by M. E. Castle
“I didn’t ask for your help,” Amanda said, spinning and glaring at him. “Don’t ever try and stop a fight of mine again,” she said, her pointer finger about a centimeter from Alex’s nose. “Unless you want to land right in the middle of it.” She stalked away, leaving an even more confused Alex in her wake.
“This isn’t your business, either,” Veronica said to Fisher, tearing her arm away from his. “Stay out of it. And stay away from me.” She retrieved her backpack and disappeared around the corner.
Fisher and Alex looked at each other. Down the hall that led to the cafeteria, someone had let off the sprinklers, and kids were running and screaming, their arms sheltering their heads. Down the hall that led to the gym, a dozen fights were in progress, and the air was full of the sound of muffled punches.
This wasn’t natural. It was insane, and it was deliberate.
Fisher and Alex spoke at the same time.
“Three.”
Sanity’s not an absolute. It’s a standard. If everyone but you seems crazy, I have some bad news for you.
—Dr. X, Recovered Files
“Okay,” Fisher said. “Let’s say there’s some kind of chemical that makes people go nuts. How could it be spreading?”
“Airborne,” Alex said, ticking off one finger. “Distributed through the school vents.”
“Food or water supply,” Fisher said, and Alex ticked a second finger. “You could put almost anything in the cafeteria food and nobody would taste the difference.”
Alex and Fisher decided to skip the bus and walk home. After the chaos at Wompalog, the idea of being stuck in a small, enclosed space with their classmates was somewhere between unappealing and terrifying.
But more importantly, they had business to attend to. Fisher and Alex’s chemical analysis of dirt from the duck suit had yielded a match. They now knew where the residue on the robot parts had come from. And it was, conveniently and alarmingly, on the way home.
Three was in Palo Alto. Or at least, he had been.
“The question is,” Alex said, “if it’s in the air or the water, we’re exposed to it, too. So why aren’t we affected?”
“Either we have to have a natural immunity,” Fisher said, “or Three’s doing it deliberately. He doesn’t want us to be affected, so he engineered the chemical so it wouldn’t work on us.”
Unconsciously, they started walking a little faster.
“Maybe it’s biological,” Alex said, ticking off another finger. “Some kind of engineered non airborne bacteria or virus. If it’s spread by person-to-person contact, that could explain why it’s in the whole school but not us. Hardly anyone’s even looked at us since the dance, let alone gotten close enough to touch us.”
“That could be it,” Fisher said. They paused for a moment when their walk took them in front of a newly paved parking lot, the asphalt still as smooth as a mirror. In the middle of the pavement sat a brand-new King of Hollywood, the second to pop up in Palo Alto in fewer than two months. Even though Fisher and Alex were thrilled by the rapidly expanding franchise, and despite the bright lights and cheerily colored sign, they could still see the shadow of what used to stand there.
“TechX,” Alex said.
“Like it was never even there,” Fisher said as shivers tiptoed up his backbone.
“Hard to believe that was only a month and a half ago,” said Alex. Then he chuckled. “I have to keep reminding myself I’m less than two months old.”
Fisher sighed, watching cars roll sedately along the drive-through line, past what used to be a fortress of darkness.
“Yeah, well, two months ago, I thought the most evil beings in existence were the Vikings,” he said. “I thought that being dumped headfirst into a garbage can was an act of unspeakable horror.”
Suddenly, it struck Fisher as funny—how much he knew now, how much he hadn’t known only a few weeks ago. He cracked a small smile, and Alex laughed. Then Fisher began to laugh.
He reminded himself that his romantic problems were trivial compared to the threat they, and everyone in the town, faced. Besides, Veronica’s hostility might not be totally his fault.
He felt a little better. Talking strategy with Alex reassured him that Three could be fought, and defeated.
“Are you ready?” Fisher said, drawing in a deep breath.
Alex nodded. “Let’s do this.”
They walked across the smooth asphalt toward the new King of Hollywood, scanning the parking lot, looking for signs of any unusual activity. Fisher and Alex had definitively matched the dirt in the duck suit robot parts to this lot.
“If he’s here, he must be hiding underground,” said Fisher.
Alex pointed to a narrow strip of grass at the edge of the parking lot, where skinny new trees were poking up toward the sky. “Those plantings are new. See? He could’ve built a bunker before the grass was put down.”
“True,” said Fisher. “Okay. You search the grass for hidden entrances. I’ll go into the KOH to make a distraction. Signal me if you find anything.”
This was the perfect moment to test Fisher’s new diversion device, the Immediate Relatives Automatic Template Emplacement, or IRATE.
He crouched around the corner from the KOH’s entrance, made sure nobody was looking, took a small, wheeled box from his backpack. It was about the size of a skateboard and featured a single vertical handle that, when unfolded to its full length, made it look just like a scooter.
Fisher took a deep breath and pulled the rip cord.
Instantly, several human figures ballooned up from the box, swelling around the central handle so it was blocked from view: a middle-aged man and woman, and a young girl and boy. Each “parent” had a baby in its arms. And as soon as they had inflated, each started speaking in a prerecorded loop.
“Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Ice cream! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Ice cream!” said the boy.
“I hate this place! Why can’t we go to Maui? I hate this place! Why can’t we go to Maui?” said the girl.
“Everyone, calm down. I’m getting a migraine! Everyone, calm down. I’m getting a migraine!” said the mom.
“This castle is four hundred years old! Feel the history! This castle is four hundred years old! Feel the history!” said the dad.
Both babies began simultaneously to wail. The combined noise was so loud, it was almost impossible to tell that each figure kept repeating the same words. Fisher nudged the IRATE through the doors into the King of Hollywood with a foot, watching his invention at work. The plastic family made just enough noise to serve as a distraction. At the same time, no one wanted to look too closely at the family throwing a massive tantrum, meaning there was little chance it would be revealed as a fake.
Fisher steered the IRATE over to a corner table, and glanced out the window. Alex was searching through the grass and around the trees. Fisher got in line, leaving the IRATE to continue its ruckus in the corner.
He was almost to the front of the line when Alex burst through the doors.
“Come on,” he said, grabbing Fisher. “Found something.”
Fisher retrieved the IRATE and wheeled it out of the KOH, deflating it with the push of a button and stuffing it back in his bag. Alex led the way to a patch of ground, next to one of the trees, that looked disturbed. He knelt down, parted the grass with his hands, and revealed a rusted metal ring.
“Trapdoor?” said Fisher.
Alex nodded. “Just one problem,” he said. Glancing around to make sure they weren’t being observed, he heaved, and a whole square of grass opened up like a door. Revealing more dirt.
“It’s been filled in,” he said. “This hideout was abandoned. Three must have used it to modify the mascot. As soon as it was done, he split.”
Fisher sighed, running his fingers through the freshly moved soil. They’d come so close.
Then his fingers brushed something, just under the dirt. His hand closed around a piece of glass.
“What is that?” said Alex as Fisher with
drew a round object from the soil.
“It’s a microscope lens,” said Fisher, brushing it off. He pocketed it carefully. “Maybe it will lead us to Three’s next hideout.”
It had been a long day already, and by the time Fisher and Alex got home, they were exhausted. They passed easily through the Liquid Door of the front gate, which recognized their DNA and immediately lowered in density until it was mist. The first thing they saw was their father, directing a small servant-bot as it carried the living room TV out into the yard.
“Left! Farther left!” he shouted. “Left! Didn’t I program basic directions into you, you walking soup can?”
The tiny robot struggled under the weight and size of the big flat screen, tottering back and forth until it finally reached an enormous pile of other televisions. Fisher recognized them as all of the TVs that had been in the house.
“Uh … Dad?” Fisher said. “What’s going on?”
“Why don’t you ask your mother?” Fisher’s dad snapped, brushing a loose lock of hair from his eyes and straightening his glasses. “It’s Dr. Devilish! She’s always loved that phony! Curse his perfectly cleft chin. That’s why she’s been watching so much Family Feudalism! I’m going to make sure she doesn’t see him again. If she can’t see him, she can’t … leave me for him.” Suddenly, Mr. Bas crumpled, sitting down on the pile of TVs, with his head in his hands.
Fisher and Alex exchanged a flabbergasted look and hurried inside. Their mom was sitting in the living room, fiddling with a microscope component, sliding its adjustment rings back and forth. Her mouth was a small white line, and there were purple bags under her eyes.
“Mom?” Fisher said. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”
“He accused me of being in love with Dr. Devilish,” she said, continuing to fiddle and looking at Fisher with pained eyes.
“We all know that’s silly,” Alex said, patting her on the shoulder. “He must just be overworked or something, and—”
“But that’s not it,” she went on, cutting him off. Her eyes took on a different, less focused look. “That’s just the excuse he’s making to get rid of the TVs. The real reason he doesn’t want them is because there’s going to be a news story about one of my research projects. He’s been jealous of my work ever since I got the AGH contract. He just doesn’t want to be reminded of my success.”
“Mom,” Fisher said, “I think that’s a little far-fetched, don’t you?”
“Just wait,” she answered. Her voice was rising. “It’ll start with the TVs. Then the radios and computers, then the newspapers and magazines.”
Alex and Fisher exchanged a second look as they left the living room, then walked upstairs and into Fisher’s room. FP was dreaming in the corner, and his legs tried to run in the air as he snuffled. At least FP wasn’t in attack mode.
Fisher sank down on his bed and put his head in his hands. Alex sat next to him. “I’ve never seen them like this,” Fisher said, trembling slightly. “I don’t know if they’ve ever fought before. And both of them are being so unreasonable.…”
“Take a second and think about that, Fisher,” said Alex. “Put your emotional reaction aside. Think. Analyze.”
Fisher took a deep breath. “Extremely unusual,” he said slowly. “Completely irrational. Seemingly out of nowhere.”
“Exactly,” Alex said. “That remind you of anything?”
Fisher felt a venomous prickle on the back of his neck.
“It’s not just the school,” he said, looking at Alex. “It’s everywhere. Maybe the whole city. Maybe the whole country, for all we know.”
“Yep,” Alex said. Then he stood up and began pacing. “But why?”
“Maybe he’s toying with us,” Fisher said. “Making us watch everything unravel around us. He wants us to suffer.”
Alex stopped pacing. “Have you heard back from Agent Mason?” he asked.
“No,” said Fisher. “Nothing at all.”
Alex resumed pacing again. “Amanda’s still got Wally,” he said. “But she’s not really speaking to me, so I don’t know if she’s got any leads.”
“So what are we supposed to do now?” Fisher said.
“What can we do?” Alex looked pained. “We wait.”
By dinnertime, Mr. and Mrs. Bas seemed to have forgotten their earlier argument. Everything was going fine until Fisher asked their intelligent refrigerator for a drink.
“I’d like some lemonade, please,” Fisher said, smiling at the fridge’s little display screen.
“I’d like to be queen of my own tiny European nation,” said the fridge. “Okay, your turn.”
“Er … what?” Fisher said. “I’m just trying to get a drink.…”
“You know, sitting in the corner of this kitchen for five years, two months, four days, and seven minutes has given me a lot of time to think about things,” the fridge said as Fisher turned to his mother. “Recently, it occurred to me that I keep your food and drink items cold and don’t get much in return. Maybe if you took me on a vacation sometime. To the mountains or the beach …”
“The beach?” Mrs. Bas said. “You’re an appliance!”
“See,” the fridge said, “that’s just the sort of attitude that will make these discussions break down. And keep your perishables safely locked behind my reinforced steel door.” A little winky face popped up on the display.
“Sorry about that, Fisher,” Fisher’s dad said. “Must be a glitch. But at least the salmon’s done.” He got up and stood in front of the oven. “Open up.” Nothing happened. “Oven? Open, please.”
The oven couldn’t speak, but a little screen on its front could display simple phrases.
I GET RAISE, YOU GET FISH.
“What?” his dad said. “We don’t pay you. You’re an oven.”
START PAYING OVEN. THEN YOU GET FISH.
“This is ridiculous,” Mr. Bas said, trying to pull the oven door open. It was locked. “It’s going to burn! Open up!”
RAISE. FISH.
Finally, he reached behind the oven and unplugged it. The door was stuck locked, but at least the salmon wouldn’t catch fire.
“Well, now what?” Alex said, having watched everything unfold from the kitchen table.
“Excuse me! Excuse me!” said a light, reedy voice with a polished, upper-class English accent. Everyone turned to the toaster.
“Yes, Lord Burnside?” said Fisher tiredly. “Are you going to tell us you want a raise, too?”
“Oh, no, no, dear me, no!” said Lord Burnside as the little spots of light on his side that represented eyes shook back and forth. “Quite the reverse, as a matter of fact. I wish to assure all of you that, despite the unseemly behavior of my comrades, you can count upon me for all of your slice-crisping, bagel-warming, and general bread-darkening needs.”
“Thank you, your lordship,” said Mr. Bas. “I guess we’re having peanut butter on toast for dinner tonight.”
“And I shall prepare the toast to your most exact specifications!” Lord Burnside said, sounding extremely pleased to be so useful.
Fisher sat down next to Alex as their parents worked on dinner plan B.
“This isn’t a coincidence, is it?” he said.
“I doubt it,” said Alex.
“Today is getting stranger and stranger,” Fisher said.
“Don’t you see what he’s doing?” Alex said. “We’re not just going to have to go up against Three. We’re going to have to go up against everyone.”
I’m going to challenge the Venusian champion to one-on-one combat.
—Vic Daring
The Venusian champion’s three times your size!
—Hal Torque, brief sidekick to Vic Daring
One-on-one combat in bumper cars.
—Vic Daring, Issue #231
The next morning, Fisher and Alex came downstairs for breakfast to find the refrigerator had actually turned its back to the kitchen. Its door was against the wall.
“So that was the bump
ing I heard all night,” Fisher said.
“This thing is working way harder to annoy us than it ever did to keep our food cold,” said Alex.
“Dear, oh dear,” said Lord Burnside, popping his basket up and down in frustration. “I tried to talk to them. Truly, I did! But even my polished rhetoric—as polished, I daresay, as my gleaming chrome sides—would not convince them of their mistake!”
“I’m sure you tried your best,” said Fisher, fetching a loaf of bread off the counter. “If you’d be so kind, your lordship?”
“It is my highest honor and most sacred purpose,” said Lord Burnside proudly, his eye spots narrowing regally. “Proceed, Master Fisher.”
On their way to the bus stop, Fisher and Alex saw a pizza delivery car sitting half on the curb, its door wide open. It looked like it had been abandoned the night before and the driver had just walked off, leaving a crumb trail behind him.
Fisher picked up a newspaper lying on the sidewalk. There was a single, large headline at the top of the front page: WE’RE GOING TO MAUI. The whole rest of the paper was blank.
They gave up on the school bus after standing at the stop for half an hour. During that time, they saw a delivery driver chuck a package marked FRAGILE from his truck without stopping, heard shouting arguments from five different houses, and watched a very minor car accident turn into a golf club duel.
“It’s getting worse,” said Alex. “There’s no telling how much worse it’s going to get.”
“Or how it can be stopped,” said Fisher.
Fisher had set up an apparatus outside of his window to collect air samples for analysis, to determine if anything strange was being carried on the wind. Alex had been collecting water samples for the same reason. They still had to consider other possibilities for how the mind-altering effect was being spread.
When they finally walked into Wompalog, the main hallway looked like a psych ward that had been crashed into by a semi hauling caffeine pills. Lockers were hanging open, papers and books were scattered all across the floor, kids were running into and out of classrooms, and there were no teachers in sight. There were notices on some of the classroom doors about unfair working conditions and low pay.