The window creaks upwards. Porter’s head appears through the gap, like an eighteenth-century French royal awaiting the guillotine.
“No need to ask what your aunt says about me.” He tries to laugh but his eyebrows look sad. “On the positive side, she won’t want to leave me here ‘weaselling my way’ into your mum’s affections, so she should be happy for me to tag along.”
I pat his hand awkwardly.
Holly reaches for his other hand and uses it to yank him further into the room. “It would be much easier if you’d just tell us what you know.”
“I’m sure it would,” Porter says. “If I actually knew anything.”
Holly mutters something about fetching her chainsaw to torture to the truth out of him, but, for once, she decides to let it go.
Next morning, the three of us pile into the back of Uncle Max’s Ford Focus and set off for the Science Museum.
Uncle Max yells out of the car window as we push our way through the pack of reporters at the museum entrance. “You’ve got two hours to do whatever it is you kids have to do.”
Things start well when we bump into Museum Curator Gnome wandering through ‘Exploring Space’.
“Miniature Hawkins people . . . and friend!” His cheery greeting clashes with his general air of gloom and slumpiness. “What a coincidence. I was looking at your father’s research this morning. Such a clever man. How the devil is he?”
“He’s fine,” I say and then yelp as Holly prods me. “You say you were looking at his research? We’d love to hear more about it.”
“I shall go one better and show you.” Museum Curator Gnome shuffles off, gesturing for us to follow. “It gladdens my miserable heart to see friendly faces.”
Odd thing to say. I wonder who the unfriendly faces belong to. We stop in front of a big red plastic wall. Written on the wall it says:
LIVE SCIENCE
Welcome to Live Science. Here visitors take part in real scientific experiments to find out more about themselves.
Nothing dangerous . . . just fun, interesting experiments – such as when scientists discovered how playing video games affects people’s mood and immune systems, or when visitors helped scientists find out that some people see colours and shapes when they hear sounds.
This is science in action, so come and join us for the next Live Science and find out more about who you are.
“This is our Live Science lab,” the gnome explains. “It gives scientists like your father a chance to conduct research on some of the two and a half million visitors we get each year.”
“What was Dad researching?” I ask. “Brain stuff, I suppose?”
Museum Curator Gnome shakes his head. “No. He was exploring what it means to ‘see’ things.” He shows us Dad’s entry in the laboratory log book.
CLUE 13
Dad was exploring how the camera lens sees things differently from the human eye.
Museum Curator Gnome jumps when his mobile rings. He scrabbles for it and slaps it to his ear. “I have to take this,” he tells us, a muscle jerking in his cheek. “They want me to talk to the press about the Moon Rock investigation. We’re under pressure. Time is running out.”
“Time’s running out for us too.” Holly glances at her watch as the gnome strides away. “Uncle Max will be back before we know it. Where next?”
“Dad’s research has to be a clue,” I say.
Porter nods. “Maybe it’s something to do with the security cameras? Your dad and my mother had an entire CCTV Room in the LOSERS building before the science teacher blew it up.”
“Brilliant, Porter!” I give him a thumbs-up.
CLUE 14
Dad and Ms Grimm were obsessed with security cameras in the Case of the Exploding Loo.
“We need to find out if there’s anything unusual about the camera footage from the time the Moon Rock went missing.”
“Let’s split up,” Holly suggests. “Make the most of the time we’ve got left. See what you can find out about the cameras and meet back in ‘Exploring Space’ in half an hour. Porter, this would also be a good time to remember anything you know about the museum volunteers.”
8
Watt’s Up?
Days Left to Save the Earth: 12
As Porter and Holly race off in different directions, I go in search of Museum Curator Gnome. I want to ask him what makes this Moon Rock so dangerous. How can the Irish Moon Rock be missing for so long with no ill-effects if this one is set to trigger some kind of international exploding head Armageddon?
I find Museum Curator Gnome in the ‘James Watt and Our World’ gallery, talking to a white plaster head.
He looks up as I approach. “Hello again, young lady. May I introduce you to my silent friend?” He pats the case containing the plaster sculpture.
“Right. Um, hello, Mr Watt,” I greet the fake head.
“You’re already acquainted?”
“I’ve read about him.” I close my eyes and picture the page. “He was an engineer and a hero of the Industrial Revolution. They named the ‘watt’ measurement after him to honour his contribution to science.”
“A hero, eh?” Museum Curator Gnome nods sadly. “Honoured in his lifetime and remembered forever for his inventions and achievements. Lucky chap. I wonder how I’ll be remembered – probably as the silly old fool who endangered the world by losing a piece of the moon.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” I say, wishing I was better at cheering people up. “Most people don’t know much about James Watt, so they probably won’t remember anything at all about you.”
Museum Curator Gnome’s heavy sigh suggests that’s no consolation.
“Maybe the missing Moon Rock isn’t as big a problem as you think it is,” I try to reassure him. “Other Moon Rocks have gone missing without harming anybody.”
Museum Curator Gnome glances around the room and then moves his mouth closer to my ear and whispers, “This Moon Rock is different.”
“How?” I whisper back.
“Different properties,” he murmurs. “Unidentified. Not entirely lunar.”
Huh? “How can a Moon Rock be ‘not entirely lunar’?”
“The chaps at NASA suspect it came from a meteorite that collided with the moon.”
CLUE 15
The Moon Rock is not necessarily a Moon Rock.
Oooh. “So it’s a ‘Somewhere in Space Rock’ rather than a Moon Rock?”
“Shh.” Museum Curator Gnome checks behind us. “Not so loud.”
“Could that be a reason for someone to steal it?”
“No. Because no one knew. Not even the fine brains at NASA until last month, when they started testing the other rock taken from this sector of Mare Nubium and experienced shocking results.”
“Mare Nubium?” I flick through my memory:
Mare Nubium, translated as ‘sea of clouds’: a dark plain on the face of the moon nearest the Earth.
“What kind of shocking results?” I ask.
“The top-secret kind. Death, destruction, people going crazy and attacking each other. Brains exploding. That sort of thing.”
“Literally exploding?” I ask. “How is that possible?”
“The NASA chaps said something about the rock’s properties reacting with Earth’s atmosphere to create a low-oxygen environment.”
“Like altitude sickness?” I ask. “That can make your brain swell if fluid breaks through the blood-brain barrier.”
“No one is entirely sure, to be honest, but it sounds squelchy, unpleasant and to be avoided at all costs. NASA were going to exchange our rock for a less explosive piece of the moon next week, under cover of darkness. But it’s too late now.”
“Why all the secrecy?”
“NASA didn’t want to cause a panic. They made me swear not to tell a soul.”
“You just told me,” I point out.
Museum Curator Gnome waves his hand in a gesture that I suspect is supposed to mean ‘I’m very important and I
don’t have to listen to NASA’, but in reality makes him look like a short, bearded contestant in a beauty pageant. “The time has come to cause a panic. This information must be shared with my worthy colleagues and the ladies and gentlemen of the press.” Museum Curator Gnome casts a nervous glance at the reporters swarming through the museum. “The rock must be found.”
I remember Dad’s research. “It might help us find it if you could tell me anything about the CCTV cameras on the day of the robbery.”
“CCTV cameras?” Museum Curator Gnome gives me a vacant stare and turns back to James Watt. “Wouldn’t have a clue, young lady. You’ll need to talk to security.”
“I just wondered if anything unusual happened that day.”
“Many unusual things happened that day.” As Museum Curator Gnome’s face sags, I notice his hair is unwashed and he’s wearing the same clothes as last time I saw him. “They blame me, you know.” He looks around furtively and then, in a dramatic whisper, says, “I hear their thoughts.”
Uh-oh. It seems Museum Curator Gnome might be going a tiny bit insane. Is this the first sign of the exploding brain apocalypse?
I give him a weak smile and edge backwards until I reach the kindly-looking woman at the front desk. “Hello . . . Miriam,” I read from her name badge. “I think the Museum Gno— I mean Curator, needs help. He’s ill. Paranoid. Says everyone blames him for what’s happened.”
Miriam screws up her kind face until she resembles an angry walnut. “Maybe he’s right. He can’t keep secrets from us any more. We all know what he’s up to.”
Archimedes! Beneath that gentle exterior, Miriam is a festering pit of fury. Is no one what they seem around here?
“I’ll . . . er . . . talk to someone else, shall I?” I mutter, scuttling off in the direction of two security guards.
They grimace when I mention the Museum Curator Gnome, who seems to have wandered off anyway, so I give up on him and ask to see the CCTV footage instead.
They laugh. “We don’t share that kind of information with children.”
I wonder if flattery only works on Dad or if it’s good for all men of his age. Nothing to lose by trying. “You are clearly very conscientious security guards.”
The taller guard keeps on laughing.
“Oi!” The other guard pokes him. “You think that’s a joke? You don’t agree that I’m a conscientious guard?”
Tall Security Guard stops laughing. “Don’t be stupid.”
“So now I’m stupid as well as useless?”
“I didn’t say you were stupid. I told you not to be stupid.”
“There you go again, trying to fool me with words. You think you’re smarter than I am. Don’t deny it.”
“Don’t be sill . . .” Tall Security Guard begins to defend himself but Other Security Guard stares at him until his cheeks go red. “Sorry,” Tall Guard mutters.
Hmm. Something weird is going on here.
CLUE 16
Two Science Museum employees seemed paranoid.
But it turned out they were right to be worried about what other people thought of them.
I glance at my watch. Time to meet the others – and I’ve got nothing. Unless you count a feeling of complete confusion.
Holly has been equally useless. She kicks the wall in irritation. “They seemed to know what I wanted to ask before I opened my mouth, and they had no intention of answering. Still, at least we’re where we’re supposed to be. Where’s Porter?”
We find him in the gift shop, talking to the girl on the till. Her hand is on his arm and she must have something in her eye because she keeps fluttering her eyelashes at him.
“She needs an eyebath,” I tell Holly. “And a bottle of water. Look how dehydrated she is. She keeps licking her lips.”
“She’s not dehydrated, you donut. She’s flirting with Porter!”
“Seriously?” I stare at the girl in astonishment. She must be at least two years older than him. “Weird. Do you reckon she’s the volunteer Dad was talking about?”
“No, idiot. Gift shop workers get paid.” Holly hits the wall violently, making me jump.
“I was only asking,” I protest. “No need to destroy the building.”
“Whatever!” Holly says. “Anyway, that girl doesn’t look smart enough to be part of any plan.”
Whoa! Mean! Holly’s not usually mean. What’s put her in such a bad mood? I’m guessing Porter, from the way she’s scowling at him as he heads towards us. Gift Shop Girl waves goodbye, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
No hair tossing for Holly. Instead, she kicks a shelf of NASA toy spacesuits and yells, “What do you think you’re playing at, Porter? We’ve been knocking ourselves out hunting for clues and interviewing witnesses while you’ve been – what? Collecting girlfriends?”
Porter’s ears turn red and he giggles. “Collecting girlfriends? I didn’t know that’s what I was doing. Cool!”
“Not cool.” Holly glares at him.
Porter is no match for that stare. He looks down and tries to change the subject. “Okay, since you’ve been so efficient, why don’t you tell me what you’ve learned?”
“That’s not important,” Holly lies, fiddling with a NASA space glove. “What’s important is we’ve been trying. Unlike you.”
“I’ve been conducting my own investigation.”
“That’s not what it looked like from here.” Holly hits him with the space glove.
Porter snatches the glove and points a NASA finger at her. “Ha. Then how do I know that at the time of the Moon Rock’s disappearance a security camera blacked out in the ‘Investigating Alien Worlds’ section?”
CLUE 17
One of the cameras wasn’t functioning at the time of the robbery.
I clap my hands together. “Good work, Porter!”
He bows. “I like to think so.”
“We should stop calling it a Moon Rock though.” I tell them what I learned from Museum Curator Gnome.
“Space Rock it is then.” Holly turns to poke Porter. “So you were only being nice to that girl to get information?”
Porter’s nod upsets me, although it seems to make Holly happy. I don’t like to imagine him being fake-nice. Vigil-Aunty’s voice echoes through my head: “All charm, that boy, weaselling his way into people’s homes.”
Porter wiggles NASA glove fingers at me, making me feel disloyal for doubting him. I tune back in to what he’s saying: “My new friend explained the camera didn’t cover the Moon – sorry – Space Rock, so the police are treating it as a coincidence.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” I say, my mind back on the case.
“Nor do I,” Porter says. “The gift shop girl also said the police are convinced a schoolboy was involved. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that their description matches Smokin’ Joe either.”
9
Fear Of Frying Pans
Days Left to Save the Earth: 11
I tug at a loose bit of wool on the cuff of my jumper as we sit on the wall outside Smokin’ Joe’s house, waiting for him to come back from the shop so we can interrogate him about his role in the Moon Rock’s disappearance.
Smokin’ Joe as a suspect? For a bungled smash-and-grab robbery, maybe. But as part of a skilled criminal gang? Not so much. Something is going on. Something connected with his nosebleeds.
CLUE 18
In the Science Museum, Smokin’ Joe displayed the symptoms people experienced after being zapped by the brain ray in the Case of the Exploding Loo.
There is no way the Smokin’ Joe I know could have planned a Space Rock heist. But what if he’s been increasing his brain power with the missing brain ray? Admittedly, there hasn’t been much sign of superior intelligence from him, but I can’t rule the idea out.
“Einstein!” I mutter as my cuff starts to unravel.
Holly grabs my wrist and bites off the end of the wool. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. Look at the massive hole.”
“Just stick your thumb through it. You wanted fingerless gloves.”
I glare at my sister. “Fingerless gloves, yes. Fingerless jumper, no. It makes me look neglected.”
“Then you’ll blend in perfectly,” Porter says. “The Slaters’ house is like a shrine to the God of Neglect.”
“No such god,” I say.
“Bet there is,” Porter retorts. “Bet there’s a Greek one. The Greeks had a god for everything.”
“Aphro-forgot-to-tidy?” Holly giggles.
“Shh,” I hiss. “No silliness during investigations.”
But Porter’s right about the state of the Slaters’ house. The walls are crumbling, the window frames are cracked and the guttering is hanging down, dripping water on to the five square metres of weeds and old junk that make up the Slaters’ front yard. A deformed tree grows in the middle of the concrete, pressing close to the house and adding to the gloom.
Through the broken front window, we can hear the buzz of daytime TV presenters discussing the threat from the Space Rock. An American reporter has revealed a cover-up at a NASA facility in the US, where a whole town was secretly quarantined last month after they took a Mare Nubium space rock sample out of its case for testing and it sent the local population into a frenzy.
I’d like to hear what they’re saying, as the presenter is asking the American journalist whether he found any evidence of brains exploding, but their voices are drowned out by Ma Slater screaming down the phone at someone called ‘You-Useless-Piece-of-Poo’. (‘Poo’ isn’t the exact word she used.)
Smokin’ Joe lurches into view at the end of the street, stuffing his face with crisps – turquoise earphones in his ears and a dazed expression on his face. At least there’s no blood trickling from his nose today. He hasn’t spotted us yet and lumbers down the road in our direction. When he reaches his front gate, he hacks up a ball of spit and gobs on the floor.
The Case of the Exploding Brains Page 4