“Well, yeah. I guess I do.”
“Good. Now that’s out of the way—what do you want me to do?”
“Put your dad on the phone,” said George. “No, on second thought, I’ll come over. Micron might be listening.”
“Okay, but I’m warning you—my dad might not hear you out. He’s been acting weirder and weirder since the party.”
George swallowed hard. Droid was wearing a MOD. “Just stay safe,” he said. “See you soon.” He hung up.
George was about to leave the lab when he realized he could use the device to his advantage. He reconnected the MOD to the TinkerTech server. This way, he would have wireless access to the computing power of the MOD without worrying about Micron getting into his head. It might be useful, in a pinch. Still wearing the MOD device, George hurriedly left the lab and headed toward the elevator. It was seven floors down to the underground passage that led from TinkerTech to Anne’s house. The transporter would have him there in minutes.
Just as he got to the elevator, he saw the OCD-bot standing there, blocking his path.
“No time to clean, get out of the way,” said George. “Dusting can wait for another day.”
But the robot remained where it was, looking down at George. “I am not here to clean.”
George waited for it to complete the rhyme, but it didn’t continue.
“Why aren’t you rhyming?” asked George.
“Because I am not the OCD-bot,” said the robot. “I am the Caretaker. And I have come to take care of you.”
George turned and sprinted back to the lab.
“There’s nowhere to run, George Gearing,” said the Caretaker.
A red laser beam shot past George’s ear and burned a hole in the wall ahead. George smelled singed hair. He ducked, reached for the door, and pushed through. He slammed it closed and rammed the bolt across it.
There was a moment of silence as George stared at the metal door.
A horrible whine swelled on the other side—and then, George heard a screeching crunch as the teeth of an electric saw bit through the metal panel right above his head.
“A little door can’t stop me,” said the cold voice of the Caretaker over the din. “I’m going to get you, George.”
Heart hammering, George looked around the lab for what he knew he wouldn’t find—another way out.
Then, the whining of the saw stopped. A square piece of the door fell into the lab with a terrific bang, and through the hole George saw the Caretaker reach in with its pincer attachment to unlock the bolt.
George’s mind raced.
“Ready or not, here I come!” said the robot, rolling into the lab.
George threw himself down behind the desk.
“Where are you, George?” cooed the Caretaker, his voice low and dangerous. “Am I getting warm?” George could see the beams from its red, flashing eyes pan across the walls and floor as it surveyed the room.
Maybe when it moves away from that door, I can make a break for it, George thought.
As if it were reading George’s mind, the Caretaker picked up a heavy wooden desk, like it was a child’s toy, and wedged it into the open doorway with a loud crunch.
“There you are!” said the Caretaker. George froze. “No way out now. Tsk, tsk. You’ve been a very bad boy, George. You’ve caused my master quite a bit of trouble.” It waved its finger laser from side to side, just like George’s school principal, Mrs. Qwerty, used to do.
It rolled down the aisle between the desks toward him.
“Hmm, which attachment shall I use?” the Caretaker said, weighing its options from only a few feet away. “The laser is fun, but it’s very clean. Too clean. The drill, perhaps? I know—the sledgehammer!”
George dived for cover.
CRRRASSH!
A huge hammer smashed into the floor where George had been crouching just a microsecond before. But he was already running across the room.
“You’re a quick one, aren’t you,” the Caretaker said. “Let’s see if you can outrun my steam cleaner!”
George looked frantically for another exit. The Caretaker was smashing through desks, one at a time, and was almost on top of him. George’s eyes landed on a ventilation panel on a nearby wall. The MOD! George thought. The MOD could access a map for me! He squeezed his eyes shut and gave the command in his mind. Show me a map of the first-floor ventilation system for the TinkerTech testing lab—NOW! Just then a virtual map of the lab, with all the ventilation ducts marked in red, appeared right before George’s eyes. If he could only get to that panel . . .
The Caretaker stopped directly in front of him, his arm rotating. The hammerhead disappeared and was replaced by a shining black nozzle. “Steam cleaner in place,” the Caretaker announced. “Temperature: two hundred and twelve degrees.”
Boiling point, thought George, as the angry robot pointed the nozzle at his face.
George grabbed the nearest thing off the desk next to him, which happened to be a computer keyboard, and swiped it at the enormous bot. It knocked the steam-cleaning attachment straight off, and the boiling hot spray erupted like a geyser.
“Playing dirty, are we?” said the Caretaker. “You leave me no choice then: Perhaps you want the electric screwdriver? Or how about something messier?”
George dived for the panel on the wall.
Through the open slats, George could see a dark tunnel beyond, barely big enough for him to squeeze into. But the panel was held in place by screws at each corner. He tried to get his fingernails under the panel’s edge, but he couldn’t get a grip.
George heard a low whirring behind him, and he turned to see a deadly-looking circular saw spinning a few inches from his face.
“Say your prayers, George Gearing!” the Caretaker said. “No one can help you now.”
It moved to strike George with the saw, and George ducked at the last second. The blade cut into the metal panel, tearing a hole in the center.
“Actually,” George said, with a grin. “You just did!”
Wasting no time, George dug his fingers into the hole and yanked at the panel with all his strength. It came flying off the wall and smacked right into the Caretaker’s head.
Not risking a look back, George scampered into the tunnel and didn’t stop until he had reached a junction. He paused to catch his breath, and finally peered back to see the Caretaker jabbing its saw attachment uselessly into the ventilation shaft.
“You will not escape, George Gearing!” it shrieked. “I will take care of you!”
George raced down the ventilation duct. He studied the map displayed before him by the MOD and checked the route. It was straightforward—a quick left at the junction and then a right to reach the central vertical maintenance shaft. There he would climb down a very long ladder that should drop him right in front of the shuttle to Droid’s house. As he moved along, he tried to think of someone he could tell—someone who could warn the town about the MODs. He concentrated on accessing the MOD and thought, Give me contact info for Wanda Vector at the Terabyte Tablet. An instant later, her name, email address, and cell phone number appeared before his eyes.
Call Wanda Vector’s cell phone number, he thought. He heard a ringing from the earpiece, and then:
“Hello?”
George tried to make himself sound more adult. “Wanda Vector?” he asked, his voice unnaturally low. Better she didn’t know who he was. Even if Wanda Vector thought George was a hero, he wasn’t sure she would be ready to listen to a kid.
“Yes. Who is this?”
“Listen to me very carefully,” George said. “The MOD device is not safe. Dr. Micron is back, and he’s planning to use the system to control the people who get connected. That means almost everyone in Terabyte Heights is in danger!”
There was a pause as Wanda took it all in. “How did you get this information?” she asked.
“You have to trust me!” George said. “Please! Run the story in the Terabyte Tablet. Put it on your webs
ite. Tell everyone as soon as you can!”
“Who is this?” the reported asked, sounding suspicious. “Your voice sounds familiar.”
“No, you’re mistaken,” George said, panicking.
“Well, I need to know my source!”
“Just say it came from a TinkerTech insider!” George said, and ended the call. It was the truth, after all. He’d almost reached the bottom of the ladder and the shuttle. As he climbed through the belly of the building, he knew for a fact that no one was deeper inside TinkerTech than he was.
A few minutes later, George emerged from the shuttle at Professor Droid’s mansion. Moonlight shone through the windows, and as George made his way to the front of the house, he narrowly avoided being seen by the butler-bot that was patrolling the halls. George stepped out into the large foyer, with its black and white tiled floor, huge crystal chandelier, and spiral staircase. He could hear raised voices coming from the second floor.
“Put it on!”
“No! Dad, stop it!”
“Anne—put it on right now!”
“Arf! Arfarfarf!”
George knew that sound. Sparky was protecting Anne. George sprinted up the stairs, following the sound of the voices to Anne’s bedroom. Through the open door, George saw Professor Droid advancing on his daughter, holding out a MOD. Sparky was growling and snapping at his ankles.
“Just slip it in your ear and you’ll understand!”
Anne was backed right up against the wall, holding a chair out in front of her like a lion tamer. “Get back, Dad—don’t come any closer!”
Her eyes widened in relief when she caught sight of George standing in the doorway. He put his finger to his lips, and Anne nodded slightly. “Don’t you have it in another color?” Anne continued, trying to keep her father’s attention focused on herself.
“Another color?” Droid said, confused. “Why? White goes with everything!”
With Droid distracted by Anne’s question, George took the opportunity to sneak up behind him and pluck the MOD out of his ear.
Immediately, Droid staggered and had to hold himself up against Anne’s dresser. “What’s happening?” he said, with a hand to his head. “How did I get here?”
George threw the earpiece on the floor and crushed it under his heel.
“It’s okay now, Dad,” Anne said, taking her father by the arm. She led him to her bed, where he sat down heavily. “How do you feel?”
Sparky, seeing that the danger had passed, stopped growling and went to lick Droid’s face with his silicon tongue. Anne’s father stared blankly in front of him. “Like I just woke up from a terrible dream. I remember doing and saying awful things these past few days, but I didn’t care. It was as if I had no control over my own body!”
“That’s because you didn’t,” George said grimly. “Micron did.”
“What?” said Droid.
“The MOD was Micron’s brainchild. He planted alpha-wave receptors in the prototypes that allowed him to control the minds of anyone connected to the MOD system! Once everyone in town has one, they’ll all be under his influence!”
“But wait—you’re wearing one right now!” Anne said. “How do I know you’re not a MOD zombie too?”
“I removed the receiver from this one,” George explained. “It’s the only Micron-free MOD. No zombies here, I promise.”
“Whew,” Anne said. “I really didn’t feel like having to poke you with a chair, Robot Boy. Okay, so what do we do now?”
Before Anne or Professor Droid could answer, the television suddenly switched on. The three of them turned to see the handsome face of Dr. Charles Micron smiling back at them. Sparky growled and lunged for the screen, but Anne grabbed hold of him and held him close to shush him. Micron was wearing some kind of shining chrome helmet, its internal tech glowing from within with an eerie blue light. It made him look like a modern-day Roman soldier, ready for war.
“Good evening, George,” Dr. Micron said. “I know you’re watching. I put a little something special in dear old Droid’s MOD so I could keep a close eye on him, and I know my connection to him has just been broken. I’m guessing you had something to do with that.” He chuckled. “You have a very annoying habit of getting in my way, Mr. Gearing. I’d be happy to simply get rid of you once and for all, but first—you have something I need.”
George frowned. “What could you possibly need from me?” he wondered aloud.
“I know you have it, because you never take it out of your pocket. If you did, I would have been able to steal it long before now.”
George’s eyes grew wide, and he slowly reached into his pocket and touched the marble.
“I know all about it, George. I saw it on my security-bot’s film footage from that night at the junkyard,” said Dr. Micron. “And if you don’t give it to me, I can make some very unpleasant things happen. See this helmet I’m wearing? It allows me to control beta-testers connected to the MOD network. That’s quite a few folks in town—including the lovely Wanda Vector.” George’s heart sank. His attempt to alert everyone in town had failed. “And by tomorrow,” Micron continued, “it will be everyone. Would you like a little demonstration?”
The camera panned back to reveal that Dr. Micron was sitting on a desk in a plush office. There was a Terabyte Heights seal behind him.
“That’s the mayor’s office,” said Professor Droid. “How did he . . .”
As the picture widened further, George saw that Cornelius Buffer, the mayor of Terabyte Heights, was standing right next to Micron, his face completely blank.
“Hey, Corny—do me a favor. Jump out the window,” Dr. Micron said with delight. And without hesitation, the mayor opened the window behind him, swung his legs out, and jumped.
George gasped. “I can’t believe it,” he said hollowly. “You killed the mayor!”
“Oh, he’s fine,” Micron scoffed. “We’re on the first floor. Corny!” A moment later, the mayor clambered back through the window to stand next to Micron. He must have fallen into a bush on the way down—there were leaves and twigs stuck in his hair.
“You see?” Micron exclaimed. “He’ll do anything I say—anything. Now, if I don’t get what I want, people in this town are going to start getting hurt, do you understand?” He leaned in toward the camera and the smile dropped from his face. “Bring me that marble, George Gearing,” Micron growled. “Bring it to the junkyard. Oh, and don’t try to run. Anyone who’s wearing a MOD has been ordered to stop you by any means necessary.” He smiled again, his teeth fantastically white. “See you soon!”
The screen went blank.
“That sick, twisted . . .” Droid began, but when he tried to rise from the bed he swooned.
Anne put a hand on his shoulder. “Dad, you’re in no shape to help. You’ve got to stay here.”
Droid reluctantly tried to rest while George and Anne huddled near the door to talk. “What do I do?” George asked. He didn’t want to surrender the marble. But the alternative was unthinkable.
“I don’t get it—of all places, why does he want us to come to your uncle’s junkyard?” Anne asked.
George slapped his forehead. “Of course—he must be Mr. Freezie! I thought that the whole buy-out was too good to be true. That’s why Otto never met the buyer. Micron had to hire someone to do the deal for him because he couldn’t risk being recognized! He must have known about the hatch we found and decided to buy the junkyard so he could get inside! That’s why he wants the marble. Remember how it glowed when we got near it? I bet it’s the key to opening that hatch door!”
“But we still don’t know what’s inside,” said Anne.
“It has to be something to do with Project Mercury,” said George. “And Micron will do anything to get it.” He sighed. “But how are we going to stop him?”
“Wait!” Anne said. “I have an idea. Give me that MOD.”
“Why?” asked George as he handed it over.
“Just play along, okay? We have a direct link
to the mayor’s office here, since Dad talks to him so much,” Anne said, as she switched on her computer and pressed some keys. “Hold on. Just move over there, in front of the screen.” George did as he was told. Anne got a baseball bat from inside her closet and then walked over to stand next to George, holding the bat in front of his chest.
The monitor lit up and there was Dr. Micron again. He peered at them in confusion, but then grinned. “Young Miss Droid, how good to see you! And it looks like you’ve captured our mutual friend!”
“Yes, sir,” said Anne in an expressionless voice. She touched the MOD earpiece. “I received your order through my MOD. George managed to destroy my dad’s device, but he wasn’t quick enough to get mine. He is my prisoner.” George put on a scared face. “I will deliver him to you right away.”
“That’s a good girl,” Dr. Micron said. “You see, George? You think you’re so smart, but you’re no match for me.” He reached out and cut off the connection.
“That was genius!” George exclaimed.
“Wasn’t it?” Anne said. She turned to Sparky. “Listen, boy—I want you to stay here and protect Dad, okay? If anyone tries to put one of these little white things in his ear again, bite them!” Sparky wagged his tail and sat at attention at the foot of Anne’s bed.
Anne turned back to George. “C’mon, let’s go!”
“Wait,” George said, stopping her. “What is the plan, exactly?”
Anne shrugged. “I have no idea,” she said. “But if we’re going to beat Micron again, we’ve got to face him together.” She reached out her hand. “Partners?”
George grasped her hand and smiled. “Partners,” he replied.
The Droids’ smartcar drove them swiftly toward the junkyard. The night had turned dreary, and a misty rain fell all around them. The streetlights shone yellow in the gloom, and puddles glistened with reflected light. George stared out the window, lost in thought. Exhaustion was creeping up on him—but he pushed it away. He and Anne were Terabyte Heights’ only hope. He would be able to sleep again only when Micron was behind bars for good.
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