Soon we were heading south through Manhattan, passing Zabar’s deli. If you’re ever in New York City, make sure you try one of their poppy-seed bagels. They are out of this world! But, um, I think I’ve gotten off track. Where was . . . Oh. Norman and I were squeezed together in back, watching for spies.
I can’t speak for Norman or my parents, but I remember thinking, This is totally nuts. Just twenty minutes earlier I was a normal kid living a pretty normal life, even if I did have a robotic brother. And I never once thought of myself as a run-for-his-life-with-his-family kind of kid. But there I was, running for my life with my family.
“Where should we go?” Mom asked, checking the mirrors. So often I worried that she’d forget to look straight ahead.
“I’m not sure yet,” Dad said. “Just keep driving. We’ll figure it out as we go.” He started filling Mom in on what we’d seen happen to Jean-Pierre Sr. and Jr. on the computer.
This was scary. Not exciting scary or cool scary or even interesting scary. Just scary scary, the worst kind of scary.
I looked to Norman for some robot-style comfort, but suddenly he tensed up and his face went blank, like all his Norman-ness was gone. What the heck? Before I could tell Dad, Norman started talking in a weird, deep, adult voice. “If you know what’s good for you, Rambeau family,” he said, “pull to the side of the road and hand over the robot. Pull over right now!”
Somehow, life just got even scarier.
“Matthew . . . who is that?” Mom said in a panicky voice. “What’s the matter with Norman?”
“Let me think, okay?” Dad said. “They—they must be speaking through one of Norman’s communication portals. But which one?”
“Ah! They have to be right on us!” Mom said, looking all around.
“Or they could be tracking us from blocks or even a mile or more away,” Dad said. “Everyone keep your eyes out for—”
“A silver Audi,” I said, finishing his sentence and checking every car I could see, northbound and southbound, parked and moving. Nothing suspicious yet.
Dad turned toward the robot. “Norman, disable your GPS tracking device, as well as your Bluetooth and LAN network capabilities,” he ordered.
But it didn’t do any good.
“Pull over immediately!” the voice speaking through Norman said. “Hand over the robot and no one will be harmed. Now!”
Yikes!
“Norman, this is a voice command override,” my dad tried. “Immediately disable all communication portals and network capabilities.”
No dice. The voice just repeated itself, saying we needed to stop the car and hand over the robot. Shoot! I knew that I had to try to help Norman somehow.
An idea . . .
I faced my brother, grabbed his arms, and gave him a good shake. “Norman, this is your brother, Matt,” I said, in my most super-serious voice. “You must listen to Papa and disable your communication portals and network . . . thingies.” I threw in a desperate, “Please, brother?”
A few seconds passed, then Norman blinked several times and said in his normal voice, “Communication portals and network ‘thingies’ disabled.” He smiled but showed a puzzled look. “Pardonne-moi,” he said. “Did a glitch just occur? I am missing exactly one minute and forty-nine seconds of data from my short-term memory storage.”
“I’ll have to tell you later,” Dad said to the robot. “We have more pressing matters.” He looked to both sides, then behind us. “The spies must be getting closer.”
More yikes!