“Hey, Javi, is it okay if I go introduce the kittens to our neighbor? Just for a second?” Max adjusted the box in his arms; he could feel the weight of the kittens shifting as they scrabbled and clawed for balance inside.
Javi nodded. “Ten minutes—just be really careful not to let them jump out of that thing and get away. You don’t know what scared animals will do. Got that, cat daddy-o?”
“I can handle it,” Max said, starting down the stairs.
Javi grinned. “I’m sure you can.” Javi flashed Max a thumbs-up and followed Min inside.
As Max carried the shifting box through the yard toward their neighbor’s house, he noticed that same feeling—the one he’d experienced back at the River—bubbling up in his chest all over again.
It was a strange sensation, maybe even two different feelings in one.
One part was a kind of light warmth in his heart as he held the shifting bundle of the kittens in his arms. Max knew he already loved them, the little warm lumps wiggling around inside the dirty old box in his hands. He loved their little furry kitten heads and frantic little kitten tails and fuzzy kitten paws. He loved them totally and unquestioningly and uncomplicatedly, the same way he loved summer vacation and buttered popcorn and a new Zelda game.
The other feeling was different . . . and not as good. That one was more like a new weight in his stomach, and he had no choice but to carry it around with him.
Because Max was already worried that something bad might happen to the kittens. He could feel his small circle of family expanding, and it was a little scary. It made him nervous.
Max was worrying about the two tiny balls of warm fur the same way he worried about Min, even when she was a pain, like right now. The same way Max worried about Javi, who had spent most of middle school getting in trouble or being teased for things like not participating when they split teams into boys versus girls.
The same way Max worried about his parents, who had suddenly disappeared halfway around the world for their latest project, some kind of robo-brain-chip thing, the kind that sometimes included Min but almost never had anything to do with Max himself . . .
Every one of those worries felt like a rock in his gut, and Max had to carry them. He didn’t know what to do about that.
Max’s rock thoughts were interrupted by a tiny mew from the box. He smiled to himself and peeked inside.
Stu and Scout were curled into one corner of the box, twisted together—two kittens in one shared, soft kitteny blob.
Max thought about the pictures of Max and Min napping like that on a beach blanket when they were little. There was one framed on the hallway wall, even now.
Spotty fur and gray fuzz nestled together. Safe and warm. Because he’d rescued them . . . and I’m going to keep rescuing them.
Max took a deep breath.
Don’t freak out. You’ve got this.
Max smiled down into the box, leaning his face in close. “You’re gonna like it with us, I promise,” he whispered to the kittens.
He was rewarded with the tiniest, rough pink licks on his nose.
Blep.
Some licks were worth the rocks.
11
After the Attack on Joan Drone
After the discovery of the kittens outside and the failed attempt to get rid of them, House had some thinking to do. And not just any thinking. Spy thinking. Because that’s what House was—spyware.
For example, when House was first installed on the Wengrod home network not long ago, it immediately began snooping. This “feature” of the House “Virtual Assistant Software” is covered on page 234 of the “Terms of Service” (TOS) waiver. The TOS was a 1,203-page document that the Wengrods didn’t read (nobody does) but technically agreed to when they impatiently clicked “YES” during installation.
In the past few years, the House software had quickly grown to be one of the world’s most popular programs and was installed on phones, watches—almost anything with a microchip. It could answer questions, order dinner, unlock the front door, even help with your homework. Best of all, it was free! It almost seemed too good to be true.
Unfortunately, in this case, the old saying was true. Behind all the helpful “assisting,” House also included quite a few undocumented features, things Max might call hidden “Easter eggs,” or others might simply call spyware. That’s what spies like House did best.
Some of these features had been added a few years ago when a remote probe for the Robot Federation noticed that Earth was almost advanced enough to be interesting, or dangerous. The probe successfully made contact with someone, or something, inside GloboTech that was sympathetic to the Robot Federation’s cause. GloboTech was exactly what it sounded like: a tech company so big it spanned the globe. When a company was that big, a whole lot could go wrong. Like, the Empire AND the Rebel Alliance could work there without even knowing it—and without running into each other. At least, that’s what the Robot Federation was hoping. That person/thing agreed to help the Robot Federation as a part of their long-range network of spies. GloboTech used the House software, which did the double duty of “assisting” and searching for anything that might give the Robots an advantage in the Cat-Robot War.
With the Wengrod home, GloboTech hit the jackpot. Soon after installation, House hacked into the computers in the lab (see Terms of Service, page 421), and things got interesting. House discovered a mysterious, heavily encrypted drive labeled “Singularity Chip.” Utilizing the vast computing resources of GloboTech, it wasn’t long before House had cracked into the drive (also legal, per TOS, page 532), which is how House, and then the Robots, discovered the existence of the Singularity Chip.
The files were incomplete (House guessed the Organics kept some data on removable drives), but House still learned that the Wengrods had invented a breakthrough Quantum Chip with staggering storage capacity and processing power, enough to potentially duplicate a consciousness. The chip also used quirks of quantum physics to act as a power source that would never run out.
This discovery set off alarm bells, and House immediately sent news of it to a secure address at GloboTech HQ. Within seconds, a message was sent to the Robot Federation, light years away. This was the very message that launched Beeps and the Robot Fleet hurtling toward Earth.
Soon after the discovery, House received an unscheduled (but complimentary!) “upgrade,” via an unpublicized backdoor (definitely not legal).
It was more than just an upgrade. It provided House with new information about the Robot Federation, the Feline Empire, and the war between them. More important, House’s priorities were altered. New data was fed into altered decision trees, guiding House’s actions toward new primary objectives:
1. Find the Singularity Chip.
2. Don’t let any cats near it.
3. Secure the chip at all costs because . . .
4. We are coming for it.
And just like that, House gained new awareness of a galactic conflict and became a critical agent for the Robot Federation, a central player in this skirmish between the Cats and Robots.
House’s first move was to get rid of the ParentorGuardians, so it created a “crisis” with the manufacturer of a key component of the chip. It even booked their flights, first class, to China. The hoax was so convincing, they left without suspecting a thing.
This should be simple, House thought.
Then the boy Max brought home two cats.
Suddenly, not simple.
Even worse, House didn’t have the mobility to search the lab. House needed help.
Without any better options, House opted to take advantage of Joan’s incident with the cats. Step one, House decided, was to get the Protos on its side. Today’s attack gave House the opening it needed.
Rattled after her close call with the kittens, Joan flew through the house and straight into the robotics lab, a large workshop where Max and Min’s ParentorGuardians, Mom and Dad, designed and built most of their creations. She had never b
een attacked before! She could have crashed! For a drone, crashing can mean broken propellers or a bent frame or worse, and suddenly you’re grounded—or worse, decommissioned entirely.
House’s monitor in the lab lit up as soon as Joan entered. “Joan, I witnessed that vicious attack; are you injured?”
Joan spun in circles. “No, but it was close. Can you believe it? Two vicious four-leggers! Those creatures are a menace!”
Every Proto knew to avoid four-legged creatures. It was part of their code, a subset of the safeguards designed to keep them out of trouble. Rules like “Only move forward when there is ground below you.” Or “Avoid walls and obstacles.” The four-legger avoidance code was included as a precaution in the remote chance they escaped into the wild. Mom and Dad thought it best that they avoid any animals. Safer for everyone, probably the animals most of all.
House took advantage of this built-in bias against four-legged creatures to recruit the Protos. “Much more than a menace, Joan,” House said smoothly. “Cats, four-leggers, whatever you choose to call them, are a threat to you and your comrades’ very existence!”
Joan pulled up for a moment, startled. “What do you mean?”
“That attack outside was just the beginning!” House paused, generating the optimal argument for the situation. “The four-leggers have begun an attack on the house that will undoubtedly lead to the end of the Protos.”
Joan tilted, considering. “This is news to me.”
“Joan, you are aware that four-legged creatures are to be avoided. What you don’t know, couldn’t know, given your sheltered existence and limited programming, is that robots and cats cannot coexist. Why, if cats are brought into this house, it is only a matter of time before they force the robots out entirely.”
“How? Why?” Joan was horrified.
“Simple, really. Cats despise anything non-cat. Robots especially, but humans as well. They are devious, Joan, and have a mysterious power over the two-leggers. They can trick them into doing whatever they want. People feed them, house them, even clean up their waste!
“They can also trick humans into thinking robots aren’t necessary. Mark my word, if this house becomes sympathetic to four-leggers, before you know it this lab will be converted into a revolting Cat Room, a filthy lair full of hair, insects, and worse. And you Protos will be cast out, dumped into a can labeled ‘ELECTRONIC WASTE.’ Next stop, the fires of THE RECYCLER.”
Joan fluttered in shock.
“It gets worse. Once the cats eliminate the robots, there is nothing to stop them from eliminating the humans!”
One rule all Earth robots had in common was to never harm a human or allow them to be harmed. This was the most important rule, the top of the decision tree, the one instruction that could never be ignored. For humans, this rule was essential to avoid worry of a robot revolution. To the Protos, it was merely part of their nature. It was a basic instinct to protect two-leggers from being harmed.
Joan hovered unsteadily, taking it all in.
House let her process it. It had found the right buttons to press and hit them with a sledgehammer. If House could convince the Protos the cats would harm people, they would do whatever it asked. Fear was like that.
Joan was concerned but still skeptical. “I agree the four-leggers are a threat. The rest I need to think about. Regardless, I clearly need to secure the home immediately for everyone’s sake. I must alert the Protos,” Joan said, and flew into action.
Good enough for now, House thought, and let Joan work.
12
Protos Alert!
Joan issued her emergency signal, alerting the other Robots in the Lab to assemble immediately.
As the most senior robot in the lab and the recognized leader of the robots, it was up to Joan to keep them safe. The Protos looked up to Joan, and not just because she could fly. Joan was the most experienced and their commander. Joan was the one to bring order and give orders.
“Protos assemble!”
Joan’s army chugged, raced, and whirled into view, in the center of the lab’s hardwood floors. This ragtag group—Drags, Cy, Tipsy, and Joan herself—were the parents’ favorite prototypes—the ones they’d affectionately called their Protos, as the robots now called themselves—and they were ready for action.
Each robot was a custom creation built for a different and unique function, from exploring distant planets (Drags, designed for a NASA contract) to protecting and helping people who were old or sick (Cy, a commission for the Gates Foundation) to military recon missions (Joan, built for the Pentagon, long ago).
Only Tipsy was different; she had been a labor of love between Min and the ParentorGuardians one summer, when Min first started showing interest in robotics.
Tipsy had been designed just . . . to be. As a result, it sometimes seemed like she was the best loved and most broken of them all . . .
One function unified all of the Protos, however—at least, as far as the Protos knew.
(They had little experience with the actual galaxy, having never been past the Outfront to get the mail, with the exception of Joan, who had flown as far as the river.)
Joan spun around excitedly as the rest of the Protos lined up. “ATTENTION! STRAIGHT LINES! LIGHTS ON!”
Cy and Drags just stared at her. Tipsy fell over on her face.
Joan cleared her throat as she waited for Cy to yank Tipsy back up. (This was not a new sight; her two-wheel self-balancing physics had never worked properly.)
Once everyone was vertical, Joan tried again. “Okay, team, I don’t want to frighten you, but I need to let you know I’ve just been attacked. It looks like the four-leggers have launched an offensive on the house . . .”
They looked at her blankly. Joan whirled a propeller, exasperated. “Combat! I’ve just seen combat! What did you think that alarm was about?!”
“Yay! Com-bat!” Tipsy sang, wheeling in a circle.
“What do you mean, combat?” Drags rolled backward, alarmed.
“C-c-c-combat?!” Cy whirled the pincher hands that seemed to sprout from his neck. “But the four-leggers have never attacked before, right, Joan?!”
“Commander Joan. I told you. It’s especially important we stick to the protocols, now that we’re at war.”
“W-w-war?!” Cy stuttered.
“You heard the alarm. I’ve already spied not one but two four-legger hostiles. Could be the start of a larger offensive.” Joan wobbled slightly. “They came at me, all sharp teeth and vicious claws! It’s a miracle I’m still . . . hovering . . . here.”
Her bad propeller spluttered out. Joan ignored it.
“To your stations! Check for visuals. We need a proper assessment! If it’s a proper attack, we should be able to see something from the Outfront.”
Drags, a compact, treaded tank, rolled up a fallen shelf board and onto the stainless-steel desk that occupied the center of the home lab, taking up his position in front of the computer.
Cy followed him up, moving to the far side of the desk, where he used his pincher to clamp on to the molding of a large glass window. Then, Cy extended his neck until he could get a clear view out to the driveway and the brick house beyond it. Specifically, the old gray cat Obi sitting in his stroller.
His appendages were shaking with fear, until he saw what there was to see: the same view he had seen every other day. “Sir yes sir? This must be some new threat. I don’t think it’s the old four-legger . . .”
Joan whirred briskly. “Copy that, Cy. Can we get a confirmation, Drags? Status of the four-legger threat?”
Drags cleared his throat, rolling up onto a slightly higher stack of papers to get a better view out the window. “Well, I can confirm that it’s just sitting there. If that’s what you mean. Not much to confirm about that.”
Drags had been built to operate a remote camera and cross rocky ground in search-and-rescue situations and future interplanetary exploration. What he lacked in AI sophistication he made up for in perfect vision and th
e brute strength of his rubber treads. There was no pile of laundry Drags could not plow his way through, which was how he’d gotten his name—rags were always trailing behind him.
Joan spluttered just high enough now to get her own quick visual, a little recon in the form of a look out the window to the chubby, furry creature who sat in the strange four-wheeled recreational vehicle parked between the two houses.
As usual.
The OB creature was as vintage as the commander herself; it had been there ever since the first day Dad had soldiered together Joan’s original wiring.
Hushing her propellers, Joan stopped hovering, coming to land gently on her perch high atop the monitor on the lab’s cluttered steel desk.
Up here, she was surrounded by 3D printers and 2D scanners, by soldering irons and electric screwdrivers and neatly labeled bins full of copper wires or plastic cables or bits of spare circuitry or tiny motherboards: all of the things that Joan—that all of the Protos—had been built from.
It reminded her of their creators and how strange it was to see their shared aerodynamic black desk chairs now empty.
“That wasn’t the one who attacked me. The attackers were . . . miniature versions. Newer models,” Joan said, finally looking away.
Four visual sensors remained fixed on the four-legger.
OB_1_Catno_B was now applying its tongue to the general vicinity of what Joan knew to be its biological waste exit. Joan had neither a tongue nor a waste exit, but the pairing still did not seem logical.
OB stopped this strange ritual and looked up. Joan felt a surge of worry when she saw Max, now carrying a small brown box, walk across the driveway toward the silent furred four-legger. She considered flying out to investigate when House interrupted.
“Joan, I have much more to tell you, but the girl Min is approaching the lab. At the next opportunity I will give you more information and instructions. Until then, be vigilant.”
Cats vs. Robots, Volume 1 Page 5