Nikki Tesla and the Traitors of the Lost Spark

by Jess Keating

Bert swallowed. “Does … does who know what?” he squeaked. In a matter of seconds, his cheeks went from beet red to nearly white.

  Artie exhaled loudly, amused at his own brilliance. “Is that enough?” he asked casually, grinning at Mary. “Or can we crack on?”

  “No way,” Charlie shouted. “Now do me!” She clambered by Bert to get closer to Artie.

  “I’m not a circus act!” Artie said, backing away from her.

  “Pleaaase?” she asked, clutching her hands like a prayer.

  “Fine, fine …” he said. “You’re an easy mark, Charlotte Darwin. Animal hair all over your shirt. The Academy’s resident biologist. There are remnants of dirt under the fingernails of your hand, but the dirt from the first three fingernails differs from the dirt on your ring and pinkie finger, so you’ve also recently been doing some controlled experiments on soil … likely to ascertain the most suitable environment for the collection of snails you’ve been gathering from Genius Academy grounds in the past two months.”

  Charlie pinched her mouth into a tight line, then a devious expression crossed over her face. “Sure, all that’s the easy stuff,” she teased. “What’s my favorite color?”

  Every head in the room swiveled back to Artie, as though we were watching a very nerdy tennis match.

  Artie didn’t miss a beat. “This one thinks it’s blue,” he said, pointing to Bert. “But it is one hundred percent, most definitely green.”

  “Ha!” Bert yelped, pointing at him. “You’re wrong! Her favorite is blue! I know this because we all chipped in and got her a bright blue bike for her birthday!”

  “Oh, dear,” Artie said, looking to Charlie. “Should you tell them, or should I?”

  Charlie bowed her head sheepishly. “I really love the bike, guys!” she said. “But …”

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” Bert wailed, throwing his arms up. “I asked you! I asked you specifically! I said, ‘Hey, Charlie, what’s your favorite color?’ And you said, ‘BLUE!’ ” He shoved his glasses back up onto his nose and glared at her.

  “I know!” Charlie cried. “I’m sorry! I was in the middle of my soil samples when you asked, and you were standing so close to my snails, I would have said anything to get you out of there! I thought you were going to crush them!” She couldn’t hide her laughter. “I didn’t realize till you’d left what you were even asking!”

  “I think we’ve heard enough,” Grace said with a weary sigh. “We need to focus on stealing the antidote.”

  “And what’s your plan?” Artie asked.

  “We know our suspect is selling it in three days’ time. They’re meeting at St Bart’s Hospital, back in London. We’re going to let the swap happen, and when the buyer tries to leave, we’ll stop the elevators, administer a mild sedative, and pocket the antidote while he’s passed out. No violence. No witnesses.”

  Artie’s lower lip puckered out. “Well, that sounds boring.”

  “Artie …” Mary warned again.

  “Fine, fine.” He lifted his hands in apology. “It’s a great plan. It can work.”

  “Thanks,” Grace said. “You’re not the only smart one in the room.” She sounded serious, but the playful twinkle in her eyes gave her away. Already, she respected Arthur. “So you’re in? You’ll help us?”

  “I will,” Arthur said. “But we should get started right away. We’ve only got three days to get this right.”

  “Agreed,” Leo said. “Let’s start with the elevator. Do you have a computer I could borrow?”

  Arthur breezed past us out the door, turning over his shoulder to answer. “I rather think we should start with something else, Leo. All of you, follow me!”

  “Where are we going?” Charlie asked as we made our way down the ancient hallway. It was the question all of us were thinking.

  Arthur marched us down a long, twisted staircase. “To my lab. It’s time for a little target practice.”

  “I know I said I was on board with this mission, but nobody said anything about dangling from the ceiling of a castle wearing ten bathrobes like a sloppy disco ball!” Bert’s voice echoed from above my head.

  I couldn’t blame him. Suspended from the ballroom’s high ceiling with a set of raggedy ropes tied around his middle like a harness, Bert was red-faced, annoyed, and not afraid to show it.

  It was officially time for Operation Poison Dart Frog.

  Operation Poison Dart Frog had three phases. Mo, Charlie, and Leo were in charge of Phase 1. They were using some of Artie’s tech to figure out a way to control the elevators so we could stop them between floors remotely.

  Arthur and I were responsible for Phase 2, which involved my specialty: invention! We had to design a robot that could shoot a tranquilizer dart from a distance so we could successfully sedate the buyer.

  Then Mary, Charlie, and Grace would nab the antidote when the buyer was knocked out and get us out of there without being caught. That was Phase 3.

  Easy enough, right? At least, it would have been if we could get the stupid robot to work.

  “Quit complaining,” I yelled back. “The bathrobes are for your protection! You want to get shot at without them?” Fiddling with the knobs of Artie’s invention, I swiveled a small metal tube to tighten my aim on Bert. “Incoming!”

  Another dart shot from the tube, zinging through the air and narrowly missing Bert’s knee.

  “Ha!” he cried. “Missed me!” Bert yanked on his ropes with one arm and kicked the air in triumph.

  “I’ll get you next time, Einstein.” I glared at him, taking a sip from the iced tea that Mrs. Hudson had brought us for hydration during our little experiment.

  Once Arthur and I had repurposed one of his old robots to shoot tranquilizer darts, I’d sweet-talked a laptop out of Leo and connected the robot wirelessly to a primitive targeting system, which operated based on simple directions and commands using a coordinate system.

  I have to admit, despite missing my own academy lab space, there was something epic about working in a castle.

  When we’d left his study, I’d been surprised to find out that Arthur, besides being extremely gifted with the powers of deduction, was also something of an inventor himself. He’d led us to his spacious ballroom-turned-laboratory, with treasures and trinkets lining every shelf. My fingers skimmed over rusted copper flying contraptions, water-stained beakers and chipped vases of every size, metal bicycles, ornate prosthetic limbs, and handheld weapons with rivets dotting their sides. In the corner, what looked to be a Victorian motorcycle with dusty headlamps stared at us like the eyes of a steampunk dragonfly.

  It was spectacular.

  The only catch? Everything in his lab was ancient.

  “Have you ever thought about adding in some more … recent materials to your lab, Arthur? We’ve come a long way since the 1800s,” I said, wiping my oil-stained fingers on the front of my pants.

  He shrugged. “Mary used to tease me about it, but I’ve always enjoyed working with historical technology. There’s something fun about bringing something back to life.”

  I peered into the small viewfinder of our robot, aiming again at Bert’s dangling legs.

  “Round three!” I shouted. “Heads up!” I hit the small button on the robot and watched a fake dart fly toward Bert, missing his elbow.

  “Argh!” I threw the screwdriver in my hands down to the ground. “Why can’t I get this thing to aim properly?! Should we just point it manually rather than worry about the targeting system?”

  Bert wagged his finger at me from above. “Maybe you should be up here, Tesla! Leave the mechanics to a real inventor!” He cackled loudly, swishing his feet around in a sarcastic jig.

  “Oh, stuff it, Einstein.” I glowered up at him. “I should program this thing to respond to your voice so you have to spend the rest of your life running from my little poison darts! Or fill some balloon grenades with glitter paint so you can look like the disco ball you’re so afraid of becoming. Whatever wipes that smirk
off your face.”

  “That’s not a bad idea.” Arthur grinned. “But you might want to tell your ferret to watch out.”

  “What?” I turned to find Pickles racing from beneath one of the tall benches, away from a clanging, metal disk that whirred along the floor after her. The name Watson was scrawled on its side in thick black letters.

  “Is that …?” I pointed to the robot chasing her and laughed. It bonked against my feet, sending Pickles into a chattering tizzy on my shoulder.

  “A remote vacuum cleaner, yes,” Arthur said, grinning. “Named after an old friend. Don’t tell Mrs. Hudson, but I feel bad that she’s always having to clean up the castle. I designed several cleaning robots for each wing of the estate. She refuses to speak in front of them, though, so I have a feeling she thinks they’re surveillance devices.”

  “Brilliant,” I said. “I might have to borrow one for my lab.”

  “They do a terrible job of cleaning,” he admitted. “But they’re decent company in this big place.”

  I glanced up at him from where I knelt, loading our robot with another dart. The castle was cool, but the thought of spending my days here mostly alone made me weary.

  “You know,” I started. “We could use someone like you at Genius Academy.” I kept my voice down so Bert couldn’t hear me. It was pretty obvious that Arthur and Bert were destined to be two like charges, repelling each other at every turn.

  Arthur’s foot tapped beside me. “Martha tried to recruit me a couple of years ago,” he said. “I turned her down.”

  I blinked at him. “Really? I had no idea!”

  “Yep,” he said. “Mary told me that I’d be stupid not to join the team, too.” He grinned. “But I always felt more at home by myself. Plus, I could tell that being near me reminded Mary too much of …”

  “Of what?” I asked.

  “A time she’d rather forget,” he said, bowing his head slightly. “We grew up together, and I think I remind her a lot of when her parents were still … around.”

  “Oh.” The silence hung heavy between us as I tried to imagine what Mary was like before I knew her. She’d been through so much yet somehow had remained one of the kindest, cleverest people I knew.

  Arthur broke the tension with a laugh. “And let’s not forget that Bert would probably drop out of the Academy if I joined,” he added.

  “Bert’s just Bert,” I said, like that explained everything.

  Arthur stared at me for a beat. “I’ll think about it,” he said.

  “Good,” I said, rolling one of the small darts in my palm. “Besides, we may be able to help you with your cases, too. Like that robbery stuff you were talking about. You could help us, and we could help you.”

  “Teamwork,” he mused, quirking an eyebrow.

  “Exactly!” I said.

  “It would be nice to have another pair of eyes on this one case,” he said. “Most robberies are pretty simple and straightforward, but something about this guy feels different. He’s incredibly canny.” He got that faraway expression on his face again, staring past me as I loaded the robot with another dart and sent it flying at Bert. This time it whizzed past his chest.

  “How so?” The familiar prickle of curiosity niggled at me. If someone as smart as Arthur couldn’t figure it out, it had to be a good case.

  He hesitated for a moment, as if weighing whether he wanted to share more. Finally, though, he sifted through some of the dusty folders on his workspace desk and plopped one down in front of me. “See?” he said, running his finger down a column of numbers and names. “They always steal two million dollars at a time. But it’s who they’re targeting that has me worried.”

  I lifted the pages for a closer look. “PharmaTech … BioSourceSolutions … ChemStart …” I frowned at Arthur. “They’re stealing from science corporations?”

  Arthur lit up. “Yes! Laboratories, pharmaceutical companies, even nonprofit organizations. They’re targeting companies that make medicines and drugs, or do a lot of research into them. Why?”

  I let out a sigh, shaking my head. “Sounds like they have a grudge against … science?” I offered. “Maybe it’s not about the money. Maybe it’s personal.” I continued to page through the document, looking for something to connect them all.

  “See, I thought of that,” he said. “I even managed to track the thief down and get a visual, then used that to see if he was some disgruntled employee out for revenge.”

  “And?” I asked, hopeful.

  “There was nothing,” he said. “No connection whatsoever between Victor and the scientific community.”

  My heart skipped a beat, and the folder slipped from my hand, sending the papers scattering to the floor in a flurry.

  “Hey!” Bert yelled from his ropes. “You okay down there, Nikki?”

  “Victor,” I breathed. I turned to Arthur in shock, then immediately knelt down, frantically searching through the papers again. “His name is Victor?! Show me, Arthur—where is his picture? Where is it?!”

  Arthur knelt beside me and swept the papers together in one big motion. “Here!” he said. “I got his picture from surveillance.” He found the page he was looking for and placed it in my hands.

  Familiar deep-set eyes stared back at me. It was the man with the dark hair who had smiled at me at the Tower of London.

  “It’s him!” I shouted, stabbing at the paper with my finger. “Holy guacamole, Arthur, it’s him!”

  “Who’s him?” Leo’s voice startled me. He and the others appeared in the ballroom doorway with concerned expressions. “And what’s with all the shouting?”

  I raced forward to the group and shoved the picture at Leo’s face. “Victor is him!” I exclaimed. “Arthur had a picture from his own file on some robberies! We’re tracking the same person!”

  “What?!” Charlie yelped. “No way!” She snatched the photograph from me to examine it. “Robberies? Since when does this dude want money?”

  “That’s not all!” I stammered, too flabbergasted to speak clearly. “He’s been targeting drug companies and research labs. He only steals from them.”

  Leo frowned. “So he’s got a grudge, then? Is it personal?”

  “That’s what I said!” I said, my mind racing to put it all together. “But he’s got no ties to anything related to science. Right, Arthur?”

  “That’s right,” he said. His expression turned dark. “What are the odds that we’re tracking the same person?”

  Grace frowned. “My thoughts exactly.” Her eyelids narrowed with suspicion.

  “It’s just a coincidence!” I said. “Sometimes we have to rely on luck when we’re inventing stuff, right? That’s all this is. We’re finally getting a stroke of good luck. Arthur is after the same person we are!”

  Arthur licked his lips. “I have to disagree, Nikki,” he said.

  “What?!” I said.

  “I’m sorry, but I think we need to accept that there might be some reason we ended up tracking the same person, even though we live thousands of miles away from each other,” he said. “There is no such thing as a coincidence.”

  I scoffed. “Oh, come on!” I said, waving my hands at the group. “Up until we showed up on your doorstep, what on earth connected our work? Tell me exactly what common thread there is between you pondering your cases up here alone in your castle and the missions Genius Academy undertakes!”

  Arthur hesitated, his cheeks burning red. His mouth stayed clamped shut.

  “See!” I slammed my hands down on my hips. “Nothing has changed—we still need to catch Victor and steal the antidote. But now we know a little more about him. This is good news!”

  Grace clapped her hands together. “I agree,” she said. “Maybe it’s luck. Maybe it’s not. But we have a job to do either way. I suggest we do it. Our tickets back to London are booked. We leave at dawn. We’re getting that antidote if it’s the last thing we do.”

  “Er … guys? What’s everyone talking about?” Bert call
ed from above. “Can someone let me down from here?”

  I smiled at Mary, giving her the tiniest of winks. I knew how edgy she’d been on this trip so far, and a stroke of fortune had to make our task a little more manageable. With Arthur’s help, we could catch this guy together!

  But when I made eye contact with her, instead of her usual gentle and optimistic expression, her mouth was tight and creased with worry.

  That’s when it really hit me: Whatever we were facing in the days to come, Mary was afraid of it.

  Exactly seventeen hours, forty-two minutes, and fifty-four seconds later, we were stationed in St Bartholomew’s Hospital, waiting for the exact moment to strike.

  How did I know the exact time? It turns out that when you’re trying to fight the end of humanity as you know it, details matter. Also, Charlie had set her watch with a doomsday alarm and seemed to delight in ticking off each passing hour.

  “One hour till Victor sells the antidote!” she warned us, tapping her watch to stop the high-pitched beeping. “It’s getting real, everyone! Get your game faces on! Our names will be cleared by dinner!”

  “I’m not sure that countdown is helpful, Chuck,” Leo said, grimacing. He stretched his neck up and squirmed away from Mo, whose elbow was smooshed directly in Leo’s face. I swiped Charlie’s swishing ponytail away from where Pickles sat on my shoulder and tried to summon as much patience as I could.

  Oh, did I neglect to mention what we were up to? Sometimes, saving the world means you get to hang out in antiquated castles and invent robots that shoot sedatives at unsuspecting bad guys. But sometimes it means you have to cram eight people into one supply closet in a neglected corner of London’s oldest hospital. And trust me, we’d all showered at Arthur’s, but the cramped quarters and chemical smell from all the hospital cleaners was making it more than a little stinky in the room.

  So far, St Bart’s Hospital wasn’t much to look at, but that’s probably because I’d only been able to explore the ground-floor window we’d snuck inside during the night. And now the supply closet.