Unlike a primate, Elmer’s arms and legs twisted and rotated. Honestly, they could even twist and rotate in ways human limbs couldn’t, which meant Elmer could do way more than a human could.
Elmer could, for example, crawl like a crab or spider. Elmer could cross almost any kind of obstacle, even stairs or uneven ground—stairs were the number-one enemy of all robots!—and if Elmer were ever knocked over, he should be able to get back up.
Theoretically . . . hopefully . . . maybe.
Min got her screwdriver and tightened the tiny screws holding his limbs together. “You’re a tough guy, aren’t you, Elmer?”
He was. Elmer would be tough to beat in a competition. Min had built his arms and legs out of lightweight metal pipes, designed to be super strong but not too heavy to move quickly.
Still, the motors for his joints were factory strength, meant to lift heavy loads or to operate for long periods of time. Min had recycled them from appliances and other machinery she had scavenged during trips to the dump with her mom.
Mom has a great eye for garbage, Min thought, tightening the screw on the bottom of Elmer’s belly, which Max kept insisting on calling his belly button.
Wrong.
That wasn’t all.
Elmer’s joints could also rotate extremely quickly if necessary, which made swinging, swatting, even jumping possible. Min imagined Elmer leaping over his robotic enemies at the city competition—squatting down when they tried to punch back—then clobbering them with a left hook. Theoretically, it could happen.
Ideally . . . probably . . . possibly.
She’d seen robots like Elmer do stuff like that, at least online. Min had gotten ideas for lots of different parts of Elmer’s design from other people’s robots—the internet was full of them.
“That’s cheating,” Max had yelled, but he just didn’t get it.
“It’s called collaborating,” Min had yelled back. “It’s called open source, look it up!” Min knew that lots of people put their code, designs, and ideas online, hoping they would be used and improved on by others. “If I have seen further, it is by standing upon the shoulders of giants”—something Isaac Newton wrote—was a favorite quote from Min’s favorite teacher.
And it was true; by the time Elmer’s final design had come together, she had borrowed ideas and concepts and drawings and bolted together designs from probably twenty or thirty different projects she had studied online, through videos and drawings and blueprints.
She couldn’t have done it alone. Some of the best ideas had come from her friends in the Robotics Club—and she’d solved some of her friends’ prototypes’ problems too.
And besides, the rules for Battle of the Bots allowed for adapting and borrowing from other designs, as long as the end product was something original.
And Min’s robot really was his own special kind of creation . . . as original as Min herself.
So original, he might even win . . . !
Min gave herself a moment to imagine the victory. The lights flashing, a real-life NASA scientist handing her a trophy and an invitation to work with them for the summer.
Min eyed the room around her, not wanting to get her hopes up. Still, with a lab like this, how could she not win the Battle of the Bots?
Min sometimes felt a little guilty having such a well-equipped lab to use for her project, but only a little. Jake Burton was on a team coached by college coaches from Bayside City College. Paige Blum had started a girls’ team at North Brentwood, and they had more kids and more funding than all of Bayside Middle School. Charlie Cooper’s team had a whole iced-tea company that for some reason paid for everything they needed. It was called a sponsorship, Min knew—but what did iced tea have to do with fighting robots?
She tried not to think about it.
Besides, none of that really matters, does it?
It was Min’s special touch that made Elmer unique, wasn’t it?
And Elmer, he wasn’t just going to be a robot—he was going to be a warrior, who would crush the competition at the Battle of the Bots.
Right?
19
Testing Elmer
Min sat at her worktable and studied the grasper in front of her. At the end of each limb was a crude three-pronged claw, which was useful for getting around, but not much else.
You’re not just a claw. You’re my secret weapon.
Elmer’s claws were detachable and replaceable. Min had built a whole series of different attachments, each designed to handle a different threat that Elmer might face in combat. She lined them up in front of her now.
This one was for punching.
This one was for drilling holes.
This one was for slicing.
Then, with one hand, Min popped open compartment after compartment inside Elmer’s bulky body. She had designed Elmer with a lot of storage space, more room than she needed now, but she was planning for future battles.
For now, she only used four compartments, one for each deadly attachment.
Elmer’s super-secret weapons . . .
Min examined them on the shelf in front of her—a jackhammer, a saw blade, a drill bit, even a welding flame thingy—all recycled (upcycled, her Mom would say) from abandoned power tools she’d gotten from her grandfather’s shed.
All she had left was to put the finishing touches on the fourth attachment—the welder/flamethrower she was going to use to melt the rubber wheels of enemy robots.
Let’s throw some flames, Elmer.
Min put on her safety glasses to test fire the flamethrower, which was fueled by a small canister of hair spray and lit by a lighter. She put the hand in a vise on the bench and attached wires from the computer to the hand. Finally, she pressed a button on the keyboard, and the room glowed as a small, hot stream of flame spit out.
No way—
It’s working!
Min tested it a couple more times, replaced the canister, took the attachment from the vise, and set it on the shelf, ready to go.
The Protos looked on in silent awe.
Min didn’t even look up at them as she went about checking Elmer’s software. “Don’t get too excited,” she said to the silent bot. “That flamethrower is only for when someone pulls out puncture nail wheels, like last year. Get it?”
Elmer stared back at her, saying nothing.
“You got it,” Min said, opening her tablet.
Elmer had a lot of complicated systems, but like with his design, most of the code Elmer relied on was stuff that Min had borrowed from lots of different programmers online.
That was pretty standard.
Now Min’s main job was to help Elmer make decisions, like how to figure out when and how he would move in certain directions, how he would avoid crashes and attacks, how he would attack other robots . . . things like that.
A lot of Elmer’s programming was focused on how to keep him balanced while still moving around and avoiding obstacles.
Min couldn’t write that code—it was way too complicated—but nice hackers had shared enough online that she could download it and plug it in.
Why solve a problem if someone had already solved it for her?
She still had to test it, though.
Right now, she was going to test Elmer’s movement software to make sure it was working properly.
“I’m going to let you explore today, Elmer,” Min said as she checked his battery levels.
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!
“Fully charged. All righty then. Everything looks good, so how about . . .” Min switched Elmer on. “Wait for it . . .”
His eyes glowed green—and blinked. “HE’S ALIVE,” Min shouted, just as her parents always did . . .
. . . and the entire room watched as the newest bot came online.
WHRRRRRRRRRRRRR!
Elmer slowly raised his head.
WHRRRRR WHRRRRRR WHRRRRRR!
Min touched her tablet. “Scanning mode is operational . . .”
Elmer spun his head around and aroun
d, scanning the area.
Min smiled. “Good boy, Elmer.” She picked him up and put him down on the floor. “Now, show me what you’ve got, buddy.”
She touched her tablet again. “Three hundred sixty-degree scanning is operational . . .”
Elmer was only a couple feet tall—even when fully extended to a standing position—and he was pretty light because Min was competing in the “Antweight” class.
She nodded at him, trying not to be nervous.
That didn’t work.
She was nervous, because if it didn’t work, she didn’t know what she would do. She didn’t have time to build a new Elmer, not before the Battle of the Bots . . .
Not with my parents gone.
She took a deep breath.
“Okay, Elmer, enough with the scanning. Why don’t we explore the house and test out your obstacle-avoidance and navigation systems . . .”
Elmer’s head stopped rotating.
It turned toward Min.
Two green eyes blinked.
Wow. Min swallowed. I mean, I know Elmer has artificial intelligence, but the way he looks at me, you would think he was alive . . .
The eyes blinked again.
“Yeah, obstacle avoidance?” Min spoke up. “That just means, don’t crash into stuff.”
The head rotated away as Elmer went back to scanning.
“Switching off scan mode . . . now.” Min picked up her tablet and hit a switch. “Autonomous mode is . . . on. Sub-mode is . . . explore. Check and check. Let’s do this, buddy.”
BRRRR BRRRRR BRRRRR!
Elmer finished scanning the room; sat upright; got up on its hind legs, with front legs on the ground like a gorilla . . .
BAHDUMP BAHDUMP BAHDUMP!
. . . and started lumbering around the lab.
Min grinned with relief.
“Oh, phew. Why was I even worried? How could I have doubted you, buddy? You’re going to be great,” Min said, even though Elmer couldn’t understand her. “Mom was right. You just gotta have a little faith and the impossible really is possible. We’re going to win this thing. You just wait.”
BAHDUMP BAHDUMP BAHDUMP!
Elmer bumped into the Protos’ shelf.
Tipsy fell down off it and onto the floor next to him.
“Come on, Tips.” Min smiled, righting her oldest bot. “Why don’t you help Elmer practice moving around the room. Then we can try him out in the rest of the house.”
Tipsy rolled in a circle around the strange new bot.
Min stood up.
She tried not to stress out about how strange her day had become . . . or about the fact that her parents were thousands of miles away . . . or about how she was going to have to finish Elmer without them.
Min tried not to panic about how Max was usually cheering for her when she had a big competition, but now he was too busy with his stupid strays.
She tried not to feel jealous about Javi helping Max with the kittens instead of helping her with Elmer.
Min tried, instead, to focus on what she had left to do to help the robot thumping around the room in front of her. Maybe it would help. Her work calmed her down. Usually.
Focus, Min!
But it was no use. She eyed Elmer, who looked back at her with blinking green-lit eyes. “I think I need another piece of pizza.”
And as Min walked out of the lab, she was too worried about trying not to worry to pay much attention to the three old Protos that were now rolling, spinning, and flying down a ramp from their shelf . . . racing to join Tipsy . . . and to meet the newest Proto.
Tipsy bumped into Elmer. He reached out a grasper and lifted Tipsy up, wheels spinning.
“Hello, L-mer!” Tipsy said.
20
The Kittens Come Home
Stu and Scout scrabbled inside the box as it moved beneath them.
They were being carried somewhere, Stu thought. Which was confusing, because they were already in what Obi had called the Inside.
He looked over at his sister. “How much farther inside this house thingy do we gotta go?”
“I don’t know, but if I don’t get out of this box thingy soon, I’m gonna puke up a hairball,” Scout said.
To anyone but another cat, this conversation sounded like a squeaky, howly, desperate MEEEEEWWWWWW! Still, seeing as Stu and Scout actually were cats, to the two of them this was a perfectly rational form of communication.
“Don’t say puke, now I’m gonna yip too.” Stu started complaining right back at her. The darkness and bouncing around was getting to them both.
“Puke puke puke,” Scout said, which Stu had kind of known she would.
“Why, I . . .” Stu had just opened his mouth to start hocking up a pretend hairball, when voices from beyond the box startled them both.
“You should take them downstairs to the basement and let them out of that box. They’ve been in there too long.”
The voice didn’t match the voice of Obi’s boy, Stu thought.
It’s the bigger one. The one with the curly fur . . .
“I’m going to go ask Mrs. Reynolds if she can spare some litter and food to get us through the night. BRB.”
Now the box was rolling beneath them again.
“Whyyyyyyy . . .” Stu groaned.
“It feels like we’re . . . sinking?” Scout guessed.
Then the box thumped down—THUMPPPPPP! It landed on something hard beneath them. The top came lifting off, and the light streamed in.
“That hurts my eyes!” Scout groused, ducking toward his paw.
“It’s Inside light, I think,” Stu said. “Hold still.” He lowered his head, using his sister’s head to partly block the light for him. “Good thing you have such big honking ears.”
“Good thing I have such sharp claws, you . . .” Scout squirmed toward her brother, ready to claw him in the nose . . .
. . . when they saw the Face.
Obi’s boy, Max, was looking down at them from the top of the box, and it caught them both off guard.
Max.
“WHA-OH!” Scout said, startled.
“YIKES!” Stu croaked. “Jeez, look at that giant head.”
“I don’t wanna,” Scout said, frantically scrabbling to hide behind her bigger brother. “That . . . thing . . . almost scared the poop out of me.”
Now—their eyes adjusting—Stu and Scout squinted past Max’s big head, into the lights in the ceiling. Scout was right. This was the Inside. She saw a large room that had no windows, and a tall stack of rising steps that shone with light from what looked like an open door at the top of them.
“What do we do now?” Scout looked at her brother.
“I don’t know about you, but I gotta get out of this box.” Stu twisted his head around. “Come on.”
They waited until Max stepped back, then crept carefully out of the box.
Scout, slightly more agile, hopped easily out onto the wood floor.
Stu tried to do the same but flipped the box as he rolled into Scout.
“Ha!” Stu laughed, batting at his sister’s nose.
“Hey!” Scout roared, swiping her brother’s paw.
They started pouncing on each other playfully—forgetting about the strangeness of the Inside room or the giant head, instead happily rolling around beneath a chair—when Max got up and left the room, disappearing through a door.
“Where’s Obi’s boy going?” Stu frowned.
SHUUUUUSHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Scout pricked up her ears. “What is that noise?”
“Sounds like the river.” Stu recognized the sound of the rushing river they had almost drowned in.
The cats poked their heads through the door, neither one of them daring to actually enter the smaller room as Obi’s boy, Max, knelt in front of them, setting down a bowl.
“That’s not a river,” Scout said.
“But it’s water,” Stu pointed out, staring. “Definitely water.”
“You guys thirsty?” Max set
the cup down in front of them.
“I’m not touching that,” Scout said, backing away.
“Scaredy dog,” Stu said, wobbling up to the bowl, swaggering a bit more bravely than he actually felt. He sniffed a bit, then started lapping up the water. “Mmmm. Cold. Delicious. Good thing I’m gonna get to drink this all by my . . .”
“Move!” Scout pounced on the bowl, shoving her brother to the side. They drank quietly after that, tiny tongues flipping in and out of their mouths.
The voice interrupted them again. “I present to you kitty litter, otherwise known as insta-potties for cats. Check it out.”
Javi thumped down the stairs into the room, dumping a big square box on the floor in front of them.
It was full of . . .
“Dirt?” Stu left behind the water, his tongue still dripping wet. “Smells fresh.”
“Don’t just—” Scout began, but it was too late.
Stu had already turned and crept into the tub, pawing the . . .
“Funny dirt?” Then Stu remembered. “Ohhhhhh. I got it. This has gotta be the box Obi was talking about.”
“What box?” Scout crept over nervously, keeping her head low to the floor. The two big heads had retreated to the far side of the room, though, so she kept going.
Stu had it all figured out. “Not bad.” He wiggled his furry behind around a bit, turned, turned again, and settled into place.
The moment he did, a dark, wet spot started growing below him. “Aaaaaah. That’s much better.”
“Rude!” Scout snorted.
Stu kicked up some litter to cover his “business.” “Spoiler alert, sis. Everybody does it.”
“Good job, little dude,” Javi said, laughing from across the room.
Max laughed too—until a buzzing sound interrupted him.
The kittens froze, looking around for the sound. “It’s from his hand,” Scout announced. “Look.”
It was true. Max was staring at something in his hand. Now his voice was louder and higher than it had been, Stu noticed.
Something was wrong.
Max sounded worried. “Oh man, with all this craziness I forgot about my level! My team, all my buddies are waiting for me online.”
“What level?” Javi said, offering a finger to Scout.
Cats vs. Robots, Volume 1 Page 8