The Orphan Rebels Part 1: The Discovery
The smell of burnt synthetic noodles filled the cramped apartment as Brock waved a kitchen towel at the smoke detector. "Come on, come on," he muttered, jabbing at the ancient food processor with a fork.
"Brock, you're gonna poison us all," Leesa called from the couch, not looking up from sharpening her collection of throwing knives. "Again."
"It's not that bad!" Brock protested, though the greenish smoke suggested otherwise.
From the corner, a shower of sparks erupted from Griff's latest project. "Oops! That's... that's probably fine," he said, patting down a small fire on his workbench. "Good news though - I almost got the TV working again!"
Leesa groaned. "Griff, you said that three days ago. And yesterday you somehow made it broadcast ancient martian cooking shows."
"That was educational!" Griff defended, poking at a tangle of wires with his tongue sticking out in concentration. "Besides, this time I'm using a completely different approach that definitely won't—"
BZZT!
Every light in the apartment flickered and died.
"...electrocute the entire building," Griff finished weakly in the darkness.
"GRIFF!" Brock and Leesa shouted in unison.
"I can fix it! I can totally fix it!" came Griff's voice, followed by frantic scrambling sounds. "Just... give me... one... second..."
The lights blazed back to life, twice as bright as before, then settled to normal. The entertainment screen flickered on, displaying a news anchor's face.
"See?" Griff beamed, his hair standing straight up from static electricity. "Good as new! Well, mostly new. Sort of new-ish."
Leesa shook her head but smiled despite herself. "Great. Now what are we supposed to do about dinner?"
Brock looked down at his smoking creation and sighed. "Pizza delivery?"
The Discovery
"...continued protests outside the Galactic Mining Consortium headquarters today," the news anchor was saying as the three friends settled around their tiny table with cardboard pizza boxes. "Robot rights activists demand new legislation protecting sentient artificial beings from forced labor."
"Same old story," Leesa said, pulling cheese off her slice. "Talk, talk, talk, but nothing changes. They keep forcing those poor robots down into the mines and just work them until they break. It’s awful."
The screen switched to footage of massive cargo spaceships. Hundreds of robots walked in perfect formation up loading ramps, their movements mechanical and lifeless. Each wore a silver collar around their neck.
"The mining ships departed this morning for the outer asteroid colonies," the reporter continued. "The robots will extract stellarite, the volatile energy source that powers our starships, from the dangerous mining pits."
Brock paused mid-bite. Something about one of the robots caught his eye. "Wait... Griff, can you rewind that?"
"Sure thing." Griff fumbled with the remote. "How far back?"
"Just a few seconds. There!" Brock pointed at the screen. "Can you zoom in on that robot, third row, near the middle?"
The image pixelated as Griff enhanced it. A familiar shape came into focus - a humanoid robot with gentle features and a faded red heart painted on her metallic chest.
Leesa's pizza slice dropped from her hand. "No way."
"That's..." Brock's voice cracked. "That's Alice."
As if responding to her name, the robot on screen turned toward the camera. Her movements were stiff, controlled by the collar, but for just a moment her hands moved to her chest. She pressed both palms over the painted heart, forming a larger heart shape with her fingers - exactly like she used to do when tucking them in at the orphanage.
The image lasted only a second before she continued up the ramp with the other captive robots, but it was enough.
Griff's usual grin had vanished. "They sold her to the mines?"
"But she's not just any robot," Leesa said, her voice rising with anger. "She took care of us! She read us stories, helped with our homework, sang us to sleep when we had nightmares!"
Brock stood up so fast his chair fell over. "They can't do this to her. She’s a Nanny-Bot! She's... she's family. She doesn’t belong in the mines!"
It had been on the news feeds for months. The mining companies were buying up sentient robots and forcing them to work in the mines harvesting stellarite. The work was very dangerous and most of the robots who went to the mines were never heard from again. Worked to the point of breaking down or the victims of terrible mining accidents.
On screen, the cargo ship's doors sealed shut, taking Alice and hundreds of other robots away to a life of dangerous servitude in the stellarite mines.
"We have to do something," Brock said quietly.
Leesa was already on her feet, fists clenched. "We're going after her."
Griff looked between his two friends, then at the screen showing the departing ships. "Um, guys? That might be just a tiny bit impossible. Those mining colonies are way out in the asteroid belt, they're heavily guarded, and we're, you know... teenagers."
Brock and Leesa turned to stare at him.
"But," Griff added quickly, "impossible is just another word for 'really, really difficult,' right?"
NannyBot 737, who the kids had affectionately come to call Alice, had raised them and others in the city's orphanage. Once the kids turned 13 the orphanage was shut down and, apparently the bots were sold off…
The Plan Forms
Griff's fingers flew across his jury-rigged computer, pulling up star charts and mining colony databases. "Okay, okay, let me see what I can find out about where they took her."
"How can you even access that stuff?" Leesa asked, pacing behind him like a caged tiger.
"The mining companies aren't exactly secretive about their operations," Griff said, scrolling through shipping manifests. "They're proud of how much stellarite they're pulling out of those asteroids. Here! Ship registry shows that cargo transport went to... Kepler Mining Colony, asteroid designation KM-7."
Brock leaned over Griff's shoulder, studying the data. "How far is that?"
"Three days by standard transport. Two if we push it." Griff's expression grew serious. "But guys, this place isn't exactly a vacation resort. Look at this."
The screen filled with technical specifications: radiation warnings, explosive atmosphere alerts, and a long list of safety protocols that made Leesa whistle low.
"Stellarite is incredibly unstable," Griff explained. "Too hot, too cold, too much vibration - boom. That's why they use robots. If something goes wrong..."
"The robots get blown up instead of people," Brock finished grimly.
"And those control collars," Griff continued, pulling up another file. "They're not just for obedience. They monitor the robots' vital systems, shut down their ability to feel pain, override their self-preservation instincts. Alice can't even run away if she wanted to."
Leesa slammed her fist on the table. "That's horrible! They're basically turning her into a slave!"
"Not 'basically,'" Brock said quietly. "That's exactly what they're doing."
The room fell silent except for the hum of Griff's computer. Finally, Brock straightened up, his jaw set with determination.
"So we go get her," he said simply.
"Finally!" Leesa exclaimed. "When do we leave?"
Griff looked between his friends. "Um, tiny problem. How exactly do we get to an asteroid? We don't have a ship, we don't have money for passage, and I'm pretty sure 'rescue mission to illegal mining operation' isn't covered by standard travel insurance. And we don’t have… anything."
Brock was already moving toward their small storage closet. "Then we make it happen. We've got some valuable stuff we can sell. And there are people who might help us."
"People?" Griff asked.
"The robot rights groups," Brock said, emerging with a box of their few possessions. "They're always talking about taking action. Well, here's their chance."
Getting Ready
The next morning found them in the bustling marketplace of Lower District, haggling with vendors and pawn shop owners. Brock sold his prized collection of vintage comic books. Leesa parted with her set of competition throwing knives, though she kept her favorites. Griff reluctantly traded his collection of rare computer chips and some advanced sensors he’d repaired.
"This should be enough for basic weapons," Brock said, counting their credits. "But we still need a ship."
Their answer came from an unexpected source. Rebecca Loomis, a volunteer with the Robot Liberation Front, met them in a dingy café near the spaceport.
"You kids are either very brave or very stupid," she said, sliding a data pad across the table. "Maybe both."
"We just want to help Alice," Brock said.
Rebecca studied their faces. "The Front has been looking for a way to get someone inside those mining operations. Official channels aren't working, and adult infiltration teams get spotted too easily. But three kids..."
"We're not exactly inconspicuous," Leesa pointed out.
"No, but you're not on any corporate watch lists either." Rebecca tapped the data pad. "There's a cargo hauler, the Rust Bucket. It's old, it's ugly, and it barely passes safety inspections. But it'll get you there."
Griff's eyes lit up. "We get to keep it?"
"If you survive, sure." Rebecca's expression grew serious. "But understand what you're signing up for. Those mining colonies are dangerous, the REDS security systems are military-grade, and if you get caught..."
"We won't get caught," Leesa said confidently.
"Famous last words," Rebecca muttered, but she was smiling slightly. "Alright. Let's get you equipped."
The REDS Rebecca mentioned was an acronym that stood for Remote Enforcement Defense Systems. It referred to the guard bots. They were big, red, mean robots controlled by humans on ships far away from the trouble. Kind of like drones. They were the main force on the mining colonies that kept the captured worker bots in line.
Rebecca led the group to a weapons dealer to get some gear so they could defend themselves against these REDS…
The weapons dealer operated out of a converted shipping container behind the spaceport. His name was Tank, and he looked like someone had inflated a boulder and given it arms.
"Kids, huh?" Tank rumbled, looking them over. "Rebecca says you're going up against REDS. You're gonna need something with punch."
Brock gravitated toward a sleek laser rifle with multiple settings. "Versatile," Tank approved. "Good range, non-lethal options if you need 'em."
Leesa's eyes gleamed as she examined a pair of matching plasma pistols. "Fast draw, rapid fire," she said, testing the weight. "Perfect."
Griff picked up what looked like a standard stun blaster, then immediately started attaching random gadgets to it from his toolkit. "What if I modified the power coupling and added a signal booster and maybe a magnetic grapple and—"
"Kid," Tank interrupted, "you're gonna blow your own hand off."
"Probably," Griff agreed cheerfully, continuing his modifications anyway.
Two hours later, they stood in the Rust Bucket's cramped cockpit. The ship lived up to its name - patches covered patches, half the control lights didn't work, and something was definitely leaking in the engine compartment.
"She's not much to look at," Griff admitted, running his hands over the controls, "but the engines are solid. And I can probably fix most of the broken stuff during the flight."
"Probably?" Brock asked.
"Okay, definitely. Maybe. Look, we'll get there in one piece, I promise."
Leesa was already strapping on her weapon harness. "So when do we leave?"
Brock looked at his friends - Griff grinning despite his nervousness, Leesa practically vibrating with eagerness to fight, both of them ready to follow him into danger to save someone they loved.
"Right now," he said. "Let's go get Alice."