Robot Trouble (18 page)

Unless she could somehow get a message to the outside world.

Unless…unless…

Rachel sat bolt upright, bumping her head against the robot.

The idea was ridiculous.

But it just might work!

“Euterpe,” she said, taking out her pennywhistle. “Get ready to do your thing!”

 

Variations on a Theme

Dr. Anthony Phillips groped his way out of the sheets and lay without moving for a moment. Suddenly he sat straight up.

Launch morning!

The twins would never forgive him if he missed it. Throwing aside the sheets, he sprang out of bed. He pushed a button at the side of the bathroom sink that would start the coffee brewing in the kitchen, then stepped into the shower.

Dr. Phillips yawned as he began to work the shampoo into his thinning auburn hair. He felt as if he'd hardly slept at all. These late nights were beginning to get to him.

He dashed out of the shower, dried, dressed, downed a cup of coffee, then sped to the launch site.

Dr. Fontana was the first person he saw when the guards let him into the observation room. He allowed himself a slight frown. Though he had never been able to put a finger on it, something about the woman bothered him.

She gave him a curt nod, then turned back to the window—a twelve-inch-thick, lead-impregnated piece of glass that would allow them to view the launch close up without being roasted.

The Gammands came in soon after, somehow managing to avoid looking ridiculous when they walked arm in arm, even though Hugh Gammand was nearly two feet taller than his wife.

Dr. Phillips squinted at them, trying to figure out what Hugh was up to. The towering scientist hissed something that sounded like “Down, Thugwad!” then smacked his pocket several times.

Dr. Phillips shrugged. Gammand had always been a trifle eccentric.

The room was filling rapidly now. He wondered when his children would arrive.

Probably performing some last-minute checks,
he thought, chuckling to himself.
You'd think this was a manual operation, instead of being completely computerized!

Suddenly the observation room was flooded with beautiful music.

He glanced at his watch. Six-thirty. They might as well forget it. They couldn't change anything now without going through the main computer.

Roger leaned his head against the fin and tried to will the pain in his wrists out of existence. His hands were slippery with blood, and the bonds didn't seem any closer to separating than they had an hour ago.
What are these damn things made of?
he wondered desperately.

Suddenly he heard a muted clanging sound above him.

He groaned. It was the door from the catwalk into the corridor; the computer had just sealed off their last possible avenue of escape.

“That's it,” he said wearily. “There's no point in going on. It won't make any difference even if we do break loose.”

Hap's voice when he responded was close to a growl. “Roger, if I go, I plan to go fighting. Stop moaning and get back to work!”

Roger smiled. Other than the fact that he didn't want his friend to die, he couldn't think of anyone better to share a spot like this with than Hap Swenson. “Okay, boss,” he said. “Back to work it is.”

“Good,” said Hap. He glanced up at the clock. “We've got twenty-five minutes and thirty-six seconds left to live. Let's make the most of them!”

“All right, Twerpy,” said Rachel. “I got them to build this rocket for you. Now it's your turn to come through for me!”

She pushed a little switch on the robot's neck. “Ready?” she asked, not caring that she was talking to something that couldn't understand a word she said. She stared at her pennywhistle for a moment, then raised it to her lips.

But she didn't play. Lowering the whistle, she dried her sweaty palms on her coveralls and thought,
Oh, muse of music, if you're still around anywhere, I sure need you now. Please—let me get the pitch right just this once!

Euterpe's lights had stopped blinking; the robot sat quietly, waiting for new input.

Rachel put the whistle to her lips.

The first note was terrible—a squawk that would have offended Euterpe's ears, if a robot was capable of being offended.

Rachel licked her lips and tried again.

Better, but still no response from Euterpe.

One more try. This time she produced a single pure note.

Euterpe repeated it.

Rachel drew a deep breath and let it out in relief. “All right, Euterpe,” she said. “It's time to jam!”

She began playing the simple nine-note phrase she hoped would save her life.
Don't get too fancy with this, Twerpy,
she thought.
The message won't do any good if no one understands it!

Trip, Ray, and Wendy spent the last hours before daylight in a previously chosen supply room, waiting for the others to join them.

“So where are they?” asked Trip angrily, a little before seven. “It's not enough they got to have all the fun last night. Do they have to leave us sitting here now?”

“Calm down,” said Wendy, stifling a yawn. “You're starting to sound like me!”

“Maybe we missed them,” said Ray. “They might have been running late and gone to the observation room by some other route.”

“That's probably it,” said Wendy, heaving herself to her feet. “I bet they're waiting there now. Let's go!” She began trotting along the hallway.

“I wonder if they got a picture of Black Glove,” said Trip, rising to join her. “I bet she was here last night!”

“You don't think something might have happened to them, do you?” asked Ray.

“Not all three of them,” said Wendy. “If it was just one, I'd be worried. But I can't see B.G. taking out all three of them.”

“I suppose you're right,” said Ray. “Hey, listen—they've turned on Euterpe!”

“You mean they turned on the sound system,” said Trip. “Euterpe's been running her music since we put her in there.”

“Jeez, get technical, why don't you?” muttered Ray.

Wendy stopped. “That doesn't sound like the music of the spheres to me.”

Ray shrugged. “So Jupiter is farther away than the last time you heard it. The song changes all the time, remember?”

“Of course. But this is something different.” She pressed her hands against her forehead. “I know that rhythm. What is it?
What is it?”

Trip and Ray glanced at each other and shrugged. Wendy tended to get like this sometimes.

Roger was having a hard time keeping his eyes off the clock: 6:51:22 it read now. Less than nine minutes to go before the burst of all-consuming fire.

He almost wished the time would move even faster, bring this tortured waiting to an end.

Hap refused to look at the clock. “Keep working!” he snapped when he felt Roger begin to slow down.

“Why?” asked Roger wearily.

But he resumed rubbing his bonds against the rocket's fin.

Rachel, too, was checking the time.

Six minutes until liftoff.

She had lost track of how many times she had played her message. There had been no response.

What's the matter with you people?
she though desperately.
Are you deaf? Can't you understand?

Of course, it would help if Euterpe would just repeat her notes instead of turning the simple rhythm into a small corner of variations on her theme.

Rachel set down the whistle and laid her head against Euterpe. No need to play any longer. The robot would continue creating variations without her input for several minutes—probably until the moment of liftoff.

Though she tried to suppress the image, she could not help imagining the moment, the press of gravity as she began a trip into space from which she would never return. Her spirit finally broke. Leaning her head against Euterpe's hard metallic body, she began to weep.

Wendy, Ray, and Trip emerged from one of the smaller buildings onto the airfield.

Euterpe's music was being broadcast through the huge speakers mounted at the ends of the field. Somehow the atmosphere reminded them of a holiday, or a fair.

Suddenly Wendy grabbed Trip's arm. “I've got it!” she cried.
“I've got it!”
She clutched his sleeve even tighter. “Don't you hear it?”

“Hear what?” asked Trip, mystified.

“What Euterpe is playing!”

Trip sighed. “Yeah, it's the music of the—”

“It's
not
the music of the spheres!” she yelled.
“Listen!
She's going up and down, all over the place with them, just like when she jams with Dr. Weiskopf. She's playing variations on a theme. One theme, over and over. One nine-note theme. Three short notes, three long notes, three short notes.”

“My God!” cried Ray. “It's an SOS!”

“You got it, baby,” said the Wonderchild. “Someone is stuck inside that rocket!”

From his assigned patrol route Ramon Korbuscek heard the strange music being broadcast from the rocket. Without actually translating it, he knew at once that something was wrong.

His senses instantly became more alert. A cold sweat broke out on his chest. If anything should interfere with the launch, he had to make sure the device he had planted in the rocket could not be found.

He knew enough about the way the launch was set up to expect it to proceed as scheduled, since it would be almost impossible to abort the mission at this point. But on the off chance that something did happen, he wanted to position himself to be first to reach the rocket.

Looking around to make sure he was not being observed, he sprinted toward the closest tunnel that could lead him to the missile silo.

“Where's the nearest computer that connects to the main terminal?” asked Trip.

“The control room,” said Wendy. “I saw one when I was in there last night.”

“Well, let's move!” yelled Ray.

Starting a dash across the airfield, the three friends came face-to-face with a pair of Sergeant Brody's guards, one male, one female.

“Where do you kids think you're going?” asked the woman. “You should be under cover by now!”

“Take us to the control tower,” said Wendy, clambering into their Jeep.

“No can do, Short Stuff,” said the guard. “The building is sealed until after the launch.”

“But it's
our
launch!” said Wendy.

The guard shrugged. “Orders are orders.”

“This is a matter of life and death!” cried Ray.

The woman smiled. “Yeah, it always is with you kids. Why aren't you in the observation room where you can get a close-up look? I would think—hey, get back here!”

The kids were running as fast as they could for the nearest building. The guards started after them.

“We'll have to split up!” cried Trip.

Wendy and Ray peeled off in opposite directions.

The two guards, faced with chasing kids headed in three directions, opted to aim for Trip and Ray.

“I hate it when a woman is a male chauvinist,” muttered Wendy. Pulling the robot control device from her pocket, she twisted a dial and pressed a series of buttons.

An instant later every security robot within a thousand yards was rolling in her direction.

 

The Robot Brigade

“Three minutes and fifteen seconds,” said Hap.

“Will you stop that!” cried Roger. “I don't need an announcer to let me know when I'm going to fry!”

“I'm just trying to motivate you.”

“I'm plenty motivated! The damn thing won't cut!”

“Well, lean into it!” said Hap, dragging his weight against the fin as he continued to saw at the cords holding him to Roger.

To his amazement, they separated with a sudden snap that dropped both of them to the floor.

“We did it!” cried Roger, starting to laugh. “Hap, we did it!”

“You bet we did!” said Hap, rubbing his wrists. “Now start working on your feet.”

“Here,” said Roger, handing him the knife he had just pulled from the pocket of his coveralls. “It's faster.”

Hap smiled as he took the knife and sliced through the cords. Then he glanced at the steel ladder that led to the top of the silo. “What do you think would happen if we climbed up to the catwalk?”

Roger shrugged. “It might mean there would be something left of us to bury.”

“Well, let's go! At this stage of the game, every little bit counts.”

The observation room was in an uproar. “Something is going on out there!” cried Trip's father. “And I want to know what it is!”

“Abort the launch!” cried several people. “Stop it now!”

Dr. Hwa was trying to calm the group. “There is no way to stop it,” he said over and over.

Staff Sergeant Brody looked out the window and groaned. He had suspected this whole thing would be a pain in the neck from the moment two months ago when he first heard the kids were planning to launch a rocket. But even his wildest nightmares had not prepared him for what he saw now: a virtual herd of his security robots racing across the airfield at top speed, with that wretched Wendy Wendell
riding
on the shoulders of the one in the lead!

“Come on, Deathmonger!” cried Wendy, kicking the robot as if it were a balky horse. “Come on, we don't have all day!”

“What we've got is about two and a half minutes!” cried Trip, who was straddling the shoulders of the robot on Wendy's right.

“How long will it take to get into the system?” asked Wendy.

“About ninety seconds!” yelled Ray, who was riding the robot to her left.

“Then we'll just have to move a little faster!” cried the Wonderchild. Reaching into her coveralls, she pulled out the control pack and punched a sequence of buttons. She barely had time to grab Deathmonger's neck before the robot shot forward so fast it nearly sent her flying. Her cap blew off, leaving her pigtails to flap in the wind.