Anne aimed the flashlight. “What do you see?”
“There’s something on the hatch,” George said. He squeezed himself as close as he could get. “There’s a weird symbol in the middle.”
“What does it look like?”
“Like a circle with horns, with a tail like an upside-down cross.”
George backed out again. With the tip of his shoe, he drew the symbol on the dusty ground. “Any idea what it means?”
Anne shook her head. “Looks like some kind of ancient sign.”
“Whatever it is, it’s important. I’m sure of it!” George said. “If I could open that hatch, who knows what I’d find inside?”
“Well, you can’t,” Anne said. “Because there’s a great big pile of cars on top of it. Unless . . .”
She was staring up at the tall dark shape of the crane and its magnet, silhouetted against the purple evening sky.
George followed her gaze. “No way!” he said. “We can’t do that!”
“Can’t we?” she said, with a mischievous grin. “Do you want to get into that hatch or not?”
“But I don’t know how to operate it,” said George. “My uncle’s never let me near the thing.”
Anne shrugged. “Well, he isn’t here now, is he?”
George admired Anne’s nerve. And he had secretly always wanted to operate the magnetic crane. Besides, it was the only way he was going to find out what was hidden beneath his parents’ car . . .
“All right,” he said. “Let’s—”
CLANG! CLANG!
“What’s that?” said Anne, spinning around.
George felt a knot in the pit of his stomach. There shouldn’t be anyone else here.
CLANG! CLANG!
Sparky growled, low and deep.
CLANG! CLANG!
At the far end of the lane between the two stacks of cars, George saw an impossibly tall figure striding toward them. Its huge feet shook the ground with every step. From what George could make out in the semidarkness, it had a pointed head and sinister, shining black eyes.
“Trespassers detected!” it said.
George looked at Anne, and saw the terror he felt reflected in her face.
“Where did that thing come from?” whispered Anne.
“I don’t know,” George said. “But it doesn’t look friendly.”
“No kidding, genius!”
“Trespassers will be neutralized!” the robot said. It pointed both arms at them, and George saw that each arm ended in a thin metal tube, like the barrel of a gun.
“Get down!” shouted George. He grabbed Anne by the wrist and they threw themselves flat on the ground. A second later, two streaks of lightning shot from the robot’s hands and struck the stack of cars behind them with a blast of sound. George turned to see two sizzling, smoking patches of metal where the lightning had made contact.
“It’s trying to kill us!” Anne shouted.
“Trespassers will be neutralized!” repeated the robot.
“We’re not trespassers!” George shouted. “This is my uncle’s junkyard!”
“Negative. This junkyard is now the property of Mr. Freezie. Trespassers will be neutralized!”
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
It rushed toward them, its weapons aimed squarely at their heads.
“Quick! Move!” said George. They both rolled to one side as the electric bolts hit the spot they’d just occupied. Sparky ran in a circle, farting wildly.
“This way!” Anne said. She jumped to her feet and, pulling George by the arm, dodged around the edge of the stack of cars. For the moment, they had a wall of rusting iron between them and the robot.
CLANG! CLANG!
“Whoever Mr. Freezie, is, he doesn’t like guests, does he?” said Anne.
The ominous sound of robotic footsteps came closer. George saw Sparky standing his ground at the end of the path between the stacks of cars, barking defiantly. Suddenly there was a flash, and Sparky was engulfed in a crackling blue haze. His ears and tail stood on end, fizzing with sparks.
“That bucket of bolts got Sparky!” Anne screamed.
The blue haze disappeared. “Woof!” said Sparky, then scampered to Anne’s side.
“Whew,” said Anne, and hugged him with relief. “It takes more than that to keep you down, doesn’t it, boy?”
George hated to think of the damage one of those blasts would do to him or Anne though. They certainly wouldn’t be up and running with their tails wagging.
CLANG! CLANG!
George, Anne, and Sparky ducked behind an old refrigerator just as the security-bot rounded the corner. It stopped, and scanned the area.
An idea popped into George’s desperate brain.
“Can you make Sparky run over there?” he whispered to Anne, pointing. “Just under the magnetic crane?”
Anne grinned—George could see she’d gotten the idea. “Good thinking, Robot Boy,” she said.
“Heat source detected!” the security-bot announced. “Trespassers will be neutralized!”
It lumbered toward their hiding place.
Anne grabbed a wrench and showed it to Sparky. “Fetch, boy!” She hurled the tool and it landed right beneath the crane. Sparky bounded after it.
“Trespassers will be neutralized!” the robot repeated. “Taser fire ineffective. Crushing method initiated.”
It started stamping toward the robot dog.
“Run, Sparky!” Anne shouted. “Run fast!”
“I’m on it!” George said.
He squeezed behind the fridge and came out in the path behind it, parallel to the one with the security-bot. He sprinted toward the crane, leaping over piles of scrap as he went.
CLANG! CLANG!
“Woof! Woof!”
George reached the crane, clambered up to the door, and threw himself into the driver’s seat. Through the windshield, he saw Sparky with the wrench in his mouth as the security-bot approached.
Sparky whined, and sank to the ground on his belly.
George quickly scanned the dashboard. A big red button was labeled START. Easy enough, George thought. He pushed it, and the engine roared to life.
The security-bot stopped and looked straight at George. Its eyes flashed blue, and it prepared to fire.
On the dash, George saw another button marked ACTIVATE MAGNET.
George smiled. “Hey, big guy!” he called to the security-bot. The hulking machine cocked its head, listening. “Neutralize this!” George shouted, and hit the button.
Instantly, the security-bot flew up into the air, and its head struck the underside of the magnet with a noise like the banging of a colossal gong. The impact crumpled its pointy head, and in the next moment there was another flurry of gong strikes as its arms and legs all hit the magnet and stuck fast.
Anne ran out to Sparky. George slid down from the cab and joined her.
“Nice one!” Anne said, reaching out for a fist bump. “So what do we do about him?” she added, nodding up at the dangling robot.
“Let him hang out with the rest of the junk,” said George. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”
An hour later, they arrived back at George’s house. Their clothes were torn and filthy, and they smelled of exhaust and engine oil. The only one who seemed to be in good spirits was Sparky. He still had the wrench clamped in his mouth, and his tail was wagging furiously.
“I’m going home,” Anne said, rubbing her eyes. “If my dad finds out I’m gone at this hour, I’m toast.”
“Yeah . . .” mumbled George, distracted. He couldn’t stop thinking about the mysterious symbol in the junkyard. What did it have to do with his parents?
“Look, we’ll figure out what’s beneath that hatch door, don’t worry,” Anne said, as if reading his thoughts. Then, within a few seconds, she and Sparky had vanished into the night.
When George walked in the door, Otto was staring at his tablet, searching through a digital menswear catalog and sipping coffee from a chip
ped mug.
“What do you think of these threads, huh, George?” he asked. He pointed to a black silk shirt embroidered all over with tiny red screwdrivers. “Pretty sharp, huh? I could wear it to the barbecue! Wouldn’t that look good with my new gold necklace?”
“The only place that shirt would look good is in a fireplace,” George said. “Listen, Otto. Who bought the junkyard, exactly? And why does he want it?”
“Oh, some guy named Freezie,” Otto said absently, as he continued to scroll through the catalog. “Apparently he wants to turn it into an ice cream factory, so that should appeal to you. Hey, what do you think of these green leather pants?”
“For a guy who just wants to sell ice cream, he seems to be really worried about break-ins,” George said. “He’s already got a huge security-bot guarding the junkyard!”
“Well, it’s his business now how he owns the place,” Otto said, shrugging. “We already signed all the papers. He gave me a deposit check and said he would wire me the rest by the end of the week. Once I get all the money, I’m planning on totally changing my wardrobe! Do you think I’d look good in a top hat?”
George rolled his eyes. “Hey, I found something unexpected at the junkyard,” George said. He took a deep breath and said, “Mom and Dad’s old car.”
Otto slowly placed the tablet on the table. “Oh, that,” he murmured. “To be honest, I’d forgotten it was even there. The police released it to me after they fished it out of the river. It was totaled, of course. Some things just can’t be fixed, George.” Otto looked at his nephew, his eyes full of grief. George was reminded that he wasn’t the only one who had lost family that day.
A few seconds later, Otto cleared his throat and looked down at his big hands, which were wrapped tightly around the coffee mug. “Anyway, after that I just put it in the yard and tried to forget about it. Guess I succeeded.” He took a long gulp of coffee.
“But there’s something underneath it,” George pressed. “Like, some kind of door in the ground. Do you know anything about that?”
“Door?” Otto spluttered, almost choking on the coffee. “There’s no door there. That’s . . . that’s ridiculous. You must’ve seen a panel or something, a piece of scrap. Definitely not a door.” He abruptly rose from his chair. “Well, it’s been quite a day. Guess I’ll take a shower and go to bed. There’s leftovers in the fridge if you want them.” And before George could say another word, Otto was clomping up the stairs.
“Otto!” George called out after his uncle, but the bathroom door clicked shut.
He’s hiding something, thought George.
After making himself a grilled cheese sandwich, George went up to his room to see how Jackbot was doing. He found his best friend sitting at the desk surrounded by crumpled-up pieces of paper, his head in his hands.
“Well! You’ve been . . . busy,” George said.
“It’s hopeless!” Jackbot said miserably. “I’ve analyzed all of Shakespeare’s sonnets, as well as the complete works of Sappho, Catullus, Petrarch, and John Donne. The greatest love poets of all time! But no matter how hard I try to synthesize their writing techniques into my programming, I just can’t do what they do. I’ve tried and tried, but it’s not working.”
“Oh, come on now,” George said. “It can’t be all that bad. Read me a little bit—you’re probably being too hard on yourself.”
“Well, if you think so,” said Jackbot, reluctantly. He smoothed out one of the crumpled pieces of paper, struck a theatrical pose, and recited: “‘Take my love, O Cookie, take it all; Take my cogs, my gears, my proximity sensors. But if you don’t mind, leave my central processor, because without it I will no longer perform optimally.’ Hmm . . . you know, maybe it isn’t that bad!”
“Not for a first draft,” said George, attempting an encouraging smile.
Jackbot’s head slumped again, and he let the paper fall from his hand. “I don’t know what to do,” he groaned. “If my poetry’s no good, how will she know how I feel?”
“Why don’t you try taking your mind off Cookie for a while?” George suggested. “I need your help. Can you tell me what this means?”
He picked up the sheet of paper Jackbot had dropped, and on the back he drew the symbol that had appeared on the hatch.
“Sure,” Jackbot said at once. “That’s the old alchemical symbol for mercury.”
The hairs on the back of George’s neck stood on end. As in Project Mercury . . .
He was on to something. And homicidal security-bots or no, he had to go back to the junkyard to find out exactly what it was.
“Thanks, Jackbot,” George said. “That’s a big help.”
“Not for me,” Jackbot said. “It only took my mind off Cookie for eight-tenths of a second.”
“Otto, please,” George shouted. “I’m begging you—make it stop!”
“Oh, quit your bellyaching,” Otto yelled back. “It’s only opera.”
The truck’s stereo was blaring as Otto drove George and Jackbot to TinkerTech the next morning. A woman was singing in Italian over a blast of orchestral music, her voice soaring up and down like she was on some kind of nightmarish roller coaster.
“It’s Verdi’s Aida,” Jackbot said. “Another tale of unrequited love.”
“I don’t get it. You hate opera,” George said, unplugging his fingers from his ears as the song ended.
“Not anymore,” Otto said. “I’ve moved up in the world, so naturally I listen to high-class stuff.”
As the next song began, Otto turned the stereo up even louder. George felt like the noise was piercing his skull.
“We could jump out here,” he said, as the truck approached a traffic jam and slowed down. “It’s only a couple of blocks up the road.”
“You want to take the old ankle express, that’s fine by me!” Otto said.
George and Jackbot climbed out and made their way along the sidewalk toward TinkerTech HQ.
“Today is going to be different, Jackbot,” George said. “I won’t let Patricia get on my nerves, and I’ll be such a model apprentice that they’ll have to put me back on robotics! And I’m going to figure out a way to get into Micron’s office.”
“I aim to have a better day too,” Jackbot said. “I have a foolproof plan to win Cookie’s heart!”
“So you were able to finish a love poem?” asked George.
“No,” said Jackbot. “I stayed up all night watching soap operas on TV. Shakespeare didn’t have a clue! Those shows gave me a much better idea than some stuffy poem.”
Uh-oh, George thought.
As they approached TinkerTech, George decided it would be quicker to cut across the parking lot.
He had only taken two steps off the curb into the lot when Jackbot shoved him to the ground. “Hey!” George cried as he hit the asphalt. A second later a red sports car whizzed by, so close that the wind it created ruffled George’s hair. Half a block ahead, the car screeched to a halt.
“Phew!” George panted, getting to his feet. “That car could have killed me. Thanks, Jackbot.”
“Think nothing of it,” Jackbot said. “I would have had a harder time putting you back together than you had with me!”
A young woman jumped out of the car. She had a TinkerTech nametag on the lapel of her navy-blue business suit. “I’m so sorry!” she said, wringing her hands in worry. “Are you all right? I don’t know what happened—I was listening to the news on my MOD and my mind must have wandered.”
George saw that she was wearing the small white earpiece, and her eyes were shiny, illuminated by the nanocircuitry in her contact lenses. “How do you already have a MOD?” he asked, surprised. “They haven’t been released yet.”
“I’m a beta tester,” the woman explained. “I was told to use it all the time—never take it off. I’m supposed to evaluate its safety features.”
“They don’t seem to be working,” George said.
“I’ll—I’ll be sure to mention it,” she said, looking down,
embarrassed. Then she got back in her car and quickly drove off.
“Good morning, George Gearing,” said the security-bot as George and Jackbot entered the building. “Good morning, Doctor Jack.” George rolled his eyes.
They took the elevator to the fifteenth floor, where Mr. Volt, Patricia, and Cookie were already waiting.
“Hi, George!” Patricia said in a singsong voice. “Ready for cleaning duty? Scrub, scrub, scrubbety-dub!”
George didn’t take the bait. Instead he turned to Mr. Volt. “Is Professor Droid around, sir? I really need to speak with him.”
“Hello, Cookie,” Jackbot said. He walked up to the hovering robot, who was buffing Patricia’s nails with a spinning arm attachment. “Darling, we need to talk.”
The buffer kept spinning. “Commence communication,” Cookie said coldly.
“There’s something special between us,” Jackbot said dramatically. “You know it. I know it. But we can’t act on those feelings, Cookie! We just can’t! Because . . . there’s someone else.”
The buffer went still. “Explain.” Cookie said.
“Yes,” Jackbot said seriously. “Her name is Olympia; she’s a four-door sedan. And she’s madly in love with me.”
Cookie took out a bottle of polish and began painting Patricia’s nails.
“But it’s really important!” George was saying to Patricia’s father. “It’s about the MOD.”
“If you have any concerns, you can tell me,” said Volt. “I’ll pass them on to Professor Droid.”
“I nearly got run over in the parking lot,” George said, “by a woman who was wearing the MOD! It’s dangerous, and it needs to be fixed before everyone starts wearing them!”
“That issue has already been addressed,” Volt answered. “Because we don’t completely understand the sophisticated device, our safety testing has been comprehensive. But the MOD shuts off when the wearer is driving—I’m sure of it.”
“The woman was driving! And the MOD didn’t shut off! How do you explain that?” George said. “If you would just let me analyze one, I know I could—”
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