Robot Trouble (14 page)

Wendy scowled and jabbed angrily at the circuit board with her micropliers. She wanted to say something to Rachel, but she didn't know how. What really bugged her was that she had gone from being the wounded party to being the villain.

It had happened when Rachel had come to her with an apology the day after she told Dr. Remov about Wendy's password program. It had been a first-class apology: Rachel had admitted it was all her fault, talked about how awful she felt, and asked to be excused for the error.

Unfortunately, instead of accepting the apology, Wendy had been scathingly sarcastic and said some things—well, several things—that she now wished she had kept to herself.

Since then, Rachel hadn't spoken a word to her unless absolutely necessary.

The solution, Wendy knew, was simple. It was her turn to apologize. But it made her angry to have to come up with an apology when the whole mess had been Rachel's fault to begin with.

Besides, she didn't do apologies.

“Hi, guys!” said Ray, bounding through the door with his basketball firmly in his grip. “How's it going?”

The most articulate responses came from Norman the Doorman, who said, “Greetings and welcome!” and Rin Tin Stainless Steel, who barked, “Hi, handsome!”

The girls looked up and grunted their greetings, but neither actually spoke.

“Almost ready to rearrange that robot's brain?” asked Ray, looking over Wendy's shoulder at the circuit board.

“Bug off!” she snapped.

“Right,” said Ray. “I figured you'd say that.”

Nice work, Wendy,
thought the Wonderchild.
Keep it up and maybe they'll find a nice hole for you to work in so you don't keep offending civilized people
.

Ray dribbled his ball across the room to where Rachel was working. “How's it going, partner?” he asked, hoping for a friendlier response than he had gotten from Wendy.

“Jmphgurg,” replied Rachel, trying to talk around the pencil she had clenched between her teeth.

Ray accurately translated this to mean, “Just a minute—” He put down his basketball and sat on it. His use of the word
partner
had been deliberate, since he was also assigned to the scanner project.

He had been assigned to it primarily because of his glitch-spotting abilities. When Rachel was trying to get the computer to actually understand what she had given it to read, it was usually Ray who could spot the break in communications between human and machine. He didn't know how he did it; it was just an ability he had.

Rachel finished what she was doing and looked up, then down to where Ray sat. “Hi.”

“Feeling nonverbal?”

She shrugged. “Actually, I feel like I've got words coming out my ears. I've fed a small library into this thing. But I still can't figure out what ends up in the comprehensive memory and what remains in isolated cells.”

“What's comprehensive memory?” asked Hap, who had come in along with Trip just in time to hear the end of Rachel's comment.

Wendy looked up from the control panel with a witty remark about ignorant grease monkeys on the tip of her tongue. To her enormous relief, she managed to squelch it before the words escaped and did her more damage.

“It's the computer's general working memory,” said Rachel. “The stuff it can draw on without being instructed to look for it specifically. The comprehensive memory also holds the things it can do without a lot of special instructions: number crunching, word processing, tasks like that. The more comprehensive memory a computer has, the ‘smarter' it is.”

“And isolated cells?”

Rachel frowned. “Well, having an isolated cell is a little like memorizing a formula from a physics book without understanding what to do with it. The information is there, but it doesn't do you much good. Right now this computer has a lot of specific knowledge without knowing what to do with it.” She paused and frowned. “Was that clear?”

Hap grinned. “Like mud.”

“Let me see if I can think of an example.” She paused again and rolled her eyes sideways, as if she was actually looking into her brain for the answer. “Let's try this one. The computer ‘knows' plants can't grow without water.”

“How do you know it knows that?” asked Wendy, drawn into the conversation in spite of herself.

“I don't, I'm just trying to set up an example. Now, let's say it also knows that there's no water in the Sahara. But it holds those facts in isolation. So if I ask if plants can grow in the Sahara, unless I tell it how to get the answer, it doesn't know. That's isolated cells.

“Now, the material in the comprehensive memory has been integrated. That means that in the structure of the computer's functions, it can be applied in many different ways, to many different problems. I hate to use this word, but you can almost think of it as material the computer
understands
.

“The problem I'm having now is that when I feed material through the scanner, I don't know what it's going to integrate and what information will end up as useless facts.”

“I thought that was the whole point of attaching the scanner,” said Hap. “To build up its supply of facts.”

“Useful facts,” said Rachel. “Although the ‘useless' ones aren't entirely wasted. They'll be there when the time comes.”

“What time?” asked Roger, walking in from the other room. “Lunchtime, I hope.”

“No, pea brain. The time of critical mass when all this comes together and brings the computer to the next step of awareness. Right now my big job is moving stuff from the isolated cells to the comprehensive memory. But the more stuff you get in there, the easier it gets.”

“Which means the smarter it gets, the faster it can get smart,” said Roger. “Until finally it reaches the Breakthrough Point, and then Bingo! It puts
everything
together. All that knowledge, completely integrated. It will be
awesome
. Now can we eat? I'm hungry!”

“How are the rocket plans coming?” asked Hap.

“No problemo. We start construction tomorrow!”

A rocket.

Black Glove stared at the wall of the secret room without really seeing it. Those crazy kids were actually building a rocket for that crackpot Weiskopf and his singing robot.

The funniest part was, it would probably work. They were just bright enough to pull it off—especially with the help they could get from some of the more softhearted scientists.

Hands pressed together, Black Glove drummed one set of leather-covered fingertips against the other. After a time a slow smile creased the spy's face. Interesting possibilities were beginning to present themselves.

This rocket could be the key to solving my communications problem. Which means there doesn't have to be any “probably” when it comes to the success of the thing. I'll just make sure they get all the help they need!

Black Glove chuckled.

Yes, that's it. We'll all help each other! I'll do whatever I can to make sure the rocket gets built successfully. In return, those brats will give me a perfect way to start getting information off the island again!

“Okay, that does it!” said Wendy. “I think it's going to work!”

“Shall we give it a trial run?” asked Hap, snapping the back onto the black plastic case he had just finished rewiring.

“Why, Dr. Swenson—I thought you'd never ask! Let's drive over to the cavern and see if we can't make Deathmonger sit up and whistle Dixie for us.”

Hap insisted on driving, much to the Wonderchild's annoyance.

“You attract too much attention,” he explained. “Partly because you drive so fast. but mostly because people can barely see your head above the wheel and so they think the dune buggy is driving itself!”

It was only the fact that they were driving along a narrow road that edged a steep drop to the ocean when he said this that saved Hap from Wendy's wrath.

Deathmonger was waiting in the cavern, right where they had left it.

“Hi, gorgeous,” said the Wonderchild, patting the fanged monstrosity. “Ready to strut your stuff for your new boss?”

“He's not talking,” said Hap. “Must be in a bad mood.”

“We'll see about that!” Wendy pressed a button on the remote control. Immediately Deathmonger's eyes began to flash. A low grumbling sound issued from its center. “Contact!” crowed Wendy.

She pushed another button, and the robot began to roll in their direction.

“Not so close!” cried Hap. “That thing still makes me nervous.”

“Do you take back that crack about my driving?” asked Wendy.

“I take it back, I take it back! Now get that thing away from me.”

Wendy punched another button and the robot turned right. “This is all pretty elementary,” she said as she directed the robot through a series of figure eights. “But I think we've got the problem licked. Now we need a control box for each of us, and the code numbers for the other robots. Of course, if my password program was still working, I could just call those up on the computer.”

“Give it a rest, will you?” said Hap. “We're all waiting for you and Rachel to patch things up so we can get back to normal.”

Wendy acted as if she hadn't heard him. “Come here,” she said. “I want you to help me with a little surprise I've got in mind. Then we can take Deathmonger here home.”

“That's going to be a relief,” said Hap. “Brody's been like a mad dog since the thing disappeared. I can't say as I blame him. He's got to know we have it. He just can't figure out what we did with it.”

“Probably thinks we took it out to sea and sank it,” said Wendy. “One of the many things that bothers me about that clown is he's the only person I know who thinks I get away with more than I actually do.”

“As opposed to your parents,” said Hap, “who would die if they knew even half of it.”

“I can't believe it,” said Dr. Weiskopf, looking at the array of parts that stretched across the floor of the abandoned hangar. “I never thought you would get this far.”

“We're determined little devils,” said Roger, flipping down his safety visor so he could resume welding. “I think we'll be ready to launch before the month is over.”

“I'm delighted!” said Dr. Weiskopf. “Of course, that means I have a lot to do myself. I need to get Euterpe into tiptop shape for her journey. And the sensors still need some work. Plus I've got to check the gravity compensators…”

He wandered away, ticking off the tasks on his sausagelike fingers. Rachel smiled as she watched him leave. “What a sweet little man,” she said fondly.

Mr. Swenson gave her a bemused look. “Do you know what his nickname used to be?”

The twins shook their heads.

“I do,” said Trip, who was measuring a sheet of metal for a fin. “He was called ‘The Sword of the Desert.' ”

“The Sword of the Desert?” echoed Rachel. “Why, for heaven's sake?”

“He was one of the most respected soldiers in the Middle Eastern wars a few decades back,” said Mr. Swenson. “He had a reputation for killing swiftly, and without mercy.”

“Dr. Weiskopf?” asked Roger incredulously.

“Yes. He… uh-oh. Looks like trouble.” Roger turned to follow Mr. Swenson's gaze.

Dr. Hwa had just walked through the door of the hangar, Bridget McGrory striding along beside him.

“Well,” said Dr. Hwa, surveying the accumulation of parts. “This is quite a project you youngsters have developed. I'm most impressed.”

“Please don't make us stop,” pleaded Rachel. “We're not hurting anything, and it means so much to Dr. Weiskopf. It really won't be any problem. And—”

“My dear girl, you misunderstand me,” said Dr. Hwa, holding up his right hand. The large ruby ring he always wore glittered as it caught a stray beam of light reflecting off the rocket. “I don't want you to stop work. I will say I am quite offended that no one saw fit to tell me about this little project. But I'm here to give it my blessing.”

Rachel had been about to launch into another defense of the project. Her jaw hung open as she tried to assimilate the meaning of Dr. Hwa's words.

“Actually,” he continued, “I've been concerned about staff morale for some time. Between the isolation and the security problems, group spirit is not what it should be. A project like this could provide some useful diversion.”

“Makes sense to me,” said Roger.

“I think you'll be interested in this,” said Dr. Hwa, extending a carefully folded sheet of paper in Roger's direction.

 

Twerps in Space

Roger opened the paper. Inside, written in a tight, tidy hand, was a seemingly meaningless string of numbers and letters.

Dr. Hwa chuckled at the puzzled look on Roger's face. “It's a security code for the computer. One of many,” he added pointedly. “Don't expect it to give you unlimited access to our classified files!”

Rachel blushed, wondering if despite Dr. Remov's assurances, information about Wendy's password program had somehow reached Dr. Hwa.

“What you
can
access with this,” continued Dr. Hwa, “are the original plans for Air Base Anza-bora, and an inventory of materials left behind by the Air Force. That should prove useful to you. Among other things, this will give you the locations of some missile silos. You may find using one of them more efficient than trying to build a launchpad from scratch.”

“I…I don't know what to say,” stammered Roger.

“Which is almost unheard of for him,” said Rachel. “But if he was thinking straight, he might start with ‘thank you.' We really are very grateful, Dr. Hwa.”

The little scientist waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “I only hope you will open this to the other researchers so that they can participate as well. As I said, I think it will be good for morale. You see, Rachel, at heart I am a pragmatist. My offer may
seem
generous, but it is also good for me. The best arrangements always work that way.” He smiled, then added, “I had one more reason, quite compelling, to offer my assistance.”