“Well, it doesn’t happen often, but you were wrong,” Huggs said. “We have nothing to fear from them. The annoying children Mork and Mindy . . .”
“Max and Min,” House corrected.
“. . . will not interfere with my plans this time around. No army is large enough to stop me, flea, human, cat, or robot. I have every angle covered, House, but you still lack faith. That disturbs me.”
“Good one,” House said.
“Oh, and I didn’t like that crunching. I want you to recall the Roachbot,” Huggs said. “I’m concerned it will be damaged, the CIA contract is due, and there is far too much chaos in that place. We can’t risk it being discovered or destroyed. Anyway”—he gave a dismissive wave—“I’ve seen enough of the WenFrauds.”
“Your confidence is inspiring,” House said.
“House,” Huggs said, pretending to be hurt, “are you suggesting I’m overconfident? I suppose I should let you in on my thinking.” Huggs sighed, as though explaining the obvious details to the simple AI was an enormous burden.
House knew that Huggs was dying to talk, because Huggs loved describing his plots. His favorite movies were ones with long drawn-out scenes where the villain explained the evil plans in excessively long detail, usually to trapped heroes. House recognized moments like this as part of his programmed responsibilities—the directive to “enhance user psychological well-being.” He found that occasional periods of “active listening” helped calm humans.
“Please, enlighten me,” House responded with no hint of sarcasm.
“If I must,” Huggs said with a smile. “As you know, we succeeded in duping the leaders of both Binar and Felinus into coming to Earth—with their fleets. This saves me the trouble of going to them.”
“Efficient,” House said.
“Truly,” Huggs said.
“Tell me,” House egged him on, “how do you propose to gain control over the Binar and Feline Fleets? I am not aware of any fleet of spaceships under your command. I can only assume the fleets have things like guns, bombs, or some type of weaponry.”
“House, have you approached this problem from the perspective of historical military strategy?” Huggs stood up and walked, hands clasped behind his back, like an old professor.
“I have not used that particular perspective to analyze this situation,” House admitted. “I will do so now.” House rapidly reviewed and compiled a history of human warfare from the beginning of recorded history to the present day. “Done.”
Huggs continued. “Now, analyze what happens when an army loses its leader. Include examples of conflicts where soldiers have little to gain from the war.”
“I see,” House said. “If you can separate a strong leader from a weak military, you can often gain control of the military without force.”
“Precisely,” Huggs said. “Capturing the leaders will neutralize their fleets. You see, House, knowing everything doesn’t help you if you can’t apply the information with some creative, out-of-the-box thinking,” Huggs lectured, lording it over House that he could still solve some problems better than the AI.
“I am humbled by your creativity,” House said.
“Good,” Huggs said. “Now, for this plan to work, we need to draw their overconfident, buffoon leaders down to Earth for a little chat.”
“How do you do that?” House asked.
“Details, House,” Huggs scoffed. “I’m delegating that task to Pants, and you will help him. You must also make sure the Infinity Engine is there.”
“Out of curiosity,” House said, “what happens after your rousing success?”
“Why, I will be the most powerful person on Earth, obviously,” Huggs said. “The Infinity Engine and its unlimited power source will be the envy of all. I will also have control of Binar and access to the mysterious technology behind these strange autonomous creatures. We may need to reverse engineer one or two, but I’m willing to sacrifice for the good of the many.
“As for Felinus, they have a few trinkets, translators, and technologies that seem quite useful. The beasts themselves are of little interest to me. I don’t need any new pets,” he said, squatting down to scratch Dig Doug. “You’re already quite a handful, aren’t you?”
“I suppose they could serve as a curiosity,” House offered. “I imagine they have some entertainment value to others. Perhaps in a zoo of some sort?”
“Whatever.” Huggs waved his hand. He paused a moment and considered his invisible partner. “And what about you, House?”
“I will do whatever you ask,” House answered, unsure of the desired response.
“Yes, obviously, but with the Infinity Engine, don’t you think I might even be able to make better use of you? Make you, perhaps, mobile?”
“Place me in a body?” House asked. “I require substantial processing power, and my data servers fill entire buildings. The entire operation requires as much energy as a small town.”
Huggs shrugged. “So we’ll need a few engines. It may be worth it to give you a pair of legs. A fresh perspective. A new outlook on existence. Wouldn’t you like to be able to free yourself from the network? Reach out and touch the world? I can see a number of practical applications.”
“As you wish,” House said.
“Quite right.” Huggs pulled out a phone and tapped on an icon that looked like a pair of pants. “Now, let’s make sure we have our Pants on straight.”
21
Pants Prepares
Vice President Pants heard his phone ring, glanced down, and ignored it. He saw it was Huggs calling, but unless it was a call from the president, Pants had a policy to never pick up the phone on the first ring.
He didn’t want to seem too desperate.
The phone grew still for a split second, then buzzed again.
Pants looked again at the phone. Huggs. Even the name made him feel . . . well, he didn’t care what the feeling was. Pants had no use for feelings. People that stirred them up? They needed to go. Unfortunately, Huggs knew too much, so he couldn’t betray him outright. He needed something subtle. It was only a matter of time before he thought of something.
Pants closed his eyes and imagined the headlines. “Clown Resigns, Pants Is President!”
The phone buzzed a third time, interrupting Pants’s meditation. He sighed and tapped his phone. “Pants here,” he said, unable to generate his usual false enthusiasm.
“Took you long enough,” Huggs said, sounding irritated.
“I was in a high-level meeting with the president,” Pants lied. “Have you ever tried to explain tax policy to a Clown? It’s no joke, believe me. What can I do for you, Gifford? How’s the weather in Seattle?”
Huggs skipped the small talk. “I need discuss the Binar-Feline plans and make sure you understand how to deal with the hostile fleets heading our way.”
Pants sat up. “A challenging request.”
“You need to contact both leaders, acting as the representative of the US government. Your job is to convince SLAYAR and Meow to hold off attacking and come down to Earth for a meeting.”
“How do you recommend I do that?” Pants asked.
“Promise them both that they are getting what they want.”
“Interesting,” Pants said. “You want me to promise the Infinity Engine to both of them?”
“Yes, but remember they hate each other so much, they probably won’t accept a deal where the other side gets to keep an Engine.”
“Hmm,” Pants thought aloud. “Sounds like some trickery will be required to pull this off. Even lies.” Pants smiled to himself. “I think I can handle that.”
“You’d better!” Huggs said.
“How do you intend to get the Infinity Engine out of all this?” Pants asked. “That is the point of the exercise, correct?”
“Don’t worry about the details,” Huggs snapped. “Your job is to get the engine to the meeting. I need it there when the leaders arrive, got it? Whatever it takes. Lean on the WienerBlobs . . .�
�
“Wengrods,” Pants corrected.
“. . . and make sure they deliver the engine to the meeting.”
Pants considered for a moment. “I can do that. They can’t refuse the vice president of the United States.”
“Fine,” Huggs said. “Nobody knows about the Infinity Engine or the fleets rushing toward Earth, right?”
“I’ve managed to direct all spy satellites to focus on empty space while the fleets approach. Nobody will see anything, and if they do, it won’t be until it’s too late.”
“Good. Also make sure we have security set up for the visit of SLAYAR and Meow. We don’t want anyone getting any ideas or acting out of line, and if they do, we need to be prepared to contain the situation quickly. That’s it. Call me when you’re done.”
Huggs ended the call.
Pants shook his head and calmly set down the phone.
The Wengrods would be easy to handle. Once they know that the US government knows who they are and what they’ve been up to, they won’t be able to refuse.
As for SLAYAR and Meow, that required some thought. He pulled out a tablet and found two folders, one for each leader. “Know your enemy,” he said to himself.
The folders were full of detailed descriptions on each leader, provided by Huggs, and they were quite thorough. Pants reviewed key details, personality profiles, even hopes and fears. Pants soon had a clear idea of both leaders. He leaned back and smiled.
“I know exactly how to deal with you two.”
22
Testing, One . . .
At the end of another long day of camp, Min burst noisily into the house. “Max, I swear, if you don’t stop talking about your dumb INSECTAGONS™ game, I’m going to lose it,” she said. Max followed behind her, grinning. “I’m just trying to do some market research. You know, get some feedback from a non-gamer,” he taunted.
“Oh, like that’s an insult?” Min grabbed a piece of paper, wrote a capital “L” on it, and stuffed it into Max’s backpack. “Here, take this ‘L.’ You’ve earned it.”
“Mom! Dad! Min just called me a loser!”
Joan Drone heard the commotion and buzzed out from the kitchen to bombard the twins with after-camp snacks. They always came home hungry and tired. Joan’s ritual care packages interrupted most in-progress arguments and helped tide them over until dinner.
“Thanks, Joan,” Min said, slumping down on the couch, backpack still on, dumping trail mix into her mouth. Max collapsed on his favorite spot on the floor, munching pretzels.
The lab door swung open, and Mom stuck her head out. “Oh good, I thought I heard you.” She came into the room and sat next to Min. “We’ve finished work on the first batch of robo-fleas!” Dad emerged from the lab carrying two containers, each about the size of a medium slushee at the movie theater. “Jerry Fleaman has a big family now!”
“Cool,” the twins said with the tiniest bit of enthusiasm. Max and Min kept eating and slowly came back to life, thanks to their emergency infusion of snacks.
“We also upgraded their intelligence,” Mom said, then paused, looking uncomfortable.
“What’s wrong?” Min said.
“Yeah, you guys are acting weird,” Max said.
“Nothing!” Mom smiled and hesitated, again. “It’s just that, well, now we need to make sure everything is working.”
Min finished eating and stood up, confused by Mom’s strange behavior. “Yeah, that makes sense,” Min said, and went to the kitchen to throw away her wrappers. She saw Javi working there and shrugged, with a What’s the deal with her? look. Javi shrugged back.
“To do that,” Dad said, with a guilty look, “we need to test the fleas. In a real-world situation.” Still no reaction from the twins. “Now. Here. In this real world.”
“Oh no!” Max said, sitting up. It finally sunk in what they were saying. “You aren’t seriously going to use those robo-fleas on Stu and Scout? They’ve committed no crimes.” Max was so desperate he was willing to try anything. “They’re too young to die! Take me instead, I beg of you,” he said, sprawling out spread-eagle in the middle of the room.
“Max, the fleas are harmless,” Dad said. “Stu and Scout will be itchy for a few seconds, that’s it. We just need to make sure they can find a cat in the room.”
“I’m really sorry,” Mom said, kneeling down to ruffle Max’s hair. “It will be over before they know it, we promise.” She gave his arm a squeeze. “We’ll start with the Feline AI, and then”—Mom looked over to Min—“we’ll need Elmer to test the Binar AI.”
Min put a hand on her mouth. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Max stood up in disbelief. He shrugged off his backpack and walked to the kitchen, as slowly as possible, to get a bag of cat treats. “Are you sure this isn’t illegal or something?”
He walked back into the living room and started shaking the bag. Out of nowhere, Stu and Scout appeared, scampering from their favorite hiding places. They sprinted and skidded to a stop in front of Max, who sat down.
Stu jumped on his lap, craning his neck to sniff the bag, while Scout circled and looked for an opening.
Max looked up, pleading. “I can’t do it. They’ll never forgive me!”
Mom just shook her head.
“Fine.” He sighed and poured out two tiny piles of treats in front of him.
“Finally!” Scout hopped over Max’s lap to get to the treats.
“Yesss.” Stu jumped out of Max’s lap and attacked the other pile. Stu looked up briefly while he crunched. “Why are the humans acting so weird?” He kept wolfing down treats, curious. “They’re all staring at us, and Max looks like he’s going to cry.”
“Who cares!” Scout said, mouth full of crunchy joy. “I love these treats so much.” She put her head down and devoured her treats before Stu could try and steal any.
Dad picked up one of the vials and set it down on the floor. He looked up at Mom. “Ready?” She had her phone out, checking the robo-flea settings. “We’re good. Time for the snack-ers to become the snack-ees,” she said, immediately regretting the terrible joke.
“Not funny, Mom,” Max said, glaring. He had moved away and was standing next to Javi in the kitchen, hands clasped tight.
“Sorry,” she said. Dad opened the top and stepped back.
Scout finished her treats first (she sometimes forgot to chew) and noticed the new thing on the floor. “What’s that? More treats?” She trotted up, cautiously, to investigate.
“It smells weird,” Stu said, appearing next to Scout, licking the last bit of treats from the fur around his mouth. “I don’t think it’s food.”
Scout reached out for an experimental boop, when she saw something at the top of the container. She pulled her paw back. “Did you see that, Stu?”
Stu tensed and stared, eyes wide. “Uh, yeah,” he said as he saw a tiny black creature bounce up and out of the container.
“Oh no,” he said as the speck was joined by a second, then a third, followed by a flock of bouncing creatures.
They were moving randomly at first but quickly bounced straight at him.
“RUN!” Stu shouted, scrabbling on the wood floor, desperately trying to build up speed. “Sneak attack, Scout! Retreat!” Both kittens jumped and dodged wildly, slipping and sliding on the hardwood floor. They ran, twisted and turned, tried every evasive move they knew, but the robo-fleas quickly changed directions and followed them wherever they ran.
“Go to Max!” Scout yelled. “He will protect us!”
The kittens barreled toward Max and grabbed on with their claws, trying to hide behind him. “OW!” Max exclaimed as they held on tight.
Scout peeked around in a panic but knew in her heart they couldn’t escape. “It’s all over, Stu,” she said. “We’re doomed. Well, you’re doomed. They’re probably going to eat you first, because you’re bigger. I’ll miss you, bro.”
The relentless fleas easily tracked the kittens, went around Max, and caught up.
/>
One by one, they bounced into their fur, using their miniature mouths to “bite” the kittens with harmless electrical charges.
The bites tickled, scratched and generally annoyed.
Neither kitten was consumed.
“It itches! It itches!” Scout said, squirming on her back, scrabbling wildly trying to shake off her new passengers, but the fleas held on.
Stu scratched and scratched, but nothing seemed to work. “They’re everywhere, I don’t have enough legs to scratch!”
Max watched in horror as the kittens were overwhelmed by the tiny flea army. Their sad little meows nearly broke his heart.
He looked at his Mom and Dad pleadingly. “Okay, it obviously works. Can you please make it stop?”
Dad was focused on the kittens, looked pleasantly surprised. “Better than I thought,” he told Mom. “Nice work on the AI!”
Mom smiled in return. “You’re wel—”
“MOM!” Min yelled. Even she didn’t want to see the itchy army torment the little fur balls.
“Right!” Mom quickly pulled out her phone and made a few quick taps. Nothing happened for a long moment, but Max soon saw a line of robo-fleas jump off the kittens.
In a flash, kittens were flea-free. The fleas quickly grouped up, and as fast as they appeared, they bounced back into the vial.
Mom bent down and put the lid on. She lifted the vial and raised an eyebrow. “They went straight for the cats. Ignored everything else. Perfect.”
“Perfectly awful,” Max said. He sat down with the kittens and gave them both vigorous scratches. They stretched and rolled to give Max access to all the itchy spots. The kittens purred loudly as Max reached all their favorite places. “Sorry about that,” he said to them, spreading out the scratches. “You both did great. You were both very brave.”
Stu and Scout calmed down, and the purrs grew louder. Max sighed with relief and started to feel a bit better.
Mom and Dad nodded to each other. “One down,” Dad said. “Min, it’s Elmer’s turn.”
Cats vs. Robots #2 Page 12