by Phil Lollar
“Begin.”
Mabel began to whir, and lights on the consoles started blinking in a weird sort of rhythm. Lucy was momentarily mesmerized, until Eugene’s voice called out from down the hall, “Mr. Whittaker?” She quickly ducked behind the desk. Eugene entered the office as Mr. Whittaker emerged from the computer room. “What is it, Eugene?”
“I found nothing amiss with our outside electrical source. And the power company says there have been no shutdowns in this area.”
“Then the problem is internal.”
Eugene nodded. “It sounds very much like Applesauce, but Miss Kendall insists she didn’t use it.”
Lucy’s eyes widened. Applesauce could cause this?
“I believe her, Eugene,” Mr. Whittaker replied. “I have Mabel running a self-diagnostic. Once it’s complete, we’ll power back up and check out everything. Meanwhile, we have a great deal of ice cream downstairs getting softer and softer. Let’s get the backup generator running to at least keep the freezer operating.”
“Indeed.” They pushed the bookshelf back in place and left the room.
Lucy’s mind raced trying to comprehend all she had just discovered. Though she knew about Applesauce, she had no idea it was on a huge computer named Mabel in a secret room hidden behind a bookshelf in Mr. Whittaker’s office at Whit’s End. And she now knew the password for it! Was this really something she should tell Richard?
And then she heard it. Connie’s voice.
Lucy rose from behind the desk, moved to the office door, and peered out into the hallway. Eugene and Mr. Whittaker were at the top of the stairs, and Connie was bounding down the hall to join them. Mr. Whittaker told her about the generator, and they all descended the stairs together, Connie talking the whole way down.
Her irritating voice was all Lucy needed. She would tell Richard what she had discovered. Immediately. She crept to the stairs, waited until the three of them had exited into the kitchen, and then bolted down the staircase. She made a beeline to the front door, opened it carefully to keep the bell from tinkling, stepped outside, closed it just as carefully, and raced to the bus stop.
Chapter Six
The bus rolled to a halt, and Lucy rose and hopped off. It sped away in a cloud of diesel fumes, which she fanned from her face as she walked across the parking lot to Blackgaard’s Castle. There were considerably fewer bikes in the racks out front, which was understandable as it was getting late in the afternoon and kids were heading home for supper.
She opened the doors and went inside. The main room was much quieter now. She made her way to the soda fountain where Joe was leaning on his elbow, bulgy eyes half-closed, chewing on a toothpick.
“Hi, Joe.”
His eyes snapped open. “Huh? Oh, hi, Lucy. I suppose you wanna ‘nudder drink?”
“No, thank you. Have you seen Richard? I need to talk to him.”
Joe nodded toward the “Private” door. “He’s downstairs in Blackgaard’s office.”
“Thanks.” She smiled and headed in that direction. Joe went back to leaning and chewing, and then his gravelly voice wafted after her, “I don’t think they wanna be distoibed though . . .”
Lucy reached the door, hesitated, and then opened it and slipped inside. She glided noiselessly down the stairs and maneuvered around the boxes. “I wish they’d put some lights in this hallway and clean out some of this stuff,” she murmured.
She reached the office door and was just about to knock when she heard Blackgaard’s muffled voice rise from behind it. “I must get Applesauce!”
Applesauce? She leaned closer to the door.
“Now think, Richard—think! What could the password be?”
“Passwords. There may be more than one, and they could be anything—any word or even random combinations of letters and numbers!” came Richard’s muffled reply. “The way Whittaker’s got it set up, we could try for a hundred years and never hack into it.”
Her eyes widened. Hack?! That’s stealing!
“That’s not good enough, Richard,” Blackgaard said.
A desk chair squeaked. “Wait a minute,” Richard said. “There’s something I don’t understand here.”
“What?”
Footsteps—Richard moved around the desk. “Why? Why do we need the passwords? I mean, I know you wanna download Applesauce, but you’ve got everything you need right here in level one to control Whit’s End. What do you want with the rest of the program?”
“That—” Blackgaard barked, and Lucy flinched. Then Blackgaard continued more calmly, “—is my business . . . and I’ll thank you to keep your nose out of it.” Heavier footsteps—Blackgaard moved away from Richard and then stopped. “Lucy!”
She jumped at her name, and then heard Maxwell stutter, “W-w-what about her?”
“You’re going to have to put more pressure on her! Make her find out what the password is.”
Lucy gasped softly and slapped her hand over her mouth.
“Look,” Richard replied, “I think I’ve already squeezed as much information out of her as I’m gonna get. I mean there’s only so much that free soda and ice cream can buy, you know?”
Lucy’s heart dropped into her stomach. Buy?
“You underestimate yourself, Richard,” Blackgaard said smoothly. “I’ve seen the way you charm that girl—just like you’ve charmed dozens of others, no doubt, yes?”
“Well . . . sure, but—”
“You can make her do just about anything you want.”
Her face scrunched in pain, she squeezed her eyes shut, and tiny tears escaped through her lids and trickled down her cheeks. She inwardly berated herself. Oh, Lucy! How could you have been so stupid! Connie was right—Richard’s been using you, and now he’s trying to hack into Mr. Whittaker’s computer! And you were about to help him! She took a deep breath, steeled herself, opened her eyes, and leaned back on the door.
“She’s the key, Richard,” Blackgaard continued. “You need to get Lucy to get the password for us. She can get Applesauce!”
“But you don’t understand!” Richard protested.
She never noticed before how whiny Richard’s voice was—or how vicious Blackgaard’s could be.
“Don’t argue with me!” he snapped. “Whatever it takes, just do it! I want that program, do you hear? And I’ll have it—if I have to tear down Whit’s End brick by brick!”
Lucy straightened up. She’d heard enough. I have to warn Mr. Whittaker! She backed away, but as she turned, she tripped over her own foot and tumbled into a short stack of boxes. To her surprise they were empty, and they toppled over with a dull thump.
She gasped and heard Maxwell say, “What was that?” She raced down the hallway, ducking behind another stack just as the office door opened and Blackgaard and Maxwell stepped out.
“I don’t know,” said Blackgaard. He called out, “Who is it? Who’s there?”
Lucy froze. The two men crept down the hallway toward her.
“Come on out now, whoever you are . . .” cooed Blackgaard. “We won’t hurt you . . .” They stole forward, peering behind each stack of boxes as they went.
Lucy crouched up against the wall and held her breath. They were right on the other side of the stack she hid behind now and just about to peer around it when a cat meowed loudly behind them. They both turned.
“Sasha!” Blackgaard crooned. He and Maxwell headed back toward the cat and the office. “You naughty cat!” Blackgaard scolded, picking her up. “You come into the office—you’ll get hurt out here!” They went inside. “Close the door, Richard.”
Maxwell peered down the hallway one last time and then pushed the door shut.
Lucy heaved a quiet sigh of relief. She put one hand on her chest and the other on the wall to help push herself to her feet. When she did so, her fingers slipped into the gap between the wall and the stack of boxes, and she felt something odd. There was a small gap in the wall itself. She ran her fingers along it; it went from the floor to just before the
top of the stack. Lucy checked to see if these boxes were empty, but they were all full. She carefully and quietly scooted them a few inches from the wall. The gap turned at a right angle at the top of the stack.
Exploring further, she saw that the thin gaps were actually the outline of a door. The boxes were no doubt placed there to hide it. She tried pushing the door open, but it wouldn’t give way. Probably opens out into the hall, she thought. She was suddenly very curious to know what the door concealed, but she heard the men’s muffled voices from the office again, and she knew she couldn’t risk it. “Besides, I’ve got to get to Mr. Whittaker!” she whispered.
She carefully and quietly pushed the boxes back into place, dashed down the hallway, up the stairs, through the now nearly empty main room, past a snoozing Joe, and out of the building.
Chapter Seven
Blackgaard stroked Sasha gently as he paced around the office.
Maxwell was grateful the cat had a calming effect on his boss’s temper. He sat on the edge of the desk and said reasonably, “Look, getting the password is just gonna take a little more time, that’s all.”
Blackgaard seemed lost in Sasha’s purring. “Yes,” he said thoughtfully, “time . . .” Suddenly, he turned to Maxwell and pointed at the computer. “Connect to Whittaker’s computer again!”
Maxwell bolted up and moved around the desk to the keyboard. “Okay . . . what are you gonna do?”
Blackgaard smiled. “Buy us some time.” He scratched the cat’s head. “Isn’t that right, Sasha?”
She meowed and purred.
“There, that should do it.” Whit finished typing on Mabel’s keyboard. He hit the “Enter” key and stepped outside to his office door. Throughout the building, he heard and saw the systems powering back up. Connie let out a loud whoop of joy from downstairs, and he chuckled. He reentered his office and shut the bookcase door to the computer room.
Eugene appeared in his office doorway. “Mr. Whittaker?”
“Eugene.”
“Did you discover anything?”
Whit replaced the bookcase key in the inside cover of The Last Battle by C. S. Lewis and set the book back on the shelf. “No, I’ve powered everything back up again, and Mabel seems to be all right. She just shut the place down for some reason.”
Eugene stroked his chin. “Do you think it could be a holdover of some sort from the last time Applesauce was used?”
Whit shrugged. “It could be. The only way to find out is to run systems checks on each machine hooked up to the computer.”
Eugene’s face brightened. “That should be most enjoyable! Which shall we do first?”
Whit grinned at his enthusiasm. “Well, let’s start with the closest—the Imagination Station.” They headed down the hallway.
In the computer room, Mabel’s screen had lit up again . . .
Maxwell typed rapidly. “Okay, we’re in. I turned off the sound in case someone’s over there.”
Blackgaard nodded. “Good.” He made his way around the desk, studied the monitor, and muttered, “I saw something here last time that I thought very . . .” His eyes brightened. “Ah! There it is!” He pointed to the screen. “‘Power Drain.’ What does that do?”
“Let’s see.” Maxwell began typing again. “Cool! It’s a subroutine that controls power—turning it on and shutting it off . . . Oh! Very cool! It can do it for the whole building or a single machine! Really clever and useful if you want to work on one but keep all the others running.”
“That’s exactly what I want!” Blackgaard exclaimed. “Do it!”
Maxwell nodded. “Okay, but which machine?”
“That one the kids are always talking about,” Blackgaard replied. “What’s it called? Uh . . . the Imagination Station!”
Lucy shook her head. From Blackgaard’s Castle to Whit’s End, back to Blackgaard’s Castle, and now back to Whit’s End, all in one day. Must be some kind of record. Now she knew how a ping-pong ball felt. But this trip was the most important one. She made her way to the front of the bus. “Driver?”
The driver glanced back at her. “Please stay behind the yellow line, miss.”
Lucy looked down. The toe of her right shoe was barely touching the line. She rolled her eyes but pulled it back. “Sorry. Do you think you could let me off in front of Whit’s End?”
The driver shook his head. “No can do, miss. Rules are rules. I can only halt the bus at the duly appointed stops.”
“But I’m in kind of a hurry!”
The driver pointed ahead. “My next stop’ll put you about a half a block from Whit’s End. Best I can do.”
Lucy sighed and nodded. “Okay.”
“Everything in the control booth seems to check out, Mr. Whittaker,” Eugene said.
Whit nodded. “Yes, as though nothing went wrong—”
Suddenly all of the lights on the control panel blinked off, and the normal hum of the Imagination Station’s circuits wound down. Eugene blinked. “I don’t believe it! Another power failure!” He poked his head out of the control room door.
Whit put his hands on his hips. “That’s the strangest thing!”
“Stranger yet,” said Eugene, “it’s only happened to this one machine!”
“That’s it!” exclaimed Maxwell. “The program just drained all the power out of the Imagination Station!”
Blackgaard laughed. “Good! And now a final ‘thank you’ to our friend, Mr. Whittaker . . .” He studied the screen and pointed again. “Yes! That one, right there!”
“‘Power Boost.’” Maxwell frowned. “Wait a minute. All the circuits in the Imagination Station are dead! If you send a sudden surge of power through them, no telling what it could do!”
Blackgaard smiled nonchalantly and stroked Sasha’s back. “Really?”
“B-but what if someone’s in there?”
“Do it!” Blackgaard spat.
“But—”
“Now, Richard!”
Maxwell sighed, exasperated. “All right, all right!” He began typing again.
The bell tinkled as the front door at Whit’s End burst open and Lucy ran in. “Mr. Whittaker!” she gasped.
Connie rushed to meet her. “Lucy! I’m so glad you came back . . . Look, about what I said earlier—”
Lucy inhaled deeply. “Never mind that! I have to warn Mr. Whittaker! Where is he?”
“Uh, upstairs! He and Eugene are working on the Imagination Station—”
Lucy bolted up the stairs two at a time, leaving behind a confused Connie.
“Wait a minute!” she called out. “Warn him about what?! Lucy!”
“What’s happening, Richard?” Blackgaard hissed viciously.
“I-it’s almost ready—when the bar reaches one hundred percent, you just hit ‘Enter.’”
Whit sighed. “Well, I don’t know what’s the matter with it. You stay here in the control booth, Eugene. I’m gonna check the station itself.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Whittaker.”
“How much longer?!”
“There!” Maxwell pointed. “One hundred percent!”
“Push ‘Enter,’” Blackgaard ordered.
“It’s not a good idea!”
“I said, push it!”
“Someone could get hurt!”
Blackgaard roared. “Arrrrrggh! You spineless . . . Get out of my way!” He shoved Maxwell out of the chair and dropped Sasha on the desk. She screeched in protest, leapt down, and took cover under the credenza across the room. Blackgaard was all but foaming at the mouth. “A little present for you, Mr. John Avery Whittaker!” He pounded the ‘Enter’ key.
Whit was examining the grid along the Imagination Station’s walls, floors, and ceiling when Lucy ran in. “Mr. Whittaker!”
“Lucy? What’s the matter?”
She put her hand against the wall and tried to catch her breath. “Something . . . terrible is . . . gonna happen!”
“What? What are you—”
Around them, a low whine start
ed abruptly and increased in intensity rapidly. Eugene shouted from the control room, panicked. “Mr. Whittaker! Get out of there, quick! It’s a power surge!”
The whine increased. Whit’s eyes widened. “Power surge! Lucy, don’t touch the wall!”
He lunged for her, and she looked up at him just as the room erupted in an explosion of electricity. Sparks flew everywhere. Bolts zapped the walls, floor, and ceiling. Lucy took a great jolt through her hand. She screamed as she was hurled backward. She bashed against the opposite wall and collapsed to the floor in a heap. Whit also crashed to the floor and bawled, “Lucyyyy!” before a bolt struck him and he lay motionless.
Everything fizzled out.
The station went dark.
All was still.
Chapter Eight
Eugene, Connie, and Whit sat quietly in the waiting area of Odyssey Memorial Hospital. It had just been Connie and Eugene for the longest time, but finally Whit emerged from a treatment room with his arm wrapped in a bandage and his hair looking a bit frizzy. He assured his employees that he was all right and joined them as they continued to sit in silent vigil, each lost in thought.
Finally, Connie stretched and sighed. “I wish someone would tell us something! How long have we been here, anyway?”
Eugene checked his watch. “Three hours, fifty-seven minutes, thirteen seconds,” he said.
Connie squeezed Whit’s hand. “How’s your arm?”
“Fine, Connie. Just a little sore.”
There was another long silence. They watched as several patients were wheeled in and out of rooms on gurneys. Connie took another deep breath and stood up. “Boy, do I wish someone would tell us something!” She surveyed the room. “Does anyone want anything from the cafeteria, a cup of coffee or—”
“Whit?”
They all turned. Dr. Farber was headed for them. Whit and Eugene also rose from their chairs as she approached. “Hello, Doctor,” Whit said.
