The Winter of the Robots (20 page)

“Oh crap crap crap crap crap,” said Rocky.

“I know,” said Oliver.

They were on the wrong row of units, but presumably would try every door before they gave up. If we were going to cook up a plan, it would have to be quick.

The key turned in a lock. One of the officers pumped his fist as the other slid the door open. They stared in disappointment
and confusion at battered furniture and overstuffed boxes of junk. It was the unit belonging to that family I’d helped. One of the cops took a toy out—a stuffed elephant in overalls—and gave it a curious look. Whatever the cop wanted to know, the elephant wasn’t talking. He dropped it back into the box, stepped out, and closed the door. They went to the management office for a few seconds, then got in their cars and drove away.

“What happened?” Rocky asked. “That wasn’t Sergei’s key?”

“Or one key opens multiple units,” said Oliver.

“In that case, they’ll be back,” said Rocky.

“I’m sure they will be,” I agreed. “We have to move the robot.”

“I have a better idea,” said Oliver. “Let’s finish this tonight.”

We stopped in at Sidney’s. It was a slow evening—just Sid and a few regulars, including Dan Clouts.

“Get at least an inch an hour until tomorrow noon,” Dan was telling Sid in his booming voice. “It’ll melt down into slush, then freeze up. Roads will be a hockey rink by tomorrow morning, then you get snow on top of that.” He shook his head. “I love Minnesota!”

I felt my back twinge at the mere thought of dealing with that much wet, heavy sludge when I got home.

“This sucks,” I muttered.

“No, it’s
perfect
,” Oliver whispered. “The Nor-Stor-All will be deserted.”

“Plus school will be canceled,” Rocky added. “We can work all night if we have to.”

“Good points, but there’s another problem,” I told them. “I haven’t finished programming the robot.”

“So finish it,” said Oliver. “You have the laptop. We’ll go work on the actuators while you do that.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Rocky.

“Sure.” I wasn’t at all confident I could finish the code in time, but I would try. I took out the laptop.

We ate quickly—Rocky settling for the meatless veggie-stuffed burger once again, Oliver and I munching on Sid classics. He read over my shoulder and gave advice while I typed, which kind of slowed me down.

“Oh! I’ve got to call my parents,” said Rocky. She got on her cell phone and called home, left a message saying she was at a friend’s house. She called her friend to let her know she was a cover story.

Oliver called his own mom and said he was snowed in at Dmitri’s house. He then texted Dmitri to let him know.

“Your house is too close,” he explained. “Mom would just tell me to bundle up and walk home. You should say you’re across the river for the same reason.”

“I can’t,” I said. “They don’t want me hanging around with anybody named Volkov.”

“That’s dumb,” said Rocky.

“I know.”

“Do you have any friends across town?” she asked.

“No, you are pretty much all of my friends in the world, right now. You two.”

“Oh.” Rocky played with her phone. Oliver munched on his burger.

Dan was getting bundled up to head into the cold. He nodded hello at us, but looked like he was in a hurry to get out.

“I’ll face the music later. We have to focus on the robot. How much more time do you need with the actuators?”

“About an hour, maybe closer to two,” said Oliver. “Then all we have to do is …” He smacked his forehead with his palm and groaned.

“What?” asked Rocky.

“We have to hang the wrecking ball,” he said.

Dan had the door open, paused to stare in wonder at the fast-falling snow, and went outside.

“Hey, wait!” I shouted. I ran out into the snow and caught up with him.

Dan wasn’t excited about extra driving in the snow, but he said he had just the thing. He left with Rocky and Oliver while I stayed at the diner and slogged through the code on the laptop. The different parts of the program both worked—one to find and wallop dinobot-sized machines, the other to explore the territory without nose-diving into the river—but I was still trying to make the two parts work together. More importantly, if a giant robot appeared, I wanted Cutie to stay the heck away from it.

The snow kept falling, and Sidney’s emptied.

“I’d like to close up and get out of here,” said Sid.

“I know, I know. Is the Laundromat open?” I could work there.

“They started closing at six after what happened to Ted.”

I groaned. I couldn’t work in the full brunt of the snow. Could I squat in the corner of the storage unit?

“Look, kid. It’s OK if you hang around. The door will lock behind you. You guys stay safe, all right?”

“We will.”

“You know, Dan has told me more than he probably should’ve,” he said. “I know you kids are building some kind of contraption out of spare parts.”

“A robot,” I said. “A big one.”

“I used to build stuff when I was a kid. We had this tiny house but a great big yard, and I had to mow it. I wanted a rider mower, but my dad said they cost too much and weren’t worth it. So I tried to make one out of a bike, a toboggan, and a manual mower.”

“Uh-oh.” It wasn’t hard to see where the story was going.

Sid pulled up his shirt to show me part of a long, ugly scar coursing across his side. “Some things are obvious in a hospital room that aren’t obvious in the design phase,” he said. “I guess I’m saying, try to think ahead to what might land you there yourself. But whatever you’re doing, as long as nobody and nothing gets hurt, I say go for it. We didn’t get to the moon because people were chicken.” He grabbed his coat and headed for the back door. “It’s OK to leave the lights on,” he said. “Everything else is turned off and put away.”

“Thanks!” I shouted as he banged out the back door.

I worked for another hour, then trudged back to the Nor-Stor-All in ankle-deep snow. I had never seen the city more deserted. The storage-unit door was wide open, the full-sized crocodile robot pushed out into the snow.

Dan was long gone, with whatever machine he’d used,
but the tail now had a stinger. The full size and weight of the thing was more evident when it was hanging overhead.

“Gimme,” said Oliver, reaching out for the laptop.

I gave it to him. He’d already nested the logic controller deep in the car, packed into a pet carrier crammed full of bubble wrap and buckled into the backseat. A USB cord was threaded through the layers of padding and poked out the side. Oliver plugged the laptop into it and uploaded the code. When he was done, he stowed the laptop in the shed and pulled the door closed.

“Now what?” asked Rocky.

“We go to war,” said Oliver.

“I mean, how do we get to Nomicon?” said Rocky.

“Oh yeah.” I’d programmed that thing for robot battles. Not for driving around. It was hardly going to roll neatly out of the parking lot, keep right, and use a turn signal.

“Crap. I guess we have to drive it.” Oliver peered into the car. “Do either of you know how to drive a stick?”

We looked at each other. Rocky tentatively raised her hand. “Kind of?”

“Let’s roll,” said Oliver.

We piled into the car. The Mustang moved in lurches at first, as Rocky figured out the pedals and clutch. She cruised out onto First Street, drove a block, and turned on her signal at West Bank Road.

“What are you waiting for?” Oliver asked. “There’s nobody coming.”

“But I’m turning left.”

“You don’t have to stop to turn left if there’s no one coming.”

“Hey, I don’t know the rules,” she said. “It’s not like I have a license.” She turned the wheel, punched the gas, and we skidded through a clumsy turn. She barreled down the middle of West Bank Road, Cutie’s blade plowing the snow out of our path.

“This is pretty awesome,” I said.

She turned again. The car came to a jarring halt as the blade hit the pylons—the motor groaned as the back tires spun in the snow.

“Uh-oh. There’s no traction,” said Rocky. “I have to reverse.” We jolted backward. Rocky lurched back and forth until Cutie’s blade had plowed out a path, then rolled at the pylons again. This time the back tires dug in while the blade plowed under the pylons and rolled them out of the way.

“Powerful car,” said Oliver. “Lots of, uh, horsepower or whatever.”

“Yeah, it must have a lot of cylinders,” I said.

“Nice car talk, guys.” Rocky turned on the headlights as we plunged down Half Street.

She braked when we reached the fence, and maneuvered the car to clear the snow in front of the gate. She stopped, the car’s nose pointing at the gate, but left the motor running.

“This is where we all get out,” she said. “Is the robot turned on?”

“It will be.” Oliver threw a switch, and we all leaped out, slamming the doors behind us.

Cutie idled, her headlights cutting through the fence and lighting up the junk beyond.

“Well?” shouted Oliver.

“It’s on a timer,” I shouted back. I set the program to pause sixty seconds, so whoever threw the switch could get safely out of the car. I started counting down. When I got to thirty, my phone rang.

I fished the phone out of my pocket and saw the number. I hit the button and shouted over the roar of Cutie’s giant engine.

“Hey, I’m OK. Sorry I didn’t call sooner.”

“Jimmy, thank God you’re OK.” It was Mom. “What’s that sound?”

“It’s just a car motor,” I told her.

Whatever she said was lost in noise as Cutie charged the fence.

The gate smacked down into the snow. Cutie rolled over it and into the piles of junk, sending a wake of snow and debris off to the side. She paused and waited for the enemy to approach.

“Jim!” Mom shouted. “What was that? Are you OK?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” I told her. “Look, I’m OK, but I might not be home until late. I love you guys.” I turned off the phone and shoved it back in my pocket.

Something creaked and groaned down by the river. Cutie’s engine revved up as her sound sensors put her on alert. A huge crash made the ground shudder, followed by another, and another, regular but unsteady. The golem was coming to greet us.

The three of us waited by the fence and watched. What I saw first was the head—a massive ball of smoky glass, like the lump I’d found in the building. From deep within it sparkled blue fire that lit up the night.

“What is that, a Tesla ball?” asked Rocky.

“I think it’s a giant battery,” said Oliver, his voice full of awe.

Then we saw the robot’s arms—tentacles of hammered metal, lashing like whips. Each ended in a cube-shaped fist of white or silver: old washers, dryers, and squat refrigerators. There were eight of them, two per side of the body, which was made of corrugated steel from the shell of an old train car.

“It’s an octopus,” I said.

“Actually, it’s a dodecahedrapod,” said Oliver. “Twelve arms and legs.”

“Whatever.”

The golem reached the top of the embankment. Cutie charged.

“No!” cried Rocky. Cutie didn’t stand a chance against this monster.

I realized there was also a dinobot there. Cutie knocked it sideways and sped on. She spun around just as she reached the bank. Her tail caught the golem in the kneecap and made it wobble. I felt a momentary hope that the golem would tumble backward, down the embankment, but it stomped on and rained blows on Cutie’s head. It got three or four licks in before she sped away.

The golem also flattened the dinobot in the process, but compared with this thing, the dinobots were a mere nuisance. In the halo of blue light from the golem, I noticed another dinobot perched on a large drum, intently watching the fight. I stepped over to the fallen gate.

Rocky reached to grab me, but missed.

“What are you doing?”
she shouted.

“I want to see something!” I crossed the gate into the junkyard, reached down, and made a snowball. I hurled it at the drum and hit it dead center. The dinobot leaped up and came after me. Cutie screeched by, scooped the dinobot up with her shovel, and drove it into a snowy pile of lumber. She turned, dropped the quarter-ton weight, and flattened the dinobot.

The golem stopped cold, midstep. Just as I hoped.

“They’re cheating!” I shouted.

“What?”

“The dinobots are cheating. Their robot is remote-controlled! If we can knock out all of the little ones, we’ll stop the big one.” The golem was still frozen, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t be for much longer.

“Knock them out how?” Rocky asked. “They fire lasers, remember?”

“Keep them moving so Cutie can see them. She’s programmed to take them out.”

Cutie’s engine quieted to a purr as she rolled back into the middle and waited for more prey. Oliver and Rocky walked over the gate to join me. I reached down and packed another snowball.

The golem twitched. One of the other dinobots had taken the reins.

“Oh, and another thing,” I said, pointing at the golem. “Watch out for that thing.”

It roared back to life and sent Cutie on retreat. She
pushed through some junk toward the left side of the embankment. The golem stomped after her. Cutie reached the ledge, turned and roared back toward the golem. She suffered a few hits before turning again and heading back to the ledge. She was cornered! There was a gap between the robot and the bank where she could escape, but she couldn’t find it. I cursed my lousy program.

I heard a crunching noise. I turned and saw Rocky swing a pole at another dinobot. It scuttled away from an upended pile of wood, wheeled around, and took aim—but it had landed right in the crease. Cutie saw it and charged, scooting right by the golem. She buried the robot under a pile of junk and turned around. The dinobot scuttled out of the debris, just to get crushed by Cutie’s wrecking ball.

I held up three fingers, then one. Three down, one to go.

The last dinobot zipped out of hiding. Cutie gave chase, the dinobot hurrying toward the right side of the embankment. It leaped and landed on a fallen tree.

It’s trying to lure her off the ledge, I realized. She braked, but too late. Her rear tires went off the ledge as she spun around in the snow.