Cats vs. Robots #2 Page 5

  “We’re talking the future of robotic movement—light-years beyond anything anyone has seen or even imagined,” Mom said.

  Max stared across the room, watching Scout sit at attention in a wooden armchair, balancing herself with great care, to stare at something only she could see.

  “It’s hard to imagine things before you can see them,” Max said.

  Scout balanced herself carefully along the wooden arm of the chair. She stretched and craned her furry neck, desperately scanning the shelf.

  She didn’t know why she was driven to investigate one particular shelf and not another. There was always a reason. Some tiny motion that shouldn’t be there. A shape that didn’t belong. A sound that hadn’t been there in the past.

  Something wrong, in the wrong place, at the wrong time, making the wrong sound or the wrong smell. Any one of a number of tiny details of wrongness that seemed so unimportant to anyone else, and yet so critically . . . investigation-worthy . . . to a kitten.

  THERE!

  She froze in place, ears twitching.

  On the little white box—their tiny white box, the one Max sometimes would use to, she didn’t know, hide inside and talk to them—she saw a tiny creature.

  A oval-shaped black spot thing, with lots of legs.

  A BUG.

  That was what Max had called it.

  But a particular kind of bug—not the flying and buzzing kind—rather the scuttling and crawling kind.

  The kind she usually only saw downstairs in the basement, when all the lights were off.

  But this wasn’t the basement.

  And these lights were definitely not off.

  And yet there it was, sitting there, right out in the open.

  So this wasn’t just a BUG.

  It was the WRONG BUG.

  And that meant one thing: KITTEN GO TIME!

  Scout carefully turned to face the shelf.

  Can I make that jump?

  She took a deep breath.

  Do I have a choice?

  Max turned back from Scout to listen to his mom talking.

  “The engine could enable intelligent and reliable robotic space exploration, long journeys into deep space, or dangerous ones, where humans wouldn’t survive,” Mom said. “We could also design AI or remote-controlled robots for search and rescue operations.”

  “Yeah, the engine generates enough power to do superhero kinds of things, like lifting heavy rocks or concrete,” Dad said.

  “Flying?” Min asked.

  Mom shrugged. “If we designed the right thrusters, sure.”

  “Lifting cars, punching through walls?” Max chimed in.

  “With the right mechanical design, no problem,” Dad said. “All the Iron Man stuff.”

  “What about shooting lasers?” Max wondered.

  Min scoffed, but looked like even she still wanted to know the answer.

  “Maybe,” Mom said, “but we don’t want the engine to be used as a weapon to hurt peop—”

  RAWRRRRR!

  “What the—” Max turned just in time to catch a glimpse of Scout launching off the back of the chair toward the bookshelf.

  Stu sat up as the chair tipped toward him—

  Scout went flying into the shelf—

  CRASSSSHHHHHHHH!

  YOWWWWWLLLL!

  The chair went tumbling—

  Stu shot out of the room.

  In all the ruckus, nobody noticed as a small black mechanical insect detached from the pet cam and slipped away into the shadows behind it.

  Had anyone been watching, they would have noticed a tiny green sensor lighting up next to the single word: “AUDIO.”

  “Scout, what are you doing?” Javi jumped over to pick the trembling kitten up from the bookshelf. “Have you gone loco? Shelves are for books, not kittens.”

  Max held out his hands for Scout, but she clawed at him when he tried to take her. “Just let her go. She’s probably just freaked herself out.

  Javi set Scout down.

  She streaked away, fleeing the scene of the crime for the immediate hallway.

  That’s weird, thought Max. She usually disappears after a big shelf-wreck. It’s almost like she’s actually worried about something.

  But then he stopped thinking about it, because his pocket was buzzing.

  BZZZZZZZZZ.

  BZZZZZZZZZ.

  He pulled out his phone, but the buzzing continued.

  “Oh!” Max jumped up. “Everybody, look!”

  He fished in his pocket until he pulled out Pounce’s medallion, placing it on the table. Min leaned over the communicator next to him. Javi and Mom and Dad gathered around to see the medallion glowing, pulsing, coming alive.

  The faint buzzing grew louder—and the medallion grew brighter—then grew still.

  Suddenly, there was a crackle of static, then a distant voice projecting from the medallion:

  “GREETINGS FROM FELINUS!”

  Crackle.

  “POUNCE HERE!”

  Crackle.

  “SAY, CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?”

  6

  Plotting with Pounce

  “We hear you! We hear you, Pounce! Can you hear us?” Max shouted into the medallion. His sister and family were gathered around, and now even Stu and Scout were climbing up onto the table to see what all the fuss was about.

  Min plugged her ears and glared. “Max, you don’t have to shout!”

  “But it’s long distance!” Max said, still shouting.

  “Min is correct, I can hear you quite well without raising your voice.” Pounce’s voice grew clearer as he spoke. “If you don’t mind.”

  Max rolled his eyes, but he cut right to the chase. He wanted to know the answer to the one question that mattered most of all:

  “What about Obi? Is he okay? Have you heard from Obi?!”

  Min’s eyes met his as they waited for an answer.

  Pounce began to speak—but static erupted over the words—which then faded out. It seemed for a moment like they’d lost the connection entirely.

  Now it was Min who was shouting. “Pounce?! Pounce can you hear us?! What about Obi?”

  But a moment later, Pounce’s voice cut right through the static.

  “Obi’s fine—yes, yes—terrible connection—but fine, at least for now.”

  Everyone let out a sigh of relief as Pounce continued.

  “But I’m afraid both of us are in trouble. Meow is furious that the Binars have taken Obi. SLAYAR is furious that Obi has permanently fused with the chip. Neither has gotten what they wanted—and it looks like Obi and I are likely to end up paying the price.”

  The words were ominous and hung over the Wengrods’ kitchen table. Stu flattened his ears. Scout glared at the glowing medallion with suspicion.

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Dad said, speaking toward the medallion.

  “In a way, we are the victims of your success with the chip,” Pounce said. “SLAYAR wants his source of eternal power, and Meow, who has reached the end of his ninth life, hopes it can save him from oblivion, just as it saved Obi.”

  Javi nodded, frowning. “Not to mention that they’re probably also worried the other side will get it first and use it to their advantage.”

  “Correct. Both leaders are competitive, stubborn, and won’t accept that the chip in Obi is useless to them.” Pounce sounded defeated. “I have nothing to offer Meow, and SLAYAR may not stop until he’s taken Obi apart entirely. We just can’t give them what they want. I’m afraid we’re both quite done for, it seems.”

  “What if we made new chips for them?” Min asked hopefully.

  Dad scratched Stu behind the ears as he thought. “We lost a lot of data when House corrupted our network, and had to wipe the network clean. I don’t think we could make more anytime soon.”

  “But,” Mom said, “maybe we can offer them something better?”

  Max and Min looked at her. Pounce remained silent.

  “The Infinity Engine?�
�� Dad raised an eyebrow.

  “The what?” Pounce said.

  “It’s a long story,” Min said, leaning in to the medallion, “but it’s something my mom and dad are building that’s way more powerful than the Singularity Chip.”

  “It’s not quite finished, but it would be faster than making new chips,” Dad said. “I don’t know how we would get it to them, though.”

  “I think it’s worth a shot,” Mom said. “I can’t think of a better idea.”

  “Whatever this engine is,” Pounce said, an edge of worry in his voice, “it’s better than what we have now, which is nothing.”

  An awkward silence fell back upon the room.

  Max slumped in a kitchen chair, disappointed. “This is bad. What’s going to happen to Obi? We don’t even know how to get him back from Binar.”

  “We will do everything we can from here to keep Obi safe from the lava. And me, from exile,” Pounce said, sounding dismal. “Considering the impatience of SLAYAR and Meow, that’s all we can do. But we don’t have much time.”

  Max put his head in his hands. “What if it’s not enough?”

  “I will tell Obi about the engine. Maybe it can help. Good luck to us all. Pounce out.” Then, hesitating: “One more thing, Furless family. Your Obi cares about you a great deal. I can’t say it the way he did, but he . . . misses you. I believe his exact words were that . . . you were . . . everything. If we don’t . . . if he doesn’t . . . well, I thought you should know, is all.”

  A whole galaxy away, an aging cat found himself clearing his throat, as though it was suddenly thick with a fur ball that wasn’t made of fur at all . . .

  “Pounce out.”

  The medallion’s glow dimmed as the speaker went silent.

  The room was silent as well.

  Max wiped his eyes, which were starting to burn with affection and emotion and any other word he could think of except for what it really was, which were tears.

  Min put her head down on the kitchen table, openly weeping.

  Mom and Dad looked at each other.

  It was Javi who finally spoke, breaking the tension. “Well, no use moping about what we can’t change—let’s break this problem down and see what we can fix.”

  “That’s what Obi would say.” Max smiled, wiping his wet nose with the back of his hand. Min sat up, rubbing her face with her sweatshirt sleeve.

  “That’s right,” Dad said. “So where do we begin?”

  Javi jumped up. “I know how to get this party started.” They loved a brainstorm session, and they especially loved one that involved solving complex international—or even better, intergalactic—problems.

  Javi also knew how to keep the twins interested, and before anyone could complain about being tired, they rolled a massive whiteboard out from the lab.

  “Yes!” Max loved whiteboards.

  He immediately gathered all the colored dry-erase markers he could find and claimed an open space in the corner.

  Before the brainstorming could even begin, he had already started doodling what looked like an insect army at war.

  Nobody stopped him. The Wengrods all knew that it was how Max could think best, with a marker in his hand.

  The rest of the whiteboard was full of lists and notes. Min came closer and looked at Javi, eyebrow raised. “How come you already have a plan, Javi?”

  “I’ve done some work on this in my spare time,” Javi said sheepishly, snatching back a black marker from Max.

  “Just trying to get a handle on things. Sometimes when you have a problem that seems impossible,” Javi said, “it helps to break that problem into smaller pieces that are easier to figure out.” Javi, enjoying this “teaching moment,” turned the board so everyone could read it.

  JAVI’S BIG BREAKDOWN OF BIG PROBLEMS

  Problem 1: Rescue Obi from Binar—in one piece!

  Solution: Go to Binar?

  Obstacles: Where the heck is Binar? How do we get to Binar?

  Problem 2: Keep Cats & Robots from fighting.

  Solution A: Diplomacy? Plead with leaders?

  Obstacles: Can we even talk to their leaders? Will they listen?

  Solution B: Bargaining? Give them . . . Infinity Engine?

  Obstacles: Can we finish it in time? How do we get it to them?

  Problem 3: What if nothing works?

  Solution: Protests? Public pressure?

  Obstacles: How do we protest when they are so far away?

  “I think this hits the main problems.” Javi paced, chewing on a marker.

  Still reading, Min plopped down next to her Dad, who sneakily snatched a chip from her bag.

  “That’s not a plan. It’s a list of problems,” Min said, sounding discouraged. “Great.”

  “I thought you liked homework,” Max said with a smirk. He filled out his corner of the whiteboard with a fleet of tiny ships shooting at a gigantic space destroyer . . . sketching out an idea he was working on for an INSECTAGONS™ space strategy game. “But even if we got there, how would we get them to give Obi back? It’s not like we have an army sitting around that could make them listen to us.”

  After a few seconds of silence, they all realized they were stuck.

  “Oh. Maybe this is impossible.” Min slumped back into the couch. “Even for us.”

  “We could use some help,” Dad said, looking at Mom. “Maybe we need to ask our friend who specializes in doing the impossible.”

  “Portillo?” Mom gave a small nod.

  “Who’s that?” Max asked.

  Dad stood up, wiping pickle chip salt from Min’s chips onto his pants. “Mom’s old roommate. Oh—and, no big deal—she’s also the supergenius who has been helping us with the Infinity Engine.”

  “Wait,” Min said slowly. “Are you talking about the Portillo? You are friends with Melissa Erica Portillo, aka M.E., the millionaire digging hyperloop tunnels, curing diseases, designing rockets to colonize Mars? The one that donated so much money to Caltech that all their students get to go for free, forever?”

  Min wasn’t much into hero worship, but she made an exception here.

  She was fangirling hard.

  “The very one.” Mom smiled. “How do you think we got all that equipment in the lab down there without anyone noticing?”

  “Coooooool,” the twins said, eyes wide.

  “Sounds like she has the resources—and the brainpower—we’re going to need,” Javi said, turning to look at the whiteboard. “Perfect. And since I don’t have any engines, ships, or tunnels, I’ll focus on the diplomacy part.”

  With that, they added two questions on the board:

  “HOW TO GET TWO DIFFERENT SIDES TO AGREE?”

  “HOW TO MAKE SURE THEY ACTUALLY DO THE RIGHT THING?”

  “What else?” Javi looked around the room.

  “I’m going to do some research on space travel and see what Portillo has been up to,” Min said, already walking toward her room.

  “You just want to impress her.” Max rolled his eyes.

  Min turned, blushing. “What? At least I’m trying. If you’re so smart, what’s your idea for rescuing Obi?”

  Max’s shoulders slumped a little. “I have no idea.” He stepped back to look at what he’d drawn on the whiteboard.

  “I do have an awesome idea for an INSECTAGONS™ strategy game, though,” he said, perking up. “It’s an army of tiny robots that are too small to shoot, but they can work together to attack and destroy huge warships!” He went back to drawing, already preoccupied again.

  Min raised an eyebrow and smirked. “An army of tiny robots? And you think my ideas are crazy?”

  But Max couldn’t even hear, because that was how he got when he was drawing.

  As she turned to leave, Stu trotted over and gave a small chirpy meow, looking for some scratches. Whether or not she was a cat person, Min had come to love Stu’s squeaky meows.

  “Fine,” she said, kneeling down to give Stu’s back a scratch. “But you should learn
how to meow like a real cat.”

  Stu’s purring grew louder, and Min smiled, until she noticed a tiny dark speck on her hand and took a closer look.

  “EW!” she said, jumping up, shaking her hand frantically. “Is that a FLEA?”

  Min glared at Max. “Max! This is your fault!”

  She ran to the bathroom to wash her hands. “UGH! When things get bad around here, they get TERRIBLE!”

  Max looked at Javi, miserable.

  Javi sighed and turned to the whiteboard, adding one more note:

  Problem 4: How to de-flea a cat?

  7

  Huggs Hears

  “Is that a FLEA?”

  Min’s recorded voice buzzed from a tablet on a sleek glass table.

  Gifford Huggs shuddered and paused the recording. He looked at the pudgy pug lounging on a cushion in the corner of his office, eyes narrowed. “Dig Doug, if you ever get fleas, I’m sending you to the pound. Understand? Zero tolerance. Those things are disgusting.”

  PLLLPPT!

  Dig Doug the pug tooted and looked back innocently, tongue hanging out.

  Huggs stood up from his desk and looked out the window. “So what do you make of it all?”

  House paused for a moment, evaluating Huggs’s voice and personality profile to decide what to say next, but this was not an easy calculation.

  House knew Huggs well, probably better than anyone, because Huggs told House everything, including stories about what happened before it was created. Thus, in a pinch, House found himself reviewing the whole history of his creator, searching for answers.

  As a child, Gifford Huggs was awkward and ordinary. Tragically, his childhood screeched to an unhappy halt when he lost his parents in a fire. He was thrust into the unwelcome arms of his wealthy grandfather, Gave N.O. Huggs, who had neither time nor compassion for children. Little Giff worshiped his grandfather but got no such love in return. He was forced to fend for himself at a young age.

  He turned to computers in a search of companionship. He couldn’t afford his own, so he spent hours at local libraries learning to code on old, barely functional machines. Little Gifford quickly discovered he had a knack for working with code, especially artificial intelligence, and soon started creating incredibly lifelike programs. Young Huggs didn’t make friends easily with people, so he coded and created his own friends.