“You . . . you went into the empty building of the Ocean Institute after it was dark. You disconnected the feed from the hydrophones so no one could see the slowdown echoes.”
Professor Marigold held out his hands and gave the slightest shrug. “Sorry, friends, but I must nip this in the flower.”
“The bud,” Sam automatically answered.
“Why didn’t you want the Institute seeing the slowdown echoes, Professor Marigold?” asked Owen.
“Were you just . . . are you threatening me?” asked Dory. Sam and the others huddled closer.
Blake stretched himself higher in his chair and fixed the professor with a fierce expression. “There’s five of us and only one of you.”
“And, if you’ll, um, excuse me, Professor, but you’re not . . . ” Sam didn’t want to say anything rude by bringing up Professor Marigold’s tiny stature. “You should let us leave peacefully, sir,” he said firmly.
“Oh, it isn’t me you need worry about,” said the little man. Did his ears just wiggle? “When that message the young lady sent becomes part of the podcast episode, it will alert a group that you don’t want knowing what you’ve been up to.” His odd squeaky voice had taken on an ominous shrillness. “In a short time, they will dispatch a message to move the mission to an urgent level. That will bring reinforcements—something you don’t want.”
“Told you this had to do with SUOs,” Dory couldn’t help adding.
“Or a government conspiracy to control cats and people with mechanical ticks,” said Sam, remembering the zombie parade of teens doing somebody’s bidding.
“Yes,” the professor said noncommittally. “And that puts you all in, what is it you call it, a cucumber?”
“A pickle,” corrected Sam.
“Are you with them or against them, that group who will put us in danger?” asked Blake.
Again the professor put up his hands and shrugged.
“What’s going on in Sinistrus Mansion?” demanded Sam. “What’s lurking below Croaker’s Island?”
Professor Marigold cleared his throat. “Let me see if I correctly heard your conversation. You have spotted blurry white owls on the island, and you have seen an underwater bridge. Cats have been disappearing, and teenagers who have had common childhood diseases are being summoned to the island.”
All of them nodded.
“Sounds very low-tech,” the professor muttered.
“Pardon?” asked Sam.
“The aliens are not from a very advanced civilization.” Professor Marigold placed his hand over his mouth. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Too late now,” said Sam, although he was pretty sure the professor had meant to say exactly that. He was starting to get dots in front of his eyes again. “You’re saying Croaker’s Cove is being invaded by aliens?”
The others went dead quiet. Even Dory seemed dumbfounded to have one of her crazy theories affirmed.
Professor Marigold took off his thick eye-glasses and rubbed them against his lab coat. Placing the wire spectacles back on his nose, he peered at Sam and his friends. “You seem like nice kids,” he said. “A little snoopy, maybe, and a few of you might be too smart for your own good, but nice. I only wish I could help.”
Then the little man turned and began walking away.
“Wait!” Sam shouted. “You can’t tell us we’re under invasion, and kids and cats are being experimented on, and then walk away.”
The professor halted and slowly turned around. “I’m sorry, but I’m under strict orders not to get involved.”
“But what will happen to us?” pleaded Khallie. “What’s going to happen to me?”
“I could try and dig the nanobot out with my Scout knife,” offered Owen.
“Harsh,” said Blake.
“I wouldn’t recommend that,” the professor said, shaking his head. “The teeny robot will automatically bury itself deeper, no matter how hard you dig in your knife.”
“Eew,” Dory grimaced.
“Maybe I should burn it out, like it really was a tick,” said Owen, digging through his uniform pockets for matches.
“There will be no knives, no digging, and no burning.” Khallie put her hands on her hips.
“An electromagnet would deactivate it.” Professor Marigold hesitated, as if he was trying to make up his mind about what to say next. “You’re up against a COS.”
Looking at their blank faces, the professor explained, “That’s a Class One Society. Any Class One Society is not a particularly advanced civilization. They can’t appear in their physical form, for example; they need to implant those tiny nanobots you thought were ticks and take minor control of people’s minds to get them to do their bidding. Very primitive, you see.” The professor muttered again, “They can’t even hijack brains; they have to put their subjects in a sleepwalking trance. That’s practically a Stone Age civilization.”
“If a civilization can travel here from a distant galaxy and build laboratories and bridges under our ocean,” Sam started pacing, “and then turn people into sleepwalking zombies so they can run a few tests on humans, they’re still way ahead of us.”
“What would that make our civilization?” asked Owen. “Class Zero?”
“Not quite,” said the professor. “But the important point is that these . . . beings . . . aren’t that far ahead of you. That’s why they’re hiding beneath the sea. They’re trying to determine what germs and diseases they’ll be exposed to once they take the next step.”
“The next step?” Blake gripped the arms of his chair. “That doesn’t sound good.”
Sam paused for a second. “Wait a minute. That’s why the school nurse kept bugging me for my immunization records.”
“I . . . I remember the nurse calling me to her office,” Khallie said breathlessly. “She’d received a small patch that was supposed to go behind my neck for one day because I hadn’t had some shots.” Khallie shook her head. “Right after I took the bandage off, I got what I thought were mosquito bites.”
“Does that mean these . . . aliens . . . can also monitor our Internet and computers and send messages out to people like the nurse without our knowledge?” Sam tried not to let his voice squeak.
Blake pounded his fists this time. “That’s diabolical.”
“And pretty smart,” Owen said with a touch of admiration.
“I knew it was aliens,” said Dory.
“Why make it all the way to Earth and try to get control of a few teenagers and cats?” asked Sam. “If they’re more than advanced than us, why would they even care?”
“It’s funny,” Professor Marigold said softly. “People here are always hunting for rare minerals or gold or diamonds, or oil, yet they sell off or carelessly pollute the most valuable resource in the entire universe.”
“What?” asked Blake and Dory.
Sam thought he knew, though Owen said it first. “Water?”
“Precisely,” said Professor Marigold.
“We have to stop them, Professor!” Khallie looked fierce and went into lecture mode. “You can’t just tell us about aliens who are up to no good and then abandon us.”
“But you aren’t abandoning us, are you?” said Sam.
The professor turned around and began walking away.
× 25 ×
GAMMA RAYS, I THINK
THERE WAS a weird static in the air, constantly buzzing and making Sam think time had stopped. But when he looked at the clock, it surprised him to see its hands ticking along. Blake’s parents were late, Khallie had missed her bus, and any moment now Owen’s parents would come looking for him. Professor Marigold stopped halfway out the observatory room with his back to Sam and his friends. If he really wanted to abandon them, then why was he still there?
Sam cleared his throat. “Professor Marigold, when Dory texted George, you said we had a problem. I’m thinking you meant you did too.”
When the professor didn’t turn around, Blake gave it a shot. “You�
�ve been tracking those ocean echoes yourself, spying on those . . . aliens. Don’t try and tell us you don’t care.”
“I don’t think you meant it when you said you can’t get involved,” said Sam.
“Oh, I very much meant it,” the professor said so quietly Sam had to step closer to hear. “It’s simply not permitted.”
Sam tried to ignore how the hair prickled against the back of his neck when he stood so closely to the professor, and he remembered again the dogs barking in the parking lot when the professor walked past them.
“Okay, perhaps you can’t get involved yourself, but I think you want to help us. You don’t want those aliens messing with us.” Sam waited.
The professor’s shoulders stooped slightly. “You are very intuitive, Sam.” Then he focused his gaze on Owen. “And, Master Owen, you’re a very clever fellow.”
Owen beamed a smile then remembered their dire situation and looked serious again.
Professor Marigold reached into his enormous lab coat pocket and pulled out a pen and paper. Hastily he scribbled something, crumpled up the paper, and tossed it on the floor. “As I said, those beings submerged in your ocean know they are not very advanced, and that there are . . . other civilizations far, far ahead of them.”
The professor raised his voice and emphasized every word. “If . . . for some reason . . . they thought one of those other . . . civilizations . . . found out about their little hijinks, they’d vamoose. They’d blow the soda stand.”
“They’d what?” asked Blake.
“Blow this pop stand. Get out fast,” answered Sam, rushing to pick up the crumpled paper.
Then the professor scurried away.
Khallie stared at his back as he disappeared into the shadows. “Why do you suppose he kept telling us in astronomy class that Earth is probably the only place in the universe that has intelligent life and . . . ” she gingerly scratched the back of her neck, “now he tells us we’ve got aliens?”
“My grandmother has a saying for that,” Sam said thoughtfully. “Pulling the wool over our eyes.”
“Like a smoke screen,” added Blake.
“Or camouflage,” Owen said nodding. “Not that Professor Marigold blends in much.”
“Do you mean . . .” Dory let out a sharp breath. “You don’t suppose your professor is an . . . an . . . ” She blinked several times. “No way.”
Sam unfolded the paper and stared at a diagram dotted with numbers. He had no idea what it meant.
Seeing his blank face, Blake looked over Sam’s shoulder. “I’ve got nothing. Owen, take a look here. The professor must have been dropping a hint when he said you were smart, right?”
“I thought he was just complimenting me,” said Owen.
“What about me? Why not let me see if I understand it?” complained Khallie. She glanced at the scribbling. “Never mind.”
“Just give the paper to the brainiac,” snapped Dory. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
Sam handed Owen the paper. “Well?”
Owen scrunched his face as he examined the diagram. He muttered numbers under his breath. For a few moments he stared until a nervous tick twitched above his eye. Just as Sam started worrying that the professor had overestimated his intelligence, Owen said, “It . . . it’s a radio broadcast, but on a wavelength I’ve never seen before. It’s a very broad band meant for gamma rays, I think.”
“Hey, wait a minute.” Sam slowly smiled. “Professor Marigold said those aliens would get out of here fast if they thought someone more advanced had found out about them coming here. I bet if we broadcast that signal, those aliens will think they’re in big trouble.” He frowned. “Um, can we broadcast it? Will you be able to transmit it?”
Owen nodded. “I think so, but because it’s such a weird wavelength, I’d have to set up the receiver really close to that alien ship.”
“You mean go back to Croaker’s Island?” Ice water trickled through Sam’s veins.
“Yeah, and I don’t have time to waterproof the receiver. So we’d have to set up the receiver in that basement laboratory we stumbled across.” Owen looked at Sam. “Sorry, I can’t be the one to do that. I have to transmit from somewhere close by. Besides, my allergies would go nuts and the sneezing would set off the alarm again.”
“For crying out loud, why doesn’t the professor hand this over to the military or any authority?” said Khallie. “Why us?”
Owen waved his hand dismissively as he studied the paper. “There isn’t time for red tape. Besides, if he wants to stay under the radar, no one listens or pays attention to kids.”
The ice water was now gushing through Sam’s veins. “I guess I’ll be going back into the mad scientist laboratory.” Then Sam remembered, “But the boat has a hole in it from our last trip. How will we get on the island?”
“I can get the keys to the yacht club.” With a sly smile Blake added, “My dad just got a new sailboat. We can it take out and cross over to the island. I . . . don’t know much about sailing, but the boat has a motor.”
Sam thought Blake looked a little nervous. “Are you sure?”
“I sailed with Colton . . . once.” With more resolve, Blake declared, “I can manage it. Meet me at my place as soon as you can.”
“You girls should stay home.” Sam gulped. “Especially if something happens to us, you need to get the word out.”
“Not likely.” Khallie fastened Sam with a glare. “Those aliens messed with me. That makes it personal. I’m going with you.”
“And I’m in too.” Dory noticed Sam’s frown. With that twisted smile of hers she said, “After all, I’m your expert on aliens.”
Sam was getting a bad feeling about this plan.
“Blake, we’re so sorry.” Mrs. and Mr. Evans rushed into the observatory, with Mr. Evans pushing the wheelchair. “Every traffic light was red,” said Mrs. Evans.
“Then we couldn’t get through the electronic gate to the parking lot,” Mr. Evans said in an annoyed voice. “I had to walk around campus until I found a custodian with a key.”
Mr. Chatterjee followed behind them. “Owen, let’s get going. Hey, where’s your Scout troop?”
“One hour,” Blake mouthed to Sam, Dory, Owen, and Khallie.
× 26 ×
SOMETHING’S WRONG WITH KHALLIE
WHEN SAM AND DORY snuck away from their house, Dory kept the car in neutral as they coasted down the bluff to the road. “So let me get this straight. Suddenly, it’s okay with you if I drive passengers that are not family members, even if I only have a novice driver’s licence? I thought you were going to rat me out to Dad when he got here.”
“You’re going to start obeying rules when our town and maybe our planet are at stake?” asked Sam. But Dory didn’t answer.
“Okay, I promise I won’t mention you driving friends around when Dad gets here,” said Sam. “We need your help tonight.”
“Whatever.” Dory turned the engine on and they shot down the coastal road toward the trailer park. Sam wished this scheme didn’t include Dory, but her ability to drive was handy. He realized any power he had over her was now pretty much gone.
Sam stared out the windshield. A patch of moonlight broke through the clouds, lighting the ocean and giving it an unearthly turquoise glow. Sam stared at its briny depths, thinking about the sinister threat hiding beneath those waves. Dory took a sharp left, almost knocking Sam out of his seat. They turned into the trailer park and waited.
When Khallie appeared beside the car, she had to call softly before Sam even saw her. She was practically invisible. She’d dressed for spy work in black jeans, black boots, and a black hoodie. She’d slung a leather messenger bag over her shoulder.
Dory glanced at the dilapidated trailers and Khallie’s clothes, but all she said was, “Nice outfit and coordinating designer bag.”
“Thanks.” Khallie shrugged. “Do we go get Owen now?”
Sam climbed into the back seat, trying to adjust his too-long sweater an
d tamp down his wild hair as Khallie rattled directions. They started rolling.
Owen stood on the outskirts of his yard, hiding behind the large oak tree that blocked his parents’ view from the front window. He shouldered a bulging backpack that almost toppled him backwards when he slid into the back seat of Dory’s red Fiat.
“Whoa!” Sam reached out and steadied the heavy backpack. “What have you got in there?”
“Lots of stuff,” said Owen. “A Scout is always prepared.” The tiny fold-out seats in the back of the Fiat Spider didn’t have much room for giant backpacks. Sam and Owen were stuffed in like sardines.
As they approached Blake’s place, they saw the house was dark. Dory cut the engine and parked a little way down the street. Blake sat in his wheelchair in the shadows of the driveway. Sam got out of the car first.
Blake hesitated before he said, “Sam, you can come with me, if that’s okay. Everyone else meet us at the yacht club down the hill.”
“No problem,” said Sam. Khallie waved out the window and gave Blake the thumbs-up.
Blake wore racing gloves and wheeled himself for several blocks. Sam jogged beside him just to keep up. But when they got to the top of the hill that led down to the water and the yacht club, Sam got behind the wheelchair and made sure Blake didn’t roll down too fast. That is, until . . .
“Oh, no!” Sam’s voice squeaked, and he forced it lower. “That’s Angel Chan.”
“Why is she walking so weird?” Blake leaned forward from his chair, peering down to the seawall. “Isn’t that Dane? And look, turning the corner, it’s Nancy Kim.” He rubbed his eyes. “Why are they so stiff . . . like robots?”
“They must be under the command of those nanobots in their necks,” decided Sam. “When they’re activated, it’s like they’re sleepwalking.”
They turned to each other. “Khallie!”
The Mystery of Croaker's Island Page 11