Robot Trouble (15 page)

“What was that?” asked Roger.

“Safety. I was worried that you might blow yourselves to kingdom come. Pragmatically speaking, that would be very bad for the project. Besides, I have grown quite fond of you, and so would prefer to keep that from happening. My assumption is that the more expertise you have to draw on, the less likely you are to come to a sad, if spectacular, end.”

He turned to Mr. Swenson. “Please be sure to let me know if I can help in any way.”

Then he pivoted on his heel and walked away.

“I can't believe it!” said Roger. “I was sure he was going to tell us to stop.”

“That shows what you know,” said Bridget McGrory, who had lingered behind. “That man is the salt of the earth. And it's about time you kids learned it!”

She started to walk away, too, but turned back. In her lilting Irish brogue she said, “By the way, if any of you happen to know who left a robot wrapped in red ribbon on Sergeant Brody's doorstep last week, you can tell them from me that it was a job well done. I have it on good authority that when he opened the door and the robot started to sing ‘Happy Birthday,' Brody darn near broke down and cried.”

She gave them a wink, then scurried to catch up with her boss.

“One of Anza-bora's many mysteries,” said Rachel. “I can never figure out if that woman loves us or hates us.”

“I think it's both,” said Roger. “But when it comes to Brody, there's no question. She has no positive feelings at all.”

While Dr. Hwa and his secretary were examining the gang's progress on the rocket, Ramon Korbuscek was examining Sergeant Brody's mail. He sat with his feet on the security chief's desk, leafing through the letters and memos. He had started going through Brody's mail about a month earlier, and already the habit had proved quite useful. For example, he had recently intercepted a top-secret letter suggesting that Brody do some checking in regard to a guard named Brock A. Rosemunk.

Naturally, he had destroyed
that
little bombshell before it got anywhere near Brody's eyes.

He had also known before anyone else on the base that poor Graham Tidewater had been transferred back to the mainland to face a court martial for treason.

The removal of Tidewater created an excellent operating situation for Korbuscek, since it tended to make everyone believe they had gotten rid of the spy. This greatly enhanced his freedom of movement.

He had already used that freedom to good advantage by making several swings through Weiskopf's quarters. He now had a complete photo-record of the documentation for Euterpe—material that should fetch a high additional price from his current employers when he turned it over to them.

Unfortunately, what he had not been able to do was tamper with the robot itself. And that was vital—especially since he had found out they were actually planning to send the damn thing into space. But Weiskopf took it into his room to sing him to sleep every night.

That alone wouldn't have stopped Korbuscek, of course. But according to some of the notes he had photographed, Euterpe was equipped with an alarm system that would just about raise the dead if anyone tried to tamper with it.

So he had been avoiding that task. But it had to be done, and soon, because the launch date was fast approaching.

Korbuscek swung his feet off Brody's desk, stood, and chuckled. Watching those kids in action had been one of the best things about this assignment. They were a riot.

He almost hoped he wouldn't be forced to hurt them before this was over.

Dr. Hwa's invitation for his staff to participate in “Operation Euterpe” had had exactly the effect he predicted. The nimble minds of the small scientific community had leaped at the chance for a diversion.

Between the name of the robot and the fact that the whole project had been generated by the kids, it hadn't taken long before someone suggested calling the project “Twerps in Space.”

When Trip's father designed a logo featuring a robot, a rocket, and that slogan, the name was official.

At first Roger worried that the project would be taken out of their hands. But the adult scientists, always protective of their own turf, seemed to respect the fact that the gang had staked out this territory first. Their behavior was like that of the ideal houseguest: They pitched in to help, but never demanded that things be done their way.

And when Dr. Hwa hired Ray's mother to make a set of coveralls for everyone in the gang, each specially embroidered with the “Twerps in Space” logo, they felt it was definitely their project.

In fact, there were only two bleak spots for the gang in all this time.

First was the continuing tension between Rachel and Wendy. They were cordial to each other now; certainly there was nothing that would be noticeable to an outsider. But within the group there was a sense that things were not as tight as they had once been. Something precious had been lost, and no one was certain how to get it back.

Second was the question of Black Glove—a question that became more pressing when they entered the headquarters one morning to find a message on Sherlock's main screen:

To
:
The A
.
I
.
Gang

From: A Friend

Re: Our Mutual Enemy

Warning! The person you call Black Glove has plans to subvert the launch. This agent is desperate, and may do anything at this point
.

Proceed with extreme caution. Guard against deceit. Do not let yourself be fooled by smiling faces
.

I have watched you for some time now. You are doing good work. Unfortunately, I cannot reveal myself at this point. But you should know that you do have a friend who understands your problems
.

“Plasmagunderundum!” cried Wendy. “What kind of message is that?”

“I think
cryptic
is the word,” said Rachel coolly.

“Maybe it's really from Black Glove himself,” said Ray. “Or herself. Whatever. I bet it's just to scare us off.”

“Could be,” said Trip. “But by now he or she knows enough about us to know we don't scare easily.”

“Well, I've had more useful ‘friends,' ” said Roger. “I can think of lots of things we could use more than a warning.”

“I'm not so sure about that,” said Hap. “Maybe we've been getting a little careless in the last few weeks. It's been so long since we saw any sign of Black Glove, we stopped worrying about him that much. A kick in the pants might be just what we needed at this point.”

“Hap could be right,” said Rachel. “And the game's not over until the last play; our unknown friend might have something more substantial to offer before everything is finished. But I sure hate to think of anyone trying to mess up the launch. Everyone has worked so hard on it.”

“I doubt Black Glove will try to mess it up,” said Trip. “That rocket isn't going to hurt her…him…whatever!…any. And if he, she, or it still hasn't come up with any other way to get information off the base, it could be the answer to the problem. When our mysterious friend talks about Black Glove trying to subvert the launch, I bet he or she means the spy is going to try to slip some sort of transmission device on board. But that was just what we were counting on—that the rocket would be a trap to catch the spy in action.”

“I just hope he doesn't catch us first,” muttered Hap.

“I just wish we had better pronouns,” replied Trip.

Two months later, on a sunny afternoon in mid-October, Rachel Phillips stood at the bottom of a concrete tunnel, leaning against one of the fins of Euterpe's rocket.

Dr. Hwa had been right. Being able to use an existing missile shaft had saved them an enormous amount of work. It had been easy to open, far easier than building a scaffold outside would have been. To the gang's delight, it had also turned out to be in perfect working condition.

“Well, why not?” Hap had wanted to know when the others expressed their surprise at this. “If you build something right the first time, it ought to keep working forever—or at least until the parts wear out. And nothing has happened to this to wear it out.”

“Boy, do you live in a dreamworld,” snorted Roger. “Long-term use is not the American way these days.”

Rachel had tuned out the discussion that followed. But now she found herself wondering how long Twerpy would last out in space. She was going to miss the silly-looking robot. Its music had become an important part of her life.

Her reverie was broken by the voice of Dr. Ling, who was helping with the countdown checkoff. “Let's hurry,” said the beautiful scientist. “This place gives me the creeps.”

She was standing next to Rachel, dressed in a regulation lab coat and a white baseball cap that made her raven hair appear even darker and glossier than usual. In her hand she had an electronic clipboard with a countdown checklist.

“What bothers you about it?” asked Roger, who was standing on the other side of Dr. Ling.

Rachel was pleased to hear a note of genuine curiosity in his voice. It drove her crazy when she thought her twin was toadying up to the lovely scientist.

“Consider what it was built for,” said Dr. Ling. “It used to house an atomic missile. Remember, this was a first-alert station for the next war. Which would likely have also turned out to be the last war, since it's unlikely anyone would have survived.” She shuddered. “Besides, this cramped space makes me claustrophobic.”

Rachel could understand that. Though nearly forty feet deep, the concrete shaft was only ten feet square. Its floor and walls were smooth and bare except for three things: the trapdoor in the floor through which they had entered; a clock to tell workers how much time they had before blastoff; and a ladder—no more than oversize metal staples, really—that led up the wall to the catwalk above.

Rachel looked around the floor. It was smaller than her bedroom's. She shivered at the thought of being caught here when the rocket blasted off. She had seen films of that first incredible surge of flame and the agonizing moments when the rocket was fighting free of Earth's gravity. At that moment this concrete box would be wall to wall searing flames. Would even your bones would be left if you were trapped in such an inferno?

Oh, stop it, she chided herself. You've got work to do
.

Leonard Weiskopf stood at the top of the missile shaft, looking down. He still couldn't believe his robot was going to make it into space—much less that they had built the beautiful silver needle that would carry it there right here on Anza-bora Island.

He watched the group at the bottom of the shaft scurrying about, making last-minute checks. Then he turned his attention to Euterpe. “Are you ready?” he asked, wiping the robot's chest panel with a clean handkerchief. “This is what you were made for, you know.”

Euterpe trilled a little tune, her light grid flashing rhythmically. She was operating the “music of the spheres” program.

Dr. Weiskopf lifted his hand to the side of the Beethovenly face and flipped a switch.

Then he took out his pennywhistle and began to play.

A moment later Euterpe answered him. Soon they were jamming, the unearthly music echoing strangely from the walls of the missile silo.

When the session was over, Dr. Weiskopf patted the robot fondly. “I'm going to miss you, Euterpe,” he whispered. He pointed upward. “Do a good job out there.”

Then he turned and walked away.

An hour later the final checks had been made.

When everyone had called in his final reports, the launch clock was set in motion.

Even though the launch clock was ticking, it was nearly eight o'clock that evening before the gang and the scientists working with them finished attending to the last-minute details.

When they polished off the last of their checklists Dr. Fontana said, “Well, that's it. We might as well call Brody.”

A few minutes later the burly chief of the air patrol appeared in the control tower where the launch group had been working and shouted, “Everybody out! I'm sealing it up!”

Kids and scientists filed out of the room together, deeply engaged in an assortment of conversations and arguments about the upcoming launch. Brody stuck his head through the door and did a quick check to make sure everyone was out, then locked the room with his master key.

Wendy Wendell waited another half hour before she crept from behind the control panel where she had been hiding.

 

The Missile Silo

Wendy's selection as “inside man” at the site was prompted by two things: First, her size made it easier for her to hide than anyone in the gang except Ray. Second, unlike Ray, her parents kept a loose rein on her. A few mumbled comments about spending the night with Rachel so they could go to the launch together in the morning was all it had taken to cover her whereabouts.

Despite the fact that she and Rachel were still barely speaking to each other, what she had said was technically true. What she hadn't specified was that she, Rachel, and the rest of the gang would be spending the night
at
the launch site, in the hope of catching Black Glove in action.

Wandering to the front of the control tower, the Wonderchild gazed down on the net of humans and robots crisscrossing the airfield and its surrounding areas.

This is
weird,
she thought.
Except for Dr. Remov, none of the adults will even admit Black Glove exists. Yet the brass on this supposedly private island is acting like there's a real risk of someone tampering with the launch. I guess the Korbuscek episode scared them more than they want to admit
. She smiled.
At least we don't have to worry about
him
tonight
.

A pair of searchlights crossed in front of the control tower windows, looking like giant light sabers ready to do battle. Euterpe's music, piped in from a direct connection to the robot, played softly in the background.