A/N – Thanks for the enthusiastic response to Chapter One. As some of you noticed, I made a reference to 'Sam', and yes, that was a head-nod to Queenbean3's fan character, Samantha Sanderson.


Countdown to Mindshatter

A "My Life as a Teenage Robot" Fanfic

Chapter Two – Reading Between the Lines


Brad raked his fingers through his signature spikes of thick red hair, trying to find that precise look that struck a delicate balance somewhere between wild-and-untamed and I-spent-sixty-minutes-in-the-bathroom-to-get-it-to-look-this-way. He smoothed out the tips of his shirt collar into a pair of crisp, wrinkle-free points, and plucked a stray piece of lint off of his jet-black sweater-vest. Then he leaned back and gently bobbed his head, expending a remarkable amount of effort to project the illusion that he was completely at ease. Cool. Relaxed. Laid-back. Non-chalant. Oh yeah, he had the look down, but there was one more critical element to his strategy. The secret weapon … The Smile. Oh yeah, the ladies didn't stand a chance against The Smile. He arched an eyebrow and flashed his pearly whites, turning up the charm to dangerously high levels …

"So, Chloe … the prom is coming up on Saturday night. I hear the theme is "Magic Under the Stars". Heh, heh, so … how'd you like to take a ride into orbit with the ol' Bradster?"

The words hung in the room for a few seconds, long enough for "The Smile" to dissolve away into a painful grimace. Brad rolled his eyes at his dresser mirror. "Those could very well be the lamest words that have ever come out of a human mouth," he groaned.

He jumped to his feet and paced around his bedroom to shake off his self-manufactured tension. It shouldn't be this difficult, he kept telling himself. For crying out loud, Chloe had been practically throwing herself at him for the past two weeks. Everyone knew that she wanted to go to the prom with Brad. And all the guys at school agreed that she was a fine example of high-quality babeage. So why hadn't he actually asked her to the prom yet? Sure, everything kind of went nuts during the whole Omni-droid rampage last week … and, maybe a Cluster prison camp wasn't he best place to get a prom date. But things were settling back to normal now. All right, let's try again.

"Chloe," he grinned, pointing his fingers at his reflection like a pair of six-shooters. "You. Me. Prom. Saturday. Let's make it happen, babe."

Brad slapped his face in exasperation. Maybe if I tried a few lines that were actually written in this century. Arrrrghh! Why is this so hard!?! He turned down the volume on his stereo, and flopped back onto his mattress – knocking a couple of schoolbooks onto a pile of dirty boxer shorts – and just tried to relax for a second. It wasn't like he was asking out an impossible target, like a supermodel, or the captain of the cheerleading squad. He already knew that Chloe would eagerly accept his invitation to the prom, probably before he even finished getting the words out of his mouth. Sure, there were always nerves involved in asking out a girl, but geez – this was a proverbial six-inch putt. He'd had more than a few chances to ask her at school today, but he'd backed off every time.

He shook his arms and took a few deep breaths, as if he were preparing to clean-and-jerk an Olympic barbell. "Come on, Brad," he said to himself, "you're making this tougher than it needs to be. Just relax. Rela-a-a-a-a-a-ax. Just say what comes naturally. Say what feels right."

All right then, one last practice run before he headed off to Mezmer's to 'bump into' Chloe. He looked into the mirror, smoothed out the cuffs of his shirt, and took one more deep breath for good measure. Just say what comes naturally. He eased a hand into his pocket, and cracked an easygoing grin …

"Hey, y'know, the prom is this Saturday night … and, uh, I'd really like to go with you, Jenny."

The eyes of his reflection stared back at him in stunned amazement. "Wait, whoa, whoa, whoa! Chloe! Chloe! I meant to say Chloe …"

Oh yeah, that would go over real big, he laughed at himself. Yeah, the ladies didn't like it when you got their names wrong. Man, for whatever reason, his brain simply wasn't thinking straight about the prom right now. And there were only a few days left to get everything organized and squared away. The junior prom was going to be the pinnacle of the high school social calendar, a chance to step out in style and be seen! Tuxedos and evening gowns and stretch limos – well, his mom's station wagon – it was going to be a night to remember. But he hadn't given it much thought over the past week; there had simply been more important things to worry about.

A piece of corkboard hung on his wall, right next to his Acid Reflux World Tour poster, where several stories from the Tremorton Tribune were clipped out and stuck up with thumbtacks. They were highlights from Jenny's crime-fighting activities, including a week-old story with the headline "Teenagers Defeat Alien Shape-shifter". It featured a picture of Jenny and Brad grinning together, standing next to the Silver Shell and Drew, out at the old industrial park. Brad laughed at the newspaper photo – how was a guy supposed to worry about the junior prom when he was having way cool adventures with his superhero neighbor? It was pretty sweet to get his picture in the paper, though – especially since it was something of a fluke. After all, he hadn't even gotten to the park until the fight with the Omni-droid was all over.

The strange thing was, Jenny told him that he had been the one who'd defeated the Omni-droid. He never did figure out what she meant by that. He did, however, remember what she'd done after that – vividly. To his surprise, his face began to feel warm, and a quick glance in the mirror confirmed that his cheeks were glowing an embarrassing shade of red. Just thinking about the warm embrace that Jenny had given him was making him blush. Geez, get a grip, Brad! He may not have been a ladies' man in the Don Prima category; it usually took quite a bit to make the ol' Bradster blush. Besides, Jenny was just his good friend – well, his best friend – the cool robot girl who lived next door. They'd both been worried for each other's safety. That's all.

He took a few steps over to his bedroom window, and looked out onto his front lawn. I mean, it was only a week ago that the whole stinkin' Army was camped out in front of our house, and almost turned Jen into a pile of scrap metal. That was an unpleasant memory. In fact, the whole twenty-four hours which had followed that little episode had been miserable, a stretch of time when he hadn't been sure if Jenny was alive or not. A sick, cold knot manifested deep in his belly just thinking about it. He had never been so worried for anyone before in his life …

"Hey, what the …" – Brad flung his window open and leaned out.

His little brother Tuck was running around on the front yard with his buddies George and Carver, shooting Nurf pistols at each other and generally making the type of racket one would expect from a bunch of hyper little boys. Except that Tuck looked absolutely ridiculous. He was wearing some kind of black jacket that was at least six sizes too large for him, with a pair of black trousers that were equally oversize, causing him to fall flat on his face with every third step he took. Wait a second – now that he was standing up again, Brad could see that Tuck was also wearing a white shirt and a bow tie …

Brad sprinted to his closet, flung open the door – and saw the empty hangar where his prom tuxedo used to be.

"I'M GONNA KILL HIM!!!"

He crashed down the stairs like a runaway piano, half a step away from breaking his neck, and blasted through the front door as if possessed by a demon. Sure enough, Tuck was horsing around on the lawn in his big brother's prom tuxedo, practically swimming in the excess material. The hyper neighborhood boys jumped with excitement as Brad rushed at his little brother, snorting and red-eyed, too angry to form a complete sentence. "Tuck, you rotten … you miserable little twerp …"

"Uh-oh!" laughed Tuck, talking in a very bad English accent with a hint of a lisp. "It looks like the evil Doctor X has sent another one of his hired assassins for a little social call. Well, you're too late, Copper-top. I've already stolen the microfilm!"

"Microfi – Tuck, what the heck are you babbling about?"

Tuck grinned, straightened his black bow tie, and struck a pose with his Nurf pistol as he arched a very sophisticated eyebrow at his big brother. "I'm afraid I don't know this 'Tuck' person you're looking for," he smiled. "The name is Zoom … Johnny Zoom."

Only the knowledge that his dad was but a loud scream away was keeping Brad's fingers from clamping around Tuck's neck. "Get out of my tux right now, and you might live to see tomorrow!"

But in spite of Brad's warning – or perhaps, because of it – Tuck kept talking in the suave accent of his current favorite TV action hero. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Copper-top. I have a dinner invitation at the embassy tonight, and there's a strict dress code …"

That was just about enough for Brad. He grabbed the little troublemaker by the lapels of his tuxedo jacket and hoisted him up to eye level, blasting fire from his nostrils. "For crying out loud, squirt, you're gonna get grass stains all over my pants! You stupid little … how long have you been running around out here in my tux?"

Either Tuck truly didn't believe that Brad was angry, or more likely, he was simply having too much fun yanking his chain. Without missing a beat, Tuck glanced at an ugly, oversized watch on his wrist with a cheap decal that identified it as an Official Johnny Zoom Junior Secret Agent Spy Watch. "Give me a second, and I'll tell you precisely …" His little fingers tapped at a plastic button on the watch, which chirped with a series of soft beep-beep-beep sounds …

And a pair of Nurf darts thwapped into the back of Brad's head. He turned to see George and Carver grinning at him, each with their own oversized plastic wristwatches and emptied Nurf pistols.

"Good shooting, Double-Oh George! Double-Oh Carver!" shouted Tuck.

"Always ready to lend a hand, old chap," laughed George, feigning his own ridiculous English accent.

"See Brad, I radioed for backup with my spy watch!" said Tuck, momentarily breaking character. "I sent a message in secret code. Isn't that cool!?!"

"When I'm done kicking your butt, you little runt," Brad growled in a dangerous voice, "the only way you're going to be able to communicate with the outside world is in secret code!"

"I say, Copper-top, you seem to be a bit hot under the collar," snickered Tuck, slipping back into his playtime persona. "Perhaps you should cool off a bit!" He pressed another button on his watch …

And a stream of water squirted out of the side of the watch and hit Brad right in the eye. Brad sputtered and clutched at his face, dropping a gleefully wiggling junior secret agent to the ground. Tuck doubled over in belly laughter, thoroughly enjoying the degree to which he was annoying his big brother today. He also realized from the murder in Brad's eyes that he was dancing pretty close to a line right now. Tuck knew that no matter what mischief he caused, Brad would never actually try to physically hurt him. Of course, Brad wasn't above putting him in a headlock and giving him a Death Noogie for half an hour. He mashed the plastic buttons on his "spy watch" once more. "Attention all secret agents," he shouted, "I believe it's time for a strategic retreat!"

Three squealing boys ripped around the side of the Carbunkle house – one hiking up the waistband of his oversize tuxedo pants – mere steps ahead of an enraged red-headed teenager. It was every junior secret agent for himself, and George and Carver easily pulled away from Tuck, who simply couldn't match their foot speed in his ill-fitting formal wear. They raced around the back yard and circled around to the front of the garage, which was where Tuck tripped once more on his comically long trouser legs, tumbling to a rough stop on the driveway. Suddenly he felt a pair of arms scoop under his armpits and hoist him into the air. Uh-oh, he gulped to himself.

"Heh-heh-heh," he chuckled, trying to charm his way out of the impending payback. "Come on, Brad, I didn't do anything to your stupid old prom jacket, see? I was just having fun …"

Brad waved a set of clenched knuckles, arranged in the dreaded Death Noogie configuration, directly underneath Tuck's nose. "By the time I'm done with you, runt, you're going to be the only kid in elementary school with a bald spot …"

But the cavalry came to Tuck's rescue in the form of a dark green truck with the words "US Army" stenciled on its canvas side, rumbling down the street towards their humble home. Brad was distracted from his revenge as the military vehicle pulled up in front of the Wakeman house, which could only mean that Jenny was back from her emergency trip to the starship crash site. And sure enough, he could see Mrs. Wakeman, Jenny, and Drew sitting inside the truck, along with a uniformed army officer. As soon as the dark green doors opened, the sounds of angry conversation spilled out into the air. The excitable doctor was arguing with the officer, who looked like he'd rather be just about anywhere else in the world at that particular instant in time. Brad didn't understand a lot of the technical terms that Mrs. Wakeman was shouting at the officer – well, Brad didn't understand most of what Mrs. Wakeman said, on a good day – but today she really sounded like she'd woken up on the wrong side of the bed.

The rear door swung open, and Jenny slunk out and rolled her eyes, obviously embarrassed by her mother's ranting. Brad laughed to himself; he recognized that look well, that look that said she wanted to disappear under her bed with a stack of Teen Blab magazines and stay there for a week. Jenny was desperately in need of a save. Ignoring his troublesome little brother for the moment, he sauntered over to the Wakeman yard, where things always seemed to be more interesting than they were at boring old Casa Carbunkle. "Hey, Jen!" he shouted. "So come on, tell me everything! What was the big emergency all about? What's with all the excitement?"

"Hey Brad," she said with an exhausted smile, relieved to see a sane face. She leaned a little closer to him to prevent from being overheard by her mother, not that she could have heard her over her self-righteous sermon on the proper following of scientific protocols. "Uh … my mom ran into a old classmate of hers at the starship site. I think they have … issues."

"Yeah, like a cobra and a mongoose have issues," he snickered. "But come on, you gotta fill me in on the news, here. What did the army want? What happened at the starship? What was the ..."

Then they simultaneously flinched from the loud slam of a truck door. Mrs. Wakeman had finished lecturing the army officer, and was out of the truck, her eyes simmering with leftover antagonism. A shrill maternal screech rang out like a drill sergeant calling for morning assembly. "X-J-Niyun!"

"Standing three feet away," she sighed, somehow knowing that a stupid command was on its way …

The doctor glared at her with an evil squint that said she was not in the mood to put with her snippety attitude at the moment. "It's trash day, and that old Quantum Gigulator is just sitting down in the basement gathering dust. Bring it up and set it out on the curb for the rubbish collectors, at once."

"Cripes, Mom, I've been home for what, fifteen seconds?" It probably wasn't a smart idea to push her mom's buttons just then, but it was so obvious that she was just channeling her anger into the only outlet available to her – bossing her daughter around. "I'm trying to talk to Brad!"

"You'll have plenty of time to gab with your friends after you …"

"Hold up, Doc," grumbled a rough, haggard voice.

Drew, who had silently flowed himself out of the military truck before it sped off down the road, had been gloomily silent up until that point. Now he drug his feet over next to the doctor, lumbering with all the humanity of Frankenstein's monster. Brad took one look at the embers burning in Drew's eye sockets and winced. Ouch! Man, it looks like somebody spit in his corn flakes. For the love of Pete, what's the dealio today? Mrs. W is totally cheesed off, and Drew looks like he's ready to take a bite outta something. What the heck happened at the park? Did the police give them a ticket for illegally parking a starship on city property?

Brad gave Drew a friendly wave, but he didn't acknowledge. He simply glowered down at Mrs. Wakeman like a silver-green ogre. "This Quantum Gigu-whatzit, it's a big hunk of machinery?"

"Yes," the doctor answered tersely.

"And you're just throwing it away?"

"Yes."

"So it wouldn't matter if, say, someone were to pummel it into a tiny, twisted lump of useless scrap by repeatedly wailing on it with a giant fist of nanobots in an outburst of insane berserker fury?"

"Correct."

"Show me the way," he growled, following the doctor toward the front door of the Wakeman house. A cloud of darkness seemed to hover over his head; the very blades of grass on the lawn seemed to shrink away in fear from his dour figure, as he made his way inside.

Brad and Jenny silently watched for a few seconds, until the door swung closed.

"I think he's feeling better!" smiled Brad.

Jenny just slumped her shoulders in response, apparently not sharing his optimism. "I'm starting to get a little worried about him, Brad. I know he's still upset … heck, I'm still upset … but he's starting to weird me out a little bit."

"Well okay, I'll admit … he did look a little weird in school yesterday." Actually, he thought that his pale, chalky friend had kind of looked like an extra from Dawn of the Undead Freshmen

"That's not what I mean. He's been so quiet ever since we got back from Cluster Prime." Jenny nibbled on the tips of her fingers, a curiously human habit for a robot that didn't have fingernails. "He just keeps to himself now. Everyone notices it; the kids at school just walk around him when they see him come down the hallway, like he's got a disease or something."

"Drew's always been kind of a private, quiet guy," Brad shrugged. The kids at school had always treated Drew that way.

"Well, maybe he shouldn't be," Jenny declared. "Why don't you have a talk with him?"

"Oh, pffft, he just needs a little more time to get over it," replied Brad, confident in the knowledge that Drew was, after all, a guy – and the great thing about being a guy was that any emotional damage could be crammed up into a tiny ball and stuffed deep, deep down inside, never to be heard from again. Or at least, not until you had your nervous breakdown when you hit middle age. Chicks always wanted to talk every problem to death; Jenny was no exception. And she did have a bit of a busybody streak in her …

"Get over it?" Jenny arched an annoyed eyebrow, which said that she found Brad's attitude to be a little too cavalier. "Brad, he didn't lose a goldfish!"

Oh, fer – he was just trying to cheer Jenny up, to lighten the mood, to reassure her that Drew was going to be okay – and now she was jumping all over him! It drove him nuts when she went into "random emotion mode" like this. "Come on, I didn't say that, Jen! Geez, stop being so overdramatic!"

Wrong thing to say. "Overdramatic!?! Brad, how can you be so cold and unfeeling? He was in love with Allison, and he lost her!" She folded her arms with an angry huff and glared into Brad's eyes, angry at what she perceived to be his belittling of Drew's pain … and by association, hers, as well. "But I guess you're just too immature to imagine what it would feel like to lose somebody you love!"

Brad got ready to hurl back a wise crack …

And promptly forgot what he was going to say.

A strange silence fell upon the Wakeman driveway, as Brad and Jenny exchanged a series of awkward blinks. Jenny's anger ebbed as she realized that she'd touched an unexpected nerve, and possibly hurt Brad's feelings. And she had, just a bit, because Brad's mind drifted back to the thoughts he was just having about her, about his "best friend", back in his bedroom, as he remembered the life-or-death battle he had witnessed firsthand. When he had thought that she might be dead. Silly, ridiculous thoughts. Say something, moron. Say that you know just what it feels like …

"Y-you know," he stammered, eager to divert the conversation from the uncomfortable direction it was heading in, "you never actually told me what happened out at the starship. It must have been something pretty bad; it's sure got everyone on edge."

Jenny looked like she expected him to say something else … but he hadn't, so she decided to let it slide. "Vexus sent us a message," she explained. "Mainly to gloat. But the army guys are trying to figure out if it means that the Cluster is still going to attack Earth. They were still having a big argument about it when Mom, Drew and I left. Half of them think that the Cluster is still going to attack, and the other half think that they won't bother now …"

"Hey, wait a second." Brad tapped his chin, as a thought suddenly came to him. "When we left Cluster Prime, we wasted a giant military base and twenty gi-normous battle ships. What the heck does Vexus even have to gloat about?"

Her chin dropped into her pale blue chest, her face suddenly shrouded in an incredible sadness. "See for yourself," she said in a weak voice.

Her chest-plate split open, and with a lightning-quick transformation, a simple pair of metal rods expanded and unfolded into her emergency trouble monitor. Usually that would be a prelude to a distress call from her mother, but Jenny pulled out another cable and plugged it into the monitor's input jack. This cable led directly to the holographic storage crystals in her memory archives, and with a with a few quick commands, she brought up a recording of the message that Vexus had implanted into the starship's computer. Brad watched the evil robot dictator's arrogant monologue, both fascinated and a little tweaked at Vexus' uppity attitude, until the camera moved to show the other robots in the communications center …

"Whoa," gulped Brad, recognizing the lavender-and-white zombie robot sitting next to Vexus. "I think I see why Drew is so bummed out."

As if on cue, a brooding silver-green teenage android emerged from the front door with his arms coiled around a mangled slab of steel and aluminum that had once been a large piece of scientific equipment. A low whistle passed through Brad's lips; it was apparent that a considerable amount of aggression had been poured into that unfortunate hunk of metal. Brad realized that Drew was silently burning up with rage … not unlike the rage that he had felt when everyone in the school had turned against Jenny. He turned back to the monitor, wondering what Drew must have felt towards Vexus right now …

"Hey, who's that funny-looking robot bug lady?" blurted a pair of young voices. "Coo-oo-oo-ool!"

Brad snapped out of his introspection as he realized that Tuck's annoying friends, George and Carver, had snuck up behind them to gawk at the wicked awesome display of robot freakiness. And if those two little geeks were over here watching Jenny's monitor, then Tuck couldn't be far away …

And there he was, the little twerp, leaning against Mrs. Wakeman's van. He was still dressed in Brad's prom tuxedo, and was striking another ridiculous pose with his Nurf pistol. Jenny couldn't help but giggle as the pint-sized "Johnny Zoom" flashed her a playboy's grin, and started speaking in a bad English accent that sounded more like a case of nasal congestion. "Ah, gentlemen, I see you've met my trusted associate, Miss Moneyjenny. Moneyjenny, do be a dear and whip me up a drink, will you? Super cherry snow cone … shaken, not stirred."

Brad growled with frustration; here he was trying to have a serious conversation with Jenny, and now he was being interrupted by a bunch of stupid little kids. "I ought to shake and stir you, shrimp boat," he said in a menacing tone. "And I thought I told you to take off my prom tux!"

"Oh, what, like you need it right now?" smirked Tuck. "You gonna wear it over to Mezmer's to make kissy-faces with Chloe?" He clasped his hands to his cheek and batted his eyelashes, then stuck out his tongue to show what he thought of the whole disgusting idea …

Brad mouthed a protest, unable to make a sound with his throat; it felt like the air had been sucked out of his lungs. He wanted to pound his little brother into the ground like a tent stake. Of all the stupid things to say, at the worst possible time, right in front of Jenny … finally, he regained use of his vocal cords. "You just never know when to shut up, do you, you little …"

"Hey, this doesn't make any sense," squawked Carver, punching buttons on his oversize plastic spy watch. "It's just a bunch of silly letters that doesn't spell anything."

If it had been possible to mentally teleport three seven-year-old boys to the dark side of the moon, by sheer force of willpower, Brad would have done it then and there. "Will you three runts just buzz off …"

"Maybe if you just read every other letter," suggested George.

Jenny was almost as annoyed with Tuck's nerdy little friends as Brad was. "What are you two little geeks babbling about now?" she asked, with a mixture of curiosity and irritation.

"Your secret message. She's not even doing it the right way," Carver replied, propping a pair of fists onto his little hips. "Geez, some robot …"

Jenny gave Brad a perplexed look, completely baffled as to what Carver could possibly be talking about. Brad just slapped his forehead, and heaved his shoulders with a heavy sigh. The little pests were still playing their stupid make-believe junior secret agent game, and it was really starting to get under his skin. "Tuck, would you and your twerp friends knock it off and leave us alone? Jenny isn't trying to send you a stupid secret message!"

"Not Jenny," George sighed, as if he were explaining the most obvious thing in the world, "the other one."

The little fellow was pointing a stubby finger at Jenny's monitor.

Right at Allison's face.

Jenny didn't have the faintest idea as to what the little boy was looking at. All she could see on her monitor was the replay of Vexus' cold, sinister smile, as she spoke into the camera and cradled the brainwashed LSN droid's face in her twisted claw. Allison was just sitting there, expressionless and immobile, more mannequin than robot. There wasn't a trace of emotion on her once-beautiful face. Just the horrible glow of those ugly, blood-red eyes …

Softly flickering away …

Long, long, short, long … short, short, long, long … long, short, long, short …

Jenny gasped and nearly fell over backwards. The flickering wasn't random. It was a pattern. A very fast pattern of long and short flashes, pulses that translated very nicely into the universal computer language of ones and zeroes.

"OMIGOSH!" she shrieked. "It is a secret message … and you don't understand it because it's written in binary! She's sending us a message! Drew! Drew, get over here, right now! Hurry!"

The excited squeal of Jenny's voice was more than sufficient to snap Drew out of his curbside funk, and bring him sprinting to her side like a madman. She hurriedly explained their discovery as she rewound the recorded message, and played it again from the start, this time zooming the picture close in on Allison's face. Everyone watched the recording in total captivation, but only the robots understood binary, so they were the only two who could make sense of the stream of binary flashes. Drew managed to keep his wits about him long enough to morph his hand into a simple flat TV screen, and he displayed a series of decoded letters as Jenny called them out. Finally the message came to an end, and everyone looked at Drew's hand …

"CLUSTER DAWN COMING IN TWO DAYS AT 6250 GALACTIC STANDARD TIME TUNE TO 755 MHZ FOR FURTHER DATA"

Tuck frowned, and looked at Jenny with a twisted expression on his face. "Geez, that's the stupidest secret message I've ever seen."


Continued in Chapter Three / Forty-seven Hours to Cluster Dawn