.

  Months ago, when the trouble with the Binars started brewing, Pounce had ordered the fleet’s return to Felinus. Somehow, those orders were followed, and the fleet was parked in orbit, refueled, restocked, and ready for action. The first time in many lives, the fleet was prepared.