Hamstersaurus Rex vs. the Cutepocalypse

by Tom O'Donnell

  “Yeah, well, I appreciate the apology but I’ve got a lot on my plate right now, too,” I said. “So, what is it that you want me to do exactly?”

  “Well, I need you to join Model Interplanetary Council,” said Martha.

  “What?” I said. “Absolutely not! Just persuade your old teammates to come back.”

  Martha bit her lip. “I’m afraid that bridge has been burned,” she said. “Once certain things are said, they can’t be unsaid.”

  “What happened?” I said.

  “They all claimed I was riding them too hard,” said Martha, “but I merely observed that they’re a bunch of weak, pathetic babies who don’t have what it takes to win.”

  “Hoo boy,” I said. “Well, I’m sorry they’re all gone, but there’s no way I can put in a ton of time on this right now.”

  “It’s only for a week!” said Martha. “The competition is next Saturday. Dylan already said she’s on board, too. Dylan is your best friend, Sam. And as I understand friendship, this should be a strong motivating factor for you, emotionally!”

  “Yeah, well, Dylan hasn’t been much of a ‘best friend’ lately,” I said. “She’s got other priorities. And I do, too. My main deal right now is figuring out who’s gunning for the little guy.”

  “I can help you with that!” said Martha. “I usually don’t say this, but I’m very, very smart!”

  “You say that all the time,” I said. “And on top of the Snuzzle mystery I’m still $624.25 in debt to Tenth Street Toys.”

  “Well, that’s perfect!” said Martha. “Because if we win Best Delegation at Model Interplanetary Council, there is a one-thousand-dollar prize. We’re free to split it, and you can even have my share. I know you’re not great at math but that’s half the money!”

  I wasn’t great at math. But even I knew that five hundred dollars, plus my part of the Chameleonkey reward money, would be enough to pay back Mr. Lomax in full. In fact, it might be my only realistic prospect for getting enough cash within the week.

  “Okay, because I’m your friend, I’ll do it,” I said, “on one condition.”

  “Anything!” said Martha.

  “You need four people on the team, right?” I said. “Well, the fourth member of the Model Interplanetary Council delegation should be Cid Wilkins. He’s smart. He’s cool. He’s great at nicknames. And he’s even got a really fancy watch, if that helps.”

  Martha winced. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have said ‘anything,’ because I hate to be imprecise,” she said. “Dylan also had one condition. She said the fourth member of the team must be Drew McCoy.”

  “Oh, come on!” I said, throwing my hands up. “Drew McCoy is deadweight. Unless this is going to be a fedora opinions competition, that guy is totally useless.”

  “My hands are tied on this matter,” said Martha. “But I still need your help, Sam. Please.”

  I sighed. “All right, fine,” I said. “But you have to use that famous brain of yours to help me with my thing ASAP. I need to know who reprogrammed the evil Snuzzle and why.”

  “Sure, it’s just a matter of taking a look at the code that runs it,” said Martha. “This is where ten years of computer lessons ought to come in handy.”

  “Ten years?” I said. “But you’re only twelve years old.”

  “Unfortunately, they wouldn’t take anyone younger than twenty-four months, so I’ve kind of been playing catch-up ever since,” said Martha. “Anyway, we’re going to need a computer.”

  “I know just where to find one,” I said.

  “Welcome to the Maple Bluffs Public Library, young patron,” said my mom in her professional librarian voice. “Or should I say ‘Bunnybutt’?”

  “Moo-oo-oooom!” I said. “I told you, if you insist on a nickname, please use ‘Sam Dunk.’ Anyway, this is Martha. She goes to my school and stuff.”

  “Of course I know Martha,” said my mom. “Her Linear A Club meets here every Tuesday and Thursday. How’s it going with the deciphering?”

  “Very good, Patti,” said Martha. “I feel like we’re really close! We might crack it as early as next week. Then it’s on to Cretan hieroglyphs.”

  “Glad to hear it,” said my mom. “You just let me know if you need any more graph paper.”

  “You call my mom by her first name?” I said.

  “I call all adults by their first name,” said Martha. “You should try it sometime. It’s exhilarating.”

  “Anyway, Mom,” I said, “we need to use one of the computers in the computer room.”

  “Absolutely, Sam Dunk,” said my mom. “You can use number sixteen. I’m just going to need to see that library card.”

  “Wait. Seriously?” I said.

  “Just because you’re my son doesn’t mean you’re exempt from the rules,” said my mom.

  “I really like your mom,” said Martha.

  I pulled out my library card and my mom scanned it. “Oh, and this probably goes without saying, but be sure to keep it down,” she said.

  “I know how libraries work, Mom,” I said.

  She nodded and then sniffled. Thanks to Hamstersaurus Rex hiding in my backpack, her nose was already running. “Ugh. One of the patrons must have cats or something.”

  “Yep, that’s the reason! Bye!” I said as I hurried Martha along toward computer carrel 16.

  Once we were out of sight, I unzipped my backpack. Hamstersaurus Rex blinked in the bright fluorescent lighting. “Okay, buddy, I need you to stay in the bag and keep a low profile. Extra quiet,” I said to Hamstersaurus Rex. “If you can do that, there’s an extra frozen burrito for you at home. I’ll even unfreeze it if you want.”

  He growled (quietly) in acknowledgment. There was a time when I couldn’t count on Hamstersaurus Rex not to rampage. But he’d grown up a lot over the past school year. Perhaps becoming a parent and/or battling telepathic moles has that effect sometimes?

  “Okay,” said Martha, cracking her knuckles and taking the keyboard. “Let’s see that Snuzzle.”

  I dumped the broken parts out onto the desk. Martha crinkled her nose.

  “Wow. Hamstersaurus Rex sure did pulverize it, huh?” said Martha. “We could probably learn more if it wasn’t broken into quite so many pieces.”

  “Gee, I’m really sorry we weren’t gentler on the remorseless robot that was trying to kill us!”

  “I accept your apology,” said Martha.

  I frowned. “Still no sarcasm, huh?” I said.

  Martha shrugged. Then she tried her best to reassemble the Snuzzle by reattaching various wires to the badly dented computer processor at the core of the toy. When she was done, it still looked like someone had put a clock radio into a coonskin cap and run over it with a car, but at least all the parts were connected. The only recognizable features were the Snuzzle’s reattached right paw and its eye, now a free-floating orb connected to the rest of it by a thin yellow wire.

  “Luckily, these things come with a USB port,” said Martha. “We should be able to connect it to the computer to figure out what’s going inside this smartpet’s proverbial head.” She plugged a USB cable into the Snuzzle and attached the other end to computer number 16. Lines of code now appeared on-screen.

  “Cool,” I said. “What’s it mean?”

  “Shhh,” said Martha as she studied the screen.

  I started counting ceiling tiles.

  “Wow,” said Martha, 321 tiles later. “This Snuzzle has been expertly hacked. Whoever did it was able to completely disable the manual on/off switch.”

  “Oh yeah,” I said. “I already found that out the hard way.”

  “Let’s just comment out that code, then,” said Martha. At the beginning of a line of code, she typed two forward slashes. “And now we’ll try a manual reset. With the Snuzzle reactivated, we should be able to learn more.” Martha flicked the Snuzzle’s switch off then on again. There was an odd crackling noise from its voice box. Then the Snuzzle’s red eye began to faintly glow. An avalanche of code spil
led onto the computer screen now.

  “Here we go. This is the good stuff,” said Martha. “Yep. Looks, like the hacker was able to take full control of everything. Like so.”

  She typed a command in and hit Enter. On the table, the Snuzzle’s paw snapped closed like a bear trap.

  “Any way to figure out who did it?” I said.

  “Maybe,” said Martha. “For one thing, the hacker took the time to autograph their work.” She pointed to a line on the screen that read:

  // CONGRATULATIONS! YOU GOT HACKED BY THE SAW <3

  “The Saw?” I said. “So evil but, credit where credit is due, such a cool nickname. Almost Cid-worthy.”

  “I have to confess I never understood why people want nicknames so badly,” said Martha. “You’re only going to confuse teachers and authority figures by using them.”

  “I think you may have answered your own question,” I said.

  “. . . ooooooOOOOOOOOOooo,” moaned the Snuzzle’s voice box.

  “Whoa,” I said. “How did you make it do that? I didn’t see you type anything in.”

  “That’s because I didn’t,” said Martha.

  Martha clacked away at the keyboard. Just then her computer screen blinked and then went all . . . weird. Strange numbers, characters, and boxes flickered in a shifting pattern.

  “What’s happening?” I said. “Is it something good?”

  “I have no idea, but no,” said Martha. “I thought I disabled the malicious code but . . . The hacker must have hidden a self-installing virus somewhere in there.”

  “The Saw!” I said.

  “Hey, you can’t just crash when I’m halfway through my novel, you stupid machine!” cried the woman at the computer opposite from us.

  “What happened to my résumé?” shrieked the man at computer carrel 11.

  I looked up. Every computer in the computer room was now flashing the same bizarre pattern as ours. The other patrons were standing up, looking around, confused.

  “It’s trying to spread the virus, Martha,” I said. “Shut it down! Now!”

  “I can’t,” she said, still frantically typing. “I’ve somehow been blocked out . . . What the fiddlefluffs?! Sugar britches!”

  I yanked the USB cable out of the computer. Nothing happened. The computers were still going crazy.

  “It still seems to be interfacing with the network wirelessly!” said Martha.

  “oooo . . . OOOOOOO . . . ,” moaned the pile of Snuzzle.

  I reached for the off switch. But its scrabbling claw snapped at me and I yanked my hand back.

  “Whoa!” I said.

  “DESTWOY,” said the broken Snuzzle.

  CHAPTER 11

  THE SNUZZLE LURCHED off the desk and onto the floor. Slowly, awkwardly, it started to drag itself toward us using its one functioning paw.

  “Sam, what do we do?” cried Martha, backing away.

  “I don’t know! I can’t get near the switch,” I cried. “We need—”

  With a furious snarl Hamstersaurus Rex landed right on top of the Snuzzle—CRUNCH! Hammie clamped his jaws onto the thing’s paw and tore it right out of the socket with a loud mechanical ripping sound. The shapeless Snuzzle-thing sparked and twitched uselessly. I dove for it and flicked the off switch, which thankfully still worked. The Snuzzle’s voice box crackled and the glowing red eye went dead.

  Martha’s screen flickered one last time and returned to normal. I got to my feet and saw that everyone in the computer room was staring at us, mouths open.

  “. . . Technology, huh?” I said. “Sometimes it’s good. Sometimes it’s, uh, bad. And isn’t that the paradox—”

  “What on earth is going on back here?” said my mom, who burst into the room. “I’ve never heard such a racket in all my—ACHOOOOOO!” She let out a sneeze that sounded more like a controlled demolition. The noise of it echoed throughout the library, startling a whole story-time group.

  “Sab, what are you thinking? You cab’t have Habstersaurus Rex in here!” said my mom, her nose now dripping profusely, as she shooed us toward the exit. “I’b very, very disappointed in you! This is by blace of work!”

  “I know, I know,” I said. “I’m sorry, Mom. Sorry, everybody!” I stuffed what was left of the Snuzzle into my bag and made for the exit.

  “I’d like to apologize on Sam’s behalf, too, Patti,” said Martha. “I’m happy to give your son a stern talking-to about the importance of rules, if you think it would help.”

  “Blease,” said my mom, shaking her head and wiping her nose.

  “Martha, come on!” I said.

  Outside the library, we regrouped on a nearby bench.

  “Sam, whoever the Saw is, their code is extremely impressive,” said Martha. “They might even be, ahem . . . smarter than me.”

  I blinked. “Hearing that is somehow more chilling than the Snuzzle coming back to life and kill us,” I said.

  “Anyway,” said Martha. “I’m happy to assist with this very important mystery in any way I can. But right now I need to head home. We’re having beetloaf for dinner, if you’d like to join.”

  “Nah, I’m good,” I said. My hands were still shaking. I had no idea if I could keep a helping of “beetloaf” down.

  “Your loss,” said Martha. “Beets are an excellent source of manganese and you’ve always looked a little manganese-deficient to me.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I said.

  “Nothing,” said Martha. “See you tomorrow at five a.m.”

  “Wait,” I said. “What?”

  “Model Interplanetary Council practice, silly,” said Martha. “This Sunday is our last day off from school before the competition next week and I want to make the most of it. This is a new team and you’ve all got to learn the ropes—parliamentary rules of order, points of personal privilege, optimal placard placement. The fun stuff!”

  “I can’t get up at five a.m.!” I said. “I’ve never been up at five a.m.! I’m not even sure five a.m. actually exists!”

  “Sam, if we hope to get in a twelve-hour practice we simply must get an early start,” said Martha.

  “Twelve-hour practice?!” I said.

  “Don’t worry!” said Martha, putting a hand on my shoulder. “There’s a break.”

  “A break?” I said. “As in one single break? Martha, I’m not so sure about this.”

  Her eyes narrowed and her voice got intense. “Listen, Sam, you need to win Best Delegation at MIC as much as I do. Maybe more,” said Martha as she poked me in the chest. “Trust me, if I could pull this thing off by myself, I would. But the rules say I can’t. So I better have some true competitors on this team with me. I mean people who have the fire for space diplomacy deep down in their guts, warriors who thirst for the destruction of their enemies on the field of battle—in this case mock committee meetings with other sixth graders. In short, I want champions who will represent the history, culture, and planetary interests of Zoblorg VII with pride and honor! Now, are you in or out?”

  “I don’t even know what Zoblorg VII is,” I said.

  “It’s our home planet,” said Martha. “In or out, Sam!”

  “All right! All right! I’m in!” I said, half terrified.

  Martha’s expression softened again. “Okey-doke!” she said. “See you tomorrow!” And she walked off.

  “Oof. What have I gotten myself into?” I said.

  Hamstersaurus Rex shook his little dino-head.

  That night I tried to poke around online and figure out who the Saw might be. But I’m not particularly web savvy (this is kind of Serena’s thing) and “Saw” is such a common search word that I didn’t have much luck. I did end up watching a bunch of videos where talented amateurs play pop songs on the saw, though. So that was a good use of three hours.

  My alarm clock went off in the middle of the night (technically 4:45 a.m.). I rolled out of bed and joylessly ate some cereal. Then my equally grumpy and confused mom drove me—periodically sneezing, be
cause Hamstersaurus Rex was still snoozing inside my backpack—to Model Interplanetary Council practice. Martha had apparently secured the use of the Horace Hotwater gymnasium for the team’s practices.

  Dylan and Drew McCoy were already here, giggling together about some inside joke, apparently okay with the ludicrously early hour. This only made me more irritated.

  “’Sup?” said Drew.

  “I am. At five a.m.” I put my bag down and slumped onto the first row of the bleachers. Nice bleachers, soft bleachers, good-for-a-nap bleachers . . .

  “What Sam meant to say is ‘good morning,’ Drew,” said Dylan.

  “I wouldn’t call it that,” I said.

  Before Dylan could respond or I could nod off, Martha entered from the opposite side of the gymnasium.

  “Greetings, new Model Interplanetary Council delegates,” she said. “Or as we say on Zoblorg VII: Doh meefa, xeesotee! Zlorrrrk.”

  Martha bowed. We all stared at her.

  “. . . That’s the standard planetary greeting,” said Martha.

  We all stared at her.

  “On Zoblorg VII!” she said. “Every Model Interplanetary Council delegation is randomly assigned a planet to represent at the competition. We’ve been assigned Zoblorg VII, also known as the ‘Jewel of the Crab Nebula’—that’s merely one of thousands of Zoblorgian fun facts we all must commit to memory in a deadly serious manner, before the competition next Saturday. Now, do you have any questions?”

  “Yeah. Why are we in the gym?” I said, rubbing my eyes. “It smells like moldy basketballs in here.”

  “Well, Sam,” said Martha. “I’d argue that the unpleasant smell is actually perfect because Zoblorg VII’s main economic activity is collecting and processing other planets’ refuse. Over forty-three percent of our planetary surface is devoted to waste management! The rest is lava.”

  “Hang on, we’re from some sort of burning trash planet?” said Dylan. “Ew.”

  “No,” said Martha. “The people of Zoblorg VII are resourceful scavengers who ingeniously recycle the trash of other, more wasteful galactic civilizations to create all manner of useful things, from construction materials to clothing and traditional jewelry!”