Roboconjuring- The Discovery

By Michael Larson

Magic is dead. Or is it? Young ‘Lucky’ Brown has the amazing ability to work magic, although he has no idea how he does it. But the US Army can do magic too, in the form of sophisticated android soldiers, Flexbots, that can work magic, or at least good science. But when the Flexbots are unexpectedly knocked out of action, the Army borrows Lucky for a secret mission. Can this teenage conjurer help keep the Army, and perhaps the country, safe while staying a step ahead of the local bullies that are constantly trying to ruin his life?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Larson
• Release date: Jan 18, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311731104

Michael Larson

After spending most of my life in beautiful Arizona, the Larson Family moved to Texas. YeeeeeHaaawwww!While my wife and kids do amazing things, I do my own great things: Published author, Librarian at Texas A&M University, Connoisseur of delicious snacks.

Book preview

Roboconjuring-

The Discovery

Michael J Larson

Copyright 2015 by Michael J Larson

Smashwords Edition

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Acknowledgements

Thanks to…

Alexandra (Alex) Buxkemper-Mathai: My writing buddy and editing hench-woman.

Linda, Spencer, and Alec: My homegrown reviewers.

Judy Buttard: For your artistic patience.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Avril held the remote to the Flexbot in his two hands and toggled a lever with each thumb. It looked somewhat similar to the controllers he had used in his youth when playing his favorite video game systems. The small computer display in the center of the remote gave a prompt that read: ‘Which spell do you want to simulate?’ This prompt was quickly followed by a touch-screen, drop-down menu of every spell ever noted in human history. He chose the ‘Spell to Move an Obstacle’ and turned the Flexbot loose to perform the feat.

The Flexbot took one large step towards the five foot replica of Rodin’s sculpture, The Thinker. The faux eyes of the Flexbot, so lifelike and real to any observer, were not admiring the beauty of the curvatures and flawless lines of the ponderous male figure, but were instead conducting a covert chemical analysis of the object in front of it. On the digital controller, Avril could see that within its processing center, or ‘brain’, the Flexbot quickly discovered that it was looking at CaCOO3, or chalk. It made incredibly fast calculations about the weight and mass of the object. It also made itself aware of several options for moving the object without actually touching it.

And so, as the command code was selected, a sub line of code responsible for theatrics and the aesthetics of action were initiated. Like the storybook wizards of lore, the Flexbot extended its arm, fingers and thumb towards the chalk sculpture, and didn’t make a single sound or movement for several seconds. What an observer would not notice, or see for that matter, is the invisible sub-tones that were bursting out of the palm of the Flexbot. The sound waves were so low, that they fell well outside of the normal range of hearing for all humans and animals.

At first, The Thinker merely wobbled slightly on its base. This was not impressive in and of itself. It could have wobbled as a result of a banged door nearby or even from the rumble of the 11:30 commuter metro train that blasted by going over 100 mph on its way to San Diego. But within seconds, the sculpture gently lifted off of the warehouse floor. It levitated serenely like an infant wrapped in the cocoon of a warm blanket, safe from falling to the ground and shattering into a thousand pieces. As the Flexbot slowly rotated its wrist to the left, the invisible sound buoying up the sculpture moved as well. Slowly, the Flexbot set the item down. No cracks or chips.

Avril shifted a little uncomfortably from one foot to the other, but smiled the biggest, toothy grin his French-Pakistani face could muster. Everything worked perfectly. This tall, lanky scientist, whose name meant ‘to open’ in his native tongue, truly felt like he was opening a whole new world of scientific progress. After so many failed attempts over the past years, all of the bugs had been worked out. Magic was truly dead. There was no mystery to it anymore. It was all just science. No pointy hats, no bubbling cauldrons, wands, or Celtic mutterings. All fantastical powers of the past were muted to be no more than the proper channeling of the scientific use of nature’s forces and offerings; a channeling that the head of the project, Dr. Bagley, and the rest of the engineering team, including the Merlin3000X supercomputer, had been working on for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, it was ready to show to the highest bidder. Today, that bidder came with four shiny gold stars on his uniform coat and answered to the title of General McFarlane, U.S. Army.

Amazing! stated the general. Simply amazing. How many, er, tricks can this robot do?

Well over a thousand, replied Avril. Our historical research teams are still scouring the globe, looking through every scrap of literature, interrogating every shaman, and testing every holy relic they can find. I’m sure when we’re finished, that number will run into the tens of thousands.

The general stood perfectly still for a long moment, his hands clasped behind his back, just staring at the Flexbot that was now silently standing at its own form of attention a few feet away. The general squinted at the robot, and then shifted his gaze back to Avril.

Very well, General McFarlane replied in a gravelly voice. Tell Dr. Bagley that the United States Army will take the first 50 ‘bots, or whatever you’re calling them. I want them ready within the month. Remind the good doctor that we have a pretty significant dust-up happening in the Black Sea region right now. I’d like to take these machines for a live trial run before we deploy. So, make it happen!

With that, the general pivoted in perfect military fashion and quick-stepped out the door, followed closely by his military attaché, leaving Avril and a silent Flexbot standing alone in the cavernous warehouse.

Chapter 2

Lucracious Everett Brown had no choice about the name he was given at his birth. It was a hybrid of several old family names. So, after one too many playground beatings, Lucracious starting going by ‘Lucky’. A fitting name, if ever there was one, since Lucky seemed to have luck on his side with most things in life, minus the abuse from the school bullies.

For as long as he could remember, Lucky had not had any serious problems. The basketball always seemed to swish in for three-point shots, the quizzes always seemed to come back with an ‘A’ despite his lack of studying, and every ‘draw from a hat’ event that he was a part of yielded his name as the winner of, well, whatever the prize was at the moment.

This often led to more physical abuse by his peers on the way home from school. So, he was the luckiest kid with everything except defending himself.

What Lucky didn’t realize was that his so-called luck was much, much more than he understood. Had he taken the time to really think about everything he might have realized that there always seemed to be a little extra help whenever these serendipitous moments of good fortune came his way? One might say there was a bit of magic with most things that Lucky was involved with. The basketball should not have gone in the basket; it usually went backwards over his head when it left his hand. How could he possibly ace his class tests when most of his textbooks and notes were sitting at the bottom of Weber Lake, thanks to Kregg, Manny, and Xavier? And regarding his luck with games of chance, he reasoned that he was bound to win once in a while. He supposed that the rash of near-miraculous events that were starting to accumulate around him was nothing more than his turn at good fortune; good fortune that would all come to a screeching halt at any moment and life would settle back down the way he was accustomed; boring and unspectacular.

Well, lookey’ here! exclaimed an overly exuberant Manny as he rounded the corner of Rose Blossom Ln. and spied Lucky slowly walking home. Within seconds, Xavier and Kregg were standing by Manny’s side, like two counselors in a presidency of pain.

"Hey, Sucky! Manny shouted down the block. Where’s your backpack, you little turd?"

Lucky hesitated for a moment, and then continued walking towards his home. He was trying to play it cool. He’d panic if he heard footsteps running up behind him. He didn’t have long to wait; within ten seconds, he heard the angry slap of sneakers on pavement. They were coming for him. Lucky half-turned his head and peeked at his pursuers from the corner of his eye. They were closing fast. He could clearly see Manny gritting his teeth as he ran, barely able to contain the glee he felt at running his prey down.

Lucky sighed and turned to face his attackers. Xavier was the fastest and veered slightly off to the left so as to surround their victim. Kregg broke right and did the same. But Manny came charging straight in. All Lucky could do was to cross his hands in front of his face, palms outward, and close his eyes.

Manny, by far the bulkiest and strongest of the three lowered his head slightly and dropped his shoulder like he’d been taught in his league football team. This was going to be a solid hit.

As Manny launched himself at Lucky a strange thing happened. Instead of Lucky lying in a crumpled heap on the ground with a