The Adventures of Tremain & Christopher BoxSet

by Terry Marchion

"But what don't you see?"

  Christopher looked again. There was the wall. Nothing else.

  Nothing else!

  No tables, no piles, no other equipment. Nothing. Christopher's eyes grew wide, making his uncle laugh.

  "There's nothing to see, Uncle. We're looking through everything?"

  Tremain nodded and turned a dial on the top of the device. On the screen, the wall now faded away, replaced by the view outside. Capitol city sprawled away before him. Christopher gasped. "Why did you make this one?"

  "Oh, to be honest, it was to make sure I never lost another sandwich again."

  Christopher lowered the tablet and looked at his uncle.

  "Really, Uncle? For finding food?" Tremain looked askance, tilting his head a little

  "Well, you know how I keep misplacing things, sandwiches among many others. This will help find them again. Without the need of moving piles of stuff. Well, until I have to." He put the device back on the workbench and took his tablet back. "There will be other uses for it, but like I've always said, necessity is the mother of invention and all. I had a need and I invented something to help." He nodded, then smiled at his nephew. "Besides, if I don't come up with this stuff, who will?"

  Christopher shook his head. Only his uncle would be able to create something brilliant for something so silly. He backed up a little, knocking a pile of papers and schematics off his uncle's desk. They fell to the floor, splaying all over the place.

  "Oh, Uncle, I'm so sorry!" Christopher said as he began gathering the papers.

  Tremain grimaced as he saw the mess.

  "Don't worry about them, Christopher. These are just some old plans for the transmitter." He picked up a roll from the floor, unfurled it and gave it an once-over. "They were flawed, for sure. Thankfully, I found the more deadly errors and fixed them before I actually built the thing." He tossed the roll back onto the pile. "I was going to shred these today, but got distracted." He helped Christopher with a huge pile and tossed the lot into an empty box that was conveniently by the desk. "I'll get to them tomorrow. No sense having useless plans around, is there?"

  Christopher breathed a sigh of relief. He thought for sure he'd messed up something important. He ran over to his backpack and put it on.

  "Oh. Mom wanted you to join us for dinner."

  Tremain stood and winced.

  "Dinner? Tonight?"

  Christopher smiled.

  "Yes, Uncle, tonight. You don't have any other plans?" Before his uncle could answer, they heard a commotion in the main lobby, outside the atrium, loud enough to carry all the way into the lab. His brow knitted, Tremain's long strides took him out of the lab, looking for the source. Christopher followed.

  As they emerged past the reception desk, three burly security guards rushed by them, heading towards the archeology wing. Ahead of them were another group of guards, Professor Perlmutter leading them. Tremain looked over to the receptionist, only to see she had gone for the day. With a glance at Christopher, he motioned for the two of them to follow the guards.

  They jogged down the archeology wing, displays of dinosaurs, Egyptian obelisks and headdresses, Sumerian tablets, Roman centurion uniforms and many other relics fell past them in a blur as they wound up at a door marked Storage. It was half open, Hollis hovered outside, in apparent distress. His face red with emotion, he wrung his hands as he paced back and forth. Seeing Tremain and Christopher, let out a yelp and beckoned them over. He grabbed Tremain by the lapels of his lab coat and looked him square in the eyes, his gaze intent and worried.

  "The Pictograph!" he yelled, "It's been stolen!"

  Chapter 2

  Christopher stood stunned.

  Stolen?

  How could it have been stolen? The Professor only just showed it to his Uncle.

  Tremain patted his friend on the shoulders.

  "Hollis, tell me. The artifact was stolen. How?"

  The Professor closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He ran his hands through what hair he still had on his head, whipped out his handkerchief and mopped his forehead with it.

  "I wish I could tell you." He stammered. "Jenkins was taking it to storage here. We had put a notice on the web about gathering funding for the coming expedition and drawing up the proposal just before he left. He didn't come back, so I came to check on him. I found him in there." He pointed towards the storage room door. "I wasn't sure if he was breathing or not." He grabbed Tremain's arm again. "The poor boy! He was so excited for his dig." He lowered his head. Christopher wasn't sure what to do. Tremain put his arm around the Professor's shoulders in support.

  "We'll get this figured out, Hollis, we will." The Storage room door opened a little more. Two security guards exited, supporting a groggy Jenkins. They sat him along the wall to the left of the door, where he slumped and rubbed the back of his head. Christopher squatted next to him.

  "You okay?" He asked, patting Jenkins on the arm.

  Jenkins turned to Christopher, his eyes not focusing properly. He blinked a few times, frowned, and then closed his eyes.

  "Who . . . you?" He slurred. His eyes half-open.

  "I'm Christopher. Tremain's my uncle. Are you okay? Looks like you had a nasty knock on your head." Jenkins felt the back of his head, winced and put his hand in his lap. He rested against the wall, staring up at the ceiling, blinking. Perlmutter hurried over with Tremain at his heels, the Professor the veritable picture of regret.

  "Jenkins, my boy!" He cried. "Do you remember what happened?" Jenkins blinked again, tried to focus on the Professor, then returned to staring at the ceiling. His hand went up to rub his head again.

  "N-not really." He stammered. "Went to put the pictograph on the shelf with the other artifacts, then, bam! I don't remember anything else." He dropped his hands again and closed his eyes.

  The Professor wrung his hands some more, then stood straight up. His face was determined.

  "We will find who did this to you, Jenkins." He pointed a pudgy finger at the storage room. "This will not go unpunished."

  Tremain, who had listened to Jenkins, motioned to Christopher to follow him as he walked over to the storage room door.

  "Let's take a look for ourselves before the authorities arrive." He entered the storage room. "Make sure you don't touch anything. Let's not muddy the waters here." He took a look around. Christopher did the same, not exactly sure what he was looking for.

  The room wasn't very large, more like an oversized pantry with shelving running floor to ceiling on each wall. Affixed to each shelf face was a magnetic label, detailing where the contents were found, when and by whom. One shelf, directly in front of them was almost bare. A few objects, each one in its own protective case, were scattered on the floor. The magnetic label was littered among the mess. Christopher could make out the name Jenkins on the label.

  "These artifacts were all from the same place, Uncle." He whispered. Tremain nodded, looking intently at the objects. He crouched down, careful not to touch anything, and examined each artifact. He rubbed his chin, stood, then marched out of the room. A confused Christopher followed.

  Tremain stood in the hallway, his arms folded with his chin in one hand.

  "The label stated fifteen artifacts from Jenkins' dig." He said to Christopher in a low voice. "I noted only fourteen there, either on the floor or on the shelf. The pictograph is the only thing missing." He glowered at the floor, as if it would give him the answers he sought. "It was apparently what the assailant was looking for." He threw his hands wide and dropped them to his side. "But why?" He stormed down the hallway, past Jenkins and Perlmutter, past the newly-arrived paramedics, into the lobby. The walls were reflecting the flashing lights from the various emergency vehicles outside, red, blue and yellow streaking across their vision, but Tremain saw none of that. He ignored the oncoming police officers and headed to the lab. Christopher hurried after him.

  Tremain paced back and forth in the atrium just outside the lab, his brow furrowed in concent
ration. Not knowing if he should leave or stay, Christopher grabbed his backpack, made his decision and headed towards the door. His uncle, still pacing, didn't look up, but called to him anyway.

  "Christopher,” he started, "tomorrow, being the weekend, come early so we can start our own investigation."

  At first Christopher was excited, but then he thought of the reason for the investigation, which tempered his enthusiasm a little.

  "Of course, Uncle. I'll definitely want to help." As his uncle nodded in acknowledgment, Christopher exited the building, making sure to stay out of the way of the emergency personnel, and headed for the train station. The dinner his mother had planned on would have to be postponed.

  The following morning, Christopher found himself back at the Hawking building. He'd had to convince his mother he wasn't going to do anything dangerous, he would just be helping his uncle with some experiments. He didn't tell her about the pictograph nor it's having been stolen, so as not to worry her, but bad news spreads like wildfire, so she already knew. She trusted her brother, but still, she fussed over Christopher like he was a toddler again. He didn't mind. She meant well.

  He entered the building to find Tremain already in the lobby, looking at the floor through a magnifying glass. Every now and then he'd shake the glass and continue on. Christopher walked up to him and stood close by.

  "Not there, Christopher, I haven't checked there yet." Not looking up, he waved a hand vaguely behind him. "Over there."

  Christopher tiptoed to stand behind his uncle.

  "What are you doing?" He bent over to see if he could look through the glass. "Are those footprints?"

  Tremain sighed, sat up and blinked a few times, wiggling his nose as he did.

  "I'm checking for individual shoe impressions, yes." He rubbed his eyes with one hand and waved the glass with the other. "I've thrown together this analyzer which allows greater detail." He dropped his free hand into his lap. "It sees what we can't with the naked eye. It's feeding all the data to my tablet, where I've a program to sift through everything." He paused and yawned.

  "Have you been here all night?" Christopher asked, noticing his uncle's rumpled clothes. They were the same he wore yesterday.

  "I couldn't sleep. Not with the thief running around free. I needed to start my investigation." He brandished the glass again. "Started with this after you went home." He tapped his pocket. "Worked on the tablet app after that." He took a big breath while staring out into space. "Finished that just before I started analyzing." He resumed staring at the floor through his glass. "I'm trying to pinpoint the individual shoes, but it's difficult with all the emergency personnel who came through here last night." He arched his back a little and groaned. "Damned difficult staying crouched like this too." He stood and handed the glass to Christopher. "Here you go. Try it."

  Christopher took the glass and assumed the same position he saw his uncle in.

  "What do I do? What am I looking for?"

  Tremain waved his free hand.

  "Don't worry about looking for anything, just stick to my pattern. The glass is picking up the information and relaying it to the tablet." He jumped and quickly grabbed for his pocket. "At least I hope it is. Otherwise, I've wasted a few hours." He quickly scanned his app and sighed in relief. "We're fine. All the data is being sorted as we speak." He gave a huge yawn. "I'm going to take a nap. Come get me when you've finished with the lobby."

  With a cry of protest, Christopher watched his uncle walk, unsteady, towards the lab. He stared towards the atrium for a moment, then turned back to the glass. He wanted to help, didn't he? If this helped them figure out who did this, the better. He bent back down and got to work.

  A couple of hours later, Christopher was finally finishing his passes of the lobby when his uncle reappeared, this time wearing a very odd looking pair of goggles. The lenses were huge on his face, almost a good four inches wide each. From the side, they looked like small telescopes, growing longer and shorter with a whirring sound as his uncle's focus changed. Christopher let out a giggle.

  "What are you wearing, Uncle?" He sat back and leaned against the wall. He waved to indicate the lobby. "I've just finished up here."

  Tremain, looking at the floor and scanning back and forth, gave a satisfied grunt.

  "I still couldn't sleep, so I decided to improve on my design of the glass." He looked up at Christopher and with both hands, pointed at his new appliance. "These," he said, "will do the job much faster, I think." He headed down the corridor, towards the archeology wing, his head wagging back and forth as his goggles analyzed the patterns. Christopher scrambled to his feet and followed.

  As they marched down the empty corridor, Tremain gave little squeals of excitement.

  "You know, Christopher, it's amazing how much our eyes just don't see. It's like most of the universe is invisible to us."

  Christopher caught up to Tremain.

  "Wouldn't that just get confusing?"

  "Confusing?" He paused, then gave a bark of laughter. "Well, now that you mention it, it might, but just think of the possibilities." He waved to the corridor. "No more guessing who went where. You can see the shoe impressions."

  They reached the storage room door where the theft had taken place.

  "Now I can't wait to see what these things do for fingerprints." Tremain said as he took hold of the door handle, swiped his security card at the reader and with a flourish, threw open the door. "I was thinking,” he said as he began his sweep of the immediate area, "whoever did this must have followed Jenkins into this room. Either that, or we have a traitor in our midst." He indicated the security reader. "There's no known way to bypass that thing."

  Christopher shook his head a little at that. His uncle, brilliant though he was, hadn't met many of his friends at school. He'd seen them hack into the school computer system as a prank to get free lunches. He didn't think a security reader would be much of a hurdle for them. As Tremain continued further into his room, he asked:

  "What are you picking up?"

  Tremain grunted as he scanned.

  "Many, many fingerprints. Most are from the same person, either Hollis or Jenkins." He tapped the lenses. "I connected these into the personnel database. Everyone who has a card has their fingerprints on file. Matching them should be easy." He paused. "Hello? What would she be doing here?"

  Christopher moved behind his uncle.

  "Who? Who are you talking about?"

  Tremain swiveled around to look at Christopher. The lenses made more whirring noises as they telescoped out to focus on him.

  "Back there. There's a lag between scanning and the personnel results. Have to fix that." He waved towards the area where the artifacts had been scattered. "Most of the fingerprints were from Jenkins, but there were a few sets that were distinctly someone else. They just came through. They were Leesa's."

  Christopher thought for a moment, trying to place the name.

  "Your intern?"

  Tremain nodded, the telescoped lenses waving in front of his face.

  "The very same one. What would she be doing here? There are more of her prints on the desk back here as well." He rubbed his chin in thought.

  "I heard she was dating someone from this department. Maybe that's it,” Christopher said. The lenses whirred as Tremain focused on him again.

  "Really? Where did you hear that? Oh, wait." Tremain threw his hands up in the air. "Receptionists know all, don't they?" He waggled a finger at his nephew, a sardonic smile on his face. "Be careful with what you hear, Christopher. Gossip is mostly just that, gossip." He turned back to scanning the storage room. "But I can't begin to guess who may have entered this room illegally. There are no prints that aren't in the database." He growled in frustration. "I'll just have to wait until I hear the police report from Hollis." He pulled the goggles from his face. The lenses whirred and shrunk into themselves as he switched them off. He rubbed his face, making muffled grunting noises as he did so. Christopher restrained a gig
gle. Tremain finished with his rubbing and leaned towards his nephew, eyes bright. "So, we're done here. How about some lunch? I'm famished." He bustled out of the storage room and closed the door behind them. "Let's go rummage through the cafeteria, shall we?"

  The cafeteria took up the top two floors of the main Hawking building. The first floor consisted of the kitchens and restrooms, but was dominated by a central garden. Populated with tropical plants and trees, it filled the lower floor and grew up through a gallery in the upper floor. The top floor contained tables and chairs, all in the ring that surrounded the foliage that grew from the floor below. Each of the walls held enormous plate glass windows that let in as much natural light as was possible for the plants. Ferns and other assorted greenery hung from the ceiling in pots, making the cafeteria easily one of the most pleasant, comforting and oxygen-rich places to be.

  Tremain and Christopher sat at a table, practically alone in the large area. A few maintenance people floated around, watering plants, cleaning windows and tending to the care of the building. Those that came near them, Tremain greeted by name.

  "Hello Manuel, hope your dog is feeling better." Manuel nodded yes and kept working.

  "Anita, I tried that spice you recommended. My mouth stopped burning just yesterday, so thank you for that." Anita winked at Tremain and smiled widely as she moved to her next task.

  Christopher sat quietly, eating his sandwich. Tremain mostly just played with the salad he had in front of him and yawned loudly every few minutes.

  "When do you think the police report will be done?" Christopher asked his uncle.

  Tremain set down his fork and grimaced at the plate of greens in front of him.

  "I'm not sure exactly. They have to interview Jenkins, of course. I'm sure he's going to be fine. I should check on him later. Then there's the forensics they will have to analyze . . .” He pushed the plate away from him. "I should have just had a sandwich too. This has no taste." He stood, grabbed the plate and headed for the stairs. "I think I'll do just that. Be right back."

  Christopher smiled and shook his head. His uncle had left his tablet on the table. Finished with his lunch, Christopher pushed his plate to the side and reached for the tablet. As he unrolled it, the icons flared to life. After searching for a little while, he found the icon for the footprint program.