“Well, well, well,” said Patricia, putting on a fake smile. “If it isn’t George Gearing. Fancy meeting you here.” Next to her chair, a sleek silvery robot hovered in the air. It was about two feet long and was shaped like an oversized chess piece, with no limbs that George could see. It stared at him with blue, unblinking LED eyes.
“You . . . you’re the other apprentice?” George stammered.
Patricia’s smile vanished. “I am,” she said. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”
“But—I didn’t think you were interested in robotics!”
Patricia smirked. “I am interested in anything that gets me out of school,” she said. “Isn’t that right, Cookie?”
“This boy’s hygiene is unsatisfactory,” announced the robot. “His sneakers are dirty, his T-shirt is wrinkled, and his hair is approximately an inch longer than optimum length. I calculate in three days he will acquire a zit on the right side of his nose due to oil overproduction. Makeover will commence in thirty seconds.”
“Um, no, thanks,” said George. “What is that thing, anyway?”
“This is Cookie,” Patricia explained. “She’s a meBot series three—state of the art, of course. All the celebs have them now. She’s a qualified hairstylist”—a panel opened in Cookie’s sides and three pairs of scissors extended, snapping at the air—“a beauty expert”—lipsticks and brushes emerged—“and a nutritionist, yoga instructor, and personal shopper all in one.” As soon as Patricia stopped speaking, all of the implements vanished silently back inside Cookie’s metal figure.
“Oh, is that all?” said George, trying not to look impressed.
“No,” Cookie said, before Patricia could answer, “I am also fluent in thirty languages, can perform advanced calculus, and am certified to repair a wide variety of home appliances.”
This time, George couldn’t hide his admiration. “Wow,” he breathed. “Cool.”
Patricia just looked bored.
“Do you think I could take a look at her CPU?” George asked, taking a step toward Cookie.
“Warning!” Cookie shouted, as an arm holding a tiny spray bottle emerged from her frame. “If you touch me with those filthy hands I will be forced to sanitize you!”
George drew back, looking at his hands. “But they’re clean,” he said.
“‘Clean’ is a relative term,” said the robot. “When was the last time you had a manicure?”
Ping! The elevator doors opened again, and Jackbot trundled out. “Have a super-duper day, little dude!” the elevator sang.
“Back at you, big guy!” Jackbot said.
“Jackbot!” said George, delighted to see his friend. “How did you get past the security-bot?”
“I told it I am your personal medical-bot.”
“What do you mean?” George said. “Why would I need a doctor?”
“Oh, I just said you were suffering from some kind of post-traumatic stress disorder after you nearly got killed by Dr. Micron. That was clever, wasn’t it? I mean, what harm could possibly come from—Oh!” Jackbot stopped dead, his eyes locked on Cookie.
“Hey . . . Jackbot,” George said after a moment. “Are your batteries acting up again?”
“My whaaaa . . . ?” Jackbot mumbled, not looking at him.
George was beginning to worry. Were Jackbot’s speech processors compromised too?
Jackbot walked forward slowly, passing Patricia, who looked as confused as George did. Then Jackbot reached for Cookie’s sanitizer attachment and held it. “Do you have a GPS program?” he asked dreamily. “Because I’m getting lost in your eyes!”
Cookie snatched her arm away and floated above Jackbot. “Is this droid malfunctioning?” she said.
“My heart is,” Jackbot replied.
“You have no heart,” said Patricia. “You’re just a bunch of circuits and scrap metal.”
“Jackbot?” said George. “Maybe you should step back.”
Jackbot didn’t move. He just kept staring at the robot, the lights in his eyes flickering.
“George, can you please tell your robot to stop flirting with my robot?” Patricia said. “She’s way out of his league!”
George bristled. He had to admit that shabby little Jackbot looked pretty silly next to Cookie, but that wasn’t the point. “He’s the most intelligent robot in Terabyte Heights!” he said.
“More like the most intelligent trash can in Terabyte Heights,” Patricia grumbled.
Jackbot slowly backed off to stand beside George. “She’s the most beautiful bot I’ve ever seen,” he whispered. “George, is this what love feels like?”
“I don’t know,” said George. “How does it feel?”
“Like my transistors are all firing at once,” he said.
“Well,” said George. “I guess either it’s love or your CPU needs an upgrade.”
At that moment, the door at the end of the hall opened and a man walked out. He wore a sharp suit and his face had a deep orange tan. As he approached, George was able to read the name tag on his lapel.
MAXIMILIAN VOLT, HEAD OF MARKETING.
So that’s how Patricia got this apprenticeship, George mused.
“Welcome to TinkerTech, you two,” he said. “I’ll be your mentor throughout the program.”
“Hi, Dad!” said Patricia.
Volt kissed his daughter. “Good to have you aboard, Sweetpea,” he said. “This is going to be a lot of fun.”
Then he turned to George. His mouth was still smiling, but his eyes weren’t. “George Gearing, correct? You work hard and do what you’re told and we’ll get along just fine.”
“Hey,” said Jackbot, “aren’t you going to kiss George, too?”
Volt narrowed his eyes and jerked a thumb at Jackbot. “Is this robot trying to be funny?”
“Um . . . yes,” said George. “He does that.”
“He shouldn’t,” said Volt. “Come on. We’ll start with a tour.”
As they walked down the corridor, George put his hand in his pocket and touched the blue marble. Okay, so this experience hadn’t started in quite the way he had imagined, but it was still a huge opportunity. He wasn’t going to let a little thing like Patricia Volt take that away from him. Jackbot tapped George on the shoulder.
“What’s that scent she’s wearing?” he whispered.
“Who?” said George.
“Cookie,” said Jackbot. “She smells like a summer meadow.”
George sniffed, but he couldn’t smell a thing. “It’s probably some sort of coolant,” he said.
“Ah, coolant.” Jackbot swooned.
“First, we’ll tour the labs where the MOD device is being produced,” Volt was saying. “This is going to be the biggest launch in TinkerTech history. Our analysts say it will change the way we work—think—live!”
“That sounds wonderful, Daddy,” said Patricia. “Have you ordered one for me?”
“Of course I have, Sweetpea! For your mother, too. The whole town will be connected—well, ninety-eight percent of them, according to our projections.”
“You think you’ll be part of the two percent, George?” said Patricia, casting a snide look at him. “Your tech isn’t usually cutting-edge.”
“Oh, I’ll be getting one,” George assured her.
They were marching down a long corridor with deep carpeting and walls that glowed with a creamy light. George had to trot to keep up; both Volt and his daughter walked with long, swift strides.
“The MOD will be the product of the century,” Volt said. “Once everyone in Terabyte Heights is connected, we plan to roll it out across the country, and after that, the world!”
“Is everything all right with the launch?” George asked, about two paces behind. “I heard Professor Droid say something about bugs in the system.”
Volt stopped. He looked down at George, his orange face stern. “The launch is going perfectly according to schedule, Mr. Gearing,” he said. “You should keep your nose out of things that aren’t you
r concern. Is that clear?”
Cookie suddenly spoke up. “Mr. Volt, your nose hair is approximately three centimeters too long. It’s protruding from your nostrils in an unbecoming fashion. Please prepare for corrective measures.” An electric trimmer arm sprang from her body, and she advanced on Patricia’s father.
“Get away from me!” said Volt, shielding his face. “Patricia, how many times do I have to tell you to keep that robot in check!”
“She cares about personal appearance,” Patricia said. “She’s just doing her job!”
“I’d let you trim my nose hair,” Jackbot cooed, “if I had any hair . . . or a nose . . .”
Everyone ignored him.
Volt grumbled something under his breath and strode on. “Let’s go.”
They passed a door blocked by a metal barrier, with yellow tape crisscrossed over it that read CRIME SCENE—DO NOT ENTER.
“What’s that?” asked George, pausing.
Volt stopped again. “That was the office of someone we prefer not to mention. He brought the whole company into disrepute, and I’ve had to do a lot of work to make people trust TinkerTech again.”
“You mean Dr. Micron?” said George.
“Yes, the traitor!” Volt growled. “I always knew he was no good.”
“I thought you used to go on fishing trips with him,” Patricia piped up.
“Only to discuss business,” Volt said, his jaw clenched.
“But what about all those dinner parties?” Patricia continued. “You used to call him Good Old Chip, remember?”
Volt twitched and cleared his throat. “My, look at the time,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Hurry up, children. No time to waste.”
Volt stalked off and George was about to follow when he felt a sudden warmth coming from his pocket. After making sure no one was looking, he pulled out the marble. It was glowing bright red.
He’d only seen the marble glow blue, never red. George looked from the marble to Micron’s old office. Could it be that something in that room was triggering the marble’s circuitry?
“Hey, Jackbot, check this out,” he said.
Jackbot had been gazing after Cookie longingly, but now he turned his attention to the marble. He took it from George’s hand and moved closer to the door. It glowed brighter and brighter like a miniature fireball.
“Weird,” Jackbot said.
“Yeah,” George agreed. He couldn’t explain it, but without knowing for sure what the color change meant, he could swear the marble was trying to warn him about something. Dr. Micron had known his parents, that much he knew. Micron’s parting words before escaping on the Caretaker had been that George was too clever for his own good—just like his parents. Those words had haunted him ever since. Why would an executive like Micron have even known his parents existed if they’d only been clerks? George had a feeling that there was more to the story.
George took a last look at the office door. “We’ve got to get inside,” he whispered to Jackbot. “There’s information about my parents in there, I just know it.”
“Sounds dangerous, hazardous, and risky,” said Jackbot. His eyes flashed. “I’m in!”
“Hey! Enough lollygagging, Mr. Gearing,” called Maximilian Volt from farther down the corridor. “Let’s go!”
George pocketed the marble and he and Jackbot jogged to catch up with Patricia and her father.
“Here we are,” said Volt. “MOD Central Processing.” They had reached a shiny steel wall that seemed like a dead end. But when Volt pressed his palm against it, a red light scanned his hand from top to bottom and then glowed blue. Suddenly the wall began to rise.
George caught his breath. “Whoa.”
Beyond the wall was a metal bridge that spanned a manufacturing floor as long as a football field. Twenty feet below, a vast expanse of machinery hissed and beeped as a conveyor belt moved around the room in an endless loop. Robotic arms suctioned items off the belt and whizzed them over to other stations. Here and there showers of sparks flew into the air like tiny fireworks. Vats of chemicals covered with warning symbols lined one edge of the factory floor. At the far end of the room, George saw people dressed head to toe in white sterile suits. Some were working at mobile computer panels while others hurried across bridges suspended over the machines. It was a crazy, noisy dance of machines and people. George thought it was absolutely fantastic.
“Quite something, isn’t it?” said Volt, seeing the look of awe on George’s face.
A robot that looked vaguely like a department store mannequin stood by the door next to a cart stacked with white bodysuits. George thought it was creepy-looking.
“Max Volt, Security Clearance Alpha,” Volt said. “I’m here to give the apprentices a tour.”
“Please wear a protective garment,” said the robot, holding out an armful of the bodysuits. “Robots too.”
“Do you have a choice of colors?” Cookie asked. “White is unsuited to my owner’s complexion. Jade green would be sufficient, or burnt umber.”
The robot blinked. “You will wear protective garments,” it repeated.
“We’re making lenses that go in people’s eyes,” said Volt, as they all pulled the suits over their clothes. “We can’t take any risks with contamination.”
Jackbot’s suit was much too big for him and dragged on the floor. “How do I look, Cookie?” he asked, striking a pose.
Patricia’s bot turned her gaze on him. “Very last season,” she replied.
“Follow me!” said Volt.
The metal bridge clanked as they marched across it. George looked down at the scene below. The machinery was unexpectedly large, considering it was making tiny earpieces and lenses. A hose extended from one machine, dripping globules of a quivering translucent jelly onto the belt.
“What’s that?” George said.
“That’s what we make the lenses from,” Volt explained. “A liquid polymer patented by TinkerTech. We treat it with high heat to form a malleable solid, then implant nanotech between its molecular layers.” He chuckled. “That Micron was a crook, but he sure was a genius.”
“Wait,” said George. “Micron designed the MOD?”
“He did almost all of the initial design, yes,” said Volt. “Though we don’t like to advertise that.”
I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, thought George. Micron was deputy head of Robotics, after all.
Volt looked thoughtful as he observed the activity. “Frankly, without Micron, the MOD never would have been invented. His technology was beyond even our best developers’ expertise. We can build the things to his specifications, but there are parts of its mechanics that we still don’t quite understand.” Volt shook his head. “It’s really too bad Chip turned out to be a criminal mastermind.”
For the first time, George agreed with Volt. Micron had once been George’s idol—the man he had most wanted to be like when he grew up. Now that couldn’t be further from the truth.
“So,” Volt said, continuing the tour. “The polymer gets taken to the press first, over there.” He pointed at a giant machine that slammed down an enormous hammer onto the pale jelly every few seconds. After it had been flattened, the jelly moved on, now paper thin and no longer quivering. “The width of the lens can be controlled within a picometer.”
“A trillionth of a meter?” George exclaimed. “That’s incredible.”
He stood aside as a man came down the bridge, holding a pocket tablet and stabbing at the screen. The man wasn’t really watching where he was going.
“What does that machine do?” Patricia asked. She pointed at something that looked like an upside-down hedgehog, which slammed down onto the flattened lens material as it passed by. George leaned over to look.
“That’s the cutter,” said Volt. “It carves the material into lenses. Then the laser implants the—”
Suddenly someone shoved George in the back. Hard.
His insides lurched with terror as he tipped head over heels off the bri
dge. Desperately, he flailed his arms as he fell, and he managed to catch the rail with one hand.
For a moment he hung by his fingertips, his feet kicking the air.
“George!” said Jackbot, leaping forward. He grabbed for George’s hand, but it was too late.
George’s fingers slipped off the rail, and he plummeted toward the conveyor belt below with a cry. I’m dead I’m dead I’m dead! George thought in the timeless moments as he fell. But instead of smashing against the hard concrete, George landed on top of the quivering gel, which softly buoyed him up like a liquid trampoline.
As he lay there flat on his back, miraculously still alive, George saw Volt, Patricia, Jackbot, Cookie, and a group of white-suited workers all staring down at him in horror. “I’m okay!” George shouted. But for some reason, they didn’t look reassured.
“Shut it down!” yelled Patricia’s father to one of the workers on the floor.
“I don’t have the security code!” the man replied.
“Really, I’m fine,” George said, and tried to get up. But he couldn’t move. He was stuck to the gel like a bug on flypaper. He quickly realized that the conveyor belt was moving. He craned his neck to see what was ahead.
He was being carried toward the stamping press.
“Who has the code?” shouted Volt. “Where’s the foreman?”
“Coffee break!” said another worker.
THUD! The giant head of the hammer thundered down on the section of gel just ahead of George. His whole body vibrated with the force of it.
George tugged with all his might, but he couldn’t move a limb. In another few seconds, he was about to find out just how thin a picometer really was.
THUD!
The hammer crashed down again. “Help!” George shouted. “Help me!”
“Do something!” he heard Volt yell. “Stop the machine!”
A high-pitched alarm cut through the air.
Panicked voices, running footsteps. “I can’t override it!” someone shouted. “We’ll never get into the program in time!”
Lots of Bots Page 2