Lots of Bots

by C. J. Richards

  “So, where’s your trusty metal sidekick?” Anne asked, breaking the silence.

  George sighed. “At home with Otto. He’s probably forgotten I exist.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “He still thinks he’s in love with Patricia’s robot. I know I hurt his feelings, but he won’t listen to reason. Between Jackbot’s Romeo complex and Otto getting rich—it’s like I hardly know them anymore.”

  Anne laid a hand on his shoulder. “C’mon, George. Don’t write them off yet,” she said.

  “If you say so,” George said uncertainly, and turned his gaze back at the window. A handful of people were walking through the streets. Some were scurrying along the sidewalk, rushing to get out of the rain, while others, who had the telltale white bud in their ear, shambled along aimlessly, their movements wooden and slow.

  George nudged Anne. “Look at all the people already wearing the MOD! They look like they’re in a trance.”

  Anne shuddered. “It’ll be much worse if we don’t stop Micron!”

  “We won’t let it happen,” George said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

  The car slowed, then stopped. “Destination reached,” it said.

  George and Anne jumped out and faced the open gate of the junkyard. George took a deep breath. “Okay. We have to get that helmet away from Micron. If we disconnect him from the MOD system, we will disrupt the alpha waves that are controlling everyone in Terabyte Heights, and they should be free.”

  Anne rested her baseball bat on her shoulder. “Micron is expecting me to be under his control,” she said. “So he won’t be watching me that carefully—like he will with you. The first chance I get, I’ll try to knock that stupid helmet off his head.”

  As soon as they passed through the gate, there was a burst of savage barking from inside. A pack of robot dogs ran out from the shadows and surrounded them. They were huge, heavy-looking brutes, with long, narrow heads, yellow eyes, and pointed steel teeth like nails.

  “You don’t suppose these guys like playing fetch, do you?” Anne muttered.

  “Only if we’re the bait,” George said, back pressed against the fence.

  Suddenly, a bright light poured over them from above, and George had to shield his eyes. A loud chop chop sound filled the air, and George squinted up through his fingers to see a helicopter descending out of the night sky.

  The helicopter set down noisily in the junkyard parking lot, and the wind of its whirring blades made Anne’s hair whip around her face. Mayor Buffer jumped out first, and stood like a soldier at attention as Dr. Micron disembarked.

  “So we meet again, Mr. Gearing!” Micron said in a cheery voice. His chrome helmet glistened under the lights of the helicopter. “So glad you could make it. Nothing like a baseball bat for making people see sense, is there?”

  “She didn’t leave me much choice,” said George through gritted teeth.

  “Well, time is precious!” Micron said. “Miss Droid, bring him over here. If he tries to make a break for it . . . stop him at all costs.”

  “Yes, Dr. Micron,” replied Anne flatly.

  The robot dogs loped along beside them as they followed Micron to the spot where George had found his parents’ car. But the old blue Prodigy was gone. In fact, the entire pile of junk was gone—leaving only the metal hatch, shining ominously under the yard’s spotlights. And there, below the Mercury symbol that he had seen before, George saw a small hollow, the same shape and size as his father’s marble.

  “Exciting, isn’t it?” Dr. Micron said, rubbing his hands together. “I knew for a long time, George, that your parents were doing secret research somewhere outside TinkerTech. It took me years to find it, but I got there in the end. Now, open the door.”

  George slipped a trembling hand into his pocket. The marble was warm to the touch. He pulled it out and saw that it was glowing again, pure blue and beautiful, like a shining star in the night. Looking at it, George was heartbroken. His parents had trusted their secret to him, and now he had failed them.

  “I can’t,” George whispered.

  “You can, and you will,” Micron growled. “Because if you don’t, I have many clever ways to make you. Besides, it could be your last chance to see your parents’ secret laboratory for yourself.”

  George snuck a look at Anne, who winked at him when Micron wasn’t looking. Anne was right. It wasn’t over yet.

  “Fine,” George said, and walked to the hatch. Taking a deep breath, he placed the glowing marble into the hollow. It turned bright white. There was a low, melodic hum, and then the metal door slid slowly to the side, revealing a flight of metal stairs descending into total darkness.

  “Splendid!” said Dr. Micron, snatching up the marble from its hollow. “You first, George. Miss Droid, you follow, and keep that bat handy, yes?”

  His heart pounding, George slowly made his way down the stairway, feeling his way through the dark. Despite the danger he was in, he was tingling with curiosity. So this was where his parents had worked. He was about to learn the truth about Project Mercury!

  It got colder as they descended, as if they were entering a walk-in freezer. George’s footsteps clanked and echoed, in what he figured must a very large space all around them that they couldn’t see. He reached the bottom of the stairs and Anne bumped into him. They stood there silently as Micron and the pack of robot dogs joined them, lit up by the marble that was glowing in Micron’s hand. It made George’s insides twist to see Micron holding the marble, but all that was washed away when the lights flickered on.

  George blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the wonder of his surroundings. He was right—the place was huge! The staircase they had descended was built against one wall of a large, industrial-looking workshop. Pieces of laboratory equipment were all around—tubes and coils and pumps and wheels and pipes and cables and screens and dials, and all of it began winking with multicolored lights. Everything was connected to everything else in a sort of haphazard, ramshackle way—wires trailed all over the floor, and George saw that several pieces of equipment were held together with duct tape. He grinned. This was just the sort of crazy, spontaneous, homemade setup he would have loved to construct himself. And then he saw them. Against one wall were two tall, oval-shaped pods that looked a bit like upright Egyptian sarcophagi, except that they were made of stainless steel. Etched across the front of both pods was the Mercury symbol he had seen before on the hatch.

  George stole a glance at Anne and she raised her eyebrows, as if to say, Wow.

  “Hmm,” said Dr. Micron, kicking a box of loose wires out of his way. “Bit of a mess, isn’t it? No matter. Just as long as it works.”

  “Welcome, George,” said a computerized voice. “To the Mercury Lab.”

  “My parents built all this?” George said, his voice hushed.

  “They did,” Micron sneered. “All behind my back while they were my interns at TinkerTech. I had an idea that they were keeping secrets from me, but I could never figure out where they were conducting their research.” Micron was by now seething with anger. “All I ever did was help them, and still they kept all this from me! They even destroyed their lab at TinkerTech just so I wouldn’t have access to their findings. But I knew what they were on to; we worked together at the beginning, until they cut me out. I couldn’t get my hands on the research to find out exactly how they were doing it.” He shook his head in disgust. “Your parents were just like Droid. Small-minded people who couldn’t see the true potential for their discoveries—the chance at greatness!”

  George felt the blood drain from his face. His parents must have eventually seen the kind of madman Micron really was. That must have been why they decided to keep their research safe from him. George fought the urge to throw himself at Micron and pummel him with his fists. “So that’s why you killed them?” he snarled. “You made that car accident happen because they wouldn’t—”

  “Control yourself, boy,” Micron muttered. “I di
dn’t kill them. They brought their fates upon themselves. They were so determined to protect their precious Project Mercury, they were willing to give up their own lives for it. To go where they knew I could never reach them.”

  “I don’t understand,” said George. “What is Project Mercury?”

  Dr. Micron’s eyes brightened with excitement. “In a word, George: power! The kind of power that people have dreamed of for thousands of years!”

  “Power to do what?” George demanded.

  “The power to take matter—arrangements of atoms—and convert it to information. You know—ones and zeroes, computer data. And just like that, you could send that information anywhere in the world in an instant, and convert it back to atoms once it gets there.”

  George’s eyes widened. “Wait—are you talking about teleportation? Like, I step in the pod here and then appear in a pod in China a second later, like an email?” He saw Anne’s eyes widen in amazement.

  “Obviously,” said Dr. Micron.

  “That would change the world,” George said slowly. “You wouldn’t need cars, or planes, or oil . . .”

  Micron rolled his eyes. “That’s just the beginning,” he said. “You think too small, my boy! You can do more than just send things. You can immortalize them. If I could save my atomic data indefinitely, I could live forever. I could be a god.” His eyes were shining, and with the glistening helmet on his head, and his square-jawed face set in an expression of complete determination, he looked like he might be a god. An angry one.

  Out of the corner of his eye, George saw Anne twirl a finger at her head, as if to say “He’s nuts.” And she was right. No wonder his parents hadn’t wanted Micron to know about Project Mercury. He was completely off his rocker. He wasn’t just a criminal. He was criminally insane.

  “Now, all those lovely plans depend on this thing actually working after all these years,” Dr. Micron added. “So we’ll have to do a little test. Now, I just need a guinea pig . . .” He looked around the room, and his eyes landed on Anne. “Ah! Miss Droid. You’ll do quite nicely.” He pointed to the sarcophagus against the wall. “Now, if you please—get into the pod!”

  George swallowed hard. He looked at his friend and gave a tiny shake of his head. There was no telling what would happen to Anne if she got into the machine.

  “Yes . . . Dr. Micron,” she said, a slight tremor in her voice betraying her fear. But Micron was too distracted to notice.

  George’s heart was thumping in panic. If Anne refused to get into the pod, Micron would know that her MOD was a fake. But if she went in . . .

  Anne began to walk slowly toward the pod.

  Dr. Micron went over to the biggest computer in the room—which looked like it had parts of a combination washer-dryer and a vacuum cleaner attached—and set George’s marble in a hollow on top of it before tapping at the old-fashioned keyboard. The machine came alive with light and sound. “I’m entering coordinates to transport you from one pod to the other. Simple teleportation. Fingers crossed, everyone! We may need to do a bit of fine-tuning.”

  “What do you mean, fine-tuning?” George said.

  “You know, the usual,” Micron said. “In the very early experiments, before your parents decided to keep all the research to themselves, I remember there being a few glitches in the system. We’d managed to convert living matter to data, no problem. But the other way around—making the data back into flesh and blood—that was trickier. Of course, your good old mom and dad didn’t use humans for the tests, just mice. Some of them got a bit . . . scrambled. Paws where their ears should be, upside-down heads, that sort of thing. A few got turned inside out, I believe.”

  George fought back a wave of nausea.

  Anne had reached the door of the pod, and she slowly pulled it open. She looked back at George, terrified.

  “Wait!” George said.

  “Hmm?” said Micron, fiddling with the controls.

  “Let me do it!” said George. “I’ll be the guinea pig. Leave Anne out of it—this has nothing to do with her.”

  Dr. Micron rose and gazed at George, impressed. “Well, well, well. Chivalry isn’t dead, after all! You know, now that I think about it, there’s a certain poetic justice in you being the one to go.” He grinned. “So be it. Miss Droid—make way for George!”

  Anne moved back. Her face was torn between relief and dread.

  “Go on, George,” Micron whispered in his ear. “Reap what your parents have sown.”

  As he passed Anne on his way to the pod, she and George shared a look. No! Anne mouthed.

  With shaking breath, George pulled open the pod door and stepped in. The door swung shut, leaving him in the dark, with only a thin slit of light peeking through the crack in the door. His pulse was racing. All he could hope for was that his parents had perfected the design and that the device worked—that he wouldn’t reappear in the other pod with his head on backwards or his skin inside out . . .

  “Here we go!” Dr. Micron called over the noise of the machine. “In five, four, three, two—”

  CRASH!

  “What the—?” said Micron.

  “George!” shouted a loud, angry voice. “Where are you?”

  It can’t be! George thought. He kicked at the pod door and it flew open.

  It was. Standing at the top of the stairs to the lab was Uncle Otto, looking like a rampaging giant in his work overalls, brandishing a huge, black, iron wrench.

  “I’m taking my nephew back, you lying scumbag!” shouted Otto, as he thundered down the stairs. “And my junkyard too!”

  George’s heart soared. He had never felt so happy to see his uncle in all his life.

  “You’ve made a big mistake, Otto,” Dr. Micron said, his voice tight with anger. “A very big mistake indeed.”

  “That’s Mr. Fender to you, you crook!” shouted Otto. “Tricking me into selling my precious junkyard for a bunch of dirty money! And for what? So I can go and hobnob with a bunch of tech geeks who couldn’t tell a spark plug from a carburetor if their lives depended on it? No! I’m getting my life back—and you’re going to jail!”

  “A fine speech, Mr. Fender,” Dr. Micron said. “But you got that last bit very, very wrong. Dog-bots—attack!”

  One of the huge dogs lunged at Otto. Without hesitation, he brought the wrench down on its metal skull with a clang. It was out cold. But there were too many for Otto to handle alone.

  Suddenly—wielding a broken car antenna in front of him like a sword—Jackbot appeared at the top of the stairs. “Fear not, friends! The mighty Jackbot has come to save the day!” He leaped up onto the stair railing superhero-style, shouting, “En garde!”

  “Jackbot!” George yelled. “You came!”

  “Of course I did,” Jackbot answered, hopping off the stair rail onto the floor. “Do you really think I’d let you have all the fun?”

  George grinned. Old Jackbot was back!

  With a yell, Jackbot leaped onto the back of one of the dog-bots and started riding it like a bull in a rodeo. It wrenched its head around, trying to snap at Jackbot, but before it could make contact, Jackbot jammed his car antenna into the dog-bot’s main power switch. The bot slumped to the ground. Jackbot raised his antenna in the air and yelled, “All for one and one for all!”

  George saw his chance and launched himself across the room at Micron. He made a grab for the helmet, but Micron was too quick and caught George, pinning his arms behind his back. “I’ve got you now, Gearing!”

  But Micron was so distracted by his struggle with George that he didn’t see Otto rush forward and smash his wrench into the big computer. It exploded in a shower of steel and silicon, and the light and noise of the machine died.

  “NO!” howled Micron. His grip on George loosened, and George seized the chance to grab the helmet from his head.

  “You’re finished, Micron!” George said, holding the helmet high like a trophy. Micron roared and lunged for the helmet, but before he could wrench it from Ge
orge’s hands, an alarm sounded.

  “Interference detected!” a computerized voice announced. “Containment procedure initiated. System will self-destruct in thirty seconds.”

  George looked up to see the steel door at the top of the stairs begin to slowly slide shut. “Everybody out!” he shouted. “Now!”

  Dr. Micron ran across the lab and went flying up the stairs first. Small explosions erupted from the machines in the lab, making them spark and catch fire. Black smoke filled the air.

  George and Anne raced after Micron, with the door nearly halfway shut. That’s when George spotted it. His blue marble, still resting on top of the main computer, where Micron had left it. “I’ve got to go back!” he yelled, but Anne grabbed his arm and pulled him up the stairs.

  “There’s no time!” she shouted. “You have to leave it!”

  George swallowed hard and followed Anne through the door. “Wait—where’s Jackbot and Uncle Otto?” George shouted in panic.

  “We’re right behind you, good buddy,” Jackbot piped up.

  George breathed a sigh of relief and charged through the opening in the steel door.

  Back on the surface, George saw that Micron had not escaped the junkyard. Mayor Buffer, now freed from the MOD’s control, was struggling with him near the helicopter. George watched the mayor knock Micron to the ground with a right hook to the jaw. “That’s for making me your little puppet!” he shouted. “You’re going to prison, Dr. Micron, for a long, long time.”

  Micron lay in a heap on the ground, his crisp suit wrinkled and smudged with dirt. “I can’t believe it,” he muttered, his eyes wide with disbelief. “All my beautiful plans ruined by children, grease monkeys, and junkyard robots!”

  George swelled with pride.

  “We got him!” he turned to say to Otto, and then realized that Otto was still on the stairs, struggling madly with the last robot dog, which had its jaws clamped hard on his arm and was trying to pull him back into the lab. George saw the smoke and fire emerging from inside.