Cats vs. Robots, Volume 1 Read online

  SLAYAR’s voice began to speed up as his panic increased: “If the four-leggers got their paws on this, it would be a disaster . . .”

  Beeps still didn’t dare speak.

  “They might even live long enough to learn how to . . . do . . . stuff.”

  Beeps balanced perfectly still, watching as SLAYAR pieced together what he had already figured out.

  “They might even get . . .”

  “Don’t say it!” Beeps croaked, and started vibrating.

  “THEY MIGHT EVEN GET . . .”

  Beeps inched toward the door, preparing for escape.

  “ORGANIZED!!!!” Supreme Leader shouted, his personal speaker volume now up to eleven. The words echoed throughout the Hangout. Security bots lining the walls glowed red as they began to power up.

  Wisps of smoke started escaping from SLAYAR’s circuits. Beeps had to do something. He realized, too late, he should have led with the positive first. “Oh, sir, there is good news! Another thing about this chip!” SLAYAR’s jumpy eyes shifted to focus on Beeps, who kept talking. “It could also provide robots with power to run indefinitely! No more recharging!”

  SLAYAR sat perfectly still, and Beeps wondered if he had finally crashed. After a moment, the smoke dissipated. Then the line for his mouth slowly curved from a growl to a grin. “Well,” he almost whispered. “That changes everything.”

  SLAYAR rolled back to his throne. “Beeps, leave now and investigate! Take our fastest ships to Earth. Work with the local bots, primitive as they are, and no matter what else, GET THAT . . .” SLAYAR paused. “Um, what was it called again?”

  Beeps searched back through his memory card. “I believe they called it a Singularity Chip.”

  “THAT! THE SINGULARITY CHIP! GET IT NOW!” Supreme Leader shouted.

  “Got it!” Beeps spun around and powered toward the door. “Don’t worry, sir! I’ll make the Robot Federation proud!”

  As Beeps spun out of the room, SLAYAR looked around at the shattered mess that had been, until moments ago, his favorite possession.

  “I’m going to need a new mirror,” he said sadly.

  3

  An Old Cat Smells Trouble

  THE PLANET EARTH

  Obi sat upright, swaying slightly, but dignified. Even if he was so old his fur was gray-white and thinning in patches, and even if he could hardly walk, Obi was always dignified.

  His mobile throne was pushed deliberately by his devoted Furless servant, Mrs. Fiona Reynolds, who saw to it that Obi took his usual stroller-stroll about his Bayside Road kingdom, today and every day. Obi was grateful, as he knew his faithful Fiona could hardly walk any better than he and relied on the stroller to hold herself up.

  The passing years could be cruel to both cats and their servants.

  Even in his advanced years, Obi was a singular cat, with an almost regal air. While nothing like the powerful Chairman Meow who ruled the known GFE a galaxy away, Obi still commanded respect. Around his neck was a golden braided collar of unusual elegance, with a pyramid-shaped tag that seemed to glow with a strange light. He’d been wearing it since the day Fiona fished him from the storm drain by the river as a kitten, and he wore it still—though she’d had to sew little extensions into the back of it once he’d left kittenhood.

  Fiona paused to rest under the shade of a tree and gave Obi a welcome scratch behind his ears. Obi had chosen well so many years ago, when he staged his desperate situation just as she conveniently passed by on her daily walk. He needed a patron on this distant, rather backward outpost, at the border between Cat and Robot territory, and Fiona was ideal.

  Early on, Fiona wondered to herself where Obi’s ornate collar had come from, but Obi never offered to tell. This non-exchange was made all the easier by the fact that neither one of them could speak the other’s language.

  But Obi knew that the pyramid was special. It was the symbol of the Great Feline Empire. The golden collar and medallion were worn by a select few—those chosen at birth and sent out as kittens to be explorers, ambassadors, adventurers. Their mission was to search for allies, or enemies, at the fringes of the Empire. These brave souls were members of the elite Feline Vanguard.

  The medallion was more than just a symbol—it also served as a universal translator, allowing Obi to hear and understand over 2,310 different galactic dialects, including human English. The medallion’s speaking function was disabled to prevent overzealous Vanguard explorers from unnecessary meddling in local affairs.

  Most important of all, Obi’s medallion was his means of communication with the Empire—if he found anything of import, or met with potential danger. The medallion had rested around Obi’s neck his entire life, unused.

  Until a few days ago.

  When, while resting outside, he heard his neighbor (one of the Furless) discussing some invention—a mechanical device they called a chip that somehow could extend feline lives and generate unheard-of power. Obi knew this would be of great interest to the GFE and, he shuddered to think, of frightful utility to the Robot Federation.

  He sent his message, and now he waited for a reply.

  Obi was quite comfortable waiting, having had a lifetime of practice. Today, like yesterday and the day before, he simply enjoyed the breeze as his mobile throne rolled slowly down the cracked sidewalk that bordered Bayside Road.

  Enjoy it now, Obi thought. The wind will change. It always does.

  Obi closed his eyes and enjoyed the breeze as the afternoon sun warmed his gray fur, digging his spread claws deeply into the faded fleece blanket beneath him.

  BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

  The old cat’s ears twitched as a buzzing noise interrupted his peace. Obi looked up as one of the metal-heads (Obi’s name for the local, rather primitive robots) zoomed out an open window of the house next to the driveway from his own. The neighboring house where, Obi suspected, this mysterious invention was located.

  The metal-head tilted forward and flew quickly toward the river. Obi’s almond-slit eyes narrowed as he watched. The robots rarely left the home, and Obi wondered if there was trouble. He looked at the house and considered the possibility.

  It wasn’t the most welcoming home, from the outside. The old two-story reddish-tiled hacienda, which was a human word for this sort of house, was mottled with peeling paint beneath a badly patched rooftop. Vines twisted up the sides, and in the gated-in front yard, the grass was wild and uneven, like a wet kitten’s fur.

  There wasn’t much to say about the place, beyond that. Still, there was plenty more to say about the Furless family, the creatures that lived there. Most Furless weren’t much use to Obi, but this family was different.

  Obi’s favorite, a young pup called Max, was kind and tolerable. He often visited Obi when the sun was low in the sky, bringing tasty offerings and making calming sounds that Obi didn’t usually pay much attention to but that seemed important to his boy, so he allowed it.

  His boy often seemed to need to talk, and Obi never minded listening. Or sleeping nearby, while his boy believed he was listening.

  Max had one littermate, the Furless girl Min, who stayed away from Obi, for the most part. Min seemed afraid of the old cat. When she did come close, she often made loud, sudden hissing noises (AAACHHOOOO!) that Obi didn’t like. Human words he could understand, thanks to his collar; human behaviors were an entirely different matter.

  Disagreeable thing, that Furless girl.

  As Fiona pushed his mobile throne past the house, Obi turned to look up the street, where Bayside Road met River Road. Beyond that was the river, and the old cat felt his attention drawn toward it. That was the direction the metal-head flew. The river?

  He couldn’t see it from there, but his faithful Fiona had “found” him in one of the river’s many storm drains, so he knew the area well. Obi lifted his nose and sniffed the breeze that came from the river. He could smell the damp—the river was now full of water.

  Obi sniffed again.

  SNIFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF!<
br />
  There it was.

  A hint of . . . something else . . . on the breeze.

  Something . . . happening . . . possibly at the river, but Obi couldn’t be certain. And he didn’t know what it could be.

  All he knew was that he’d thought he felt—smelled—some kind of disturbance, just for a second. But when he sniffed again, it had gone.

  Ah well, Obi thought to himself. At the moment, he was too tired to bother. So he curled up in the blankets of his rolling throne and dove his nose down into the crook of his paw, growing drowsy as the throne rocked.

  As Obi began to doze, he felt the emblem on his collar begin to glow with warmth . . .

  4

  Robots Rule the Roost

  The two-story hacienda home with the peeling paint and unkempt front yard did not, from the outside, look like the kind of place where the fate of galactic wars would be determined. It was, in fact, the home of the Wengrod family: Mom, Dad, Max, and Min. Mom and Dad were inventors, of a sort. Max and Min were twins, and although they were nearly identical in age and DNA, they were about as different as two siblings could be.

  Min always got good grades, loved to read and build robots, and didn’t mind spending time alone. She wanted to be a scientist for NASA and explore the solar system.

  Max hated school, loved to draw and play games, and spent as much time as possible hanging out with friends online. He wanted to be the lead designer of the Next Big Thing in video games.

  Much like the twins, the inside of the house was the complete opposite of the outside. Polished wood floors, modern furniture, neatly organized shelves stacked with books on programming, robotics, physics, and other science-y things. An impossible number of video-game systems filled a console below the improbably large wall-mounted television. In fact, screens small and large were everywhere. The house was packed with “smart” things—a smart dishwasher, a smart oven, even a smart garbage can.

  Clearly, this was a family that appreciated technology.

  At the moment, none of the Wengrods were home, but the house was anything but deserted. A squad of four slightly battered-looking robots moved purposefully around the house. They were all working, busily keeping the house clean and organized, preparing for the return of Max and Min from school.

  A tall-ish, four-wheeled robot, Cy (short for Cyclone), rolled toward the kitchen table, slapping down a fresh box of pizza with one rubber-tipped pincher claw and two Capri Suns with the other.

  A squat, bulkier robot, Drags, moved smoothly along the floor on rubber treads, pulling a laundry basket full of clothing behind him toward the (smart) washing machine.

  A third unit, Tipsy, small, thin, and (barely) balanced on two wheels, bumped along behind the others, slamming into the occasional wall and chair as it went, with only the smallest of robotic yelps escaping its tiny speakers.

  The last robot observed the scene as it hovered above the others, with only the slightest wobble. It was a quadcopter, an older model, with a faulty propeller that only spun most of the time. This robot’s name was Joan.

  These four robots were the Protos, the team of never-quite-finished robot prototypes designed and built by Mom and Dad, with some help from Max and Min. Because the Protos were, as SLAYAR might say, “fleshie made,” they had no affiliation with or loyalty to the Robot Federation. In fact, they, like almost everyone on Earth, had no idea it even existed. The Protos led a simple existence, content to focus on their responsibilities, as dictated by their programming.

  A robot from the Federation, were it to consider these primitive creatures, might view them as slaves, bound to follow orders from their air-breathing overlords. The Protos, on the other hand, appreciated their human family. They all worked together and took care of each other. The Protos always had a place to charge their batteries and someone to fix a broken motor, propeller, or sensor if they (as Tipsy often did) had any mishaps.

  Joan, in particular, relished her role in the household. Joan, or Joan Drone as she was sometimes called, was the senior member and de facto leader of the Protos. Joan was also the mother hen of the house. Today, as she hovered, she dutifully reviewed the status of the family members.

  Mom and Dad were on their way to China. They had left in a hurry earlier today, telling the kids in a group text (which Joan read on the home servers), an hour after Max and Min had left for school.

  momma: so check this out—daddy and I have to make a quick trip to—wait for it—CHINA

  max: nooooooo

  daddy: yeeeeeessss. we got an emergency call from the factory in Shenzhen, some problem making a part for our *cough* invention.

  momma: but cousin javi is on spring break and will be there tonight

  daddy: and House will take care of everything else

  min: ugh

  max: double ugh

  momma: be back so fast

  daddy: you won’t even know we were gone

  min: wanna bet

  According to the family calendar, Max and Min should be on their way home from school now, but there was a problem. Joan couldn’t seem to pin down Max’s location.

  “House, I noticed a status update that says Max didn’t get picked up from school just now. Do you happen to know where he is?”

  House wasn’t actually the house—it was a software program that lived on the home’s network. Specifically, it was a “virtual assistant” created by GloboTech, a huge conglomerate technology company known throughout the world as the leader in artificial intelligence and robotics.

  Mom and Dad recently installed House because it was an especially busy time in their work. They were in the final stages of development of a top secret project that had them hidden away in their lab for hours, sometimes days at a time. House could help with almost anything thanks to its access to the internet, home network, computers, and all the smart things in the house.

  House communicated via multiple wall-mounted tablets located throughout the house, each displaying a spinning circuit-board icon. Each tablet had a bulbous attachment on top, almost like a single eye, that allowed it to see, hear, even smell what was going on around it. And even though nobody was completely comfortable with House being almost everywhere (Max wondered if House knew when he farted, for example), as Mom said, it was “the price you pay” for convenience. Max and Min both thought House was creepy, but at least it always got their pizza order right.

  Joan, anxious for an answer, repeated her question. “Where’s Max, House?”

  House had no physical form, but that didn’t keep it from having an attitude. Joan didn’t quite trust it. House was far more advanced than the Protos, and Joan felt like it could be condescending.

  House considered Joan’s question carefully, consulting all available data before displaying on the nearest screen:

  MOBILE+UNIT<>=100% DOCKED @ LOCATION <> + 100% HUMAN GIRL + 0% HUMAN BOY <> = SYSTEMS ALERT = RUN PROGRAM <> + <>

  Joan didn’t have the patience to interpret House’s code. “House, could you just use your words please?”

  “Of course, Joan. CAR reported that it picked Min up at school but Max declined to enter the vehicle. Since Max is not equipped with wings or a jetpack, I would assume he is walking.” House could be a bit snarky with Joan. “Based on available data and past behavior, I would estimate he is approximately halfway down River Road and will be here soon. In other words, I wouldn’t worry.”

  Joan flew to a window for a look outside. “What about Max’s phone? Does his GPS show where he is? I don’t like him walking alone out there.”

  “It appears Max disabled the ‘location services’ on his phone. He is, as they say, off the grid.” House added snidely, “Try it sometime. You might like it . . .”

  Joan ignored the dig. She was worried. Perhaps it was just the “MOTHER+HEN” settings in her code, but something just felt wrong. She sped through a rapid series of
calculations and reached a conclusion: even if there was a 51 percent chance that Max was fine, there was a 49 percent chance that he was lost or hurt or making erroneous miscalculations of his own.

  “That’s it,” Joan decided. “I’m going out. I need to confirm with my own two sensors that he’s safe. Be right back, House.”

  No response.

  Whatever, thought Joan.

  And with that, the drone zipped past Drags and slipped through the open laundry-room window of the house on Bayside Road. Outside, she dipped and swayed precariously as she flew down the average-looking street and past the average-looking things that you could find there, on any given day. A delivery truck idling by the curb. A perfectly clipped lawn, leading to an even cleaner garage. An old woman pushing an old stroller carrying an old cat, the old (although extremely suspicious) four-legger that lived next door.

  Joan flew on, bobbing and weaving toward River Road, where the asphalt not-quite highway passed a quiet stretch of sparkling blue water, a human-made river running through the city. She hovered and surveyed, her battery levels growing dangerously low. Finally, she saw Max, and stopped to survey the scene.

  Here’s what Joan noticed, with her own two sensors:

  Visual: Boy walking alone past the chain-link fence between him and the river.

  Conclusion: Max.

  POTENTIAL ALERT: NONE.

  Visual: Small creature splashing near the river. Indeterminate species.

  Conclusion: Inconclusive.

  POTENTIAL ALERT: FOUR-LEGGER. ORGANIC.

  Audio: Sounds of second creature + possible ambient brush + foliage noise. Indeterminate species.

  Conclusion: Inconclusive.

  POTENTIAL ALERT: FOUR-LEGGER. ORGANIC.

  Movement: CAR gliding silently toward them all. Girl located inside.

  Conclusion: Min.

  POTENTIAL ALERT: NONE.

  Joan consulted her programming, the distance to home, and the lack of visible threats between here and there, and decided Max was fine. Her battery levels dropping quickly, she decided she would let Max walk unescorted. She’d run the numbers, and on a balance, they were in his favor.