Robot Trouble (12 page)

“Armand!”

The door swung open and Dr. Mercury strolled in, looking none the worse for the wear. “What a wretched woman,” he said to no one in particular. Then he looked at Dr. Remov. “Oh, Stanley!” he cried. “I adore your new look! The black and blue is so much more
colorful
than that plain old pallor and freckles you had been using for so long.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pipe. “Do you mind?”

Dr. Remov shook his head. “You know I don't mind, Armand,” he said wearily.

“Yes, I know. But since you're an invalid at the moment, I thought it would be nice to ask for a change.” Dr. Mercury extracted a small foil pouch from his pocket, then reached for the half-full glass of water that sat on the table next to the bed. Settling into a chair on the opposite side of the bed from the kids, he dumped powder from the pouch into the glass, stirred the water with his fingers, then dipped in his pipe.

“All ready,” he said in satisfaction as he lifted the pipe to his lips. Concentrating for a moment, he blew an enormous bubble. Then he turned to Dr. Remov and said, “Now, what were we talking about? More of your crackpot theories, Stanley?”

Ignoring the sideswipe, Dr. Remov filled his friend in on their conversation. “What I can't understand,” he concluded, “is how Ramon got on the island to begin with.”

“Maybe he came in with that new batch of guards Brody ordered,” suggested Hap.

Dr. Remov snapped his head around so fast Rachel was afraid he would injure himself. “What did you say?”

Hap repeated himself, adding, “I've already spotted one I thought was suspicious. I didn't get a good look at him, though. All I know is that he has sandy hair.”

“Well, that's two,” said Dr. Remov.

“Two what?” asked Rachel.

“Clues! Ramon has always been right-handed—he can't change that. And he's dyed his hair sandy brown. So we're looking for a right-handed man with sandy-brown hair. Probably not enough to eliminate all the possibilities, but it's a start. If we could get our hands on the personnel records of those new men, it might help.”

“Oh, that's no problem,” said Rachel. “Wendy can just call them up on the computer.”

A horrible silence descended on the room.

“What did you say?” asked Dr. Remov at last. He sounded as if he had a fishbone caught in his throat. Closing his eyes, he shook his head. “Never mind. I know what you said. I just can't believe I heard it.”

Ramon Korbuscek locked the door to the bathroom he shared with his roommate, then studied himself in the mirror.
Not too bad,
he thought, assessing the damage from last night's fight.
But certainly enough to attract attention
.

He took out a small makeup kit and began to cover the marks with a light powder. Makeup was one of the basic tools of his trade, and he worked smoothly and efficiently. As he did, his mind wandered to other things.

Primary among them was fear.

The fear he felt now was not caused by Dr. Remov's activation of the posthypnotic command—at least, not directly. That fear had faded soon after it hit.

What worried him now was the very fact of that fear. He had no memory of the secret word and how it affected him, so he didn't know
what
had caused his terrible panic last night, a fear unlike anything he had ever experienced before in his life.

A small voice in the back of his mind began to ask if perhaps his old teacher had some kind of control over him.

Korbuscek frowned. If that was so—and it seemed likely that it was—it would mean Remov knew he was on the island. And unless he, Korbuscek, took steps, sooner or later that could mean his undoing.

He sighed. Clearly Dr. Remov could not be allowed to live.

 

Rift in the Ranks

Wendy stared into the skull of the robot they had captured and shook her head in dismay. “I wish Roger hadn't yanked that control panel. He made a total hash of the wiring. This thing looks like it's having the mental version of a bad hair day.”

Hap Swenson shivered at the eerie sound of her voice echoing off the cavern walls. “Roger didn't have much choice,” he pointed out, shifting the light he was holding to give her a better view of the wires. “The robot was squeezing Ray to death!”

“Ray's been getting a little porky lately anyway; he could stand a good squeeze or two,” replied Wendy, as she connected a pair of wires to see what would happen. “Chips, Hap, will you hold that light steady?”

“Sorry. Let me see if I can find something to prop it up with.”

He turned and began rummaging through the pile of equipment they had stored in the cavern. “Oops! We'd better get these sound guns back to Dr. Mercury.” He picked up one of the devices that had helped them bring down the robot, being careful not to pull the wires that connected them to the new attachments. “They worked pretty well, didn't they?”

“Not only did the guns work well,” said Wendy in a rare moment of generosity. “Those extensions you added were perfect.”

Of course, even with the two extra sound sources the gang had barely been able to subdue Deathmonger. Wendy's job now was to design a device that would give them total control over it—and all the others like it.

She pried away a panel she had found on the robot's chest. “Modular construction at last!” she cried. “Help me get these circuit boards out of here, Hap. Then we can take them back to headquarters to analyze how this thing works.”

Hap didn't need any convincing. Unlike Trip, he had never been terribly fond of caves. They gave him the creeps.

Trip and Ray sat on either side of Dr. Remov, passing him hard-copy printouts of the personnel files for the eight new guards.

The files had been provided by Wendy, who had pulled them out of the computer at Dr. Remov's request.

Once he had gotten over his initial shock, the scientist had been fascinated by the Wonderchild's ability to crack the computer's security system. According to Rachel, he had also been apologetic about what he saw as his duty under the circumstances.

“I hate to mention this,” he had said slowly. “But you do know that I will have to report this sooner or later. It's information that could be vital to the project.” Later, in private, Hap had told Ray that Rachel had turned white when she heard Dr. Remov's words.

“Please don't do that,” she had begged. “The others will kill me if that happens!”

Dr. Remov had been silent for a moment, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “If Dr. Mercury is agreeable, I'll offer you a compromise,” he had said at last. “You show me how the program works, and somehow Armand and I will get the information into the system without telling anyone else where it came from. That probably amounts to insubordination of some sort. But one of the first things I learned in the spy business was to protect my sources. If you kids are as smart as you think you are, it won't take that long for you to crack the system again anyway.”

Under the circumstances, it seemed like a fair deal to Ray.

“Here we go,” said Dr. Remov, calling the Gamma Ray's attention back to the matter at hand. “We have two distinct traits for Korbuscek. With the help of the files your friend provided, we now also know which of the eight guards share those traits.”

Trip and Ray leaned in to see what he had written.

“As you can see, of the eight new guards six are right-handers and five have sandy-colored hair. But only four have both traits. So we've narrowed the field by half, bringing it down to Bigelow, Hopewell, Rosemunk, and Tidewater. If we can get one more attribute to put on the chart, we just might be able to nail down the new identity of Ramon Korbuscek, superspy.”

Roger sat in front of the computer terminal in his room, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together so intensely he was in danger of burning the skin from the friction buildup. That was a sign of intense thinking with Roger, of course, and what he was thinking about was this: Dr. Remov was the only one of the adults who took their warnings about Black Glove seriously.

That
could
mean he was their best friend on the island… or that he himself was Black Glove. After all, what better way for the spy to keep track of what the gang was up to than to cultivate their friendship?

Roger shook his head. He was letting his fear get to him. Dr. Remov was far too tall to be Black Glove. They had to be rational about this.

Not that they didn't have good reason to be afraid. He thought back to the threatening message Wendy had received from Black Glove. How much access did their enemy have to their terminals anyway? Glancing at his own monitor, he had a momentary fantasy of Black Glove looking back at him. He shivered. What if the spy had managed to hook all the monitors into a system that would let him use them in reverse? What if he could see into any spot on the island that had a screen?

Roger snorted in disgust. He was being ridiculous.

He typed a command into his keyboard. If they were actually going to build this rocket, he needed to start learning the computer's design functions.

I wonder if Black Glove already knows we're going to build the rocket. I wonder if he even knows we're using it as bait?
Roger rolled his eyes.
And I wonder why I think of Black Glove as being a male. No reason our spy couldn't be a woman. Between my sister and Wendy, I sure know how tough and smart females can be!

A beep from the computer brought his attention back to the information now appearing on his screen.

It quickly captured his interest. He had never built a rocket before. This should be fun!

“Hi, Twerpy,” said Rachel glumly. She looked around. “Where's Dr. Weiskopf? He buzzed me in.”

Not being programmed for speech, the robot didn't answer but simply continued to stand in a corner of the living room, singing to a plant.

Rachel was content to stand and listen. She loved the robot's music. After a moment Dr. Weiskopf appeared at the kitchen door, an apple enveloped in his huge hand. “Ah, Rachel! How are you this afternoon?”

She shrugged. “Not bad, I guess. I came to talk to you about the rocket.”

“Good, good. It took me awhile to get used to the idea, but now I am most excited.” He looked at her more intently. “What's the matter, Rachel? You look as if you just lost your best friend.”

“Close enough.”

Dr. Weiskopf studied her face for a moment. “Sit,” he said, patting the couch. “Talk.”

Rachel took a seat, but it was a minute before she could bring herself to say anything. When she did start, it seemed as if she couldn't stop. Checking herself as she spoke so she didn't make the same mistake again, she poured out the story of her indiscretion, her friends' dismay, and Wendy's anger.

Dr. Weiskopf nodded wisely. “I sometimes wonder if it was such a good idea for us to learn to talk. More friendships are lost over careless words than anything else. If there was only music, we might all be better off.”

He reached into the pocket of his lab coat. “Here, have an apple. And just listen for a while.

He took out his pennywhistle and began to play for her. To Rachel's surprise, the song actually made her feel better.
Music has charms,
she thought.

After a few minutes Dr. Weiskopf gave her a nod that seemed to say: “Join me.”

She took out her pennywhistle. Trying to follow his lead, she began to play, awkwardly at first, then with increasing fluency as she felt herself easing into the music.

Ramon Korbuscek opened his eyes and checked the position of the moon outside his window. It confirmed what his internal clock had told him: It was time to start the night's activities. Swinging his feet off his bed, he stood and stretched, his movements so smooth and silent his sleeping roommate didn't even stir.

Korbuscek glanced over at the snoring man. A pleasant-enough fellow, but in the way. It was time for him to go.

It was also time to find out something about these kids. Every time he turned around, he seemed to be crossing paths with them. The rumors he was hearing about their past escapades made him wonder if they might be more of a threat than he had anticipated.

Moving on the balls of his feet, he crossed to his roommate's dresser. It took only a moment to find what he needed.

Seconds later he had lowered himself out the window and was on his way.

After walking unnoticed through a network of streets, Korbuscek easily entered the Gammand residence. When he had finished there, he went on and prowled through the Swenson home.

When he reached his third target, however, Korbuscek hesitated before slipping the thin slice of metal he was using to open locks into the doorframe. From what he had been able to ascertain, this house was usually empty during the day. Perhaps it would be safer to come back then.

But he had already been in two homes tonight, and he was beginning to get a sense of the kind of things these kids were involved with. Not only was he feeling strong with success, his curiosity was operating at a high level.

Besides, there was one more thing he
had
to accomplish before he quit for the night.

So—inside it would be. Enjoying the familiar tingle of excitement, he slid the strip of metal along the edge of the door and popped the lock.