“Bless me!” he sputtered. “Ig, ow, oh—what, how—”
“Sir,” said Sprockets, “it’s all been arranged.”
“Eh? Bless me again, what’s been arranged?”
“The solution to the Mongolian question, sir. You’ve been told, no doubt, about what that unspeakable, unmentionable person—”
Jim said: “He doesn’t know yet, Sprockets. You don’t think I’d tell him what Professor Katz has done, do you?”
“Eh? What’s this about Vladimir Katz?” The doctor’s mop of white hair began to bristle. “Speak plainly, Sprockets. Mince no names.”
“Yes, sir. No, sir. I regret to inform you, sir, that Prof. Vladimir Katz is on his way to monopolize Mars in a spaceship built by the Mongolian Planetary Monopoly. If he monopolizes Mars, he may learn about the Something and monopolize it.”
The doctor was thunderstruck. But before he could bristle further, Sprockets added hastily: “However, sir, I am happy to inform you that I have just concluded arrangements for us to fly to Mars and search for the Something with Ilium and Leli. As you know, the saucer’s speed is such that we can easily fly circles around the professor and reach our destination many weeks ahead of him.”
“Bless me!” said the doctor, quite overcome. “Bless me!” Then he exclaimed, “Mars!” and his voice fairly vibrated with rising excitement. “This is absolutely triply terrific! Now I can solve the secret of the Something—and do it face to face. I must tell Miranda and get my things.”
Dr. Bailey turned and rushed down the stairway, with Jim panting eagerly at his heels.
They found Mrs. Bailey in the kitchen, packing a lunch basket. “You don’t have to tell me,” she said. “You’re going to Mars—and meet that horrible Something face to face.”
“Of course,” said the doctor. “Naturally. How else would we meet it?”
“I don’t know, unless you use mirrors.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “I hope you don’t meet it in the dark.”
“Never fear. We’ll carry flashlights. Now, if you’ll fix us a spot of lunch—”
“I’m already fixing it, Barnabas. But all the way to Mars—and Jim is so young.”
“Posh and twiddle, he’s going on ten, eleven, or maybe twelve,” said the doctor, who never could remember Jim’s age. “Anyway, he’s practically a juvenile adult.”
“I’m quite aware of it, dear, and I’d never let you go bumbling so far from home without him. But—but Mars!”
“Aw, Mom,” said Jim. “It’s only a bit farther than the Moon, sort of.”
“Only a trifle, so to speak,” hastened the doctor. “Space is so readily relative, especially in a saucer. We’ll pop over, look at a canal or two, and pop right back.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that. Nothing to it. You really should come along, Miranda, and see the Martian canals. They’re—”
“Gracious, no! Someone in this family has to keep a firm foot on solid Earth. But I suppose you’re taking Sprockets and Rivets?”
“Sprockets, yes. He’s needed. Rivets, no. I can’t risk being flumdiddled on the fourth planet by a piddling little robot that plays with marbles.”
They were interrupted by Sprockets, who came hurrying to help the doctor pack.
“Where’s Rivets?” the doctor demanded.
“Sir, Ilium and Leli are running a language tape through his slot. They think he can learn a simplified version of their musical tongue. In which case, sir, he would be of inestimable help in communications whenever we are separated.”
“Glurp!” gurgled the doctor. “That settles it. Sprockets, pack my ice skates and swimming trunks. We must be prepared to investigate the Martian canals, depending on their condition. But don’t bother with the space suits—Ilium has much better ones than ours.”
By the time they were ready to leave, Mrs. Bailey had stuffed a huge lunch basket with sandwiches, fried chicken, cheese, sausage, olives, pickles, plums, ice cream and cake, and a special box of goodies for Ilium and Leli. Finally she handed Jim a big thermos bottle filled with sassafras tea with large gobs of sourwood honey in it.
“Now mind, Jim. Whenever your daddy gets too excited, give him a cup of tea.”
“Yes, Mom. What do you want me to bring you from Mars?”
“Anything but that Something. I won’t have it in the house.”
She kissed them all good-by except Rivets, who was still recovering from his language tape, and she stood waving to them while the saucer rose humming in the sunlight.
They rose slowly at first, then Ilium switched on the under-gravity nullifiers and the saucer sped almost instantly into the darkness of space. With the nullifiers on, it seemed, even to Sprockets, that they were standing still. The only way he could tell that they were moving was to see Earth becoming smaller and smaller on one side, and space becoming blacker and blacker on the other—except for the small red dot that was Mars growing bigger and redder.
“Whee!” said the doctor. “This is really whizzing. How does the saucer do it, Sprockets?”
“Sir, as I’ve explained to you before, the saucer has hyper-sub-medio space inductors that are connected to a thought thingummy, so naturally we can fly as fast as thought.”
“Naturally,” said the doctor, “I remember. Ilium has merely to think for it to go—this way or that way, and as fast as he wants—and that’s the way it goes. So of course we fly thoughtfully. Very simple indeed. How fast are we flying now?”
Sprockets spoke to Ilium, then translated: “Only three hundred thousand miles a minute at the moment, sir. It is dreadfully slow, but he says if we go faster you might become abbled—I mean addled—even with the nullifiers on. At the present rate, sir, we will land on Mars in six hours and seven minutes. As for Professor Katz and the Mongolians, of course—”
“Yes, yes? What about the rascals? Are we near them?”
“Practically abeam, sir. As nearly as I can compute, sir, they are six thousand and three miles, seven hundred and forty-two feet off to starboard. Ilium wants to know if you would like to swing over and have a look at their spaceship.”
“Indeed I would! I have the gravest suspicions about their ship,” said the doctor emphatically.
“Daddy,” said Jim, “do you think their ship was built from the designs someone stole from you?”
“Exactly,” snapped the doctor. “And I suspect Vladimir Katz. All he can do is filch and purloin, connive and prevaricate. He cannot create.”
“Daddy, what does ‘filch and purloin, connive and prevaricate’ mean?”
“It means less than I can say, and he’s a double-dyed rat to boot. Heaven preserve us! What’s that racket?”
They turned to see Rivets sitting up, blinking his eye lights rapidly.
“Yeedle-de-yee! Jiggle-le-je!” Rivets was singing. “Oh, Spwockets, I can twibble like a mocklingbird!”
Sprockets had his screwdriver and oil can out in a flash. It took hardly a second to fix the screw, but it was too late to change what the doctor had heard.
Dr. Bailey shook his head sadly. “If only I’d known in time, I could have sent him back to the factory. Now we’ll be stuck on Mars with an abbled robot.”
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About the Author
Alexander Key (1904–1979) started out as an illustrator before he began writing science fiction novels for young readers. He has published many titles, including Sprockets: A Little Robot, Mystery of the Sassafras Chair, and The Forgotten Door, winner of the Lewis Carroll Shelf Award. Key’s novel Escape to Witch Mountain was adapted for film in 1975, 1995, and 2009.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitio
usly. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1963 by Alexander Key
Cover design by Jesse Hayes
ISBN: 978-1-4976-5256-9
This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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Sprockets Page 9