Rivets and Sprockets (11 page)

“Oh, grulluwug yourself,” came an impatient voice from the pearly shape—which had to be the Something because it couldn't be anything else. “I merely plucked his brain—what there was of it. What's wrong with that?”

“You—
you plucked his brain?
” gasped Sprockets. “Oh, how awful! D-don't tell me you're going to pluck
mine
!”

“Certainly I'm going to pluck it,” said the Something. “How else can I learn anything? Besides, it's quite customary—and I'm a stickler for customs. Stop wiggling, or I'll turn you off too.”

An eye had formed in the pearly shape. Sprockets stared at it, and saw that the eye was staring back at him curiously. At the same moment another tentacle formed below the eye, and began reaching eagerly forward.

“Oh—no—no—no!” poor Sprockets begged, squirming in the grip that held him securely. “
P-please
don't pluck my brain yet! I'm only a little robot belonging to Dr. Bailey, and we came here with the best intentions—”

“Best intentions! Ha—I doubt that. I know all about you—as naturally I would after plucking your brother's brain. How else do you think I learned this horrid language you call English?”

“I—I wondered,” Sprockets admitted, fearfully eyeing the tentacle that was poised over his head, ready to pluck all he had in it. “But you've no right to call it horrid. It's
much
better than that awful grulluwug talk you use to frighten us with.”

The tentacle holding him shook him, so that his cogs rattled. “I
don't
use it to frighten anyone. I simply try to locate my people with it. It's the
finest
language there is—my people spoke it
millions
of years before English was born.”

“I—I didn't know, sir,” Sprockets said meekly. “What happened to your people?”

“It's a sad story,” replied the pearly shape, casually extending another tentacle and turning on Rivets' switch. Rivets blinked his eye lights, began to wiggle, and suddenly he saw his precious space marbles floating past his nose. He snatched them up quickly and stuffed them into a pocket.

“Lemme down, you mean ole fing! Lemme down!” Rivets cried.

“I will not!” snapped his captor, giving Rivets a shaking. “That's no way for an ignorant little robot to talk to the Brain of Mars!”

“Jeepers!” Rivets exclaimed. “Are you a
weal
bwain?”

“I'm practically real. I'm fully positronic and plus!”

“Then you're just a robot like us,” said Sprockets.

“I'll have you know I'm
not
just a robot,” snapped the Brain, quite miffed. “I'm decidedly super, with nine miles of memory banks. It takes a lot to keep Mars running—but I've got it.” The Brain extended a few more tentacles and pressed some of the buttons that covered the circular wall. “There is no telling when my people may come back, so I must keep everything ready for them—the air freshened, the trees growing, the houses shined—Not that I mind the job. It's quite simple. I do it all by Matics.”

“Matics, sir?” said Sprockets, wondering desperately how he could escape and reach the doctor. “What's Matics?”

“Super mathematics. Doesn't take figures or figuring. Matics gives you the answer to anything right now.
Stop wiggling
—there's a custom to be observed. We
must
observe customs. It's time to pluck—your—brain.”

Before Sprockets could squeal, the hovering tentacle snapped down, and pressed firmly on the top of his head. Sparks buzzed, and Sprockets felt a slight sinking sensation.

“There,” said the Brain. “Was that so bad?”

“You—you plucked it?” Sprockets said weakly. “So quickly?”

“Simple with Matics—and there wasn't much to pluck. Only nine new languages—and none the equal of mine.”

“Oh, Mr. Bwain,” Rivets begged, squirming, “lemme go,
pleath
!”

“Absolutely not,” said the Brain, shaking him. “Your intentions are in doubt. I see no evidence of presents.”

“P-presents, sir?” Sprockets was dumfounded.

“That's what I said.
Presents
. When a visitor has good intentions, he brings a present. It's one of the oldest customs. Not that I have any use for presents—it's the custom that matters. Customs are
very
important.”

Oh, dear, thought Sprockets. None of us brought a present for him! What am I going to do?

“Please, Mr. Brain,” he said, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt, “I'm
sure
presents will be arranged. B-but I must remind you that Dr. Bailey is quite absentminded. If—if you'll pardon me while I call him—”

“No,” said the Brain. “Now that I know the awful languages my visitors speak, I will call them myself. Kindly observe silence—or I'll turn you both off!”

A curious humming rose within the pearly shape, which Sprockets decided was the Brain speaking over his radio. While he hummed, the Brain amused himself by tossing Sprockets and Rivets back and forth and expertly catching them with his tentacles. It was horribly cog-rattling.

Finally the humming stopped, and the Brain said: “Dr. Bailey and the others will be here in three minutes—without presents, I fear. This is
most
upsetting. I dislike having to send some visitors away on a black tinkler, but—”

“Oh, no, no!” Sprockets cried, horrified. “You wouldn't do
that
to us, would you?”

“It's an old custom. My people did it all the time. Must I repeat the importance of a
custom?
”

Rivets, whose screw was very loose, said: “I fink some are nithe, but black tinklers make me worrit. What happened to your people, Mr. Bwain? Did you thend them off on black tinklers?”

“Certainly not! When Mars dried up, they came underground. I did the best I could for them, with an imitation sun and all—but they were
surface
people, and after a while everyone flew off, looking for a better surface to live on. I don't know
where
they went. I keep signaling, but they haven't replied yet. Matics tell me they are bound to come back in time—they've been gone only three million years, and that's practically no time at all. Still, I do get a bit lonesome now and then. That's why I like visitors—visitors with presents. Ah, Dr. Bailey!”

A white tinkler had appeared suddenly, and the doctor—without a sign of a present on him, and his mop of white hair in a wild tangle—climbed unsteadily out. Jim followed, as wide-eyed and worried as his father; then came Ilium and Leli, looking as upset as Sprockets had ever seen them. No one had a present.

Jim and the doctor gaped incredulously upward at Sprockets and Rivets. “I declare!” muttered the doctor. “What are the two of you doing up
there?
”

“W-we're hostages, for presents, sir. Don't be alarmed, sir, while Mr. Brain plucks your brains,” Sprockets said.

Jim stammered, “P-p-plucks our
brains
!”

“Certainly,” said the Brain. “It's quite customary. Hold still, please.”

“It dothn't hurt,” said Rivets, “but it tickles.”

Four pearly tentacles reached out and touched four very worried and uncertain heads. “Fairly super,” the Brain commented, speaking English one moment, then switching over as smooth as butter into the purple language. “I believe I could enjoy a visit with you—if a final custom can be observed. It's
very
important. I would deeply regret having to send you away on black tinklers.”

“B-b-black tinklers!” Jim gasped. “Oh, no!”

“Yes,” said the Brain. “It's a custom I'm forced to observe—unless you all brought presents. Did you?”

“B-bless me,” Dr. Bailey began, running an unsteady hand through his hair, as if he would somehow loosen a present in the tangle. “It's, ah, this way. Er, Sprockets, can you possibly, er—”

It was a horrible moment, and poor Sprockets, ten feet up in the air and hardly able to wiggle, was trying desperately to think of an idea. He was on the point of offering himself as a present, when Rivets spoke.

“Oh, Mr. Bwain,” said Rivets. “Of
course
we bwought pwethenth! There's a weal
nice
wun from
each
of uth. They are the motht
wonnerful
mobbles in the Univerthe!”

Rivets held out his precious set of floating space marbles.

Instantly the Brain encircled the floating marbles with a tentacle, and began flipping them experimentally from one tentacle to another. Suddenly he set Sprockets and Rivets carefully on the floor, and began spinning the glowing marbles in squares and circles overhead. “My!” he exclaimed, brightening all over. “These are the finest presents I've had since my people left. They are positively super-plus!”

From that moment on, everything was quite all right. Leli hugged Rivets, and told him how gorgeous he was with his new silver plating. Everyone began talking at once, and the Brain played happily with his space marbles while he pushed buttons and explained how he ran underground Mars. The doctor had a deep discussion with him on Matics, and when they were ready to leave the Brain presented each of them with a singing robot bird, brought in by a small tinkler, and made them promise to visit him again.

They rode two green tinklers back to the glade where the brook began; but since this was the end of the line, they had to climb the rest of the distance to the air lock, which was most exhausting. Aboard the purple saucer, the doctor was happy to discover that the thermos bottle still held one cup of sassafras tea, which he needed badly. Afterward he and Jim took jumping pills, and the purple saucer jumped them home in thirty minutes.

Mrs. Bailey could hardly believe her eyes when she saw the robot birds and Sprockets and Rivets with their new silver plating. “Why, you're too gleamily gorgeous for words!” she told them. “You'll have to carry silver polish with you all the time and keep yourselves properly shined. Barnabas, how did they behave?”

“Tolerable,” said the doctor. “Quite tolerable.” Which meant super-super.

“Always gadding about in purple saucers,” said Mrs. Bailey. “I suppose next you'll be gadding to some outlandish place like the purple planet.”

“Naturally,” said the doctor. “The sooner, the better. I'm anxious to acquire a set of purple space marbles.”

“Space marbles! What on earth for?”

“To repay a debt,” said the doctor. “And you'd better pack an extra big lunch this time. I understand it's quite a jump.”

About the Author

Alexander Key (1904–1979) started out as an illustrator before he began writing science fiction novels for young readers. He has published many titles, including
Sprockets: A Little Robot, Mystery of the Sassafras Chair
, and
The Forgotten Door
, winner of the Lewis Carroll Shelf Award. Key's novel
Escape to Witch Mountain
was adapted for film in 1975, 1995, and 2009.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1979 by Alice Towle Key

Cover design by Jesse Hayes

ISBN: 978-1-4976-5257-6

This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

345 Hudson Street

New York, NY 10014

www.openroadmedia.com

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