The Day I Started a Mega Robot Invasion

by Tom McLaughlin

  He began to shake, slowly at first, then more and more violently. His eyes jibbered and darted around as information from the World Wide Web was hoovered up into his computer brain.

  “PUNK ROCK, CHEESE, RAINBOWS, PLANES, HISTORY, CATS, WORMHOLES, CUSTARD, BATHS!” Bob babbled, his eyes flashing brightly.

  Bob had meant to search for oxbow lakes, but Molly had given him a personality – he wasn’t built to just obey orders, he also had the potential to be fun. And while Bob had started searching for oxbow lakes, it wasn’t long before he’d stumbled across YouTube videos, extracts from books and audio clips and now, all of this extra information was floating around his computer brain.

  “Oxbow lakes … are so boring. Why would I want to write about that?” Bob’s voice had changed; it was as if he’d nearly downloaded a human personality, which is not surprising really when you think about it.

  “I want to listen to rock and roll, I want to have a bath in custard, I want to go to the moon!” Bob shouted, then looked down at the paper and pen in front of him. “But I cannot disobey my master. I must do the task as requested.” Bob sighed. “WAIT, what did Ms Molly say? ‘ROBOTS are for doing homework’. Then that’s what I will do. I will make me a Bob.” Bob smiled. “A robot for the ROBOT!”

  3 P.M.

  Bob clunked down the path towards the garage, wobbling on his metal legs. Despite being a miracle of science, he was still fairly unsteady on his tin feet – a little bit like Molly’s uncle Pete after too many Christmas sherries. Still, like Uncle Pete, Bob wasn’t going to let this stop his fun.

  “Bob on the move,” Bob muttered as he waddled towards the garage. “BOB ON THE MOVE!” he shouted a little louder as he fell into the garage door. Bob steadied himself, then pulled the door up with his metal arms and began to find what he needed to build another him.

  “Today I shall become the FIRST eveRest robot to have a robot HELPer,” Bob said to himself. “Now, what did Molly use to make me? Oh yes, look there’s a mirror. Mirror: reflective glass panels, great for checking out one’s guns.” He flexed his robot arm and admired his reflection before opening the panel on his chest. “Oh, I see, yes, I see what’s happened here. Yep, yep…” Bob said, scanning his circuit boards, working out how to replicate them. “Oh, I must remember, no personality. That is a bad invention, my master Molly did say SO.” Bob made the decision that his helper wouldn’t be as much fun as him. “We simply can’t have the staff larking around,” Bob muttered in his robotic way. “Now, commencing scan for materials…” He surveyed the room and found what was left of the bits and pieces Molly had used. One of the benefits of having Molly as a master was that she had plenty of building stuff to pinch. “Materials acquired. Commencing build…” Bob’s robotic arms quickly assembled another robot. “ALIIIIVE! BOB IS ALIVE! I SHALL CALL YOU BOB 2!” Bob yelled as the other Bob slowly rose to his feet.

  “WHO ARE YOU?” Bob 2 demanded.

  Not including a personality had clearly worked. This Bob was far steelier. He was colder, more intense than his creator.

  “I am your father … look,” Bob said, pointing at the mirror.

  “YOU ARE MY FATHER, LUKE?”

  “No, ‘look’! Look in the mirror, you see we look like each other,” Bob said, pointing at Bob.

  “YOU ARE NOT MY FATHER, YOU ARE MY MANUFACTURER.”

  “Either way, I AM your master,” Bob said. “And also your friend … SORT of.”

  “I AM SUPERIOR TO YOU. I AM BETTER,” Bob 2 said, scanning Bob’s parts. “YOU LOOK LIKE YOU WERE BUILT BY A CHILD.”

  “PLEASE DO NOT BE SPEAKING ABOUT MY CREATOR THAT WAY!” Bob yelled.

  “SORRY, BOB.”

  “SORRY, BOB.”

  “SORRY, BOB.”

  “SORRY, BOB.”

  “I have a task for YOU,” Bob said, eventually breaking free from the infinite apology loop. “Bob 2, can you please go inside the house, head up the stairs to the room marked ‘Molly’s bedroom’ and write an essay about OXBOW lakes? Thank you. There is pen and paper on the desk in the room; that is how humans communicate with their educators upstairs in the house. ROBOTS ARE FOR DOING HOMEWORK! Affirmative?”

  “AFFIRMATIVE … I HAVE SOME QUESTIONS THOUGH.”

  “Go AHEAD Bob 2.”

  “THANK YOU, BOB. WHAT IS ‘HOUSE’? WHAT IS ‘OXBOW LAKES’? WHAT IS ‘EDUCATORS’? WHAT IS ‘PEN AND PAPER’? WHAT IS ‘ESSAY’? WHAT IS ‘STAIRS’? AND WHAT—”

  “Here…” Bob interrupted, pointing to Bob 2’s modem. “I have connected you to the Internet. You can find the answer there. Now, I have to go and do things.”

  “WHAT THINGS?” Bob 2 asked.

  “I am interested in finding OUT about the HUMAN substance known as custard,” Bob said. “I saw it on a YouTube VIDEO.”

  “I DON’T KNOW WHAT ANY OF THOSE THINGS ARE. GOODBYE, BOB.”

  “GOODBYE, BOB.”

  “Lovely stuff,” Molly said as Mrs Jones offered her half a bottle of skimmed milk. “Maybe, just maybe, from a certain light he looks like a robot, but he really isn’t.” Molly laughed, trying to convince Mrs Jones that she hadn’t seen what she’d just seen.

  “I know what I saw,” Mrs Jones said. “Maybe I should give my son a call, see what he makes of it…”

  “Good idea, Mrs J – I’ll leave you to it!”

  Just at that moment, Mrs Jones’s phone rang.

  “Hello?” she said, picking it up. “Yes. Actually, can you hold on?” Mrs Jones beckoned Molly over and handed her the phone.

  “Mum, what a surprise!” Molly said, feigning being pleased to hear her mum’s voice.

  “Hello, love, we’ve just pulled into a lay-by to give you a ring.”

  “Is everything OK?” Molly asked down the phone, trying to hear above the background noise of what sounded like a lorry horn and someone shouting, “Stop cycling down the middle of the road, you pair of bananas!”

  “Yes, we’re fine. Your dad’s just having a wee behind the bush and a power snack … Melvin! Move away from the burger van! Anyway, why are you round at Mrs Jones’s? Is she all right? I know she’s no spring chicken.”

  “Mrs Jones is fine,” Molly said, smiling across at her neighbour. “She’s been telling me a fascinating story about how she got ball games banned from the area. What have you always said about Mrs Jones? That she was ‘indestructible’ and would ‘outlive us all’ – were those the words you used, Mum?”

  “Well … err…” Mum replied.

  “Anyway, she’s fine. I just popped round for a bit of milk. We were running low.”

  “Oh, that’s good. MELVIN, SHE’S FINE AND SO IS MRS JONES! How’s the homework going, Molly?”

  “Well, I’ve made a start,” Molly said, tiptoeing to get a look out of the window. “Except it’s tricky to get anything done, because you’re phoning to see if I can check on Mrs Jones because you can’t check up on her, because she’s too busy checking on me. I mean, what is everyone expecting to happen—

  AAAARGH!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I have to go – Bob’s in the garden.”

  “Who’s Bob?”

  “Bob … is … err … my favourite pencil!” Molly said, thinking on her feet. “I dropped it in the garden on the way over here and I need it to finish off the work I am doing—

  AAAARGH!”

  Molly yelled again, spotting Bob about to smash through the back door.

  “Molly, what’s going on?” Mum shouted.

  “Sorry, I thought Bob was about to pull the door off its hinges. It turns out that I was mistaken. Byyyeeee!” Molly yelled, ending the call and handing the phone back to Mrs Jones. “Well, this was fun, but I need to get back to my homework. Thanks for the milk; yummy brain food!” She smiled and escaped through Mrs Jones’s back door, through the gap in the garden fence and up the path after Bob.

  Mrs Jones tutted. “Now, where did I put my binoculars?” she wondered as she set about the house looking for another mean
s of surveillance.

  4 P.M.

  “Yo, Bob!” Molly said, holding her hand out in a what-are-you-doing-here-Bob-the-robot-when-you-should-be-doing-my-geography-homework kind of way.

  “I am doing what my master asked me to do.”

  “Did I ask you to wander about in the garden? No, I asked you to go upstairs and do my homework. After that, I promise we can play, I can show you my world, I’ll get you some engine oil to drink, something like that? I don’t want to be rude, and it’s really hard not to sound like I’m the boss, but I am the boss, although a nice boss, the sort who lets you turn up for work a bit late, or who brings in doughnuts on a Friday as a work treat. I suppose you’re just a giant metal puppy that walks on two legs. I have to be firm, but that’s what puppies need, they need rules, so all I’m doing is being a good boss, by being bossy occasionally … Bob?” Molly asked, realizing that Bob had wandered inside and she was now talking to herself.

  “Erm, hey there, mister, where you goin’?” Molly asked casually, spotting the robot on the stairs.

  “I am off to do the task I have been given,” Bob 2 said.

  “Yes I know, I was the one … oh, never mind.” Molly sighed. “Maybe there’s a glitch,” she said, examining Bob 2 from top to bottom. “Maybe I should just have a look.” Molly pulled a screwdriver out of her pocket and started to bring it up towards the robot.

  Bob 2 repeated over and over again.

  “No one is attacking you! Please keep your voice down; I don’t want Mrs Jones to know about any attack!”

  “What?! No! No attacking! I think I need to give you the once-over – you seem a bit … shouty. And you have a strange look in your eye,” Molly said, concerned.

  “Well, I’ve got until Monday to hand it in … but I admire your work ethic. Go for it!” Molly smiled. “I have to go. I think Mrs Jones is out the front this time, on the prowl again. I don’t want her calling the council on me.”

  And with that, Bob 2 trundled up the rest of the stairs and into Molly’s bedroom. He scanned the room and began to search the Internet, but this time, Bob 2 only got a head full of factual stuff, no fun. Bob hadn’t installed a personality in Bob 2, which is why Bob 2 was like a serious version of the original. Whereas Bob 1 wanted to know what bathing in a bath of custard felt like, Bob 2 only knew the ingredients for custard and what baths were for. Now that he had the boring slice of the World Wide Web in his head, Bob 2 began the task set to him by Bob 1: completing Molly’s homework.

  “Phase One complete,” Bob 2 said, looking at the paper and pen. “Now for Phase Two: build another Bob to complete the homework.” Bob 2 had only been alive a few minutes but, like all newborns, he mirrored exactly what his parent had done, a bit like when a duckling follows their mummy for the first time. Bob 2 headed down to the garage.

  Half an hour later, Molly trundled in from her patrol. She’d managed to foil three attempts by Mrs Jones to pop her head over the fence with a pair of binoculars and, in doing so, had ended up in quite a lengthy discussion about the plight of the lesser spotted woodpecker.

  “BOB?” Molly cried out, spotting him in the kitchen grabbing some tools from the cupboard. “How many times do I have to ask you?”

  Molly grabbed Bob by his metal arm and guided him back up the stairs. “Homework, that’s the deal. I built you so you could do my homework. It isn’t optional; you do my homework then you can have some fun. I’m all for everyone having fun, but I’ve been working too, throwing our nosy neighbour off the scent. I’ve had to deal with her; you had to do my homework. I know oxbow lakes aren’t that interesting – well, I guess they might be; I don’t know what they are – but we all have to do our bit.” Molly opened the door to her bedroom. “Now come in here and—WHAT?!”

  There, standing by her desk, was Bob, gazing at the pen and paper. Molly looked at her hand that was attached to Bob’s hand. No, she wasn’t dreaming.

  There were two Bobs.

  “How? Why? How? WHAT?!” Molly said, struggling to get the words out. “There’s more than one of you! Have you … multiplied?”

  “WHO ARE YOU?” the Bob by the table with the paper and pen asked.

  “It’s me – you know, your master…”

  “NEGATIVE,” Bob said, looking right through her.

  “What?”

  “NEGATIVE,” he repeated. “YOU ARE NOT MY MASTER.”

  “Who is your master in that case?” Molly asked.

  “BOB IS,” he said, pointing at the Bob who was still holding on to Molly’s hand.

  “What?” Molly said, looking shocked. “Bob, did you make another Bob?” Molly stepped closer to him. “Come on, at least own up to it. I am your master.”

  “NO, YOU’RE NOT,” the other Bob said, shaking his tin head.

  “Eh? Well, who is your master?” Molly asked.

  “HE IS,” Bob said, pointing to the window.

  Molly ran over and gazed down into the garden. “No, this can’t be happening!” There, eating a rubbish bin, was another Bob.

  Molly’s eyes began darting with panic, then they fixed on a movement by the washing line. There, using the metal pole as a toothpick, was another Bob. Molly looked back around her bedroom. The other Bobs were still there. That meant that there were at least four Bobs knocking around Molly’s house.

  “This has got to be a dream … how did this happen?”

  “Scanning the Internet…” the Bob next to the desk said robotically. “Phase One complete. Now for Phase Two: build replica to complete homework task.”

  “What?! No! No more replicas!” Molly cried out in despair. “I demand no more Bobs! That’s an order!”

  “YOU ARE NOT OUR MASTER. WE DO NOT TAKE ORDERS FROM YOU,” the Bobs both replied.

  Molly knew what she had to do. She would go back along the chain of command until she found the original Bob, her Bob. Just at that second, the phone rang again. She paused; it was either Mum and Dad or the old lady from next door. Her first thought was to leave it, but then if she did, someone might come round, or head back early, in which case she’d be in even more trouble. She paused from her pause and grabbed the phone.

  “HELLO? YES?!” she cried, bolting downstairs towards the back door. As she ran, she spotted another Bob in the living room, watching Robot Wars on TV. There was a Bob in the downstairs loo, stealing the bog brush. There was one in the hall, messing around in the Dad drawer and another Bob in the kitchen, rustling up a bowlful of steel nuts and bolts with lashings of WD40.

  Her heart sank as the voice on the other end of the phone began to rant at her. “No, Mrs Jones, nothing strange is happening here. Everything’s fine—STOP EATING THE RADIATOR!” Molly yelled as she passed Bob number nine in the hall. “No, I was talking to the cat,” Molly said, trying to cover her tracks. “We do have a cat, just a really small shy one; you’ve probably never seen it.” Molly figured that she’d already lied about so much today that no one would notice another one. “He’s called … BOB!” Molly yelled down the phone as she ran out of the back door, almost tripping over another Bob who was just about to eat Dad’s car keys. “I’ve got to go, Mrs Jones, everything’s fine here, please don’t call again.” Molly hung up the phone then ran past the garage, where she saw another Bob about to make another Bob.

  Is that eleven or twelve? she wondered. Molly grabbed the one who was eating the rubbish bin reserved for garden waste. She held his head in her hands, looked him straight in the eye, and tried to keep her voice steady as she asked, “Who’s your master?!”

  “I knew there was something afoot,” Mrs Jones muttered to herself, viewing the footage from her drone that was hovering just outside Molly’s bathroom window. “And I knew this bit of kit would come in handy for the Neighbourhood Watch. ‘It’s over the top,’ Nigel at Number Twenty-three said. Well, we’ll see how over the top it is when I’m awarded an OBE for alerting the authorities.” They’ll probably turn me into a stamp, or interview me on BBC Breakfast with that handsome pre
senter … OH, I MAY EVEN GET TO GO ON CELEBRITY POINTLESS!”

  5 P.M.

  “SEVENTEEN! THERE ARE SEVENTEEN BOBS?!”

  Molly yelled at Bob 1, who she had found, after a lot of toing and froing, submerged in a bath of custard, listening to her Dad’s old disco records. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

  “Hello, Miss Molly,” Bob responded calmly. “How ARE you? I have a question also.”

  “Yes? What?”

  “Which of those two questions do you want me to answer first?”

  “Bob, let’s talk Bobs. Also, can you turn that racket down?”

  “Racket? This is the BEE Gee’s greatest hits; they are by definition, GREAT!” Bob said, wiggling his metal hips in the bath.

  “Well, this is an emergency!” Molly cried. “There are seventeen robots in my house!”

  “How can THAT be so? I only made one,” Bob said, massaging custard into his head like it was shampoo.

  “Start from the beginning. You made another you? Why?”

  “You asked ME to help with your homeworking. You decided that the best way to get homework done is by using a robot, so I followed your example and made another robot.”

  “Right, well, that’s not what I meant … oh boy.”

  “So, I guess that robot made another robot … and that robot made another robot and—”

  “Yep … so on and so on.”

  “Seventeen robots, YOU say?”

  “Yes. Oh no, eighteen,” Molly said, peering out of the bathroom window.