The Winter of the Robots (12 page)

Our display was popular, and neither of us was able to sneak away and see Dmitri and Rocky’s robot. We didn’t get a chance until the contest. We’d guessed correctly—it was something between an otter and a car. The front two-thirds of a model car had been hinged to the back two-thirds of
another, making a stretch limo that could gyrate. The robot’s head had a snapping hood-mouth with nails for teeth; the tail had a peaked fin swinging a tiny wrecking ball. It looked more like an alligator than an otter, but I knew what they were going for.

When Rocky saw the octopus, I didn’t see even a flicker of recognition in her eyes. She had a good poker face.

We used a corner of the gym for the contest, with no official ring or borders. A kid used an app on his phone as the timer. It rang like a boxing bell, and the match was under way.

The alligator came at our octopus and proved to be quicker and more agile than it looked, twisting wildly, the jaw chomping and gnashing, the tail swinging threateningly. It was a cool robot, but it wasn’t well programmed. They’d just pointed it in the right direction and hoped for the best.

The match didn’t last long. Polly sensed a danger was coming and collapsed. The gator started to roll over her and triggered a sensor on her head. She kicked up and skittered away, sending the other robot tumbling. It landed on its back and kicked, helpless as a turtle. The crowd clapped a little, but I could tell they were disappointed. They wanted more of a fight.

Polly decided it was safe and crept closer to finish the job. This was the toughest part of the program, for me—knowing when the opponent was helpless. Polly could track
the other robot and know when it wasn’t moving, but she would be in trouble if it was playing possum. I’d need to improve that before the next competition.

Since Polly was a lightweight robot, she couldn’t really pack a punch. Her only real weapon was herself, leaping up and tossing her opponent like a sumo wrestler. Practically everything I could think of as a weapon was against the rules—flame, projectiles, electric charges, or globs of glue. But Oliver’s mom had given me an idea. Polly ran circles around the gator, spraying loops and whorls of fishing line. The gator did get one good lick in, a random swing of its spiked tail catching one of Polly’s legs. There was a raucous hooray from the crowd, who were thirsty for more action, but a moment later the gator was wrapped up like a housefly.

“I think that’s a match,” said Mr. Cole.

“Lame battle,” said one of the spectators as the small crowd wandered off.

Dmitri carefully disentangled his robot while Rocky looked on.

“Cool otter,” I told her.

“You knew it wasn’t an alligator,” she said softly. “We named it Viddy. It’s the Russian word for
otter
.” She then took an icicle and stabbed me in the heart.

“Oliver’s spider is beautiful,” she said.

“It’s all political correctness,” Oliver complained. The winning science-fair projects had to do with pollution, assistive technology, and solar power.

“You mean they favored positive applications of science?” Rocky asked.

“Exactly,” he said.

We were at Sidney’s on Saturday afternoon. We were the first ones there, and Sid was still busy getting things set up. He finally noticed us and came over.

“What can I get you guys today?” He pushed his paper hat back, ready with his pencil and notepad.

“DangeRoo,” I said. The burger stuffed with cream cheese and jalapeños.

“One Roo. Livin’ on the edge,” said Sid.

“Pig in a Pocket,” said Dmitri. The one stuffed with bacon and cheddar.

“Sidney’s classic,” said Oliver.

“Roo, Pig, and a Sid. What about the lady?”

Rocky was staring hopelessly at the menu. “Don’t you have a veggie burger?”

“You want a burger stuffed with veggies?” Sid asked, his face puzzled.

“No, I mean a vegetarian patty.”

“I’ve heard rumors there’s such a thing, but not here. How about Swiss cheese, mushrooms, peppers, and onions on a bun?”

“That sounds pretty good,” she said.

“One Supersid, no pocket,” he said, heading back to the kitchen.

“So tell me about your robot,” said Dmitri. “Where did you get the legs? I searched all the robot suppliers on the Web and couldn’t find anything like them.”

“We’ve got a source,” said Oliver.

“Lucky you,” said Dmitri. “Can I buy some supplies from your secret source?”

“Whoa, whoa, I didn’t hear that!” Sid said, returning with our Cokes.

“It’s nothing illegal,” I told him. “We’re talking about robots.”

“Oh man. You know there used to be a robot factory down the road?”

“Yeah. We know,” said Oliver. “My dad used to work there.”

“Oh.” Sid saw Oliver’s grave face. “Sad story. I’ll go make your burgers.” He split again.

“Secret parts or not, your robot was really cool,” said Dmitri.

“Your robot was pretty neat, too,” said Oliver. “We
should have taken first and second place. Nobody cares about pollution or solar power.”

“I do,” said Rocky.

“Well, fine,” said Oliver. “In the bigger sense, so do I. But those projects didn’t do anything new.”

“I don’t see how it makes a difference,” said Dmitri. “All you get for winning is a ribbon, anyway.”

“But the winner goes on to district,” said Oliver. “And the winners from there can go on to a national competition. Some of them get scholarships and sponsorships. It can be worth tens of thousands of dollars.”

“OK, but I don’t see those prizes going to toy robots,” said Dmitri.

“You’re right.” Oliver fumed. “But some of us aren’t in it for the money.” Dmitri didn’t know how much those honors meant to Oliver.

“Well,
I’m
in it for the money,” said Dmitri. He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to us. “And I want a rematch.”

Oliver glanced at it. It was a flyer for the robot competition at the mall. “We’re already entering,” he said. “Jim’s entering this year’s robot, and I’m entering last year’s robot. With some modifications, of course.”

“Oh. Well, I just found out about it. I wonder if Viddy has a chance?” He started to fold it up again.

“Wait,” I said. I took the flyer back. Dmitri had an updated version. “Check out the bottom line,” I told Oliver.

He read it aloud: “ ‘Featuring special guest judge, robotics expert Peter Clayton.’ Hmm. Small world.”

“What?” Rocky asked.

“We kind of know the judge,” I whispered. “Oliver’s mom recently dumped him.”

“Seriously?” Rocky asked. “Will he hold it against you?”

“He’ll be objective,” said Oliver. He pointed at me. “You’re the one that has to worry. He knows Polly has high-end parts from a secret source.” He stopped short of telling them Peter
was
the secret source.

Sid arrived with our orders. Dmitri tore into his burger. “This is really good,” he said. “I never knew about this place.”

“I saw the sign a million times but never came in,” said Rocky.

“My mom says my dad used to eat here all the time, back when he worked at Nomicon,” said Oliver. He looked up at Sid. “Did you know him?”

“I was still in high school when that place closed. But I remember how funny it was when the science geeks came in. They looked kind of out of place with the grease monkeys and construction workers.”

“How long has this place been here?” asked Rocky, walking right into Sid’s trap. He gave her the whole since-1955 story, telling us that the original Sid, his granddad, ran the place for twenty-odd years, and his own dad ran it for another twenty.

“That kangaroo was my idea.” He pointed at the
neon sign. “When Dad took over, he tried to modernize the place and wanted a new sign. I guess I was learning about Australia at the time, because I came up with that. Sydney is the biggest city in Australia. They have kangaroos, and kangaroos have pockets. I was pretty proud of myself.”

“Hey, we saw the original sign!” she told him.

“No kidding?” Sid looked skeptical. “Dad got rid of all that stuff years ago. He was tired of it taking up space in the storeroom.”

“It’s just down the road,” she said. “There’s a junkyard there.”

I shot her a look. She seemed confused, but got that she should quit talking.

“The place is all locked up,” I said. “Barbed-wire fence. No trespassing signs.”

“Ah well. Would’ve been cool to get it back.” Sid returned to the kitchen.

“So, about these robot battles,” Dmitri said to Oliver. “Do you think we’d stand a chance?”

“Not against me,” said Oliver frankly. “And Jim’s robot already beat you.”

“What’s third place?”

“I think it’s a gift card to Lego.”

“Alex would love that,” he said. “I’m in.”

“Don’t I get to do anything?” Penny asked.

“Huh?” I was on the computer, updating Polly’s program.

“This is supposed to be
our
robot, but you’ve done
everything
.”

“That’s not true. You’ve helped a lot.”

“Not lately.”

I sighed. “Do you think you can work on the program?” The code had grown a lot more complex since we’d started.

“I programmed Celeste to beat Polly,” she reminded me.

“Fine.” I needed to work on the robot itself, anyway—giving Polly weapons. I explained what I wanted, a feint attack and retreat that would test if other robots were really vulnerable or playing possum.

“Just copy this code and change this line,” I explained.

“I got it, I got it,” she said. She sat down.

“Will we be able to beat Oliver’s robot?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“It’s going to be really fast and really strong and really smart,” she said.

“I know, but maybe its strengths will be its weakness,” I said.

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. I heard it in a kung-fu movie.” I went to arm our octopus.

Mom gave Penny and me a ride to the mall on the day of the tournament. Penny was wearing a gaudy plastic rainbow bracelet with a dangling pink heart.

“What’s that for?” Mom asked.

“It’s my good-luck charm,” said Penny. “Not that we need it, because we have the best robot.”

“Well, it’s been really great to see you kids working together on something,” said Mom. “Even if I don’t understand what this is all about.”

“It’s fun, too,” said Penny.

“Yeah,” I agreed. It
was
fun, but I was still focused on winning the prize money.

The competition was in a big atrium in the east hallway. There was a stage and circular seating like a theater, with plenty more room for people to stand and watch the show. The place was packed when we got there. There were over twenty entries for the younger kids using remote-controlled robots, and the older kids had almost forty entries. There were only eight contestants entered in the autonomous category. I felt pretty good until I saw the lineup posted on the wall.

I tapped the last name on the list. “I met this guy. He makes Oliver look like a dunce.”

“Nobody makes Oliver look like a dunce,” said Rocky.

“He makes Oliver
feel
like a dunce, then,” I whispered. I wondered why he even entered. He was probably in it for the glory, same as Oliver.

“He has to play by the same rules as the rest of us,” said Dmitri.

“I’m just saying. His robot is going to be amazing.”

We saw Oliver across the ring, making some last-minute adjustments to his robot. Particularly scary were Robbie’s new arms, which were long and stout, and had fists the size of oilcans. I went over to talk to him.

“Hey,” I said. “Did you notice who entered?”

“Nope.”

I pointed out Rolf, who was carrying a black case and looked supremely confident. Oliver’s eyes widened.

“How is that fair? He’s in with the judge.”

“So are we. In theory.”

“Never mind,” he said. “Peter will be fair.”

“Still doesn’t seem right,” I said. “Rolf is out of our league.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m glad he’s in this.” Oliver lubricated Robbie’s joints, patted him on the head, and picked him up. “He’s been teaching robots the alphabet, while I’ve been building robots that destroy other robots.”

The first bout was between Rolf’s robot and the two-girl team. Their robot was the basic metal humanoid, with magnets for hands.

“Why magnets?” Penny asked.

“To pull the other robots down.”

“What if the other robot isn’t made of metal?”

“Then that thing’s in trouble.”

It
was
in trouble. Rolf’s robot was a hulking egg-shaped mystery of hard plastic. The magnetic robot did a quick scan, spotted its opponent, and moved in. A saw came out of its torso, the hands reached for the hard shell of the egg, and—and nothing. The magnets couldn’t attach themselves.

The egg opened at the top, spreading its shell into four pieces. They lowered until they became helicopter blades and started spinning. The magnet robot backed away. The egg lifted into the air and chased after it, catching it with its blades. The blades weren’t made of metal, but they were strong and sharp, digging a deep gouge into the other robot’s midsection.

Mom covered her face as if it were a living thing.

“Stop!” One of the girls leaped into the ring and rescued their robot. It meant immediate disqualification, but they would have lost anyway.

“It’s OK,” Penny whispered.

Mom uncovered her eyes and saw that it was over.

“When does your turn come?”

“I think we’re last in this round.”

“I won’t be able to watch,” she said. “You put all that work into your robot. It would be a shame to see it get hurt.”

“It’s OK, really. It’s what it’s made for.” I was putting a brave face on it, but it killed me to think of Rolf’s robot turning our octopus into something you’d order at a Japanese restaurant.

“They should have a competition for robots that actually do things,” said Mom.