“Thank you.”
When Max and her friends stepped into the pub, they couldn’t believe how packed the place was. Everyone gave them a round of applause.
“Thank you, you brilliant lads and lasses!” shouted the farmer, Mr. McGregor, raising a glass of dark-amber liquid that Max figured was probably Irish whiskey. The strong stuff. Eighty proof, which meant that 40 percent of the liquid in the glass was alcohol and, therefore, extremely flammable. That might explain Mr. McGregor’s bright-red nose. “Here’s to you and your robots!”
He raised his glass and so did all the other adults in the pub.
“May the roof above us never fall in,” cried Mr. McGregor, making a toast. “And may we friends gathered below never fall out!”
“Hear, hear!” shouted the crowd.
Then someone turned on the jukebox. First came a dance tune played on Irish hornpipes. That was followed by a slew of Motown oldies that everybody sang along with. Kids, some of whom had been sick in bed a few days earlier (including Séamus), were playing hide-and-seek behind the barstools and grocery store racks. Platters of food—piled high with shepherd’s pie, herbed beef pastries, bowls of beef stew, corned beef and cabbage sliders, and lemon curd sponge cake—were passed around.
“You need any help in the kitchen?” Tisa asked the man behind the bar who seemed to be in charge of all the food and drink.
“We can always use an extra hand,” he told her.
“Good. I love cooking and baking. It’s like doing chemistry you can eat!”
“I love eating,” said Klaus, stuffing another meat pie in his face.
Max laughed and felt a blast of hot air as the pub doors swung open.
Three men in black suits had just entered the bar. They were accompanied by someone Max recognized immediately.
Dr. Zimm.
The crowd grew quiet. Someone shut off the jukebox. No one but the CMI team knew who the surly, uninvited guests might be.
“What’s that clacking contraption behind you?” cried Mr. McGregor from his perch at the bar. “Another one of Klaus’s robots? I must say, he’s a far sight better-looking than that thing we sent down the wells.”
Max finally saw what the farmer had already seen. A humanoid sculpted to resemble a smirking thirteen-year-old boy. Its face was creepily lifelike. Its movements herky-jerky and jagged.
“Hello, Max,” said Dr. Zimm. “It’s so good to see you again.”
Charl stepped forward, his hand moving to the holster strapped to his hip.
The boy-bot’s eyes scanned the security leader’s face with a green laser grid.
“I would not do that, Charl,” it said. “The three gentlemen who escorted us into this establishment are also carrying weapons. Triangulating their projected trajectories, I can predict, with ninety-eight percent certitude, that you might be able to injure one of my humans but there would be much more collateral damage on your side, including the death of innocent bystanders. I project at least five. Maybe more. Including several children and infants.” Now the robot sniggered.
“How’d you know my name?” demanded Charl.
“The same way he knew how to find Max,” gloated Dr. Zimm. “Lenard is brilliant. But not nearly as bright as you, Maxine. Which is why I know you are about to make a very wise decision.”
“Oh, really?” said Max. “And what might that be?”
“To come work with us.”
“It would be fun,” added Lenard. “Unlike Dr. Zimm, you might actually be able to defeat me in chess.”
And then, of course, he giggled.
29
From the kitchen, Tisa could hear Dr. Zimm and what sounded like a robotic young boy.
“We would’ve arrived sooner,” said Dr. Zimm. “But, well, there is so much bureaucracy when you work for a large corporation. Forms to fill out. Expense requisitions…”
“You have sixty seconds to make your decision, Max,” chirped the high-pitched boy-bot.
Tisa grabbed a pair of rubber dishwashing gloves and started scrounging through the pantry shelves as quietly as she could. She found what she was looking for: baking soda, vinegar, and, most important, a spice bottle full of red pepper.
“Come with us, Max,” said Dr. Zimm. “We have no interest in your friends. They can go back to cleaning wells. You, however, are destined for far greater things.”
“We’re going to build a quantum computer together,” said the humanoid. “Won’t that be fun?”
“Stand back, you lot,” said Mr. McGregor. “You make a move for the girl and—”
“And what?” said the robot. “Are you forgetting that you are outgunned and in a no-win situation? Do I need to run my statistical analysis for you again?”
“No need,” said Max. “Mr. McGregor? Why don’t you pour our guests some of that Irish whiskey you’ve been drinking? It’s 80 proof, right?”
“No, lassie. This is Redbreast. It’s 115 proof.”
Max did the math. Divide by two. The whiskey was 57.5 percent alcohol. It was perfect.
“Then pour Dr. Zimm and his friends a glass. Except the robot. You don’t drink, do you, Lenard?”
“No,” Lenard said with a giggle. “Ingesting liquids is bad for my circuitry.”
“Max?” called Tisa from the kitchen. “I have something I’d like to give our guests, too.”
“Perfect,” Max hollered back to the kitchen. “And don’t forget to light a candle and stick it in a meat pie. It’s Klaus’s birthday.”
Klaus had an “it is?” expression on his face until the look on Max’s face told him to play along.
“A birthday meat pie would be lovely,” said Klaus.
“Dr. Zimm?” said Lenard. “I can only assume that Max and her friends are stalling. Attempting to delay our inevitable victory and departure. It is not Klaus’s birthday. As you recall, that was last month.”
“But we weren’t all together last month,” said Max. “This is a belated birthday celebration. I just need to see Klaus blow out his candle, then I’m ready to roll out of here with you guys.”
“I’ve got your drinks, lads,” said Mr. McGregor, holding a silver tray with four tumbler glasses filled to the rim with amber whiskey.
The three Corp goons looked to Dr. Zimm.
“A quick drink will be fine, gentlemen,” said Dr. Zimm. “After all, now that Max has agreed to leave with us, we have much to celebrate. The future. Redeeming Dr. Einstein’s mistakes about quantum physics. You are his true heir, Max. You can take the theory the great Einstein couldn’t quite grasp and bring it to life!”
“Works for me,” said Max, who really was trying to buy some time.
Finally, Tisa and a cook came out of the kitchen.
Tisa was holding a rubber glove that jiggled like a water balloon. The glove had been inflated so much its fingers were extended. The thing looked like a bloated cow udder. The cook carried a plate with a meat pie spiked with half a dozen flickering birthday candles.
“Happy birthday to me,” Klaus sang loudly and off key. “Happy birthday to me!”
While everyone was distracted by his squawking (and covering their ears), Tisa dashed forward and pulled out a paring knife. She poked a series of holes in the bulging fingertips of her inflated glove. The carbon dioxide gas created when she combined baking soda with vinegar came spewing out of the openings, like warm soda shooting out of a shaken can. That gas carried with it the flecks of red pepper. Tisa aimed her improvised tear gas straight into the trio of armed thugs’ eyes.
Meanwhile, Max plucked a candle out of the birthday pie and tossed it into one of the whiskey glasses on Mr. McGregor’s tray. The alcohol erupted into blue flames. Mr. McGregor flipped the serving platter like a catapult and doused Lenard with the fiery liquid.
“Unacceptable,” squeaked Lenard as flames licked up his chest and singed his plastic face. “Unacceptable!”
Dr. Zimm grabbed a nearby tablecloth and tried to blot out the fire, which had already me
lted one of Lenard’s eyebrows into a drooping squint.
“Go!” shouted Charl.
The armed men from the Corp were still blinded by Tisa’s red-pepper tear gas and couldn’t find their weapons.
Siobhan, Tisa, Max, and Klaus raced out the pub door and practically threw themselves into Isabl’s waiting van. Charl tumbled into the passenger seat five seconds after everyone else was safely on board.
“Initiate extraction package,” Charl told Isabl.
She jammed her foot down on the accelerator. The van blasted off.
“Good job in there, Tisa and Max,” said Charl.
“What about the townspeople?” asked Max.
“Dr. Zimm isn’t interested in them. He’ll be chasing after us—just as soon as his men can see straight and his robot isn’t melting. You guys bought us at least a sixty-second head start.”
And with the way Isabl was driving?
Sixty seconds might be all they needed.
30
A few miles away from the pub, Isabl screeched to a stop on the shoulder of the road, pulling in behind a parked tractor trailer.
“That’s our next ride,” said Charl.
“You can drive the big rig, Charl,” said Isabl. “I’ll stay here with the team.”
“Roger that. Let me go open the loading gate.”
He hurried out of the van and pressed a boxy button on the side of the truck. Its rear door rolled up while a ramp extended from a slot above the bumper.
“Seat belts buckled?” said Isabl when the nose of the ramp touched the roadway in front of her tires.
“Yes,” said Max. “Always.”
Especially with the way Isabl drove.
“Good,” said Isabl. She tapped the gas and the van scooted up the ramp and into the empty cargo bay of the truck. Max heard the rear door rumble shut behind them. Seconds later, her whole world lurched forward. The tractor trailer rig was rumbling up the highway with the van hidden inside.
“How’d you two know we’d need a getaway plan like this?” asked Siobhan.
“We didn’t know,” said Isabl. “But we do try to plan ahead for any contingency. All part of our standard security protocols.”
“Because you guys are geniuses, too!” said Max.
Isabl laughed. “We’re nowhere near as smart and clever as you kids. But at least Dr. Zimm and his cronies will be searching the roads for a rental van, not an eighteen-wheeler hauling frozen fish for Rockabill Seafood Limited.”
An hour or so later, the truck pulled to a stop.
“Where are we?” asked Klaus.
“Safe,” said Isabl.
“I meant, what’s our location?”
“That, my friend, is currently confidential.”
Max heard the cargo door roll up.
“Everybody out,” said Isabl. “This concludes the land portion of our travels for today.”
Max and the others marched down the ramp to discover that they were parked beside another remote airstrip. In a green field. Somewhere in Ireland. (Well, that’s what she assumed because she didn’t think the truck had pulled onto a ferry boat and sailed off the island.) Max didn’t have a clue as to where they were because, riding inside the cargo hold of a tractor trailer, she hadn’t seen any landmarks or road signs.
Ben’s private jet was parked on the tarmac of the secluded airport. A pilot and copilot team were standing by in the cockpit.
“Max?” said Charl. “You and Klaus will be flying on to the next, official CMI project.”
“We have a mission?” said Max, eagerly.
Charl nodded. “Ben approved the plan yesterday.”
“Siobhan and Tisa?” said Isabl. “We’d like you two to stay here and finish cleaning and repairing the wells.”
“With my robot?” said Klaus.
“Exactly,” said Isabl.
“But—”
“Thanks for making it so user friendly,” said Siobhan, clapping Klaus on the back. “I’ve watched you work it down the pipes for a week now. I’m ready to give it a whirl.”
“Mr. McGregor and the local police will be your security detail,” Charl said to Tisa and Siobhan. “Isabl and I will be flying on with Max and Klaus. When you complete the well project here, you’ll join the rest of the team at the new site.”
“Where are we going?” asked Max.
“That information is classified until we are airborne,” said Isabl.
“And everyone else will be there?”
Isabl nodded. “Yes. Annika, Keeto, Toma, Hana, and Vihaan have all made travel arrangements. In fact, most of them have already arrived. They’ll greet us when we land.”
Max felt a fresh rush of adrenaline to replace the one she’d felt back at the pub. This was exciting. She’d be with all her friends again, working on a major project, doing good in a remote corner of the globe—hopefully someplace where Dr. Zimm and his new robot couldn’t find them.
“Quick question,” said Tisa. “How did Dr. Zimm and the Corp know how to find us?”
“Ben has a theory about an information leak coming out of CMI,” said Charl. “Also, that robot, Lenard, is an excellent tracker.”
Lenard.
Max wondered if Dr. Zimm was the one who named the artificially intelligent humanoid as a way to goad her. The German experimental physicist Philipp Lenard was one of Albert Einstein’s fiercest rivals. As Adolf Hitler gained power before World War II, Lenard argued that Einstein’s theories were not “German” enough. Lenard became “Chief of Aryan Physics” under the Nazi regime while Einstein fled in exile to America.
“The Corp’s new robot,” Charl continued, “operates via artificial intelligence. It knows whatever the Corp has told it. Lenard can also access data from multiple external sources and then sift through it all at a lightning-fast speed.”
“So,” said Max, “it’ll probably only be a matter of time until it figures out where I’m going next.”
“Not if we plug the leak,” said Isabl. “Artificial intelligence is only as good as the information it is fed.”
“Um, exactly what leak are you talking about plugging?” asked Siobhan.
“Ben suspects that someone connected to CMI has been feeding the Corp sensitive information. The Corp, in turn, has been feeding it to Lenard.”
“There’s a spy?” said Max.
“Maybe,” said Charl. “Or it might just be what Vladimir Lenin, the head of Soviet Russia, called a ‘useful idiot.’”
“What’s that?”
“Someone who helps the enemy without actually knowing they’re doing it.”
31
Max said good-bye to Tisa and Siobhan.
“Your gear is already stowed on board,” Charl told her. “We knew we’d be shipping out sometime tonight after the party. The arrival of Dr. Zimm just accelerated our schedule. The pilots collected all your belongings from Siobhan’s house.”
“They put my suitcase on the plane?” asked Max.
“Yes,” said Isabl. “All your souvenirs are safe.”
“And you need to add another one,” said Siobhan. “I plucked this for you when we were in that sheep meadow.”
“Then I showed her how to press and dry it,” said Tisa. “We went with the technique of pressing it between two sheets of wax paper in a heavy book—followed by a quick spritz of Mrs. McKenna’s hair spray.”
“It’s a four-leaf clover, Max,” said Siobhan. “May it bring you the same sort of luck that found me and my family the day I met you.”
“Thank you,” said Max, giving each of the girls a tight hug. After all they’d been through together, Siobhan and Tisa felt like sisters to her. Max might’ve been an orphan, but she was definitely starting to build a family of her own.
“You got anything for me?” asked Klaus.
“No,” said Siobhan, “but I’ll have my mam send you some of those sausages you love so much once you lot are settled in your new location.”
“Awesome!”
T
he jet door opened and unfolded its staircase.
“Time to head out,” Isabl said to Max and Klaus. “I’ll need your phones.”
“Why?” wondered Max.
“In case Lenard is tracking them,” said Charl.
Max and Klaus handed Isabl their phones. She placed them into foil-wrapped, signal-blocking pouches.
“Kind of extreme, don’t you think?” said Klaus.
“Not if there’s a leak,” said Max.
Klaus shrugged. “Whatever. Be careful with that,” he told Isabl as she slid his phone into an aluminum sleeve. “It’s brand new.”
Mr. McGregor and a police officer from the village arrived to pick up Siobhan and Tisa.
Klaus, Isabl, Charl, and Max climbed aboard the small jet and strapped themselves into their seats. Max waved good-bye through her window to Siobhan and Tisa. As the jet lifted off, she also silently said “Good-bye” to the lush green landscape of Ireland.
“So where are we flying?” asked Klaus.
Isabl checked her watch. “I’ll let you know in an hour.”
“How long is the flight going to take?”
“Twelve hours.”
“Is there food in the galley?”
Isabl nodded.
“Good. Wake me up when it’s time for breakfast.”
Klaus fluffed a pillow, pulled up his blanket, and quickly fell asleep.
“You should get some rest, too, Max,” suggested Charl.
“I will,” she said. But she was too mentally jazzed to nod off like Klaus just did. (He was already snoring.)
First, she hadn’t completely processed the encounter with Dr. Zimm and his humanoid helper, Lenard. All that stuff he’d said about “redeeming” Dr. Einstein’s quantum physics mistakes. “You are his true heir, Max,” he’d said. “You can take the theory the great Einstein couldn’t quite grasp and bring it to life!”
While Einstein knew that the math behind quantum mechanics worked, he couldn’t accept the weirdness of it. “Quantum mechanics is certainly imposing. But an inner voice tells me that this is not yet the real thing,” Einstein wrote to Max Born (one of the fathers of quantum mechanics). “Quantum theory yields much, but it hardly brings us closer to the Old One’s secrets. I, in any case, am convinced that He does not play dice with the universe.”
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