Get Smart 4 - Max Smart and the Perilous Pellets (10 page)

“Good thinking, 99.”

As the group approached the table, Max reached into the black satchel and got out a pellet.

At that very moment, however, The Professor came abreast of the table. “Halt!” he croaked.

The group stopped.

“Goldenrod!” The Professor raged, indicating the flowers in the vase. “Goldenrod is terrible for my hay fever!”

Frank Sadwell rushed up, lifted the vase from the table, then smashed it on the floor. “Frank Sadwell, senior freshman, at your service, sir!” he saluted.

The Professor smiled toothily. “I like you, Sadwell,” he said. “You smash a nice vase.”

Sadwell saluted again. “My only desire is to serve you faithfully, sir!”

“From now on,” The Professor said, “you can call me ‘The’.”

Once more, Sadwell saluted. Then, with The Professor still in the lead, the group proceeded.

“Too bad, Max,” 99 sympathized.

“Yes,” Max scowled. “I hate to be mistaken like that. I was
positive
those were daisies.”

“Max! Look!”

“Again, 99?”

“Up ahead, Max. There’s a rubber tree. See—planted in that wooden tub. You can drop the pellet into the tub!”

“Good thinking, 99!”

As they approached the rubber tree, Max palmed the pellet, preparing to drop it into the tub.

But, at that moment, The Professor cried, “Halt!”

The group pulled up.

“Goldenrod!” The Professor raged, indicating the rubber plant. “Goldenrod is terrible for my hay fever!”

Frank Sadwell, rushed up, hefted the tub above his head, then dropped it to the floor, smashing it to splinters.

The Professor smiled toothily. “What I said before goes double, Sadwell,” he said. “Except that now you can call me ‘T.P.’.”

“Thanks, T.P.,” Sadwell grimaced.

“Forward!” The Professor croaked.

“Too bad again, Max,” 99 said.

“Too bad? 99, don’t you realize what this means? I’ve been vindicated. If The Professor doesn’t know a rubber tree from a goldenrod, then he surely doesn’t know a goldenrod from a daisy. I was right the first time.”

“But, Max, you haven’t planted the pea.”

“There are times, 99, when a man would rather be right than a pea planter.”

A few seconds later, The Professor led the freshmen into a large classroom. A class was in session. But the instructor gladly turned the floor over to The Professor.

“This is our advanced weapons class,” The Professor said to the freshmen. “That doesn’t mean that the class is advanced. As a matter of fact, the class is behind. It’s the weapons that are advanced. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly clear,” Max replied.

“No dessert for you tonight,” The Professor snapped. “A good freshman speaks only when spoken to.” He addressed the group again. “The weapons you see in this classroom,” he said, “are the weapons that are available to KAOS agents for combating Control agents. Each model represents a new scientific advancement. The weapons are sent to us by KAOS’s Research & Development Department. And, after I have modified the weapons, they are used by the students for training. Are there any questions?”

The freshmen remained silent.

“There must be a question,” The Professor insisted. “I’ll bet not one of you knows what ‘modified’ means. Who knows what it means?”

Not one hand went up.

“Then why don’t you ask questions!”
The Professor raged.

Max put up his hand. “I have a question, sir.”

“Hah! Caught you!” The Professor grinned craftily. “For that, you’ll go without dessert tonight. Didn’t I tell you—no questions!”

“You took away my tonight’s dessert before,” Max pointed out.

“Don’t be a nit-picker,” The Professor said. “Nobody likes a nit-picker. And, just to show you what a warm, kind, compassionate human being I am, I’ll let you have your dessert tonight and I’ll also answer your question. ‘Modified’ means changed.”

“Does that mean, sir,” Frank Sadwell said, “that after R & D develops these scientific weapons, you change them?”

The Professor smiled upon him. “I like a boy that asks questions,” he said. “Yes, that’s what it means. The fact is, R & D ruins these weapons with a lot of new-fangled gimcracks. They’re not dependable. It’s my job, as I see it, to build Dependability into them, after R & D leaves it out. Does that answer your question?”

“Perfectly, sir,” Frank Sadwell replied unhappily.

“You’re a jewel, lad,” The Professor smiled. Once more he addressed the entire group. “I’m going to demonstrate some of these weapons,” he said, grinning mischievously. “And I’ll need a volunteer, someone to take the part of the Control agent, the victim. Who could pretend to be a Control agent?”

The freshmen stood still and silent.

“It won’t hurt,” The Professor cackled impishly.

Frank Sadwell took a step backwards.

“Not you, dear boy,” The Professor said. “I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

“I stepped backwards, sir. That’s tantamount to declining the invitation twice.”

“Good thinking, boy. This could be dangerous.” Again, he spoke to the group. “Come now—a volunteer.”

Frank Sadwell stepped sideways, placing himself directly behind Max.

“Surely, one of you could pretend, just for a few minutes, to be a Control agent,” The Professor urged.

Pushed from behind, Max stumbled forward.

“Oh, you think you could be a Control agent, do you?” The Professor said suspiciously. “Frankly, I consider that a little suspicious. No KAOS freshman who was worth his salt would ever want to be a Control agent—not even make-believe.”

“I was pushed,” Max explained.

The Professor waggled a finger at the group. “Our volunteer has just illustrated a very important point,” he said. “Never believe anything a Control agent says. I’ve never seen it to fail. When a Control agent volunteers, every time, he’ll claim he was pushed.” He peered past Max at Frank Sadwell. “Isn’t that right, boy?”

“The dirty dogs,” Frank Sadwell replied grimly in agreement.

“T
HE IMPORTANT
thing is, now we have a victim, someone to take the part of the enemy agent,” The Professor said. He looked Max up and down. “You look a little familiar,” he said. “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”

“Yes, sir. You’ve seen me right here,” Max replied. “And, every time, you’ve taken away my dessert.”

“If you’re that kind of student, you deserve everything that’s coming to you.” He stepped to the instructor’s desk and picked up a weapon, a pistol. “This—” he began.

But at that moment a senior stepped into the room, and all of the freshmen snapped to attention, interrupting.

The senior began making the rounds with his hand out. “Sorry, sir,” he said to The Professor. “Just collecting for the Senior Fun.”

“Perfectly all right,” The Professor smiled. “Tradition is more important than education. And don’t forget my ten per cent cut.”

As soon as the senior had finished making the collection, he saluted The Professor, slipped him his ten per cent cut, then departed.

“And that concludes our lesson on weapons,” The Professor said to the class.

Frank Sadwell stepped forward. “Excuse me, sir,” he said. “But you haven’t demonstrated the weapons yet.”

The Professor looked surprised. “I haven’t? Are you sure?”

Sadwell indicated Max. “The enemy agent is still alive,” he pointed out.

“Snitch!” Max hissed.

“By Harry, you’re right,” The Professor said. “There he is, standing there, straight as a beanstalk. That couldn’t be—not if I’d demonstrated the weapons. Well . . . we’ll remedy that.” He picked up the pistol again. “This little item was sent to us just recently by R & D,” he said. “It’s an electronic pistol. And, according to R & D, when fired, it paralyzes the enemy by freezing his brain cells.”

There was applause from the freshmen.

“You’re out of order!” The Professor snapped. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard of—a pistol that freezes a man’s brain cells!”

The freshmen booed.

“That’s better,” The Professor smiled. “We don’t want to encourage those featherheads at R & D.
I
don’t want to, anyway. That’s why I’ve modified this pistol. I took out all those little doohingies they had inside it, and I put in some good old-fashioned dependability.”

There were cheers again.

“I will now demonstrate,” The Professor said, facing toward Max. He aimed the pistol directly at him.

“Are you sure it’s harmless?” Max said worriedly.

“What kind of a weapon would it be if it were harmless?” The Professor growled. “You sound like those featherheads at R & D.”

“But, have you considered the consequences?” Max said. “If that pistol isn’t harmless, you may lose a freshman.”

“Our classes are too large anyway,” The Professor replied. “This is one way of whittling them down to size.” Again, he aimed the pistol.

But at that moment another senior entered the room. The freshmen snapped to attention. And Max snapped to attention and ducked.

“Excuse me, sir,” the senior said to The Professor. “Just collecting for the Senior Fun.”

“Proceed,” The Professor smiled. “On the usual terms, of course.”

“Of course, sir—your ten per cent.”

The senior began collecting. When he reached Max, Max gave him a nickel.

“Cheap!” the senior snarled.

“That’s my last cent,” Max explained.

“You won’t need money where you’re going,” The Professor said comfortingly.

The senior, having finished the collection, handed The Professor his cut, then departed.

“Now then, on to the next classroom,” The Professor said.

Once more, Frank Sadwell stepped forward. “Just a reminder, sir,” he said. “You haven’t demonstrated the weapons yet.”

The Professor scowled. “Are you—”

Frank Sadwell interrupted, pointing to Max.

“By Harry!” The Professor muttered. “Well, on with the demonstration.” He aimed the pistol squarely at Max’s head and pulled the trigger.

A boxing glove popped from the end of the barrel and caught Max right between the eyes. Max dropped to the floor.

99 rushed forward. “Max! Are you all right!” She bent down to him.

“He’s fine. Unconscious is all,” The Professor said. “Surely you don’t think I would knock him off this soon! I need him for further demonstration.” He addressed the group again. “Now
that
is dependability,” he said. “R & D can keep it’s new-fangled gadgets. When you’re up against the wily enemy, what you want is a good old-fashioned pistol that fires a boxing glove out the barrel and pops the adversary right between the eyes. Can’t beat it for dependability. The old weapons are the best weapons. Remember that!”

Aided by 99, Max sat up, regaining consciousness.

“Max! Are you all right?” 99 fretted.

Max shook his head, trying to clear it. “My brain cells are a little chilly,” he said. “But, otherwise, I feel awful.”

“On your feet, make-believe Control agent!” The Professor commanded. “This is no time to lounge. I have other weapons to demonstrate.”

“Maybe someone else would like to volunteer,” Max said, rising. “I don’t want to hog all the glory.”

The Professor turned to the group. “Would someone else like to volunteer?”

There was no response.

“Come, come,” The Professor urged. “Who else will volunteer?”

Frank Sadwell stepped forward. As he did, he gave Max a second shove.

“Well, all right,” The Professor said to Max. “If you want to hog all the glory, it’s fine by me. After all, it’s your funeral.”

“He was
pushed!”
99 protested.

“That’s a serious accusation,” The Professor frowned. “Who pushed him?”

99 pointed at Frank Sadwell. “He did! I saw it!”

“Ha! Watching the other students while you’re supposed to be paying attention to my lecture, eh!” The Professor growled. “For that, you lose your dessert. Now, on with the demonstration.” He walked to the desk. “Over here, victim,” he said to Max. He indicated a large metal box that was sitting on the desk. “According to R & D,” he said. “This machine is a laser-powered lie-detector. Ever heard anything funnier than that?”

The freshmen roared with laughter.

“Naturally, I had to modify it,” The Professor said.

Max put a hand in front of his face.

“It doesn’t fire a boxing glove,” The Professor said.

“Oh.” Max lowered the hand.

“Stand right here, right beside the machine,” The Professor ordered.

Max obeyed.

“The way those featherheads at R & D had this worked out,” The Professor said to the group, “whenever a question was asked, and a lie was answered, a little light went on and a bell rang. Obviously, it was undependable that way. What do lights and bells know about truth? As modified, however, the machine is one-hundred per cent effective. I’ll prove it.” He faced back to Max. “I’ll ask you a question,” he said. “You can answer it with the truth or a lie, it won’t make any difference.”

“Is there any
other
choice?” Max asked.

“It still wouldn’t make any difference,” The Professor replied. “Now, here’s your first question. If there are fourteen apples in a dozen, and you bake twelve of the apples into a cherry pie, how long is a piece of string?”

Max puzzled for a moment. “A long piece of string or a short piece of string?”

“It doesn’t make any difference,” The Professor replied. “What is your answer?”

“A peach pie,” Max replied.

The instant he answered, a rubber hose popped from the machine and began beating him about the head and shoulders. Max leaped out of range, but not before he had been severely clubbed.

“See? I told you it didn’t make any difference,” The Professor smiled. “Lying or telling the truth, that rubber hose beats the stuffing out of you. It’s fool-proof!”

“It’s certainly more effective than lights and bells,” Max agreed.

“Oh, you’re not convinced, eh?” The Professor said. “All right, we’ll try another question. Take your place beside the machine.”

“I’m convinced,” Max protested.

“You say that, but you don’t really mean it,” The Professor replied. “I can see it in your eyes. You doubt the value of my modification. In fact, pretending to be a Control agent, you think you can beat the machine. Don’t you?”