“THE WAAAY YOU ARE LOOK-ING AT meee has meee mod-ERR-utt-lee CON-cerned,” Klaus tells Mikaela.
“Don’t worry,” she says. “You’re about to take the trip of a lifetime.”
“Wait a second,” says Edsley. “Why are we sending Klaus to Disneyland? And can I go with him?”
“Mike,” I say. “Mikaela’s not saying we should send the bot to Disneyland.” I lean toward Mikaela and, quietly, add, “You’re not, right?”
“Of course not,” John Henry Knox answers for her. “Mikaela’s proposing we send Klaus to Plerp-5. She’s suggesting that Dan’s creation could, perhaps, convince the planet’s Planetary Leadership that humans aren’t all selfish, careless, destructive idiots.”
“Oh,” Edsley says.
And then, a second later:
“Ooohhhh.”
And then, another second later:
“Well, can I go with him there?”
“Definitely not,” I say, freshly aware of just how much trouble Edsley’s capable of causing on his own planet, and not the least bit interested in learning what he can do on someone else’s.
“Think about it,” Mikaela says, eyeing Klaus again. “The bot constitutes an impressive feat of design work, construction abilities, and programming skills. If that doesn’t show the Plerpians that we’re not all fools, I don’t know what will. Also, Dan built the bots to respond to a problem, right? Because he cares. Not just about himself, but about humanity as a whole. I mean, I know it’s not a perfect plan. I know it’s not a slam dunk. But we don’t have a lot of time here. If we sit around hoping for an idea like that? It’ll be morning before we know it.”
We’re all silent, thinking things through.
Finally, Edsley says, “It is a pretty solid idea. It’s just too bad I kinda manhandled Klaus’s insides when I reprogrammed him.”
Dan looks concerned.
“What do you mean, ‘manhandled’?”
Edsley aims a finger at Klaus.
“Let’s just say that that guy’s insides look more like a bowl of spaghetti than a motherboard.”
“Oh-kay,” Mikaela says. “So can’t we just go in there, clean up the wiring, and—”
“Noooooo,” Edsley interrupts. “No, no, no, no, no. You don’t want to open him back up. That rope there’s the only thing holding his torso together. And the front panel—that’s holding the toilet paper roll in place. And if the toilet paper roll gets knocked out of place, then the toothbrush could hit the wiring and—”
SPZZT!
A spark arcs out of Klaus’s neck.
I leap back, just in time to see the little, white-hot flame land on the pavement where one of my feet had just been. It fizzles out in a fraction of a second, leaving a small black smear on the street.
SPZZZZT!
SPZZT-SPZZT-SPZZT!
SPZZzZZzzZzZzzzzZZZzZZzZZZZZZZZT!
“Uh-oh,” Edsley says, the sparks now coming out of Klaus’s neck fast and furious, obscuring the bot’s head and creating an on-the-spot, several-weeks-early Independence Day fireworks show. Except, you know, way more dangerous.
Within seconds, the air is busy with noise and smoke.
My lungs begin to burn.
I can’t see a thing.
But just as suddenly as the sparks started, they stop.
I peer into the thick cloud of smoke, hoping what I never could’ve imagined I would—that Klaus is okay.