“Can you make my signal stronger?”

“Not without a lab and equipment and new parts. You’d need a much stronger transmitter than the one in your brain.”

I think back to the Tower map I looked at when we were trying to locate Gina. “The antennae on the top of the building are a transmission array. That’s a transmitter.”

“Yes. From there, they’ll send a signal to uniMIND satellites in orbit. And then the satellites can send a signal to every uniMIND robot to establish control over all of them.”

Wind rustles the leaves in the cedar trees. Rain begins splatting on Car’s windshield. Gina rubs behind her ear and winces. I wish I could bring her a hot cocoa. But I know our problems are beyond the ability of hot cocoa to fix.

Gina closes her eyes. After a while her breathing grows heavy and steady. I do a word problem. It ends with possible freedom and likely destruction. It will certainly involve bad experiences. Very quietly, I open Car’s door and step outside for one more lesson.

Chapter 22

THE COMMON WARTHOG IS A wild pig that lives in sub-Saharan Africa. It eats berries and eggs and small mammals and reptiles, among other things. It has long, fearsome tusks, and it likes to wallow in mud to get rid of bugs and parasites that live in its bristles. The mud also serves as camouflage to help hide it from predators.

Like a warthog, I roll around in the mud. I have a difficult time deciding where the mud feels worst. Clinging to the back of my neck and oozing down my shirt? Sticking to my armpits? I keep rolling to make sure I feel the unpleasant sensation everywhere. This is my strategy. The drones and security bots can detect heat, both from organic beings and other robots. Covering myself in cold mud will conceal my heat signature. Unless the icy rain washes the mud off. Just to be safe, I spend a few more minutes wallowing.

Through sheets of rain I make out the little lights on the drones, struggling to hover in the weather. Howling wind drowns out my squelching footsteps as I approach the Tower.

“Rarf.”

Standing in a puddle, Proto wags his antennae at me. Rain plinks off his body.

“Proto,” I whisper. “My strategy involves mud and sneaking. You are not part of my strategy.”

Proto flicks water with his tail and dives headfirst into the puddle. He wriggles and rolls around, pawing and splashing until he is as slathered in mud as I am.

“Rarf?”

“No,” I tell him. “No. You cannot come with me. I am acting alone for the benefit of us all, and I am going to have another bad experience. Return to Car at once.”