Up in his bedroom with Jackbot, George took out his family scrapbook. It wasn’t much—a few photos and birthday cards. There was a picture of all three of them beside the old blue Prodigy in the driveway at their house. They were smiling, with some pretty hills in the background. George’s mother held a baby in her arms. Him. George wondered who had taken it—Otto, perhaps.
George turned the page. There was the newspaper report of their deaths. He knew it by heart.
“TWO PROMISING YOUNG ROBOTICS SCIENTISTS, ARTHUR AND ANTHEA GEARING, ARE MISSING AND PRESUMED DEAD AFTER A TRAGIC HIGHWAY ACCIDENT. THEIR CAR WAS PULLED FROM THE CYAN RIVER YESTERDAY, HAVING CRASHED THROUGH THE SAFETY BARRIER ON ROUTE 13 OUTSIDE OF TERABYTE HEIGHTS. FAULTY BRAKES ON THEIR SMARTCAR MAY HAVE CAUSED THE ACCIDENT. AS THE BODIES WERE NOT FOUND INSIDE THE VEHICLE, POLICE BELIEVE THEY STRUGGLED FREE BUT WERE THEN SWEPT AWAY BY THE CURRENT. THEY LEAVE BEHIND A THREE-YEAR-OLD SON, GEORGE.”
“So how come they were on Route 13?” asked Jackbot, peering over George’s shoulder.
“Huh?” said George.
“Route 13 runs north out of town, right?” said Jackbot.
“I guess that’s where we used to live,” said George.
“No, you didn’t,” said Jackbot. He flipped back to the picture of the Prodigy. “See those hills in the background? According to my topographic files, they’re to the south of Terabyte Heights.”
“Are you sure?”
Jackbot nodded. “My files are accurate. Precise. Up-to-date.”
George frowned. “I don’t know where they were going then. But I’m betting Micron does. Speaking of Micron, how far have you gotten with decrypting that file from his office?”
“Oh, I haven’t started yet,” Jackbot said.
“What?” said George, feeling a bit annoyed. “Why not?”
Jackbot sighed. “It’s been difficult,” he said. “My feelings for Cookie—you know, I can hardly think of anything else.”
George’s hands gripped the scrapbook tightly, a hot rush of anger filling him. “You know, for a smart robot you’re acting pretty dumb,” he said. “Why can’t you understand that Cookie doesn’t like you? She’s not programmed to like you! She doesn’t have emotions.”
“But I do. Hath not a robot hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions; fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a human is?” Jackbot said, paraphrasing Shakespeare. “‘If you prick us, do we not bleed?’”
“No, you don’t!” George spluttered. “You’re made of iron and zinc and chrome and tin and aluminum and silicon and plastic!”
There was a long silence. “Well,” Jackbot said quietly. “I guess that’s settled then.” He got up and walked slowly from the room.
“Jackbot!” George called. But all he heard were the robot’s footsteps clanking down the stairs.
What a day, George thought. He’d hurt his best friend’s feelings again, and even Anne thought he was overreacting. He’d let down Professor Droid, and Otto was embarrassed by him for a change!
As George slammed the scrapbook shut, he wondered if his parents would be as disappointed in him as he was in himself.
When the doorbell rang late that afternoon, the last person George expected to see standing on the porch was Mr. Volt. He had changed out of his party clothes and was dressed casually in jeans and a sweater. George noticed he was wearing a MOD earpiece and his eyes gleamed with the lens implants. He gave George a wide, white-toothed grin.
“So! Did you enjoy the barbecue this afternoon?”
“Yeah, it was a blast,” George said through his teeth.
“Well, fun and games are over for now,” said Volt. “The professor was kind enough to keep you on as an apprentice, so it’s time to get back to work!”
“You can hardly call me an apprentice,” said George. “So far the most complex technical problem I’ve solved is unclogging a toilet.”
“Well, that could all change,” said Volt. “If you play your cards right. We need all hands on deck at HQ tonight. Tomorrow is launch day, and we have to get every MOD device packaged up and ready to go. What do you think?”
“What—you mean now?” said George.
“You have something better to do?” said Volt.
George looked back into the living room. Otto was fast asleep and snoring. Well, why not? thought George. He had promised Droid he’d be a model apprentice. And maybe he’d be able to snoop around a bit at TinkerTech while he was there. “Okay, I guess. Could you please hold on a minute?”
George stepped back inside the house and walked into the kitchen. Jackbot had been sitting in there since their argument, staring out the window. He didn’t even look at George.
“Jackbot, how many times can I apologize? I didn’t mean what I said.”
Jackbot was silent.
“I have to go to TinkerTech—will you tell Otto when he wakes up?”
“Sure,” Jackbot said. “Even a stupid robot like me can manage that.”
George sighed. “We’ll talk more later, okay?”
“Any day now, Gearing!” Mr. Volt called from the doorway.
George hurried back outside and got into the back of Mr. Volt’s expensive black car, which was driven by a chauffeur-bot in a peaked cap. Mr. Volt sat in the passenger seat.
“Isn’t Patricia coming?” George asked, as the car swung out into the road.
“No, she’s out with her friends tonight,” Mr. Volt answered. “Now, don’t disturb me, please. I’m playing Extreme Total Smash-Up on my MOD!”
Mr. Volt closed his eyes and settled back, and for the rest of the journey George heard him muttering, over and over again, “Kaboom! Pow! Kersmash!”
At TinkerTech, Volt led George to the warehouse on the first floor. Robots sat at conveyor belts, packaging up the MOD devices. More bots were placing the boxes onto pallets and loading them into a fleet of trucks.
“Here we are, George,” Volt said. “Get packing!”
“But . . . it’s all being done by robots,” George objected. “Why do you need me?”
“You’re an apprentice,” Volt answered. “And apprentices do what they’re told.”
“Then why isn’t Patricia doing it?”
Volt wagged a forefinger in George’s face. “Be careful, now. You want me to tell Professor Droid you refused to help?”
“All right, all right,” George said. He could see there was no point in arguing.
“I have to go to my office,” Volt announced. “To do some, ah, very important work. But I’ll be watching you, okay?” He pointed to a security camera mounted on the wall. “So no funny business!”
As Volt strode away, George heard him repeating “Kaboom! Pow! Kersmash!” Important work, huh? George thought. Yeah, right.
He flopped onto the bench beside the conveyor belt at the end of a long line of robots packing boxes. If this was what it took to get his apprenticeship back on track, so be it. The conveyor belt was transporting empty boxes, and the robots were lowering the MOD devices inside them. Judging by his position in line, George saw it was his job to simply tape the boxes closed.
“Pretty exciting, huh?” he said to the robot at the bench next to him. The robot didn’t answer. George guessed it didn’t even have a speech program.
Watching the robots at work, George did some rough calculations in his head. By his estimate, the factory was packaging close to ten thousand MODs an hour. Mr. Volt’s claim that 98 percent of the population would soon be wearing them didn’t seem too far off the mark. Almost every person in Terabyte Heights is wearing something designed by Micron. The thought made George shiver.
Thirty minutes passed, but it felt like hours. The sun had set, and George wondered just how long he would have to stay here. He was starting to feel stiff. He got up to stretch his legs, and tried to fight the sense of injustice that was burning in his gut. Volt had put him to wor
k here as a punishment, that was clear. Maybe Patricia had even suggested it. From day one of the apprenticeship, she and her dad had been out to get him. He ripped off another piece of tape and angrily applied it to a box. He’d earned this apprenticeship, through hard work, years of research, and even risking his life to save the town from destruction—but look where all that had gotten him. Patricia and people like her could get away with anything because of who their parents were. He stared defiantly at the camera mounted on the wall and wondered if Volt was really watching, or was too wrapped up in his game to notice.
Why did he have to have Mr. Volt as a mentor, anyway? It seemed like Volt’s only goal was to keep George from doing anything useful. He and Jackbot could have been testing the MOD rigorously, properly analyzing it for flaws. Instead they were rushing to deliver a product that no one really understood. Now it was too late.
Or was it?
George looked at the robots loading the pallets onto trucks. By morning, the whole town would be connected to MODs. George had only a few hours, but if he could just get one into a lab and analyze it, at least that would put his mind at ease. And if he did find a problem, then there might be a way to stop the deliveries.
George glanced at the camera again. What if Volt was watching? If George left his post, his apprenticeship would be over, and he could say goodbye to a career in robotics. He imagined the disappointment on his uncle’s face. Head in the clouds, George. Always dreaming. Never focusing on the things that matter . . .
“What do you think I should do?” he asked the packing-bot at his side.
The robot kept on packing.
“That settles it,” said George.
Another MOD came along the belt toward him, but instead of taping the box, George snatched its contents and slipped the device into his pocket. He left his seat and walked briskly out of the warehouse, toward the elevators. The doors opened at his approach.
“Hey there, good buddy,” said the elevator. “Where to?”
“Testing facility, please,” said George.
An hour later, George sat at a desk in the lab, his eyes weary from staring at the screen. With every minute that passed, he’d expected to hear a security alarm and Volt’s voice over the intercom, asking where he was. But his luck had held. As far as he could tell, there was nothing suspicious about the MOD. At its top level, it was a standard user-friendly operating system. He’d linked it to a computer port, and the monitor in front of him displayed the device’s menu on a large screen: image gallery, calendar function, digital encyclopedia, gaming, maps, music stations, newsfeed, photo library, radio broadcasts, social media links, weather reports . . . The list went on and on. George couldn’t see a single thing wrong with any of it. He’d entered each of the options and followed every branch of functionality. It all seemed perfectly innocent.
But what if the apps concealed something more sinister? There was really only one way to find out, and George had been avoiding it.
His throat went dry as he took the lenses from their sterile wrapper. They weighed next to nothing and looked like normal contact lenses. But there was as much computing power in a single lens as in a twenty-first century supercomputer.
He brought his fingertip up to his eye and slid the first lens into place. Once both lenses were in, he blinked. He couldn’t feel them at all. And his vision wasn’t affected in the slightest.
Next he put the earbud into place and gave it a double tap to switch it on.
There was a tiny, distant hum, and a small green light appeared in the corner of his left eye. He’d expected to feel something, but there was no sensation.
So, now I just think of what I want? Okay, I want to play Extreme Total Smash-Up!
Instantly, an image appeared in front of George’s eyes. It looked like a big sandy arena, with massive cyborgs striding toward him from both sides. He could still see the desks and windows and computers of the testing lab in the background if he focused on them, but otherwise the image on the lens took priority. He seemed to be in the cabin of a monster truck, with a steering wheel in front of him. The cyborgs began firing blaster shots. George wanted to put the truck into gear—and found the gearstick was magically there at his side. He drove straight at the nearest cyborg and fired, and the cyborg exploded into pieces.
Not bad! George thought. No wonder Volt likes it!
But he couldn’t spend the whole night playing games. Give me the newsfeed.
At once, the image in front of him was replaced by a picture of a smoking volcano on an island, and a newscaster talking in his ear about an eruption in the Pacific. It looked incredibly real, as if George was actually hovering over the scene.
Okay. Now give me the most recent news stories about Dr. Charles Micron.
The volcano disappeared, and a second later George saw the all-too-familiar scene of robots running wild in Terabyte Heights. The newscaster was explaining that these scenes were the result of Dr. Micron’s trying to take over the city, but that his plan had failed and he was now wanted by the police. The story continued, but it was all old stuff that George already knew—after all, he’d been there. The MOD seemed harmless enough. Maybe his instincts about it had been wrong, after all.
George reached up to his ear to remove the MOD and his arm felt suddenly heavy.
A soothing voice that seemed to come from inside his own head spoke. “Don’t worry, everything’s fine . . .”
But it wasn’t. George’s vision blurred a little as he fought to lift his arm.
“Just relax,” said the voice.
A warmth spread through his body, dulling his senses and making him feel light-headed. Somewhere in his mind he recognized the voice, but he couldn’t think of the person’s name. The lab was swimming before his eyes. Panic welled up in his chest.
I’ve got to take it off, he thought.
“No, no. Don’t touch the MOD,” said the voice, deep inside his brain. “You’ll be fine if you just leave it where it is. Everything will be all right . . .”
George couldn’t move his right arm at all. As soon as he tried to lift his left arm, it began to tremble with the effort. Then it sagged back down to his side.
George stumbled to his feet in terror. He caught a glimpse of himself in the glass wall, his arms pinned to his side by some invisible force. He tried to shout for help, but his mouth wouldn’t open. Something . . . someone . . . was controlling him.
“You’re mine now,” said the voice. “All mine.” With that, George finally identified the voice.
Micron!
As the warm numbness continued to spread, George knew he only had seconds left before he’d be completely under the MOD’s control. With all the energy he could still summon, he threw himself against the wall, smashing the side of his head against it. The force of the blow made him reel and fall to the floor, but it also popped the MOD out of his ear. The warmth began to fade immediately, leaving him feeling queasy and uncomfortable. He lay there, trying to catch his breath. And suddenly, everything made sense.
Micron was using the MOD as mind control!
The absent-minded driver. And that TinkerTech worker who had shoved him off the bridge. George would bet everything he owned that he had been wearing a MOD too. George was right. Micron had been after him all along.
And if Micron could access people’s thoughts through the MOD, then George didn’t have long before Mr. Volt—
“George Gearing,” said Volt over the building-wide intercom, “I see you’ve left your post. Return to duty immediately.”
Not a chance, thought George. I still need to figure out how Micron is doing this!
He grabbed the earbud and linked it to the computer once more. This time, George accessed the settings and disconnected the device unit from the TinkerTech server. Now his MOD would not receive any wireless signal.
Then George set the computer’s scanner to analyze the input signal fields associated with the bud. As he had expected, now there was nothing on the n
ormal frequencies. Curious, he expanded the search to detect other forms of electromagnetic radiation.
And there it was. George sat back, astonished, as he scanned the data on the screen.
He had terminated any incoming signal from the TinkerTech server, and now that those signals were gone, George was able to isolate a pulse of low-energy alpha waves still beaming right into the device. And alpha waves were associated particularly with brain operation in deep sleep. George shook his head in awe. Micron was burrowing right into his victims’ innermost thoughts—and because the alpha waves had been concealed beneath the wireless signal, no one had any idea he was doing it.
George stared at the innocent-looking earpiece. It’s a weapon, he thought. A weapon that makes people behave like robots. And soon, unless George stopped that shipment, Terabyte Heights would be full of new bots. Human ones.
Using a microscope and a pair of delicate tweezers, George opened up the bud and discovered a tiny red chip embedded within. That must be the alpha wave receiver! he thought. Gingerly, he used the tweezers to remove the receiver and close the MOD. He placed the device back in his ear and tapped to turn it back on. It started up with a beep, and George braced for Micron’s voice—but it didn’t come. Without the red chip, the MOD was harmless. Relieved, George took out his smartphone and punched the first number that was stored.
Anne answered at once. “George, is everything okay?”
“Listen, Anne, I’ve found out something. Something big.”
“Where are you?”
“At TinkerTech. I’ve been looking into the MOD. It turns out Micron’s planning to enslave the whole of Terabyte Heights using mind control.”
There was a pause. “You realize how insane that sounds, right?” Anne finally said.
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