Science Fair (26 page)

Prmkt, listening from the edge of the crowd, was also calculating the time left before the insufferable windbag finished his speech and threw the master switch to power up the science fair. After listening for exactly five more minutes, Prmkt slipped away from the crowd. Passing between rows of silent exhibits, he walked quietly to the utility-room door, opened it, went inside, and gently closed and locked the door. He went to the laptop computer and tapped some keys, running a quick test; numbers flashed on the screen tel ing Prmkt that al was ready. He glanced at his watch and calculated that Swingle would throw the master switch in about ten minutes. Prmkt would then begin executing his plan.

The plan consisted of several stages. The first stage was designed to get the country’s attention—to shake the smug Americans awake and show them that the safe and happy world they lived in was only a dream. Once he had their attention, Prmkt would proceed to the next stages of his plan—showing the Americans what they had done and then delivering their punishment.

He looked at his watch. Less than ten minutes now. He rested his hands gently on the keyboard, feeling the power in the keys—keys that he would soon use to turn the American dream into the American nightmare.

T
HE SIRENS DREW CLOSER
. Toby, Micah, and Tamara, running as fast as their tired legs would carry them, made yet another random turn into yet another unfamiliar street. Ten yards behind them trotted Vrsk; behind him staggered the gasping and utterly exhausted Drmtsi.

Toby stopped and put his hands on his knees, gulping air. Micah and Tamara did the same. The
whoop whoop whoop
of the sirens grew louder.

“Maybe we should split up,” said Tamara.

“Why?” asked Toby.

“I dunno,” admitted Tamara. “But in the movies, when people are getting chased, they always split up.”

“I wish
they’d
split up from us,” said Micah, nodding at Vrsk and Drmtsi, who had just staggered up.

“I wish I knew where we were,” said Toby.

“There’s some lights that way,” said Micah, pointing toward the far end of the street. “Hey! There’s a Starbucks!”

“Great,” said Tamara. “That narrows our location down to…the planet Earth.”

“No, it’s good,” said Toby.

“See?” said Micah. “It’s good!” He turned to Toby. “Why is it good?”

“We can ask the Starbucks people where we are,” said Toby, trotting toward the end of the street, fol owed by the others. In two minutes they were inside the Starbucks. Behind the counter, a young man and a young woman eyed them curiously, noting the filaments running from Toby’s hat to his shoes, and the stained and stinky clothing of the two Krpshtskanis, who were pointing to the cappuccino machine and talking excitedly in Krpsht.

“May I help you?” said the woman.

“Yes,” said Toby. “Where are we?”

The man and woman eyed each other. The woman said, “In a Starbucks.”

“I know that,” said Toby. “I mean, which one?”

“It doesn’t have a special name,” said the woman. “It’s just a Starbucks like every other Starbucks.”

“No, no, no,” said Toby, exasperated. “I mean, where is it located? What’s the address?”

But before the woman could answer, Vrsk, on orders from Drmtsi, broke in.

“Excuse my pardon,” he said. “But are you sel ing this?” He pointed at the cappuccino machine behind the counter.

“You want a cappuccino?” asked the attendant.

“We are wanting this, yes,” said Vrsk.

“What size?” said the man.

“What?” said Vrsk.

“We have tal , grande, venti,” the man answered.

“Tal , grande, venti,” repeated Vrsk.

“Tal is actual y smal ,” noted Micah.

“Tal is smal ?” said Vrsk.

“Yeah,” said Micah. “I don’t get it either.”

“So, what size cappuccino?” said the man.

“Wait a minute!” said Toby. “We don’t want a cappuccino, okay? We just want to—”

“Listen,
sir
,” interrupted the attendant. “If this customer wants to buy a cappuccino, then we’re going to—”

“Excuse my pardon,” said Vrsk. “But we are to pay you with TV shopping–people’s card? Is okay?”

“What?” said the man.

“TV shopping–people’s card,” said Vrsk. “We can use to purchase this machine?”

“The
machine
?” said the man. “You want to buy the
machine
?”

“Yes,” said Vrsk. “The tal -smal -grande-venti machine. We wish to purchase this.”

The man and woman glanced at each other again. Outside, a police car shot past, siren whooping. The attendant fol owed it with his eyes, then studied the strange group in front of him.

“Who
are
you people?” he asked.

“We are touristing,” said Vrsk.

Outside, there was a screech of tires. The police car had skidded to a stop about fifty yards down the street and began executing a hasty U-turn.

Behind the counter, the woman pul ed out her cel phone.

“Let’s get out of here,” suggested Tamara. The three friends and two Krpshtskanis rushed out through the front door. To the right, the police car had turned and was heading back.

“This way!” shouted Toby, turning left and sprinting around the side of the Starbucks into a service al ey. They crossed the al ey and clambered over a low chain-link fence into a smal darkened lot strewn with discarded tires and other junk. They stumbled through this lot onto another street, turned left and then right, trying to head away from the sound of the sirens.

But every minute there were more sirens.

After ten minutes of hard running, they stopped to catch their breath in a ragged, wheezing circle.

“Now what?” said Micah, gasping.

“I don’t know,” admitted Toby, feeling cold, tired, lost, and planless.

“Toby,” Tamara said softly, “maybe we should just give up. Turn ourselves in.”

Toby shook his head. “But then they win,” he said. “Whoever they are, whoever got us into this, whatever they’re going to do at the science fair—they win.”

“Whoever they are,” said Tamara, “they already
did
win. The science fair must’ve started by now. Al we’re doing running around out here is making things worse and maybe getting ourselves hurt. It’s bad enough that we’re in this much trouble—how would your parents feel if, on top of al of this, something happened to you? How would they feel, Toby?” Toby bowed his head, thinking about his parents not knowing where he was, sitting at home…

His parents. At home.

“Oh, noooo!” he wailed.

“What?” said Tamara.

“My parents!” he said. “Those guys are coming to my house!”

“What guys?” said Micah.

“The Star Wars lunatics!” said Toby. “They’re gonna rob my house tonight! I have to warn them!” He unclipped the iPhone from his belt, careful not to detach the filaments, then stabbed the ON button and moved the slider to unlock the phone.

“How do you know they’re gonna rob your house?” said Micah.

Toby, tapping the phone touchscreen with trembling fingers, didn’t answer. He finished dialing and held the phone to his ear, listening to the ringing tone, hoping he was in time.

Please, please answer.…

I
N THE HUBBLE GYM
, Lance Swingle was finaly reaching the climax of his speech. This was the part where he stressed that even though he, personaly, because of his scientific genius, had made mil ions and mil ions of dol ars, science was not about money. Here he paused and, with a winning and boyish grin that he practiced in front of a mirror, added, “But don’t worry—the winner stil gets the five thousand dol ars.”

The audience roared with laughter. Especial y amused were Jason Niles, Harmonee Prescott, Haley Hess, and Farrel “The Ferret” Plinkett, who were standing near the front of the crowd with their parents and some other ME kids. They were absolutely sure that one of them would win; they had agreed, earlier that evening, that whoever got first prize, they’d split the money four ways.

“But money,” Swingle was saying, “is not the goal. Yes, I am a wealthy man. Yes, I travel the world, dine with heads of state, date actresses and top supermodels. Yes, I have eight homes, two helicopters, an NBA team, a three-hundred-foot yacht and a 737 jet with a customized interior including a sauna. But those things are not important to me.” In the crowd, The Ferret whispered, “Okay, then give me the supermodels.”

“Shut up,” hissed Harmonee Prescott.

“What is important to me,” continued Swingle, “is that, through my role in making the Hubble Middle School science fair one of the most prestigious science fairs in the nation, I can encourage young people to advance the cause of science.” He gestured toward the rows of projects in the gym before the crowd. “Who knows,” he said, “what great new idea is sitting out there right now, waiting to be brought to life? It could be another TranScent, or perhaps something even more wonderful.” Theatrical y, Swingle reached out his hand, placing it on the master power switch, then said, “Let’s find out, shal we?”

He paused for a moment of drama, then flipped the switch. The crowd cheered as the gym exploded with flashing lights and a cacophony of sounds—the
whir
of motors and gears, the
clunk
and
clink
of levers, the
snap
of sparks, the alarmed
ribbit
of a frog being suddenly levitated. Swingle stepped down from the stage and, fol owed by a flock of judges, headed for the exhibits to begin the judging.

In the utility room, Prmkt began tapping his keyboard.

T
HE PHONE WAS RINGING AGAIN
. Toby’s parents had ignored it the first three times, assuming it was reporters. Toby had been identified from the TV news broadcast of the Jungle Norman raid, and the press had been cal ing constantly, trying to get information. Except Toby’s parents didn’t have any information.

They had cal ed the FBI over and over, but were told only that their son was being held on a matter of national security, and for the time being they could not see him. They had cal ed the local police, who said they had no jurisdiction in a federal matter. They had cal ed their congressman’s and senators’ offices and been told, essential y, nothing. They had just returned from a visit to a lawyer, who, after making a few phone cal s, had told them that, for the moment, they had no effective legal options.

It was like a bad dream. Their
son
! A matter of
national security
!

The phone stopped ringing. It was quiet for five seconds and then started ringing again. Roger and Fawn, their faces haggard from worry and sleeplessness, looked at each other across the smal round kitchen table where they were trying to eat dinner. Neither had much of an appetite, mainly because of Toby, but also because the dinner was meatless shish kebab, which was basical y tofu on a stick.

“This is ridiculous,” said Roger. “I’m gonna take it off the hook.” He rose and went to the wal phone.

“What if it’s not a reporter?” said Fawn. “Maybe you should check.”

Roger looked at the phone for a second, sighed, and picked up the handset.

“Hel o?” he said.

“Dad!” said Toby.

“Toby?” said Roger, and in an instant Fawn was on her feet.