Science Fair (30 page)

After acknowledging the applause, Swingle shouldered The Hornet off the microphone and said, “We’re not going to let a little blackout worry us, are we?”

“Nooo,” answered the crowd, somewhat unconvinced.

“Of course we’re not!” said Swingle. “So let’s have a look at these projects!”

With that, he joined The Hornet and a gaggle of teachers.

“Ready?” he said to The Hornet.

The Hornet frowned and looked around. “Where’s Mr. Pzyrbovich?” she asked.

“He was here a few minutes ago,” answered one of the teachers.

Swingle looked pointedly at his watch. The Hornet looked around some more, but saw no sign of Mr. P. She did not look pleased.

“We’l just have to do this without him,” she said.

“Good idea,” said Swingle, leading the way, as the group set out once again to judge the science fair.

A few feet away, inside the utility room just off the gym, Prmkt was watching his computer screen. He had four windows open. Two were showing him the efforts—stil futile—of the power companies to regain control over their systems. One was showing the statuses of various communications satel ites. The fourth window was showing CNN. There were several people on the screen, al frowning deeply; one was described on the screen as a terrorism expert. They were saying that the president of the United States would soon be addressing the nation.

Prmkt smiled at that. He began tapping the keys again.

He would give the president something more to talk about.

N
OBODY HAD EVER SEEN ANYTHING LIKE IT
anywhere, ever. Somebody, somehow, was turning the power off, and then back on, over huge sections of North America, like a child flicking switches in a living room. A few minutes earlier the power had been returned to the Northeast, but at that same moment the Midwest, including Chicago, had gone dark. Then the Midwest came back and California went down. Right now Texas was dark.

Every available technician in North America was working frantical y to find answers. But as yet nobody had a clue who or what was causing the blackouts or where the next one would strike.

The U.S. military was now on high alert al over the world—a world becoming more tense by the second as the chaos spread across America. Financial markets were severely disrupted as critical computer systems lost power, threatening huge amounts of data. Backups were holding; but for how long? Planes were making emergency landings everywhere as the FAA, not knowing which airports would be affected next, struggled to halt commercial air travel. Telecommunications, including the Internet and e-mail, had become highly erratic and unreliable, as had radio and TV transmissions. Many cities were paralyzed by horrendous traffic jams; tens of thousands of drivers were abandoning their cars on freeways and trying to get home on foot.

This disruption had already—in less than an hour—cost the country bil ions of dol ars. But that was a pittance compared to the devastating price to be paid if the mysterious blackouts were not stopped soon. Americans depended on electrical technology for every element of their lives—their economy, their government, their food, their shelter, their communication, their transportation, their medical care—
everything
. Without that technology, American society would plunge into a primitive, desperate, fearful, and dangerous state from which the country might never recover.

Panic was spreading, particularly in the big cities. There already were reports of supermarkets being looted by mobs of people who feared that the food would soon run out.

Gunshots had been reported in some areas. Rumors swirled everywhere about who, or what, was causing the blackouts. Most of the rumors involved terrorists, but there were many other theories, including some that blamed extraterrestrial beings.

Americans were scared. They felt their comfortable world crumbling around them. They wanted the blackouts to stop, and they wanted somebody to assure them that everything would be al right again. The person they most wanted to hear these assurances from was the president, who was scheduled to address the nation “in a matter of minutes.” The networks had been saying that for the last half hour.

The problem was that, at the moment, the president didn’t know any more about the blackouts than anybody else did. The president was very angry about this. He was running for re-election, and he did NOT want to tel the nation he didn’t know what was happening. He wanted to tel the nation he had everything under control. So he was putting extreme pressure on his people to get him some answers RIGHT NOW. His people were, in turn, putting extreme pressure on power-industry officials, who were putting extreme pressure on their staffs.

This was why Bernard Kosar was currently holding a phone to each of his ears. In each ear was the shouting voice of a high-level executive of Mid-Atlantic Power. Kosar had tried to explain that his people were already working as hard as they could, but this didn’t stop the executives from shouting; they had been shouted at by the people above them, and they felt a need to shout at the people below.

Kosar heard a tap on his doorframe and looked up to see Robert Joseph gesturing to indicate he wanted to tel Kosar something. Kosar put the two phones down on his desk.

“What?” he said to Joseph.

“It’s coming from around here,” Joseph said.

“What is?’

“The hack,” said Joseph. “It’s coming from Maryland.”

Kosar waved his arms. “For everything? The whole country?”

“I think so,” said Joseph.

Kosar was on his feet. “How do you know that?”

Joseph started to answer, but he was using computer terms so technical that to Kosar it might as wel have been Chinese. Worse, actual y, because Kosar spoke a little Chinese.

He waved an arm to make Joseph stop.

“Okay, never mind,” he said. “Where, exactly, are they in Maryland?”

“I don’t know yet,” said Joseph.

“Find out,” said Kosar.

Joseph started to say something, but then he saw the look in Kosar’s eyes.

“Okay,” he said and left.

Kosar picked up the phones. The executives were stil shouting. He gently put the phones back down, a few inches apart. He’d let the executives shout at each other, while the nerdy kid in the other room tried to save the world.

B
AM BAM BAMBAMBAMBAMBAM

The men in the basement were trying to break down the door. They’d been pounding on it with their fists, but the door proved to be too solid. Now, however, they’d found something heavier to bludgeon it with—a chair, maybe, or a basebal bat. They were hitting the door hard; from what Toby’s parents had seen, one of them was huge.

Roger stood by the door, watching it warily as it shook with each blow. Fawn was at the kitchen telephone; she’d just dialed 911 yet again. She hung up in frustration.

“It’s stil busy!” she said. “How can 911 be busy?”

“It’s the blackout,” said Roger.

BAMBAMBAMBAMBAM

“Roger,” said Fawn, “they’re going to knock it down. We should go.”

“You go,” he said. “I’m staying. I’m not letting them take the col ection.”

She went to him, put a hand on his arm. “Roger,” she said softly, “it’s just some old movie props.” He turned from the door, took her hands in his, and looked into her eyes. “Fawn,” he said, “do you remember how we met? Do you?” She nodded, but he answered anyway: “We met in a movie theater, Fawn. We met because we were the only two people who went to every single showing of
The Empire Strikes
Back
. Every single one, for
three days
, until the movie theater cal ed the police. People said we were crazy, but we didn’t care, because we knew we were part of something great, something that would last.

“And it did last, Fawn. We were right, and those people were wrong, just like they were wrong when we quit our jobs and spent al our time and money scavenging for those props.

That col ection is worth a fortune today, Fawn.”

BAMBAMBAMBAMBAM

“What does it matter what it’s worth?” said Fawn. “You’l never sel it.”

“That’s right,” said Roger. “I won’t sel it because it’s part of me—part of
us
. Star Wars brought us together, Fawn. It gave us a purpose when we didn’t have one. It taught us that there is good and evil in the universe, and if good doesn’t stand up to evil and fight back, then evil wil win.” He pointed at the door. “And right now, somebody dressed as Darth Vader, the very embodiment of evil, is trying to take our col ection.”

“But the big one looks like Chewbacca,” said Fawn. “Isn’t he supposed to be good?”

“Maybe he switched sides,” said Roger.

BAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAM—CRACK

The door was giving way.

“You go,” said Roger. “Maybe you can find help. I’m going to stay and fight.”

“With
what
?” said Fawn. “You don’t have a weapon.”

“I do too have a weapon,” said Roger. He turned and strode down the hal to their bedroom, with Fawn fol owing. He went to the closet and reached up to the top shelf.

“Are you
insane
?” she said. “It’s a
movie prop
!”

Roger brought down a custom-made case and set it on the bed. He flipped the latches and opened the lid.

BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM

“It may be a movie prop to you,” he said. “To me, it is the weapon Luke Skywalker used in the greatest duel of al —the duel with Vader in the freezing chamber on Cloud City.” He pul ed out a battered-looking light saber.

“But Luke lost that duel,” said Fawn. “Vader cut off his
hand
.”

“Yes, but Luke lived to fight again,” said Roger.

“I think you’re better off with the barbecue tongs,” said Fawn.

Ignoring her, Roger put the light saber on the bed and went back into the closet, emerging a moment later with a black Jedi Knight uniform on a hanger. He quickly stripped down to his underwear and shrugged into the black top.

BAMBAMBAMBAMBAM

“You’re wearing
that
?” said Fawn.

“I want him to know what he’s fighting,” said Roger.

“A lunatic?” said Fawn.

“He’s fighting the Force,” said Roger. “The
good
side of the Force. And there is no power in the universe more powerful. Help me with my pants.” Roger had put on a few pounds since the last time he had been a Jedi Knight. The black pants were stuck midway up his thighs.

BAMBAMBAMBAMBAM
CRACK CRACK CRACK

“Roger!” said Fawn, “they’re breaking through the door!”

There was no time now for pants. Roger grabbed the light saber and, hindered by his halfway-up pants, waddled into the hal way to do battle with evil.

L
ANCE SWINGLE—TRAILED BY THE HORNET
, a gaggle of science teachers, and a crowd of spectators—walked slowly through the Hubble Middle gymnasium, pretending to be interested in the science fair. What he was real y interested in was getting out of there. The mysterious blackouts had made him very nervous; he’d told his lackeys to let him know as soon as the TranScent helicopter could take off.

Meanwhile, though, he was looking with fake fascination at science-fair projects. He had just reached the one submitted by Brad Pitt Wemplemeyer, who stood next to it, beaming with pride. His project consisted of a fifty-five-gal on drum containing a brown liquid. Suspended over this, hanging from a wire, was a large, multicolored disc, about the size of a smal car tire. Next to the project was a sign that said THE POWER OF SURFACE TENSION.