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Lots of Bots

Page 7

by C. J. Richards


  George saw Droid’s face twitch slightly, as if the reporter had struck a nerve. But Droid recovered quickly. “That’s a very good question, Ms. Vector,” he said smoothly. “But you have nothing to worry about. Dr. Micron no longer has any access to TinkerTech systems, and all of his accounts have been frozen. If he so much as sets foot in Terabyte Heights, he’ll be arrested on the spot. I promise you, he is no longer a threat to this town. Set your minds at ease, ladies and gentlemen—and enjoy the party!”

  The crowd dispersed to pile their plates with barbecue. George shot a sidelong glance at Anne. “Your dad sounded a little . . . weird, don’t you think?” he said to her. “And how can he be so sure that Micron’s out of the picture?”

  Anne bit her lip. “He did sound a little off, but he’s been really stressed out lately, so that probably explains it. And as far as Micron is concerned—”

  In the next moment, one of the gardener-bots appeared at George’s side. It was a stout little steel robot, painted green and covered in dirt. It had a sprinkler on top of its head that looked like a beanie cap, and a roll of water hose curled at its side like a cowboy’s lasso.

  “Excuse me, sir? Sorry to interrupt, but do you own a robot by the name of Jackbot?”

  “Yes. Why? What’s he doing?”

  “Destroying the garden, sir.”

  “What? Jackbot wouldn’t do that!” George said.

  “If you would care to follow me . . .”

  George sighed. “Okay. Anne, I’ll be back in a sec.”

  He followed the gardener-bot. They passed Otto, who was loudly telling another guest about how he wouldn’t miss the junkyard one bit. George looked in the other direction before Otto could catch his eye, and as he did something flashed in the branches of a tree. George stopped dead. Whatever it was, it was glinting among the leaves, and panic seized his chest. He was almost sure it was one of Micron’s moth-bots—little winged assassins that squirted deadly acid on their victims. George had been attacked by one before and wasn’t likely to forget it. But as he pressed closer, a breeze stirred the leaves and the flash was gone.

  I’m being paranoid, he told himself. The conversation with Anne had made him feel jumpy, that was all.

  George hurried to catch up with the gardener-bot. “This way,” it urged him politely. George followed it around the side of Droid’s mansion, and there in the middle of a flower bed stood Jackbot. His arms so were full of blossoms that George could barely see his face over the top of them: roses of every color. Behind him, George saw blank patches of dirt, interspersed with flattened flowers.

  “Jackbot!” shouted George. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Cookie’s response to my poetry was not as good as I expected, so I’ve moved to plan B. I’m gathering a bouquet.”

  “But Jackbot. You can’t just—”

  “Flowers speak the language of love, George,” Jackbot said. “I thought everyone knew that.”

  He trotted past George, like a mobile flower show, toward the throng of guests.

  “I’m sorry,” George said to the gardener-bot. “I’ll pay for the damage. At least, my uncle will.”

  He took off after Jackbot, catching up just as the robot reached Cookie.

  “Roses are red,” Jackbot recited to her. “Violets are blue. TTL converter cables are nice, but not as nice as you!”

  The Volts stared at Jackbot in disdain, and Cookie hovered above him, her blue LED eyes studying the bouquet. “Why would I wish to receive this pile of dead vegetable matter?”

  “Because you’re madly in love with me?” Jackbot said hopefully.

  The Volts and some of the other guests burst out laughing. Patricia was busy recording the entire episode with her phone. “This is so going on my blog tomorrow!” she chortled.

  “Of course!” said Jackbot. “You’d prefer chocolates!”

  The laughter intensified.

  George grabbed Jackbot’s shoulder and marched him clear of the Volts. “Jackbot—give it up!” he muttered fiercely.

  “What have I done wrong?” Jackbot said. “Women like thoughtful gifts. All the books say so!”

  “She’s not a woman,” said George. “She’s a robot, and she doesn’t like you! Get that into your silly metal skull!”

  Jackbot’s head drooped. “Yes, I’m silly,” he said sadly. “A silly little robot. Stupid, daft, foolish. That’s me. Struck dumb by love.”

  George’s anger vanished like a puff of smoke. Suddenly all he felt was guilt. He’d never yelled at Jackbot before—not once. “Look, Jackbot,” he said softly, “I didn’t mean—”

  A silver shape flashed past against the blue sky. There could be no doubt this time. It was a moth-bot, and it was probably on its way to report to Micron . . . wherever he was.

  “Dope, dweeb, loser,” muttered Jackbot. He perked up a little. “So I shouldn’t bother with the chocolates, you think?”

  But George was already running across the terrace, threading between the guests. He had to warn Professor Droid. Micron might not be here right now, but he’s somewhere watching!

  Anne was standing with her father and a group of acquaintances. George crept up to his side.

  “Professor Droid,” he said quietly.

  Droid moved a couple of paces away from the group and bent his head to listen. “Yes, young man—what is it?”

  “Charles Micron is back!” George said. “I just saw one of his moth-bots.”

  Droid looked alarmed. He glanced around furtively. “Keep your voice down,” he whispered. “We cannot afford another scene, especially with reporters around. You’re probably imagining things.”

  “I know what I saw,” George said. “One of those things tried to kill me less than a month ago!”

  “Perhaps it was a real moth?” suggested Droid.

  “Real moths aren’t mechanical, sir,” said George.

  “Um, George,” said Anne, who had come over to listen. “Maybe you can explain this to my dad after the party? You’ll listen to him, right, Dad?”

  “You have to evacuate the party!” said George. “Who knows what Micron is planning?”

  “Did someone mention Micron?” said a voice. George turned and saw the journalist from the Tablet sidling over.

  “No, of course not!” said Droid, glaring at George. “Ms. Vector, I’m sure you remember George Gearing. He’s now one of our TinkerTech apprentices.”

  “Of course!” she said, grinning. “My stories made the front page for weeks thanks to you, George.”

  George wondered for a moment if he should tell her what he’d seen, but thought better of it. Droid’s eyes were boring into him.

  “Indeed,” said Droid. “And he’s also a very promising student of robotics, aren’t you, George?”

  “Um . . .”

  While George was thinking of something to say, Otto’s angry voice rose above the chatter of the other guests.

  “Give it here!” he shouted. “You’re overcooking them!”

  George spotted his uncle standing alongside a cook-bot near the grill. Otto was trying to wrangle the tongs from the bot’s hand, without seeming to realize they were attached.

  “Sir, please desist and move away from the cooking area,” said the robot. “This is a fire hazard.”

  “Clamp it, tin can!” said Otto. “I’ve been cooking steaks since I was a kid, and I’m telling you, people like it rare—not like shoe leather!” He made another grab for the tongs, but the robot spun deftly out of the way. Otto tripped and landed butt first on the grill plate. The spectators gasped.

  “Yowwwww!” he shouted.

  Otto jumped three feet in the air, the seat of his mustard-colored pants black and smoking.

  “Perhaps you and your uncle should excuse yourselves,” said Mr. Volt, appearing at their side.

  George sighed and rushed over to his uncle. Could this day get any worse? “Hey, Otto—c’mon, let’s go home,” said George.

  “No way!” said hi
s uncle, fanning his rear with a paper plate. “I’m just starting to have a good time!” He marched past George to a gardener-bot, grabbing an empty glass from a table on the way. “Fill her up. I’m feeling a little hot under the collar.”

  “Does not compute,” said the robot.

  “Otto,” said George. “Please, can we go?”

  Otto held up his hand. “Keep out of this, George. I think I’m speaking too fast for it.” He waved his empty cup in front of the bot’s face. “More. Drink. Iced. Tea?”

  “Does not compute,” repeated the robot.

  Otto rolled his eyes. “I thought these things were supposed to make life easier,” he said. “I guess I’ll help myself.”

  “Otto, it’s a gardening robot,” said George, but his uncle was already prodding a series of buttons on the bot’s chest panel. There was a click, and the sprinkler on top of the bot’s head began to spin around.

  George had less than half a second to dive to the ground before powerful jets of water spewed from the sprinkler, soaking Professor Droid, Mr. Volt, and Patricia from head to toe.

  “Gardener-bot—switch off the sprinkler!” shouted Droid. “That’s an order!”

  The cascade stopped as abruptly as it had begun.

  “My new dress!” shrieked Patricia. “It’s ruined!”

  “Initiate wet hair protocol,” said Cookie. A hairdryer attachment sprouted from the robot’s body and began to blow. Patricia batted it away.

  George scanned the crowd and saw that all eyes were on him. Professor Droid was frowning. Anne shook her head sadly. Mr. Volt looked furious.

  “I’m really sorry,” said George, on behalf of his uncle. “Are there any towels?”

  “In the pool house,” said Droid, coldly. “Other side of the house. A butler-bot will accompany you.”

  George set off with the robot at his side, and it led him to the sparkling blue pool by the east wing. The pool house was almost as big as the house that George shared with Otto, and the door opened automatically at their approach. George had already made up his mind that they were going straight home afterward. What had promised to be a wonderful day had turned into a soggy disaster.

  The robot handed him a huge stack of fluffy white towels, and took two armfuls itself.

  As he followed the butler-bot back to the terrace, George could hardly see over the towels, but he heard the bot’s steps falter. Then there was a strange fizzing sound.

  George looked over his stack and saw that the robot had dropped the towels and that its shoulder was smoking a little. Then its limbs started to jerk. It was clearly malfunctioning.

  “Foreign body contamination,” it said, punching itself in the face. “Circuits compromised.”

  A section of its head melted away, and a moth-bot launched itself into the air as the robot began to spin in a circle. As George watched, it picked up speed, then drove itself straight into the swimming pool. A few sparks fired across its metal frame before it sank to the bottom.

  George dropped all but one of the towels he was holding and ducked as the moth-bot shot over his head. He twisted and hurled the towel over the moth-bot, trapping it on the ground. George brought his foot down on top of it with a satisfying crunch.

  Now he had proof to show Professor Droid that he was right about Micron and his robotic bugs. He leaned down to gather the pieces carefully in the towel.

  A buzzing noise at his back sent a tingle up his spine. He felt the air go cold as a strange shadow spread over the ground. George turned slowly and found himself face-to-face with a massive swarm of deadly moth-bots.

  There were too many to count. There’s more than enough deadly acid in just one of them to do serious damage! George thought. He imagined Micron watching and listening through their built-in sensors. “Come and get me, you coward!” he said to the little buzzing monsters.

  Sunlight glinted on their silvery wings as the wave of robotic insects swept toward George. Just before they reached him, George threw himself behind a lawn chair, narrowly dodging the streams of acid that shot from their bodies. He rolled and jumped to his feet again. The patio stones were sizzling.

  George ran for his life. He tore around to the other side of the pool house, but it was no use. The swarm was heading right for him.

  There was no escape. This was the end. The last thing he was going to see in this life was Droid’s Olympic-size swimming pool.

  That’s it!

  Before he could think twice, George was dashing for the pool and filling his lungs with as much air as he could manage. He dove off the edge, disappearing underwater.

  George swam to the bottom and grabbed the sunken body of the butler-bot to keep from floating back up to the surface. He wondered if the dark swarm was gathered above him, searching. He was safe, for now.

  But he couldn’t hold his breath forever.

  The butler-bot stared at him with vacant eyes and for a moment George missed Jackbot terribly. He thought back to the last thing he’d said to his old friend and his silly metal skull, and wished he could take it all back. His lungs began to burn.

  He tried to look up to see if the moth-bots were still above him, but it was hard to make out anything clearly through the blurred ripples and the sunlight.

  And Anne—would Micron go after her too?

  George couldn’t hang on much longer. The fire in his lungs grew by the second, and he felt the sensation leaving his hands. He would have to take his chances with the moth-bots.

  He placed his feet squarely on the pool floor and pushed up with every bit of strength he had left.

  He soared upward and burst through the surface, gasping for air.

  Silence.

  Not a moth-bot in sight.

  George looked around, trying to catch his breath, and saw all of the guests standing at the edge of the pool, staring at him. Jackbot was there too, looking anxiously at George.

  “Oh, um . . . hi,” George choked out.

  “What is the meaning of this?” asked Professor Droid. His face was stony.

  “How did you get past the moth-bots?”

  “What moth-bots?” said Droid. “We came running because the pool alarm went off. Of course it was you, messing around—and you appear to have destroyed my butler-bot.”

  “You’d better come out of there, George,” Otto said. Now he was the one who was embarrassed.

  Patricia Volt smirked. “How to Be the Perfect Party Guest, by George Gearing. That’s a book we’re all waiting for!”

  George scanned the sky. “But they were here!” he said desperately. “Look at all the burn marks!”

  “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove with this act of vandalism,” said Droid, “but I’m going to have to ask you, your uncle, and that robot of yours to leave.”

  George swam to the side of the pool, and Jackbot helped pull him out. George stood in front of Professor Droid, clothes dripping, and said: “Professor, I’m not making this up, I swear. Micron is behind this. We have to do something—”

  “I am going to do something,” Professor Droid said. “I’m terminating your apprenticeship.”

  George felt like he had been slapped in the face. He stood there, soaked and speechless.

  “You’ve been a loose cannon since day one, George. I can’t have you jeopardizing the MOD launch.”

  “Dad, no!” Anne said. She stepped out from behind her father. “You can’t take this away—it means too much to him.”

  “Stay out of this, sweetheart,” said Droid.

  “Please, Dad,” she insisted. “He’s a genius, really he is!”

  “I said—”

  “And remember what he did for us,” said Anne. “He saved your life, Dad. He saved the whole town.” She looked over at the assembled party guests.

  George held his breath. The other guests looked on, and seemed to be waiting to hear the answer too.

  Droid cleared his throat. “All right,” he said. “One more chance. But this is your final warning,
George. One more misstep and you’re fired.”

  “Don’t worry, sir, I’ll keep an eye on him,” said Mr. Volt, standing by. “A very sharp eye indeed,” he mumbled.

  “Do you understand, George?” Droid asked.

  George nodded. The war against Micron could wait until another day. He had to stay on at TinkerTech if he was ever going to learn the truth about his parents.

  “I understand, sir,” he said.

  As they arrived back home, Otto was still grumbling about having to leave the party early, and so was Jackbot.

  “I really think Cookie was warming up to me,” said the robot. “I could see it in her eyes.”

  “Her eyes are light-emitting diodes,” said George. “All you can see in them is a conductive filament.”

  “Hmph, you just don’t understand,” said Jackbot, crossing his arms. “You’ve never been in love.”

  George and Jackbot went inside while Otto was parking the truck.

  “I don’t know what to do,” said George. “Micron is planning something, but no one believes me.”

  “I do,” said Jackbot.

  “You do?” said George.

  “Of course,” said Jackbot. “You’re my best friend. I’ve got your back, no matter what happens.”

  George swallowed hard. “Thanks, JB. That means a lot.”

  “I’m glad you’re still alive, by the way,” said the robot. “That’s three near misses in three days.”

  Otto came in too. “Yeah, you’re pretty accident-prone at the moment. Maybe you should stay in your room for a while. Do something safe, like read a book. Stay away from robots.”

  “Excuse me!” said Jackbot.

  “Well, except Jackbot, of course,” said Otto. “Seriously, though—all these fancy-pants gizmos can be more trouble than they’re worth.”

  George realized that Otto had a point. Still, he resented the suggestion that his recent troubles had been caused by his own clumsiness. The damage at Anne’s house was caused by Micron’s moth-bots, even if Professor Droid refused to believe it. That TinkerTech employee on the catwalk had shoved him into the machinery. And the woman who had nearly run him over—that was hardly his fault. It was the MOD.

 

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