Samantha sighed and curled up to go to sleep. She decided she would somehow find some time tomorrow to contact The Professor and discuss this latest information further. Surely his magnificent mind could put the pieces together quicker and more logically than hers. She rested her hand on her little Boston terrier’s side and slipped off into a deep, dreamless sleep.
*
School was refreshing the next morning. Samantha forgot how much she missed learning things, even if they weren’t things as advanced as those she picked up from hanging around Professor Smythe. The focus of the day was on geography, which Samantha especially liked; they were studying maps of all the countries in Africa, that huge “dark” continent where it was believed humans had originated. Mrs. Wronsky, her sixth grade teacher, was especially keen on talking about Egypt, which was at the far Northeast corner of the African continent and was home to the Great Pyramids. The pyramids, she said, were constructed by ancient kings known as Pharaohs, who ruled the land thousands of years ago and believed that they were immortal, that is, that they were godlike and would never truly die. They ordered the pyramids built to house their bodies when they died, and believed the massive stone tombs would assure that their spirits could live on and roam free amongst the stars of the heavens.
Samantha found all this very exciting, and began to daydream of time-traveling to these ancient places, living amongst their people and seeing the amazing pyramids when they were brand new. Her imagination blossomed while looking at the paintings reproduced in their school books, seeing herself standing next to a Pharaoh as he directed the construction of these incredible monuments. She thought that this would indeed be a grand experience, though she was a bit troubled upon learning that the pyramids had been built mostly by the work of slaves. Slavery was wrong, she knew, and the thought of it sort of soured her daydreaming.
When lunchtime came, she went outside to the school’s playground, found a secluded spot and contacted The Professor on her wrist-communicator. He was glad to hear from her; it seemed he had formulated some sort of plan.
“Ah, Samantha! I’m glad you buzzed. Your friend Marvin and I have been devising a plan to get to the bottom of this confounding conspiracy. If you and Marvin can get in touch with Brianna and Suki and have everyone meet here tomorrow afternoon, that would be most advantageous.”
“I’ll try, Professor, but my mom is keeping a pretty close eye on me these days, I’m afraid.”
“Ah–I wouldn’t worry about that, Samantha. I had a long talk with your mother this morning up in the lobby. I daresay she’s somewhat fond of me again, and has given the O.K. for you and your friends to come down here for a couple hours tomorrow. Oh, and she expects you’ll either ride home on the train with her when she gets off of work, or maybe you’re going to some show with someone named, er, Jason?”
“Oh. Cool. Yeah, um, Jason,” Samantha tried to explain. “He’s my mom’s new boyfriend. He’s kind of okay, actually. I guess he’s got some money.”
“I see. Perhaps he’s the reason your mother seemed so, shall we say, cheery this morning.”
“Yeah, probably. She’s all in love or something. Whatever. Oh–Professor?”
“Yes, Samantha?”
“Jason actually, um, well, he got four tickets to see Heatwavvve tomorrow night at Irving Plaza. I’m really not sure what to do, but he and my mom said they wanted to go with us, me and a friend, I guess. What do you think, should I totally not go?”
The line was silent for a moment. Samantha could almost hear The Professor’s brain calculating thoughts at some most alarming speed.
“Let me think about it, Samantha. It sounds very dangerous, but it could be an opportunity for us, too. I’ll talk to you tomorrow afternoon. Talk to your friends tonight, and tell Brianna to call me on my office phone if you speak with her. The number is two-one-two, seven-one-nine... ”
Samantha fumbled in her backpack for a pen and paper and began writing down the number.
“Okay–got it,” she said.
“Good. Tell her to call me tonight if she can, I’ll be here. Smythe out.” The Professor signed off.
“Right–uh, bye Professor–I mean, Smart out.” She turned off her wrist-communicator and shrugged. She knew The Professor was putting together some sort of plan, but resigned herself to the fact that she probably couldn’t understand it, at least until he explained it to her in full.
The lunch bell rang and Samantha headed back indoors, happy to come in from the cold playground. The rest of the day’s lessons continued on the theme of pyramids, though in the afternoon they learned about Central American pyramids instead of Egyptian ones. This fascinated her even more, for though these pyramids were somewhat smaller and not as old, they were remnants of the Mayan civilization, which was supposedly the civilization responsible for creating the time machine. She listened intently to Mrs. Wronsky’s descriptions of how the Mayan people had lived and examined the pictures in her textbook with the eye of someone who had seen many of the symbols presented before. Many of them were similar to the ones engraved into the stone pieces of the time machine, though somehow different as well. She closed her eyes for a moment and could almost see those more ancient symbols as they had flashed through her mind during time travel; still, they meant nothing intelligible to her and she began to develop an even deeper respect for The Professor’s ability to research and decipher them.
Jason was waiting for her after school, having made an arrangement with her mother to meet her and ride home with her in a car service car. He worked half the time from home and so, he said, it was really no trouble for him. He did his best to make small talk on the ride.
“So, Samantha,” he asked cheerily, “are you psyched for the Heatwavvve show tomorrow night?”
“Um, yeah,” she smiled, trying to sound enthusiastic.
“Who are you going to bring?”
“Uh, probably Brianna. Or maybe Suki.”
“Cool. Your mom and I won’t bother you too much. She’s just still a little worried about you, you know?”
“I know. It’s fine. I just hope you guys won’t be too bored.”
“Bored?,” Jason boomed. “Only boring people are bored, Samantha. I used to sing a little myself, you know.”
Samantha rolled her eyes. How many of her mom’s boyfriends had said that before. She forced a smile and just nodded, trying to look interested but hoping fiercely that Jason would not begin to sing.
“Yep,” he continued, “I played with a band in my twenties. Mostly straight-up rock sort of stuff, but sometimes we mixed it up with some smooth R&B-type tunes, kind of like Heatwavvve but with more of an edge.”
“Really?” Samantha squeezed out a response. She was grinning painfully at this point.
“Oh, yeah,” Jason went on. “We almost had a little record deal at one point but the bass player decided all of a sudden that he needed to become a Buddhist monk, and then the band broke up.” He looked up dreamily at the tall downtown buildings as they passed by. “He’s still in Tibet, I think. Man, life would have been a lot different if he hadn’t gotten into making those sand paintings... ”
Samantha continued her exercise of smiling and nodding as the car rolled over the Manhattan Bridge. Life would have been a lot different, she thought, rolling the words over in her mind, if Elliott Bergen had never been born.
It was Saturday again. One week had passed since Samantha had walked out of her front door and into a world of mystery and adventure. It seemed like a year. Polly was up early as usual, licking her and whining for a walk, and Samantha groggily got up and staggered into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. Her mother had already gone to work, it being officially the holiday season, a time which was particularly busy at the museum and hence required overtime hours to be put in by its employees. They had made a plan at dinner last night that they would meet at the ticket counter at four o’clock today, after Samantha and her friends had finished their “study group” (this w
as Professor Smythe’s excuse for them to meet at the museum), down in the basement. Her mother was off work at that time, and they would take the train with Brianna or Suki (whomever Samantha wanted to bring) to a pizza place downtown and have some slices before going to the Heatwavvve concert at seven-thirty. Jason, apparently, would be meeting them somewhere along the way.
Pulling on her most stylish pair of jeans, Samantha looked into her full-length mirror and tried to smile, telling herself that she was attractive as well as bright and that even if Jordan Anderson–or Jordan Slane–was some evil, time-traveling villain, she might still meet some boy at the show who was at least as worthy of her affections. She experimentally applied some of her mom’s lipstick, making kissy faces at herself until she finally wiped it off as her mother still didn’t allow her to wear make-up outside of the house. Polly sat staring inquisitively, wondering what all the fuss was about and patiently awaiting her walk.
Unfortunately for the little terrier, it was a short one, just up to the park and back, with just enough time to do her business. Samantha still had to shower, eat some brunch and wake up her brother. They had to catch a twelve-ten train into the city, a ride on which Todd had to accompany her according to Cindy Smart’s motherly directives. Todd, of course, was equally unenthusiastic about the situation, especially since he frequently slept until one or two in the afternoon on Saturdays. Needless to say, he was not much fun to wake up.
Nonetheless, off they went at about ten minutes to twelve, Polly abandoned once more to the brownstone’s big bay window, watching as the brother and sister departed for the F train through a chilly, misty Park Slope. The walk was quick and invigorating to Ninth Street and the train reasonably on time, and Samantha sat down in a corner seat and opened her school textbook to the page on Mayan civilization. Todd sat down next to her with his MP3 player on, blasting some horrid heavy metal noise through his earphones at what must have been an ear-damaging volume.
The book held her attention for most of the ride–there was even a little boxed-off section that was essentially a mini-dictionary of Mayan symbols. Samantha surveyed the ones that stood for sun, moon, man, woman, day, night and, most interestingly, a couple which stood for true and false. She was so into studying the symbols that she walked through the Fourteenth Street station with her eyes glued to the book, instinctively tracing a path to the platform for uptown trains. She was vaguely aware of her brother moseying along beside her, occasionally breaking into an embarrassing display of air guitar when his song came to some climactic moment.
She was still reading when they got off the C train at Seventy-second street, walking up the concrete stairs into the chill air that enveloped Central Park West, and by the time she looked up they were at the stairs to the Natural History Museum. How odd, she thought, remembering taking a taxi-boat less than a week ago to this very place. Having spent a while in an altered timeline, she decided, made this proper one somehow less real, no matter how she tried to tell herself that things were as they should be.
They walked up the stairs past Teddy Roosevelt, into the museum lobby and around the ever-present barosauraus, and arrived at the ticket counter where their mother was working, a somewhat long line of visitors stretching out from her ticket window. Cindy Smart saw them and quickly arranged for a short break, coming out to meet them.
“Hi, guys,” she said, smiling. “It’s really busy right now, I’m sorry. You know, tourists and everything.”
“Can I go home now?” Todd asked, momentarily removing his ear buds.
“Todd,” Cindy frowned, “thank you for coming here with Samantha. I guess you can go if you want, but call here as soon as you get home, capiche?”
“Yeah, okay,” Todd nodded, turning to leave.
“And don’t leave the house a mess!” their mother called after him. Todd lifted a lame hand to signal his promise not to.
“Hi, Mom,” Samantha smiled.
“Hey, honey,” Cindy smiled back. “You look really good. Is that what you’re wearing to the Heatwavvve show?”
“Yeah,” Samantha replied, shifting somewhat uncomfortably. “Is it okay?”
Cindy eyed her daughter’s stylish but fairly conservative outfit, at last nodding an approval.
“Did my friends get here yet?” the younger Smart queried.
“Oh–yes, honey, they’re all downstairs with Professor Smythe. You can just go on down if you like, I think they’re waiting for you.”
“Cool,” Samantha grinned. “Um, thanks for letting me have this... study group, Mom. It means a lot to me.”
“I know, Samantha.” her mother stroked her hair for a minute. “Well, you have a great time. I have to get back to work, but you meet me back here at four, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Have you decided who you want to bring yet?”
“Oh–um, no, not yet. I need to talk to everyone first.”
“All right. I’ll see you at four, then.” Cindy Smart blew her daughter a kiss and walked back through the door in the glass-encased kiosk that formed the ticket sales counter. Samantha waved and headed for the stairs.
*
Professor Smythe’s office was abuzz with activity. All of Samantha’s friends were there; apparently they were becoming a crack team of secret agent time-travelers. Marvin and The Professor were at the computer, involved in testing some new device they had hooked up to it; Brianna was on the office phone to someone who sounded like her father and Suki was engrossed in some volume of the Encyclopedia Organica, one in a set of many huge books on all things alive or natural. Their heads all turned when Samantha entered, and Marvin was the first to speak.
“Sammy Smart, Brooklyn’s finest work of art! What up, home girl?”
“Hammering Hip-Hoppers!” Smythe shook his head. “Come in, Samantha, we’ve got a lot going on.”
Samantha sat down in the only empty chair in the room, getting a nod from Brianna and a ‘hello’ from Suki, and The Professor began to explain his latest plan to her.
“We’re going to need you to go that Heatwavvve show, Samantha,” he said. “We’ve got a plan cooking to figure out these Slanes, and you and Brianna are going to be our agents of choice for this particular mission.”
“Okay,” Samantha shrugged, shooting a look at Brianna. “What’s up?”
“Well,” The Professor began, “we’ve been able to determine that Jordan Anderson–that is, Jordan Slane–is a bit of an email nut. That is to say, everywhere he goes, whether it be his home, a hotel room or backstage at a show, Jordan always carries a laptop computer. Mostly he seems to just answer fans’ emails, but we’re hoping that he’ll also be in touch with his father, especially if there’s something important going on.”
“Right,” Samantha nodded. “So... are you... tapping into his emails or something?”
“Not exactly,” The Professor continued, “but we’re hoping to, in a roundabout sort of way. Unfortunately, we can’t gather all the information we need from here–all Jordan’s transmissions are pretty well encrypted–but Marvin has brought us a wonderful device that I think will suit our needs perfectly, though it requires a bit of stealth and, ah, risk, shall we say.”
Samantha shifted her gaze to Marvin, who was grinning like the Cheshire Cat from Alice In Wonderland.
“Well,” he cleared his throat, trying to sound like a professional adult, “ya see this little baby here?” He indicated a small flash drive with a USB input. “This is serious spy stuff, Samantha. This unit here captures keystroke information from the keyboard, that is, it records everything anyone types on it, up to three thousand characters. I got it from a P.I. guy I know back in the ’hood.”
“A... private investigator?” Samantha asked.
“Yeah,” Marvin replied proudly, “he owed me a favor for helping him find out some stuff about some people he was checkin’ out.”
“Cool,” Samantha smiled, genuinely impressed.
“We need to hook this device up to Jordan
’s computer,” The Professor broke in. “It plugs right into a USB input, so you should be able to do it fairly quickly. Most laptops have at least a couple of those.”
Samantha nodded.
“It’s pretty much worked out,” Marvin chimed back in. “Professor Smythe even rigged it so it’ll transmit the recorded information straight to this computer through the Internet, seconds after it captures what Jordan types.”
“Well,” Samantha said after a moment of silence. “It seems you two have come up with a pretty nifty plan. But... how do we get to Jordan’s computer?”
“Done,” Brianna smiled in that horribly precocious ‘little princess’ sort of way. “Daddy got me a backstage pass to the Heatwavvve show. It should be waiting for me at the door.”
“Perfect!” The Professor cackled. He was starting to enjoy himself again, Samantha could tell. “Brianna, you are our main infiltrator. Samantha, I’m afraid that since–well, since Jordan already knows your face, and Marvin’s for that matter, you shouldn’t be directly involved.”
“Um... okay,” Samantha shrugged. “What do you need me to do?”
“All right,” Smythe said seriously, “everybody listen to me for a moment. Tonight, Samantha and Brianna will go to the Heatwavvve concert with Samantha’s mother. There, Samantha, you will try to stay out of Jordan’s sight if at all possible unless Brianna specifically asks for help. I’m giving Marvin’s wrist-communicator to Brianna for now so you can both have a link to us and to each other.
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