Rise of the Robot Army

by Robert Venditti

  Miles left study hall anxious for Henry to text him with a mission—any reason to be Gilded, even if for only a little while. Then he waited some more. By the time he was halfway through last-period language arts, he couldn’t take it anymore. It had been three days. Three days isn’t much time when your science project is due, but if it’s time spent walking instead of flying, sitting instead of saving, it’s an eternity.

  Miles felt like he was suffocating, locked in a cage so small, the bars wouldn’t allow him to breathe. He had to get out. He had to be not-nobody.

  He raised his hand.

  Mrs. Denouement paused her reading of Shakespeare and looked excitedly at Miles. “Do you wish to make a comment, Miles?”

  A comment? Miles had been so lost in his own misery, he didn’t even know which play she was reading. Even if he did, Shakespeare’s “thines” and “thous” were too confusing for him to understand. “Can I p-please be excused?” he asked shakily.

  Mrs. Denouement raised her eyebrows in concern. She must’ve heard the quaver in Miles’s voice, noticed the tremble in his raised hand. “Are you all right?”

  “I just . . . I don’t feel so good.”

  “Well, Miles. You don’t feel well.” Apparently, concern didn’t prevent Mrs. Denouement from demanding adherence to proper grammar.

  “Well,” Miles echoed. “I don’t feel well. I . . .”

  Mrs. Denouement was nice. He didn’t want to lie to her. But if he sat still one moment longer, he was going to scream. “I think I’m coming down with a fever.”

  Mrs. Denouement glanced at the wall clock. She scribbled down a hall pass and held it out for Miles. “Go see the nurse. Class is nearly dismissed, so you may take your belongings with you.”

  Miles snatched up his backpack and hurried toward the front of the class. Then he remembered he was supposed to be experiencing a bout of under-the-weather and he slowed his gait.

  “Feel better,” Mrs. Denouement said, smiling encouragingly.

  Miles took the hall pass and headed out the door.

  The halls were empty, but in a few minutes school would let out for the day and Miles would be overrun. Not to mention Henry would track him down and launch into another one of his strategy sessions dictating what Miles was and wasn’t supposed to do.

  He needed to move fast. He ducked into an alcove and began checking the local news apps on his phone.

  The lead story on Fox 5 was about a local animal shelter’s annual fund-raising dog-and-cat fashion show. Cute, but not an emergency by anyone’s definition.

  The top headline in the newsfeed for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution read LOCAL RESTAURANT FINED FOR COCKROACH INFESTATION. Gross—Miles now had an actual upset stomach to accompany his pretend fever—but not exactly the sort of event that justified superhero intervention.

  All the news apps were the same. Human-interest stories or petty scandals. Miles had lied his way out of class and into the driest news drought ever. How does a hero pass the time when his city is getting along just fine all on its own?

  Then Miles spotted it. A little tab in the upper-right corner of the app he was scrolling through: NATIONAL NEWS.

  How was it fair that Atlanta was the only city in the world with a hometown superhero? Miles understood that his first priority was to keep his city safe. It made perfect sense. But that wasn’t supposed to be his only priority, was it? It was a big world, its dangers even bigger. Gilded was powerful enough to handle them all. So why shouldn’t he?

  Miles put himself in the shoes of a thirteen-year-old kid from, well, anywhere that wasn’t Atlanta. Houston, Orlando, Charlotte . . . it didn’t matter. How would it feel to grow up in one of those places, to be bombarded by news of fires and natural disasters and crimes and know there was a superhero in the world who could help if he chose to, but never, ever did?

  Miles couldn’t relate. He’d been born and raised in Atlanta, and he’d never journeyed far from home. Gilded had been a constant in his life, a bright, shining reminder that there wasn’t anything to be afraid of.

  How did the saying go? Think local, act global. (Or was it the other way around? Eh, that wasn’t important anyway.)

  Miles tapped the tab and launched himself into the news of the nation.

  Whoa.

  There was a lot of stuff happening.

  Headlines filled the screen. One in particular leaped out at him: ALERT ISSUED FOR MISSING NASHVILLE GIRL. A six-year-old had gone missing from her neighbor’s backyard. She had bad asthma, and her mother was pleading for everyone to help locate her because she was already past the time when she was supposed to take her medicine.

  What could be worse than a little girl not being able to find her parents and her parents not even knowing where to look for her? And here Miles was, safe inside a school building doing absolutely zero about it.

  One thing was for sure—nothing was ever going to get done so long as Miles was standing around thinking. Any second now the bell would ring and the halls would be too clogged for him—Gilded—to sprint through. He had to move now.

  Miles tossed his phone into his backpack and pulled out the cape. It hummed, its golden light setting Miles’s face aglow.

  So what if Craig could tackle kids on a football field? Big deal. How many eighth graders were good at sports? A thousand? A million?

  And what did it matter that his dad had him on restrictions? This was serious business. Superhero business. Was Miles really expected to care about middle school when there were so many more important things he could be doing?

  Miles was one of a kind. He wasn’t a nobody. He was the ultimate somebody. All he had to do was put on the cape and show everyone who wanted to hold him back what true excellence was.

  The cape flickered and went dark.

  Miles rubbed it. He shook it. He tried pushing the clasp halves together and making them stick.

  And then he got scared. Really scared. You-feel-like-you’re-going-to-cry-because-you’re-so-desperate-and-you-don’t-know-what-to-do-now scared. A-kid-might-get-hurt-and-maybe-even-die-if-he-didn’t-find-a-way-to-help scared.

  Miles thought of the people who needed him right now. A terrified little girl so short of breath she couldn’t even yell for her parents. Her mom clutching an inhaler, praying for her child’s safe return.

  The cape vibrated awake, sending pulses of energy like drumbeats through his body. It shone in a dazzling burst, reflecting off the walls of the alcove.

  No need to push the clasp halves together now. They leaped together all on their own.

  Gilded was going to answer the nation’s call.

  Where the heck was Nashville, anyway?

  The little girl had laughed and screamed with delight all the way home, like Gilded was the best carnival ride she’d ever been on. Her parents had thanked him so much, Miles thought they were going to ask him inside for dinner. Sure, the whole thing had started out scary, but now they had a story they could tell for the rest of the lives. They’d met Gilded. Lucky them.

  And Miles had a story of his own. Here he was in Nashville, sitting in a park along the bank of the Cumberland River, the cape stowed safely in his backpack again. The dark water wound past him, glittering in the afternoon sun. Picnickers lounged on blankets. Shoppers browsed the rows of trendy stores behind him. Miles had been tubing on the Chattahoochee plenty of times, but that always seemed more like a wilderness trip—mud and bugs and getting stuck in shallow water.

  That all felt a million miles away. You know what else felt a million miles away? Mr. Taylor’s restrictions, Henry’s lectures, and the Jammer and his stupid bullying. All the things that made Miles feel small had been left back home like a great, big heap of trash waiting at the curb.

  Home. Miles had been gone a couple of hours. He might be able to make it back before Henry or Mr. Taylor caught on he was gone. Not that it mattered. Word was sure to spread that Gilded has been to Nashville. It wouldn’t be long before that news made it back to the radio
and TV stations in Atlanta. There was no avoiding that, sooner or later, Miles would be forced to face up to a Nashville-sized breaking of the rules.

  Between sooner or later, later sounded better. Way better.

  Miles checked the news apps again. In Chicago, a loaded cement truck had collided with one of the pillars beneath a highway overpass, and the overpass was on the verge of collapsing. Repair crews needed to get to work, but they were worried the bridge was going to come down on top of them.

  Forget Mr. Taylor and Henry. Good-bye rules and procedures. Just thinking about them made Miles angry. Who were they to tell him what to do? He was Gilded, and people needed him. School and bedtime were for nobodies, not superheroes. Miles was headed to Chicago. After that . . . well, he’d just have to check his phone and see.

  There were a lot of people in the park, but none of them were paying any attention to Miles. Why would they? He was just an average kid with a backpack. Nothing special at all.

  Not anymore. Never again.

  Miles slipped out the cape and settled it onto his shoulders. An overpass. He’d never lifted one of those before. Next stop—

  Miles had completed a whirlwind tour, crisscrossing the United States from south to north and east to west. It was all a blur, like the scenery he passed over while flying at super-speed. It’s a good thing Gilded was already bald because wind resistance at infinity miles per hour would’ve stripped the hair right off his head.

  The best Miles could piece it together, he’d seen a sunset and a sunrise while he was gone. Now here he was back at Chapman, watching kids exit their buses and file into the building to start the school day. He’d accomplished a lot in the last twenty-four hours, but he’d missed dinner, bedtime, and breakfast.

  Yikes.

  When he thought about it like that, it sounded like such a long time. While he was in the thick of it, it’d all gone by so fast. Sure, he’d paused once or twice to consider whether he should return home. But he knew his dad and Henry would be furious about him going off on his own again and—

  vrrrrrrr

  vrrrrrrr

  vrrrrrrr

  vrrrrrrr

  vrrrrrrr

  Miles’s pocket erupted in a fit of vibration. It felt like there were a dozen windup toys in his pants and they’d decided to have a war. He dug out his cell phone and checked the screen.

  Forty-three missed calls, plus one hundred twenty-seven waiting text messages.

  Double yikes.

  Miles had ignored the messages he noticed while checking his phone between cities. He could only imagine how angry his dad was, seeing news stories about Gilded—Miles—popping up in Dallas and Los Angeles, and not being able to reach him.

  You know what? Miles was angry right back. He didn’t need a babysitter. What did his dad have to be worried about? He knew Miles was safe. All he had to do was turn on the TV and he’d see what Miles had been up to. Besides, Miles couldn’t be not safe. He was in-freaking-vincible. Or at least Gilded was. Which was the same thing, right? Right.

  As he folded the cape and returned it to his backpack, Miles suddenly realized he was dog-tired. The cape had kept him energized while he was wearing it, but as he walked toward the bus corral, it took a concerted effort just to put one foot in front of the other, like he was trudging through wet cement. He yawned, grinding his fists into his fog-covered eyes.

  School. What was the point? After every amazing thing he’d done the past two days, Miles was supposed to sit through class lectures like all the other kids? Forget it. His dad would be at work, meaning there’d be nothing waiting for him at the apartment except the food in the fridge and his nice, soft bed.

  A long sleep. That was exactly what he needed. It’d help him clear his head and regain his strength for the argument with his dad that he knew was going to happen. It had to happen. Time for him to establish the boundaries of being Gilded.

  Plus, there was Henry. Miles absolutely did not need another sermon about all the ways he’d violated the procedures. He imagined Henry pacing around the bus corral like an Old West lawman waiting for a fugitive to step off a train. His smartphone would be drawn and fully loaded with data.

  No way. Miles was too sleep deprived to put up with that. Skipping school was a much better plan.

  Miles turned and headed back in the direction he’d come from.

  “Mis-ter Tay-lor!” a voice boomed, with stern emphasis placed on the first syllable in each word.

  Miles stopped dead. He turned and saw Assistant Principal Harangue standing behind him with his brown-bag lunch clutched in one fist. He was no doubt looking forward to beginning another day of doling out detentions, but Miles couldn’t tell by his stone-faced expression. “Care to explain why you’ve wandered so far from your bus? Are you lost, or did you forget what the school building looks like?”

  “No, Mr. Harangue,” Miles answered. Then he thought again. “I mean, yes, Mr. Harangue. I mean . . . Which question should I answer first?”

  Mr. Harangue jabbed a thick finger at the school, like he was pinning it to the landscape. “Move.”

  So much for sleep. As for avoiding Henry, Miles would have to bang on the side door until someone let him in. If he went through the main entrance, he was toast.

  Miles bowed his head and dragged himself toward the building.

  CHAPTER

  9

  MILES COLLAPSED INTO HIS DESK like his batteries had died. Mr. Essaye wouldn’t start class for a few minutes, which sounded to Miles like a few more minutes of sleep than he’d had the night before. He folded his arms into a pillow and laid down his head.

  Josie had once told him about the albatross, a type of bird that could fly all the way around the world without touching land once. Miles couldn’t fathom how draining that amount of exertion would be.

  Until now.

  “Miles?” Josie leaned over in her desk. “Are you sure you’re okay to be at school?”

  “What makes you think I’m not okay?” Miles said, yawning.

  “You just don’t look too . . . with it, is all.”

  “I’m fine. I just stayed up late last night. Is that a crime?”

  Josie pulled back. That last bit had come out harsher than Miles had meant it to, but he wasn’t in the mood to be interrogated.

  “Look,” Josie said sternly. “I don’t know what your problem is, but last time we talked, we made plans to go on a bird hike. I waited for you more than an hour. I missed the hike completely, which is too bad because I heard they spotted a Bachman’s sparrow. You know how rare that is this far north?”

  The bird hike. Miles had forgotten all about his plans with Josie. Flying off to save the world was one thing, but the least he could’ve done was give Josie a call. Actually, the least he could’ve done was text her. But he’d neglected even to do that.

  “Josie, I should’ve let you know I wasn’t going to make it. I’m sorry.”

  Josie frowned. “So you weren’t sick?”

  “No.”

  “Then why’d you stand me up?”

  “Um . . .” Miles had to think fast. Much faster than his sleep-starved brain was presently capable of. “I don’t remember.”

  “Oh, well,” Josie huffed. “That’s a relief. I was worried you might’ve ditched me for something important.”

  “It was important!” Miles blurted.

  “But you don’t remember what it was?”

  “Yes!”

  Josie furrowed her brow. “You do remember?”

  “No!”

  “Make up your mind,” Josie said, exasperated.

  Miles wanted to put his head down, pass out, and wake up when all of this was over. He mustered what little brainpower he had left. “I can explain.”

  The classroom door opened, and in stepped Henry. He leveled a stare at Miles like his eyes were the sun, his glasses were the magnifying glass, and Miles was the ant.

  Uh-oh.

  Henry handed Mr. Essaye a hall pass. Mr. Ess
aye read it, then looked at Miles.

  “Miles, gather your things. You’re wanted in Assistant Principal Harangue’s office.”

  Miles grabbed his backpack and walked to the front of the room. The class was silent, every kid watching him with the intensity of a crowd witnessing a criminal walking to the gallows.

  Miles looked back over his shoulder at Josie, who was pretending to study something in her notebook. She wasn’t wrong—Miles had treated her poorly. As his dad would say, Taylors were raised better than that. But being Gilded was all that mattered. There were activities in the world more important than bird hikes. If only he could tell her.

  Miles stopped in front of Henry. “What’s up?”

  Henry was deadpan. “Follow me.” Henry exited the room with Miles in tow.

  “I’m really tired, Henry,” Miles said, as the classroom door closed behind them. “Whatever this is about, let’s talk about it later.”

  Henry wheeled on Miles, eyes shooting double-edge swords. “Do you think I’m an idiot? Stop acting like you don’t know what this is about.” Henry’s voiced cracked, his anger shattering his words.

  Maybe it was fatigue from the all-nighter Miles had just pulled. Maybe all the little things—Henry criticizing his performance all the time, or telling him where he should and shouldn’t go and when—had finally gathered into a single big thing too large to ignore. Maybe he was just cranky. Whatever the reason, Miles wasn’t going to take it anymore.

  “Whatever,” Miles snapped. “This is about me going it alone, isn’t it? You know what? You’re not my boss. You’re here to help me use my powers to help others. And that’s what I did. You’re just mad I didn’t include you.”

  Henry’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what I’m mad about?” He rested his hand on his smartphone’s holster. It was like he was daring Miles to push him further.

  “Here we go with the phone!” Miles blurted, throwing his hands up in a show of aggravation. “What is it this time? The Gilded Group members are upset I went to other cities? Too bad. I don’t work for them, either. Who are they to tell me I can’t spend some nights spreading the heroism around?”