22

Morning Chores

The next morning the Protos, charged and ready, assembled themselves in formation. Joan was desperate to talk with House about the horrifying ordeal last night, but the Protos had work to do first. Joan barked out orders. “Morning duties, squad. Let’s make it snappy!”

Drags zipped from room to room, scanning for dirty clothes and then grabbing and tossing them into a basket he dragged behind him. Cy zoomed to the table and scooped up the dishes, one at a time, putting them each in the smart dishwasher. Joan swooped down to pick up Max’s backpack, which he once again almost forgot, and carried it to him.

Min shook her head. “Thanks, Joan,” Max said sheepishly.

“Let’s go, Baby Geniuses!” Javi said cheerfully, ushering the kids out the door. “You’re gonna be late!” Javi paused at the door. “Oh, but don’t forget to say thanks for the help!”

“Thanks for the help, Protos!” Min said. She knelt down to rescue Tipsy, stuck between two chairs, and gave her a little kiss on the head. “And thanks for trying to help.” Tipsy rolled away, excited. Max muttered a distracted thank-you, and they all walked out. The Protos gathered at the open front door. They liked to watch the kids leave for school. Today, after the recent cat problems, they also wanted to make sure nobody got hurt.

They watched as Max turned away from CAR and ran toward the wall. “Obi!” Max shouted.

Everybody stopped and waited. This was one part of the day that never changed.

“What are they d-d-d-doing?” Cy said, rolling up late.

“The Connectivity Ritual,” Joan guessed, because that was what happened almost every morning.

Joan was right. Max approached the old four-legger silently.

Slowing his speed, Max immediately moved to extend its ten small probes into the four-fegger’s four favorite spots.

First: between the ears on the very top of the head.

Second: the left cheek.

Third: the right.

Fourth: a quick probe to the chin.

Fifth: Max dug into the place where the four-legger’s back curved down near its tail . . .

The OB_1_Cat_NoB arched his back under the flexing and extending probes.

“Scritch-scratch, scratch-scratch,” said Max.

“Prrrrrrrrrrrr,” said the OB.

“Oh,” said Drags, sounding surprised, though they had watched the ritual approximately seven hundred and forty-seven times now.

“There’s that n-n-noise. The f-f-four-legger’s alarm must have b-b-been switched to v-v-vibrate again.” Cy frowned.

“Purring,” Joan said. “It’s not an alarm setting. It’s just a sound cue, part of the OB_1_Cat_NoB programming, I think. It’s called purring.”

“Purr-rrrr-rrrr-rrrr-ring!” Tipsy rolled in a circle.

“Why? What’s the p-point?” Cy asked.

“Of the purring?” Drags said.

Cy spun his head. “Of the Connectivity Ritual?”

Joan thought about it. “Charging? Some kind of friction-based electrical productivity?”

Cy frowned. “Which creature recharges? The twolegger or the four?”

“Inconclusive,” Joan said. “Possibly both.”

It really was a mystery.

“Come on, Max. CAR takes forever to get to school, I don’t want you to be late,” Javi was saying.

“I’m worried about the kittens being all alone today.” Max turned slowly as he spoke. “Maybe I should take a sick day. A mental health day.”

Drags frowned. “Sick day?”

“Down time. Powering-down time,” Joan explained.

“Ah-h-h,” Cy said.

Min opened her door. “Not me. I have to get to school to check Elmer’s code with my teacher for the Battle of the Bots. And don’t you have a science test to take or something?” She paused and glared at Max. “Hurry up! You know, if you didn’t take ten hours to pet that old scraggly cat every time we walked outside, we might get to school on time for once . . .”

“You know that’s not why we’re late.” Max followed his sister into CAR. “I’m worried about poor old Obi. He’s getting weaker and weaker. He can’t even get out of his stroller now.”

“Mom says Mrs. Reynolds says Obi may not have that much time left,” Min said, opening a notebook.

Max nodded. “I’m always a little afraid he won’t be there when I get home from school.”

The Protos, hearing this, looked at each other.

“W-w-what does that mean?” Cy asked.

Drags rolled back and forth, flattening out an old receipt. “Unclear. Is the OB_1_Cat_NoB going somewhere?”

Joan said nothing. She was still processing.

Javi grabbed CAR’s door and put a hand on Max’s shoulder. “Obi’s a tough customer. I’ve seen that guy fight off wild strays and even scare away bulldogs before. He’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“I hope so,” Max said as Javi swung his door shut.

Javi waved as CAR crawled forward carefully and turned the corner toward school.

The Protos returned in silence to the lab. As she flew, Joan wondered, Is there a problem with the old four-legger’s battery life? If there was, this was the first she’d heard of it. If there was, what happened?

We robots can recharge our batteries, replace our parts. Usually. What happens to four-leggers? Or two-leggers, for that matter? If they can’t be repaired, what do they do?

Why should she care? One fewer four-legger to worry about? What would be the problem with that?

But for the only time Joan could recall in her entire 16-gig memory, she felt a strange ache in her dinged aluminum core.