by Bill Doyle
Judge noticed and said “You can Keep it if you like.”
“I'd love it,” I told her. “But maybe you should give it to Lysa since you drew a younger version of her in the picture.”
“That's not Lysa,” Judge said. “That's Asyla Notabe.”
I looked up, surprised. “You mean the Asyla Notabe who started the campaign against private detectives?”
“That's right,” Judge said. “Even she was a little girl at one point. In fact, I met her in 1906 on the same train that I met Fitz. We were on our way to San Francisco.”
“That's the answer,” I said. “It's been right there the whole time!”
“What is it?”
I quickly wrote out the three names.
CHARLOTTE NOONAN
MAXINE BENATO
LYSA A. BENATO
“Do you see it?” I said. “I know you and my family worked on anagrams to crack many cases together. And it looks like this one might hinge on anagrams, too.”
“What do you mean?” asked Judge. She gazed at the names for a moment. “Benato is an anagram for Notabe!”
“Look at Lysa's full name.”
LYSA A. BENATO
I rearranged the letters until they spelled:
ASYLA NOTABE
I pushed the paper toward judge. “Lysa A. Benato is an anagram for Asyla Notabe!”
“You're right!” Judge cried. “But what about Charlotte Noonan? She's a clone, as well, but her name isn't even close to an anagram.”
I tapped the pen thoughtfully against the table. “That's true. And why would there be three Notabe clones on this Climber, anyway? Does it have to do with ESCAPE BY A HAIR? And does the person who tool the statue know how to stop the virus?”
LYSA DIDN'T SEEM TO TRUST JUDGE.
“Well,” judge said, “there might be one way to answer some of our questions. We can tall: to Lysa and Charlotte.”
Lysa wasn't in her room, so we checked her mom's. Mrs. Benato was lying in bed asleep, and Lysa was sitting in a chair next to the bed watching over her. When she saw judge, Lysa said, “No offense, but for some reason you make me nervous.”
Judge I didn't take offense at Lysa's comment the way I might have. Instead, she gave Lysa a little smile. “Why don't I wait outside?”
Before I could protest, judge left the room. The door slid shut behind her, and I turned to Lysa. I was angry. “You're going to have to get used to constructed intelligent life.”
“Am I?” she asked, seeming genuinely surprised by my anger. “You mean there are more of them?”
“People might consider you prejudiced.” I was going against all my training by being hostile to a potential witness.
“Prejudiced!” Lysa spat back at me. Traces of a the mousy girl slipped away as she grew more frazzled. “Are you honestly here to insult me? Let's just cut to the chase. In case you haven't noticed, my mom is knocked out and lying sick in bed. Do you think l'd ever do anything to endanger her life?”
Lysa's face was red, and there were tears pooling in her eyes.
“No,” I answered. “I guess you're right. I'm sorry.”
“Doesn't that fact clear me of suspicion?” she asked angrily.
“Again, I'm sorry,” I said. “I just have one question: Why are you and your mom on the Climber?”
“Two tickets were e-mailed to us. The note said we had won first prize in a sweepstakes. My mom and I couldn't remember entering any sweepstakes—but we decided not to ask too many questions. The tickets were real, and who wouldn't want a free ride on the Space Elevator?”
I opened my mouth, but she interrupted me. “Before you ask who sent them, I don't know. The e-mail is gone. It's been erased. Satisfied?”
Without waiting for me to respond, she said, “I'd like you to leave now.”
I nodded and left the room. Judge was waiting for me outside the door.
“That didn't go so well,” I told her.
“I Know,” she said. “I could hear it all. Now what?”
“Let's try Charlotte.”
If it's possible, that interview went even worse. In fact, there really wasn't an interview.
When we 1:knocked on Charlotte's door, we heard her muffled, voice say, “Go away!”
“Charlotte, I just want to ask you one or two questions,” I called. “Did someone send you tickets for the Elevator?”
“They came in an e-mail. They were prizes in a sweepstakes.” “What sweepstakes?”
“I don't know,” she answered. “I figured my dad had entered and forgotten about doing it.”
My brain went into hyperdrive. Clearly, the sweepstakes had been a fake. Someone …the thief …was trying to throw a potential investigation off-track by having so many people with the same DNA located in one place.
JUDGE LED ME AWAY FROM CHARLOTTE'S ROOM.
Before I could shout another question through the door, Charlotte bellowed, “NOW GO …AWAY!”
“Come on,” Judge said, gently pulling me back toward the elevater.
“Well we're getting nowhere,” I said. “There's no one else to ask.”
“I thin there might be, Otis.”
“Who?”
“Asyla Notabe.”
Once again, Judge and I were in the Common Room. Crockett was seated at the table, watching us pace back and forth. We had just filled him in on our progress.
“I think it's a great idea to bring Asyla to lift the way you brought me back,” Judge said. “Then we can ask her questions about her clones and find out if she knows anything about what they might be up to.”
“It won't be the real Asyla,” I replied. “It will only be the woman as my family's written about her in their journals. And the journals say much more about you than about her.”
“If you added other information in your hard drive—like news stories or encyclopedias—she should still be well rounded.” Judge stopped pacing and looked at me. “What's the real reason you're hesitating?”
I took a breath. “I'm concerned about what will happen to you.”
“It's true.” Judge acknowledged. “We will have to use some of the nanobots I'm made of.”
Crockett chimed in, “If we do that, you'll have to be younger and smaller.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Think about the nanobots that make up Judge like the sand in a sand castle,” Crocket explained. “If you want to make a second castle using the same sand, the first one will have to get smaller.”
“So I'll have to be younger and less experienced,”Judge said. “But it still might work.”
I stopped pacing. “Are you sure you want to do this, Judge?”
Judge stood still. “Honestly, it's scares me a little. But I'm not sure what else to do.”
“Okay,” I finally agreed. “Let's bring Asyla Notabe back.”
But before we got started, I had to do one thing. I went to the Kitchen area of the room and found an apple. I placed it on a table in front of Judge.
“What's this for?” asked.
“I'm going to force the nanobots we take from you through this apple before they take the shape of Asyla,” I said.
Crockett looked at me like I was nuts. “But why?”
“It's a Kind of insurance,” I said. “Let's just hope we never need it. Do you still have Yves's contact?”
He nodded and got the glass that contained the contact lenses.
“Everyone ready?” I asked. They both nodded, and I popped one of the contacts into my eye.
HELLO, OTIS, Yves's 'quist said in my Mind. WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO DO?
I explained my goal to the 'quist and got to work. My hands danced and my body moved about. Once again, the air was filled with flying nanobots.
More than half the nano-material flew off Judge, zoomed through the apple, and reorganized into the shape of… my math teacher!
Judge looked smaller—and extremely concerned as she asked, “What's happened?”
RECIPES FOR ROBOT
S
COOKING FOR YOUR 'BOTS
What's a chef to do when the nanobots are hungry and there's nothing in the cupboard? Reach for the garbage!
1) The new nanobots might be hungry all the time, but they're not picky! They can adapt to stimuli such as heat, light, sounds, surface textures, chemicals, and disgusting food. Feed 'em scraps from the trash -they won't complain.
2) Looking for the perfect meal? Any sugary food will do. WARNING: Foods high in glucose, such as fruits and some vegetables, may also attract bacteria that could interfere with the operation of your nanobots.
3) Feed the 'bots on your schedule. Don't let them run your life. Remember, they can go for months without eating. But when you do give them a meal, watch out! The feeding frenzy can be frightening!
I wondered the same thing. Why had I been thinking of my math teacher?
Judge's eyes narrowed. “Are you concentrating?”
“Sorry!” I shouted, and refocused my mind.
My math teacher disintegrated as the nanobots flew apart into a whirling dervish of technology. The cloud of 'bots expanded and constricted almost as if it were breathing. Then it constricted one final time into the shape of a tall woman.
She looked to be about twenty-nine years old and was shockingly beautiful.
“Are you Asyla Notabe?” I asked.
She stroked her long black hair, seeming to relish the feel of the silky strands. “Ooooh …it's good to be back.”
Asyla took a step toward Judge, who now looked to be about nine years old, the same age she would have been when she met Fitz Morgan in 1906. Towering over her, Asyla eyed Judge for a moment like a spider about to devour her prey.
She staggered then. Her hand lashed out and her fingers closed around my upper arm. Hard. The strength of the nanobots was incredible.
I grimaced but managed not to call out.
ASYLA NOTABE
“Hmmm…” Asyla looked as if she were savoring a delicious meal. I couldn't shake free of her grasp.
“Let him go,” Judge said, stepping forward.
“Yes. I have to sleep now,” Asyla said and released my arm. Crockett and I helped her over to the couch.
Almost instantly, Asyla went to sleep so that her system could reboot.
“Otis, are you okay?” Judge was gazing at me as if looking for injuries.
I nodded. “I'm fine, but what about you? How do you feel, Judge?”
JUDGE LOOKED ABOUT NINE YEARS OLD.
She looked down at her simple purple dress and her small body. “A little strange.”
“Are you starting to have doubts about bringing Asyla back?”
But Judge didn't answer me. She just looked down at Asyla sleeping quietly on the couch.
And all the while, our doomed Elevator continued to plummet toward Earth.
ASYLA WAS MORE INTERESTED IN HER REFLECTION THAN THE VIEW!
JANUARY 5, 2031
Day 5 of 6 10:50 AM
I awoke this morning with a start. There wasn't time for sleep! We had to hunt down the bad guy!
It took me a second to realize where I was. The sharp kink in my neck helped remind me. I was in my parents' room. I had slept in the chair between their beds again.
My eyes instantly went to them. Their IV packs were dripping away. They were breathing steadily, but their pulse rate was still really high.
Teddy clicked and whirled, looking up at me with concern.
“It's okay. Teddy,” I told him, but I don't think sounded very convincing. Teddy's eyes didn't change, and he kept watching me.
I told him to watch over Mom and Dad and headed out the door. Judge had sent me to bed last night, telling me not to worry, she would stay with Asyla. The first item on today's agenda was to check in on them.
At the door of the Common Room, I heard the sound of voices.
“Don't you just love this?” It was Asyla speaking. She was standing in front of the window, and I saw that she wasn't admiring the view. Instead, she was gazing at her own reflection.
When I entered, I was once again struck by how small Judge looked standing next to Asyla. I hoped we had made the right decision in bringing her back.
Judge rolled her eyes toward Asyla when she saw me. “It seems some things never change. Can we get to work now, Asyla?”
Asyla touched her hair, as if savoring the feel of it. “Oh, I'm not here to work, little girl” She stressed the word little. “That would mean I'd have to be paid.”
“Money isn't such an issue anymore,” I told her.
She didn't turn away from her reflection. “There's always something to be paid.”
I thought about the sacrifice Judge had made to bring Asyla back. “How about life?” I asked. “Is that enough of a payment?”
“What are you saying? You're going to destroy me unless I answer your questions?” She chuckled. “I don't think so. Not if you're like the Fitzmorgans I remember.”
“Fine, can we just chat? Please?” I forced myself to whine slightly. And it worked. The begging tone in my voice seemed to satisfy her.
“Very well.” She finally turned from her reflection and glided over to a chair. She perched on the edge, as if this arrangement could change at any time. “What is it you want to talk about? My old friend Justine has told me all about your situation. Quite a pickle you've gotten yourself into. Seems like the rest of us are always cleaning up Fitzmorgan and Moorie. messes.”
That's not true! I wanted to shout. But instead, I asked, “can you tell us about the statue?”
ASYLA SEEMED WILLING TO TALK
“Statue?” her voice remained calm, but she looked interested.
“That's one thing I didn't tell you about, Asyla,” Judge said.
Asyla ignored her. “What statue?”
I looked at Judge and nodded. She said, “It's a work by Maginold Moylan that's gone missing. We think it might be somewhere on the Climber.”
I saw a flash of excitement in Ayla's eyes.
“Seems there might be something we know about that would interest you,” I said. “Let's strike a deal, Asyla. If you answer a few of our questions, we'll answer yours.”
She waved a hand at me as if sweeping the idea from the air. “Even if there was a statue that once caught my eye, why would I tell you about it?”
Judge replied, “Because all of our problems seem to have started with that statue.”
“And because your clones are on this Climber,” I added. “And they might die unless we get to the truth.”
“Yes, darling Justine told me all about my 'relatives' on this Elevator,” Asyla said. “How wonderful to be surrounded by such fine company! I'm not worried about them. They must have a plan.”
I shook my head. “I don't think so. Mrs. Benato is unconscious and infected with the virus. She's growing sicker by the hour.”
That seemed to reach Asyla. “Describe the statue to me,” she said. Was she going to cooperate? “If you do, I'll tell you what I can. No more cat-and-mouse games. I think we've established who the mice are in the room, anyway.”
I looked at Judge, who shrugged. What did we have to lose?
I described the scene the statue portrayed: Mary Todd Lincoln stretching out a hand toward Lincoln's killer, John Wilkes Booth, her fingers just barely missing him. “It's called “ESCAPE BY A HAIR.”
Asyla's eyes gleamed at the name. “ SCAPE BY A HAIR” she repeated slowly. And there was something about the way she stretched out the last word…
Then her eyes went cold again. She shook her head. “I've never heard of it.”
You didn't have to be a detective to know she was lying.
Judge suddenly said, “It's the title, isn't it? That's what made you sit up straighter.”
No answer for a moment, and then Asyla laughed. “Of course not. I don't even know what that silly name means.”
But it seemed Judge was on to something.
“ESCAPE By A HAIR,” I said, thinking out loud, stretching out th
e last word the way Asyla had. I remembered the list of materials used to make the statue: tin, marble—and human hair.
Yes! That must be it!
“This all has something to do with the hair inside the statue, doesn't it?” I asked Asyla.
She turned her gaze on me, and it was like looking into the eye of a hurricane. Cool, barely controlled rage stared back at me. Besides sending a shiver down my spine, it told me we were on the right track.
Then Asyla blinked, and the rage disappeared, hidden behind a mask of calm innocence. She opened her mouth, and I thought she might speak. Instead, she yawned and stretched. “Oh my, I'm sleepy,” she said.
Asyla walked to the couch and curled up on it, letting her long black hair drape over the end like a dark curtain. “I'm afraid we'll have to talk about this another time,” she purred. “Unless you're going to force me to stay awake. But that would be inhumane.”
Before we could protest, she closed her eyes. Judge took a step toward her as if she wanted to shake her awake, but stopped herself.
We shared a look, and I shrugged helplessly. judge and I left the room and stood in the hallway next to the elevator.
“What did you think of that?” Judge asked me.
I shook my head. “She definitely knows something, but I don't know what.”
“Or she could be playing a game with us, making us believe she has knowledge we want,” Judge offered. “She might be as in the dark as we are.”
“The way she reacted to the title of the statue,” I said. “It must have something to do with the hair.”
“Okay,” Judge agreed. “But what?”
I thought for a second. “The hair… the hair…”
I couldn't finish the sentence. What could be so important about hair in the statue?
I DREAMED MY MATH TEACHER WAS SHOUTING AT ME.
JANUARY 6, 2031
Day 6 of 6 1:50 PM
Last night I dreamed of my math teacher. The dreams were more like nightmares, really. She kept flashing my grade on my desk video screen. F. F. F.
