The Robot by Paul Watson

Author:Paul Watson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2011-06-10T00:00:00+00:00

FOURTEEN

A CLOUDY DAY OR A LITTLE SUNSHINE HAVE AS GREAT AN INFLUENCE ON MANY CONSTITUTIONS AS THE MOST RECENT BLESSINGS OR MISFORTUNES.

—JOSEPH ADDISON

DOVER TWIDDLED WITH THE KNOBS ON THE STEREO AS THE CAR sped toward the tanning salon. Gabe twiddled the knobs on his own emotions. He didn’t feel like he’d done anything wrong by hanging out with Trina. Why should he have to explain himself? But then he remembered that he hadn’t trusted Dover to stay behind with her. He thought of how Dover must have felt when he found them in the backseat, and he relented.

“Trina powered up after you left.” He pulled up to a stop sign, not quite stopping before he rolled through it. Milton called this California stopping. He was, unsurprisingly, adamantly against it.

“Oh, you rebooted her so you wouldn’t feel guilty about feeling her up when she was passed out?” Dover stared straight ahead.

“No!” Gabe shouted. “She said she had some kind of reserves left! And I didn’t feel her up. Not that I wouldn’t have liked to,” he added in the spirit of honesty. “But she just wanted to talk.”

Dover snorted. “Girls. What did she want to talk about?”

“Well, mostly about what it’s like to be a robot but also a person.”

“You mean, ‘but also a smokin’ hot babe’? With boobs she can play with anytime she wants?” Dover asked. “Well?”

“I didn’t find out very much.” Gabe ignored the boobs comment. “Since she avoided the question earlier when I asked her about her mission, I tried to be more, uh, diplomatic this time . . . but it didn’t really work.”

“Well, she’s sure not a maid,” Dover said. “Unless those people with guns are her employers and they’re mad she doesn’t do windows.”

The corners of Gabe’s mouth twitched. “I don’t think it should take us more than half an hour to recharge her,” he said, turning into the Golden Girls parking lot. “I guess we can ask her more questions then.” He parked the car. Climbing out, he went around and reached into the backseat. He lifted Trina out while Dover ran ahead to get the door.

As it turned out, Dover was wrong about the tanning salon being filled with wine-cooler-fueled college girls. The only other person present in the salon was an alarmingly wellbuilt man in his late forties sporting carefully manicured stubble and, as the boys learned when he stepped out from behind the slatted-wood counter, a very short pair of bright red running shorts.

“Welcome! I’m Rick,” he shouted over the pulsing tones of some ancient new wave song, extending his hand to Dover. “I’ll be your experience guide.”

“‘Experience guide’?” Dover repeated, mopping sweat from his brow. He looked over at Gabe.

Gabe, holding Trina in his arms, was busy taking in their surroundings. The waiting room did look like a sauna: The walls, floor, and counter were all made from dark, unvarnished wood. Blue neon tubes ran the length of the ceiling, and a neon palm tree glowed in one corner.

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