Joan ordered her squad back to their charging positions, ready for Min’s arrival. As the bots scurried onto their shelf, Joan flew to her charging post and set down, reviewing what House had told her, comparing it with what she knew.
She knew (and had the scratches to prove it!) that four-leggers had breached the house’s perimeter. She also knew her programming instructed her to avoid four-leggers, so they must be a threat. But what House had said was much more frightening.
A threat to her Protos! And a threat to the family? She wasn’t sure she could trust House, but it all added up, and Joan was not one to take chances when the safety of her people was at stake.
13
Pounce Messages Home
ON APPROACH TO PLANET EARTH
Miles above Earth, Pounce zoomed through space in his cat-shaped ship, whisker antennae and viewports in both eyes, heading toward the shiny blue ball on the bad side of the galaxy.
Pounce was finally close enough to establish real-time communication, audio only, with the agent on-planet. Obi, he called himself—a strange name.
Pounce rested a paw on the control, stretched out a bean toe, and pressed a button.
“Agent O, can you hear me? This is Pounce de Leon, second-in-command and Major Meow-Domo of the Great Feline Empire.”
Amid the static, a faint voice replied, “Nice of you to get in touch, Pounce. I was beginning to wonder if the GFE had forgotten about me.”
“Such is the life of a Vanguard explorer,” Pounce replied.
“Feels more like exile, but clearly my feelings are not the reason you are calling.” Obi’s voice crackled.
“We received your message and I am on my way, with orders from the chairman himself to follow up and get this invention you say you’ve discovered. Can you give me any more information?”
“I first heard about it from a conversation between two neighbor two-leggers. You see, I am fast approaching the end of my lives, and the neighboring humans have become sentimental about it. They have become rather attached to me, if you can believe it, and mentioned something they call a ‘chip’ that could somehow extend my life. Indefinitely.”
“Remarkable,” Pounce replied.
“That’s not all. This chip thing can also be used as a power source. A type of battery that never needs recharging.” Obi paused, letting that bit sink in.
“We know how much trouble the Robots could cause if they never needed to recharge.”
Another pause. Pounce shuddered and licked his shoulder nervously.
“Astonishing. So much potential good—and evil—in one invention. And you say it is nearby?”
“I believe it is. The humans are almost always in the neighboring home, which is where this chip must be.”
Pounce nodded. “Understood.”
“Pounce, you should know I’ve seen bots inside the home. Primitive creatures, local variety, but not a good sign. I assume you brought help? Something like this is sure to draw the attention of those metal menaces.”
“Already?” Pounce shook his head. “This is bad. I have indeed received intelligence reports from our Binar spies of a large fleet headed in your direction.”
“And our fleet?” Obi asked hopefully.
Pounce almost couldn’t say it.
“Unfortunately, our fleet, well, disappeared a few weeks ago,” Pounce muttered, clearly annoyed. “Again. Obi, I know it sounds impossible, but we need to get the chip before the Robots do. The chairman desperately wants it, and we can’t afford to let the Robots have it.”
“Me and whose army?” Obi said, and Pounce didn’t have to answer.
“I’m sorry, Obi. I’m coming to help, but until then, you’re going to have to improvise. Be creative.”
Low static buzzed from the speakers as Obi thought.
“I’ll see what I can do to infiltrate. Unfortunately, due to my age, I can’t move so well. I’m going to need to find help.”
“That’s the spirit. We’re counting on you. Good luck, Obi. Pounce out.”
Pounce lifted his toe from the button and his mind began to wander.
It was his first trip to Earth, and he was more than a little interested to see if the place was really as horrid as everyone liked to say. He had so many questions.
Did the two-leggers really carry us around in bags? As if we were groceries? Lock us away during dinner parties, of all things—when everyone in the galaxy knows we make the most polite conversation and the most honorable of honored guests?
Can you imagine? He flicked his ears.
It wasn’t until Pounce edged his ship closer to the blue-tinted planet—in fact, through its orbit and all the way into the ball’s atmosphere—that he realized the true horror of the place.
The blue color on the ball was water.
Oceans and oceans of the stuff.
Hideous.
Aside from lapping at a pleasant, leisurely trickle directly from a faucet, water experiences were some of the most dangerous and panic-inducing of all.
Pounce instantly pictured uncomfortable bathing and unpleasant raining and un-survivable flooding . . .
Shuddering, Pounce turned to his aide. “I don’t understand. Why would anybody live on such a planet, Oscar?”
“Stupidity?” Oscar yawned, rolling over on the copilot’s catnap pillow and smashing his whiskers down into his favorite drool spot. The major’s intern still smelled like tuna; he’d just crawled up from the kitchen to the cockpit through one of the cat-sized hallways that went up and down the length of the ship.
Pounce looked from the round, blue planet to his intern again. “But do you really think an entire planet can be stupid, Oscar?”
“Of course, boss.” Oscar yawned. “What about the Binars—those dumbucket bots? That’s not just a planet, it’s a whole, big, stupid Galactic Robot Federation—or whatever!”
“Ah, well. There you go. So they’re just incredibly stupid, the two-leggers. That must be it,” the Major Meow-Domo said. “How sad for them.”
Pounce flicked on the autopilot and let it carry him to his preprogrammed coordinates. He had other matters at present paw to contend with.
With a small squawk, Pounce began to tap his message out slowly with his front left bean toe, repeatedly booping the keyboard on the ship’s communication device.
It was exhausting, and not very accurate, but the results were this:
Report to Chairman Meow:
Arrived at Earth safely.
Contacted Local Agent.
Formulating Plans to Acquire Chip.
First: the Plan to Nap.
Second: to be determined.
Will report back soon.
—Pounce
This took quite some time, as bean-toe typing was a rather laborious process. Pounce sighed afterward, stretching his stiff toe, wondering why he bothered.
Chairman Meow never read his reports.
Feeling tired, Pounce crawled up on the keyboard for a quick nap.
As he rested on the warm keys, he began sending a constant stream of messages back to the Feline Home World, including the following:
Ajoifsefjq9p084frjqoisdjfaslkndv;lasdll;fsj lkajsfopaijhfopai jseopifjaposiefal;nba hn jhhhhhhhdddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddaaaaaaaaaa
Nobody read those messages either.
14
Sir Beeps-A-Lot Makes Contact
ON APPROACH TO PLANET EARTH
From the opposite end of the galaxy, in the Federation’s fastest ship, Sir Beeps twisted and turned, rapidly approaching Earth. The ship had an unwelcoming look—all edges, with razor-sharp fins and menacing sensors fanning out. A few short light-years behind, a full battalion of the Robot Federation Space Fleet followed, prepared to bring the heat in case anyone was foolish enough to resist.
Despite this delicious firepower, the Robot Federation’s number two was in a foul mood—and his approach to a technologically backward outpost such as this one did nothing to improve it. The trip had been long and dull, interrupte
d only by occasional updates from his agent on Earth.
Through these updates, Beeps learned that his agent was not even a robot. House, as it called itself, was mere software. An AI. A nobody. Great.
Beeps, like many Robots, didn’t trust pure AI. Robots preferred the corporeal. Something they could grasp on to. To the Binars, software without hardware was like thought without action. Why even bother?
Case in point, his agent, House. No legs. No arms. No wheels. House couldn’t do anything by itself. It was smart enough, sure, but smarts only get you so far in this universe without a body to back it up. True, House had discovered the Singularity Chip, a worthy accomplishment, but now what?
This body-less House couldn’t even search for the chip by itself. It was forced to rely on faulty, crude, barely sentient local Robots for help.
This was going to slow things down, and Beeps didn’t have time to waste. House’s last report chilled Beeps’s circuits. An assault on the chip location: probable culprit—four-leggers. How did the Cats get there so quickly?
Well, I’m here now, he thought, speeding into the local solar system. He nervously scanned for traces of Feline ships as he zipped back and forth, weaving his way into Earth’s orbit, dodging satellites and space debris.
Shockingly messy, disorganized planet.
This whole solar system needs a serious upgrade, a version 2.0 . . . after this mission, perhaps . . .
But Beeps didn’t have time to imagine a glorious upgrade for very long, because his panic was interrupted by a flashing red light. A message from home.
BEEEEEEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEEEEEEEP!
Uh-oh, Beeps thought.
That can’t be good.
He opened it immediately.
>Beeps, we’ve got BIG TROUBLE—where do you store the chrome polish?
>The cleaning crew has run out and the Throne Room is getting POSITIVELY DULL.
>Also, I broke another mirror.
>This one I am using now is not my favorite, Number Two.
>Not.
>My.
>Favorite.
>I MUST SEE MY TATS!!
>REPLY ASAP.
Beeps rolled his eye back into his head unit so far it did a full circle and came back up the other side like a rising sun.
“Right. Trouble. Well, I’d better get right on that . . .” he said to himself.
He didn’t get right on it.
Scanning his screens, he saw that another one of his many complicated alarm alerts had begun to flash on the map interface in front of him.
This time, purple.
Purple?
As in the color of the flag of the GFE?
Scanning the alarm now, Beeps detected signals of . . .
A Feline ship.
His worst fears confirmed, he opened up his messaging console to report back to SLAYAR. The news was not good, but at least he didn’t have to deliver it in person.
>Message received. Arrived safely, thanks for asking.
>Cat ship detected in orbit. Will monitor.
>Executing Plan: Get That Chip
>Phase 1, make contact with Local Agent, complete.
>Will report back with progress.
>Beeps Out.
Beeps’s grasper reached out to hit “SEND,” but he sighed and added a postscript.
>PS: Chrome polish is in Storage Facility 9X1. The one labeled “CHROME POLISH VERY IMPORTANT DO NOT TOUCH WITHOUT PERMISSION OF SUPREME LEADER.”
Beeps shook his head and sent the message.
Beeps turned to look at the glowing blue orb below him.
I can’t believe the Cats beat me here.
Sir Beeps knew there was only one cat that could have done such a thing. The same cat who had been making his duty as Number Two more than miserable, for more than a number of years.
His scanners buzzed, interrupting his bad memories. The ship had been identified.
Beeps braced himself as a blurry photo of a cat making a strange face popped up on-screen. Below the frightening image were the words:
FELINE CRAFT IDENTIFIED
SEE: SIR POUNCE DE LEON.
MAJOR MEOW-DUMMO.
SEE: GREAT FELINE EMPIRE.
PROCEED WITH CAUTION.
IS VERY ORGANIZED.
Pounce. My nemesis.
It was time for Robot Federation Number Two to face his enemy number one. The most organized cat in the Great Feline Empire. Also possibly the only organized cat in the Great Feline Empire.
The bot shuddered to himself, releasing a mild electrical surge that flooded most of his circuitry in a remarkably unpleasant simulation of panic.
“You’re going down, Pounce.” Beeps glared at the blurry face of his rival as he waited for his Earth-bound agent to report back with progress.
And so he sat, quietly contemplating his fate, until the roar of his engine began to sound almost like . . .
Purring.
15
Hi Maxmin
TEXT MESSAGE TO FAMILY GROUP CHAT
momma: HI MAXMIN/MINMAX!!
daddy: we’re on a plane!
momma: *rolls eyes*
daddy: guess what they gave us WARM NUTS
momma: dad . . .
daddy: just saying you guys would LOVE these nuts
momma: sorry we can’t chat in real time, but we wanted to let you know we’re fine, you know, just hurtling through the air toward China at 550 miles per hour in an oblong steel container, 40,000 feet above the ocean—
daddy: yup, no worries, because PHYSICS!!
momma: we’ll get in touch when we get to the hotel in shenzen—until then listen to Javi and do what they say, ok? be nice.
daddy: gotta go—they’re bringing us FREE GINGER ALE!!
momma: love you guys and miss you tons.
daddy: To the moon and back, kiddos.
16
Obi Meets His Match
Obi tried to nap, soaking in the last few rays of the afternoon sun, but his mind kept returning to his conversation with Pounce. After all these lives, he finally had work to do. And he had no idea how to do it.
You’re going to have to improvise, Pounce had said. The understatement of nine lifetimes! Obi could hardly walk, let alone sneak, into the house next door, find and steal some mysterious invention of galactic importance, and stroll out unnoticed!
Obi opened his eye just a slit and saw the metal-heads next door, gathered at a window, watching.
Enjoy the show, he thought, as he stretched and started licking his bum.
Harmless, clueless, barely qualified to be called robots. Like children, most certainly unaware of the greater Cat-Robot conflict, ignorant of the powerful invention in their very midst.
Nonsensical claptrap, their kind.
He heard Max walking his way, a welcome distraction. The old cat waited until the boy settled himself on the crumbling stone wall, just as he had every day for as long as Obi could remember.
Then, the furry creature summoned what strength and what dignity he had—not much, honestly, but then again, he was ancient enough to feel as if he’d lived a thousand more lifetimes beyond the nine he’d been owed—and used his forelegs to propel himself up and out of the stroller, just enough so that he could flop awkwardly down to the old stone wall.
“Hi, Obi.” His boy smiled.
Obi threw his weight forward, dragging his limp back legs silently across the stones with him, until he could finally flop himself next to his boy.
This time, however, there was a brown cardboard box between the two of them.
“Obi, look. I’ve brought you some friends, Stu and Scout.” His boy slowly lifted open the top of the box.
Two bedraggled-looking kittens with wide eyes slowly lifted their heads over the edge of the box, one at a time.
Blessed Sphinx, Obi thought. Kittens?!
The spotty kitten narrowed its eyes and let out a tiny croak at the sight of Obi.
KRKKKKKKKKKKKK!
It was a so
und normally reserved for tree rats, Obi knew.
Very insulting.
He let out a laugh—and the gray kitten arched its back in response.
Obi pulled his head back, trying to get a better look at the dirty scamps. They weren’t Insiders; he could smell the street on them from where he sat.
Strays?
Dumpster kittens?
What street trash has he brought me now?
Now the spotty kitten hissed.
The boy laughed, but he was also careful to keep the box partly closed. “It’s okay, they’re just scared. I wanted you to meet because I might need your help with them. They’re going to be living with me for a while, but . . . I never had any pets before.”
Come again? A pet?
Obi stared at Max with glittering eyes, trying to absorb this new development.
His boy kept going. “I mean, none except you, and you don’t even live in the house with us. You belong to Mrs. Reynolds.”
You’re bringing this filth into your home? With you?
In the house? Your house?
Obi blinked one eye. Then, a second—and entirely different—line of thinking popped into his walnut-sized brain.
He began to improvise.
Obi eyed the tiny heads in front of him.
But these . . . runts?
How do tiny necks like that even support those . . . pebble-sized . . . heads?
Max stroked the pebble heads. “I couldn’t just leave them back at the river where I found them, right, Obi? Min wants to get rid of them at a shelter or something, but I don’t think I can do that to them.”
Obi shuddered involuntarily at the mention of Shelter, the maximum-security facility where animals went in but rarely came back out.
The very thought of such a horror chastened him, and he resolved to be entirely more charitable toward the strays in front of him.
Obi was an old snob of a cat; he wasn’t a villain.
Now Obi scratched an imaginary itch with his leg and cleaned his fur just long enough to gather his composure.
“I was thinking . . . maybe I could just keep them in the basement? They couldn’t get into too much trouble down there, right?”
Obi sensed Max was deeply concerned. He gave a tired sigh and, reluctantly, hobbled forward on two paws, dragging his hind legs, and licked his boy’s hand with his rough tongue.
Cats vs. Robots, Volume 1 Page 6