Samantha Smart (25 page)

It was now close to noon and there were as yet no signs of the antidote working. Around the bed stood all the members of Alpha Team, Jason, Todd, Aunt Tina, The Professor and a few doctors and/or med students. The Professor looked the most nervous–he had literally been awake for days working on perfecting the serum and probably felt largely responsible for the whole of the situation anyway. He had become angry at himself several times during setbacks in the antidote’s development, wishing he had been able to figure out how to defeat the Slanes’ time-bubble blocking devices–it would have been so much easier to go back and prevent Cindy from ever having been poisoned in the first place. It was a study to which he decided he must devote a lot of time to in the near future.

“There!” Samantha shout-whispered. Cindy’s fingers had twitched. “You all saw that, right? I’m not seeing things?” Everyone in the room nodded, and even if Samantha wasn’t sure whether or not to believe her own eyes, the issue was rendered moot when Cindy’s whole body stirred and she took a deep breath. The crowd of onlookers was completely on edge.

Suddenly, Cindy gasped a deep, panicky breath and sat straight up in her hospital bed, almost ripping the I.V. tube out of her arm.

“Mom!” Samantha yelled, tears in her eyes.

“Mom?” Todd echoed.

“Oh–Samantha? Todd? Jason–” she looked around her, dazed, and tried to piece together where she was and why.

“Where am I? What–why am I ... in a... hospital? What happened? Is everyone all right?” She was obviously quite confused, very disoriented and more than a little scared. They all did their best to calm her, took turns hugging her while Dr. Amesbury checked her pulse and breathing and then tried to explain what exactly had happened to her.

The official explanation, compiled by the N.Y.P.D., had been that Cindy had been ‘drugged’ by some twisted, drug fiend concert-goer, though no one had ever heard of or seen a drug such as the one they found in her bloodstream. The F.B.I. and D.E.A. had even been called in to speak with all the witnesses, which in itself was frightening. It was indeed a good thing that their adventure into the distant past had only taken up an hour or two of present time, for almost immediately upon returning Samantha was requested for interviews by both Federal agencies. Though she wasn’t the best liar, she had managed to mostly plead ignorance, and the government ‘experts’ were more than happy to try to explain the incident themselves. Presumably they were now out looking for some previously unknown drug and the massive criminal organization that surely must surround it.

To make this Fed-preferred story more believable, The Professor had also supplied the agencies with some of his synthesized antidote and formula for creating it, for study. He had been momentarily concerned that they would somehow be able to concoct their own poison from it, which might be employed questionably in the area of intelligence missions, but then remembered that there wasn’t any of the actual plant left and doubted they could completely artificially synthesize the necessary chemicals without it, at least in the next decade or so. Still, it made him nervous about the possibility of adversely affecting the future.

Another result of all this was that there was now also a federal agent in Cindy’s hospital room, who had until now sat quietly, almost invisibly in the corner in a chair. It was a woman, in fact, named Agent Stiles, whose purpose here was supposedly to record and judge the efficacy of Professor Smythe’s antidote, as well as to continue questioning in the ongoing investigation. As Cindy regained consciousness and began catching up, Agent Stiles commenced typing calmly but with sizzling speed on her portable laptop computer. Stopping occasionally to ask questions of The Professor, the doctors and Jason, she embodied a feeling of confidence and composure that Samantha greatly admired. Every now and then Stiles would catch Samantha looking at her and would smile. Samantha blushed, turning back to her mother.

“Really,” Cindy was saying to the doctors examining her, obviously adjusting nicely, “I feel
fine.
I just want a shower and to go back to my own house.”

“You’re welcome to take a shower here, Ms. Smart,” Dr. Amesbury offered, gesturing toward the bathroom that was attached to her hospital bedroom. “But we need to monitor you, I’m afraid, for just one more day. We need to do a few more tests and make sure all your vitals are stable, over a twenty-four hour period. And, if you feel... up to it, Agent Stiles from the F.B.I.’s Manhattan field office would like to ask you some questions.” Cindy looked over at Agent Stiles, who smiled and waved her pen in an unobtrusive self-introduction.

“Oh. Um, sure, I guess. Maybe, uh, a little later.”

“That’s fine, Ms. Smart,” Agent Stiles replied. “I’m just going to go get some lunch. I’ll be back later this afternoon, if you feel more like chatting. Glad you’re feeling better.” Her tone was cheery in an honest-sounding way.

“Thanks,” Cindy acknowledged, perhaps slightly uncomfortable.

The group of spectators gradually left the hospital after various well-wishings, returning to their respective homes or places of work, all but the immediate family, which now consisted of Samantha, Todd, Aunt Tina and Jason. Agent Stiles returned, mid-afternoon, and gently put to Cindy the many questions that the F.B.I. apparently had to ask her. Though she was very polite and amiable, she asked a bit too much about The Professor for Samantha’s liking. Samantha played along, trying to act surprised at some things and casually dismissing others; she hoped her contributions to the federal investigation were significantly misleading, believably ignorant-sounding and not overly dramatic. It was hard to gauge Agent Stiles’ reactions, and Samantha decided to inform The Professor of the government’s sudden and specific interest in him (assuming he didn’t already know) at the earliest opportunity.

“And so, this... Professor
friend of yours managed to synthesize an antidote for this unknown poison, or drug, in under a week?”

“Thank God!” Cindy said. “I guess it pays to surround oneself with well-equipped geniuses, even if I never was quite one myself.”

“The Professor’s really smart,” Samantha agreed, playing dumb. “He’s shown me how to do Carbon-14 dating, and spec-tral-a-nal-y-sis... ” she trailed off, trying to sound as if she were struggling with the words. Cindy gave her daughter a strange look, wondering why she was pretending to not be able to pronounce words that she’d said a hundred times; her daughter was no dummy. Samantha hoped the agent hadn’t noticed the look and kicked herself mentally.

“Is that so?” Stiles smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Well, anyone that good we could certainly use in the F.B.I. Where exactly did he get the plant sample that he was able to extract the necessary chemicals from?”

“I have no idea,” Cindy mused. Samantha shrugged, hopefully not looking guilty.

“That plant’s been extinct for a thousand years,” the agent offered provocatively. Samantha exchanged a quizzical look with her mother.

“I don’t know,” Cindy repeated honestly. “I mean, the museum’s got hundreds of fossils–thousands even. Plants, animals, up to, oh, I don’t know–three hundred million years old. Maybe he squeezed it out of one of those.” Samantha smiled inwardly while outwardly nodding.
Good answer, Mom!
She thought.

Agent Stiles made a bit of a crooked pout and raised her eyebrows, looking downward. It did seem the most plausible explanation.

“All right,” she closed her laptop and smiled. “Just one more question, then–and I hope you don’t find it too weird–we just have to look at all the angles.”

“Okay,” Cindy said.

“Do you have any reason at all to believe that Professor Smythe would want to hurt you or your family?”

“No!” Cindy almost laughed. “I’ve known Ainsley for years! I mean, I know he’s a bit odd and all–geniuses usually are, don’t you think? He’d never harm a fly, though, really. He–he used to always ask if we had any scones back when I still worked in concessions,” she said the word ‘scones’ in a mock-British accent. “And Samantha’s been learning all sorts of interesting science things from him for the last two years or so–sometimes working a bit too hard at it, if you ask me, picking up some of his absent-mindedness and forgetting to call her mother,” she eyed her daughter sternly, privately referring to Samantha’s ‘missing week.’ “But no, no. He would never hurt us, never. In fact I’m eternally grateful for what he’s done for me today.”

“Of course,” Stiles smiled again. “I wouldn’t think he would. He seems like a very gentle man. It’s just that, at present, we know of no one else who’s manufactured
anything,
drug poison or antidote, from this extinct plant. You do see the need for us to be curious about him?”

“Mmmm,” Cindy nodded. It
was
strange indeed. The whole thing was strange, though. Her whole life seemed very odd lately, and she had to admit to herself that all the strange happenings had either surrounded her daughter or Professor Smythe. It made her head hurt to think about it all now, though, and she sighed and closed her eyes.

After Agent Stiles had departed (everyone having been left with one of her business cards), the family made their plans for the next few days.

It was decided that Todd and Samantha (and Polly) would spend one more night at Aunt Tina’s. It was Sunday night, and Tina had to work early Monday morning, so the siblings said an early goodnight to their mother and left her to spend some quality time with Jason, who was, despite his unfortunate averageness, turning out to be a real hero in everyone’s book.

Polly was beyond ecstatic to see Samantha. Between her time at the hospital and the museum, the junior adventurer had hardly seen her faithful canine companion at all in the last week. To Samantha it had seemed even longer, having spent an entire two days in a completely different world in the space of an hour–thinking of it like that was weird. She had had something like a seventy-two-hour day in there somewhere–Friday, she guessed it had been. Of course, time away from your favorite person is always
very, very long for any self-respecting dog, and Polly smothered Samantha with dozens of sloppy, wet kisses, sproinged all over her like a maniac and wagged her stumpy little terrier tail at amazing speeds.

“Polly, stop!” Samantha began laughing. “Stop! Okay! Okay! I love you, too!” It was clearly a most happy reunion. “Thanks for walking her and stuff,” Samantha said, turning to her brother. She wasn’t used to thanking him for anything or even being nice to him at all, but having gone through a week of their mother being in a coma had forced them to make a sort of peace pact. Samantha was surprised at how uncomfortable she felt–it was quite different from their normal mode of operation.

“Yeah, no problem,” Todd blurted out with equal discomfort. “She’s pretty spunky–Polly, I mean.”

“Yeah, she is,” Samantha giggled, still trying to control the hyperactive little dog.

Aunt Tina had set about fixing some dinner, and Samantha was helping out, cutting onions for a quiche that was to be the main course. Her eyes stung and tears rolled down her face as she gathered up the pieces and put them into a bowl. Next, she began chopping some broccoli and her mind began to wander as she focused on the simple task. She was a little worried about Agent Stiles watching The Professor, or even interviewing him to see if their stories matched. She thought she should contact him and at least let him know to watch out for the F.B.I., to be extra-secretive in his actions, but she decided that his phone might well be tapped (this was what federal agents did in the movies, anyway). She resolved to talk to him later in the evening via wrist-communicator. Surely the F.B.I. hadn’t learned about those, and even if they had, the devices used a pretty obscure frequency.

The quiche came out perfectly, and Samantha and Aunt Tina did a high-five in celebration of their cooperative effort. They sat at the table and ate, unhurriedly, and talked about normal family things.

“So, I guess you guys won’t be going back to school until Tuesday?” Tina asked, pretty much knowing the answer to her question but wanting to make some light dinner conversation.

“Yeah, well, I guess we’re going to bring Mom home tomorrow,” Todd replied, adding, “Mmmm, good quiche, guys.”

“I’ve kind of missed school,” Samantha spoke up. “I mean,
literally,
I’ve missed a lot of school lately, but I also mean I’m kind of excited to go back.”

“Mmmm,” Tina nodded, taking time to swallow a bite. “I heard all about your ‘missing person’ stint, Samantha. Your mother was worried sick. What exactly were you doing?”

“I, um - aaaahhh,” Samantha stammered and then sighed. “I was helping Professor Smythe do some research at the museum. I couldn’t leave because, well, we were doing an experiment that required constant monitoring. I know, I know, I should’ve called home but, well, I just wasn’t able to.”

“Well, you scared your mother half to death, you know,” her Aunt went on in a scolding tone. “God forbid you should have a child as precocious as you are.”

‘Precocious’ was a word Samantha had heard often enough; it was quite frequently used by many adults to describe her behavior, and though she still wasn’t sure exactly what it meant she had taken it to mean something along the lines of a person who acted more grown-up than they actually were. Perhaps the adults were right. She did sort of fancy herself more able to function independently than most kids her age. She just shrugged in response to her Aunt’s comment, though, and continued to eat quiche.

*

Late that night, curled up on the futon in Aunt Tina’s tiny guest room, Samantha attempted to use her wrist-communicator. She pulled the covers up over to try and create a more silent place to talk, then tapped the button that called The Professor. It seemed to take a long time, but The Professor did eventually pick up.

“Who is it?” his voice came back, sounding nervous and hushed.

“It’s Samantha. Where are you?”

“Samantha! I–uh–I’m at home. Brought the desktop set here, you know–I don’t want to leave it in the office anymore.”

“I understand, Professor. I’ll be quick. I just wanted to warn you about that Agent Stiles–she was asking a lot of questions about you at the hospital.”