All right! RollerBot’s difficulty with the hurdles gave SwiftBot a chance to pull into second place—if he could clear the hurdle like FugBot had.

  Holding our breaths, Yo and I watched as our robot neared the barrier. Seconds before colliding with the hurdle, he launched himself off the ground. His right leg was extended before him while his left leg whipped up behind him. Good form, I thought. In order to prepare SwiftBot for this event, Yo and I had boned up on the biomechanics of jumping hurdles.

  He almost made it, but … no! His left heel clipped the top of the gate, knocking the entire hurdle over. SwiftBot stumbled forward.

  “Yikes!” Yo yelped. She threw her hands in front of her face, peeking out through her fingers. “I’m afraid to look!”

  I knew how she felt. For a second I was scared that he was going to fall flat on his metal face. SwiftBot managed a partial recovery, however, landing on one knee instead. He quickly sprang back onto his feet and kept on running.

  “Good save!” I shouted. “Don’t give up!”

  But SwiftBot’s stumble had cost him his chance to get ahead of RollerBot, who completed her detour around the hurdles and came zooming back down the track beside him. As the four robots closed in on the final obstacle, FugBot was way in the lead with SwiftBot and RollerBot fighting it out for second place. MechaCrawler, who had gone around the hurdles as well, was a distant fourth.

  The last of the challenges was another puddle, but this time we weren’t talking plain old ordinary water. A slippery pool of oil awaited the robots as they rounded the curve, heading into the final stretch of the race. Iridescent rainbows gleamed on the greasy surface of the pool.

  As before, FugBot made his decision in an instant. Carefully avoiding the oil slick, he turned and ran around the edges of the puddle. So much for first place, I thought glumly. FugBot had the race all locked up.

  “This is too easy!” Andy gloated. I didn’t need to look at him to imagine the smug look on his face. “Those other robots are jokes!”

  Yo glowered at Andy, looking like she wanted to practice her martial-arts moves on his skull. “Thanks for not bragging about it!”

  We still had a chance at second place, though. SwiftBot and RollerBot were neck and neck (even though, technically, RollerBot didn’t have a neck). They reached the outer edge of the oil slick at about the same time.

  “Around!” Yo shouted. She was practically jumping up and down in her excitement. “Go around that mess!”

  SwiftBot wisely took her advice.

  RollerBot did not.

  The wheeled robot tried to plow straight through the oil, just like she had the water, but the treacherous grease was more slippery than she had anticipated. Losing traction, she spun around wildly, out of control. Sue Itami moaned and buried her face in her hands.

  I sympathized, but I was glad to see RollerBot run into trouble.

  Bypassing the slick entirely, SwiftBot charged ahead of the wheeled robot and across the finish line—nearly a minute after FugBot.

  Not quite the outcome I wanted.

  A few minutes later, Mr. Radnor announced the results of the race:

  “Fourth place … MechaCrawler.

  “Third place … RollerBot

  “Second place … SwiftBot

  “And, in first place, FugBot!”

  Was it just my imagination or was the crowd’s applause somewhat less enthusiastic? Andy didn’t have a whole lot of friends in Shopton aside from the creeps who hung out with him because he had plenty of money to spend. The Fogers were more feared than admired around here. I spotted Andy’s dad, Randall Foger, in the stands, surrounded by bodyguards and assistants. He was a bald, stocky man with a ruddy complexion. A company photographer snapped numerous shots of Andy and his victorious robot.

  “This sucks,” Yo said. “What a lousy way to start the games.”

  ‘There are still two more events,” I reminded her. Weight lifting and basketball. “Andy hasn’t beaten us yet.”

  “That’s right!” she agreed. Her dark eyes gleamed defiantly. “SwiftBot has not yet begun to fight!”

  Still, it was only good sportsmanship to congratulate Andy on his victory. We walked across the field to where he was posing with FugBot for the news photographers. My eyes scanned the robot’s forbidding black armor. As much as I hated to admit it, FugBot had been absolutely astounding in the obstacle course.

  “Congratulations, Andy.” I offered him my hand. “FugBot did great.”

  “He deserved to win,” Yo conceded. “I wish I knew how you programmed him to figure out all those obstacles so fast.”

  “Get used to it, losers!” Andy said.

  5

  Field Trip to the Future

  The gleaming skyscraper rose like a spire on the outskirts of town. Fifteen stories high, the headquarters of Swift Enterprises was an imposing glass-and-steel edifice incorporating loads of environmentally friendly innovations. A vertical-axis wind turbine spun atop the spire, generating much of the building’s electricity. Rainwater collectors piped any precipitation into the plumbing and cooling systems. Shredded paper and food scraps made their way into a massive composting vat, where the trash was eventually converted into fuel to power another electrical generator. An automated mower neatly trimmed the lawn in front of the building.

  “Here we are,” I said as the limousine pulled into the gated parking lot. “The heart—or maybe the brain—of Swift Enterprises.”

  “Cool!” Sue Itami enthused. Along with Yo and Bud, all of the competing inventors were in the limo with me. “Thanks for arranging this tour.”

  “Yes, this is very nice of you,” Persis Chadha added.

  “No problem,” I said. “Since we’re in my backyard, so to speak, it’s only fair that I show you around.”

  A day off had been scheduled between events to give us time to perform any needed repairs or maintenance on our robots. As a friendly gesture I had volunteered to give the visiting inventors a tour of SE headquarters. If nothing else, I figured, it would give us all a chance to get to know one another a little better.

  I was already getting a sense of the other contestants’ personalities.

  Sue, the creator of RollerBot, was funny and outgoing. Fluorescent purple dye streaked her hair. Anime characters were printed on her T-shirt. She and Yo had hit it off immediately. “Have you read FullMetal Alchemist?” she asked Yo. “It’s, like, the best manga ever!”

  “Even better than Rurouni Kenshin?” Yo asked.

  “Way better,” Sue insisted. “I’ll loan you my copy. You have got to read it!”

  Persis was more on the shy side. A thin girl with straight black hair, she appeared uncomfortable making eye contact. Bud was trying to interview her for the school paper, but he was having trouble getting her to open up. “C’mon,” he urged her. “Tell me more about yourself. How’d you first get interested in robots?”

  She shrugged and stared at her feet. “There’s not much to tell. I guess I just have a knack for building things.” Peering out the window, she made an obvious attempt to change the subject. “That’s quite a building. Very modern looking.”

  “Hah!” Andy snorted. “You think that’s something, you should see the FUG building on the other side of town. I’d invite you over, but no can do. My dad’s projects are too important and hush-hush to let just anybody into the building.” He nodded at me. “I’m sure Swift here would just love to get a peek at our secrets.”

  “Yeah, right,” I replied. Frankly, I already knew Andy better than I would have liked, but it would have been rude not to invite him along with the other contestants. “If any company is into industrial espionage, it’s FUG, not SE.”

  “Watch it. Swift!” Andy bristled. “That’s slander, you know. I’ll sic my dad’s lawyers on you.”

  “Okay, alleged industrial espionage,” I corrected myself. “Anyway, now’s not the time to argue about this. Let’s just enjoy our day off.”

  The limo came to a stop in front of the building, and we all piled out of the car. The security guards at the entrance were expecting us, so we walked right in. The spacious lobby was decorated with glass display cases containing many of my dad’s early inventions, including a photo telephone, a magnetic silencer, a g-force inverter, and an electron retroscope. His famous runaway robot stood proudly in one corner. Compared to SwiftBot, it looked like an oversize kid’s toy. Scale models of various experimental ships and aircraft hung from the ceiling. Glancing upward, I recognized my dad’s diving seacopter, ultrasonic cycloplane, and triphibian atomicar, among many other futuristic vehicles.

  “What a bunch of junk,” Andy muttered.

  Nobody else seemed to share his opinion. “Hey, look at that!” Sue exclaimed. She ran across the lobby to get a better look at my dad’s old robot. “That is seriously retro—in a cool way, that is.”

  I noticed that Persis was still trying to blend into the background. “MechaCrawler looks great,” I said, walking toward her. “What inspired you to try an insect-based design?”

  “It just seemed a logical way to go,” she said meekly. “On a practical level, robotics is still in its infancy, so why not start out by imitating a simple life form instead of something more complex?” Her voice perked up as she warmed to the subject. “Insects have been walking around for more than four hundred million years, so they must be doing something right.”

  I laughed at her remark. “Good point!”

  Unfortunately, Andy heard us talking. “Your stupid spider didn’t do so great yesterday, did it?” He sneered at Persis, who flinched at his harsh words. “The competition must have been pretty weak in your division if that fourth-place wonder was the best they could come up with.”

  “That’s enough,” I said firmly, stepping between him and Persis. I wasn’t about to let Andy bully someone right in front of me. “Try to remember that you’re here as a guest, Andy. Don’t make me have you escorted from the premises.”

  “Whatever,” he said, trudging away. “Can I help it if you losers don’t have a sense of humor?”

  I continued the tour. “Follow me, everybody.”

  My dad was tied up in meetings all day, so I figured we’d skip the executive offices upstairs. Instead we took an elevator down to the first of several sub-basements located beneath the building. This was where the really interesting stuff went on.

  “Next stop: Laboratory A-33,” I announced.

  “Are all Swift products manufactured underground?” Sue asked as the elevator descended. “How very Bruce Wayne of you.”

  “Only the prototypes,” I explained. “SE is a think tank, not a factory. We develop the basic ideas and patents here, but any mass production occurs elsewhere. We have plants and research centers all over the world.”

  “So does FUG,” Andy insisted. “Except ours are bigger and better.”

  Yo rolled her eyes. “Give it a rest, Foger.”

  I smiled but kept my mouth shut. Maybe the best way to handle Andy’s big mouth was just to ignore it.

  The elevator doors slid open to reveal an elderly man wearing a rumpled white lab coat. “Welcome!” he said, peering at us through a pair of old-fashioned bifocals. A receding hairline exposed his smooth brown scalp. His lab coat was stained by unknown chemicals and acid burns. “Are you ready to get a sneak preview of the future?”

  Dr. Victor Rashid is the head scientist and lab director at SE. He holds advanced degrees in physics, engineering, chemistry, aeronautics, and just about any other scientific discipline you might think of. He was my father’s favorite teacher in college, and he has been in charge of the labs here for as long as I can remember. Although physically frail, he remains mentally sharper than most people.

  “You bet!” I introduced him to the other inventors. “Thanks for taking the time to show us around.”

  “It’s my pleasure,” he insisted. “Where would the future be without young people to live in it?” He guided us toward a sliding glass door at the end of the hall. “Naturally, certain laboratories are off-limits to visitors, no matter how talented, but we’re working on a few projects in here that may intrigue you.”

  Through the doorway we found ourselves in a large workshop populated by maybe a half dozen SE technicians and researchers. Computer banks and work counters lined the walls. The buzz of excited conversations rose above the classic rock playing softly in the background. Soundproof tiles kept the noise from escaping into the hall. Fire extinguishers, and a couple of scorch marks, hinted at the occasional experimental mishap.

  Prototypes of new inventions, in various stages of completion, were scattered throughout the work area. In one corner an inkjet the size of a refrigerator was sliding along an overhead carriage, “printing” walls of fast-setting concrete. Not far away a team of workers was busy assembling a new deep-sea submersible. A couple of giddy techs hurled handfuls of mud and paint at another worker who was wearing a pristine white dress. The gloppy messes slid right off the stain-resistant fabric, leaving the dress looking as good as new.

  “Wow!” Sue exclaimed. She and the other visitors gazed around wide-eyed, uncertain where to look first. Even Andy looked impressed, despite himself. “I could use some clothes like that,” Sue added. “Especially during my next paintball tournament.”

  “Take a look at this,” Dr. Rashid suggested. He led us toward one corner, where a boxlike device rested atop a stainless-steel counter. It looked a lot like a microwave oven, complete with a clear plastic window looking in on the hollow interior. “This unit is part of our effort to perfect a working claytronic fabricator.”

  “A what?” Bud asked.

  “Sort of a 3-D fax machine,” the old scientist explained. “The idea is to scan an object at one location, then generate a three-dimensional facsimile of that object at the other end of a transmission.” He gestured toward a similar unit several yards away. “Observe.”

  Removing his wristwatch, he placed it inside the unit, then tapped out a command on the attached keypad. Through the clear plastic window, we watched as ruby-colored laser beams scanned the watch from every direction. I half expected the watch to vanish, but instead it remained where it was. Actual teleportation was still down the road, I guess.

  Still, this seemed like a step in the right direction.

  While the watch was being scanned, Dr. Rashid herded us over to the second unit. Peering inside the device, we saw a shapeless blob of purple clay sitting within. At least it started out shapeless. Before our eyes, the clay began shifting and moving, as though being sculpted by invisible hands. “How?” Yo asked in amazement.

  “Programmable matter,” Dr. Rashid said. “Each molecule of the clay is actually a micron-sized mobile computer in communication with the other molecules. Working together, they can assemble themselves into a wide variety of configurations.”

  Within minutes a clay duplicate of the watch had formed inside the fabricator. He reached in and extracted the copy. “Careful,” he said, handing it over to me. “It’s still a bit fragile.”

  The clay watch was also noticeably slimy to the touch. We passed it among ourselves.

  “Does it actually work?” Persis asked in a hushed tone. She sounded almost frightened at the prospect. “Like a real watch?”

  “Sadly, no,” Dr. Rashid admitted. “At the moment, we can only duplicate the shape and appearance of the transmitted objects, not their fundamental properties.”

  “Even still, that’s pretty amazing.” I could already foresee all sorts of practical applications. “My mom could send copies of her sculptures across the country just by pressing a few buttons. Or a doctor could instantly transmit a 3-D model of a patient’s heart or brain to a specialist on the other side of the world.”

  “Exactly!” Dr. Rashid said. “In theory one could also use this technology to create smaller or larger versions of an object, just as easily as hitting enlarge or reduce on a copy machine.” He reclaimed the real watch from the transmitter. “Of course, we’ve still got a few bugs to work out first.”

  “No kidding!” Andy said scornfully. He poked the duplicate with his finger and it crumbled into pieces. “Oops.”

  “See here, young man!” Dr. Rashid protested. He knew exactly who Andy was, of course. “I didn’t tolerate that sort of attitude from your father when he was my student, and I’m not going to accept it from the next generation, either. Mind your manners!”

  Andy was caught off guard by the old man’s stern tone. “Yessir!” he said, swallowing hard. He took an involuntary step backward and mumbled an apology. “Sorry about that.”

  I tried not to grin too obviously.

  Q.U.I.P. interrupted the awkward moment. “Hey!” the AI spoke from my wristwatch. “Don’t forget that banquet you’ve got coming up in a few hours. Better wrap things up.”

  “Right,” I said, grateful for the reminder. The Robo Olympics Committee had scheduled a dinner with the contestants this evening. Dr. VanderMeer, the president’s science adviser, hadn’t arrived in Shopton yet, but many other prominent scientists and educators were going to be at the banquet. I had to give everybody a chance to get ready for the dinner.

  “Well, that’s all the time we have,” I announced. “Thanks again for the demonstration, Dr. Rashid.”

  We took the elevator back to the lobby and headed toward the front exit. Before we could step outside, however, a gruff voice called out to us. “Hold on there! Stay right where you are!”

  I turned around to see Harlan Ames, SE’s head of security, striding toward us, along with a couple of uniformed security guards. A former FBI agent, Ames had lost his right leg in a terrorist bombing a few years back, but you’d never know it from the brisk way he marched across the lobby. My dad had fitted him with a custom-made prosthetic leg even before the injured agent had come to work for him.

  “What’s the problem?” I asked. Ames took his job very seriously. I knew he wouldn’t have detained us without a good reason.

  “We have a disturbance outside,” Ames said. He had short gray hair and a craggy face that seldom smiled. “Probably nothing serious, but my team and I will escort you to your car.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10