Frank Einstein and the Bio-Action Gizmo

by Jon Scieszka

  “We are 5,150 kilometers deep.

  “Temperatures—4,000 to 6,000 degrees Celsius.

  “Iron and nickel are liquid.

  “This flows around the inner core, creating Earth’s magnetic field.”

  “How far below the surface?!” asks Watson.

  BAM!

  The spinning teeth hit a solid block.

  “The fifth and innermost layer—the INNER CORE.

  “A huge metal ball.

  “Width is 2,500 kilometers.

  “Iron and nickel.

  “Temperatures now 5,000 to 6,000 degrees Celsius. But solid because of the pressure.”

  Frank Einstein turns the Megalodon Driller around. “OK, let’s head back home.”

  The Megalodon hyperspeeds out of the inner core and back through the outer core, the inner mantle, the upper mantle, and into the crust.

  Frank scans the NavMap. “We need a good exit.” He spots a magma chamber. “Ah, here we go.” Frank steers into an underground pool of molten rock.

  The Megalodon Driller swims through the chamber, straight up a vent, and flies out of the cone of a lava-spewing volcano.

  “Woooo-hooo!” cheers Watson.

  The Megalodon Driller lands on a forest floor with a thump.

  Frank and Watson pull off their Virtual Reality Eyeballz.

  And find themselves standing, a little unsteadily, back in the middle of Grampa Al’s barn.

  Watson holds his head. “Amazing, Einstein! Truly amazing.”

  “No kidding,” says Frank. He scans his papers. “Now we have to figure out how Earth climates work.”

  “Oh no,” says Watson. “After all that chewing, first we have to figure out how lunch works.”

  “LUNCH?!” booms Klank. He jumps up and rolls for the barn doors. His new memory bank still does not have any information on opening doors.

  “Oh boy,” says Klink, closing his one eye.

  BLAAAAM! Klank bounces off the closed doors.

  “Sorry, Klank,” says Frank. “We’ll have to work on that.”

  A scratchy voice crackles out of the dusty speakers in the ceiling of the old Midville Metro movie theater lobby. “OK, EARTH/HEART employees. Lunch break is over. Return to your seats for Part Two.”

  A small crowd of working men and women, wearing blue jeans and bright orange safety vests, shuffles back to the worn red-velvet theater seats.

  The lights dim. The silver screen glows with a big blue logo.

  Soft, soothing harp music thrums.

  The planet Earth logo animates and grows into a spinning globe.

  An insistent, professional-radio-sounding voice slowly intones, “Earth. Our planet. We at EARTH/HEART, INCORPORATED, love our planet Earth.”

  The animation zooms down to ground level, into a lush jungle.

  “And we love the fuel Earth gives to us.”

  The soundtrack suddenly bursts into a cheesy disco beat. Rays of multicolored light flash and spin.

  EARTH/HEART, INC. TRAINING FILM, PART 2: FOSSIL FUELS! fills the screen.

  A bad Saturday-morning-cartoon animation of a black rock with stick arms and legs and a crazy smile dances onscreen to the disco beat.

  The dancing rock stops, spreads his arms, and in a goofy voice blurts, “Well, hello there! I’m Lumpy! The Lump of Coal!”

  “Holy smoke!” whispers one of the EARTH/HEART employees with FRED written above his shirt pocket.

  Lumpy dances a few more jerky steps. “And I am going to tell you all about fossil fuels!—Coal! Oil! Gas!”

  “Oh please no,” whispers employee Betty sitting next to Fred.

  “How Earth made fossil fuels! And how Earth gives fossil fuels to us!”

  Betty groans. “Please . . . just shoot me now.”

  Lumpy dances off to one side of the screen and launches into his lesson.

  “Three hundred and fifty million years ago, Earth was covered with plants. These plants died, were buried under soil and rock, and got squashed for millions of years.”

  Lumpy dances another two-step.

  “Millions of years of heat and pressure squeezed the plant material, made of carbon and hydrogen and oxygen, into almost pure carbon! Or me . . . coal!”

  “Please make it stop,” says Betty. “I promise I will be good.”

  Fred laughs.

  Lumpy does not stop.

  “And at the same time, millions of years ago, the tiny plants and animals that lived in the oceans died, and settled on the ocean floor. They were also covered by sediment. . . that became rock.”

  “The dead plant and animal matter, after millions and millions of years of heat and pressure, breaks down. And turns into natural gas . . . and oil!

  “Our other two fossil fuels!”

  The disco soundtrack turns into a little more of a rap beat.

  “No, no, no!” says Fred, guessing what is coming. “Please nooooo—”

  But Lumpy doesn’t listen. He is a training-film cartoon character. And can’t be stopped.

  Lumpy breaks into exactly what Fred knew was coming—a terrible half-disco/half-rap fossil fuel song.

  “Check, check, check, I am Lumpy the Coal.

  Talking ’bout fossil fuel energy is my GOAL!

  ’Cause can’t you see—”

  Fred and Betty and most of the other EARTH/HEART workers try to cover their eyes and ears.

  Lumpy’s song goes on for way too long.

  It reexplains how coal, oil, and gas come from prehistoric plant and animal life.

  It reexplains how that is a “dope fresh thing.”

  Lumpy finally stops, and puts his stick hands on his coal hips.

  “Welp! There you have it, friends! The beauty of fossil fuels!”

  Lumpy dances off. The cartoon Earth spins into the EARTH/HEART logo and fills the screen.

  The soothing harp music returns.

  And so does the radio-announcer voice.

  “So the next time someone asks you what kind of work you do for EARTH/HEART, INCORPORATED . . . tell them you love Earth.”

  The whole audience of loggers, drillers, and diggers groans.

  Aloud, piercing bullhorn beep-blasts everyone into silence.

  And that same familiar, annoying voice from the lunch announcement blares:

  “Now. . . get back to work!”

  High in the top of an American hornbeam tree just outside the Midville Forest Preserve, Watson holds on to a slim branch with one hand, and a ham and Swiss cheese on pumpernickel bread with mustard sandwich in the other.

  “Mmmmphhh rmmm phhmmm mmm, mmm rrr frrr mmm,” says Watson through a mouthful of sandwich.

  Frank Einstein, wedged comfortably in a fork of the same tree, peers through his special No-Hands Binoculars while eating his crunchy peanut butter and strawberry jelly on white bread sandwich.

  “Stop your worrying. This is the perfect spot. One, to find out who is really behind this EARTH/HEART company. And two, to be sitting in one of nature’s most impressive carbon-removing machines—the tree.”

  The magnificent tree sways in the breeze.

  Watson swallows. Hard. “OK, this is a good spy spot. But do we really need to be up so high?”

  Frank Einstein stands up in the top of the tree and looks over the miles of forest and rocks and streams and blue sky. “Yes. Because this is where I do some of my best invention thinking.”

  Watson takes another bite of his sandwich and nods. He understands. “But I still think the answer could be a really simple invention. Like this.”

  Watson holds up his one-hand lunch. “Thought up by a British earl in the late 1700s. He didn’t want to get up from the table and leave his card game. So he asked for a piece of roast beef between two slices of bread so he could eat and still play cards. The idea caught on. And people started asking for it by using his name—the Earl of Sandwich.”

  Frank laughs. “That is a pretty great invention.” Frank looks out over the Midville Forest Preserve. “But I thin
k we can make something huge . . . and impressive.”

  Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. . .

  Chain saws whine. A tree falls.

  Raaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrr. . .

  Drills roar. The earth shakes.

  Brrrrrrrrrrrruuuuummmmmm. . .

  Diggers rumble. A hill disappears.

  Frank scans crazy-looking clouds overhead. He scratches his head. “So here is our problem—exactly this kind of human activity is changing the world. Changing the climate. In terrible ways.”

  Watson finishes his sandwich, and puts his paper trash back in his string bag looped around his belt. “But hasn’t Earth’s climate always changed?”

  “Oh sure,” says Frank. “When the dinosaurs were around, it was so warm there were no polar ice caps at all.”

  “So why worry about things getting a little warmer?”

  Frank sways in the treetop. “Earth is warming up way faster than it ever has. And it’s being caused mostly by us. By humans producing too much carbon dioxide and other gases that trap heat.”

  “So what? A warmer winter is nicer.”

  “Nicer? The rise of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere

  . . . has increased the temperature of Earth.

  “And it’s melting the ice caps, and raising sea levels.

  “Whole cities are going to disappear. Millions of people will lose their homes. Drinking water will be scarce . . .”

  Frank looks at the smoke from the saws and drills and diggers below.

  “Fossil fuels made a lot of modern progress possible. But now we know that all this carbon burning in coal, gas, and oil is wrecking our planet.”

  “This is not good,” says Watson. “We have to do something.”

  The saws roar. Another tree falls.

  The drills in the distance . . . WHIRRRRRKRRKR.

  “It would be great to make an amazing invention to reverse this global warming.” Frank flips his No-Hands Binoculars back down. “But first we have to figure out who is doing this right here. And who exactly do we stop?”

  Frank checks his Einstein Wristwatch Compass Radar Tracker. He follows two dots across the map.

  “Which is exactly why we have Klink and Klank moving into position.”

  Swaying in the top of the tree, Watson thinks about who in the world would be nasty enough to be trashing the planet. . . without caring about anyone else.

  The answer comes to him instantly.

  “Elementary!” says Watson. “Of course. I know exactly who is behind this. It’s obvious! Follow me!”

  Watson climbs down the tree, drops to the ground, hops on his bike, and pedals off in a streak.

  “But Watson!” yells Frank. “We can’t leave Klink and Klank with no backup!”

  But Watson is already down the path.

  Frank climbs down, shaking his head. “And besides, it might not be—”

  T. Edison and Mr. Chimp.

  They sit quietly in the Edison Laboratories Library and Map Room.

  T. Edison studies two huge world maps on the long table.

  Mr. Chimp studies his book and slurps vegetable lo mein noodles from the end of his chopsticks. He makes a note on his stack of papers.

  T. Edison looks at Mr. Chimp’s papers. He doesn’t see the title MASTER PLAN. All he sees is the header on every page: PRESIDENT MR. CHIMP.

  T. Edison mumbles to himself, but just loud enough for Mr. Chimp (who has very good hearing) to hear.

  “. . . razzie frazzle. . . can’t believe I made you president. . . rumble grumble . . .”

  Mr. Chimp closes his book.

  He leans forward.

  “. . . what was I thinking?. . . Why in the world did I ever do that? . . .”

  Mr. Chimp shakes his head, gives a low growl, and signs:

  Mr. Chimp growls a bit louder.

  Mr. Chimp curls back his lip and bares his teeth at T. Edison.

  T. Edison frowns. He taps his pencil on his map. “I could have taken care of that T. rex no problem. I just wanted you to feel like you were doing something.”

  Mr. Chimp ignores T. Edison. He has more important things to do.

  Mr. Chimp chopsticks another mouthful of Io mein, and adds a doodle to his MASTER PLAN.

  “And just because you are president doesn’t mean you get to do whatever you want.”

  Mr. Chimp chews his noodles thoughtfully. He has more plans than T. Edison knows. And they are Exactly. . . What. He. Wants.

  Mr. Chimp, just to annoy T. Edison, signs in Chinese finger gestures:

  “What are you saying, you annoying ape? I don’t speak Chinese! And why are you learning Chinese?”

  Mr. Chimp chews.

  “And what about those two—”

  BAM!

  BAM! BAM! BAM!

  Something sounding like a baseball bat pounding on the big metal Edison Laboratories doors echoes through the Edison Library.

  Mr. Chimp nods, and points his chopsticks at T. Edison.

  T. Edison spins the table so it hides the maps, replacing them with a game of snakes and ladders.

  BAM!

  BAM! BAM! BAM!

  Mr. Chimp checks off the first item on his MASTER PLAN.

  He stands up, straightens his vest, and points to his head as a reminder to T. Edison to be smart.

  “Oh, shut up!” growls T. Edison.

  BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! With his baseball bat. Watson pounds on two giant metal doors of an old brick building across the street from the baseball stadium.

  “Open up! I know you are in there! And I know you are behind the whole mess in the Midville preserve.”

  Frank skids to a stop in front of the building and jumps off his bike. “But Watson—”

  BAM! BAM! BAM!

  Watson hammers the steel door. “I know it’s them! I would bet my whole next year’s allowance on it. It is always them!”

  “But Watson—”

  BAM!

  Frank grabs Watson’s bat. A buzzer sounds. The massive steel doors click. . . and then swing open.

  In the entrance stands a kid with a terrible haircut, brown wingtip shoes, and a permanent frown. Next to him stands a chimpanzee wearing a white shirt, a tie, and striped pants.

  “Yes,” confirms Watson. “T. Edison and Mr. Chimp!”

  “Wow. That is just brilliant,” says T. Edison. “What gave it away? The twelve-foot-tall letters spelling EDISON up there?”

  Mr. Chimp gives T. Edison a quick nudge in the ribs.

  “Ouch. I mean—it is so nice to see you fellow scientists and inventors.”

  “You!” says Watson, shaking his finger because Frank has his bat safely behind his back.

  “You are wrecking our planet.”

  “Whaaaat?” says T. Edison. “Mr. Chimp and I are here playing snakes and ladders.”

  Mr. Chimp crosses his powerful chimp arms in front of himself and nods.

  “‘Wrecking our planet’? What are you talking about?”

  “Someone has been drilling, digging, and clear-cutting big pieces of the Midville Forest Preserve,” explains Frank Einstein.

  “And it’s you,” adds Watson. “And it has to stop. Because burning coal and gas is warming the whole globe.”

  Mr. Chimp signs:

  “And don’t forget melting the polar ice caps and raising sea levels, too!” says T. Edison.

  Watson is shocked. “So you admit it?”

  “Oh good heavens no,” says T. Edison. “There is absolutely no proof of any connection between the Edison Company and what is happening out at your precious Midville preserve.”

  “Oh really?” says Watson. He holds up a plastic bag with the EARTH/HEART logo. “And I suppose you don’t know anything about this company?”

  Mr. Chimp takes the bag, looks at it, and shakes his head no. “Oooo oook.”

  “The president of the company says, ‘No,’” T. Edison translates. “But we would love to help you catch these bad guys. What do they look like?”

  “Ooo
ooh,” says Watson. “Frank, give me that bat.”

  “Watson—” says Frank. But he is interrupted by a buzz in his pocket. He checks the mini-beeper.

  It’s from Klink and Klank.

  Backup emergency.

  “Uh-oh,” says Frank. “Come on, Watson. We have to go.”

  “Do you have time for a quick game of snakes and ladders?” asks T. Edison.

  Watson and Frank hop on their bikes and race back to the preserve as fast as they can, hoping they are not too late.

  T. Edison and President Chimp, all smiles, wave good-bye.

  Ten minutes before the buzzing in Frank’s pocket, Klink rolls quietly through the underbrush, talking to himself. “I do NOT believe this is the best use of my superior talents. And I most certainly do NOT believe I should be getting dirty.”

  A low branch of a wild raspberry bush swats Klink’s side. “Ouch. That better not leave a mark. I have very sensitive circuits . . .”

  The roar of the excavators grows steadily louder.

  Klank’s rubber tread clomps over bushes and rocks.

  Trying to not forget his mission, he repeats to himself, “Sneak up on drilling. Take picture. Sneak up on drilling. Taka picture. Sneak up on drilling. Take picture.”

  The hum of the drilling rig grows steadily louder.

  Inside the flimsy aluminum trailer headquarters, an EARTH/HEART crew boss tracks the two blinking dots on his map screen.

  “That’s it. Closer. . . closer . . . closer . . .”

  Both blinking dots reach a red cross on the screen.

  The crew boss presses the blue Earth button on his walkie-talkie.

  “Now!”

  “Oho!” says Klink, spying down on the coal-digging operation.

  He raises his camera attachment.

  But before he can record any images, a massive mining bucket scoops him up, twirls him over a deep ditch, and dumps him with a metal-bending CRUNCH!

  “Ah-ha,” says Klank, spying down on the oil-drilling operation. “Sneak up. Then . . . uhhh. Sneak up. Then . . . uhhh.”