We hop into Joshua’s car and blast off for home.
It’s a wild ride, but it gives me a few minutes to think.
About Maddie.
She’s always loved football, especially Notre Dame football. But she’s never been able to go to an actual game.
With E, she could do the next best thing. He could sit in the stands for her. Be her eyes and ears in the stadium, just like he does in the classroom. But there’s only one way to make that happen.
We have to win the Robot Bowl.
As we whip out of Notre Dame, I catch a glimpse of Touchdown Jesus.
I think he’s cheering for us.
That makes me smile.
When it comes to cheerleaders, I’ll take Jesus over Penelope Pettigrew any day of the week—and twice on Sunday!
I burst into Mom’s workshop.
Right away, I see a huge problem: Nobody’s working.
“You guys?” I say. “What’s going on?”
Mom and Dad both sigh.
“We’re done,” says Mom.
“With E? Great. Because…”
“No, Sammy,” says Dad. “Your mother means we’re finished here in South Bend.”
“This football game was a clever idea,” says Mom, “but Dr. Ingalls’s robots are just better than mine.”
“And I can’t draw anymore,” adds Dad. “I’m like an empty ink bottle. I’m all out.”
I can’t believe this.
“Seriously?” I say. “You’re quitting? Both of you? You’re just giving up?”
Mom and Dad both nod, looking really tired. “Yeah,” they say. “We are.”
I gape at them, but can’t think of anything to say. Like Dad, I’m all out… of pep talks.
But then we hear a voice.
“Welcome to my world,” says Maddie. She’s talking to us from an iPad on Mom’s desk.
“What?” says Mom.
“Do you know how many times I’ve wanted to call it quits? To give up? Every time I go to the hospital! But if I quit, that means I’m giving up hope, too. And without hope, what do I have left? A very nice, very clean room and some equally nice, clean robots. But what if there’s a chance I can one day beat this disease? What if some brainy scientist out there finds a cure? What if the day they find that cure, I’m not around because I decided to call it quits when the going got tough? Well, as somebody once said, ‘When the going gets tough, the tough get going!’”
I nod. “Our gym teacher says that all the time.”
“Because he’s right. So, Mom?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Pick up that screwdriver. Make your final adjustments. Dad? Lend her a hand. E’s going to Notre Dame, right now, to play some robotic football. Because the only way to win this game is to be in it! Life isn’t a spectator sport!”
“Maddie’s right, you guys!” I say.
“We know!” says Dad.
“We taught her that!” adds Mom.
And, in a flash, they finish fixing E!
E and I will hurry back to the game in Joshua’s car. Mom and Dad will follow behind us in the van. Maddie will watch the rest of the game from her room, and if anything bad happens while we’re all away from home, she’ll call Dylan and Dave at the hospital. She has their phone number. It’s 9-1-1.
When I get back to the Stepan Center, the third quarter is just under way.
And SS-10K has already rung up another fourteen points.
The only player Trip has left is Hayseed, and he’s basically playing Keep Away.
The score is Indiana Robotics and Automaton Tech 70, Notre Dame Robotics Club 00.
“Excellent,” says E as he hustles into the gym. “We only need to score ten touchdowns and ten extra points!”
Trip sees us coming and calls a time-out. The referee blows his whistle.
There are ten minutes remaining in the third quarter; twenty-five minutes left in the whole game.
“We need to score a touchdown every two and a half minutes,” says E, who always does math much faster than me.
Mom and Dad take seats in the bleachers—right next to Dean Schilpp. That means they’re pretty close to all those big-deal alumni guys and right behind the IRAT bench.
“I’m so sorry your career has to end this way, Liz,” says Dean Schilpp.
“Hey, it’s not over till it’s over,” says Mom. “Isn’t that right, Dr. Ingalls?”
“Well, Lizzie,” says Dr. Ingalls, sort of smugly, “I believe overcoming a lead this large will prove mathematically impossible for your team.”
“Maybe. But as my son, Sammy, recently reminded me, with science, anything is possible.”
Wow.
Mom is quoting me. I think that’s a first.
I turn to E and say, “Go in there and fight, fight, fight!”
“Actually,” says E, “I prefer to start with a handshake.”
And he heads out to say hello to SS-10K.
“Wait!” I run after him. “Don’t let him touch you! If SS-10K scrambles your circuits again, we lose our last chance!”
E shoots me a wink and flashes me his new, extremely cool-looking football gloves.
“Mom didn’t want my hands getting cold,” he whispers. “She also applied a very thin rubberized coating over my entire body. I’m sealed up tighter than a microwavable shrink-wrapped sandwich.”
“You have lost the game, Eggbeater,” says SS-10K when the two bots meet at midfield.
“Really?” says E. “Sammy tells me there are still twenty-five minutes left to play.”
“Ample time for you to demonstrate how inferior your operating system truly is.”
E extends his hand and says, “May the best bot win.”
“You mean me? Of course I will prove triumphant, Eggbreath.”
“Sorry. You are incorrect. My name is E.”
E takes SS-10K’s hand and shakes it hard. A look of confusion lights up the evil eyes behind the big bot’s tinted visor.
“What’s the matter?” E asks with a smile. “Having trouble accessing my hard drive? Fascinating. I have no problem accessing yours.”
“Let’s play ball!” shouts the referee, who, I think, isn’t used to robot trash talk.
Since the IRAT team just scored, they have to kick off to E and Hayseed.
SS-10K boots the ball.
E catches it.
And then he takes off.
Who knew he could run so fast?
“In addition to my rubberized shell, Mom also gave me a turbo boost!” he hollers as he zips past me like a rocket.
Our cheering section leaps to its feet.
It’s only Mom, Dad, and a couple of her grad students, but they’re very loud and happy.
“Woo-hoo!” they all shout.
E made it to the end zone! He scored our first points of the game!
After doing a quick end zone dance, E tosses the ball to the referee.
“We need to move speedily,” he tells the official. “We have a lot of ground to make up. I need to score a touchdown every two point five minutes.”
Now it’s our turn to kick off. When one of the IRAT players catches E’s line-drive bullet of a ball, his chest gets dented. And he topples backward. On IRAT’S own three-yard line.
On the very next play, E slams into SS-10K as he’s dropping back to pass.
The IRAT robot’s red tackle lights blink. His motor cuts out.
“Safety!” shouts the referee, because the dummy froze in his own end zone.
That means we get another two points, plus IRAT has to kick off to us again.
The rest of the third quarter goes our way.
Every time E kicks off, another IRAT player bites the dust with a fresh dent dinged into his chest. Dr. Ingalls keeps sending in replacements, but they keep going down. It’s almost like they’re bowling pins.
Add in a few more boosts of E’s new turbo speed, and all of a sudden the game is wide open.
At the end of the third quarter, t
he scoreboard looks a lot better: Indiana Robotics and Automaton Tech 70, Notre Dame Robotics Club 39.
So, in the fourth quarter, the IRAT team decides it’s time to start playing even dirtier.
The next time E kicks off, SS-10K catches the ball and hovers maybe ten feet off the ground as he floats downfield.
“That’s against the rules!” I shout.
Joshua flips through his official rule book while E springs up to grab SS-10K’s feet as he streaks overhead. With a little help from Hayseed, E is able to tackle (okay, drag) SS-10K down to the ground—ten yards away from the goal line.
I turn to Joshua. “Tell the ref what you told me.”
“All bots must be in contact with the gym floor at all times,” he reads from the rule book.
“Really?” scoffs Dr. Ingalls. “That is such a restrictive rule. How can we ever hope to make giant technological leaps forward if we are forever hemmed in by such ridiculous regulations?”
“He’s right,” says Max Riley. “Rewrite the rule book. Let the bots fly if they can.”
Dean Schilpp turns to Mom. “Dr. Hayes? Your opinion on the flying-robot rule?”
Mom shrugs. “Fish got to swim, bots got to fly.”
Dean Schilpp stands up and addresses the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, in the fourth and final quarter of the Robot Bowl, flying and/or hovering will be allowed.”
The whole crowd “oohs” and “aahs.”
I look to Mom. I’m nervous. She isn’t. In fact, she’s smiling. Then she nods at Drone Malone.
Of course! I turn to my bench. “Malone? You’re in the game!”
The drone beeps and bloops excitedly at me. He is a bot of few words.
Meanwhile, E is adjusting something on his ankle.
“Are you okay?” I ask, worried that he sprained his leg gear leaping up like he did to snare SS-10K in midair.
“Fine and dandy. Especially since I now understand why Mom took so long making my repairs.”
“Huh?”
“She wanted to install a pair of what she called ‘maglev hover boots.’ I told her we were running late. She said, ‘Well, with these, you’ll be running on air if Dr. Ingalls tries to rewrite the rules like he always does.’ It made absolutely no sense at the time.”
I’m grinning like crazy. “Well, it sure does now!”
No wonder Mom took so much time fixing E. She was souping him up! Giving him all sorts of new features.
My whole game plan in the fourth quarter is what you might call an air attack, because we have two flying players. And one of them can cruise at an altitude of five thousand feet (though not in this gym).
With Hayseed hiking the ball, E playing quarterback, and Drone Malone catching everything that comes his way, we’re tossing touchdowns every time we snap the ball.
And when IRAT has the pigskin, Drone Malone and E are both blocking their aerial assault with something I like to call the iron-dome defense.
There’s only one minute left on the clock.
And we’re still four points behind!
But we have the ball.
SS-10K gets desperate and tries pulling some of his old tricks.
“I will warp your random access memory!” he screams, charging across the line of scrimmage on the next play like Frankenstein’s monster. “I will destroy your control functions as I did prior to the last time you visited Notre Dame!”
The whole crowd gasps.
Yep. The big bully is pretty loud, and he just basically made a public confession.
Dean Schilpp turns to Mom. “SS-10K sabotaged E? What Sammy said was true!”
I don’t let it go to my head. Because now we only have fifty-five seconds left to win this game, and SS-10K is out there going ballistic, chasing after E, who bobs and weaves and jukes and jives and scores another touchdown!
We’re winning!
And there are only forty-five seconds left on the clock.
“Put me in, Coach.” It’s Blitzen. “I’m feeling much better.”
“I’m not sure,” I say.
“It was a temporary mental meltdown,” says Blitzen. “A few extra volts surging through my brain. I shook it off. I’m good to go.”
I let Blitzen take the field with E, Drone Malone, and Hayseed.
We kick off.
The ball hits SS-10K in the chest and he ZHOOSH-CHUG-ZHOOSHES up the field with it, right toward Blitzen.
And Blitzen just sits there. Revving his wheels. Churning up a cloud of smoke.
Uh-oh. Maybe I shouldn’t have put him in. I’m thinking we’re going to lose the game in the final minute, when, all of a sudden, Blitzen blasts off!
I think that extra electricity he ate when they fizzled his circuits has totally recharged his batteries. He barrels down the field like a tank and slams squarely into SS-10K. The ball pops free. Hayseed falls on the fumble.
“My knees!” drones SS-10K loudly. “They have been permanently damaged. Dr. Ingalls, I warned you against using these cheap, junky parts!”
A man in a military uniform with lots of stripes and medals points at Dr. Ingalls.
“Your robots are useless, Professor Ingalls!” says the guy, who might be an army general. “We will be canceling our order with you immediately!”
Dr. Ingalls spits and sputters, but there’s nothing he can say.
Now there are only forty seconds left on the clock.
Smiling, I finally relax. Because we have the ball and the lead.
But forty seconds is still plenty of time for some people to do a lot of damage.
People like Eddie Ingalls and Penelope Pettigrew!
With only forty seconds left on the clock and the injured SS-10K out of the game, E elects to be a good sport and not run up the score.
So, on the next play he decides to “take a knee.”
That’s what they call it when you don’t actually run a play. You just take the ball and, once the clock starts up, you basically tackle yourself by kneeling down.
Which makes him an easy target for two of SS-10K’s biggest fans.
Suddenly, Eddie Ingalls and Penelope Pettigrew come charging at E with a bright orange bucket of Gatorade. They’re too fast for even him to move away!
“You’re going down, Eggbreath!” screams Penelope.
“This is for my twin sister, Betty!” shouts Eddie.
If Eddie and Penelope can short-circuit E before he uses the next play to take another knee, Dr. Icky Ingalls might be able to rally his other robots, steal the ball back, and have one last chance to score!
They swing back the sloshing bucket. Green liquid is splashing up and dribbling over the lip.
They aim for E’s head.
I can’t look!
Suddenly, someone screams, “No you don’t, galdern it!”
I peek open an eye.
It’s Hayseed! He dives between E and the bucket to take the hit.
The poor bot gets drenched. Circuits sizzle. Sparks sputter. Hayseed’s limbs start quivering like they’re loaded with Mexican jumping beans.
“Hasta la vista, y’all,” says Hayseed. And he conks out.
E stands up.
And it’s Maddie’s voice that comes out of his mouth. “Penelope Pettigrew, you should be ashamed of yourself. What did Ms. Tracey teach us about playing fair?”
“That it’s a stupid thing to do?” says Eddie.
“No,” says Maddie through E. “Winners never cheat and cheaters never win. You’re also supposed to say you’re sorry when you hurt somebody.”
“Ha!” sneers Penelope. “That thing on the floor is a robot. It’s not a ‘somebody.’”
“You are wrong, Miss Pettigrew,” says E, with his own voice. “He is somebody. He is my friend.”
E picks Hayseed up. Tucks him under his arm.
“Referee? Kindly restart the clock. We still have time to score a few more points.”
Once the ref clears Eddie and Penelope off the floor (and a janitor mops up the Gatorade pudd
le), Dean Schilpp gives the signal to restart the game clock.
She also gives Eddie Ingalls and his dad a very nasty look.
I don’t think she’s so crazy about the idea of Professor Icky heading up her robotics department anymore.
Meanwhile, with Blitzen blocking everything in his path, E puts the football into Hayseed’s limp hands and carries his broken friend across the goal line.
Yep. The final points of the Robot Bowl are officially scored by our conked-out gardener.
ND wins the game!
Mom keeps her job!
And, best of all, Maddie’s going back to school with E!
Then, impossible as it may seem, things get even better.
Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,” E says to his audience. “It’s time for the postgame show.”
He gently lowers Hayseed to the floor.
“Kindly turn your attention to the video monitors arrayed around the room.”
Turns out, when the two bots shook hands, E downloaded all sorts of digital data that SS-10K recorded on his hard drive over the past few weeks through his eyeball cams.
Now the whole world—well, everybody in the Stepan Center, including Mom’s boss and all those very important alumni—sees what I always suspected. SS-10K is a big phony.
First we’re treated to close-ups of all the framed photos of Eddie at Dr. Ingalls’s house.
“There is no twin?” says Max Riley. “The whole ‘substitute student’ thing was a sham and a charade?”
Dr. Ingalls doesn’t say anything.
Next, E projects raw footage of SS-10K’s heroic exploits. Most of it, however, is “before” stuff. Like, before the robot rescues the cat out of the tree, we see a guy in an IRAT lab coat putting the cat into the tree and duct-taping its paws to the branches.
We also see how E was framed at the zoo and the pet store and even the Studebaker Museum.
Robots Go Wild! Page 10
