by Sechin Tower
Nikki tossed me a big, old-fashioned brass key. I fumbled it but finally managed to slap it to my chest before it dropped to the floor. It was heavy and cold in my hands, and it looked like it was an honest-to-goodness antique.
“I don’t remember a keyhole out there,” I said.
“There isn’t one,” she said over her shoulder as she followed Victor up the stairs. “The door will detect the key’s special radio frequency. Bring it close, and the gate will automatically open for you.”
The two of them ascended the spiral staircase and disappeared through the door.
I explored the lab for what must have been an hour, charting out the locations of the wires and welding torches to build some interesting things, but I couldn’t find any scrap metal and I wanted to ask if they had any available. The two of them had gone up the stairs a long time ago, and I was beginning to wonder what was taking so long. After another fifteen minutes of me waiting, I gave in to impatience and went up the spiral staircase to find them.
The door exited into a short hallway with two more doors. The first one opened up into a large shower room, like the kind you would find in a locker room. That seemed out of place to me, but Nikki and Victor were not in there, so I didn’t spend long inside. The second door had a little plaque that said it was the ‘Dean’s Residence,’ but no one answered when I knocked. The door wasn’t locked, so I went in.
The dean’s residence was an apartment, way bigger than the one my Dad and I had in New York but set up for a single occupant, judging from the fact that there was only one bedroom. With Professor McKenzie deceased, I guessed that it was awaiting whoever would become the next Dean of Students. At the back of the apartment was a glass door that looked out on the roof of Topsy, which held an amazing garden, complete with fruit trees and rose bushes. But still no Nikki or Victor.
I backtracked and searched again, but it was simply impossible that anyone was up here. It was also impossible that they had come down earlier, because the spiral staircase is clearly visible from anywhere in the lab below and I would have seen them come down. It was equally impossible that they could have disappeared into thin air, but they seemed to have done just that.
I returned to the top of the stairway and leaned over the railing to look out at the laboratory below. I pouted, as much because they had ditched me as because I couldn’t figure out how they had done it. Unfortunately for me, my sulking was cut short by the phone buzzing in my pocket.
“This is the Professor,” said the smooth voice on the other end of the line. “Are you inside Topsy?”
“Yeah,” I said, trying not to sound too upset about my vanishing classmates.
“Good,” he said. “Now, are you alone?”
That seemed like a strange question. What did it matter if I was alone? Still, I couldn’t see the harm in telling him I was.
“Excellent,” he said. “It is time for you to begin your research.”
Chapter 12 ~ Dean
Sheriff Kidd had scowled throughout the booking process. He was a tall man with a black handlebar mustache and a bow-legged swagger.
“I don’t like your kind of trouble-makers in my town,” he said as he pushed Dean’s inky fingers onto the finger-print page.
“Sounds clichéd,” Dean responded. He was too tired to play cowboys-and-robbers. After all, he stood accused of stealing a bike, not rustling horses.
Evidently, the sheriff didn’t like to be reminded that sleepy little Bugswallow was not the Wild West, because Dean never got a new ice pack for his nose. Instead, he was taken to the hospital for a mandatory medical evaluation. Three hours and three x-rays later, the doctor told Dean what he already knew: he had a broken nose and a small crack in his rib, so he should try to get some rest. For that, the doctor charged one thousand nine hundred dollars. Back in his cell, he put his head down to rest just in time for the Sheriff to clang open the cell door once more.
“C’mon,” Sheriff Kidd grunted. “You got a call on the computer.”
Dean didn’t know why anyone would be calling him, but he was sure the sheriff wouldn’t give him an answer, so he just struggled back to his feet and limped down the hall to the office desk, where a rolling chair was stationed in front of a computer. The sheriff’s deputy, a husky, middle-aged woman with a Viking-esque braid running down her back, leaned over the monitor, plugging in a web-cam.
“Ain’t you got it working yet?” Kidd said as he handcuffed Dean to the rolling chair.
Dean caught the deputy’s eye and gave her a sympathetic look, which she returned in full. Evidently, working for Kidd wasn’t much more fun than being arrested by him.
The deputy clicked a few buttons, and after a moment the blank screen came to life with the video feed of Brian Nash, the FBI agent who had questioned Dean back in Los Angeles. Agent Nash was in a car seat, evidently connecting via the webcam in his phone. His face was lit only by the dome light which allowed most of his features to fade into the darkness of an interstate highway at night. The picture bounced around as Nash’s car went over some pot-holes and Dean caught a glimpse of Agent O’Grady at the wheel, his steely gaze aimed out at the road ahead of him.
“The FBI is calling me?” Dean said. “How much trouble am I in for one little fist-fight?”
Nash ignored the quip. “Mr. Lazarchek, I understand you had an encounter with one or more of the men we discussed at our last meeting.”
“Yeah,” Dean said. “It was that big guy, Brick. Him and a couple of friends.”
“These are dangerous criminals,” Nash said earnestly. “I ask that you leave them to trained law-enforcement professionals.”
“I wasn’t looking for trouble,” Dean lied. “The thing is, they showed up on the front lawn of a school building. I was just going to ask them what they were doing there.”
“Any idea what these men were doing at the school?”
“I don’t know,” Dean said. “But they did say something about an egg. Apparently that’s why they were following McKenzie.”
“An egg? What sort of egg?” Nash reached past his camera to find a pen and make a note.
Dean shrugged. “I don’t know, but I don’t think they were trying to make an omelet. They also said something about working for a professor. Any idea who that might be?”
“I will let you know what we find when the case goes to trial,” Nash said, but did not make a note about the professor the way he had noted the egg. This, Dean realized, meant he already knew about the professor.
“In the mean time, Mr. Lazarchek, I would caution you again to stay away from these men.”
Dean knew that Nash was right, but he couldn’t leave it alone. Besides, if Brick and his Blitzkriegers were here in Bugswallow, that meant they still didn’t have what they wanted and they might still threaten the school and the students, including Sophia. For the first time, he realized why McKenzie had asked him to cover for her. She didn’t need someone to run the school: she needed someone to protect it from these men, whoever they were. McKenzie hadn’t asked him for a small favor; she had trusted him with a task that was both crucial and dangerous. All he needed to do now was carry out her last wishes.
In order to properly defend the Mechanical Science Institute he would need more information. If Nash wouldn’t answer direct questions then Dean would need to resort to other means.
“I don’t get what’s so dangerous about these guys,” Dean said, rolling his neck to casually work out the kinks. “I mean, I just beat up three of them and sent them running.”
It was complete bluster, and Dean knew it. But Nash fell right into the trap.
“These men are suspects in dozens of armed bank robberies,” Nash said. “They are also suspected of assault, murder, and a dozen other felonies.”
“Really?” Dean pretended to be more interested in picking a tuft of padding out of the chair’s armrest.
Nash rose to the bait. “You may be interested to know that each of the banks they robbed experien
ced catastrophic electrical failure at the moment of the crime. Alarms and phones didn’t work. Cameras burned out. Lights went dead. Does any of this sound familiar, Mr. Lazarchek?”
Now Dean could no longer fake indifference. “Just like what happened at my house,” he said slowly, remembering the dead appliances and the damage to the wiring. And McKenzie’s pacemaker.
Nash nodded. “Whatever they are doing to cause this, I hope you see now that this is a very serious situation indeed.”
Dean certainly did. He also now saw what he had to do: find the bikers and find the Professor. He had no idea where to look, but he knew they were after some kind of egg. If he could find that egg, he could get them to come to him.
Chapter 13 ~ Soap
Maybe I misunderstood the Professor about how much research he needed me to do, because what he asked for was ridiculously simple. All he wanted was for me to look into RFID—Radio Frequency Identification—which is the kind of thing that businesses do with key cards that open locked doors. It’s also how the doors of Topsy recognize the key Nikki gave me. It’s basically an electronic lock-and-key system: if the key frequency fits the lock just right, the doors open. If not, they stay shut. The Professor was especially interested in how the key to Topsy worked, so I copied its frequency and included that with the other data. He said he wanted it by tomorrow evening, but it only took me an hour to prepare the report. I uploaded everything to my phone and was ready to send it, but I thought I would wait until the next morning because I didn’t want it to look too easy. If he was paying me ten thousand dollars for this research, I at least wanted him to think I had put in the hours.
It was dark outside by the time I left Topsy. I had missed my chance to register for my meal card that day, so I had to use the last of my pocket cash to buy food at one of the campus cafeterias. Even though it was way past the main dinner hour, there were plenty of other kids there. I still ended up sitting alone, though. Some things never change, I guess.
Back at Smiley, I saw that Hannah had already decorated her side of the room with posters of pop singers and celebrity athletes. Her book shelves were now lined with makeup containers and organic, diet snack foods, and the open door to her closet revealed that it was brimming with crisply folded clothes, most of which were in the school colors of white and blue. Then there was my side, which currently contained the standard-issue dorm furniture, plus my single foot locker and my backpack.
First I unpacked Rusty, who was now fully refurbished following the science fair disaster. I had him use his long pincer arms to hand me the clothes that had travelled with him in the footlocker across the country. I didn’t own much. Including what I was wearing, I had three black hoodies, three pairs of black jeans, and nine each of t-shirts, underwear, and socks—all black. Some people think I’m depressed because I always wear black, but the truth is when I wear other colors I get too distracted with dots of grease from whatever I’m working on. Also, black is great because it goes with everything so I can spend my time thinking about robots instead of picking outfits. I got the idea from Einstein, who had a dozen copies of the same suit and never wore anything else. He was pretty smart, if you ask me. Still, when I was done unpacking, my collection of clothes hangers looked like a ghost town compared to all the things crammed into Hannah’s closet. It made me feel kind of plain.
I was just pushing my black backpack under my bed when I heard a burst of giggling out in the hallway. A moment after that, Hannah and three of her girl friends crashed through the door with huge smiles on their face. All of them wore short skirts and had long, wavy hair that bounced on their shoulders.
“Oh, you’re back,” Hannah said. Then she saw Rusty and somehow managed to frown while still showing off her perfectly white teeth. “What is that?” she demanded.
“That’s Rusty, my personal assistant,” I said proudly. “Say hello, Rusty.”
My robot recognized the verbal cue and responded by spreading his arms, ducking his head, and leaning forward in a kind of bow. I thought it was a cute trick, but Hannah wasn’t impressed.
“That thing’s disgusting,” one of her friends said.
“Can you please hide it somewhere?” Hannah said. “Quickly? I have a really cute guy coming and—oh, hi, Brett. Everybody, this is Brett Jenson, our school’s new varsity quarterback.”
The girls parted reverently to allow a very tall younged man enter the room. He wore one of those jackets that athletes wear and he had the physique to go with it. He was broad shouldered, dark eyed, and dark haired. Back in Flatbush there were some good-looking guys in my high school, but they all seemed small by comparison. I don’t mean they were shorter than he was, just that if I gathered them all together on a stage, the other guys would fade into the background while Brett would shine so bright you could see him from the back row.
“Whoa,” he said when he spotted Rusty. “That looks cool. What is it?”
I told Rusty to give another bow, and Brett’s face lit up.
Hannah sneered. “This is my roommate, Soap. She’s really into math and physics.”
“That’s cool,” Brett said, as if it might not be. “Where did you get the robot?”
“Built it,” I shrugged.
This seemed to knock Brett for a loop. “That’s totally awesome,” he said. “What else can it do? Does it shoot missiles or anything?”
The other girls were giving me dirty looks because I had Brett’s attention. Still, he had asked for a demonstration, so I showed how Rusty could retrieve my backpack, carry it with him, and hand me a screwdriver or a voltmeter when I asked for one.
“You’ve got to be the smartest person I’ve ever met,” Brett concluded. “I can’t believe you built this thing.”
“Hey, Brett,” Hannah cooed. “Here’s that popcorn maker I was telling you about. It’s way better than microwave popcorn. I can make it fresh right here any time you want it.”
She plugged in her air popper and it started to whirr, but Brett was still focused on Rusty. Seeing this, she crossed over to him and pretended to pick some lint off his jacket.
“So, Brett, what are you studying?” Hannah asked. It was a question I heard a lot of students asking each other, so maybe it was part of a different conversation matrix.
“I don’t know yet,” Brett said. “Maybe pre-law. Or economics. I haven’t decided. I think Freshman year is too early to decide.”
Hannah said she was thinking about those exact same majors. But then Brett turned to me. “What are you studying, Soap? Robot-building?”
I nodded. “Physics. With the Mechanical Science Institute.”
Usually, I can figure out why I offend people after I’ve done it. This time, however, I couldn’t imagine what made my answer erase the smile off Brett’s face quicker than you can drop a wrench. He just stood there, looking at me.
“What?” asked Hannah. “What’s the matter?”
“The Institute,” he said to me. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I asked
“Don’t study with them. Just stay away. They’re dangerous.” He looked really serious, but I still couldn’t understand why.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “Is it because Professor McKenzie died?”
“It goes way back before that,” Brett said. “But, listen, I gotta go. Just remember that I warned you.” Brett exited the room really quickly. The girls, including Hannah, followed him out, talking about how they should go get ice cream. BTW: Hannah never unplugged her popcorn machine, so I had Rusty do it for her after she left.
I sat down on the uncovered mattress of my bed, deeply confused for about the four hundredth time that day. I replayed it over and over in my head, but I couldn’t see what I had said that offended Brett so badly. I had to go with the theory that, for once, it wasn’t me. It must be something about the Institute, something bad.
College was turning out to be a confusing place. In less than a day I had already stumbled upon the secret laboratory of on
e of the greatest inventors in history, misplaced two of my classmates, and then scared off a football player just by mentioning the name of my college program.
At least I had been able to complete my assignment for the Professor. Just to give myself a feeling of accomplishment for the day, I decided to go ahead and send off my data, including the frequency used by my key. I didn’t see that it could be a problem.
September 13th
(Doomsday minus 4 days)
Chapter 14 ~ Soap
My first class started at 8am, a time slot that most college students considered cruel and unusual. I left Hannah gently snoring into her pillow while I headed over to the Grangerford building for Chinese Language 101. To my surprise, Brett was also registered for the same class.
I was a little early because I wanted to get a seat in the back. The problem here, as I soon discovered, was that unlike in high school where the desks are all self-contained units, in small college classes everybody sits around tables with actual, free-standing chairs. The tables in this room were arranged in a big square, which meant that there was no back row.
The professor was already there, a balding guy with suede patches on the elbows of his tweed jacket and the roundest nose I have ever seen on anyone of Chinese descent. Since I was the first person there, he kept asking me why I was interested in Chinese and if I had any questions before we started the course. I didn’t want to tell him that I had picked Chinese because back home my favorite place to eat, besides DiFaro’s Pizza, was the China New Star restaurant. I was really relieved when some other students came in and he started talking to them instead.
Then Brett walked in, followed by two other guys. He looked around the room and when he saw me he smiled and sat down in the seat to my right. One of the other guys sat on the other side of me, which made me feel like I was in the middle of a herd of buffalo. Brett acted like nothing unusual had happened last night. At least he was nice to me and seemed glad to see me, and when I paused because I had forgotten the words in our brand new Chinese dialogue script he helped me through the phony conversation. Like I would ever ask about the weather: if I needed to know, I would check my phone for local conditions.
