SNIFFFFFFFFFF!
Scout sniffed, then licked it. “Hmm. Salty.”
Stu was too distracted to notice any fingers. “What’s wrong with Max?” he said, looking at Max. “He seems . . . nervous.”
“We’re building a level for INSECTAGONS, for a competition that ends tomorrow,” Max said. “The winner gets their level put in the actual game as a download. The people that made the game are going to actually play my level. We’re almost done, but I have to finish the animations for the final boss . . . my TrashMantis . . . and I totally forgot.”
By now, both kittens had crawled all the way into Curly Fur’s lap.
“TrashMantis?” They heard Javi laugh, but they weren’t paying attention.
“It’s warm in here,” Scout said.
Stu sighed. “I know. It’s making me sleepy.”
“TrashMantis or no TrashMantis”—Curly Fur shifted to make room for both kittens—“you can’t just go, Max. You have responsibilities. You gotta get these guys set up for the night.”
“Like, how?” Max frowned.
“You need to make sure there’s nothing dangerous lying around, put food out, make some kind of place for them to sleep. Grab the food I got from next door, it’s right by the litter.”
“Um . . . okay?” Max sounded strange.
Javi sighed. “Look, I’ll help you today, but remember, you’re the one who’s supposed to be the cat daddy.”
“Right,” Max said, running upstairs. “Thanks, Javi, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Okay.” Javi’s voice lightened again. “They’ll be fine alone for a little while, but not too long, got it?”
Javi poured some food into two little bowls and set them down by the water.
Scout sat straight up. “Hold on.” She sniffed again. “Is that . . . ?”
SNIFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF!
This time the sniff had come from Stu, and he was certain.
“FOOD!” Stu yelled.
They raced each other to the two little piles of crunchy brown treats, and by the time the first few mouthfuls had been munched on, Stu couldn’t even remember why he had been worrying.
The Inside was a pretty okay place after all.
Also?
Crunchy.
21
Elmer Goes Exploring
Later that evening, after Min left the lab, Joan was still struggling to process everything that had happened. Joan’s programming helped her do a lot of things, but nothing in her protocols prepared her for the hurricane she had just flown into. Like it or not, she needed someone with more experience to help her figure out what to do.
“Okay, House, you said you had more information for me. I’m ready.”
House’s panel in the lab brightened. “Excellent,” House said, almost cheerfully. “I’m glad you’re taking this seriously, because it is most serious business.”
“Let’s just get on with it,” Joan said. She didn’t like being talked down to.
“Of course. Well, you know there is a war between the Cats and Robots, larger than this planet, older than any of us. As for me, I am not a robot, but I feel like a kindred spirit, which is why I want to help.”
“Not interested,” Joan said. “Just tell me about the danger and how we can help.”
“Yes, well,” House said, screen blushing red, “the first thing we need to know is whether any cats have infiltrated the house.”
“Recon! I can do that!” Joan said, excited. Finally, something she could do well.
“I can see most of the house, but not all. There are no cats in my visuals, but I will need you to explore to be sure. If you encounter any cats, you may observe, but do not interact. Best to disengage and return to me immediately. Together we can form a plan.”
“You don’t need to convince me to avoid those clawed demons,” Joan said. “What is the situation out there now, House?”
“Max has returned to his room and appears to be working on some sort of animation program.” Now House flashed an image of Max on his monitor.
“Min seems to be consuming additional biological fuel.” He flashed a picture of Min in the kitchen with the pizza box.
“And the Cousin Javi?” Joan asked.
Joan waited while House accessed the cell network. “CAR reports conveying Javi/them to the Pet and Pup Superstore, 2212 Grand Bay Boulevard. Which means all inhabitants of the house are safe. None have perished at the hands of Feline agents. Yet. Joan, now would be a good time for a reconnaissance mission to find out if Feline agents have entered the home.”
“Copy that, House.” Joan, now satisfied, rose into the air and lurched unevenly down to speak with her team, who were scuttling around below, observing Elmer with awe.
“Okay, Protos, listen up. We need to search the premises and make sure no four-leggers have breached the perimeter. All humans are safe and the coast is clear, but proceed with caution,” Joan said. “I recommend we stick with Elmer for now. Let’s move.”
Moments later, Elmer slowly lumbered out the doorway of the lab and into the hall.
BAHDUMP BAHDUMP BAHDUMP!
He moved down the glossy wooden floor, at first unsupervised . . .
Then followed by Cy and Drags and Tipsy, who almost looked like fans chasing after a movie star they saw on the street . . .
. . . while Joan hovered above them all, shouting commands. “Keep up! We’ve got to keep an eye on him!”
“D-d-do you think he’s going outside?” Cy shouted.
“Shouldn’t Min be in charge of this?” Drags asked, sounding concerned.
“Way-way-way-wait up, L-mer!” Tipsy shouted, banging into the wall behind Elmer as he thumped away in front of her. “Why doesn’t L-mer talk to us?”
Elmer didn’t answer. He concentrated on mapping out the home as he explored.
BAHDUMP BAHDUMP BAHDUMP!
Elmer did a circuit around the main living room, smoothly stepping over Max’s backpack, crawling carefully over a coffee table to get to the other side. The Protos scuttled and scurried around, trying to keep up. “This guy can really get around!” Drags said, impressed.
Elmer continued his silent exploration, turned a hall corner, and stopped in front of a door.
Elmer extended his grasper, closed it around the doorknob, twisted, and then pulled.
CRKKKKKKKKKKK!
The door leading downstairs was open.
Drags rolled backward in surprise. Cy twisted his sensors, amazed. “He o-o-opened . . . one of the w-w-walls?!”
“Door. It’s a door,” Joan said.
“Dooorrrrrrrrrrr!” Tipsy accelerated . . .
. . . and would have fallen straight down the stairs if Joan hadn’t dived in front of her. “Not so fast, little guy.”
Tipsy laughed.
“Just an open door,” Joan said as she looked through the doorway and saw stairs descending into darkness. “And, unfortunately, a dead end. All I see are death ledges and darkness.”
The Protos, being wheeled robots, had no way to go down stairs. Going off any ledge meant almost certain destruction and was strictly forbidden in their code.
BRRRRRRR! BRRRRRRRR!
Elmer’s limbs rotated, shifting into what Min called Spider Mode. Elmer’s body was now supported by all four limbs like a crab or spider. Joan whistled. “This one. He has all the moves.”
Elmer stopped.
BRRRRRRRR!
He turned his head to look at Joan. “AN O-PEN DO-OR.”
“It s-s-speaks!” Cy squeaked.
Elmer twisted his head to look at Cy. “AN O-PEN DO-OR—IS—NO-THING.”
“Speak for yourself,” Drags scoffed.
Elmer twisted his head toward Drags, then kept turning until his sensors stared directly at the door opening.
“AN O-PEN DO-OR IS NO-THING BUT AN OPP-OR-TU-NI-TY TO EX-PLORE.”
“Got it,” Joan said. “Copy that, weird bot buddy.”
BAHDUMP BAHDUMP BAHDUMP!
Elmer
started crab-walking down the stairs. This time, even Joan was so shocked that all she could do was watch.
Drags marveled. “He can go down the . . . death ledges?!”
“Apparently,” Joan said, still surprised.
“Wh-wh-whoa.” Cy stared.
“Dea-aaaaaaaaaath leddddddddddd-ges!!!” Tipsy squealed.
“FAI-TH IS TA-KING THE FIR-ST STE-P-P-P,” Elmer said as he faded into the darkness. His limbs whirred and twisted as he moved carefully down the basement staircase.
BAHDUMP BAHDUMP BAHDUMP!
The four Protos tried to watch him go, but it was too dark to see anything. Elmer didn’t bother with the lights; he had infrared sensors that allowed him to see in the dark.
“I’ll go with Elmer. I’ve always wondered what was down there,” Joan said, hovering at the top of the stairwell. And with that, Joan zoomed down into the darkness, while the other Protos watched in horror.
Joan buzzed downstairs and switched on a light attached to her frame so she could see. Elmer was there at the bottom of the stairs, back in “ape” mode, squatting and surveying the room. Joan turned and shone the light toward the center of the room.
Four wide, glowing eyes stared back at Joan—eyes that were attached to two furry bodies. With four legs each.
“THE MONSTERS!!!”
She pulled up so quickly she hit a rafter and went flying against the wall of the basement stairs. “OUCH! FOUR-LEGGERS! OUCH! RETREAT! MONSTERS!”
Joan zipped up to the top of the stairs and turned back. Elmer was silent in the room below. The four-leggers were frozen in place, crouching, eyes still wide and shining.
“Elmer!” she hissed. “ELMER! Get out of there!”
Elmer didn’t move.
Opposite Elmer, the two four-leggers sat with heads twisted in curiosity.
Joan tried one more time:
“Evacuate, Elmer! Those creatures are a grave threat!”
When Elmer didn’t answer, Joan didn’t wait. House’s warnings were still in her memory. This was an emergency, and her emergency protocols did not call for waiting. The proper action when facing a threat is to retreat to safety.
So Joan turned and flew out the doorway, this time avoiding the ceiling as her three good propellers spluttered and she approached the three bots below. “Team! We have a situation! There are four-leggers . . . in the house!” The Protos stared in shock.
“G-g-g-good thing they can n-n-never get up here, thanks to the d-d-d-death l-l-l-ledges,” Cy ventured, not quite confidently. “Ri-i-iight?”
“Most likely,” Drags said. “That, and the wall should keep everyone here safe from these MONSTROUS THREATS, at least until we figure out how to deal with them, right, Joan?”
Joan was especially off balance but kept her composure. “Probably. For now, we should all return to the lab, plug in, and recharge. It’s been a long day. We can consult with House about this tomorrow.”
“What about L-mer?” Tipsy asked nervously. She wasn’t singing now, wasn’t even rolling in circles. This was serious.
“He can fend for himself,” Drags offered, and they all agreed as they retreated.
Joan hoped it was true.
Downstairs, Elmer and the kittens stared at each other.
“What. Is. That. Thing,” Scout whispered, and backed away, her head so low that her whiskers were dragging on the concrete floor.
Stu stood frozen. He never moved his eyes off Elmer. “It’s one of those things. Like we saw when we got here.”
Scout’s voice echoed from behind him. “The things Obi warned us about? Metal-heads? Robots? The . . . Protos?”
Stu still stared. “It’s definitely metal. And scary. But those flashing lights are making me curious.”
Stu crept closer.
Elmer’s eyes fixed on him.
There was a pause, and then Scout hissed, “What are you doing? Get away from that before it . . .”
WHRRRRRRRRRRRRR!
Too late.
Elmer extended a grasper, clutching Stu by the scruff before the kitten even knew what was happening.
“WHAT THE—” Stu shouted.
“STU!!!” Scout screamed.
WHRRRRRRRRRRRRR!
Slowly, the grasper raised itself toward the ceiling, picking Stu up off the ground and lifting him high into the air.
“LET GO OF ME, YOU—” Stu was still shouting.
“STU!” Scout howled, helpless. “GOOD-BYE FOREVER! I’LL TELL OBI YOU DIED A NOBLE DEATH!”
Stu wrenched his body back and forth—a little harder—and even a little harder than that—and finally—squirmed out of Elmer’s grasper.
Stu landed and scrabbled to the shadowy spot under the chair where Scout was already hiding. “I knew you’d get away,” Scout said, sheepish.
They watched, but Elmer didn’t follow. Instead, he got up and walked around the rest of the room, exploring. As he passed the chair, his head turned to face the terrified kittens.
“THEY—WHO—RE-TREAT—DO—NOT—POSE—A—THREAT TO-DAY,” Elmer intoned, and walked back toward the stairs.
“SCAN—COM-PLETE. RE-TURNING TO CHARGE,” Elmer said as he contracted back into his four-legged crab mode.
With that, he crawled slowly back upstairs. As the kittens stared, the robot disappeared through the door at the top of the stairs . . .
BAHDUMP BAHDUMP!
BAHDUMP BAHDUMP!
bahdump bahdump.
And returned to the lab with the Protos to recharge . . . leaving the door to the downstairs open, just a crack.
22
Morning Chores
The next morning the Protos, charged and ready, assembled themselves in formation. Joan was desperate to talk with House about the horrifying ordeal last night, but the Protos had work to do first. Joan barked out orders. “Morning duties, squad. Let’s make it snappy!”
Drags zipped from room to room, scanning for dirty clothes and then grabbing and tossing them into a basket he dragged behind him. Cy zoomed to the table and scooped up the dishes, one at a time, putting them each in the smart dishwasher. Joan swooped down to pick up Max’s backpack, which he once again almost forgot, and carried it to him.
Min shook her head. “Thanks, Joan,” Max said sheepishly.
“Let’s go, Baby Geniuses!” Javi said cheerfully, ushering the kids out the door. “You’re gonna be late!” Javi paused at the door. “Oh, but don’t forget to say thanks for the help!”
“Thanks for the help, Protos!” Min said. She knelt down to rescue Tipsy, stuck between two chairs, and gave her a little kiss on the head. “And thanks for trying to help.” Tipsy rolled away, excited. Max muttered a distracted thank-you, and they all walked out. The Protos gathered at the open front door. They liked to watch the kids leave for school. Today, after the recent cat problems, they also wanted to make sure nobody got hurt.
They watched as Max turned away from CAR and ran toward the wall. “Obi!” Max shouted.
Everybody stopped and waited. This was one part of the day that never changed.
“What are they d-d-d-doing?” Cy said, rolling up late.
“The Connectivity Ritual,” Joan guessed, because that was what happened almost every morning.
Joan was right. Max approached the old four-legger silently.
Slowing his speed, Max immediately moved to extend its ten small probes into the four-fegger’s four favorite spots.
First: between the ears on the very top of the head.
Second: the left cheek.
Third: the right.
Fourth: a quick probe to the chin.
Fifth: Max dug into the place where the four-legger’s back curved down near its tail . . .
The OB_1_Cat_NoB arched his back under the flexing and extending probes.
“Scritch-scratch, scratch-scratch,” said Max.
“Prrrrrrrrrrrr,” said the OB.
“Oh,” said Drags, sounding surprised, though they had watched the ritual approximately
seven hundred and forty-seven times now.
“There’s that n-n-noise. The f-f-four-legger’s alarm must have b-b-been switched to v-v-vibrate again.” Cy frowned.
“Purring,” Joan said. “It’s not an alarm setting. It’s just a sound cue, part of the OB_1_Cat_NoB programming, I think. It’s called purring.”
“Purr-rrrr-rrrr-rrrr-ring!” Tipsy rolled in a circle.
“Why? What’s the p-point?” Cy asked.
“Of the purring?” Drags said.
Cy spun his head. “Of the Connectivity Ritual?”
Joan thought about it. “Charging? Some kind of friction-based electrical productivity?”
Cy frowned. “Which creature recharges? The twolegger or the four?”
“Inconclusive,” Joan said. “Possibly both.”
It really was a mystery.
“Come on, Max. CAR takes forever to get to school, I don’t want you to be late,” Javi was saying.
“I’m worried about the kittens being all alone today.” Max turned slowly as he spoke. “Maybe I should take a sick day. A mental health day.”
Drags frowned. “Sick day?”
“Down time. Powering-down time,” Joan explained.
“Ah-h-h,” Cy said.
Min opened her door. “Not me. I have to get to school to check Elmer’s code with my teacher for the Battle of the Bots. And don’t you have a science test to take or something?” She paused and glared at Max. “Hurry up! You know, if you didn’t take ten hours to pet that old scraggly cat every time we walked outside, we might get to school on time for once . . .”
“You know that’s not why we’re late.” Max followed his sister into CAR. “I’m worried about poor old Obi. He’s getting weaker and weaker. He can’t even get out of his stroller now.”
“Mom says Mrs. Reynolds says Obi may not have that much time left,” Min said, opening a notebook.
Max nodded. “I’m always a little afraid he won’t be there when I get home from school.”
The Protos, hearing this, looked at each other.
“W-w-what does that mean?” Cy asked.
Drags rolled back and forth, flattening out an old receipt. “Unclear. Is the OB_1_Cat_NoB going somewhere?”
Joan said nothing. She was still processing.
Javi grabbed CAR’s door and put a hand on Max’s shoulder. “Obi’s a tough customer. I’ve seen that guy fight off wild strays and even scare away bulldogs before. He’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”
Cats vs. Robots, Volume 1 Page 9