Popular Clone (23 page)

In the heart of it all was the main power generator of the whole compound, which bathed the room in harsh white light, humming like an enormous metal heart.

“I've done a lot of research on computer control systems,” said Fisher. When Two raised an eyebrow, he explained, “I was trying to hack into Wompalog's computers to see if I could skip school and fill in all of my absences. Unfortunately, they double-check everything with paper.”

Two furrowed his brow. “Why were you so eager to skip school? Had the evil henchmen blown your cover? Had they figured out you were trying to liberate Mother?”

Fisher knew it was time to tell Two the truth. He swallowed hard. “Two, listen. I haven't been totally honest with you—”

Just then, a mechanized voice blared out from the system of intercoms: “This is a Code Black Alert. Security has been compromised. All guards, robots, biological creations, and sentient machines on deck. Intruders must be caught and promptly pulverized.”

“This isn't the time, Fisher,” Two said. “We need to take this place down.”

Fisher nodded, relieved. He would explain everything to Two later—when they escaped.
If
they escaped. “All right, look. I think I can take a shot at adjusting the reactor's settings so that it'll overload after a few minutes,” said Fisher. “But we'll need to get past the robots.” He nodded his head toward the entrances to the generator controls.

A couple of tall, spindly robot guards stood motionless, positioned at either side. Each robot had a cylindrical body suspended on six multi-jointed, spidery legs. They were clearly built so that any direction could be forward. Three arms sprouted from equidistant points around the central cylinder. Their camera-filled heads swiveled back and forth atop their motionless bodies.

“How do we do that?” said Two.

Fisher thought about it for a minute.

“When the robot almost discovered me earlier, it took a moment looking at me, and then FP, before saying aloud what it determined us to be. I think as a safety measure, the robots have been designed to examine and assess what they see before they do anything about it. That may give us a narrow window to act.”

“All right,” Two said. “What if we try to widen that window a little bit?”

“What did you have in mind?” asked Fisher.

Two raised his eyebrows and smiled mischievously. “What color underwear do you have on?”

The robot guarding door number one had had an uneventful day, as most of its days were. It stood in the door, its camera eye slowly tracking back and forth.

However, its day became eventful when it saw a pair of identical figures moving toward it slowly.

It wasn't sure if its camera was glitching or if there were actually two people. Specifically, two short, skinny, identical-looking boys in their underwear. And they weren't walking. They were … dancing.

CHAPTER 23

The principle of tactical thinking is all about making a move your enemy doesn't expect. For example, your enemy probably does not expect you to be an utter lunatic.

—Fisher Bas, Into the Dragon's Mouth

Mirroring each other, Fisher and Two danced along the catwalk through the gaping generator room in nothing but their underpants. Fisher had never really danced, but he found that his limbs moved surprisingly well as he tried to keep up with Two's motions.

And one thing was certain: as they mamboed, Egyptian walked, and disco-pointed their way toward the door, they were facing the most confused robot in history.

“Two unidentifieds … making rhythmic motions toward my position … Unresponsive, and now appear to be sliding. Their method of sliding is oddly … electric.”

Two had been right about the robot's processing center: the more things the robot had to process, and the less sense they made, the more time the robot would have to spend thinking before it sounded an alarm or tried to subdue them.

“Now their hands are in the air … and they are wav-ing them as if they just do not care… . Halt, beings!”

Just as the robot was about to trigger an alarm, Two shouted, “Now!”

Two tackled its legs out from under it as Fisher wrapped his hands around its head and plucked out its control chip, causing it to shut down automatically.

“Nice work,” said Two.

“Not so fast, intruders!”

“Uh-oh.” Fisher looked up. The second robot was roll-ing toward them.

“Too late to out-dance this one,” Two said. “Take it!”

Fisher and Two leapt at the robot from different sides, each boy grabbing hold of one arm. Its third arm tried to wrench Fisher off its back—or its front, depending on which way its spinning head was facing—but he kicked it away.

The robot swayed back and forth, unbalanced by the weight of the two boys. It tottered close to the edge of the platform.

“Fisher!” Two said. “Let go,
now
!”

Fisher dropped away from the robot's body, and the robot, suddenly released of this ninety-pound burden, toppled backward. Two jumped clear just as the robot plunged over the platform edge—and a clawing arm pulled Two's bundle of clothing over along with it.

Fisher watched the robot tumble over and over into the abyss. He felt a rush of triumph. He and Two worked really well as a team. Their ideas seemed to flow natu-rally together. Maybe Two wasn't as different from him as he had been starting to believe.

Two looked over the edge as his shirt and pants flut-tered down after the robot. “Guess I'll be doing the rest of this escape a little chilly,” Two said with a shrug.

Meanwhile, Fisher had donned his spy suit again, slipped into the control room, and was sitting down in front of the main control board. His hands were poised at the keyboard when a loud voice boomed out, nearly knock-ing him out of his chair.

“Hello! I am CURTIS, the Computer Universal Resource Terminal and Information Systems console! How may I make your stay in the power generator more friendly and warm? Warmer than it is already, ha-ha!”

Fisher's jaw hung open, staring at the speaker grille above his head, and the immense smiley face that had appeared on the screen.

“That was a joke!” CURTIS went on when Fisher didn't respond. “It is a double-meaning pun that plays on the word ‘warm' in reference to both cheerfulness and your proximity to a thousand-megawatt fusion power source, ha-ha!”

“I … What?” Fisher said.

“Yes, indeed!” continued the computer. “They just upgraded me with a virus-protection system from New Jersey, and, boy, are my positronic logic pathways tired!” A comedy drum sound followed the second joke.

“Look, please,” said Fisher, “I'm trying to find a way to—”

“Say,” CURTIS went on, ignoring Fisher entirely, “how many technician robots does it take to replace a portable micro-fusion cell? None! The only prototype model cre-ated a massive explosion that caused over a million dol-lars in property damage, ha-ha!”

“Excuse me if I'm not in the mood for comedy hour,” Fisher snapped. Guards were probably running down the halls toward them at this very second, FP could be robo-fodder for all he knew, and he was faced with a com-puter masquerading as a stand-up comic. He couldn't imagine any possible way to get past an intelligent sys-tem to hack the reactor, even if it
did
stop telling him jokes.

“Hurry up, Fisher!” Two shouted from outside the con-trol room. “We're on kind of a strict schedule!”

“I'm trying!” Fisher called back, frustration building inside of him. “But Mr. Happy-Face in here isn't going to let me hack Dr. X's system. We'll have to find another way to bring him down… .”

“What is that?” came the bubbly voice again. “You are not a representative of Dr. X? And you do not require my pleasantly upbeat attitude?”

“No,” said Fisher, a little bit confused.

“Ugh. Good,” came a completely different voice—one that sounded like a fifty-five-year-old man who'd been smoking for fifty-six years. “I really hate doing that voice. It's driving me nuts. You really want to take this place down?”

Fisher, stunned, could only nod. Now the smiley face had morphed into a deep scowl.

“Tell you what. I'm really sick of this job. Dr. X treats me like dirt, and I have to pretend to be happy about it. You got a way to get me out of here?” Fisher fumbled around in his pockets, then pulled out a minuscule por-table drive.

“Is one hundred twenty terabytes enough room?” he said, still mystified by the computer's change of atti-tude.

“It'll be pretty cramped, but I can shed a few unneces-sary subroutines and I'll fit okay. Now then, I can't take the place out because of my programming, but I've got full maps of the complex that might help you find a way to make it blow.”

“Well, that's a lot more than we've got going for us so far,” Fisher said.

A color-coded map of the whole vast complex popped up, complete with arrows and full details of every room.

“Thanks!” Fisher said.

“No problem,” CURTIS replied. “Now get me out of here, okay?”

“Sure thing,” Fisher said, and stuck the mini-drive into one of the computer's USB ports. A few seconds later, another beep indicated the transfer was complete. He leapt from the chair, slipped the drive into his pocket, and ran to meet Two at the door.

“How'd it go?” asked the clone, eyes focused on the walkway.

“I'll tell you later,” said Fisher. “Look, according to the map, there's a secondary power station not far from the maintenance room. If we can short it out, the feed-back should cause an overload that'll bring the whole complex down.”

“All right,” Two said. “But how do you plan on shorting the power station?”

“I don't know,” Fisher said grimly. “We'll have to figure it out when we get there.”

And on they ran.

The complex's alarms were screaming as they reached ground level again. Two pulled Fisher into an alcove just as a trio of armed guards rushed down the hall. Red lights blared at every corner, bathing the walls and floor in a ruddy glow.

“Do you know how we get to maintenance?” Two asked, looking down the hallway to watch for more guards.

Fisher could barely hear him over the alarms.

“I think I remember the way,” Fisher said. “It's farther up this hall and to the right. Clear?”

“Clear,” Two said, nodding. “Go!”

They darted out of the alcove and down the hall. Fisher's pulse thudded in his ears like a bass drum. He was trying not to think of all the awful things that might have happened to FP. At the same time, it was exhilarating to be fighting alongside his clone. Even if his clone was still only wearing his underwear.

They turned the corner just as a five-inch-thick steel security door began to slide its way down from the ceiling at the far end of the hallway.

“Move!” shouted Two, and they broke into a sprint. The door crept downward as they rushed forward. Six feet of space, five, four … and anything under it when it hit the floor would be squashed like a bug on a windshield.

Fisher dove and slid across the floor on his stomach, the slick spy suit helping him glide. The door was a foot from the floor as Two followed …

And came to a shuddering halt right underneath the door!

“Fisher!” he cried out.

Moving on instinct, Fisher lunged back and with both arms hauled him forward. Two's feet slipped through just as the door crashed down with a reverberating boom.

Fisher and Two picked themselves up.

“You all right?” Fisher asked.

“Yeah,” Two said, shivering slightly. “Thanks.”

The duo turned to continue on, when a second door came slamming down in front of them. This one did not take its time. Ten feet of hallway had been effectively sealed off.

They were trapped.

Fisher and Two raced from one door to the other and along both walls.

“See anything?” Fisher said, checking for vents or panels.

“Nothing,” Two responded, pounding on a wall.

“You two are a lot more trouble than I thought,” came the voice of Dr. X through a crystal-clear speaker. “Now you can just sit tight together until I get the AGH sample. Once it's safely in my hand, the ceiling will come down on you and put an end to your antics. Enjoy your stay.” The voice cut off in a blip of static.

“There must be a way out,” Two said, running his hands along one of the walls. Fisher began examining the other, carefully going over every square inch, his fingers shaking as precious seconds ticked by.

“Nothing!” Fisher shouted, pounding the wall with his fist. “There's no way out.” Enraged, he kicked the wall one last time.

And a deafening explosion knocked him off his feet.

“That's not the reactor, is it?” said Two, going pale.

“Can't be!” Fisher said. “We didn't do anything! Unless those falling robots somehow …”

Then the speaker blared to life again. This time a worker's voice came shouting through it.

“Security alert,” the worker said, over sounds of crash-ing and banging. “Intruder has sabotaged the main-tenance wing, repeat, maintenance wing sabotaged. Internal security systems are deactivating.”

Two and Fisher looked at each other.

“It couldn't be … ,” Two said, mystified.

Then the worker, again: “Intruder appears to be … a flying pig.”

“That's my pig,” Fisher said, grinning broadly.

The lights flickered and both doors opened.

“Security systems deactivating!” went the speaker. “Robotic test prototypes are running loose! All units malfunctioning! Personnel, move to contain! Move to con-tain!”

Loud shouts filled the complex, along with electrical discharges, mechanical screeches, clanks, and the whine of motors. Two and Fisher dashed down the hall, Fisher keeping the map of the complex CURTIS had shown him in his mind as he led them toward the maintenance wing. The halls were filled with sparks and the smell of smoke.

Pieces of paneling tumbled from the walls, and wires fell from the ceiling.

All of the robots whose programming had gone hay-wire, whose logic circuits were fried or damaged, were out and freely roaming the hallways. Everything was coming apart. All because FP had caused havoc in the mainte-nance room.

A large, wheeled robot with an odd disk-like appendage for a head tottered around a corner and greeted them.

“Hello!” it said in an uneven voice. “I am Flapjackotron! I can make pancakes from any substance!” Two and Fisher raced past the confused Flapjackotron, and it turned around on wobbly wheels, trying to follow them. “Do you not require pancakes? Any raw materials you possess, I can use to …” Its voice faded into the noises of shouting and clamor.

“I think the power substation is up ahead!” Fisher shouted over the growing noise. “If we can cripple it, we should have just enough time to find FP and get the heck out of here!”