Robots: The Movie Novel

Robots: The Movie Novel is an amazing retelling of the story of the little robot that believed he could be all he dreamed he could be. With 8 pages of full colour movie photos, this 112 page novel follows Rodney as he goes from small robot from a small town to big hero in the big city.
== Synopsis ==
See a Need, Fill a Need<BR>Rodney Copperbottom has been inventing things ever since he got his first set of hand-me-down upgrades. Like his hero, Bigweld, he wants his inventions to help robots shine no matter what they're made of. But Rodney gets a shock when he goes to Robot City to follow his dreams. Bigweld Industries has been taken over by Ratchet, an evil robot who plans to get rid of all rusty, dented, dirty bots. Will Rodney be able to save Robot City from the scheming robot Ratchet?
== Copyright==
HarperCollins®, ®, and HarperKids Entertainment™ are trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
Robots: The Movie Novel
Robots TM and © 2005 Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Printed in the U.S.A. For information address HarperCollins Children's Books, a division of HarperCollins Publishers, 1350 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10019.
Library of Congress catalog card number: 2004109429
www.harperchildrens.com
www.robotsmovie.com
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First Edition
== Chapter One ==
"Woo-hoo! I'm going to be a dad!" Herb Copperbottom shouted his big news as he ran through the streets of Rivet Town. He wanted the whole world to know how happy he was.
"I just talked to my wife. My baby is going to be delivered any minute!" He stopped in the middle of the street to tell a traffic cop.
The cop didn't seem particularly thrilled. Neither did the truck driver who had to slam on his brakes to avoid running over Herb Copperbottom.
"Hey, get out of the way!" the truck driver snarled. But nothing could upset Herb today. He was going to be a dad. He'd dreamed of this moment for a very long time. He raced through the streets, trying to get home before the baby came.
But he wasn't quick enough. When he arrived at his house, his wife gave him the news. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry," Mrs. Copperbottom said. "You missed the delivery." Herb's face fell. He'd missed it. The most important moment of his life, and he'd missed it. 
"It's okay," Mrs. Copperbottom assured him. "Making a baby is half the fun. She reached out her arms and handed her hus- band a huge brown box. The words BUILD-A-BABY KIT were splashed across the side of it.
Mr. Copperbottom needed no further encouragement. He gin- gerly carried the box of parts into the dining room and carefully set it on the table. Then he reached over and purposefully began to open the carton. He removed each of the pieces of metal, the screws, joints, and nails that would soon become their very own son or daughter.
The Copperbottoms sat, working together, for the rest of the night. They acted as a team, studying the intricate directions that came in the box, placing cotter pins into small holes, using a wrench to tighten the bolts that held the tiny limbs in place, screwing on the child's metal skull, and popping its butt plate into place. It was difficult work for sure, but it was a labor of love.
Finally, after twelve tough hours, Mr. and Mrs. Copperbottom heard the sound they had waited for for so long.
"Waaaahhh!" Their baby son let out a wail. It was strong and powerful and not at all tinny.
Mrs. Copperbottom picked up her son and held his body close to hers. "Twelve hours of labor." She sighed, cradling him in her arms. "Oh, but it was worth it."
"Look at him, her husband added, with unbridled pride and joy. The baby was really cute, with a pointy metal plate on his shimmering sky blue forehead, two bright red ears, and a tiny, screw-shaped nose. All his parts were there. Ten tin fingers and ten tin toes. "Look! Look at how bright his eyes are. I don't know how I'm going to do it. But I'm going to see that he has every thing he needs. I'll work nights."
Mrs. Copperbottom nodded encouragingly. She knew it would be tough raising a child on their limited means. After all, her hus band was only a dishwasher at a local restaurant. A frontload dishwasher, yes, but certainly not the most modern model. Still, she had no doubt that somehow they would be able to raise this child to be a strong, proud robot. She smiled down at her son and gave him a wonderful robot name.
Rodney Copperbottom.
== Chapter Two ==
Rodney grew quickly. Every year on his birthday his parents presented him with a different carton filled with larger replacement parts. The Copperbottoms weren't wealthy robots, so none of Rodney's ever-growing parts were bright and shiny, like his original baby body parts. Rather, these parts were hand-me-downs, mostly from his cousin Jeffrey. But Mr. and Mrs. Copperbottom worked as best they could to clean up the metal, and they managed to get rid of most of the smell. With some minor adjustments, Rodney found he could make the parts fit well enough.
When Rodney was five years old, his father took him to a parade in the middle of town. The crowd was three rows deep, but Rodney, perched on his dad's shoulders, could see perfectly. A giant helium-filled balloon passed overhead. It was obviously patterned after the form of a very large robot-one with a rotund body, two long, spaghetti-like arms, and a small round head. Rodney couldn't take his eyes off the giant gray-and-yellow balloon as it floated by.
"Hey, Dad, who's that?" he asked excitedly.
"That, Rodney, is Bigweld. He's the greatest robot in the world." 
Rodney seemed confused. "I thought you were the greatest robot in the world," he told his dad with great sincerity.
Mr. Copperbottom was so proud, he nearly burst a gasket. "Besides me," he corrected himself. Then he explained, "He's the head of Bigweld Industries. He invents things that make every- one's life better. He's a genius."
"Could I meet him?" the boy asked.
"Maybe someday."
Rodney was quiet for a moment, considering how cool it must be to invent things that help people. That started him wondering. "What do you do?" he asked his father.
"I work in a big fancy restaurant. I'm a dishwasher," Mr. Copperbottom told him proudly.
Rodney looked up at him in awe. Now he was sure his father was the greatest robot around. Bigweld came a close second.
Rodney's fascination with inventing only grew as he got older. Every night he would watch The Bigweld Show on TV. The young bot danced around the room excitedly whenever he heard the show's theme song on the air. When the announcer shouted, "And now . . . the host of our show, Bigweld!" Rodney leaped up and down so excitedly, his mother sometimes thought he might pop a spring.
Rodney never tired of the show. He loved Bigweld's amazing charm. His voice was wise and kind. He built incredible things—and Rodney really loved watching him construct elaborate pat terns with dominoes. Most important, Bigweld's never-ending encouragement was the stuff a young bot's dreams were made of. Rodney's favorite episode was the one in which Bigweld gave the television audience a tour of his company headquarters in Robot City.
"Welcome!" Bigweld said from inside the TV. "This week, I thought you might like to take a look around Bigweld Industries." The huge robot pointed to a shimmering metal gate. "This here's the front gate. Kinda cute, isn't it?"
He turned to the guard standing outside the gate. "Good morning, Tim."
"Good morning, Mr. Bigweld, sir," Tim the guard replied. Mr. Bigweld looked at him curiously. "Tim, who closed the front gate?" he asked. "We never shut the gate. Shutting the gate means shutting out fresh ideas."
Rodney watched as the camera panned to a line of robots standing outside the gate. They were eagerly clutching blueprints and mechanical devices. Bigweld looked kindly at them and smiled out at the TV audience. "You see, every day, robots come from hither and yon, bringing us new ideas. And I listen to every one of 'em. Because you never know which young bot is going to change the world. Remember . . . whether a bot is made of new parts, old parts, or spare parts, you can shine no matter what you're made of."
Rodney grinned broadly. He was certain Bigweld was talking to him. He was destined to become an inventorl Bigweld's show was Rodney's great inspiration. He kept Bigweld's words in his head and in his heart.
"Why invent anything unless it makes someone's life better? So look around for a need, and start coming up with ideas to fill that need. One idea will lead to another, and before you know it, you've done it! See a need, fill a need!"
That was Rodney's goal. All he had to do was come up with something that had never been made before—something that could help other robots, and surely Mr. Bigweld would help him make his dreams a reality!
Rodney refused to give up on his dreams. Throughout the next few years, he kept working on his secret invention. He called it the Wonderbot.
The Wonderbot wasn't much to look at it. It was part old teapot, part metal spools, with a few spoons thrown in for good measure. But it was a highly technical mechanical invention, and although he wasn't quite sure what it would be used for, Rodney knew it would help robots live better lives. Despite the fact that right now the only thing it was good at was exploding, someday was Rodney's great inspiration. He kept Bigweld's words in his head and in his heart.
"Why invent anything unless it makes someone's life better? So look around for a need, and start coming up with ideas to fill that need. One idea will lead to another, and before you know it, you've done it! See a need, fill a need!"
That was Rodney's goal. All he had to do was come up with something that had never been made before-something that could help other robots, and surely Mr. Bigweld would help him make his dreams a reality!
Rodney refused to give up on his dreams. Throughout the next few years, he kept working on his secret invention. He called it the Wonderbot.
The Wonderbot wasn't much to look at it. It was part old teapot, part metal spools, with a few spoons thrown in for good measure. But it was a highly technical mechanical invention, and although he wasn't quite sure what it would be used for, Rodney knew it would help robots live better lives. Despite the fact that right now the only thing it was good at was exploding, someday the Wonderbot would make Rodney shine. And Rodney definitely needed to shine.
As he grew older, his hand-me-down replacement parts became more worn and shabby. During one particularly embar- rassing period of adolescence, he actually had to wear his cousin Veronica's hand-me-downs.
Yet Rodney never seemed to mind the old parts his parents gave him or the seemingly endless teasing of his classmates. He didn't need to be popular. His mind was set on a single goal to get out of Rivet Town and make his way to Robot City. Once he got there, he knew he would change the world.
== Chapter Three ==
At the moment, the world around Rodney wasn't so wonderful. Now that he was eighteen, he was trying to earn a few extra dollars by working as a busboy at the same restau- rant as his father. He hoped the money would help him get to Robot City. Being a busboy was hard work, but not nearly as hard as seeing his father humiliated. No matter how much the dishwasher tried, his boss, Mr. Gunk, wasn't satisfied with Mr. Copperbottom's job performance. He was determined to make Rodney's dad keep up with the newer, more improved dish- washers, even though there was no way Mr. Copperbottom could work faster without getting upgrades himself.
"Is it a contest to see how slow you can work?" Mr. Gunk demanded of Rodney's dad. "Cause you're winning. I told you fifty times: You're too slow. Get an upgrade!" He shoved five more dishes into Mr. Copperbottom's front-load stomach.
"Upgrades are very expensive, sir, and I . . . ," Mr. Copperbottom began.
But Mr. Gunk wasn't listening. He'd been distracted by a waiter who'd come running into the kitchen. "Mr. Gunk, a customer is choking", the waiter said excitedly.
Mr. Gunk sighed and grabbed a plunger from the closet. On his way out the door, Mr. Gunk spotted Rodney standing by the side of the room, watching. "What are you? On a break?" he demanded, before storming away to unclog his customer.
Rodney looked at his father's tired, browbeaten expression and simply had to do something to help. He picked up his small carrying case and pulled out the latest incarnation of his inven tion, the Wonderbot.
"Can I try it now, Dad?" he asked.
Mr. Copperbottom seemed unsure. "Maybe we should get Mr. Gunk's approval first," he suggested.
But Rodney was determined. He had faith that his invention could help his dad. "Let's just show him," he said excitedly.
"Come on, this is going to make your job easier. I invented it for you."
Rodney's enthusiasm was contagious. Mr. Copperbottom got caught up in the moment. "Okay, let's try it."
"Great!" the young robot exclaimed. He turned to the Wonderbot. "Okay, this is it," he told his invention. "Woriderbot, go to work!"
Instantly, the Wonderbot whirled its giant spoons like helicop ter blades and soared over the heads of the kitchen crew. They ducked to avoid being decapitated. The Wonderbot didn't even seem to know they were there. It was too intent on studying the way Mr. Copperbottom washed dishes.
After a few moments, the Wonderbot got to work. It started out at a slow pace, grabbing a few dirty dishes, placing them inside Mr. Copperbottom's washing mechanism, and then removing, drying, and stacking them.
When Rodney was satisfied his invention had mastered the task, he gave the Wonderbot a thumbs-up. Instantly, the invention picked up the pace. In moments, it became its own assembly line, simultaneously loading, washing, removing, drying, and stacking.
The Wonderbot worked! It really worked! Rodney reached up his hand and gave his dad a high five.
The kitchen staff was plenty impressed, too. They stopped what they were doing to cheer the Wonderbot on. That was all the encouragement Rodney's invention needed. It started really hamming it up, flipping the plates into the air, jug gling, and spinning them.
"Yeahl Bravol" the waiters shouted.
"Go, man! Whoal" cried the floor washer.
The Wonderbot moved even faster, getting all the dirty dishes and silverware washed and stacked so fast, it even had time to grab a doughnut and a cup of coffee. The kitchen staff cheered wildly . . . until Mr. Gunk entered the room. "Copperbottom," the angry boss demanded. "What is that?"
The Wonderbot was frightened by Mr. Gunk's booming voice. It cowered in a corner.
Mr. Copperbottom stretched to stand as tall and proud as a dishwasher could. "My son made it."
"What's it doing?" The boss's voice roared loudly across the kitchen.
The Wonderbot whirred with fright.
"Mr. Gunk, please, you're making it nervous," Rodney pleaded.
"I want to know what it is!" he bellowed back, ignoring Rodney's warning.
Mr. Gunk's deep, loud voice echoed around the room. The Wonderbot was completely freaked out. The tiny invention let out an anguished wail, shook violently, and then blasted around the kitchen, bouncing like a giant Superball and smashing into any thing that blocked its path.
Crash! Smash! Boom! Pieces of broken china flew around the kitchen.
"Look out!" members of the kitchen crew cried, as they ducked out of the way.
"It's wrecking my kitchen!" Mr. Gunk shouted. Then, taking matters into his own hands, he grabbed an axe and began chas ing the wild Wonderbot. "I'll stop it!"
"Nol" Rodney insisted, grabbing Mr. Gunk by the foot. The boss lost his balance and fell into a vat of slimy, smelly, disgust ing liquid.
The Wonderbot wasn't about to wait around for Mr. Gunk to emerge from that mess. It raced into the main dining room of the restaurant, flying frantically above the patrons' heads before zooming out the door.
Mr. Gunk heard screaming coming from the restaurant. He pulled himself out of the gross puddle and lunged for Mr. Copperbottom. "Your son, huh?" he bellowed.
Rodney leaped in front of his father and blocked Mr. Gunk's path. "It wasn't his fault," he insisted. "He had nothing to do with . . ."
But Mr. Copperbottom was still proud of his son. "Yes, sir, he is a brilliant boy. An inventor."
Mr. Gunk groaned. "Clean up this mess!" he ordered the old dishwasher. Then he turned to Rodney. "And you! Get out! Inventor . . . " He shook his head at the absurdity of it all. "You're the hand-me-down son of a dishwasher, and that's all you'll ever be." A group of restaurant patrons had gathered behind Mr. Gunk. Their laughter seconded the big boss's opinion.
But Rodney knew better. He'd show them. He'd show them all! It didn't take Mr. and Mrs. Copperbottom long to find Rodney. Mrs. Copperbottom knew just where to look. Somehow she figured that her son had already packed up his wayward Wonderbot, gone to the train depot, and was about to purchase a one-way ticket to Robot City.
"I told you we'd find him, a very wound-up Mrs. Copperbottom boasted, as she raced through the depot toward her son. "It's a mother's instinct."
"Instinct" Mr. Copperbottom huffed and puffed as he hurried behind her. "He left us a note. It said, 'I'm leaving, I'll be at the train station."
"Never mind," his wife replied. She grabbed Rodney and hugged him with relief. Then she frowned. "Pick up that suit case," she said, scolding him as if he was five years old again. "You're coming home right now."
But Rodney no longer had five-year-old hand-me-down parts. He was made of adult metal now and he'd steeled his mind to what he wanted to do.
"No, Mom," he replied firmly. "I have to do this. I'm going to Robot City. Tonight. I'm going to get a job, and I'm going to help Dad pay back Mr. Gunk."
Mrs. Copperbottom shot her husband an exasperated look. "Talk to him!" she pleaded. 
"Uh...." Mr. Copperbottom stalled.
It was obvious that Mrs. Copperbottom wasn't going to get any help there. "Robot City?" she demanded. "You're just a kid!"
"Mom, I just don't fit in here," Rodney explained, trying des perately to get her to understand.
"Nonsensel" his mother exclaimed. "Everybody in town loves you."
But before she could finish her sentence, she was drowned out by a newspaper bot shouting out the latest headline. "Extra! 'Idiot Busboy Destroys Restaurant. Humiliates Family. Read all about it! Extral Extra!"
Rodney sighed. "I'm never gonna be someone here. I want to be an inventor. I want to meet Bigweld. I want to be somebody." "You are somebody. Somebody who's not getting on that train," she insisted.
"Yes, I am."
"No, you're not."
"Yes, I am."
Mrs. Copperbottom turned to her husband. "Talk to him.
The old dishwasher put his hand on his son's shoulder. "One ticket for Robot City," he said to the man behind the ticket counter.
Mrs. Copperbottom looked at him strangely. "Where are you going?" she demanded.
"Not me," her husband replied calmly. "Him."
"But . . . "
"He's right," Mr. Copperbottom continued. "In this town he'll always just be the son of a dishwasher." He turned to his son. "Rodney, did you know that when I was your age, I wanted to be a musician? I played pretty well, too. But my dad was worried that that I wouldn't be able to make a living. So they had me refitted to be a dishwasher. I'm not complaining, but I always said to myself that if I could do it over again, I would follow my dream. You've got greatness, Rodney. Never doubt it. You go to Robot City. You go meet Bigweld. And you show him your big ideas. And Rodney, never, never give up."
Rodney could feel the oil building up in his eyes. He blinked to keep himself from crying as the train pulled into the station.
"All aboard!" the conductor shouted.
Mrs. Copperbottom grabbed her son and hugged him like she would never let him go. Finally, her husband had to pry her fingers apart and pull her away. Rodney raced off.
"I won't let you down, Dad," he vowed as he stood in the doorway of the train. "I'll make you proud."
"I already am," Mr. Copperbottom replied, as the door closed and the train pulled out of the station.
== Chapter Four ==
It wasn't a long journey to Robot City-it took no more than a few hours by train. But as Rodney stepped out of the huge train depot and onto the hustling, bustling sidewalk, he felt as though he'd traveled worlds away. Rodney's small, quiet hometown was nothing like this. Compared to Rivet Town, Robot City seemed huge and impos- ing, with its tall skyscrapers and hundreds of bots hurrying by. But even though he was surrounded by bots, Rodney had never felt so alone. For a moment he wondered if he'd made a mistake.
Then he saw the sign.
WELCOME TO ROBOT CITY it proclaimed. Beneath the words was a huge picture of Bigweld. No, Rodney hadn't made a mistake at all.
He headed into the subway station just below ground. He stopped by the token booth to ask directions from the train announcer. "Hi. Excuse me, how do I get to Bigweld Industries?"
"Hffgszmlrp."
The announcer's response was a completely garbled mess. "What?" Rodney asked.
The announcer pointed behind Rodney and repeated his muffled gibberish. Rodney turned around and saw a sign leading to the entrance of the Crosstown Express.
The Crosstown Express resembled an amusement park Ferris wheel. Rodney hopped into one of the podlike cars and imme diately began moving slowly around the hub. A big smile flashed across his face. He was prepared to waltz right in and show Bigweld his invention. He was ready to shine.
The pod moved until it linked up with another just like it. A gangly red robot named Fender was fast asleep in the car next to him. He was sleeping so soundly, he was actually drooling. Gross!
Suddenly, the sleeping robot started to droop over. His head landed right on Rodney's shoulder. Rodney could feel the wet, oily drool landing on him. Yuck! Quickly, he tried to push the bot off of him. Unfortunately, instead of moving over, the bot fell right into Rodney's lap! 
"What the, oh are you following me?" Fender asked as he sat up, yawning.
"Nol" Rodney answered, defensively.
"First time on the Crosstown Express?" Fender asked him. "Well, actually I..." But Fender wasn't interested in what Rodney had to say. 
"Whoo-boyl Well, good luck in the big city. If you make it here, you can make it anywhere. And if you can't make it here, welcome to the club."
As the pod neared the top of the tracks, Rodney gasped. He had his first wonderful view of the city from high up. It was an incredible sight. Chrome skyscrapers touched the clouds, while, down below, the bots and cars looked like tiny metallic ants. "Wow!" he exclaimed.
"Oh, nol" Fender gasped."
"What? What is it?" Rodney asked him nervously.
"We're going off the tracks. We're gonna crash!"
"What?" Rodney exclaimed. But his voice was drowned out by the fast motion of the pod shooting down at a tremendous speed.
"Woo-hoo!" Fender shouted, as his head spun around back- ward. He quickly cracked his neck and returned his face to the correct side of his body. He smiled at Rodney. "I was just kid- ding," he told him.
Rodney breathed a sigh of relief.
"Now we're gonna die," Fender announced, as their vehicle fell into a catapult.
The catapult launched their pod into the air at top speed. The little pod pinged and ponged around in the air like a metal ball in a pinball machinel Rodney was petrified.
The red robot, however, seemed to be having a blast. Fender raised his arms up like he was riding a roller coaster as they zoomed through tunnels and over hills. Rodney was thrown against the side of the car. Then, Fender threw up.
Finally, the pod came to a stop. Rodney literally fell back into his seat, his body limp.
"You know," Fender reassured him, "it used to be a lot worse. They had this giant hammer..."
Just then, Rodney saw a huge hammer careening toward the spot where their pod had come to rest.
"Oh, they brought it back," Fender had time to mutter before the hammer connected with the wall of their pod. Before Rodney knew what was happening, Fender's butt was in his face, as their pod spun wildly in tight circles.
When the pod finally stopped its mad spinning, Rodney was powerless against the returning force of gravity. He fell out the pod door and Fender stepped out beside him.
"Just stick with me, kid. I know this town like the back of my hand." Fender was just beginning another of his snooty speeches when, luckily for Rodney, the hammer returned and knocked Fender off into the city.
Rodney picked himself up off the ground and turned around. He was standing right in front of Bigweld Industries!
"Wow!" Rodney gasped as he approached the front gate of Bigweld Industries. It looked exactly the way it did on TV. He smiled excitedly as he spotted the familiar sign above the gate. It read YOU CAN SHINE NO MATTER WHAT YOU'RE MADE OF, and it was signed, "Bigweld." Rodney's excitement increased as he recognized the guard in front of the giant gate. It was Tim, the same guard who appeared on The Bigweld Show. Rodney stared at him for a moment, thrilled to be in his presence.
"Yoo-hoo." Tim interrupted Rodney's adoring stare. "Can I help you?"
"Sorry," Rodney murmured, startled by the sound of Tim's voice. "I . . . I . . . you're Tim from the TV show."
"That's mel" Tim replied.
"Well, hey, Tim! Who closed the front gate?" Rodney asked, repeating the words he'd heard Bigweld say so many times before. "It's never supposed to be—"
Tim sighed. He'd heard that line a million times before. "Yeah, okay," he interrupted Rodney. "What do you want?"
"I'd like to see Mr. Bigweld, Rodney said, trying to sound professional. "I'm an inventor."
"Oh." Tim nodded. "Why didn't you say so? Stand back." Rodney did as he was told. He watched with excitement as Tim turned a large key in the lock and the gates magically swung open. "Thanks!" Rodney said, as he took his suitcase and began to walk through the gate.
Slam! Before Rodney could set foot behind the gated area, the giant doors crashed closed in front of him. "What?" he murmured, confused.
"Gotcha!" Tim laughed. He was greatly amused. "Ya see, you were all excited, and then boom!" He looked at Rodney's sad, surprised face. "All right, I had my laugh. Go in."
Once again, the gate opened majestically, allowing Rodney a full view of the buildings that housed Bigweld Industries. He stepped forward and
Bam! The gate crashed closed right in front of him again. "Whoo, hey!" Rodney shouted angrily.
Tim was really having a good time now. "That's funny. The second time," the guard guffawed. "'Cause then you really think I'm gonna let you in. But I'm not."
Rodney wasn't laughing. "All right!" he shouted, fighting hard not to completely lose it. "We've all had a laugh except me. Now let me in."
Tim shook his head. "Sorry, kid. Nobody gets in. Company rules."
"Company rules?" Rodney repeated. "Then how do they hire new inventors?"
"They don't. Those days are over." Tim stared thoughtfully at Rodney. "My advice? Come back two years ago. Then the job is yours." He burst into a new round of hysterics. In fact, he laughed so hard, he shook an overhead balcony loose. It came down over his head. "Look what you made me do!" he shouted angrily at Rodney. "After I almost let you in . . . twice!"
Rodney had no pity for the wisecracking guard. He did, however, have a final warning for him. "I'll be back!" he vowed as he stalked away. "You can't stop me."
"Sure, I can!" Tim shouted back. "In fact, those are my orders. 'Keep out the losers!"" "I'm not a loser!" Rodney insisted. "No? Well, if you were a winner, you'd be up there with the big shots," Tim reminded him, as he pointed to the top of the high tower.
"You're right," Rodney said through clenched teeth. "And that's where I'm going. Up there!"
== Chapter Five ==
Unfortunately, at the moment, Rodney wasn't up at all. He was way down-down in the streets and down on his luck. In fact, he was exactly the opposite of the successful, enter- prising bot he had hoped to be.
Of the bots who'd made their way to the top, one sat higher than them all. The robot in the highest of those towers was Phineas T. Ratchet, the chief executive officer at Bigweld Industries. He was a state-of-the-art, fully upgraded bot, made of the finest steel. His body was an expensive gray-and-white pinstripe metal design, set off by a fiery red tie. He was the ultimate model of a corporate executive, the one the others measured themselves against.
At the very moment that Rodney was arguing with Tim, Ratchet was sitting at the head of a large conference table, watching an old episode of The Bigweld Show on a TV screen.
"You can shine no matter what you're made of," the image of Bigweld said.
Ratchet clicked the pause button on the TV and froze the image of the company's founder. "What a remarkable legacy. Concern for the common robot. Making life better! You don't hear that anymore. And for good reason ." He stopped and stared menacingly at the group of corporate executives who had gathered in the conference room. "There's no money in it!"
The executives nodded quietly.
"Memo to Bigweld," Ratchet continued, "we're not a charity! That's why old fatface no longer sits in the big chair. That's why I did all of us a favor and shoved, uh, ahem, er, I mean, showed him to the door. So I don't want to hear another Where's Bigweld? Where's Bigweld?' from any of you."
"We'll see him next month at the Bigweld Ball," one particularly dense executive said. "He always goes to that."
Ratchet glared at the bot. With a single push of a btton, the executive and his chair fell through a hole in the floor. Within seconds, a new model executive popped up to take his place. "Now, let's get down to business," Ratchet continued without missing a beat. "What's our big-ticket item?"
His underlings stared blankly into his eyes.
"Upgrades, people," Ratchet explained, exasperated. "Upgrades. That's how we make the dough. Now, if we're telling robots that no matter what they're made of they're fine, how can we expect them to feel crummy enough about themselves to buy our upgrades and make themselves look better?" He looked around the room. "Am I right?" 
"He's right," one executive bot replied quickly.
"He's always right," agreed another.
"He's never wrong," said a third.
Ratchet smiled at their unbridled approvals. He would, of course, have expected nothing less from the bots who worked for him. Not if they wanted to keep their jobs. "Therefore, I've come up with a new slogan," Ratchet continued. "Why be you, when you can be new?"" Ratchet looked around the room. His employees stared back at him blankly. "I gotta tell ya, I think it's brilliant," the head bot told his underlings. "But honestly I'd like to hear what you employees think about this."
One executive exclaimed, "It's wonderful."
"I love it," seconded another.
"Woo-hool Out of the ballpark, boss!" shouted an exec bot named Forge.
Ratchet smiled at his team. They all seemed so enthusiastic. Well, all except one. Cappy—an attractive female bot with big blue eyes; high, round cheeks; a long, swanlike neck; and a particularly well-constructed top-of-the-line metal body-hadn't uttered her praise yet.
"Cappy, you haven't said a word," Ratchet reminded her. "What do you think of my idea?"
"It . . . gave me chills," she said slowly.
"Thank you," Ratchet replied.
"But . . . " Cappy continued.
Ratchet was shocked. No one ever used that word with him. "But?!" he demanded.
There was a collective gasp as the executives rolled their chairs as far away from Cappy as possible. No one wanted to be associated with someone who said "but" to Ratchet.
"Why would robots buy new upgrades if spare parts are so much cheaper?" Cappy continued, standing her ground.
Oh, right. Well, that's easy, because as of today we are no langer making spare parts. As he spoke, Ratchet swept a box of spare parts from the table. They fell to the ground with a huge clatter.
Just in case that didn't make the executives spring to attention, Ratchet raised the volume of his mechanical voice a notch. "Do you know what I call outmodes? Scrap metal." Ratchet let out a haughty, hollow laugh and looked out the window at the regular robots down below. "You see them on the streets. Misshapen. Rust-covered." He shivered slightly with disgust. "They turn your insides out. You just want to go home and scrub yourself. And scrub and scrub and scrub and scrub and scrub and scrub and scrub . . . "
Seeing that the executives were slightly frightened by this sud- den obsession with cleanliness, Ratchet forced himself to stop. He cleared his throat and tried to change the subject. "Has everyone seen Larry's new ride?" he asked nervously. "It's a honey."
Cappy wasn't paying attention to Ratchet any longer. She was busy looking out the window. Much to her surprise, a strange bot with a blue head and old hand-me-down replacement parts was holding onto a strange contraption made of an old teapot and spools and spoons that whirred like helicopter blades. He was flying in midair, right outside the conference room window. Of course, Cappy didn't know Rodney, or his Wonderbot, but she did know that whoever this robot was, he could only be one of two things: an absolute genius or a total nut. She was fascinated by him.
"Cappy," Ratchet purred, as he stepped closer to her. "I want your department to push our new slogan." He flashed her a smile, making sure she caught a glimpse of his recently shined teeth. "We'll be working very, very closely together on this one. Won't that be fun?"
Ratchet was so interested in Cappy's reaction to his latest statement that he didn't even hear the thud coming from the glass ceiling above the conference room as Rodney smacked into the glass.
"Oodles," Cappy told her boss. Her usually confident voice was tinged with discomfort at the idea of working so closely with Ratchet.
Before Ratchet could continue, there was a loud boom. Rodney and his Wonderbot tumbled through a skylight window in the glass ceiling and landed right on the conference room table.
Whoosh! Rodney slid along the length of the table, scattering paper, cups, eyeglasses, paper, and pens. He landed right on Cappy's lap. It only took a single instant—one quick glance into her big eyes for Rodney to be smitten. He opened his mouth, eager to make a great first impression. "Uh . . . blah bluh ." he babbled helplessly.
Cappy just stared at him.
The Wonderbot was shocked and more than a little scared by this latest fiasco. It darted across the room like a scared bird, zooming over the heads of some of the executive bots and head- ing straight for Ratchet. Rodney leaped up and dove for the Wonderbot just in time.
"Oh... so, sorry ." Rodney stammered, as he stroked and calmed his invention. "I—I . . ."
"What the—" Ratchet boomed.
The sound of his voice was very intimidating, but Rodney stood his ground. This was his chance, and he was taking it. "Sir, I—I . . . am a young inventor. It's always been my dream to come to Robot City and to present myself and my ideas to Mr. Bigweld—" he looked around the room, anxiously searching for that familiar jolly face-"who doesn't seem to be here."
Ratchet cleared his throat and looked from Rodney to the Wonderbot and back. "Gee, no, but while he's away he left me in charge." Rodney's eyes grew wide with anticipation. This big, important executive was staring at his Wonderbot with great interest. "Oh, well, then. Let me show you what it can do."
"I have a better idea," Ratchet said. "Why don't you let me show you what it can do." He reached out and brutally grabbed the Wonderbot. "It can do this!"
And he kicked the small invention right out the window!
"Aaaaahhhhh!" cried the Wonderbot.
"No!" Cappy gasped.
"Why you . . . I—I—" Rodney was so angry, he couldn't get the words out.
But Ratchet was never at a loss for words. He laughed in Rodney's face. "I—I . . . he imitated Rodney's stammer. "Easy, killer. You're right. I was way out of line. To make it up to you, I'll show you around the place . . . "
The next thing Rodney knew, he was hanging from a security crane, dangling hundreds of stories above the street. A magnet was the only thing holding him to the crane's metal arm. Rodney looked down and shuddered. The bots below looked like tiny metal insects. If the crane let him go . . .
Crash! At that moment, the crane did exactly that! Rodney soared in the air for a moment. Then, smash! clammert bash! He found himself lying in a heap on the sidewalk outside the gates of Bigweld Industries. Right back to where he'd started. Things had already changed outside the gate. Construction bots had removed the sign that read YOU CAN SHINE NO MATTER WHAT YOU'RE MADE OF. They were tacking up a billboard that announced Bigweld Industries' new slogan: WHY BE YOU, WHEN YOU CAN BE NEW?
Rodney groaned and sat up. The magnetic pull had attracted a lot of thin metal filings to his face. He attempted to wipe them away, but he was still magnetized and the filings just wouldn't fall. Rodney pushed the slivers of black metal from his cheeks, and they leaped into formation under his nose. He tried to wipe away the metal moustache, and the filings moved to his cheeks and chin, giving him a thick pair of sideburns and a beard. Another swipe from Rodney's hand and the filings moved up to his forehead, giving him big bushy eyebrows and a wacky hair-do.
"So, how'd it go?" Tim the guard asked sarcastically, as he spotted Rodney playing with his face.
Rodney stood up and glared at the snide guard. "What the heck's going on around here?" he demanded. "Some highly polished jerk is sitting in Bigweld's chairl"
"And you're sitting on the sidewalk," Tim reminded him.
Rodney grimaced. "You know, someday you'll be working for mel" he told Tim. Rodney's determination set Tim off on a new round of guffaws. "Oh, really?" he giggled hysterically. "Can I have Tuesdays off?" Rodney didn't answer. Instead, he stood, turned, and walked down the street. Even his Wonderbot was gone now. Rodney was truly alone in Robot City. And he just couldn't shake the electromagnetic power that had held him to the crane. For the first time in his life, Rodney had what you could call a magnetic personality. Unfortunately, what he was currently attracting were garbage cans, a Dumpster, a few spare bot parts, and other random pieces of metal he passed by.
A garbage pail lid attached itself to Rodney's back.Immediately, the quick-thinking bot pulled it off and began to use it as a shield to protect himself from the seemingly endless stream of oncoming metal debris. But the shield was not enough to protect Rodney from an oxygen tank that fell from a nearby wall and tripped Rodney. He flipped over and sparks flew off his body, igniting the gas in the oxygen tank. Boom! Rodney rocketed down the street.
Crash! As a rocket, Rodney zoomed right into the huge billboard that read WELCOME TO ROBOT CITY. The flying junk behind him pushed him straight through the billboard, and he landed on the other side inside a battered trash can.
== Chapter Six ==
Rodney had no idea how long he'd been inside the trash can, but when he finally came to, he could hear someone singing outside.
"I'm a little teapot, short and stout," the bot sang in a high, squeaky voice. "Here is my handle, here is my spout. When I get all steamed up, hear me shout, just tip me over and pour me out!" As he gathered himself, Rodney felt a strange twisting sensation in his leg. Had he sprained his ankle? Dented a toe? No. That wasn't it. Then, suddenly, it hit him. This little teapot was unscrewing Rodney's foot!
"Hey!" Rodney shouted angrily.
It was Fender, the odd, gangly bot who had been on the Crosstown Express with Rodney.
"Oh, hi there. Uh, listen, if I seem to be getting smaller, it's because I'm leaving! Foot don't fail me now!"
"Stop! Hey! You've got my foot!" Rodney called after him, as the weird bot ran away. Rodney struggled to stand, but he was stuck in the trash can. He was forced to go after the bot with the can on his back, like a turtle inside its shell.
The rusty red bot was fast, but not all that careful. He ran right into a rickety tower of old tin cans stacked high in the air. As he leaped out of the way of the cans, he crashed into Rodney. The sheer force of the collision knocked the trash can from Rodney's back. Luckily, he was no longer magnetized.
Fender darted nervously down a narrow alleyway. Rodney limped after him. Then, things suddenly went from bad to worse. One of the cans filled with round ball bearings came crashing down. Before Rodney knew what was happening, a sea of slippery metal balls flooded the alley.
The torrent of oncoming ball bearings surprised Fender. He stopped for a second, giving Rodney the chance he needed to grab hold of his own toes on the foot Fender was holding. But Fender wasn't giving up so easily. He held on tight to the heel of the metal foot. Before either of them knew what was happening, they were in a foot-tug-of-war!
The two robots slipped and slid over the metal balls. They looked like a pair of ice-dancing bots. But this was no dance. For Rodney, this was a matter of survival. For Fender, it was a simple case of finder's keepers. Neither one of them was going to give up easily.
Fender yanked harder on his end of the stolen foot. The sheer force sent him flying out of control into a pile of tin cans. He landed with a crash. Boing! His head popped off.
"Ow!" the bodyless head moaned at Rodney. "Happy now?"
"Not till you give me back my foot, you mugger!" Rodney yanked his missing body part back.
"I am not a mugger!" Fender's head insisted. "I happen to be a scrounger. I didn't know you were at the end of that foot." Rodney sat on the ground and focused his attention on reattaching his foot to the bottom of his leg. When he was finished, he turned back to the headless robot. "Oh, here," he said, reaching for the skull. "Let me help you with that."
Fender's head shook itself. "No, no, no," it declared. "I'll do it myself. I have my pride you know." It let out a sharp whistle, and its body ran over to it. The body reached out its arms, but because it had no eyes, it couldn't be sure where the head might be.
"Over here. Oh, no, not that close," the head moaned, as Fender's foot accidentally kicked it over. "Oh, hold on. Hold on . . . " Fender's body moved a little to the right and managed to kick its head once again. "Ow! No, no, no. Owl Aaah!" the head shouted painfully, as Fender's foot kicked it like a football. Fender's poor head bounced down through a series of discarded lead pipes, and landed in a shopping cart piled high with scrap metal. "Oooh. Unk. Oonk. . . . " The head moaned.
At that moment, a gang of odd-looking bots entered the alleyway. The Rusties, as they were known, were scrounging for odd parts and scraps. When they heard Fender's head scream, they came running over.
Lug, a big, chubby green bot, was the first to spot the rolling head. "Hey, Fender, how's it going?" he greeted him.
"'How's it going?" a thin, grumpy robot named Crank Casey repeated, as if he couldn't believe Lug would ask such a question. Crank twisted his tubelike neck so he could get a better look at the state Fender was in. "What? He's a head in a basketl We're doomed," he moaned. "I knew it. We're doomed."
Will you shut up, you neurotic nut?" Fender's head scolded. "Why, I'd . . . I'd smack you if I had a hand!" The head looked up. "Whoa!" Fender shouted. "Speak of the devil, here I come!" At that moment, Fender's headless body landed right on top of his bodyless head. "Oww!"
Rodney watched as the run-down robots came to the aid of their friend's head and body. Then, suddenly, a perky girl bot with pigtails popped out of the Dumpster. She was holding the Wonderbot!
"Hey, check this out," the teenage bot, named Piper Pinwheeler, told her friends. "Who would throw away such a cute little doodad?" Then she noticed Fender's head in the shop- ping cart. "Fender?" she asked. "What happened to you?"
Rodney couldn't believe his good fortune. That bot had found his invention! "Hey, that's minel" he insisted.
"That's him!" Fender's head cried out. His arm pointed straight ahead at nothing. "That's the guy! I would know that face. I know that face and I know that foot."
"I'm over here," Rodney called out.
Fender's arm pointed in the direction of Rodney's voice. "That's the perpetrator. He knocked my head off." The body poised itself for a fight. "You want another piece of me?"
That was all Piper needed to hear. She leaped from the Dumpster and raced over to Rodney. "All right, Buster! If you think you can mess with my big brother, you you're kind of cute. She eyed Rodney curiously as Lug tried to reattach Fender's head to his body. Unfortunately, he jammed the head on upside down.
Crank rolled his eyes at Piper's flirtation. "Piper, would you behave yourself?" he scolded her. "Now, let's get Fender fixed . . . again."
Piper handed Rodney the Wonderbot. "Here's your thingamabob," she said, as she began to walk off with her friends. "See ya around."
Two of Fender's friends led his body away from the alleyway, and a third carried his head. Even though he'd lost his head, Fender hadn't lost his mind . . . or his tongue. He had plenty to say to his little sister. "I've told you a hundred times," he scolded her. "Don't talk to strange men!"
Piper frowned. "I talk to you," she muttered to herself. "Who's stranger than that?"
The Rusties carried Fender to Jack Hammer's Hardware Store. Jack, the owner of the shop, almost always had the parts Fender needed. Today, though, it was a different story.
Jack had good news and bad news for Fender.
What's the bad news?" Fender asked him nervously.
"I checked the stock book, and as of today, they are no longer making parts for your model," Jack said, breaking the news as gently as he could. "You have been officially outmoded."
"Outmoded, that's just fine." Fender groaned. "What's the good news?"
Well," Jack replied, "when we had your parts, they were on sale. Ha, ha, ha."
Fender didn't see the humor at all. Outmoded! It was enough to make a grown bot cry. "How could this happen to me? I'm practically a kid!"
Gee, look, pull yourself together," Jack urged him, suddenly feeling sorry for having joked around. "All you need is an upgrade." He hurried into the back and came out with a carton of fresh parts.
"Whoal" the Rusties exclaimed in unison as Jack set a part onto the counter.
"Mmm . . . " Lug sniffed at the air. "That new upgrade smell."
"Just came in, fully loaded," Jack informed them. "Look, it's got cup holders, standard!" Lug's eyes grew large with excitement. "Does it come in plus sizes?"
"Sure!" Jack told the big, green Rusty. "Take a look at Bigweld's new spring collection." He pointed to a vast selection of replacement parts in various shapes and sizes.
The Rusties loved the look of the new models. Fender, however, was far less impressed. "I can't afford that fancy stuff," he reminded the others. "All I need is one stinking neck joint!" Fender's head began banging itself on the counter. "Why . . . did . . . this . . . happen . . . to . . . me?" the head moaned as it banged again and again. Then it frowned. "I'm hurting me. Idiotl"
Rodney entered the store just in time to hear the shopkeeper tell Fender the worst news of all.
"Sorry, pal," Jack informed him. "It's either an upgrade or the Chop Shop for you."
Fender's head gulped. "The Chop Shop?" He began to panic. "No, look at me! I have a warranty, don't I? Come on! Somebody, there has to be a warranty somewhere on me." He frantically looked to his friends for help. They stared back at him blankly.
"I'm fine. I'm fine, I'm fine." Fender tried to assure everyone. He began to juggle his head. "Hey, hey, hey. Hup, hup, hup. Oh." He propped his head precariously on top of his neck. "Ta-dal I'm back!" he announced, as though he were finishing some sort of psycho magic trick. "Miss me?"
That got Piper's attention. "No one's going to the Chop Shop. She stared menacingly into Jack's eyes and grabbed him by the throat. "Listen, shiny pants," she warned. "You get back there and find a part for my brother. We are not junk. We are not scrap. And we will not be treated this way!"
But there was nothing Jack could do. "I'm sorry," he told her. "I don't have the parts."
"Well, do you have two washers, an S-spring, and some fast weld?" Rodney interrupted.
The Rusties all turned to look at him.
Rodney smiled at Fender's head. "I can fix you easily," he assured him. It was true. After years of working on the Wonderbot, Rodney had become an expert at putting things together on a low budget. Compared to the Wonderbot, connecting Fender's head was a simple job, despite the fact that his body wasn't exactly in tip-top shape.
"When was the last time you got oiled?" Rodney asked Fender a few moments later, as he sat on the side of a busy street, reattaching the bot's rusty red head to his neck.
"I can't really answer that with my kid sister around," Fender confided.
"Can it, Fender!" Piper barked. She was tired of being treated like a child.
Rodney rotated Fender's head to the left. "Hold still," he warned. "This might tickle."
He wasn't kidding. Fender giggled uncontrollably as Rodney moved his head back and forth. When the work was finished, the outmoded Rusty looked up at the young inventor and smiled. "We haven't been properly introduced. I'm Fender. Used to be Bumper, but I had to change it when we came into the country."
"Copperbottom," Rodney introduced himself. "Rodney Copperbottom." "Copperbottom," Fender repeated in a snooty voice. "Oh, hey, everyone! Rodney's here. The Rodster. Hello, Rod. If I'd known you were coming, I'd have cleaned myself up." Fender stopped talking long enough to ask a question that had been bothering him. "Hey, riddle me this: Why did I meet you among the garbage?"
Rodney thought back on his "meeting" at Bigweld Industries and sighed. "It's a long story."
Fender shrugged. "In that case, skip it."
Piper slapped Fender on the crank, and then sidled up next to Rodney. "I want to hear," she assured him.
"Well, today I tried to get in to see Bigweld," Rodney began, encouraged by her interest in his tale.
"Hey, lots of luck," Piper interrupted him. "Bigweld's gone. It's like there never was a Bigweld."
Rodney couldn't . . . wouldn't . . . believe it. "Of course there's a Bigweld."
Piper shot him a skeptical look. "Well, if you find him, tell him we really need him to come back. He cared about bots like us."
"What I heard is that they did him in and they left the rest of us to fall apart. That's why there's no part for Fender's neck. Diesel needs a new voice box, too."
As if to prove it, Diesel Springer opened his mouth wide. A ball flew out, but not a sound emerged.
"And when you totally fall apart, you become sweeper bait," Fender added as the ball raced off.
"You mean . . . ?" Rodney gasped.
At that very moment, a sweeper rode by, looking for an unsus pecting outmoded bot to eat. It swallowed up the ball in a single bite.
Fender pointed the sweeper out to Rodney. "Straight to the Chop Shop."
But right now, thanks to Rodney's skills, Fender would be avoiding that fate. His head was perfectly attached. In fact, he could spin it around and around—and he hadn't been able to do that for years. "Hey, look at that! He fixed my neck!" he cheered as it circled around.
But Rodney didn't feel like celebrating his success. He was too upset about the disappearance of Bigweld. He needed to go someplace where he could think things through. "I guess I'd bet ter get going,"
Rodney told the Rusties. "Where you heading?" Piper asked.
"Well, I've given it a lot of thought . . . and I have no idea," Rodney admitted.
Suddenly, Fender whipped out an imaginary microphone and, for no apparent reason, took on the role of a crazed game show announcer. "When in Robot City, guests of the—that's us—stay at Aunt Fan's Boarding House, where our motto is, 'Beats rustin' outside."
Rodney looked at him gratefully. "You sure?"
Fender, Piper, and the rest of the Rusties all rushed to assure him that he was welcome.
As they watched the sweeper ride off to the Chop Shop, Fender leaped into the street and wiggled his butt. "Here's one outmode you're not gonna get!" he taunted. "Na-na-na-na-na! Na-na-na-na-nal"
Clank! His butt slipped right off its hinge and landed at his ankles. "Whoops, Fender added, blushing even redder than usual.
As Fender and his pals led Rodney through the streets of Robot City to Aunt Fan's Boarding House, they had no idea that some truly dastardly deeds were going on underground . . . at the Chop Shop.
Madame Gasket, a frighteningly grotesque bot, was hard at work, ordering her minions to do her evil bidding. "All right, break timel" she called out to them. A second later, she said, "All right, break time over!" Her workers were amazed. That had been a much longer break than usual!
Such was life for the bots who worked the maze of conveyor belts at the Chop Shop, sorting out the pieces of outmoded bots who had long since passed their prime. There was no relaxation for them. Madame Gasket saw to that. She laughed haughtily, stopping only when a visitor arrived in the shop.
"Well, look who's here," she said with mock respect.
"Hi, Mom," Ratchet replied. "How's my boy?"
Ratchet smiled proudly. "Great. I did what you told me. No more spare parts. In a couple of weeks all those broken-down losers out there will be nothing but scrap metal. You will be up to your bloomers in outmoded junk."
"Such a good boy," Madame Gasket praised her son. "And after you finish off Bigweld, there will be nobody out there to fix them."
"Exactly!" Ratchet cheered. Then he paused for a moment. He had absolutely no idea what his mother was talking about. "Um, you want to run that by me again?"
"You heard me. I want you to destroy Bigweld."
Ratchet gasped. That was more than he'd bargained for. "That wasn't part of the plan. He's not going to be any trouble where he is. He—"
Madame Gasket was exasperated. "What are you afraid of This is what's always held you back. Be strong! Show some bolts! Or do you want to end up like you father?"
She grabbed her son by the collar and held him high above the ground so he could get a better view of his dad, who was dangling pathetically from a high wire, his joints squeaking in the breeze. Ratchet gulped. His mother was capable of some pretty awful things. 
"With Bigweld gone, all our dreams will come true," she cooed deviously, cradling Ratchet's head in her arms. "Okay, Mommy," Ratchet said finally, not wanting to disappoint her. "Destroy Bigweld. I'm putting it on my to-do list." Madame Gasket smiled at her child, quite pleased. "Are you hungry?" she asked him. "Can I get you something? You look thin."
"No, Mom, I gotta go," Ratchet replied, as he hurried out of the Chop Shop. He stopped and turned to the pathetic robot hanging from the ceiling. "Bye, Pop.'"
"So long, son," Mr. Gasket squawked in his meek voice. "Good luck with your dastardly plans."
== Chapter Seven ==
Fender and the other Rusties had no idea that Ratchet and his mother were planning to remove all the outmoded bots in Robot City from the streets. At the moment, thoughts of the Chop Shop were far from their minds, because they were welcoming Rodney into their home for the night.
Fender opened the door to Aunt Fan's home and led Rodney inside. The boarding house certainly wasn't like the neat, orderly house Rodney had grown up in. In the Copperbottom home, everything was simple, with basic furniture and no clutter. But here . . . well, it was amazing. The living room was filled with unusual sculptures, overstuffed couches, and other strange objects Aunt Fan had collected over the years. It was cluttered and cozy.
"Let me just let her know you're here," Fender said, as Rodney studied the unusual decor. "Aunt Fan!" he shouted. "We brought someone!"
"I'm in the kitchen!" Aunt Fan sang back joyfully.
"Are you sure your aunt won't mind?" Rodney asked Fender nervously.
"Relax. She's not my aunt. She just takes in bots who are, um, broke. Bless her little heart," Fender added sincerely, as he directed Rodney into the kitchen of the boarding house.
"Then why do you call her Aunt Fan?" Rodney wondered.
"We couldn't call her Aunt Booty," Fender replied.
Not that that wouldn't have been appropriate in her case. After all, Aunt Fan wasn't just any bot. She was a unique com- bination of parts with a brightly painted cheerful face, a metallic hairdo piled high on her head like a beehive, and multicolored crystals that decorated her torso. But her most unique feature was her massive rear end. It was huge, with round dials and shiny bits of metal that made it stand out even more, if that were possible. She was obviously very proud of her incredible derriere.
"Whoa!" Rodney exclaimed with obvious amazement as he caught sight of the woman. The word was out of his mouth before he could stop himself. He could feel the grease rising to his cheeks with embarrassment.
But Rodney needn't have worried. Aunt Fan didn't hear him. The sound of Rodney's voice was masked by the clatter of pots and pans falling from the counter. Aunt Fan had knocked them over as she turned to greet Fender and his friend. Apparently, Aunt Fan had little control over her huge caboose.
"Whoops! Oh, scrap," she exclaimed, as she tried to leap out of the way of a falling frying pan. Too late. It landed on her toe. "Oh, owww," she moaned. "Right on my shoes. I'm so clumsy." The landlady sighed and smiled at Rodney. "Well, hello there. What's your name?"
Rodney tried to focus on Aunt Fan's face, but he just couldn't move his eyes from her enormous tush. "I'm Rodney Bigbottom," he blurted out. "No, um, I'm Rodney Copperbottom. Copperbottom."
"That's a wonderful name," Aunt Fan complimented him sincerely. "Bigbottom."
As Aunt Fan turned to speak to Fender, a horn started to beep. It sounded like a truck backing up in the street. Rodney didn't rec- ognize the noise at first, but he'd never forget it. It was Aunt Fan's fanny signal. She was backing up. Before he could leap out of the way, Aunt Fan backed into Rodney, smothering his entire body with her rear end and pinning him to the wall.
"Well, I . . . " she began to say to Fender. Then she noticed Rodney had disappeared. "What happened to your friend?" She quickly turned her body to look for the missing bot.
"Whoa!" Rodney cried out once again, as Aunt Fan's fanny shifted position and freed him. He gasped for air.
Aunt Fan giggled. "Oh, there you are."
"Aunt Fan, he needs a place to stay, Fender explained.
"Well, just make yourself at home," she told Rodney sincerely.
"Thank you. That's very kind of you," he replied.
"My pleasure," she said sincerely. "See a need, fill a need."
"Hey, just like Bigweld," Rodney recalled.
The thought of Bigweld struck a chord in Aunt Fan. She found him downright handsome. "Ooh, Bigweld," she gushed. "That's a lot of robot! She turned around suddenly, and her butt knocked Rodney and Fender all the way into the living room. They landed with a thud on the couch.
"Come on, you can bunk with me," Fender invited Rodney. He walked across the room and pulled on a giant lever. Suddenly, that entire side of the room began to rotate on its side like a giant Ferris wheel. As the wheel turned, each of the rooms in the boarding house came into view.
Rodney watched in amazement as one by one the Rusties' bedrooms passed in front of him. He could see Piper in her room. She was wrapped in a metallic towel, and her face was covered in wax. She was obviously not expecting company. She gasped when she saw the boys.
"Fender, get out of my room!" she demanded.
"I'm not in your room," Fender argued. Then, he moved one foot across the threshold. "I am now," he teased. Then, moving his foot out again, he said, "No, I'm not."
Piper wasn't in the mood for games. She held the wax buffer menacingly in his direction, "Get outta my room!" she re peated.
"Moving on," Fender told Rodney, as he pulled the lever, sending the wheel moving again. Suddenly, Rodney found him self face-to-face with Crank Casey. The rusting bot was squatting over a pan, reading a newspaper. They'd cought him going to the bathrooml