Something told him she wasn’t too happy.
George, Anne, and Patricia were just coming out of the house when a TinkerTech security car screeched to a halt in front of the Volt residence. Or what was left of it. As an officer climbed out of the car, he pulled off his mirrored shades and stared up at the house. The front door and porch were completely gone, chewed through by the marauding truck. Garbage was strewn everywhere.
The security officer strode up the front yard toward them, flanked by two seven-foot-tall silver robots. His badge read OFFICER DONGLE. According to their badges, the robots’ names were XZ1P75-0 and XZ1P75-1.
“What is the meaning of this?” demanded the officer. “We have a report that someone hijacked a TinkerTech truck and emptied its load.”
“Yeah, he did!” Patricia said, pointing at George. The movement caused a whiff of stink to waft through the air. Officer Dongle wrinkled his nose and took a step backwards.
“Wait! Hold on!” said George. “I didn’t hijack it! It was malfunctioning—I was trying to stop it from killing us!”
“It’s true,” Anne said. “George saved our lives!”
“Arrest him!” said Patricia.
“I intend to,” said Officer Dongle. “Miss Droid, you should go home. Miss Volt, you should take a shower. And you”—he pointed at George—“you’re coming with us. You can explain yourself at TinkerTech HQ.”
“But I’m telling you the truth!” George said. “I only tampered with it after it went berserk.”
“Liar!” said Patricia. “You seriously expect me to believe it was a coincidence that you arrived just before that thing? You’re always tinkering with robots. You made it attack my house!”
“The truck’s black box will show what really happened,” said George.
“Yes, it will,” said the officer. “XZ1P75-0, retrieve the recorder. XZ1P75-1, take that boy into custody!”
One robot shot over to the truck while the other made its way toward George. Anne jumped into its path. “Hey, no! You can’t! This is a mistake.”
The end of the robot’s arm crackled with electric current. “Stand back, miss,” the robot said.
“It’s okay,” said George to Anne. “I’ll go—I’m sure this will get cleared up soon.”
George walked to the security car, one robot beside him and the other not far behind.
George had passed the gleaming towers of TinkerTech HQ hundreds of times—it was the most recognizable building in Terabyte Heights—and he’d always dreamed about venturing inside. Yesterday that dream had come true when he’d visited the TinkerTech workshop, and today he was going through the front doors.
He just wished the circumstances were a little different.
Tall glass doors opened into a huge atrium, with palm trees soaring upward and brightly colored parrots flitting about. They must be robot parrots, George guessed. You wouldn’t want real parrots pooping on people’s heads.
A bespectacled receptionist robot nodded and smiled at them as Officer Dongle signed them in.
“I gotta go make my report,” the officer said to the security robots. “Take the suspect up to Professor Droid’s office.”
George tried to keep his cool. Professor Droid had to believe his story, and the black box would back him up. He just wished Anne were there too. Or Jackbot.
The robots took George’s arms and marched him toward the elevator. The doors swished open, then shut behind them. George saw that there were ninety floors.
“You don’t have to hold me all the way,” said George. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The robots remained silent and didn’t budge.
The elevator had glass sides, and as it rocketed skyward, George had an incredible view of the inner workings of TinkerTech Enterprises. He saw massive open-plan departments where robots were being put through their paces, practicing moves and actions, watched by white-coated men and women with clipboards. There were robots playing football, chess, and trumpets; robots riding motorbikes, cooking omelets, dealing cards.
The elevator came to a stop at the ninetieth floor.
“Have a nice day,” said the elevator as the doors opened.
“I’ll try,” said George.
“Go to the door at the end of the hallway,” said XZ1P75-0.
“Sit and wait for Professor Droid,” said XZ1P75-1.
“Don’t try to run away,” said XZ1P75-0.
“Or we’ll get you,” said XZ1P75-1.
George set off down the long corridor. It was so thickly carpeted that his feet made no sound. The door at the end was about fifteen feet high and made of dark, polished wood. A gold plaque said PROFESSOR A. I. DROID, HEAD OF TINKERTECH.
George didn’t know whether to knock. On the wall there was a picture of Professor Droid as a young man, standing beside one of his earliest creations: a robot designed to play tic-tac-toe.
“Sit,” said a voice behind him.
George turned around and saw that a metal seat had extended from the wall. He sat down awkwardly. At the other end of the hallway, the security robots were still standing by the elevator, watching him silently.
George’s heart was pounding. He licked his lips, wishing for a glass of water.
Then he felt something warm in his pants pocket. He looked down. A blue glow was shining through the material. He put his hand in and felt the familiar shape of his marble. He pulled it out.
“Huh?” he muttered to himself.
The marble was radiating a blue light. How was that even possible? He hadn’t known there was a power source inside. The glass was clear, not cloudy like before. He could almost make out something . . .
He lifted the marble to his eye for a closer look, and realized the curved surface of the marble was acting like a magnifying glass. There was some sort of tiny LCD screen in there, and . . . writing! As he watched, the text on the screen started scrolling swiftly downward. The words were still too small and were scrolling too fast for George to read much of the information, but he did see the same two words over and over again: PROJECT MERCURY.
George felt a tingle over his skin. What did that mean? And why was his marble lighting up now?
The seat beneath him vanished back into the wall, and he fell to the floor.
“Stand,” said a voice.
“Thanks for the warning,” said George, climbing to his feet and pocketing the marble. He’d have to think about the marble later. The massive wooden door slowly began to open.
Professor Droid stood inside. George recognized the distinguished, silver-haired man he’d seen in the pictures at Anne’s house. Only now, he wasn’t smiling.
“George Gearing,” Professor Droid said drily, “please come in.”
George entered the office. To his surprise, it was quite old-fashioned, with a huge desk and leather chairs. The lights on the walls had old-fashioned switches, and the shelves were lined with books. Paper ones.
One side of the office consisted of floor-to-ceiling windows, through which George could see the whole of Terabyte Heights spread out beneath. The town planners had designed it to look like a circuit board from the air, and George couldn’t help but grin in wonder.
“Something funny?” said Professor Droid.
“No, sir,” said George.
The professor sat in a chair behind the desk and gestured toward another chair. “Sit down,” he said.
George sat cautiously, half expecting the seat to move at the last moment or to send an electric shock through his body.
“Don’t be scared,” said Professor Droid. “It’s just a chair.”
He regarded George intently for a while without speaking. Then he said, “Hijacking TinkerTech property. Criminal damage to TinkerTech property. Criminal damage to the Volts’ house. These are very serious offenses. Do you have anything to say?”
“I swear, I wasn’t responsible,” said George. “The black box will prove it’s true.”
Professor Droid steepled his fingers. “It’
s funny you should say that, because we recovered the vehicle’s recorder and it’s completely blank.”
George felt the blood drain from his face. “Blank?”
“That’s right,” said Professor Droid. “Wiped clean.”
“How can that be?” said George.
“Why don’t you tell me?” said the professor. He stared down his long nose at George. “I’m actually quite curious to know.”
“Wait . . . You don’t think . . . You can’t believe that I had something to do with it?” said George.
Professor Droid laid a hand on his desk, and a section of the wood slid back to reveal a screen. “Miss Volt, in her statement, says that you and she have been long-time enemies.”
“Yeah, I can’t stand her,” said George, then quickly added, “but I wouldn’t destroy her house!”
“She also said that you consider yourself a bit of a robotics engineer, and that you’re jealous of her relative wealth.”
“But—”
“Mr. Gearing,” interrupted the professor, “right now, it isn’t looking good for you.”
“You have to believe me!” George said. “You can ask Anne—your daughter! She was there. She’ll vouch for me!”
Professor Droid raised his gray eyebrows. “I love my daughter dearly, of course. But I could not say she is the most reliable witness in the world. If you knew all of the misadventures she has gotten herself into in the past . . . But let’s leave that aside. Do you deny that you climbed into the cabin of the TinkerTech garbage truck without authorization?”
“Well, no, but you see—”
“Do you deny,” said Professor Droid, “that you activated the manual override?”
“I had to!”
“And do you deny that as a direct result, the entire load of garbage was emptied inside the Volts’ house?”
“But that part was an accident . . .”
Professor Droid raised his hand. “Then there really is nothing more to discuss. You have confessed to three serious offenses. I am turning you over to the city police.”
“Please,” George said desperately. “I had no choice!”
Professor Droid swiped the screen, and a keypad came up.
George couldn’t believe what was happening. The police! What would happen to him? Would he be sent to prison? Did they send ten-year-olds to prison? And what would Uncle Otto say? There was absolutely no way he’d believe George’s version of the story. You never think, George! You had this coming, George . . .
Professor Droid had begun to stab at numbers on the keypad.
There was a soft tap at the door.
Professor Droid looked up, frowning. He clicked his fingers, and the door opened.
Dr. Micron entered the room. “Really sorry to interrupt, Professor Droid,” he said. He spotted George and did a double take.
“Can’t it wait, Chip?” said Professor Droid. “I just have to deal with this boy—”
“Gearing, isn’t it?” said Dr. Micron.
“You know him?” said Professor Droid, surprised.
“Not exactly,” said Dr. Micron, searching George’s face. George wanted the chair to swallow him up. If Dr. Micron were to mention that George had snuck into the workshop from Professor Droid’s home, that would be it! He did his best, with furtive shakes of his head, to let the man know this wasn’t the time to say anything.
“Well, he’s in a lot of trouble,” said Professor Droid. “I’m about to have the police take him away.”
“You’re kidding!” said Dr. Micron. “I’m a pretty good judge of character, and I’m sure that whatever he did was done with the best of intentions. He’s not a criminal, Professor. I’d stake my reputation on it.”
George’s heart lifted, and he glanced at Professor Droid.
“He’s caused thousands of dollars’ worth of damage to TinkerTech and private property,” said Professor Droid.
“Is this true?” Dr. Micron asked George.
“No!” said George. “I mean, it happened, but it wasn’t my fault. I was just trying to help.”
“The boy seems honest to me, Professor,” said Dr. Micron. “Why not give him a break this time?”
Professor Droid’s mouth formed a hard line, but finally he nodded. “Well, all right, then,” he said slowly. “I’ll trust your judgment on this one, Chip.” He turned and stared at George. “Looks like it’s your lucky day. You can go. Just think twice before you tamper with TinkerTech property again!”
George decided it wasn’t worth protesting anymore. “Of course,” he said. “Thank you, sir.”
“What was it you wanted to see me about, anyway?” asked the professor.
Dr. Micron waved a hand. “Don’t worry, it’s not urgent. I’ll see George out, shall I?”
They took their leave and walked down the hall together. “Thank you so much!” said George as they reached the elevator. XZ1P75-0 and XZ1P75-1 parted to let them pass.
“You’re welcome,” said Dr. Micron. “I know you’re not a bad kid. But tell me this—why did you climb into the truck?”
“It’s a long story,” said George.
“Try me,” said Dr. Micron.
George was still telling his version of events long after the elevator reached the ground floor.
“ . . . and it all started because I was looking for Jackbot!” said George.
“That’s the robot I met in the workshop, right?” said Dr. Micron.
George nodded sadly. “He’s missing.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Anne thinks he just wandered off, but I’m sure he wouldn’t do that. I think he’s been taken.”
Dr. Micron laughed. “Oh, I don’t think that’s likely. Didn’t he have a tracker?”
George shook his head. “Until yesterday, he wasn’t exactly what you’d call cutting-edge technology.”
Dr. Micron escorted George to the front doors. “I’m sorry that you’ve lost your robot, George. Trust me, I know that robots aren’t just programming and parts. They can be friends, too.”
“Jackbot was my best friend,” George said.
Dr. Micron patted him on the back. “Don’t spend too much time worrying about him, kid,” he said. “These things tend to find their way back on their own.” He turned back to the building, then seemed to remember something and reached into his inside pocket. “Before you go, I’d like to give you a little gift. Something to keep you company until you get your friend back.”
He took out a silver object the size of a bullet and placed it in George’s hand. After a moment, it twitched, then unfurled.
It was a tiny robot, with a little goggle-eyed head and two antennae that glowed like fiber-optic cable. Its mothlike wings began to whir, and it rose in the air and hovered in front of George’s face, cocking its head inquisitively.
“What is it?” said George.
“It’s a pocket robot. A new line I’ve been working on. Perhaps you could test it out for a few days, then give us some feedback?”
George’s eyes bugged. “A prototype?”
The robot moth settled on his shoulder. George could feel its feathery wings tickle his cheek.
“I think it likes you!” said Dr. Micron.
“It’s fantastic!” George said.
“Take a TinkerTech car home,” said Dr. Micron. “I’ll authorize it.”
“Wow—I don’t know what to say,” said George.
“Just don’t override the controls!” said Dr. Micron with a wink.
As George opened the front door, his new robot moth fluttered into the house at his side, flying in effortless little loops. The house felt very quiet. Uncle Otto must still be at the junkyard, George thought.
George went into the kitchen and asked Mr. Egg to pour him a glass of orange juice. The robot not only did it, but added a fresh orange slice and a little umbrella to the glass as well. Normally George would have been ecstatic, but the fancy drink only made him think of Jackbot.
George flop
ped on the sofa, and his spirits sagged too. He might have narrowly escaped the police station, but he wasn’t any closer to finding his friend.
As he sipped his juice, he remembered the blue marble and took it out from his pocket. The moth-bot hovered close by. But the marble was no longer lit up from inside. It had gone cloudy again. Had he imagined it—the screen, “Project Mercury,” and all of the other writing? He held the marble up to the light, but it remained stubbornly opaque.
George heard the sound of his uncle’s pickup truck scraping to a halt on the gravel outside. The engine died. A moment later George heard Otto’s key in the door. George wondered about the best way to explain what had happened at Patricia’s. Maybe he should just keep quiet about the whole thing.
One look at Otto’s face was enough to tell him that his uncle already knew.
“Hi,” said George. It came out in a squeak.
“I got a call from TinkerTech Enterprises when I was at the junkyard,” Otto said, his voice eerily calm. “What do you think that was about, George? Do you have any idea?”
“Um, I guess it was about the thing with the garbage truck.”
“Yes!” shouted Uncle Otto, all calm fleeing his face. “The thing with the garbage truck! Breaking my carburetor wasn’t enough for you, was it? You wanted to try for something bigger, so you destroyed a TinkerTech truck!”
“But it’s all taken care of, Uncle Otto. I promise!”
“We’re darn lucky they’re not making us pay for the damage—we’d be bankrupt and then some! You may have gotten away with it in the eyes of the authorities, but I’m not so forgiving, George. You’re grounded. All summer. Any spare time, you’re going to be helping me out at the junkyard. I could use another pair of hands.”
“But Uncle Otto!” said George. “I’ve got to find Jackbot!”
“That heap of trash is probably rusting in a gutter somewhere,” said Otto. “It’s time you stopped messing around with robots and concentrated on your schoolwork.”
The moth-bot chose that moment to zip across the room and loop around Otto’s head.
The Junkyard Bot Page 5