“Look, George,” Volt said. He put his hand on George’s shoulder, a mask of insincerity on his face. “You’ve been through a lot in these past few months. After almost losing your life and being hunted by a criminal mastermind, it’s natural to see danger lurking everywhere. It’s understandable that you would be afraid. But there is no danger anymore.”
Meanwhile, Jackbot was standing at the window, facing away from Cookie and massaging his temples. “If I break Olympia’s heart—there’s no telling what she might do. So you see—you and I can never be together!” He sneaked a look at Cookie. “Doesn’t that make you want me all the more?”
Cookie’s LED eyes flashed. “No,” she said.
“But I’m not afraid!” George was protesting. “Did the security-bot tell you that? Jackbot just made up that stuff about me having PTSD so he could get into the building!”
Volt shook his head. “Acceptance is the first step toward healing, George.”
There was a humming sound, and the huge form of the OCD-bot came gliding around the corner. It was holding a squeegee mop and had a bucket balanced on its head.
“Cleaning things is my delight!” it sang. “Today we’ll make the windows bright!”
George’s heart sank. TinkerTech was almost entirely made of glass. “How many windows are there?” he asked.
The robot twirled the mop. “Let me see, now, let me see—seven hundred ninety-three!”
George groaned.
“Off you go,” Patricia said. “Those windows won’t wash themselves!”
He had only been at TinkerTech for an hour, and already George’s day needed a reboot. He was not going to waste another minute washing windows when he could be building robots. But since it wasn’t likely they were going to let him anywhere near a robotics workshop, he figured he would do the next best thing.
Break into Micron’s old office.
He just needed to ditch the OCD-bot somehow. George wracked his brain trying to come up with a plan of escape as he and Jackbot followed the robot down the hallway toward the elevators.
Jackbot was moping. “I don’t understand why that didn’t work,” he complained. “In all the soap operas I watched, jealousy made the guy impossible to resist!” He sighed.
Just then, George noticed a bank of vending machines opposite the elevator, and a plan jumped fully formed into his mind.
“Excuse me, OCD-bot?” George said. “Do you mind if I stop and get a hot chocolate?”
“If you must, then yes, you may,” the OCD-bot said, a trifle grumpily. “Be quick! We have a busy day!”
“Jackbot,” George muttered under his breath. “Call the elevator.”
The elevator doors opened just as George’s hot chocolate finished pouring. George took the Styrofoam cup and walked toward the doors. But as he reached them, he pretended to trip, and sloshed the entire contents of the cup onto the elevator floor.
“Now you’ve made a dreadful mess!” complained the OCD-bot. “Dreadful messes cause distress!”
The robot rolled into the elevator and started swabbing the floor. George pressed the button for the fiftieth floor and darted out of the elevator right as the doors closed, with the OCD-bot still inside.
“That should keep him busy for a while,” George said.
“How clever, sly, and ingenious of you,” Jackbot said, nodding appreciatively. “Where are we going now?”
“Micron’s office, where else? C’mon, before anybody sees us!”
Micron’s unoccupied office was still covered with police tape. George pulled the marble from his pocket and saw that it was glowing a deep crimson, just like before.
George shot a quick look up and down the corridor. Without a word, he and Jackbot climbed over the police tape, entered the office, and eased the door shut behind them.
The stainless steel walls were blank and there was no furniture, not even a computer. The room was completely bare. It was like being inside a large metal cube. George felt his hope dissolve into disappointment.
“Identify yourself!” said an electronic voice from a speaker on the ceiling. George jumped. “Password, please!” it demanded.
“Um . . .” said George.
“Master of the Universe!” said Jackbot.
“Jackbot!” George muttered. “What are you doing? We’re going to get caught!”
But instead of sounding the alarm, the voice said, “Good morning, Chip!”
An elegant chrome and leather chair suddenly rose from the floor, along with a glass and metal desk with a sleek computer monitor attached. Pictures flipped out of the walls all over the room, mostly of Micron smiling and looking pleased with himself, and holding his many awards he’d won. But some were also group photos that looked like graduation pictures. A slender, brushed-steel robot emerged from a cupboard, placed a steaming cup of tea on the desk, then disappeared back into the cabinet.
“Impressive,” Jackbot said.
“I don’t get it,” George said. “How did you know the password?”
Jackbot tapped the side of his head. “When Micron kidnapped me, he let me see all kinds of private information. I guess he figured I wouldn’t be around long enough to use it.”
“Well, he sure was wrong about that!” George said, grinning. He slid into Micron’s chair and cracked his knuckles. “Now, let’s get hacking, shall we?” George looked at the empty desk and frowned. “Where’s the keyboard and stuff?” He put his hands on the glass surface, and the moment his fingers made contact, a digital keyboard lit up right beneath them. “Nice,” he said.
George booted up the machine and clicked through Micron’s files until he found a list of folders. “Annual report,” he muttered, scrolling down. “Research and development, MOD strategy . . .” And then his breath caught in his throat.
There it was: a folder called “Project Mercury.”
“This is it, Jackbot!” he said. “We found it!”
He clicked on the folder. Immediately a dialog box popped up: ENTER PASSWORD.
“Yeah, yeah,” George said, and typed in MASTER OF THE UNIVERSE before pressing OK.
But the folder did not open. Instead, an angry-looking red dialogue box appeared around the words: INCORRECT PASSWORD! ACCESS DENIED!
George’s sighed. “Did he mention another password, by any chance?”
“No,” Jackbot answered. “Sorry, buddy.”
“Well, I’ll just have to guess.” George thought hard. Micron is an egomaniac . . . maybe he’d use his own name. He typed in MICRON.
The red box began to flash. INCORRECT PASSWORD, it read. ACCESS DENIED. ONE MORE INCORRECT ATTEMPT WILL RESULT IN DELETION OF THE FILE.
George pushed away from the keyboard, dejected. “I can’t risk being wrong again,” he said. “If this file gets erased, I’ll never find out the truth about my parents.”
Jackbot looked thoughtful. “If I download the folder onto my hard drive, we can work on cracking it at home.”
“That’s perfect!” George said, a spark of hope rising in him again. “Do it!”
Jackbot pulled a cable from his chest cavity and inserted the plug into one of the monitor’s USB ports. A bar appeared on the screen, counting off the megabytes. It moved agonizingly slow. A big file . . .
When it was halfway done, a voice piped up from outside the door. “I’m searching for my trusty team!” it sang. “We’re going to make this building gleam!”
“The OCD-bot!” George whispered in alarm. The door began to open. “Jackbot, get down!”
They both dived behind the desk. Jackbot’s cable was still plugged into the port—George hoped it couldn’t be seen from the doorway.
George heard the OCD-bot roll into the room, then stop. In the silence, George could hear his heart hammering in his ears. If it caught them now, Jackbot couldn’t finish the download—and they might never get a second chance. His apprenticeship would be over, and they’d probably never let George get within a mile of TinkerTech again.
&nbs
p; As he crouched there, willing the robot to leave, George realized he was staring at a photograph on the wall to the side of the desk. It showed two men with a group of teenagers, most likely college students by the look of them. George studied the men’s faces; why did they look so familiar? Then he saw them—it was Micron and Professor Droid! They had to be at least ten years younger. What were they doing with all those students? George squinted to read the photo’s caption: BRIGHT MINDS PROGRAM: CLASS OF . . . He tried to make out the number, but he was too far away to read it.
George heard the office door close with a sharp click. The OCD-bot had left the room! He let out a long sigh of relief.
“Download complete!” Jackbot announced.
“Thank goodness,” George said. He stood up and peered more closely at the photo. There was something about the faces of two of the college kids, a boy and a girl, standing right next to Micron. They looked so familiar . . .
And then it dawned on him.
George had only seen more recent photos, but he knew their faces, deep in his heart. His mother’s short black hair and crooked grin. His father’s wiry frame and the sparkle in his eyes as he stood with an arm casually thrown around George’s mother’s shoulders. It must have been only a few years before they got married—before George was born. Before . . .
George’s eyes stung. He had to look away.
“Jackbot,” he said softly. “Come look at this.”
“That’s how Dr. Micron knew them,” Jackbot said. “One more piece of the puzzle.”
“GEORGE GEARING, PLEASE REPORT TO DEPARTMENT SIX IMMEDIATELY! THE OCD-BOT IS LOOKING FOR YOU!” Mr. Volt’s voice burst out over the PA system.
“We’d better go,” George said. “Anyway, we got what we came for.”
Jackbot nodded and made his way out of the office. George was about to follow, but hesitated. He took one last look at the smiling faces of his parents, frozen forever in that happy moment. “I won’t let you down,” George whispered, and ran out the door.
“Just follow the path; the party is in the yard,” said the butler-bot on the front lawn of Professor Droid’s house.
“Yard” wasn’t really an adequate description. Droid’s lawn was the size of two football fields. George, Otto, and Jackbot passed the tennis courts, crossed an orchard, and joined the other guests on a wide, elevated terrace that was adorned with statues of obsolete robots. A robot in a red and white checkered apron was flipping burgers and steaks on a charcoal grill, filling the air with smells that made George’s mouth water. On a lower terrace, a quartet of automated string instruments were playing themselves.
“This place sure is something,” said Otto.
“A bit like your outfit,” said Jackbot.
George winced as he looked again at his uncle. True to his word, Otto had accompanied George to the party, eager to start his new life as a member of Terabyte Heights’ elite. He had spent several hours at the store the day before, selecting new clothes to impress at the barbecue, and George wondered if the sales assistant had played some sort of trick on him. He was wearing a mustard yellow polyester suit, complete with lime green loafers, a red silk tie, and a pink carnation in his lapel. He looked like something out of a coloring book. Any one of these items was strange in itself, but the combination made George feel nauseated.
“Canapé, sir?” said a waiter-bot, holding out a tray of delicacies.
“Don’t mind if I do!” said Otto, taking the whole tray and popping two hors d’oeuvres into his mouth. “Got anything to drink?”
The waiter-bot was silent, clearly trying to process his lack of manners.
“It’s okay, buddy,” said Otto. “I can see a drink-bot over there.” He tossed another pastry into his mouth and pointed at George. “Stay out of trouble, okay?” Then, like a clown on the loose from a circus, he strode off toward a robot that was holding a tray of punch glasses.
George spotted Anne standing beneath a cherry tree, its branches bright with blossoms under the midday sun. He waved to her and she smiled. “Come on, Jackbot,” said George.
Jackbot was craning his neck left and right, and didn’t seem to hear him.
“Hey, JB,” said George. “What’s up?”
“I’m looking for Cookie,” said Jackbot. “Do you see her?”
George looked around and shook his head. “I’m sure Patricia Volt will be around, though,” he said.
“I hope so,” said Jackbot. “I’ve written two sonnets, but one relies on good weather for full effect. The other employs a complex metrical scheme which may be compromised by the music from those robotic instruments.”
“Relax,” said George. “You’re just nervous.”
“Hey, George,” said Anne, as they approached. “Glad you could make it.”
“Your dad certainly knows how to throw a party!”
“This is nothing,” Anne said. “You should see the place at Christmas—it’s like the North Pole meets Times Square.” She squinted back at the house. “I wonder where he is. It’s not like him to be late for his own party.”
“I’m sure he’ll make an appearance soon,” George said. “Thanks again for inviting us.”
“Your uncle seems to be having a good time,” Anne observed with a grin. She nodded toward the terrace, where Otto had balanced the empty canapé tray on top of a statue. There were crumbs all over his shirt, and he had a drink in each hand. The other guests were keeping their distance.
“He’s not my uncle!” George said. “I’ve never met him before in my life.”
Anne laughed. “He’s enjoying himself, that’s all.”
“In other news,” George said to Anne, “you know that weird symbol we found at the junkyard? Jackbot told me what it means. Tell her, JB.”
But Jackbot was jogging across the terrace toward the Volts, where George saw Cookie hovering in the air next to Patricia.
“Oh no, he’s going to make a fool of himself again!” said George.
“So what’s this about the symbol?” Anne asked.
George tore his attention away from Jackbot. Anne’s eyes were bright and curious.
“You were right—it is an ancient symbol,” George said. “For mercury! It has to be linked with Project Mercury, don’t you think? And I found a file with that name on Micron’s computer—”
“Whoa! You hacked into Micron’s computer?” Anne was suddenly serious.
George blinked. It was easy to forget that while Anne was his best friend, she was also Professor Droid’s daughter. “Yeah . . .”
“Look, I appreciate a good computer hack as much as the next girl,” Anne whispered. “But I know how tight the TinkerTech mainframe is, and that sort of thing can be traced. If my dad found out you were digging up top secret information, that apprenticeship of yours would be nothing more than a distant memory. He’s a stickler for rules, George—believe me, I know!”
“But my parents were working on something top secret,” said George, “and it may have gotten them killed.”
“Wait, what do you mean, ‘killed’? I thought they died in a car crash.”
“Yes, but you know what Micron said. He told me they crossed him and paid for it.”
Anne studied George’s face. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” she asked.
“As serious as I’ve ever been in my life,” George replied.
Anne sighed. “I was afraid of that. Well, whatever you’ve got in mind, it isn’t going to be easy.”
George grinned. “Is it ever?” He was about to go into more detail about what he had found in Micron’s office when he was cut off by the sound of applause.
Professor Droid emerged through the French doors onto the terrace, and the music died. He was dressed in an immaculate, cream-colored suit, and George could see the white bud of the MOD peeking out from his ear. The lenses made his eyes shine in that strange way that meant the device was connected to his brain. George imagined that Droid probably had the text of his speech strea
ming right in front of him. Yet another amazing thing that the MOD could do.
“Thanks for coming, everyone!” Professor Droid said. “I’d like to say a few words if I may.”
Despite his expensive suit and the high-tech addition, George thought Anne’s father looked tired. There were bags under his eyes, and his jaw was covered with a hard shadow of stubble. Anne had told him her father sometimes didn’t come back from the office at night, preferring to catch a little sleep there and be onsite to troubleshoot any last minute problems.
“Thank you very much for joining me on the eve of such a momentous occasion,” Professor Droid said. “As you all know, we’re here to celebrate the launch of the MOD, which, come tomorrow, will officially be released to the public.” Polite applause followed. “This ingenious device will revolutionize our way of life,” Droid continued, “more than any single piece of technology in history, aside from the wheel, of course.” A murmur of laughter passed through the crowd. “You know, our critics say a dependence on technology makes us less human, by taking away personal interaction and replacing it with screens and processors. But I think the opposite is true. The MOD enterprise will connect the entire world. We’ll be able to talk to one another in new ways, sharing knowledge more creatively than ever before. It is thanks to the great minds of TinkerTech—some of whom are among us today—that this launch was made possible. Because of them, lives everywhere will be forever changed.” He raised his arms above his head, in a gesture meant to encompass everything around him. “Tomorrow, Terabyte Heights—after that, the world!”
George clapped halfheartedly, and saw that Anne wasn’t clapping with much enthusiasm either. Although Droid’s words were obviously meant to be inspiring, there was something flat about the way he’d said them. Robotic, even.
“Now, are there any questions?” Droid asked.
An African American woman with horn-rimmed glasses put her hand up. “Hello, Professor—I’m Wanda Vector from the Terabyte Tablet. I just wanted to ask about Charles Micron. He still hasn’t been located by the police. How can you be sure he won’t return to try to sabotage this project?”
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