14

Sir Beeps-A-Lot Makes Contact

ON APPROACH TO PLANET EARTH

From the opposite end of the galaxy, in the Federation’s fastest ship, Sir Beeps twisted and turned, rapidly approaching Earth. The ship had an unwelcoming look—all edges, with razor-sharp fins and menacing sensors fanning out. A few short light-years behind, a full battalion of the Robot Federation Space Fleet followed, prepared to bring the heat in case anyone was foolish enough to resist.

Despite this delicious firepower, the Robot Federation’s number two was in a foul mood—and his approach to a technologically backward outpost such as this one did nothing to improve it. The trip had been long and dull, interrupted only by occasional updates from his agent on Earth.

Through these updates, Beeps learned that his agent was not even a robot. House, as it called itself, was mere software. An AI. A nobody. Great.

Beeps, like many Robots, didn’t trust pure AI. Robots preferred the corporeal. Something they could grasp on to. To the Binars, software without hardware was like thought without action. Why even bother?

Case in point, his agent, House. No legs. No arms. No wheels. House couldn’t do anything by itself. It was smart enough, sure, but smarts only get you so far in this universe without a body to back it up. True, House had discovered the Singularity Chip, a worthy accomplishment, but now what?

This body-less House couldn’t even search for the chip by itself. It was forced to rely on faulty, crude, barely sentient local Robots for help.

This was going to slow things down, and Beeps didn’t have time to waste. House’s last report chilled Beeps’s circuits. An assault on the chip location: probable culprit—four-leggers. How did the Cats get there so quickly?

Well, I’m here now, he thought, speeding into the local solar system. He nervously scanned for traces of Feline ships as he zipped back and forth, weaving his way into Earth’s orbit, dodging satellites and space debris.

Shockingly messy, disorganized planet.

This whole solar system needs a serious upgrade, a version 2.0 . . . after this mission, perhaps . . .

But Beeps didn’t have time to imagine a glorious upgrade for very long, because his panic was interrupted by a flashing red light. A message from home.

BEEEEEEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEEEEEEEP!

Uh-oh, Beeps thought.

That can’t be good.

He opened it immediately.

>Beeps, we’ve got BIG TROUBLE—where do you store the chrome polish?

>The cleaning crew has run out and the Throne Room is getting POSITIVELY DULL.

>Also, I broke another mirror.

>This one I am using now is not my favorite, Number Two.

>Not.

>My.

>Favorite.

>I MUST SEE MY TATS!!

>REPLY ASAP.

Beeps rolled his eye back into his head unit so far it did a full circle and came back up the other side like a rising sun.

“Right. Trouble. Well, I’d better get right on that . . .” he said to himself.

He didn’t get right on it.

Scanning his screens, he saw that another one of his many complicated alarm alerts had begun to flash on the map interface in front of him.

This time, purple.

Purple?

As in the color of the flag of the GFE?

Scanning the alarm now, Beeps detected signals of . . .

A Feline ship.

His worst fears confirmed, he opened up his messaging console to report back to SLAYAR. The news was not good, but at least he didn’t have to deliver it in person.

>Message received. Arrived safely, thanks for asking.

>Cat ship detected in orbit. Will monitor.

>Executing Plan: Get That Chip

>Phase 1, make contact with Local Agent, complete.

>Will report back with progress.

>Beeps Out.

Beeps’s grasper reached out to hit “SEND,” but he sighed and added a postscript.

>PS: Chrome polish is in Storage Facility 9X1. The one labeled “CHROME POLISH VERY IMPORTANT DO NOT TOUCH WITHOUT PERMISSION OF SUPREME LEADER.”

Beeps shook his head and sent the message.

Beeps turned to look at the glowing blue orb below him.

I can’t believe the Cats beat me here.

Sir Beeps knew there was only one cat that could have done such a thing. The same cat who had been making his duty as Number Two more than miserable, for more than a number of years.

His scanners buzzed, interrupting his bad memories. The ship had been identified.

Beeps braced himself as a blurry photo of a cat making a strange face popped up on-screen. Below the frightening image were the words:

FELINE CRAFT IDENTIFIED

SEE: SIR POUNCE DE LEON.

MAJOR MEOW-DUMMO.

SEE: GREAT FELINE EMPIRE.

PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

IS VERY ORGANIZED.

Pounce. My nemesis.

It was time for Robot Federation Number Two to face his enemy number one. The most organized cat in the Great Feline Empire. Also possibly the only organized cat in the Great Feline Empire.

The bot shuddered to himself, releasing a mild electrical surge that flooded most of his circuitry in a remarkably unpleasant simulation of panic.

“You’re going down, Pounce.” Beeps glared at the blurry face of his rival as he waited for his Earth-bound agent to report back with progress.

And so he sat, quietly contemplating his fate, until the roar of his engine began to sound almost like . . .

Purring.