Forever Begins Tomorrow

by Bruce Coville

  Sawing your way out was a heck of a lot harder.

  On the other hand, it was better than being here when they came to get you.

  “Just what we need,” said Trip, looking at the sky. “Another storm.”

  He was standing with the rest of the gang outside their headquarters. They were huddled in a tight little knot, using each other as protection against the breeze. Patches of stars peered through a sky choked with clouds, and the wind from the ocean seemed to be getting stronger by the minute.

  “I wish we still had the use of the dune buggies,” said Rachel wistfully. “Everything’s been a lot harder since they were taken away from us.”

  “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride,” said Ray, quoting one of his stepmother’s favorite sayings.

  “Yeah, well, if wishes were dune buggies, we would ride,” said Wendy. “We would also ride if there was any justice in the world. Now that Dr. Hwa has admitted there really was a spy, he should have given us back our vehicle privileges.”

  “Come on, let’s get moving,” said Roger. “You can gripe while we walk.” He started off down the road, the others straggling behind him. “To tell you the truth,” he continued, “even though Dr. Hwa tried to be gracious about it, I think he was so mad at being proved wrong he wasn’t about to give us anything, including vehicle privileges.”

  “Nothing like a sore loser,” said Hap. “And considering what you just said, do you really think this visit to Bridget is such a good idea?”

  “Actually, it’s probably really stupid,” said Trip, striding up alongside them on his long legs. “I’m beginning to get a bad feeling about the whole thing.”

  “I know what you mean,” said Rachel. “But the supply plane comes soon, and when it leaves, Bridget will be on it. So this is our last chance to get some pretty big questions answered.”

  They trudged on, leaning into the wind, each wrapped in his or her own private thoughts. After what seemed like an eternity, they reached the building where Bridget was incarcerated.

  Wendy took out the robot control device.

  “You sure that thing is going to work?” asked Roger. He cradled his arm, thinking about his last encounter with the ferocious sentries. Dr. Clark had promised to take the cast off in a day or two, and he didn’t want to have to start all over again with a new one.

  “Hey, no problem,” said the Wonderchild. “I can make those mechanical monsters jump through hoops if I want.”

  “Preventing them from tearing us to pieces will be sufficient,” said Roger dryly.

  “Got it,” said Ray, pulling his electronic key off the door. “Let’s get moving!”

  Rachel stepped through first. Once inside, she switched on her flashlight. After about twenty paces she murmured, “We go left here.”

  When they reached the end of the corridor, she led them left again, then headed down a flight of stairs. “Boy,” muttered Hap, “they really packed her in—” He was interrupted by a screech and a flare of light. Roger, who had been walking beside Rachel, jumped back with a shriek. One of the security robots stood at the foot of the stairs, its eyes blazing.

  “Calm down,” said Wendy, punching a few buttons on the control panel. “I already dialed in. Everything’s under control.”

  Indeed, even as she spoke the robot seemed to freeze. The only problem was, they had to squeeze past it to get off the stairway. Roger, who still had nightmares about the robot that broke his arm, was overwhelmed by a sudden vision of the thing roaring back into action and crushing several more of his bones. Fidgeting nervously, he hung back while the others made their way past the sentry.

  Hap was next to last. Once he had passed the robot, he turned to see if Roger was coming.

  The redhead’s eyes were filled with misery. “I can’t do it,” he whispered. “You guys will have to go on without me.”

  Aiding and Abetting

  Outside, the storm that had been building all night broke over Anza-bora Island with its full fury. House-high waves began to batter the shore. Tree-toppling winds shrieked across the beach. Jagged bolts of lightning crackled through the sky, gigantic snake-tongues slithering between the ground and the clouds. They came so frequently it was as if the night itself was on fire. Volleys of thunder made it sound as if there was an earthquake in heaven.

  In the central chamber of the computer center, the area known as the Brain Cell, an alarm began to sound. Startled, Dr. Leonard Weiskopf hurried to scan a series of monitors. What he saw filled him with awe—and fear.

  “Throw up the emergency shields!” he cried. “Quickly!”

  Dr. Anthony Phillips was closest to the panel that controlled the shields. Without questioning his colleague, he began flipping a series of switches that would activate a complex system designed to protect the computer from unusual surges of electricity. The computer was already well guarded, of course. The network of lightning rods, power deflectors, grounding and diffusion nets, and other protective devices he was putting into effect now was so restrictive it affected the performance of the computer and was used only for extreme situations.

  For the most part the system worked. The lightning that slammed against the building again and again flowed into the grounding system, which vented its power safely into the earth. But while the shields had been designed for major storms, the holocaust breaking over Anza-bora this late December evening was more than they could handle, and not all the electricity was carried safely away from the computer. Some found its way into the building power system; some seeped into the computer itself.

  Strange things began to happen all over the computer.

  And nowhere were they stranger than in the section linked to the laboratory behind Dr. Celia Clark’s office.

  The five members of the A.I. Gang who had already passed the robot stood waiting for their leader.

  “Come on, Roger,” said Wendy impatiently. “Don’t be a ninny. The thing is completely under control.”

  To prove it, she walked over and kicked the frozen sentry’s metallic shin. “See? It’s down for the count.”

  “I know,” said Roger miserably. He was cradling his disabled arm in his good hand. Memories of the night it had been broken were flooding his mind, immobilizing him. “It doesn’t make any difference. I still can’t do it.”

  “Look, Bonzo,” said Wendy. “You’re the one who—”

  “Shut up, Wendy,” said Ray.

  Squeezing back past the robot, he took Roger’s good arm and said gently, “Close your eyes. We’ll go together.”

  Roger, intensely humiliated, felt a rush of gratitude for Ray’s kindness. “I don’t know…” he whispered.

  “I’ll guide you,” said the Gamma Ray. “Come on, close your eyes.”

  Roger did as directed.

  “Now, squeeze yourself against the wall.”

  Roger pushed against the wall so hard it seemed as if his spine might leave a permanent impression.

  Ray tightened his grip on Roger’s arm and gave it a gentle tug. “Okay, now slide along it with me.”

  After an instant’s hesitation Roger began to ease along the wall in Ray’s direction.

  “Good. Now, one step at a time. Step. Step. Come on.”

  Beads of perspiration sprang out on Roger’s forehead. He tried to imagine himself on a cool forest path. Step. Step. At the end of the path he saw the robot, reaching out with its tentacles.…

  “That’s it!” he cried, ready to tell Ray he couldn’t go another step.

  “You mean you were peeking?” asked the Gamma Ray.

  Roger opened his eyes. That was it. He had made it! He shook his head. “No peeking,” he said ruefully. “Too scared. I owe you one, Ray. Big time.”

  “Let’s just get to Bridget,” said Ray. “I want to finish this.”

  “It’s not much farther,” said Rachel, who was feeling somewhat embarrassed for her brother. “Just down this corridor and to the left.”

  They started again, and within mo
ments had reached their destination. When they did, the low groan that escaped their lips was uttered in perfect unison.

  The cell was empty.

  “Chips!” said Wendy, stepping in to make sure Bridget wasn’t hiding behind the open door. “Now what do we do?”

  “Well, at least we got an answer to one question,” said Rachel. “If she was merely Bridget McGrory, super secretary, I think she’d still be here. Having flown the coop, it seems more likely that she is indeed Bridget McGrory, super espionage—”

  She was interrupted by a shout from behind her: “Stop right there! You kids are under arrest, every one of you!”

  Black Glove pushed a key and waited for the printer to deliver the first draft of the speech the world would hear on Christmas Eve. Glancing over the opening paragraphs, the spy chuckled.

  The laugh felt good. It had been months since there had been much occasion for merriment. Now that had all turned around. How amazing that after all the trouble things had fallen into place so smoothly.

  It was hard to believe it had taken so many years of planning to reach this moment—and even harder to believe that despite all the planning, it was unexpected events that had brought the scheme to such a glorious conclusion.

  Or maybe not; the science of the random was a field of growing interest. Black Glove smiled again. Random events could move things in ways that no one could predict. What a surprise the leaders of G.H.O.S.T. had in store for them tomorrow! It would be truly delicious to see their faces when their former top agent announced that mankind’s governments were about to be abolished because the planet had a new master—a master named…Black Glove.

  Euterpe broadcast a command. In response a deadly satellite shifted slightly in its orbit. Slowly it began to move into a pattern that, for Black Glove’s purposes, was much more useful than the one it had previously followed.

  Marley Smathers, the man charged with monitoring that particular weapon, noticed the change. A chill of terror rippled down his spine. He had heard about the mysterious movement of some of the nation’s most powerful weapons. But actually being the one on duty when it happened was different—horrifying at a deep, gut level.

  Smathers’s hands began to tremble. Though it had taken him a long time, he had finally come to understand what the bomb he watched could do—understand it not in terms of numbers and statistics, but in terms of the real horror and destruction it could unleash.

  He still remembered the day he had broken through to that awareness. He had been in a plane, flying over a great city. When he looked down, he had realized that the satellite he monitored for a living could obliterate that entire city—all the bustle, all the noise, all the buildings, all the life—in a matter of seconds.

  Then his vision had stretched beyond the boundaries of the city. He had done a quick calculation, and in a terrifying instant the world reshaped itself for him as the numbers became a reality. For the first time he saw, really saw, how far that single bomb’s destructive power would stretch.

  That was when he had vomited.

  Later, when he told his wife about his vision, she had asked him why he didn’t leave the work. He answered her truthfully, that it didn’t make any difference. If he didn’t do it, someone else would.

  She had not asked the next question: “What would happen if everyone refused?” She knew he wasn’t ready to answer it.

  And he had not told her the bottom line on his reason for staying. It was quite simple, really: He had to keep an eye on that bomb. He wasn’t sure, but he sometimes had a fantasy that if it ever came down to it, he could somehow keep the bomb from being released. He knew it would mean his death, if there was anyone left alive to put him on trial. He had accepted that.

  But now even that fantasy had been taken from him. Someone else had seized control of the satellite.

  He pushed himself away from the scanner and ran for the men’s room. Crouching in one of the stalls, he continued to shake and quiver long after his stomach had emptied itself.

  The gang pivoted as one. Sergeant Brody was standing behind them. Behind Brody were a dozen security guards.

  “What’s the charge?” asked Roger coolly, his panic in the presence of the robot vanished now that he had a human foe to face.

  “Consorting with a national enemy,” said Brody, stepping forward. “It’s a good thing we got here in time…”

  He stopped. His mouth went slack as he saw the open door of the cell. Stepping inside, he took a quick look around, then turned to face the kids. “You can change that charge to aiding and abetting the escape of a menace to national security.” A contented grin spread across his face. “And in case you big brains couldn’t figure it out, that translates into high treason.”

  The beefy sergeant chuckled. “You twerps really put your feet in it this time. Heh. I knew you were up to no good all along.” He shook his head. “This sure is bad timing for you, though. What with everything that’s going on, the whole country is in a hanging mood. They’re just waiting for someone they can blame things on. If they can pin this one on you, they’ll probably throw away the key.”

  Hap turned to Trip, who was standing next to him. “Throw away the key, nothing,” he whispered dismally. “We could be facing the big one for this blunder.”

  Trip raised a questioning eyebrow. “The big one?”

  “This is not jaywalking Brody is talking about,” said Hap. “It’s high treason. And it carries the death sentence!”

  In the Slammer

  Wendy grabbed the bars of her cell door and tried to shake them as she had seen people do in movies. Unfortunately, the bars were so solidly constructed she couldn’t even get a rattle out of them. Frustrated, she picked up her cup and began to run it back and forth across the bars.

  “Guard!” she yelled. “Guard! I wanna see the warden. I wanna get outta this dump!” She paused, then added, “You’ll never hold me! I’m too tough for you!”

  “Nobody can hear you, you know,” said Rachel, when Wendy paused to take a breath.

  “I know. But I always wanted to do that. Besides, I’m so mad at that meathead Brody, I have to let off steam one way or another. If we don’t get out of here soon, we’ll be spending Christmas Eve in the slammer!”

  “What do you care?” asked Rachel crossly. “You don’t believe in celebrating it anyway.”

  “Would you two stop bickering?” asked Trip. His voice came from the next cell, where he was locked in with the other three boys. “Why don’t you put your brainpower to work on something useful—like how to get out of this mess.”

  Getting out was a major priority with the gang, since they had already spent nearly fifteen hours locked in the cells.

  “I can’t understand it,” Rachel had said, just before they began to drift into a troubled sleep the previous night. “Why haven’t our parents been here yet? They should have been notified right away. Even if they weren’t, once they figured out we were missing, they would have raised a fuss. After the fuss, they would have found out where we were. Then they should have been here to spring us. I want to know what’s going on!”

  Now she found herself repeating almost the same speech.

  “Calm down,” said Roger, when she had finished. “It’s not like we’re in real danger. They’ll never get a conviction out of this.”

  “What makes you so sure?” asked Hap.

  “Well, they just can’t. It’s too bizarre, and…” Roger’s voice trailed off as he realized something. “Unless this was a setup!”

  “I don’t follow you,” said Ray.

  “What if Bridget isn’t really Black Glove? What if the real B.G. is still on the loose and engineered all this to shift the attention to us?”

  “Then what happened to Bridget?” asked Wendy.

  Roger shook his head. “I don’t know. But there’s a whole lot here that doesn’t add up. And another thing I keep thinking about—”

  He was interrupted by the sound of his father’s voice. Dr. P
hillips, accompanied by one of Brody’s men, was coming down the corridor that led to their cells.

  “Dad!” cried Rachel. “Thank God you’re here. Are you going to get us out now?”

  He didn’t need to answer. One look at his weary face and Rachel knew the horrible truth. Without intending to, she made a moan of despair.

  Her father reacted to the sound as if he had been slapped.

  “I’m sorry, kids,” he said, standing between the two cells so that he could see both his children. “There’s nothing I can do. When the supply plane came in today, it brought word that the global political situation has gotten totally out of hand. The President has declared a state of emergency, so all government properties are under strict martial law.”

  An uneasy murmur rippled through the gang.

  “What does that mean, sir?” asked Hap.

  Dr. Phillips closed his eyes. He was silent for a moment. “It means,” he said at last, “there’s some question about who’s in charge here now—Dr. Hwa or Sergeant Brody. It means a real crackdown on all fronts. At the bottom level it means your basic constitutional rights just went out the window.”

  Roger shivered. “What did you mean about the world political situation, Dad? What’s going on?”

  A shadow seemed to pass over Dr. Phillips’s face. “It’s not good. Something’s got the major powers all stirred up. No one seems to know what the real story is, but it looks as if the day we’ve all been trying to pretend could never happen is almost here.”

  Roger turned pale. “All out?” he whispered.

  Dr. Phillips turned away. When he turned back, his face was so calm Roger got the impression he had pushed whatever emotion he had been feeling so far back in his mind it might never surface again. His voice barely rose above a whisper. “All out,” he agreed. “If something doesn’t change very soon, it looks as though some idiot is going to start the war that will put an end to the story forever.”