The C.W.A. of Dr. Z. Smith: Episode #90: 3-X TERM-1: NAT3

A man stands on top of macy's with a megaphone, “DON'T PANIC!” he yells. 

 Below him the screams of the people mix with the smell of oil.

-=fig. 589: shouted from the top of a building=-

  “STAY IN YOUR HOMES!” He suggests, but Dr. Smith corrects him.  “James, these are robots built to manufacture things, wooden doors won't stop them.”

   “Alright then, what will?” 

      Dr. Smith thinks for a moment, “They weigh roughly two thousand pounds, so…stairs.”

         Capt. James brown adjusts his megaphone “ON SECOND THOUGHT, GET TO AT LEAST THE SECOND FLOOR OF SOMEWHERE, THESE THINGS ARE TOO HEAVY FOR STAIRS.”  He turns the megaphone off. “So what have you learned from the one you captured?”
   Dr. smith had printed off his collected data, he was that sort of nerd.
     “Their motive is death to all humans, and the virus is called ‘3-X TERM-1: NAT3’ 3-X is the model number, TERM-1 is the file name, and NAT3 is the author code. Now–”  But Capt. Brown had to interrupt him “Wait, we know who made the virus?”
   “No.  We have a username.  Three letters and a number used to identify IRCS users.  I was thinking you could use your network of spies to find this…NAT3. ”
    Capt. Brown gave a nervous laugh, “Ha, I don't have a network of…um…spies.  That's…ridiculous.  Who told you that?” His eyes opened really wide, in a manner that instantly communicated that he had a secret but thought he was being sneaky.

  “James,” Dr. Smith said “I've met them. Jeeves captures them sneaking around my house at night sometimes. The point is can you use them to find NAT3?”
   “Sure. I'll get my top spy on it right away.  Ah, there you are.”  Capt. Brown said the last part into the thin air to his left.
       Dr. Smith squinted, and focused, and looked hard, until he saw the vague shape of a fedora and trenchcoat.

-=fig. 590: top spy=-

“How's he doing that?”  Dr. Smith said as he squinted.  The spy remained stubbornly out of focus.
   “That's why he's my top spy.” Capt. Brown said, smiling broadly. “Mr. Spy, I've got a job for you.”
The Spy hadn't been invisible, nor had he used teleportation.  He had just gone unnoticed, until he wanted to be.  He was that good.
   Capt. Brown rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “We should have a result within the hour.” he said. “In the meantime, how many of these robots did you make?”
   Dr. Smith shrugged, “About eight. Why?”
       Capt. Brown pointed off the starboard bow of the macy's building “Because I count twenty-two just on main street.”
    Dr. Smith paled.  Which was difficult, because he was already pretty pale to begin with.
       “They must have found a copper deposit. They can reproduce themselves from raw materials. 22?”
     “OKAY LISTEN UP YOU MUGS!” Capt. Brown shouted to his assembled team members.

-=fig. 591: preparedness=-

“DOWN THERE ARE A BUNCH O’ ROBOTS DR. SMITH MADE AND THEY'VE GONE EVIL–” No-one seemed surprised, they had all met Dr. Smith before. “–THEY ONLY WANT TO KILL PEOPLE. THEY CANNOT BE–” Capt. Brown had an impressive set of lungs on him, he could shout pretty loud. That was his training in opera showing. “–REASONED WITH AND UNLESS YOU SHOOT ’EM JUST RIGHT, BULLETS ARE USELESS. FOR THIS PURPOSE, DR. SMITH INVENTED A RAYGUN THAT’LL KILL ’EM OUTRIGHT BUT YOU ONLY GET ONE SHOT. QUESTIONS.”  Capt. Brown answered a few quick, gruff questions, and they moved out.
 The spy came back into ‘Focus’. “Found ’im.” he said.

 -=-

“Are  you sure this is the right place?” asked Dr. Smith.

   “My spies are never wrong.” Answered Capt. Brown.

-=fig. 592: so normal looking=-

“But…It looks so normal.” Dr. Smith said as he rang the doorbell.

 “What D’ya Want?” Accused an unpleasant woman. 

  “Hello,” Capt. Brown responded, smiling, “Is this the home of Nathaniel ‘Nat3’ Burke?”

   “Yeah–oh. Nat3. You're more of his ‘InterBot’ friends, aren't you?” She spat the word InterBot, which was another acronym for IRCS.

      Capt. Brown and Dr. Smith shared a quick glance, as if to say ‘Are we?’

         “Yes. We are.” Replied Capt. Brown, with some confidence. 

            “Well he's in his room. Top of the stairs and don't drip on my carpets.”  It wasn't raining, but Mrs. Jane Burke suspected all IRCS Nerds of having an innate drippiness.

-=-

There was only one room at the top of the stairs. 

    It contained a bed, a terminal, a Fax-O-Gram machine and a boy.

-=fig. 593: nat3=-

“We're looking for NAT3.” Said Dr. Smith. 

  “Yes?” Said the boy. 

EDIT: this last week's been so hectic I never even noticed this post went screwy.
Anyway, enjoy.