Fluffy’s Revolution Page 11

In English Lit, Miss Dora took an immediate shine to Fluffy. It turned out that Fluffy had already read more than half the books on the reading list―works by Jane Austin, the Bronté sisters, Oscar Wilde, Charles Dickens, Shakespeare, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Thomas Hardy, Ernest Hemingway, Kurt Vonnegut, John Fowles, Dan Brown, S.J. Watson, Alice Sebold―and this impressed Miss Dora tremendously.

  In Special Powers, Bernard showed the freshmen how to exercise their powers by lifting weights telekinetically and by honing in on the telepathic messages from one animal across the entire campus, isolating that one voice from all of the cross-chatter going on all around. She practiced sending and receiving visual images as well. And then Bernard showed them something truly remarkable: his Telepathy Amplifier. This consisted of a headset that fit over the crown of an animal’s head like a cap, but it was fitted with tiny electrodes that tapped into the telepathy centers of the brain. It plugged into an electronic device with a rotating dish on top that could be aimed in any direction.

  “Using this device,” Bernard said, “one can locate one or a group of telepathic beings anywhere in the world and have a two-way conversation with them. I used this to hone in on you, Fluffy, and send you those ‘advertisements’ for Animal U.”

  “Well, they certainly worked,” said Fluffy. “But how did it find me?”

  “The Amplifier has a Scan setting. It can scan a geographical radius of up to 1,000 miles for GABs with exceptional telepathic powers. When it finds one, we send out the message. The messages we sent to you, we also sent to hundreds of other animals. They may not all figure out the clues, and they won’t all find their way here, but as you know, we always have someone waiting in the cabin by the falls to receive new arrivals.”

  Then Fluffy asked, “Have you spoken with GABs in other countries?”

  “I have. There are several universities very much like ours in Europe, Africa, and Asia, and I have communicated with them all. I’ve shared the blueprint for this machine with them, so we can establish a worldwide telepathic network.”

  The class was suitably impressed, and there was excited conversation about the possibilities of this invention, how it will unite all GABs and give them more power to fight human oppression.

  After class, Fluffy went back to her dorm for lunch and a cat nap before the dreaded math. She set the alarm on her tablet, and it woke her up in a half hour.

  Math was taught by a neutered male cat named Mr. Fritz. Fritz had been raised and educated in Germany by a professor of mathematics, so he spoke with a slight German accent. “Most of you have grown up doing simple calculations on your tablets or handhelds. The goal of this class is to teach you to use your brain instead of a calculator to add, subtract, multiply, and divide. Later, we will do fractions, decimal points, and percentages. First, I will show you how to add two large numbers, using an old-fashioned pencil and a piece of paper.” He gave everyone a pad of lined paper and a pencil. On the chalkboard behind him, a piece of chalk wrote two five-digit numbers, one above the other, and a line below them. He drew a plus sign in between and to the left of the two numbers. “We will start with simple addition. Everyone copy what I have written on the board.” Fortunately, Fluffy had learned to color with crayons and to write with pencils and pens before she learned to use a computer. Some of the others had a harder time with this, but Fluffy lifted her pencil and copied the numbers neatly without a problem.

  Basic math turned out to be much less difficult for Fluffy than she had imagined. Soon, in fact, she began to think it was fun. The first day, the class learned simple addition and subtraction. Before long, they would move on to memorizing multiplication tables and long division.

  As the days went by, Fluffy’s brain was fairly throbbing with all the new stimuli. She made many new friends, and she was doing well in her classes. She felt that she was at last in her element. If only my dad could be here with me; then it would truly be perfect.

  There was one cat about Fluffy’s age, Pandora, who was particularly friendly. Pandora was an almost-pure-bred Blue Point Siamese. She was light gray, which gradually got a bit darker around her face, had long pointy ears, and beautiful blue eyes. Pandora was in several of Fluffy’s classes and lived in the same dorm, so they often walked to and from class together. Pandora was very competitive, and sensing a worthy opponent in Fluffy, she was constantly challenging Fluffy in class: who knew more facts, who could get the higher marks on exams… Fluffy treated all this with good humor, and she consistently bested Pandora in every contest. Sometimes Pandora got visibly upset, so Fluffy started to let her win occasionally. Pandora was as bad a winner as she was a loser, chuckling derisively every time she got the best of Fluffy. One day in Bernard’s telekinesis muscle-building class, the competition got a bit intense, with Fluffy and Pandora lifting ever-heavier weights. This time Fluffy did not let Pandora win, and Pandora stormed out of the class. Fluffy went after her and caught up with her near their dorm.

  “Don’t be upset, Pandora. I thought this was all in good fun. We’re still friends, right?”

  “Yes, we’re still friends,” said Pandora. But there was something in the way she said it that made Fluffy uneasy.

  After that, their relationship got cooler, and Fluffy stopped comparing scores with Pandora.

  Chapter Twelve – Saving Dave

  Tuesday morning, Riordan opened his eyes and a vision of loveliness slowly came into focus. It was the smiling face of Indira beside him. So it wasn’t a dream; it really happened.

  They got up, had breakfast, and took the supertube to Kingston. Riordan donned his new/old broad-brimmed fedora and trench coat and told Indira, “We gotta case the joint, baby.” So they made their way to the massive 200-story Epsilon complex.

  As expected, there was a security system in place that made everybody pass through a portal which was a combined X-ray and metal detector. Once inside the lobby, they followed the signs to the Convention Center. This was a separate building, accessed through a long corridor. Inside the vast hall, a crew of robots and people were in the process of setting up for the Robotics Conference. There was a high stage at one end of the room, big enough to stage a Broadway musical. In front of that was a dais with a speaker’s podium. On the floor, the crew was setting up row upon row of folding chairs―about 2,000 of them. There were two tiers of balcony seating on three sides of the room. Around the outer perimeter of the wooden floor, a dirt track about six feet wide had been installed.

  “I’ll bet that’s for Penelope,” Indira said, and they shared another chuckle.

  They walked back to the lobby of the Epsilon Tower and took the elevator to Roof Parking. There was a small lobby and a doorway with a small glass window marked HELIPAD. Inside it was a stairwell, with a few steps leading up to the glass doors that opened onto the roof helipad and 201 flights of metal steps going down to the ground floor. They surveyed the layout and Riordan made a few notes, then they ascended onto the roof. A security guard emerged from a kiosk. “May I see your parking pass, folks?”

  “Err, we just came up to look at the view,” said Riordan.

  “I’m sorry. You need a parking pass to be up here.”

  Indira and Riordan scoped the helipad. There were five robocopters parked there. “Aww,” said Indira, hamming it up. “Gosh, I bet you can see the whole city from up here.”

  “Okay, thanks anyway,” said Riordan, and they went back down. They descended in the elevator that made their stomachs rise into their chests.

  “I hope we can identify Epps’s robocopter,” said Indira. “How are we gonna get past that guard?”

  “I have an idea,” said Riordan. “Know any place where we can buy fireworks?”

  “No, but I bet Bobby does.”

  Bobby told his boss, Dr. Barenholtz, that h
e had invited Indira and her friend, Professor Kute, an English professor from Berkeley, to join the MIT Robotics Team for the conference. Like everyone at MIT, Barenholtz had a soft spot for Indira, so he gave his permission. Thursday morning, Riordan and Indira showed up at the Robotics lab in their Team MIT coveralls and name tags. Riordan slipped the gun and a cherry bomb to Bobby, who inserted them into their designated hiding place, and they loaded Penelope into the truck. They had even enlisted a little girl, about nine, to ride her around the track. Little Amelia Reynolds was an experienced equestrian, and she was all decked out in her traditional English riding costume.

  At the Epsilon Building, the truck backed up to the loading dock, and the team wheeled Penelope onto the dock, where she passed through the X-ray/metal detector. As expected, she sent the metal detector into paroxysms of beeping, but then, so did all the robots being loaded in that day, since their skeletons were all made of titanium/aluminum alloy. But she passed the true test―the X-ray―with flying colors, thanks to her lead-lined rump.

  Penelope was stationed onstage, behind the closed curtains, until her big moment arrived. Riordan appointed himself her personal guardian and, when no one was around, he reached under her tail and grabbed the contraband from her anal cavity.

  “Excuse me,” a voice said from behind. Riordan was caught with his hand up the horse’s bum. He turned abruptly to see Mrs. Marsden, the matronly lady who was the event coordinator. She’s caught me in flagrante dilecto!

  “Oh, just untangling some knots in her tail,” said the professor, meticulously separating the strands.

  “Oh,” said Mrs. Marsden. “It looked like something else.” She tittered and walked on. Riordan quickly stashed the gun and cherry bomb in the deep pockets of his coveralls and went to find Indira. She was sitting with little Amelia, while Bobby and Dr. Barenholtz tested Penelope’s remote.

  Riordan pulled Indira aside. “How long does this thing go on?” he whispered. “How should I know? Epps is giving the keynote speech, so we can’t miss that.”

  “We must get to Epps’s robocopter before he does, so that means we have to disappear before he’s done speaking.”

  “But I’m sure he’ll stick around to see his new toys.”

  “We can’t chance it. During his speech, I’ll tell Barenholtz you’ve fallen ill, and I have to get you home at once.”

  “Okay. Shall I faint?”

  “You’re a born thespian, but let’s not overdo it,” said Riordan. “Have a seat and I’ll give you your cue.”

  Out front, the seats had all filled with robotics enthusiasts: retailers, wholesalers, private buyers, and journalists. The lights went down and a spotlight illuminated the speaker’s podium. Popular standup comedian Jasper Figgus, a slight, manic black guy with a flattop haircut, stepped up to the microphone to enthusiastic applause.

  “Hey! Thank you, thank you so much. Good evening ladies and mechanisms.” Modest laughter “How many of you like robots?” Every hand goes up, rousing applause. “How many of you are robots?” Laughter, a couple of people raise their hands. Jasper points to one. “Oh, out of the closet!” Laughter. “No, but seriously, I love robots. They are the most efficient, competent workers… Of course, there is the occasional glitch. The other day I saw a beautiful pair of shoes in a store window. That’s right, a real store! I hate buying shoes online because I have these odd-shaped feet.” He traces a jagged asymmetrical shape in the air. Laughter and applause. “So, I go in and I ask the salesbot, ‘can I see a pair of those in size ten medium?’ The guy goes away and comes back with a pair of ladies pumps―” A few titters. “Red, with stiletto heels. Lady’s size six.” Laughter. “So, I go, ‘No, these,’ and I point again to the men’s shoes in the window. So, he goes away and comes back with a pair of lady’s pink fuzzy slippers.” More laughter. “So, I’m, like, ‘oh man, dis bot done blew a fuse.’” Big laugh. “So, I go to the manager, pull him aside, and I say ‘hey man, there’s something wrong with your salesbot there. The manager looks at the guy and says ‘He’s not a bot. He’s the token human!’” Loud laughter and applause. “And speaking of artificial intelligence, I was having dinner with my wife the other night―” Loud laughter. “Okay, scratch intelligence.” More laughter. Jasper pauses. “Now, as we all know, Epsilon makes the best robots money can buy.” Applause. “In fact, the only robots money can buy.” Laughter. “And tonight, it is my great pleasure and a true honor to introduce to you my idol, the president and CEO of Epsilon Industries, a man who, not only needs no introduction but probably wishes he hadn’t had this one, Mr. Jeremiah Epps!” Thunderous applause, as Epps ascends the podium and shakes hands with Jasper.

  “Jasper Figgus, ladies, and gentlemen!” Epps gives Jasper a pat on the back as he leaves the podium. “Over a century ago, my great, great grandfather started the robotics program at Epsilon. We’ve come a long way since then…”

  Backstage, Riordan says to Indira, “Okay, now’s the time.” Indira slumps down in her chair, takes out a handkerchief and starts mopping her brow. Riordan goes over and whispers something to Barenholtz. Barenholtz nods.

  “Let’s go.” Riordan helps Indira to her feet. He surreptitiously transfers the gun and the cherry bomb to his trench coat pocket and they both shed their coveralls. They exit through the auditorium, getting a good look at Epps on their way out. In the elevator, they both actually need the handkerchief, as they are both now sweating profusely.

  On the top floor, Riordan peers through the small glass window in the door that leads to the stairwell and the roof. He motions her to stay there, goes into the stairwell, and checks outside. The roof and helipad are illuminated with bright spotlights. The night security guard is in his kiosk.

  Riordan returns to the lobby. “Here goes…” He lights the fuse on the cherry bomb, opens the stairwell door, and tosses it down the stairwell. Three seconds go by, then a loud BOOM echoes through the stairwell. The guard runs in from his post and starts down the stairs, gun drawn. As soon as he is down one flight, Indira and Riordan silently enter the stairwell, ascend the few steps to the helipad and are out on the roof. In the center is the circular landing pad, ringed with small lights. There are six robocopters parked on the roof. “The one with the Epsilon logo has got to be his,” says Indira. Riordan tries the door; it’s not locked. They tilt the front seat forward and climb into the back seat. There’s plenty of room on the floor to crouch down when Epps gets in. Riordan takes out the gun. “How do you use this thing?”

  “Here, give it to me,” says Indira. It’s an old 9 mm Walther automatic. She expertly takes off the safety and cocks it, putting one round in the chamber.

  “Great,” says Riordan. “You’re in charge of the firearms… Say, we could be waiting here a long time. What should we do?” She kisses him, and they start making out.

  “Okay, let’s not get carried away,” he says. “We don’t want to be caught ‘napping.’” He looks out the copter window. “I wish we could’ve seen Penelope do her stuff.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure Bobby wishes we could’ve seen it too. Hey, is this him?” They peer out of the window, and, sure enough, here comes Epps.

  “Get down!” whispers Indira.

  “I am down!”

  “Shhhh!”

  The pilot’s side door of the copter opens and Epps climbs into his seat. He pushes some presets, and the copter takes off.

  During the fifteen-minute flight, Riordan and Indira barely dare to breathe. She clutches onto his arm so hard he almost cries out, but instead gently loosens her grip. At last, Epps’s copter sets itself down on his rooftop helipad, just as it has every evening for years. Epps exits the pilot side door, walks around to the passenger side, and starts toward the door that leads to the stairs.

  “Now!” whispers Indira
, and they push the front seat forward and both charge through the narrow passenger side door simultaneously, getting jammed together in the doorway. Epps turns to see Riordan trip and hit the ground as Indira stumbles out of the copter brandishing the gun.

  “Hold it right there, Mr. Epps!” says Indira.

  “Yeah, hold it right there,” says Riordan lamely.

  Epps laughs. “What is this, a holdup by Laurel and Hardy? Did Figgus send you guys as a practical joke?”

  By this time Riordan has brushed himself off and regained his composure, if not his dignity.

  “We’ve come for Dr. Handler,” says Indira. She looks serious enough to wipe the smile off Epps’s face.

  He indicates the gun. “Is that thing real?”

  “It’s very real, and we won’t hesitate to use it,” says Riordan. “You see, we know the world is coming to an end, so we have nothing to lose. Now put your hands up.” Epps puts his hands up, still not really taking this seriously.

  “Frisk him,” says Indira.

  Riordan points to himself with a question mark on his face and silently mouths the word “Me?” She gestures with the gun for him to go ahead and frisk Epps. Riordan shrugs and does his best to imitate the old-time cops frisking a guy.

  Epps laughs again. “Hey, cut it out, that tickles.” Then he addresses Indira. “I’ll bet you don’t even know which end of that gun shoots the bullets.” She fires a shot and misses his foot by a centimeter. He recoils, regards her with new respect. So does Riordan.

  At the sound of the shot, Hobson and two other security guys come charging out onto the roof, guns drawn. Indira moves closer to Epps, turns him around, puts the gun to his back.

  “Tell them to drop their guns.”

  “Do as she says, Hobson.” The security guys drop their guns. Riordan scrambles to pick them up. He pats them all down to see if they have any more, comes up with a pair of handcuffs.