Lots of Bots

by C. J. Richards

  George was tempted to go straight to Professor Droid, but the OCD-bot barely gave them a chance to breathe all afternoon. And anyway, after the disaster on the MOD manufacturing floor, George was pretty sure Droid wouldn’t give him the time of day.

  Finally it was five o’clock, and George switched off the vacuum cleaner with relief.

  “It’s bye for now, but feel no sorrow,” said the OCD-bot. “More dirt and dust to clean tomorrow!”

  “Can’t wait,” mumbled George.

  The elevator returned George and Jackbot to the ground floor. “Have a totally fantastic day!” it said cheerfully.

  They walked to the bus stop outside the TinkerTech building. Otto had told George he wouldn’t be there to pick him up—he was working late at the junkyard, as usual.

  “What a day,” George said.

  “Yes, it was!” Jackbot said dreamily. “I met the most beautiful robot in all the world. I think I’m in love!”

  “You can’t really be in love,” George said. “You’re a robot.”

  “So?” said Jackbot. “Do you think that because I’m a robot I have no heart?”

  “I know you have no heart,” said George. “I built you.”

  “Well, I have a lithium battery,” said Jackbot proudly. “And it’s filled with love for Cookie! Tell me, George—how can I prove my love to her?”

  “I don’t know,” George said. “Can’t you look it up? There’s all kinds of books about that sort of thing. Dating tips, relationship advice, romance how-to’s. I’m sure you could download an entire love library if you really wanted to.”

  “That’s a great idea, George!” Jackbot said. “I’m going to become an expert on love!”

  The robot-driven bus appeared and pulled up in front of them. It was crowded with people heading home after a hard day’s work. As George squeezed on with Jackbot, he heard snatches of conversation.

  “Have you ordered yours yet?”

  “Oh yes! I’ve ordered sets for the kids, too.”

  “Of course, it would be awful if they were the only ones without it.”

  “Gotta keep up with the times!”

  George managed a smile. It looked like the TinkerTech analysts were right—everyone wanted to own a MOD. Micron would be proud his invention was so popular.

  Wherever he was lurking.

  The thought made George shudder. Something told him that he hadn’t seen the last of Dr. Micron.

  “It’ll be like having an extra brain!” said a passenger next to George.

  “There sure is a lot riding on this,” George whispered to Jackbot.

  “What?” said Jackbot. He’d been downloading files; George could tell by the faraway look in his eyes. “Oh, I know. If I can just impress Cookie . . .”

  “I meant the MOD launch,” said George.

  Jackbot nodded absently. “You know, I’ve just processed every known text referencing love and I’ve come to a conclusion.”

  “Which is?”

  “Love is confusing,” said Jackbot. “For instance, according to more than one source, love makes the world go round.” Jackbot cocked his head. “But that’s not true. The world goes round because of angular momentum.”

  “It’s just an expression,” George said.

  “People should say what they mean!” said Jackbot. “Anyway, another book said you can write poetry and send it to the loved one. I’m going to try that, George. I’m going to write love poetry!”

  “Well, I hope you’re a better poet than the OCD-bot,” George said. “Come on, this is our stop.”

  When they got home, there was loud music coming from the living room. George frowned. What was going on in there? He opened the front door to find Otto, with the radio on, sitting comfortably in an armchair and drinking a large mug of coffee. A half-eaten hamburger and a pile of steaming french fries sat on a plate by his side.

  “Hey, Otto,” said George, surprised. “You’re home early!”

  “I certainly am,” Otto said, beaming.

  George hadn’t seen him smile like that for a long time. Well, ever. “You’re . . . in a good mood.”

  “Yes, indeedy!” said Otto.

  “Are you in love?” asked Jackbot.

  Otto laughed. “No, I’m not in love—except with life! Had a real good piece of news today.”

  “What happened?” George asked.

  “Someone offered to buy my junkyard!” Otto said. “For a lot of money. We’re talking big bucks!” He stood up and grabbed George by the shoulders. “You hear that, kid? We’re rich!”

  “Rich?” said George, mystified. “But the junkyard can’t be worth that much, can it? The whole place is falling to pieces, and it’s in a rundown part of town—”

  “Someone spotted its potential,” said Otto, getting up and starting to dance around the room to the music, to George’s astonishment. “This lawyer type came into the yard today and said he represents a client who wants to buy the land. Made me an offer right then and there! It’s going to change our lives, George! No more hand-me-down robots for you!”

  “I beg your pardon!” Jackbot said.

  “Well, except for you, Jackbot,” Otto replied.

  George didn’t know what to say. “That sounds . . . great!” he finally managed.

  “So, how was your first day at TinkerTech?” Otto asked.

  “Eventful,” George said.

  “It was life-changing!” said Jackbot.

  “What’s with him?” asked Otto, jerking his thumb at Jackbot.

  “He thinks he’s in love.”

  “I am in love!” said Jackbot. “With the most beautiful robot in the world!”

  Otto laughed. “Now I’ve heard it all. The juicer’s got a crush on me too.” He laughed at his own joke.

  “Otto,” George said. He sat, and his uncle returned to his easy chair. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Ask away,” said Otto, stuffing a couple of fries into his mouth.

  “Mom and Dad—they used to work at TinkerTech, right?”

  Otto stopped chewing and swallowed hard. “Um, that’s right. I think they did.”

  “You think?” repeated George. “Or you know?”

  Otto looked uncomfortable. “I’m pretty sure. I mean—yes, they did. They worked there.”

  “And when was that, exactly?” asked George.

  “A long time ago,” Otto said, sighing.

  “But can’t you remember exactly? I looked them up at TinkerTech today—and there’s no record of them. How could that be, if they really did work there?”

  “No idea,” Otto said. “It’s a mystery. You’ll find life’s full of mysteries as you get older, George, and some of them just can’t be solved. Put it out of your mind, boy. Here, have a french fry.”

  George was about to argue, but he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

  “I’ll get it!” said Jackbot. “It might be Cookie!”

  It wasn’t. Jackbot returned with Anne and her robot dog, Sparky.

  “Anne!” George said, jumping up from his chair. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

  “Yes, as am I!” Jackbot chimed in. He clasped Anne’s hand in his pincer, and stared directly into her eyes. “‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?’”

  Anne snorted. “What’s with you?”

  “No, I can’t, because ‘Thou art more lovely and more temperate.’” Jackbot contrived.

  “I think your robot’s gone off the rails again,” Anne whispered to George.

  “That was a bit of Shakespeare,” Jackbot said. “One of his sonnets. Do you feel like running away with me now?”

  Anne’s eyebrows rose. “I do feel like running away, but from you, not with—”

  “See?” Jackbot hissed to George, interrupting her. “I think this is going to work! All I have to do is write a love poem telling Cookie how I feel, and she’ll fall head over heels for me!”

  Anne gave George a questioning look, and he shook his head. “I’l
l explain later,” he said.

  “Have a fry!” said Otto, offering Anne the plate. “Have a whole plate of them! After today, I can afford to buy all the fries in town!”

  “Really?” asked Anne, taking a handful. “What happened?”

  “Someone bought my junkyard! For a whole truckload of cash!”

  “Wow,” Anne said, munching. “I just came by to see what happened on George’s first day.”

  George hesitated. If he said that Professor Droid had ignored him and allowed him to be demoted to cleaning assistant, it would sound like he was complaining about her dad. “It was great,” he said. “Just great.”

  “I knew you’d love it!” Anne said. “Anyway, my dad’s having a barbecue this weekend to celebrate the MOD launch, and I thought you and Jackbot might like to come.”

  At last, something good was happening today! “We’d love to!” said George.

  “A barbecue, eh?” said Otto, sitting up straighter. Out of his uncle’s eyeline, George shook his head vigorously. There was no way his uncle would fit in.

  “You can come too if you like,” Anne said politely.

  George sighed.

  “Thanks. I will!” Otto said.

  “You know it’ll be full of techy people, don’t you?” George said. “All those nerds from TinkerTech, talking about boring robots and things.”

  “So?” Otto asked. “I can hold my own with those big shots! I’m the best mechanic in town!”

  “Will Cookie be there?” asked Jackbot.

  “Who is Cookie?” said Anne.

  “The most beautiful robot in the world,” said Jackbot dreamily.

  “Is Patricia Volt invited?” said George.

  Anne nodded. “The Volts are pretty important at TinkerTech.”

  “Then Cookie will be there too,” said George. “She’s Patricia’s new personal bot.”

  Otto stood up, spilling crumbs on the floor. “I think I’ll buy myself a new outfit. Now that I’ve sold the yard, I can get myself a whole new wardrobe!”

  That reminded George of something he’d been meaning to ask. “What’s going to happen to all the stuff in the junkyard?”

  “Not my problem,” Otto said, shrugging. “The new guy’s going to get rid of it, I guess.”

  A wave of sadness hit George. He’d spent countless days at the junkyard in the past, tinkering with circuitry and searching for parts. His uncle’s junk pile was George’s gold mine, and it hurt him to think it would be gone forever. After all, Jackbot was built almost entirely out of scrap from that yard.

  “Do you mind if I go and have a look around?” George asked. “See if there’s anything worth saving?”

  “Sure, go nuts,” Otto said, tossing a big jangling bunch of keys over his shoulder. They hit Jackbot on the head. “I gave the new owner my keys, but I always keep a spare or two handy.”

  “Gee, thanks,” said Jackbot.

  “Do you want to come?” George asked Anne.

  “Yeah, we’ll come. Won’t we, boy?” said Anne. The electronic dog barked, then farted. “Sparky!” said Anne. “Manners!”

  “I’d rather stay here, if that’s okay with you, George,” Jackbot said. “I want to work on my poem for Cookie. I wish her name were easier to rhyme, though. If only she’d been called Sue! ‘Sue, Sue, I love you true . . .’”

  “So, what exactly is wrong with him?” Anne asked when Jackbot was out of sight.

  “Long story,” George said.

  Dusk was falling by the time they reached the junkyard. Masses of black clouds rolled in the darkening sky, and lonesome crows cawed from the bare branches of trees. The temperature had dropped by several degrees, and George shivered as he fumbled with the padlock on the tall, rusty gate. Behind the chainlink fence, junk was stacked up in high, teetering piles that in the twilight looked like massive monster robots. Towering over everything was a crane with a giant magnet, used for lifting and moving broken-down cars. It looked like a metallic dinosaur.

  “Kind of spooky, isn’t it?” Anne said, looking around nervously.

  George knew what she meant, but didn’t admit it. “There’s nothing to worry about,” he said, keeping his voice light. “No one’s here except us.”

  The padlock opened at last. “After you!” said George.

  “No, after you,” said Anne.

  The yard was filled with ancient, rusting cars, motorbikes, fridges, stoves, lawnmowers, washing machines, towers of defunct computers, and various twisted bits of metal that even George didn’t recognize. Over the years, as Terabyte Heights had slowly become more and more robotic, Otto’s Grotto was the place where old appliances came to die.

  “Wow!” said Anne. “This place is a real dump!”

  “I guess,” George said, feeling suddenly defensive.

  “I mean, a really cool dump . . .” Anne added, after seeing the look on George’s face.

  George stared at the junkyard with affection. After the disastrous day at TinkerTech, it felt good to be back in familiar surroundings. After all, he hadn’t needed high-tech labs and state-of-the-art equipment to prove he was a great robot designer.

  As they walked down a narrow lane between two rickety towers, their footsteps echoed in the silence of the evening. George switched on his flashlight. At the end of the lane was a mountain of scrap iron. George spotted a rusting wheelbarrow and pulled it free. The heap of iron tipped dangerously, then settled again. “This’ll come in handy if we find something worth taking,” George said.

  “But what are we looking for?” Anne asked.

  “Anything that looks useful,” George said.

  He began to dig around in the pile, and Anne followed suit. “How about this?” she asked, pulling out a metal tool.

  “Nice! An adjustable wrench,” George said. “Put it in the wheelbarrow.”

  “Woof!” said Sparky. “Woof, woof, woof!” His head went up and down and his iron tail wagged.

  “Hey, look, his Fetch program’s been activated! He thinks this is a game,” Anne said. “Go on, Sparky—fetch!”

  She drew back her arm and hurled the wrench. Sparky scampered after it. The wrench bounced and clanked along the ground before disappearing under a stack of cars. The robot dog squirmed in after it. George heard a scrabbling sound from beneath the pile of cars. Then Sparky started to whimper.

  “Oh, no,” Anne moaned. “He’s stuck!” They ran to the car stack. George pulled away a dirty tarp that was hanging on the bottom of the pile and shined a flashlight beneath. Sparky was whining with panic. “Sparky!” Anne called. “Lie down flat!”

  The robot dog obeyed. George and Anne got down on their bellies and, reaching into the darkness, grabbed a paw each and pulled Sparky to safety. He still had the adjustable wrench in his mouth, and looked as if he was grinning.

  “You silly dog!” Anne said.

  George got up and dusted himself off. Suddenly he stopped moving and stared at the bottom car, no longer obscured by the tarp.

  No. It couldn’t be.

  He turned the flashlight on it and gasped. It was. He took a step closer, a chill crawling over his body.

  “George? What’s wrong?” Anne asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

  “That . . . car,” George said slowly. “The Wheeltech Prodigy. It was my parents’ car. I’m sure of it.”

  “But—but there must be hundreds of old Prodigys,” Anne stammered. “They were one of the first smartcars on the market, weren’t they? How can you be sure it’s theirs?”

  “I recognize it,” George said. “I have an old photo of it in my scrapbook, loaded up for a camping trip to Phish Lake. It was pale blue, just like this. And look!” He shone the flashlight on the back of the car—and there was a faded sticker that read I LEFT MY HEART AT PHISH LAKE.

  “Wow,” Anne said. She looked like she was full of questions, but didn’t say anything more. George knew she was curious. He’d never told her how they had died.

  “It’s okay, I don
’t mind talking about it,” George said. “My parents died in a car accident—they were driving out of Terabyte Heights and lost control of the car. It swerved off the side of the road and fell into the river. There’s a safety barrier there now, I think.” George touched the scratched surface of the car door and swallowed the lump in his throat. “I never would have seen this if I hadn’t pulled that tarp off to find Sparky. I had no idea Otto even had the car—he never told me it was here.”

  “Well, why would he?” said Anne. “He probably figured you didn’t want to be reminded about what happened.”

  “Maybe not before,” George muttered. “But now I need to know the truth.”

  Sparky was snuffling around under the Prodigy and barked again. “What is it, boy?” Anne said.

  George shone his flashlight beneath the car, and saw something shiny reflect the light back toward him. He got down on his hands and knees for a closer look.

  “Well?” asked Anne.

  George wasn’t sure what he was looking at. “It looks like a cover, some sort of hatch on top of the ground!”

  He was trying to squeeze closer when he felt a vibration coming from his pocket. Still on his belly, he pulled out his marble. It was glowing bright blue and reverberating with a low hum. It looked strange and magical in the darkness, like a miniature planet in his palm.

  Anne’s eyes widened. “What’s that?”

  “Something my dad gave me before he died,” George said, and explained about the strange message that appeared when he was first inside TinkerTech.

  Anne stared at the glowing marble with wonder. “So you think Project Mercury might be something your parents worked on?” she said.

  “I can’t be sure,” George admitted. “But I think Micron might know.”

  Anne’s jaw clenched at the mention of his name.

  “The marble lit up red today when I was outside his old office,” George continued.

  He struggled to edge closer. “We need to get to that hatch. Can you shine the flashlight while I hold the marble near it?”

  They both lay down flat and George crawled on his elbows toward the hatch. The marble’s color intensified. He banged his head on the underside of the car. “Ouch!”