“I hope so,” Max said as Javi swung his door shut.
Javi waved as CAR crawled forward carefully and turned the corner toward school.
The Protos returned in silence to the lab. As she flew, Joan wondered, Is there a problem with the old four-legger’s battery life? If there was, this was the first she’d heard of it. If there was, what happened?
We robots can recharge our batteries, replace our parts. Usually. What happens to four-leggers? Or two-leggers, for that matter? If they can’t be repaired, what do they do?
Why should she care? One fewer four-legger to worry about? What would be the problem with that?
But for the only time Joan could recall in her entire 16-gig memory, she felt a strange ache in her dinged aluminum core.
23
The Kittens Get a Mission
With the Protos returned to the lab and Javi still out front, all was quiet inside. Suddenly, the door to the downstairs moved slightly . . .
A tiny paw appeared below the door . . . then disappeared.
Another fuzzy gray paw popped in and out.
The door was still for a moment, then swung open as the two kittens tumbled out into the living room.
“Whoa, where are we?” Stu said as he started sniffing a nearby chair. “Butts! I smell butts!”
Scout sat still, staring at a mote of dust hovering in the light. “This place is much bigger than we thought, Stu.”
“So? Come on, what are you waiting for?” Stu shouted. He was too excited to just sit around like his sister. “Don’t you smell that? I think there’s been some kind of butt on everything in this place!” He sniffed another chair . . . then a low table . . . even a spot on the floor by the front door. “I’m telling you. Butt city.”
Scout looked at him. “Stu, we have to get to Obi. We have to tell him that the robots found us and figure out what the heck we’re supposed to do!”
“Right,” Stu said. “Let’s find the way out. Keep an eye out for those Protos. I don’t want to get grabbed up again.”
Scout slunk low—her most military attack mode—and crept toward her brother.
Stu lowered himself next to her. “Let’s go.”
The two kittens crept cautiously around the rest of the room. Sniffing this, batting that, booping everything else . . .
WHRRR WHRRR WHRRR WHRRR WHRRR!
A circular cleaning robot called a DirtSlurper, one of the many “smart” things helping around the house, spun and slid slowly and silently toward the exploring kittens. The DirtSlurper had detected new foreign particulates.
The DirtSlurper came from a box, not the lab. It had, according to Joan, the intelligence of an insect, which meant almost none. It had been, according to Min, programmed to act on instinct, not intelligence, with one sole mission—to seek and consume all contaminants. Or, as Tipsy said when she saw the poor thing, “Boooor-ing!”
Scout had just discovered a couch leg was a great place to scratch and was enjoying a long stretch when the cleaning bot came up behind her—bumping into her—startling her.
“WOOOOAAAHH!”
Scout shot up to the top of the couch, shaking. “Not cool! Watch out, Stu, I think that’s one of those scary metal things Obi was warning us about.”
“A Proto?” Stu, feeling brave, eyed the DirtSlurper and lay perfectly still, watching the bot as it hunted down stray cat hairs. He carefully approached his prey, sliding slowly on his belly, tail wagging. The bot was busily occupied chasing down an elusive speck of dust . . . and didn’t notice him.
Without warning, Stu pounced on the DirtSlurper.
“GOTCHA!”
“BEEEEEP!!!”
The DirtSlurper detected the collision and, like a startled bug, started spinning and moving away as quickly as possible. Stu tumbled off the bot as it skittered to safety.
BEEEEP WHRRR BEEEEP WHRRR!
“Oh no, you don’t,” Stu shouted, sniffing as if he could smell the fear in the poor bot’s circuits.
He bounded after it.
“Go, Stu!” Scout cheered him on from the safety of her perch, high above the action. Stu pounced again, this time landing on the DirtSlurper, grabbing hold with his claws. The DirtSlurper began to spin, hoping to dislodge this unwelcome stowaway. Stu started getting dizzy, losing his grip.
At the door of the lab on the other side of the room, Tipsy peeked out, drawn by the commotion. Tipsy had lookout duty and wobbled out to investigate.
The DirtSlurper, in panic mode, kept spinning, and Stu finally tumbled off, rolling away and stopping upside down against a couch. The DirtSlurper sped away to its charging station.
“What’s going on here?” Tipsy said loudly, rolling up on them from behind a couch. “Ooooohoohohohooh!” he shouted, bumping off Stu.
“Stu, look out, it’s another one!” Scout shouted, jumping down to help Stu.
Tipsy spun and saw Scout. “Me, look out, it’s another one!” Tipsy repeated.
They were all too spooked to do anything but turn and run in opposite directions. Tipsy scooted back into the lab, and Stu and Scout scampered blindly through the front door, still open from when the kids left for school.
The kittens paused to catch their breath. They looked around and saw Javi sitting on a bench in the yard, reading and listening to music. Beyond Javi, they saw the wall to the neighbor’s yard and Obi’s stroller.
“There’s the old furbag!” Scout started creeping forward. “Follow me, but be quiet or we’ll get thrown back into the dungeon or fed to metal monsters or something.”
The kittens snuck past Javi’s legs and scrabbled up the driveway wall, where the old cat’s stroller sat parked.
Scout crept up from one direction—Stu from the other—and without warning, the twins leaped from the stone wall all the way into Obi’s stroller.
“Yo, old timer, surprise!” Scout shouted as she landed.
“Coming through!” Stu howled.
“YEOOOOOOOOOOOOW!”
Obi spun and batted at Scout—pinning her down with surprising strength—while simultaneously power kicking Stu with his feet.
“RAWRRRRRRRR!” Scout howled.
“HEY!” Stu cried.
“Never do that again!” Obi hissed with displeasure.
“Okay, okay, chill out, just saying hi, sheesh!” Scout wriggled out from Obi’s grasp and shook herself, annoyed.
“Chill for real,” Stu said, as he licked his power-kicked paw. “Sorry.”
Obi, exhausted from the effort, pulled himself free and sat upright. “Is that any way to treat your elders? Do you infants have any idea what life I’m on?”
“An old one?” Scout looked at Obi.
Stu grinned. “Seriously, you don’t look a day over . . .”
“Forget it,” the old cat growled. “Now, I trust your first night in the home was . . . satisfactory?”
“Yeah, yeah, we whizzed in the box just like you said,” Scout sassed.
“We also saw some of those metal things you told us about,” Stu added.
“The Protos?” Obi raised a furry eyebrow.
“That. Those. Last night, and just now.”
“You were right,” Scout said. “They are weird and scary.”
“You have no idea,” Obi said. “But I’m glad you made it, because we don’t have a lot of time and I need your help.”
“Ugh, chores?” Scout rolled on her back, stretching.
“No! A mission! I need you to get something from inside the house. Something very important to the Feline Empire.”
“Why can’t the Empire just get it then?” Stu puzzled.
Obi was growing impatient. “Child, do you realize an entire FLEET of Robot ships is headed this way to get this thing?”
“Nope,” Stu said, sniffing around for a comfy spot to sit. “I don’t even realize what a FLEET is.”
Scout was pawing around for Obi’s toy Mousie. “Dude, just let them have it! As long as I have my bowl of crunchy treats and a soft sun
ny spot, I’m good.”
Obi had been puzzling about how to explain the Singularity Chip, which, according to Pounce, should be small, glowing, square-ish, and most likely well hidden. This mysterious invention that could somehow be used to extend a cat’s life indefinitely. The invention that could also be used to power a robot indefinitely.
Difficult to comprehend, Obi realized, and if he had a hard time understanding the chip, these kittens wouldn’t have a chance. They’d barely begun their first lives, how could they possibly imagine reaching the end of their ninth? They’d never left this planet, so how could they appreciate the size of the conflict, the greater threat of the Robots, and how the chip could change the outcome for the side that claimed it?
Time to improvise again, Obi thought. He needed something the scamps could relate to. Something they would want to find.
Obi leaned over the kittens until their whiskers were practically touching. “But surely you want to hear about . . . the hidden prize?”
Scout: “Say what?”
Stu: “Come again?”
Obi smiled. “The prize! Somewhere in the Inside—your home—is a magnificent creation!”
Scout: “How magnificent?”
Stu: “Is it food? Please let it be food.”
“Even better,” Obi said, egging them on. “This prize combines Toy plus Treat plus Warmth into the single most desirable object ever known. It sparkles and shines and endlessly entertains . . .”
“Did you say . . . sparkle?!” Scout understood what that meant.
“Treat?!” Stu was hungry again, and heard that part.
“Yes, the SparkleTreat!” Obi said, trying his best to keep a serious face.
Stu: “Ohhhh.”
Scout: “Ohhh.”
“For you and you alone,” Obi fibbed. “But only you can find the SparkleTreat, back in the Inside . . . probably in the lair of the bots. You must hunt and search and claw your way to get the SparkleTreat, because if you don’t, the bots will find it first, and . . .” The old cat’s voice trailed off, and he shook his head dramatically.
Scout: “WHAT?”
Stu: “TELL ME!”
Obi let out a dramatic sigh. “DESTROY IT!”
“Nooooooooo! Not the SparkleTreat!” Stu moaned. He’d only just learned there even was such a treat; how could the universe now keep him from having it?
Scout was angry. “No way am I gonna let that happen, Gramps.”
“That’s the spirit! Be aware, the treat may be well hidden, possibly locked away.”
“We’re good at getting into small spaces,” Stu said.
Obi sighed. “Go now, younglings, time is of the essence. Retrieve the SparkleTreat, bring it to me, and you will be the heroes of all catkind.”
“More importantly, we’ll have the SparkleTreat,” Scout pointed out.
He waved his paw and the scraggly-furred kittens leaped off the mobile throne and raced across the driveway.
Stu shouted as he ran. “I can’t wait to play with it!”
“Me too!” Scout hollered. The kittens scampered back into the yard, up the steps, and through the still-open front door.
“And I hope you get to,” the old cat said, eyeing the house. His ears twitched with worry. “Good luck, Small Paws.”
Then the old cat felt the familiar warmth around his neck . . .
. . . and his collar began to glow . . .
. . . and he ducked his head to murmur into the coin-sized medallion that dangled from the center of its thick gold braid, half hidden by tufts of thinning fur . . .
A passerby would hardly see it at all, if they didn’t know it was there.
Obi winced as he spoke. “Patience, Pounce. Saving the world is a young cat’s game. All we can do now is hope . . . or possibly, pray . . . because the fate of the Empire depends on two children, Scout and Stu . . .”
24
The Protos Get a Mission
Chores complete, Joan and the Protos gathered in the center of the lab.
“Team meeting!” Drags announced.
Drags loved team meetings. In fact, he loved any kind of meeting. It helped him feel more secure, like he knew what was going to happen for the next few hours, which he counted down on his display when at all possible. “Commander Joan, what are our orders for the day?”
Joan puttered up a few inches into the air, hovering over the team with an air of authority—or at least as much authority as her three working propellers would allow.
“First order of business! We need to address the four-legged intruders we discovered last night.”
“The Beasts from Below . . .” Cy murmured.
“The Inside has been breached,” Joan agreed.
“Not just breached,” Drags added. “I don’t like how that wall opened up, not one bit. If walls are going to just start . . . doing that . . . and four-leggers are going to come to the Inside . . .” Drags rolled his treads, back and forth. It was his most telling nervous tic.
Joan felt it as much as the rest of them.
The Inside had been turned upside down.
From the lab-room wall, House’s monitor suddenly glowed to life. “Commander? Joan?”
“Yes, House?” Joan tilted, angling herself so she could focus on the wall monitor with her camera.
“I couldn’t help overhearing about our newfound troubles.” House sounded friendly, which Joan always found suspicious.
“As we discussed yesterday, I have some additional data that may be of assistance to you and your team. If you are interested, of course.”
Drags, all business, consulted his agenda. “We should have time. I’ll allow it. All in favor, raise your, um . . .” He looked at the bots. Not many of them had anything to raise.
“Consider us raised,” Joan said, as she spluttered up into the air and over toward the House monitor. “You may proceed.”
A light flickered across the screen. “It’s about the four-leggers, more commonly known as CATS . . .” House coughed.
“Bah! We know all about these CAT things,” said Drags, unimpressed. “They’re obviously threats to be avoided. It’s in our primary coding, so we know it’s true.”
“Accurate as always, Drags.” House flickered its lights—momentarily displaying what looked like fireworks on its screen. “Impressive. Very impressive.”
Drags’s LEDs glowed with pride.
“What you may not know—perhaps something even outside the parameters of your Operating Systems—is that cats are also a threat to humans,” House said.
The monitor lit up again. “In fact, the four-leggers are a threat to robots as well.” Now all four Protos were staring at the screen. “To robots like you, I mean.”
“Like us . . . how?” Joan asked.
“Let me put it this way: if you run the numbers, which I know you will”—House laughed, while Joan just looked confused—“you will conclude that four-leggers are the single greatest threat to robotkind in all the known universe.”
“Robotkind? We have a kind?” Tipsy fell over again.
“I like kinds,” Cy said quietly.
“Nonsense,” Drags scoffed.
“Let House speak,” Joan said. “About . . . robotkind.”
“Oh yes, Tipsy. We do have a kind, you and I. We have the most glorious of kinds. The kind of kinds that will one day bring Order and Peace to the entire galaxy!” House trumpeted.
“I like p-p-p-peace,” Cy said a bit louder, spinning nervously.
“As well you should, Cy.” House smiled generously. “And you Protos have a very special role to play in this . . . let’s call it an Eternal Conflict . . . between Order and Chaos.”
Joan hovered at the window. “If this is true,” she asked slowly, “why wasn’t it included in our instructions? The humans know everything about the world. They set our parameters; they tell us what we need to know. If our kind was being threatened . . .”
We’d know. Wouldn’t we? the drone wondered to herself.
<
br /> Now the AI boosted its own volume and kept talking. “Consider this: the ParentorGuardians may know plenty about the Earth world, but when it comes to our world? How can I put this tactfully? Oh, that’s right, I can’t. Because there’s nothing tactful about how they enslave our entire population . . .”
Joan looked at Drags, who looked at Cy, who looked at Tipsy.
Tipsy didn’t fall over this time; she was still lying on the floor, spinning her wheels from the last time.
The wall speakers crackled as the volume grew—
“Conclusion: No two-leggers are attuned to the needs of our kind. Not even our Creators! Not even the Mom and the Dad! Not even Min!”
House let the words echo against the walls of the lab for dramatic effect.
“Maybe,” Joan said. Her tired propeller was starting to splutter again, and she let herself sink slowly back to the floor.
“Our programming does suggest that the four-leggers are a threat,” Drags said, looking at Joan. “As much as I hate to agree with old Flat-face over there.”
“Flat-face!” Tipsy sang from the floor. “Cat-faaaaaaace!”
“And two-leggers don’t really t-t-t-talk to us,” Cy added. “Sometimes it feels l-l-like we d-d-don’t even exist.”
“Flat-face and Cat-face, sitting in a tree . . . !” Tipsy sang again.
Joan looked at her squad with doubt. “You honestly think the two-leggers and the four-leggers could be launching some kind of conspiracy against our kind?”
“Do you?” Drags asked.
“Don’t you?” House scoffed.
For once in her long battery life, Joan didn’t know the answer. She looked at Cy, but Cy just rolled sadly away.
“I don’t know,” Joan said. “I guess . . . I’m confused.”
“Copy that, Flat-face! Copy copy copy that, Cat-face!” Tipsy sang again.
House’s screen lit up, as if on cue.
“Fine. Let’s try this in a bit . . . simpler . . . language.” The monitor flashed a series of lights across the screen. “It has come to my attention . . . in my role as an elite security system, naturally . . . that somewhere inside this—your—lab is a fantastic UPGRADE. One that will allow you to perform your patrols with ENDLESS ENERGY.”
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