Except for Prmkt.
Using his key, he entered through the side door of the gym. He carried a cheap vinyl athletic bag. It contained a coil of thick black cable, a flashlight, tape, rubber gloves, and tools. He walked down a long row of exhibit tables passing a variety of projects, including three, which were standing side-by-side, titled: DEATH BY PACKAGING, THE FLOATING FROG, and NUCLEAR MENTOS.
Prmkt paid no attention to these. His objective was a group of four projects, all submitted by idiotic, spoiled ME students who had no idea what the projects really were. These projects really looked as though they’d been made by middle-schoolers—they had loose wires, paint smears, scratches, excess glue blobs, and misspelled words in the explanations. But this was camouflage to fool the judges, part of the service provided by the Science Nook.
In the quiet of the gym, Prmkt quickly examined the four projects. When he was done, he allowed himself a small smile. The Science Nook, as in previous years, had followed his plans exactly. Of course, in previous years, the projects were harmless. They were clever and technically sophisticated; that’s why they won awards. But they posed no threat to anyone.
These four projects were different. These were the result of years of patient research and careful planning by Prmkt. He had designed the projects on two levels. On the surface, they were scientific demonstrations that were educational, if a bit silly. But each project had far greater hidden capabilities, made possible by the technology supplied by the foolish ME parents, thinking they were helping their idiotic, spoiled children.
When the projects were linked together, as they would be shortly, their hidden capabilities would be networked and amplified, and they would become something altogether different: a hugely powerful, highly sophisticated weapon. It would be a weapon unlike any ever built—a weapon against which there was no defense; a weapon that would bring the mighty United States to its knees, groveling for mercy before Krpshtskan.
Prmkt smiled again, thinking about it, savoring the cleverness of his plan. He was confident now that it would work. He had been concerned when the student Toby Harbinger and his two friends had somehow become suspicious and tried to warn Principal Plotz-Gornett. He had been even more concerned when Grdankl the Strong had sent his idiot brother Drmtsi and Vrsk to the United States to “help.”
But Prmkt had dealt with both of these threats, decisively and cleverly. He had, by planting the plasma in the boy’s locker, managed to make the boy himself the object of the investigation, at the same time taking advantage of the fire-drill distraction to retrieve the project list from the principal’s office and return it to the Science Nook. He had, even more cleverly, managed to send both the boy and his countrymen to Jungle Norman’s, where they were caught with the classified chip that had been planted by Prmkt, who had also called the FBI.
He had overcome all the obstacles. Nobody would stop him now; nobody was intelligent enough to even suspect what he was up to. He was sure that the Science Nook proprietor, Sternabite—clever as he was—had no concept of the true capabilities of the devices he had built. All Sternabite cared about was getting his money. As for the foolish ME parents and their idiotic, spoiled children, all that mattered for them was winning the stupid science fair and getting a check they didn’t need.
But there would be no winner this year and no check. When the blowhard billionaire Lance Swingle threw the master switch to start the science fair, he would instead be starting Prmkt’s machine. After that would come chaos.
Prmkt opened the athletic bag and began removing the tools and the roll of cable. He knew exactly what he needed to do; he had rehearsed this a thousand times in his mind. He uncoiled the cable, went to the four projects one by one, and carefully connected them together.
He began with the project submitted by Jason Niles. It was titled TERMITE FLATULENCE: POWER SOURCE OF TOMORROW. It looked a like a high-tech ant farm: a large metal box filled with dirt and rotting lumber, the front side of which was made of glass to show the termites inside busily eating tunnels through the wood. Atop the farm was a small, clear-plastic box containing a series of tubes and some crude-looking wiring—allegedly soldered by Jason—that connected various basic electrical components. Sitting atop this was a single glowing five-watt lightbulb. According to the project explanation, the termites, as they digested the wood, produced methane gas, which was collected by the apparatus on top and converted, by a process called “oxidative coupling,” into electricity, which powered the bulb.
This explanation was a lie. In fact, hidden behind the wood and dirt was the world’s smallest neutron generator, a top-secret experimental prototype being developed by the military for use by troops in remote areas that lacked electricity. This generator was powering the lightbulb. But it could produce a lot more than five watts; it could power a small city.
Prmkt carefully connected the cable to Jason’s project, then, routing it under the table, moved to the project submitted by Farrell “The Ferret” Plinkett, titled A PRACTICAL SOLUTION TO CELL-PHONE NOISE POLLUTION. It consisted of a lifelike female department-store dummy inside a crude box made of Plexiglas. The dummy’s mouth had been replaced by a small speaker; wires ran from this speaker to a volume knob on the outside of the box. Next to the speaker was a decibel meter, and next to that was an older model cell phone, with some extra batteries taped to the back.
When the project was turned on, the speaker played a recording of a woman talking, with the volume controlled by the knob. If the volume was turned up past fifty decibels, the cell phone emitted a loud crack and a shower of sparks, charring the dummy’s right ear, as a reminder that the dummy should keep its voice down.
The project explanation said that Farrell had built this “noise-suppression technology” using inexpensive capacitors that could easily be incorporated into new cell phones. But what was actually inside the cell phone in The Ferret’s project was no ordinary capacitor. It was a bank of state-of-the-art supercapacitors made from an experimental process that used barium titanate nanoparticles in a polymer matrix. Each supercapacitor could hold extremely high voltage levels and discharge this energy extremely fast. Right now, the bank was getting its energy from the weak batteries strapped to the phone. Prmkt was connecting it to a far more powerful source.
He moved next to Harmonee Prescott’s project, which was called THE HOTNESS BOX. It consisted of a black box with a dial labeled HOTNESS. The input to the black box was a video camera; the output was a computer screen. According to the project explanation, the box contained a programmable chip running a program written by Harmonee, which she had adapted from a program used to enhance digital photographs. Except that instead of just fixing the contrast and removing red-eye, Harmonee’s program, according to the explanation, could make pictures of people’s faces more attractive.
To demonstrate how it worked, the video camera was aimed at a picture of Ursula, the sea witch from The Little Mermaid.
With the HOTNESS knob set at zero, the image on the computer screen was identical to the picture. But as the HOTNESS knob was rotated from zero to ten, the output image gradually changed, becoming more and more attractive, until finally, at maximum hotness, it looked remarkably like…Harmonee Prescott.
The project explanation said that the Hotness Box could make the same transformation with any image of a face, male or female, and could be used “by less-attractive people in a variety of applications, such as Facebook photos and dating Web sites.”
It was an impressive demonstration. But the software running on the chip inside the black box was not written by Harmonee. It had been developed for the Central Intelligence and National Security agencies by Harmonee’s father’s company, PresTech. And it was capable of far more than altering a still photo. The software that turned the sea witch into a hot babe could radically alter the image and sound transmitted by any broadcast signal, TV or radio, in real time. It could make anybody look or sound like anybody, or anything, else. For example, if the leader of a
hostile nation were to make a televised speech, the signal could be intercepted by U.S. spy satellites and almost instantaneously be processed and rebroadcast, with a far more powerful signal, so that the leader appeared to be saying something completely different. Or he could be made to appear tired or sick. For that matter, he could be made to look exactly like the sea witch.
Of course, this software, like the technology in the other projects, was supposed to be top secret, a fact that amused Prmkt. He had been surprised at how easy it was to find out about these things. If you were smart—if you knew where to look in scientific journals and, of course, on the Internet; if you befriended disgruntled or gossipy employees working for certain companies, certain agencies—it turned out that the “secrets” weren’t so secret after all.
Prmkt then ran his cable to the final project, submitted by Haley Hess. It was titled THE ULTIMATE REMOTE CONTROL. This was the heart of Prmkt’s weapon; this was his masterpiece.
In outward appearance it was unimpressive, consisting of what looked like an ordinary laptop computer and a foam-core poster board explaining the project. When the computer was turned on, it displayed a Google Earth map of North America; using the mouse, the user could zoom in on a specific location. In the science-fair demonstration, the user clicked a box that said RUN DEMONSTRATION. The computer then zoomed in on Haley Hess’s house in Manor Estates—a large structure ablaze with lights in the gathering night. The user was instructed to position the mouse arrow over the house and click the left button; this highlighted the house. The user was then instructed to click the right button; suddenly the house lights all went off, leaving a dark hole in the middle of the neighborhood. Another right click turned the lights back on.
The explanation on the poster (written in Haley’s neat handwriting with little circles for the dots over the i’s) said that the user really was, from the Hubble Middle gym, turning her house lights on and off over the Internet. This was made possible, the explanation said, by a device that Haley had designed and built herself, using an electrical relay and a wireless router. There was a photograph on the poster showing a smiling Haley holding this device, which looked like a toaster oven with an antenna taped to the side. The explanation said that Haley’s device had been installed on the main circuit breaker at Haley’s house by a professional electrician, under Haley’s supervision. There was also a photograph of this, showing Haley frowning thoughtfully at a man holding the device and peering at the circuit breaker.
The explanation stated that, with Haley’s simple and inexpensive device, you could control your home electrical system, or even individual lights and appliances, from anywhere in the world, as long as you had access to a computer with an Internet connection.
But, as in the case of the other projects, Haley’s remote control was quite deceptive. The device Haley was holding in the photo was, in fact, a toaster oven with an antenna taped to the side. The “electrician” allegedly installing the device in the other photo was a pizza-delivery man whom Haley had paid ten dollars to pose with the circuit breaker. The map demonstration was a fake, using a real Google Earth image but altering it to make it appear as if the lights were going on and off.
The key to the project was the laptop, which Haley’s father had obtained for her. He worked for a company called DeathVolt, which did security consulting for power companies around the world; the laptop was designed to demonstrate to them why they needed it. It was a rugged, superfast computer capable of connecting to the Internet via satellite from anywhere in the world. And it was running software developed by DeathVolt with the help of some extremely smart hackers who were paid very well for their time and knowledge.
This software probed the Internet sites of power companies, looking for ways past the firewalls into the business and administrative systems, which it almost always penetrated quickly. It then probed for weaknesses into the grid-control systems, which actually distributed the power. This took a bit longer, as these systems were supposed to be sealed off from the business side. But the seal was never perfect; the DeathVolt system found a way in. And once inside, a hacker could control the switches, the substations—the entire grid. With a few keyboard clicks, a hacker could utterly paralyze a vast area of the country.
Or worse.
Prmkt was almost done now; the four projects were networked via the thick cable. He ran the cable beneath the tables, where it blended in with the dozens of extension cords providing power to the projects. He routed his cable alongside these other wires and extension cords to the wall of the gym, where he guided it beneath the bleachers and through a hidden hole that he’d drilled earlier and that led into the utility room.
He now went to the utility room and unlocked the door. Once inside, he pulled his cable through and carefully laid it on the floor beneath a gray electrical box that was mounted to the wall. This was the main electrical breaker box for the school; through it, the school was connected to the city’s electrical grid and to the larger grids beyond. Next to the box was a small table on which Prmkt had set up some equipment, including his own laptop computer, which was packed with special software he had written. He put on a pair of rubber gloves, opened the breaker box, and went to work. When he was done, he looked at his watch. He’d set everything up in under forty-five minutes. Perfect.
He rose and left the utility room, locking it behind him. He went back to the darkened gym and took one last look around. For a moment he was tempted to do it himself—just walk over to the podium, throw the master power switch, and start his machine right now. Prmkt thought about it, but he didn’t do it. One reason was that he wanted to wait until it was dark in more parts of the country. The other reason was that he liked the idea of having Lance Swingle throw the switch. Prmkt allowed himself another small smile at that thought. It was the windbag Swingle who had turned the science fair into a corrupt competition for spoiled kids and their foolish parents; let it be Swingle who would now unwittingly turn that same science fair into a weapon that would bring down the mighty and arrogant United States.
Prmkt looked at his watch: almost exactly an hour to go. He left through the side door. The gym was once again silent, except for the clock on the wall, where the big hand clicked forward every sixty seconds, signaling another minute gone.
THE BATTERED U-DRIVE-IT rental truck rattled into Milkwort Court and pulled to the curb in front of Toby’s house. The Wookiee was behind the wheel; Vaderian, in the passenger seat, was dressed in his full Darth Vader outfit, including light saber, helmet, and voice distorter. He looked at the sky, which was getting dark. They watched the house for a few minutes, seeing no lights or signs of activity.
“Go check the back door,” said Vaderian.
The Wookiee climbed out of the truck and walked around the side of the garage to the back of the house. A few minutes later, he returned to the truck, standing at Vaderian’s window.
“Locked,” he said.
“What?” said Vaderian.
“Locked,” repeated the Wookiee.
“That little weasel,” snarled Vaderian, pounding the truck seat. He took a breath, calming himself. “What about the house? Did you see anybody?”
“No,” said the Wookiee. “It’s dark inside.”
“The little weasel said they’d be at the science fair,” said Vaderian. He checked his watch, drummed his fingers on the dashboard, thinking, then said, “Try the kid’s bedroom window, where he sneaked out.”
The Wookiee returned a minute later. “It’s unlocked,” he said.
Vaderian nodded. “All right,” he said. “We’ll go in there.”
They went to Toby’s window, raised it, and climbed inside, the Wookiee helping Vaderian, whose cape made movement awkward. They opened Toby’s bedroom door and listened for a long time. The house was silent. There was no sign of anyone.
“Nobody home,” said Vaderian.
“I just want to sleep, okay?” said Toby’s voice, causing both Vaderian and the Wookiee to jump and whi
rl around.
“Who said that?” said Vaderian.
“I just want to sleep, okay?” said Toby’s voice.
“I think the bed,” said the Wookiee, pointing at Toby’s pillow.
“I just want to sleep, okay?” said Toby’s voice.
“Yup,” said the Wookiee. “The bed.”
“I hate that little weasel,” said Vaderian.
“I just want to sleep, okay?” said Toby’s voice.
Vaderian, realizing he was losing a battle of wits with a pillow, closed his mouth. With a last glare toward the bed, he turned and slipped into the dark hallway. He drew his light saber and flicked the switch, filling the hall with a reddish glow. The two men moved carefully down the hall. They stopped at each door to listen; then Vaderian would quietly open the door and peer inside.
Near the kitchen, they encountered a locked door. Vaderian nodded to the Wookiee, who grasped the knob in his massive hand and twisted it hard. With a clank of snapping metal the doorknob gave way, and the door swung open.
They descended the stairs. The air was suddenly cooler and dryer. On the wall near the bottom of the stairs, they found a wall-mounted box with a row of indicator lights and a digital display showing temperature and humidity—a sophisticated environmental-control unit.
Vaderian started getting a good feeling about this.
He swung his light saber around. It was a furnished basement. At the far end he could make out a big-screen TV, an exercise bike, and…
An imperial stormtrooper uniform!
Vaderian jumped as he caught sight of it. It was mounted fully erect, like a museum piece, occupying the near corner and ghostly white in the cast of his light saber’s glow. He walked over to it quickly and examined it with an expert’s eye. He’d seen hundreds of reproductions, but this one was different; the more he studied it, the more he wondered: could it be? For years he’d heard rumors of a few undocumented, authentic, original stormtrooper uniforms out there, somewhere.…
Science Fair Page 16
