“Well,” says Dan, never one to shut up and just accept a compliment, “a hypothetical problem.”
“Sure,” admits John Henry Knox. “When Dan designed, built, and programmed the bots, we didn’t actually need them to venture out into inhospitable environments to gather food for us. But the bots were inspired, at least initially, by my weather-related theorizing and my predictions of an admittedly-distant-but-not-so-distant-that-we-shouldn’t-be-preparing-for-it future in which we did need them for that. He was anticipating a problem. Attempting to solve it before it even truly became a problem. Some might argue that that is even more brilliant than solving a problem that’s staring you right in the face.”
“But we’re leaving the people out of the equation,” Mikaela says. “The people and, in this case, the aliens. Because they’re doing the same thing, aren’t they? They think they’re going to solve a bunch of problems by zapping our planet into a bunch of piles of dust and replacing it with a billboard. Because we know humans have been causing damage to our planet, but now it looks like we might be causing harm to the rest of our solar system, and soon maybe even the whole entire galaxy. We’ve got to show the Plerpians that we’ve got what it takes to address that. That we can make a contribution to the galaxy. That we can actually be really great neighbors. Ones that it might benefit them to keep around.”
“You’re right,” says Edsley. “Which is why,” he adds, “whatever we reprogram the bot to do, I don’t think it could hurt to also have the guy know how to cook a can of beans.”
53.
IT TAKES HOURS FOR US to settle on exactly what we’re going to attempt to reprogram the robot to do.
That might sound crazy.
But the decision isn’t an easy one.
It’s probably the most important decision we’ll make in our entire lives.
We have to do something impressive.
Something big and bold.
But we’re on a seriously tight schedule, which of course limits just how ambitious we can be.
The whole time we’re debating and arguing and, at one point, kinda sorta fighting with one another, I can hear a clock ticking in my head. The sky is still cloudy—though cumulonimbus-free—but I can sense the sun dipping lower and lower. Noon tomorrow really isn’t all that far away.
In the end, none of us are exactly thrilled with what we land on. I feel a lot like I did the time I totally spaced on a science project and had to put the thing together in a single evening. I still got an A-minus—not to brag or anything—but it bothered me, because I knew that if I’d been working on the project all month long, I could’ve done something absolutely EPIC.
“So,” I say, once our conversation quiets. “We’re in agreement.”
“If,” Edsley stipulates, “we can include that thing I talked about.”
Dan reaches for Bem’s communication device.
“Now,” he says, “let’s see what Bem thinks.”
“Can you really send him a message on that?” I ask.
“I think so,” says Dan. “It’s kind of confusing, but I—”
Mikaela clears her throat.
I look, and see that she’s holding her hand out to Dan.
Dan sets the communication device in her palm.
Mikaela’s thumbs get to work right away, moving over the screen at lightning speed. Within a few seconds, she tells us, “Ready.”
Dang. She’s got skills.
“What should we say?” asks Mikaela.
“Um,” Dan says. “Tell him we’ve got a plan.”
Mikaela’s thumbs get back to tapping.
“And that we want to run it by him before we get to work,” Dan continues.
Mikaela nods and, it seems, sends the message.
Half a second later, we hear:
Beep-beep BOOP.
“That was fast,” I say.
Mikaela shakes her head, then reads: “ ‘Have you tried the bean that consumers and critics alike are calling “life-altering” and “revolutionary”? Get your Plerp-12 Super Beans wherever the best beans are sold.’ ”
“Oh,” I say.
We wait, all our eyes glued to the device in Mikaela’s hands.
“Come on, Bem…,” mutters Dan.
Nothing.
Beep-beep BOOP.
Mikaela checks the screen… and sighs. Then she reads:
“ ‘Would a floogleflimp driver change flimps midrace? Of course, not. So why would you stop enjoying beans from the galaxy’s oldest, most-trusted bean producer? Plerp-5 Beans—Your Family’s Favorite for a Reason.’ ”
“Here,” says Dan, holding a hand out for the device. “Let me see?”
Mikaela hands him the thing, and Dan gives it a shake, like maybe that will get Bem to answer.
It doesn’t.
“Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.”
It’s Edsley, wagging a finger back and forth.
“Perhaps we should begin to pursue our plan while we wait for Bem to return our message,” says John Henry Knox.
“It can’t hurt,” Jerry agrees.
“Our message sent,” Mikaela tells Dan. “He’ll see it.”
Dan gives the communication device one more shake, then shoves it into his pocket and turns his attention to the pieces and parts of the eighteenth and final robot spread out at our feet.
I do the same.
“All right,” I tell the others. “Let’s get all this inside. We’ll set up in my basement. I should have all the tools and supplies we’ll need down there.”
I reach down to scoop up a pile of robot parts—but Mikaela stops me with a “Hey.”
I look up.
She eyes me, then eyes each of the others in turn.
“We can do this,” she tells us.
She lifts an eyebrow and says it again—but this time, we all repeat it with her.
“We can do this.”
And then we get to work.
54.
MY MOOD IMPROVES AS SOON as I’ve got some tools in my hands and a job to do. I wouldn’t say that it gets quite within the “good” range—the situation is way too dire for that. But it’s certainly better than the other moods I’ve been in today, which have all been of the dark, dreary, and desperate variety.
I can tell the rest of the crew is feeling better, too. Sometimes, making a plan and taking the first steps to execute it is the best way to get yourself out of a funk. Even if that plan isn’t perfect. And ours definitely is not.
But we’re doing the best we can.
And when it comes to the EngiNerds? Well, our best is pretty darn good.
Then:
Beep-beep BOOP.
Bem finally gets in touch, and I’m all of a sudden sharply aware that my recently improved mood might be about to take a major nosedive.
“It’s him,” Dan tells us, his eyes flicking back and forth across the screen. “He was—oh jeez—he ate another one of those Food-Plus veggie burgers and then had to go to the bathroom and he—oh. Oh, wow. Ugh. Did NOT need to know that. TMI, Bem.”
Edsley hurries over to take a look at the communication device.
Mikaela steps in his way right before he reaches Dan. She grabs the gadget, and her thumbs start flying over the screen. She reads to us as she types, her message a quick overview of our plan.
And just a couple seconds after she hits send:
Beep-beep BOOP.
“He says…,” says Mikaela.
My heart hitches in my chest.
“He says that it ‘just might work,’ ” she finishes reading.
“Okay,” I say, getting out ahead of my own disappointment, and hoping to do the same for the others. Because that’s not exactly the vote of confidence I was looking for. “Okay. That’s better than him saying it’s a bad idea,” I assure everyone. “That means we’re on the right track.” Then I end my little impromptu pep talk with the same encouraging phrase Mikaela used earlier: “We can do this.”
Dan nods and gulp
s at the same time.
“Ask him if he can meet us once we’ve got the bot up and running,” he tells Mikaela, her thumbs once again twitching and tapping.
I don’t need to ask to know what Dan’s thinking. He wants to do a test run for the alien. He wants to show Bem what the bot can do, then take whatever feedback he’s got and use it to make any last-minute tweaks we can to really up our chances of knocking the socks off Kermin and Muckle. And we’ll have time to do all that, as long as we get the bot properly programmed a few hours before noon tomorrow, when the Plerpian demolition crew is set to return to Earth and recommence their work.
Beep-beep BOOP.
“He says he will,” Mikaela tells us. “He says he can come back down to Feldman’s Field for a bit once we’re ready for him. Also that, even if he’s up in the air, he can help make sure the demo crew sees the bot before they zap anything else.”
Hearing all this, my mood inches a bit closer to the “good” territory. And even though I was pretty upset with Bem just that morning, now I’m feeling grateful for him, and for all he’s done for us. Because earlier, in my fear and confusion, I was hoping the alien would just do all the work, that he’d save our planets for us. But that was never his job. Earth isn’t his planet. He went above and beyond to make sure we were fully aware of the danger it was in. But it always has been—and still is—up to us to save it.
We get back to work, and we’ve got the robot just about half-built—and have made sure to deactivate the bit of the design that causes the bots to finish building their half-built selves—when my stomach lets out a crazy loud growl.
Not a second later, Edsley’s does the same.
“Yeah, I wasn’t gonna say anything…,” Mikaela says, setting a hand on her own stomach. “But, same.”
I tuck the wrench I’d been using into my pocket, cross my arms, and stare at the limbless bot torso lying on the floor. Then I check the window, through which I can see a small patch of sky. There’s still some light left, but it’s the soft, end-of-the-day kind. It must be five thirty or six o’clock by now.
We haven’t even gotten to the programming part yet. And while I can’t know for sure what sort of snags we’ll encounter then, I know there’ll be some. (There are always unforeseen obstacles.)
“This is gonna take all night,” says Dan.
I nod.
Then say:
“Slumber party?”
We head upstairs. I make sure my parents are cool with having everyone over, then the others take turns calling their parents and making sure it’s cool with them. And speaking of snags, we hit a slight one there: John Henry Knox’s little sisters refuse to put his mom on the phone for a whole fifteen minutes, relenting only when the poor kid agrees to their demands and sings “I’m a Little Teapot” six times in a row in a super high-pitched voice.
But otherwise, it’s smooth sailing.
My parents even offer to order us some pizza.
To hold us over while we wait for it to arrive, I fix us up an appetizer of popcorn and peanut butter—the very best brain food there is, in my humble opinion. I bring it down to the basement along with some waters and we get back to it.
55.
WE WORK.
And work and work and work.
We eat our pizza.
And work.
We polish off a couple pints of ice cream.
And work.
Ten o’clock becomes eleven o’clock becomes midnight becomes one.
And we work.
And work and work and work.
And I know this might sound a little weird…
But I have a ridiculous amount of fun.
Like, an absolute blast.
And all my friends do too.
Yes, we’re still very much aware that we’re working to save the planet, and also still very much aware that our attempt to do so might totally fail. But I think that’s it. It’s like back when I looked at that tree and, newly aware of the threat that it and everything else was under, was all of a sudden bowled over by the thing’s miraculousness. We can’t ever know what the future might bring. But at the moment, we’re not even sure there’s going to be a future. And I guess that’s forcing me to fully live in each and every one of these long, hard hours, to sap every bit of life out of each minute, every second. And tomorrow morning, if we all get turned into piles of dust… well, I’ll be glad to know that I spent my final night on the planet programming a robot with my amazing friends. (And yes, that “amazing” even applies to Edsley and John Henry Knox.)
As expected, we hit some snags. We encounter plenty of unforeseen obstacles.
But we adjust.
We adapt.
We push through.
We just. Keep. Going.
Around four in the morning, we finally get the robot up and running.
But the guy’s not quite stage-ready yet.
We do a test run, then another, and then another and another and another, each time finding more little bugs that we’ve got to fix.
Another hour later, and the robot—whose name, we learn, is Björn—performs his new functions three times in a row without any issues.
Unless you count as an “issue” this thing he does with his voice. It only happens when he says his name. He tends to get stuck—sort of like sometimes happens with my dad’s old CDs when he plays them in the car.
Dan once again fiddles with the wiring inside the bot before closing him up and tightening the last of the screws.
“Say your name,” he commands the bot.
I cross my fingers.
But the bot says, “I am BjööööööÖÖRrrrrRrRRRRrrrrnnNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN—”
Edsley nudges Dan aside and smacks the bot on the back.
“—NNNNNN,” the bot concludes.
I check the time.
It’s 5:49.
I look back at Dan, his eyes big and bloodshot and seriously sleep-deprived. But despite not having gotten a wink of sleep for two nights in a row, he’s frowning hard at the bot. And I know what that look means. It means he wants to keep working, to tinker till his fingers ache, to tweak and test and tweak and test Björn until he runs absolutely flawlessly a thousand times in a row.
“We should get to the field,” I urge Dan. “We can keep working there. And Bem can help us.”
Jerry, Edsley, and John Henry Knox all nod in agreement.
Mikaela grabs the communication device and fires off a message to Bem.
Dan gives the bot one last look. Then he tucks his screwdriver into his belt and says, “All right. Let’s go.”
56.
WE SET OUT TOWARD FELDMAN’S Field. Just your average group of six kids and their recently built and reprogrammed robot, on their way to try to keep the planet from being erased from the universe. Above us, the nighttime sky is giving way to dawn, the color of the horizon-crowding clouds growing a hint softer and brighter with each passing minute.
I keep glancing up at them, figuring I’ll see a big, spaceship-camouflaging cumulonimbus cloud slip apart from the rest and sink toward the ground.
But we reach the field before that happens.
And there, I find out why.
Because the big, spaceship-camouflaging cumulonimbus cloud is already parked on the field’s patchy grass.
A little nervous tremor rolls through my body. Because what if Bem isn’t even impressed by our bot? What if he says that the thing doesn’t stand a chance of convincing the aliens in charge of his planet to not get rid of us and ours?
We’re still about fifty feet away from the ship when the cloud’s tufts and puffs part to reveal a metal, charcoal-colored door.
And we’re probably about thirty-five feet away when the door opens up.
By the time the ramp pokes out and reaches for the ground, we’re only about twenty feet away.
We make it just a few more steps before we all stop short. And there, a not-so-little nervous tremor rolls through my body, making me actually,
physically shake.
Because it’s not Bem who steps out of the spaceship and starts down the ramp.
It’s a pair of aliens.
They’re both wearing collared button-down shirts and bright striped ties and—you got it—underpants but no pants pants.
It’s Kermin and Muckle.
The demolition crew.
Back several hours before they’re supposed to be.
And it looks like Muckle finally found his zap-cannon.…
57.
WATCHING KERMIN AND MUCKLE DESCEND the ramp of their spaceship and stride out onto the patchy grass of Feldman’s Field, I can’t help but think about Klaus.
Because it wasn’t so long ago that we were standing in this very same spot, dodging the furious farts of that angry, angry robot.
And why was he so angry with us?
Well, let me remind you:
It was because I had tricked him, fooled him into thinking something—a WORLD-FAMOUS CAN’T-MISS MUST-ATTEND TOTALLY AWESOME EPICALLY EXCELLENT FESTIVAL OF COMESTIBLES—was going to happen when, in fact, it was not.
And that’s pretty much what I did to these two pants-less, canine-obsessed aliens. I’d convinced Kermin and Muckle that I could translate for Kitty then made up a bunch of stuff about a super important dog meeting. I can only assume that they finally realized I was full of it and are now back to make me pay for it—along with every other living thing on the planet.
58.
KERMIN AND MUCKLE QUICKLY CLOSE the distance between us and them, stopping just a few feet in front of us.
I do my best to keep my eyes on theirs, but my gaze keeps flicking down to the zap-cannons in their hands.
“GREETINGS, HUMAN,” Kermin shouts at me. “I UNDERSTAND THAT, DUE TO YOUR VERY LIMITED MENTAL CAPACITY, YOU HAVE NO DOUBT ALREADY FORGOTTEN, BUT WE HAVE PREVIOUSLY MET.” The alien sets a hand on his chest. “I AM KERMINFLAPPER.” Pointing to Muckle, he adds, “THIS IS MY ASSOCIATE, MUCKLEMCDUNK. WE ARE THOSE WHO WERE SENT TO METHODICALLY DEMOLISH YOUR FASCINATING AND BEAUTIFUL PLANET.”
Kermin pauses here and looks down at my feet.
The EngiNerds Strike Back Page 8