4

Robots Rule the Roost

The two-story hacienda home with the peeling paint and unkempt front yard did not, from the outside, look like the kind of place where the fate of galactic wars would be determined. It was, in fact, the home of the Wengrod family: Mom, Dad, Max, and Min. Mom and Dad were inventors, of a sort. Max and Min were twins, and although they were nearly identical in age and DNA, they were about as different as two siblings could be.

Min always got good grades, loved to read and build robots, and didn’t mind spending time alone. She wanted to be a scientist for NASA and explore the solar system.

Max hated school, loved to draw and play games, and spent as much time as possible hanging out with friends online. He wanted to be the lead designer of the Next Big Thing in video games.

Much like the twins, the inside of the house was the complete opposite of the outside. Polished wood floors, modern furniture, neatly organized shelves stacked with books on programming, robotics, physics, and other science-y things. An impossible number of video-game systems filled a console below the improbably large wall-mounted television. In fact, screens small and large were everywhere. The house was packed with “smart” things—a smart dishwasher, a smart oven, even a smart garbage can.

Clearly, this was a family that appreciated technology.

At the moment, none of the Wengrods were home, but the house was anything but deserted. A squad of four slightly battered-looking robots moved purposefully around the house. They were all working, busily keeping the house clean and organized, preparing for the return of Max and Min from school.

A tall-ish, four-wheeled robot, Cy (short for Cyclone), rolled toward the kitchen table, slapping down a fresh box of pizza with one rubber-tipped pincher claw and two Capri Suns with the other.

A squat, bulkier robot, Drags, moved smoothly along the floor on rubber treads, pulling a laundry basket full of clothing behind him toward the (smart) washing machine.

A third unit, Tipsy, small, thin, and (barely) balanced on two wheels, bumped along behind the others, slamming into the occasional wall and chair as it went, with only the smallest of robotic yelps escaping its tiny speakers.

The last robot observed the scene as it hovered above the others, with only the slightest wobble. It was a quadcopter, an older model, with a faulty propeller that only spun most of the time. This robot’s name was Joan.

These four robots were the Protos, the team of never-quite-finished robot prototypes designed and built by Mom and Dad, with some help from Max and Min. Because the Protos were, as SLAYAR might say, “fleshie made,” they had no affiliation with or loyalty to the Robot Federation. In fact, they, like almost everyone on Earth, had no idea it even existed. The Protos led a simple existence, content to focus on their responsibilities, as dictated by their programming.

A robot from the Federation, were it to consider these primitive creatures, might view them as slaves, bound to follow orders from their air-breathing overlords. The Protos, on the other hand, appreciated their human family. They all worked together and took care of each other. The Protos always had a place to charge their batteries and someone to fix a broken motor, propeller, or sensor if they (as Tipsy often did) had any mishaps.

Joan, in particular, relished her role in the household. Joan, or Joan Drone as she was sometimes called, was the senior member and de facto leader of the Protos. Joan was also the mother hen of the house. Today, as she hovered, she dutifully reviewed the status of the family members.

Mom and Dad were on their way to China. They had left in a hurry earlier today, telling the kids in a group text (which Joan read on the home servers), an hour after Max and Min had left for school.

momma: so check this out—daddy and I have to make a quick trip to—wait for it—CHINA

max: nooooooo

daddy: yeeeeeessss. we got an emergency call from the factory in Shenzhen, some problem making a part for our *cough* invention.

momma: but cousin javi is on spring break and will be there tonight

daddy: and House will take care of everything else

min: ugh

max: double ugh

momma: be back so fast

daddy: you won’t even know we were gone

min: wanna bet

According to the family calendar, Max and Min should be on their way home from school now, but there was a problem. Joan couldn’t seem to pin down Max’s location.

“House, I noticed a status update that says Max didn’t get picked up from school just now. Do you happen to know where he is?”

House wasn’t actually the house—it was a software program that lived on the home’s network. Specifically, it was a “virtual assistant” created by GloboTech, a huge conglomerate technology company known throughout the world as the leader in artificial intelligence and robotics.

Mom and Dad recently installed House because it was an especially busy time in their work. They were in the final stages of development of a top secret project that had them hidden away in their lab for hours, sometimes days at a time. House could help with almost anything thanks to its access to the internet, home network, computers, and all the smart things in the house.

House communicated via multiple wall-mounted tablets located throughout the house, each displaying a spinning circuit-board icon. Each tablet had a bulbous attachment on top, almost like a single eye, that allowed it to see, hear, even smell what was going on around it. And even though nobody was completely comfortable with House being almost everywhere (Max wondered if House knew when he farted, for example), as Mom said, it was “the price you pay” for convenience. Max and Min both thought House was creepy, but at least it always got their pizza order right.

Joan, anxious for an answer, repeated her question. “Where’s Max, House?”

House had no physical form, but that didn’t keep it from having an attitude. Joan didn’t quite trust it. House was far more advanced than the Protos, and Joan felt like it could be condescending.

House considered Joan’s question carefully, consulting all available data before displaying on the nearest screen:

MOBILE+UNIT<<FILE NAME: CAR>>=100% DOCKED @ LOCATION <<FILE NAME: BAYSIDE ELEMENTARY SCHOOL>> + 100% HUMAN GIRL + 0% HUMAN BOY <<FILE NAME: MAX WENGROD>> = SYSTEMS ALERT = RUN PROGRAM <<LOCATE HUMAN BOY>> + <<FILE NAME: MAX WENGROD>>

Joan didn’t have the patience to interpret House’s code. “House, could you just use your words please?”

“Of course, Joan. CAR reported that it picked Min up at school but Max declined to enter the vehicle. Since Max is not equipped with wings or a jetpack, I would assume he is walking.” House could be a bit snarky with Joan. “Based on available data and past behavior, I would estimate he is approximately halfway down River Road and will be here soon. In other words, I wouldn’t worry.”

Joan flew to a window for a look outside. “What about Max’s phone? Does his GPS show where he is? I don’t like him walking alone out there.”

“It appears Max disabled the ‘location services’ on his phone. He is, as they say, off the grid.” House added snidely, “Try it sometime. You might like it . . .”

Joan ignored the dig. She was worried. Perhaps it was just the “MOTHER+HEN” settings in her code, but something just felt wrong. She sped through a rapid series of calculations and reached a conclusion: even if there was a 51 percent chance that Max was fine, there was a 49 percent chance that he was lost or hurt or making erroneous miscalculations of his own.

“That’s it,” Joan decided. “I’m going out. I need to confirm with my own two sensors that he’s safe. Be right back, House.”

No response.

Whatever, thought Joan.

And with that, the drone zipped past Drags and slipped through the open laundry-room window of the house on Bayside Road. Outside, she dipped and swayed precariously as she flew down the average-looking street and past the average-looking things that you could find there, on any given day. A delivery truck idling by the curb. A perfectly clipped lawn, leading to an even cleaner garage. An old woman pushing an old stroller carrying an old cat, the old (although extremely suspicious) four-legger that lived next door.

Joan flew on, bobbing and weaving toward River Road, where the asphalt not-quite highway passed a quiet stretch of sparkling blue water, a human-made river running through the city. She hovered and surveyed, her battery levels growing dangerously low. Finally, she saw Max, and stopped to survey the scene.

Here’s what Joan noticed, with her own two sensors:

Visual: Boy walking alone past the chain-link fence between him and the river.

Conclusion: Max.

POTENTIAL ALERT: NONE.

Visual: Small creature splashing near the river. Indeterminate species.

Conclusion: Inconclusive.

POTENTIAL ALERT: FOUR-LEGGER. ORGANIC.

Audio: Sounds of second creature + possible ambient brush + foliage noise. Indeterminate species.

Conclusion: Inconclusive.

POTENTIAL ALERT: FOUR-LEGGER. ORGANIC.

Movement: CAR gliding silently toward them all. Girl located inside.

Conclusion: Min.

POTENTIAL ALERT: NONE.

Joan consulted her programming, the distance to home, and the lack of visible threats between here and there, and decided Max was fine. Her battery levels dropping quickly, she decided she would let Max walk unescorted. She’d run the numbers, and on a balance, they were in his favor.

Taking one last look, Joan turned and spluttered back home to recharge.