The front porch lit automatically at their approach. Nikolas and Xanthus carried the machine with no small amount of huffing, while Tim bounded around them and through the sliding door.
"Hello Tim Lyons," their house's Hospitality 3000 system announced. "Heart rate: Excited. Condition: Healthy. Geneva virus infection levels: 0.00."
The door slid open and H-3000 began announcing their medical statuses as they poured in. Daniel, Grand and Lir led while Xanthus, Nick and Helen followed after. Nick's arms were beginning to shake at the heaviness of what Grand had just wildly announced was a time machine. Did his granddad believe he was a time traveller? When did old people start losing their minds? Nick wondered. About now, apparently.
"Hello, children." A shiny, new nannydrone announced, dropping from the ceiling.
"Didn't you chuck your nannydrone out of a window?" Xanthus looked surprised. "I saw it blow up."
"A replacement?" Nick tisked at the nannydrone. "That was quick. I guess Pappy's Popsicles really won't sell themselves."
Xanthus and Helen's nanny-leashes vibrated and lit red with the words: "Hiker's Canyon Incident Suspect".
"Ow," Helen whipped her hand. Xanthus and Daniel's nanny-leashes also gave electrical off an electrical charge.
The nannydrone set its holographic eyes on their nanny-leashes, which flashed red. Her eyes flashed the same color.
"My records indicate you were at Hiker's Canyon today, Helen, Xanthus and Daniel," the nannydrone informed them. "There was a violent encounter between the U.S. refugee youth, Rocky McCord and Helen Wendell, Xanthus and Daniel Kobayashi. My face recognition software tells me you were at the scene of the crime and to be entered into our reconditioning program."
It's right multi-purpose hand flipped like a switchblade, revealing a long, silvery needle. "As a part of our reconditioning program, I am to administer the brain inhibitor, R-5235."
All of them looked visibly shocked, as they should be. Nick knew brain inhibitors were given to kids who were considered dangerous and out of control. They would be seventeen the next time they could string an entire sentence together.
"Do not be concerned, youth," the nannydrone said, analyzing their facial expressions. "R-5235 is not fatal. It will simply suppress any and all aggressive thoughts and behaviors. Common side effects may include dizziness, memory loss, aversion to social environments, difficulty with complex verbal communication and thinning of the hair. It is a very efficient medication, if I do say so myself. Some brain damage can be… permanent."
"After I've administered the R-5235 serum," The nannydrone's left multi-arm flipped and extended its nanny-leash wand. Nick recalled how the other nannydrones used their nanny-leash wand to magnetically drag the other refugees into the air like caught fish. Both of its hands were out like a villain with guns drawn in an old western movie. "I am ordered by the United States National Security Agency to take you back to our rehabilitation center."
"Oh. You'll try," Helen warned while side-eyeing a fireplace poker just a few feet away.
"No," Nick put a guarded hand in front of the nannydrone. "These drones record everything. If the camp has a video of you busting up one of its government machines, you'll never get out of there." What Nick didn't say out loud was he came from a family from the suburbs, so he could destroy as many nannydrones as he wanted and the government wouldn't do anything. But refugees were another thing.
Helen glanced at the poker again. It appeared she was contemplating defying common sense anyway and bashing the nannydrones brain into a mangle of silicon and memory chips. Nick knew he had to fix this. His mind raced for some way to protect his friends and deal with the drone. He peered around the room and found the Pappy's Popsicle mini fridge mounted just above the trash compactor.
"Boy," Nick declared, announcing loudly. "I sure could use something refreshing and cool! Like a—I don't know. A popsicle."
"The nannydrone turned its red eyes on Nick. "You—you mean a Pappy's Popsicle, Nick?"
"Well …" Nick angled his head dramatically, "Now that you mention it, nannydrone. Yes. A Pappy's Popsicle would be great! In fact. How about a Pappy's Popsicle for everyone. It's on me."
"Oh, Nick. I knew you'd come around …" But then it hesitated, clearly struggling with its programming. It was suppose to push Pappy's products on the children of wealthy families, but when called upon, it was also supposed to help the U.S. government keep the refugee youth in check.
"Ok, then." The nannydrone swiveled and sped across the room. "First, Pappy's Popsicles, and then we permanently alter the personality of the refugee teenagers."
Nick tiptoed behind the nannydrone as it approached the mini-vending machine. He whispered under his breath, "H-3000. Open trash compactor."
The trash compactor slid open just underneath the nannydrone as it unlocked the mini-vending machine. Nick raced toward the drone and raised his right tennis shoe, he kicked, ramming the drone into the compactor. Before the nannydrone could escape, he slammed the door.
Muffled commands came from the trash compactor. "Open the compartment, Nick Lyons. The nannydrone is in severe danger of being destroye—"
Nick tapped the button: COMPACT.
The compactor's gears moaned as it tried to crush the nannydrone.
"Open the compartment," the nannydrone repeated. "The nannydrone is in severe danger of b—eing damaged or—d—estro—Would you lik—executable file—chocoberry—R-5235—yum three-hundred and Pappy'sssssssssssszzz—"
The compactor moaned one last time before accepting its victim.
"You scare me," Tim said.
"A nannydrone just tried to turn our friend's brains to mush, and I scare you? You need to check your priorities, Tim."