The Ice Cream Machine: Story I

A glimmering blue streak rocketed through the air above Megalopolis, weaving between skyscrapers, ducking below streams of flying hoverpods, and blasting through holographic advertisements just for fun.

Before long, Shiro Hanayama and his robot best friend/tutor/bodyguard, Kelly, reached their destination: the Hanayama Robotics Corporation, a two-hundred-story building covered in lush bioluminescent greenery, which towered over the sprawling cityscape that had once been known as Los Angeles.

In flight mode, she resembled a squid: five thin arms positioned at the bottom of her squat, egg-shaped body, ionic thrusters blasting from the tip of each three-pronged claw.

In casual mode, four of her limbs reconfigured into more traditional arm and leg positions, while the fifth moved around according to her mood: Sometimes it sat coiled atop her head like hair, sometimes it swished behind her back like a tail, and sometimes it moved to the front of her body to assist with tasks that required three hands.

Kelly’s limbs were dark and dull in color, but her body was iridescent, like the glimmering wings of a blue butterfly.

Kelly was famously considered to be the most advanced robot on Earth. Her groundbreaking technology was highly coveted by government spies and rival corporations, but despite their best efforts, the superbot’s mysterious power source remained top secret.

Her groundbreaking technology was highly coveted by government spies and rival corporations, but despite their best efforts, the superbot’s mysterious power source remained top secret.

When Professor Hanayama noticed her son and his robot outside her office on the landing pad, she paused her presentation and glowered at them through the window.

Kendama is an old Japanese skill game involving a ball attached by a string to a handle shaped like a cross. The handle has three small cups for catching the ball and a single spike that perfectly fits the hole drilled into the ball. Kendama is a great way to demonstrate dexterity and coordination.

Thousands of flying vehicles zipped through the smog that blanketed Megalopolis and obscured Shiro and Kelly’s view of the ground, two hundred stories below.

He poked at his tablet and scrolled through pages of frozen confections from around the world.
“Oh!” JoJo pointed at the screen. “That there is gelato. It’s Italian ice cream. Very delicious.”

“Didn’t your mom say something about taking a break from our ‘impetuous escapades,’ since they keep turning into ‘geopolitical incidents’?”

"What’s ‘impetuous’ about flying to Italy for a few hours?”

“The last time you said that, we got kidnapped by space pirates. They almost discovered my power source.”
“That was a total fluke.”

“Every time we fly off on some crazy boondoggle, you wind up getting us into trouble and I wind up having to save your butt.”

They tried silky ribbons of xue hua bing in Taiwan, colorful, fruity paletas in Mexico, and wild concoctions of halo-halo in the Philippines. They were quickly discovering that ice cream came in many shapes, sizes, and flavors.

“We're like intrepid ice cream explorers,” said Shiro as he finished the last bite and licked his fingers.

“Oh, really?” Professor Hanayama looked dubious.

“Certainty is the enemy of discovery!” he intoned.
“Oh. Now you’re going to quote your mom at me?”

A tantalizing melody from unseen birds kept Shiro’s head on a swivel, searching for the singers.

Shiro held on tight, ping-ponging from side to side, while Kelly scuttled up into the jungle's understory like a crab.

The monkeys chased after her, expertly swinging from vines and branches. Kelly then copied them, moving her fifth arm behind her and using it like a prehensile tail.

But when he tried to take a bite, he realized the bright-red bauble was made of wood, not fruit.

Sweat soaked his underpants. Even in the middle of the night, the jungle was stifling.

It seemed too high to grab—just out of reach—but Shiro felt a burst of inspiration.

As he approached the dilapidated shack, he heard ominous music coming from within...

A small light was on inside, and Shiro spied a tall, bedraggled man through the window. His eyes were bloodshot and wild.

The man hacked and coughed, then hocked a loogie over his shoulder.

Svensen slid open the lid of the freezer. “Some people are considering it a delicacy.”

Svensen knelt and put a grubby hand on Shiro’s shoulder.

She was waving her arms around, gesticulating wildly.

They were bird nerds—or, as they called themselves, avian aficionados—who had signed up to experience a once-in-a-lifetime sunrise balloon ride and bird-watching expedition with their hero, Dr. Daniela D’Lima Caravaca.

Svensen admired the devious brilliance of his own plan. He cackled with greed and revved the engine.

“This morning, we will be observing the murmuration patterns of a drift of Andean swifts as they engage in their crepuscular feeding activities,” explained the doctor.
Shiro looked confused.
Dr. Caravaca lowered her voice. “We’ve come to watch the birds eat at sunrise.”

Swifts are commonly misidentified as bats due to their erratic flight patterns and unusual wing profile.

“I didn’t realize you shared our enthusiasm for avian aeronautics!”

The birders oohed and aahed. They were enthralled.

But as the barrage grew stronger and the purple projectiles grew bigger, he turned around and looked up to see what in the heck was going on.

Shiro quickly handed back the braid, grabbed her hand, and clambered aboard.

She scanned the clearing and gingerly rose from the ground.