I made it!
Then he heard someone clapping slowly.
George’s gaze traveled upward, from a shiny pair of black shoes to a sharp suit to a necktie to the smiling face of Dr. Micron.
“You put on quite a show there, George,” said Dr. Micron. “What a pity it was all for nothing.”
George got to his feet. The inside of the Brain was nothing like George had expected. The interior surfaces were completely covered in curved screens, each one displaying something different. Some were images from around the town, streaming live. Others were readouts that scrolled continuously. Others were simply blank. Dr. Micron stood in the center, wearing a black glove. As he pointed to different screens, they seemed to split from the walls and float closer so he could tap away. George realized they were holographic simulations.
“Impressive, huh?” said Dr. Micron. “I call it Virtual Manual Computing.”
Despite everything, George felt a flicker of respect. Dr. Micron looked like a conductor leading an orchestra as he summoned screens and dismissed them again. He was in complete control of the town.
“Well done for making it here, anyway,” said Dr. Micron. “Even though it was a wasted journey. What do you think of the TinkerTech nerve center? Not bad, eh?”
George nodded. He could still see the walkway and the corridor beyond. The security-bots had Anne, Jackbot, and Sparky firmly in their grip.
“You can still stop all this,” said George.
Dr. Micron chuckled. “Thank you for the career advice. But I’ll decline.”
George glanced at the screens. Which one controlled the direct link to the town’s robots?
If he could find it, he could change the programming.
If Dr. Micron would let him get close enough.
“I suppose you’re wondering which screen controls the town’s robots,” said Dr. Micron.
George bit his lip.
“It’s this one,” said Dr. Micron. He pointed to a screen in the floor and made a tugging motion with his hand. A large holographic display leaped up in front of him, marked with the TinkerTech logo. “I have to say, you’re a clever kid,” said Dr. Micron, “but I didn’t get where I am today by being outsmarted by a child. As soon as I realized that Jackbot’s self-detonation had been canceled, I guessed you’d hightail it down here. Thought you’d be able to switch off the Invasion Program, right? Not a chance. That program is protected by every firewall and every antivirus known to man. You couldn’t get into it if your life depended on it. Oh, wait—it does!” He laughed and swiped his fingers in the air. The screen vanished. “Plus, you need one of these gloves to even interact with the system.”
I need to get one, thought George. Maybe if I take him by surprise.
“And don’t even think about taking me by surprise,” said Dr. Micron. “You’ve forgotten I have another metal friend.”
George felt a presence at his back and spun around.
“Hello, George Gearing,” said the Caretaker.
“Show him your new trick,” said Dr. Micron.
The Caretaker extended its arm, then its index finger. It pointed toward the floor at George’s feet.
ZIP!
A narrow red laser beam shot out of the Caretaker’s finger and sizzled a spot on the metal floor, turning it molten orange in an instant. George leaped back from the smoking hole in alarm.
“That’s what it does to corrugated steel,” said Dr. Micron. “Just imagine what it would do to your head!”
The Caretaker turned and guided its laser slowly across the chamber. Toward Anne. George saw her squirm in the security-bot’s grasp, fear twisting her features.
“No!” shouted George.
“Don’t worry,” said Dr. Micron. “Once we’ve finished with Droid’s irritating daughter, you’ll be next.”
“Wait!” said George.
“You’re not going to beg, are you?” said Dr. Micron. “Think of your dignity, George!”
But George had another plan. A long shot—but the only one he could come up with. “You think I wouldn’t be able to break into your Invasion Program?” he said.
“I know you wouldn’t be able to,” said Dr. Micron.
“But you’re afraid to let me try,” said George.
“I’m not afraid,” said Dr. Micron, almost spitting the word out with disgust. “There’s simply no point.”
“If you were a hundred percent confident in all your firewalls,” George said in a challenging tone, “you’d let me try.”
“Why should I?”
“Why shouldn’t you?”
“Because—oh, this is getting silly. Caretaker—”
“You’re afraid to take a risk,” George said.
“There is no risk!” said Dr. Micron. He was starting to sound annoyed now, and his cheeks were flushed.
“If there really were no risk, Dr. Micron, you’d let me try!” said George. “You already had to steal my robot to power your army, and now you’re afraid of being outsmarted by a kid—again.”
“All right!” said Dr. Micron angrily. “If you want to spend the last seconds of your life proving yourself wrong, that’s up to you! I’ll give you exactly thirty seconds to show what you can do. And when the thirty seconds are up and you’ve failed, you’ll die knowing it was all your fault.”
“That seems fair,” said George. “Now give me one of those gloves.”
Dr. Micron peeled one off and tossed it to George. “Pointless!” he muttered.
George slipped his hand inside the glove.
“Five seconds gone,” said Dr. Micron.
George summoned the screen he wanted. He saw the icon for the central hubs, and his fingers danced over it.
“This is painful to watch,” said Dr. Micron, arms folded over his chest.
George selected the power supply.
“Getting colder,” said Dr. Micron. “You’re not even in the right program!”
George accessed the file labeled POWER OUTPUT CONTROL. A display appeared onscreen—a column that was half blue and half blank and displayed the words CURRENT OUTPUT, 25,000 MEGAWATTS PER HUB.
“You’re going to try switching the power off?” said Dr. Micron. “You’re actually more foolish than I thought. You’ve heard of batteries, I presume.”
George’s heart was thumping, but his hand was steady as he moved the power bar up to maximum—150,000 megawatts per hub. The screen flashed red and a message said, “Maximum output may damage hardware. Do you wish to continue?”
“Wait . . .” Dr. Micron said, realization dawning on him. “No!”
George gave him a quick glance and grinned.
Then he pressed CONTINUE.
There was a distant noise like a muffled boom.
All the lights in the atrium went out.
“What have you done?” cried Dr. Micron.
George dismissed the screen. “You’re right—I wouldn’t have stood a chance getting past your firewalls, and you’re right about the battery power, too. So I overloaded the robots instead. It was—how do you say it?—oh, yes, child’s play.”
Back on the walkway, the bots surrounding Anne and Jackbot were completely still. Anne pushed one and it toppled over with a clang.
“You—you—you little . . .” sputtered Dr. Micron. His handsome face had turned ugly with rage.
“Terabyte Heights is safe,” said George.
“But you’re not!” said Dr. Micron. “One thing I forgot to tell you about the Caretaker. Your little robot isn’t the only one not connected to the hubs!”
George spun around and saw the huge robot’s finger pointed right at his head, its tip glowing faintly red.
“Caretaker?” said Dr. Micron.
“Yes, sir?” said the robot calmly.
George closed his eyes and his hand went to his pocket. He felt the marble, warm to the touch.
“Kill him.”
“Wait!” said George. He thrust the marble in the air. It glowed blue in his finger
s.
“What’s that?” said Dr. Micron, licking his lips nervously.
George smiled. “It’s a bomb,” he lied. “Not quite as powerful as the bomb you put in Jackbot, but enough to wipe out this room and everything in it if it hits the ground.”
“Shall I kill him, sir?” asked the Caretaker.
“Negative!” said Dr. Micron. “Now, don’t do anything silly, Gearing.”
“Then get it to lower the laser,” said George.
Dr. Micron moistened his lips again and nodded. The Caretaker’s arm dropped.
Dr. Micron narrowed his eyes at George. “So, we have a stalemate,” he said.
Emergency lights came on above, and a speaker crackled.
“No, we don’t,” said Professor Droid’s voice. “The police are on their way here now, Chip. It’s over.”
Dr. Micron lifted his chin proudly. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t say a thing.
Outside, Anne and Jackbot cheered and high-fived each other. George smiled as he watched Jackbot do a crazy little dance, kicking his big flat metal feet in the air. Jackbot and Anne looked up at the Brain and waved. George waved back.
Dr. Micron pushed past George and walked toward the open door. He placed a hand on the Caretaker’s shoulder, as he would with an old friend.
“There’s nowhere to go,” said George.
Dr. Micron pushed the Caretaker out of the central core and into the abyss. “Useless pile of junk,” he said.
George waited for the sound of the Caretaker hitting the floor far below. Nothing happened.
“I won’t let them put me in jail,” said Dr. Micron quietly.
George realized what he was about to do. “No!” he said, leaping to grab Dr. Micron.
The doctor stepped over the edge.
A moment later, Dr. Micron rose up again, his arms around the Caretaker. The robot was hovering in midair, held there by powerful thruster jets.
“You did me one good turn, George,” said Dr. Micron, defiant. “When I saw that footage of the Caretaker not being able to get up the stairs at your school, I realized I needed to make some modifications. And here’s the result! So you’ve helped me escape!”
“There’s nowhere to go!” said George. “We’re trapped underground!”
“Caretaker, an escape route, please,” said Dr. Micron.
The Caretaker pointed its finger toward the glass ceiling and fired. Its laser cut a perfect disc from the glass, which plummeted past, shattering far below.
“You’re a meddlesome, interfering brat, George,” said Dr. Micron. “Too clever for your own good—just like your parents! I don’t forget, George. When someone crosses me, they always pay for it in the end.” Then he slapped the Caretaker on the shoulder. “Hi-ho, Silver, away!”
“I regret to say I do not comprehend the command,” said the Caretaker.
“I mean, let’s get out of here, you stupid robot!”
The Caretaker’s thrusters shot them upward and through the hole in the ceiling, just as several uniformed police swarmed into the corridor, screeching to a halt at the doorway perched above the chasm. George watched the police shout warnings at Dr. Micron and fire their guns at the Caretaker’s fleeing form, but he knew there’d be nothing that could prevent their escape.
Numbly, George turned to the control monitor and ordered the walkway to rejoin the Brain. He made his way toward Anne and Jackbot, feeling an odd mixture of relief and worry.
What had Dr. Micron meant when he said George was “too clever,” like his parents? Surely Dr. Micron hadn’t known them—they’d been the lowest of the low at TinkerTech.
George looked at the blue marble in his hand, still glowing like a nimbus. Somehow he felt he was only just starting to understand the past. And he couldn’t help but think that Project Mercury—whatever it was—lay at the heart of the mystery.
A soft voice spoke in the darkness.
“Good morning, George. I hope you slept well.”
George opened his eyes and, still half asleep, lifted his head from the pillow. “Who? What?”
“This is your clock speaking, George,” said the gentle voice. “I do hope you are feeling rested. It is Monday morning.”
A warm, mellow light filled the room.
“Time to get up, George. A new day lies before you.”
The clock started playing a recording of sweet harp music. George sat up in bed.
“Jackbot!” he called.
The door opened and Jackbot clanked in. “Hey, George,” he said.
“Thanks for fixing that clock,” said George. “It’s much better now.”
“No problem,” Jackbot said. “I’ve put some clothes here for you on the chair. What would you like for breakfast?”
George yawned. “Scrambled eggs, please. With toast. And orange juice.”
“I’ll go tell Mr. Egg. See you downstairs.”
Uncle Otto was in the kitchen, drinking coffee and reading on his tablet. He looked up when George came in.
“I’ve been reading a whole lot about you,” he said. “Sounds like you’ve done a good job sorting out those crazy robots.”
George felt slightly embarrassed. “Well, I had some help,” he said.
“Yeah, well, don’t get a swelled head about it, that’s all. You got yourself out of a mess, but whose fault was it that you were in the mess in the first place?”
“Dr. Micron’s?” said George.
“Don’t be smart,” said Otto. He grunted. “I have to go to work. You work hard at school, you hear?”
It was the nicest Uncle Otto had been to him for quite a while.
As George and Jackbot walked through the school gates right on time, George was delighted to see a shambling figure with a huge bunch of keys pulling his pants down on one side.
“Mr. Cog!”
“Hey, George!” said Mr. Cog. “I hear you’re a hero now!”
“I couldn’t have done it without this little guy,” said George, looking at Jackbot. “It’s great that you got your job back, Mr. Cog.”
“Yeah, I think the principal decided I was a better choice than the robot, in the end,” said the janitor. “On account of the robot was the tool of a homicidal maniac who wanted to take over the world, and I ain’t.”
Inside the school, by the lockers, students clustered around George, asking if all the stories were true. Was it really thanks to him that the robot invasion had been defeated? Did Dr. Micron really try to kill him? Was it really his idea to send a power surge to the hubs and shut down the robots?
“Yes, it was his idea!” said Jackbot. “He’s not as dumb as he looks!”
“Gee, thanks, Jackbot,” George said drily.
Then Patricia Volt and her friends came stalking down the hallway. There was a slight hush. Patricia had a new version of Bjorn.
She stood face-to-face with George, eyeing him, a sneer on her lips.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hey,” said George. “You smell, um, better.”
Her friends began to titter, but she silenced them with a glance. “We’ve had our differences in the past, George Gearing,” she said. “Still, from what I can make out, you saved our town from being taken over by the robots.” She reached out and shook George’s hand. “So, good job.”
But as she was shaking his hand, she said in a voice so low and menacing that only he could hear: “I haven’t forgotten about the garbage. I’ll get you back for that someday. That’s a promise.”
George just smiled. School wouldn’t be the same if everyone liked him.
Halfway through math class, a voice came over the PA system.
“George Gearing to Principal Qwerty’s office, please.”
The classroom let out a collective “Oooh!”
Uh-oh, thought George. What have I done now?
Jackbot came with him. “Just deny everything,” he said. “Ask for a lawyer.”
George’s mouth was dry as he knocked on the principal’s door.
“A call?” he said.
Principal Qwerty pressed a button on her desk, and the screen behind her chair flicked on.
Professor Droid’s face looked out at him.
“George!” said Professor Droid. He seemed to have fully recovered from his ordeal at TinkerTech. “So good to see you. I have to thank you once again for what you did.”
“It was nothing, really,” said Jackbot.
Professor Droid laughed. “And you too, Jackbot. George, without your quick thinking—and your courage—things would have been pretty bad for us. In fact, I wouldn’t be here speaking to you now!”
“I guess not,” George said, blushing. “How’s Anne?” he asked, hoping to change the subject.
“She’s well,” said the professor. “In fact, I was just speaking with Principal Qwerty about transferring her to your school.”
“Awesome!” said George a little too loudly. “If you think she’d like it, I mean.”
“After all this trouble with the robots, I’m thinking she might benefit from a bit more human-to-human interaction,” said her father. “Now, listen, let me get to the point of this call . . .”
“Yes?” said George.
“That apprentice position at TinkerTech. It’s yours.”
George wasn’t sure if he’d heard right. “What? Me?”
“I can’t think of anyone better for the job. You’re young, but you’re smart as can be, and you have a natural talent for technology. And on a personal note, I’d enjoy working with you.”
George could barely breathe. Was it really true? He was going to work at TinkerTech?
“What do you say?”
“I say . . . yes!” said George. “Yes, yes, and yes!”
“Great,” said Professor Droid. “I’ll be in touch.”
The call ended, and George stood there in shock.
“Better get back to math class,” said the principal. “And congratulations, Gearing.”
As George walked slowly back, he pulled the marble from his pocket. Its surface was cloudy once again.
The Junkyard Bot Page 9