Drmtsi turned to Vrsk, and, speaking Krpsht, said, “Is large country.”
“Yes,” replied Vrsk, also in Krpsht. He was thinking, Maybe it is not such a good idea to attack this country.
“Where are you from?” said the taxi driver.
“Krpshtskan,” said Vrsk.
“Gesundheit,” said the driver.
“What?” said Vrsk.
“Gesundheit,” said the driver. “It’s a joke.”
“Ah,” said Vrsk. “Ha-ha. Thank you.” He did not actually understand the joke. But in Krpshtskan, where people had little else to give each other, a joke was considered sort of a present. If somebody told you one, good manners required that you tell one in return. Vrsk frowned, trying to think of a Krpshtskani joke he could translate into English. Finally, he settled on one that was popular with Krpshtskani children. He said to the driver, “How are you keeping chicken out of toilet?”
“What?” said the driver.
“How,” Vrsk repeated slowly, “are you keeping chicken out of toilet?”
“You need a toilet?” said the driver.
“No, no,” said Vrsk. “Chicken is trying to get into toilet.”
“Chicken?” said the driver.
“Yes,” said Vrsk. “Chicken.”
“What chicken?” said the driver.
“Is not real chicken,” Vrsk assured him.
The driver eyed Vrsk in the rearview mirror.
Drmtsi said to Vrsk, in Krpsht, “What are you saying to him?”
“I am telling him joke about chicken and toilet,” said Vrsk.
“Ha! Good one!” said Drmtsi, roaring with laughter and pounding his thighs hard enough to send powerful puffs of smerk smell billowing through the taxi.
“Is there a problem back there?” said the driver.
“No problem,” said Vrsk. “Is joke.”
“You think it’s funny, stinking up my cab?” said the driver.
“Ah,” said Vrsk. “Is not stink. Is smerk.”
Recognizing the word, Drmtsi reached into his pants and held a reeking green glob out toward the driver.
“Smerk?” he said.
“Get that away from me!” said the driver, almost swerving off the road.
“He says he is not hungry,” Vrsk said to Drmtsi.
They rode the rest of the way in silence, the driver darting suspicious glances at his aromatic passengers in the rearview mirror. By the time they pulled into the Hubble Middle School driveway, dusk had fallen. The taxi stopped in front of the enormous, two-story brick building, which appeared deserted. Drmtsi and Vrsk got out and gave the driver a gold coin. He grunted—he was pretty sure the coin was worth far more than the fare—and drove away, keeping all the windows open to rid the taxi of smerk stench.
Drmtsi and Vrsk approached the school’s large, glass front doors. They pushed and pulled on the handles; the doors were locked. They pounded on them and waited; nothing happened. They pressed their faces against the glass and peered into the dark corridor. They saw nobody.
Drmtsi and Vrsk looked at each other. They hadn’t given much thought to what they would do when they got here. They’d just assumed that they would find Prmkt. But there was no Prmkt here, and it was dark, and they were both very tired and very hungry. Drmtsi frowned. As fourth vice president, he knew it was his responsibility to come up with a plan.
“Perhaps,” said Vrsk, “we should find a place to sleep and come back to school in morning.”
“Quiet,” said Drmtsi. “I am thinking of a plan.”
“Sorry,” said Vrsk.
Drmtsi frowned some more. It was hard work. After a minute he said, “I have a plan.”
“Yes?” said Vrsk.
“Right now,” said Drmtsi, “we find a place to sleep.”
“Ah,” said Vrsk.
“Tomorrow,” said Drmtsi, “we come back here and look for Prmkt.”
Vrsk nodded. “It is a good plan,” he said.
“Yes,” said Drmtsi. “Follow me.”
With Fourth Vice President Drmtsi in the lead, the two Krpshtskani agents began walking along the school driveway. When they reached the street, they turned right, toward the business district.
They did not notice the white Ford sedan creeping along the street about fifty feet behind them.
The two occupants of the Ford—both wearing starched white shirts and dark suits—were not thrilled to have pulled this duty. They’d followed the cab from the airport into the suburbs, only to realize—as the two targets started walking—that it was going to be a long night.
With all their attention on the two in front of them, they did not notice the man following them—a man who had emerged from Hubble Middle School a minute behind Drmtsi and Vrsk. A man keeping an eye on the Ford as well as the two men the Ford was following.
A man with a plan of his own.
FOR THE HUNDREDTH TIME on this endless day, Toby looked at his watch. Six-thirty p.m. Finally. He was meeting with Micah and Tamara at the mall at seven p.m. Time to put his escape plan in motion.
Toby took a deep breath and blew a final lungful into the full-scale Luke Skywalker blow-up doll that was a central part of his parents’ cherished memorabilia collection. He closed off the valve and pulled up the bedcovers so that when the room lights were off it would look as if he were asleep—as long as nobody looked too closely. Next, he slipped his iPod’s extension speaker inside the pillowcase right next to Luke’s head. The speaker was connected to his laptop computer over on his desk via a concealed wire. Finally, he tested the small wireless microphone taped above the door by speaking into it.
“Testing…one, two…”
A small light blinked on the computer, confirming that it was receiving the microphone’s signal.
Hope this works, Toby thought.
He went out to the living room, where his parents were watching an infomercial for gluten-free pasta products.
“I’m going to bed,” he announced.
“Now?” said his dad.
“Is something wrong?” asked his mom.
This was the tricky part. Toby, who normally fought to stay up past the eleven o’clock news, had to convince his parents that he wasn’t feeling well. He had to sound tired enough to go to bed but not so sick that they would try to force him to take some of their natural remedies. Toby still had nightmares about the time they’d decided that the best treatment for his sore throat was a mustard enema.
“No, I’m cool,” he said. “Just kind of tired is all.”
His mom’s eyes brightened. He could hear it coming.…
“I have a wonderful avocado-smoothie recipe. The ginseng helps to promote—”
“No, thanks! Really, Mom, I’m okay. Just tired.” Toby yawned a big fake yawn. “So, g’night then.”
“Good night,” said his dad, glued to the television.
But his mom looked concerned. Toby knew that look: she would check on him later.
Which was why he’d rigged his bed.
He returned to his room. He double-checked that the microphone was still picking up a signal and that the shareware voice-recognition program was up and running. He decided he’d done all that he could.
Then, after listening at the door to make sure his parents weren’t coming down the hall, he turned off the lights, quietly raised the window, and climbed out, pulling the curtains closed before sliding the window shut. Hunching down low and crawling below the living-room window, he skirted around the house to the street and started trotting toward the mall.
A few minutes passed. As Toby had anticipated, his mother had to check up on him. She went to his bedroom door and tapped lightly. There was no answer, so she opened the door a crack. The room was dark.
“Toby?” she said softly.
“I’m trying to sleep,” said Toby’s voice, coming from the speaker under the pillowcase. Toby had recorded this and other phrases on his computer, which now played back his own voice in response to his mom’s voice
triggering the wireless microphone. He’d programmed the software, downloaded from the Internet, to listen for certain key words and phrases. He pretty much knew what his mother would say to him.
“Are you all right?” asked Toby’s mom.
Toby had expected this question. The computer had no trouble with how to answer.
“I’m fine,” said Toby’s recorded voice on the computer. It added, “I’m trying to sleep.”
“Are you hungry?” said Toby’s mom.
The computer recognized “hungry.” There was a moment’s hesitation as the program found Toby’s recorded answer and played it.
“No thanks,” said the computer.
“I could make you some herbal tea,” said Toby’s mom.
The program did not recognize any of the key words in this phrase. There was a longer hesitation this time. Then it played the default response that he’d recorded just for this situation: “I just want to sleep, okay?”
“I know, but herbal tea is relaxing,” said Toby’s mom.
“I just want to sleep, okay?”
“I know that,” said Toby’s mom. “I’m trying to help.”
“I just want to sleep, okay?”
“You don’t need to take that tone with me, young man,” said Toby’s mom.
“I just want to sleep, okay?”
“Well fine, then,” said his mom. “Good night.” She closed the door with a bit of a thump.
The computer hesitated for a second, then said “Good night,” to the door.
DRMTSI AND VRSK WERE TURNED away by three chain hotels that did not take either purds or gold. Finally they found an old motel called the Shady Inn Motor Court, whose owner, a coin collector, quickly agreed to give them a room for three nights in exchange for just one of their coins.
He was definitely getting the better of the bargain. The room he assigned to Drmtsi and Vrsk was seedy and drafty, with an ancient heater/air conditioner that clattered like a clothes dryer filled with rocks. The wallpaper was peeling; the carpet was worn; the toilet ran constantly; and the bedspreads appeared to have been laundered in radioactive waste.
Drmtsi and Vrsk thought it was fabulous. They had never known such luxury. Not only did the room contain two beds—two beds!—but it also had electric lights, a working telephone, and—most amazing of all—a color television. It took Vrsk a while to figure out how to operate the remote control, but once he did, he and Drmtsi could not take their eyes off the TV screen.
In Krpshtskan there was only one station, which broadcast speeches by Grdankl the Strong alternating with long periods of static (the static was more popular). But the TV in the Shady Inn Motor Court had dozens and dozens of channels, showing every kind of program—including drama, comedy, news, sports, weather, cartoons, people talking, people exercising, people shouting at each other, and a courtroom show in which people were tongue-lashed by an angry lady judge, who frankly terrified Drmtsi and Vrsk.
They were sitting on their beds watching this show, when the telephone rang. They looked at each other. Drmtsi nodded toward the phone. Vrsk picked it up.
“Hello,” he said in English.
“Let me speak to Drmtsi,” said a voice in Krpsht.
“Who is this?” said Vrsk, switching to Krpsht.
“Prmkt,” said the voice.
Vrsk handed the phone to Drmtsi. “It is Prmkt,” he said.
“Where are you?” barked Drmtsi into the phone.
“I am…nearby,” said Prmkt. “What are you doing here?”
“We are watching the television,” said Drmtsi. “The angry-woman-judge show. Have you seen it?”
“No,” said Prmkt, “I mean, what are you doing in America?”
“We are here to help you destroy the American government,” said Drmtsi.
“I don’t need your help,” said Prmkt.
“Yes, you do,” said Drmtsi. “You sent a message asking for help, so we come here to help. I will, of course, take charge. These are orders from Grdankl the Strong.”
There was a sigh, then a silence. Then Prmkt said, “All right.”
“Good,” said Drmtsi. “Now, first thing we must do is…” He paused, because that was as far as his thinking would take him. Besides, the lady judge was shouting again.
“Perhaps we should meet,” said Prmkt.
“Yes,” Drmtsi said decisively. “We will meet. These are orders from Grdankl the Strong.”
There was another pause, then Prmkt said, “Would you like me to find a safe place for meeting?”
“Yes,” decided Drmtsi. “You will find a place for meeting. These are orders—”
Prmkt interrupted. “Yes, sir. I will call again in morning.”
“I suggest you call me back in the morning,” said Drmtsi, peering over at Vrsk. He grunted into the phone, hung up, and looked back at the TV. The scary woman judge was now snarling at an unhappy-looking man. Drmtsi turned to Vrsk, who was watching intently, remote control in hand.
“Change the channel,” ordered Drmtsi, a man in charge.
AS TOBY ARRIVED AT THE MALL, Micah and Tamara were already waiting for him by the main entrance. “Did you bring your laptop?” Toby asked Micah. Micah indicated his backpack. “Right here,” he said.
“Good,” said Toby. He wrinkled his nose. “What’s that smell?”
“It’s her,” said Micah, pointing at Tamara. “She put perfume on so she could be a distraction.”
“It’s called Fruit of Passion,” said Tamara, leaning forward. “Like it?”
Toby recoiled from the wave of powerful aroma.
“How much did you put on?” he said.
“Just half a bottle,” said Tamara.
“You smell like you took a bath in Hawaiian Punch,” said Micah.
“Thank you,” said Tamara, batting her eyelashes.
“Okay, listen,” said Toby impatiently. “When we get to the Science Nook, you guys need to distract the weird guy, so I can figure out where to put this.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cantaloupe.
“That’s a cantaloupe,” observed Tamara.
“My parents didn’t have any eggplants,” said Toby.
“I see,” said Tamara.
“You do?” said Micah.
“No,” said Tamara.
Toby sighed. “I cut it in half, hollowed it out and put the webcam inside, and glued it back together,” he said. He showed them the camera lens peeking out one side of the cantaloupe. “I figure with all the other junk in the Science Nook, he won’t notice this.”
“It just might work!” said Tamara.
“You really think so?” said Toby.
“No,” said Tamara.
“Well, it’s the best I could do,” said Toby. “Come on.”
The three friends rode the escalator up to the highest mall concourse and walked to near the end. The Science Nook was open; they walked inside. Toby, in front, looked warily over to his left, where the robot owl sat motionless on its perch. Suddenly, Toby heard a humming noise to his right. He jumped backward, along with Tamara and Micah, as a canister vacuum cleaner zipped past them. It went to a corner of the store, extended its hose, and began rapidly darting this way and that, vacuuming the random Science Nook clutter.
“Who’s operating that thing?” said Micah.
“I dunno,” said Toby. There was no one in sight. The door to the back room was closed.
“Hello?” Toby called toward the door. “Is anybody here?”
Immediately, the vacuum zipped over to them. It raised its hose and pointed its nozzle at Toby, as if studying him. It looked like a snake about to strike.
“I think we should go,” whispered Micah.
“It’s just a vacuum cleaner,” whispered Tamara.
“Yeah,” whispered Micah. “The vacuum cleaner from The Exorcist.”
The hose darted over to Micah, who made a small squeaking noise and took a step back. He was getting ready to sprint when the nozzle spoke to him. It spoke in
Sternabite’s voice, loud and clear.
“Frog Boy,” it said.
Micah stopped, frozen.
“You need an electromagnet and a major power supply for the science fair,” said the nozzle. “Correct?”
Micah remained frozen.
“Say yes,” hissed Tamara. Instantly the nozzle darted in front of her. It moved close to her neck, then said, “Are you wearing Hawaiian Punch?”
“Fruit of Passion,” said Tamara.
“I like it,” said the nozzle. It zipped back to Micah and said, “Did you bring the money?”
“Y…yes,” said Micah, finally finding his voice.
“Wait here,” said the nozzle. The vacuum cleaner zipped toward the door behind the counter, opened it with its nozzle, and went through into the back room. A moment later Sternabite emerged, wearing sunglasses, as usual. He was carrying two cardboard boxes, which he set on the counter. He looked at Toby for a moment, then turned to Micah.
“Forty dollars,” he said.
Micah dug into his pocket and handed Sternabite the money.
“The money is for the electromagnet,” said Sternabite, pointing to one of the boxes. “The trouble is, it draws a huge amount of power. You’ll blow every breaker in the school. So I’m lending you the cold-fusion power supply.” He reached into the other box and pulled out what looked sort of like a miniature Slurpee machine.
“Come here so I can show you how it works,” said Sternabite.
Reluctantly, Micah approached the counter. Toby caught Tamara’s eye and nodded his head toward Sternabite, mouthing the word “distraction.” Tamara followed Toby over and stood near Sternabite, who was demonstrating the reactor to Micah.
“It’s pretty basic,” he was saying. “The power source is this plug. You’ll connect your magnet here, once it’s up and running. To power it up, you flip this switch, and then watch this temperature gauge until the electrolyte reaches eighty-three degrees. You with me so far?”
Micah nodded and said, “Eighty-three degrees.”
“This is fascinating,” Tamara said to Sternabite, batting her eyelashes.
Science Fair Page 9
