Omega City

by Diana Peterfreund

  “Pluto’s not a planet, though,” said Eric.

  “It was for most of the twentieth century,” said Howard. “It was only in the past few years that they demoted it to dwarf planet status.”

  “Dr. Underberg died ten years before we were even born,” I said.

  “So whenever he wrote this, Pluto was still a planet.”

  “Wait. Just because he wrote IX, that means Pluto?” Savannah asked. “I think that’s kind of a stretch.”

  “Not really,” I said. Howard seemed like he was on the right track at last. “Underberg was obsessed with Pluto, all his life. It was discovered on his birthday: February 18, 1930. He’d had murals of it painted on the wall of his office, used it as his code word when working on secret stuff for the State Department . . .”

  “His exact birthday?” Howard asked. “Like it’s his twin?”

  I thought of the last line of the riddle: When you find my twin, you will find my treasure. “Maybe. But who leaves a treasure on Pluto? No one’s been to Pluto, right?”

  “Maybe the green moon monsters,” said Savannah.

  “There aren’t any green moon—” Howard stopped. “Oh. That was a joke.”

  She snickered. I glared at her. Don’t distract him. He was finally giving us useful info.

  He turned to me. “And that’s not all. See this number?” He pointed at the long number at the bottom of the last diary page. “That’s the average distance from the sun to Pluto: 5,906,376,272 kilometers.”

  “Okay,” I conceded. “So you are saying there’s some kind of treasure on Pluto?”

  “Not exactly.” He pointed at the other group of numbers. “This number here: 1,391,000? That’s the diameter of the sun.”

  “Do you have all those memorized or something?” Savannah asked, rolling her eyes.

  “Just the planets,” Howard replied. “I’m still working on the moons. Anyway, he says here to ‘use the sun to start your journey.’ That made me think. In fourth grade, we made a scale model of the solar system. Do you remember?” he asked her.

  Savannah shrugged. “Not really. It was two years ago for me.”

  “Sav,” I hissed. She totally remembered that project. I know because she wrote me an email about it, back when I still lived in the city and she wasn’t afraid to let people know she could do long division in her head.

  But Howard didn’t seem to hear her anyway. “Well, one of the things we had to do was figure out the relative size and distance of the planets. There was a worksheet with the measurements on them, and we had to translate them all to smaller sizes. The sun is really one point three-nine million kilometers across, but what if it was the size of an orange? How big would the planets be, how far away? All those calculations. And we made a solar system on the soccer field. Well, mostly on the soccer field. It didn’t all fit, because if the sun was the size of an orange, then the relative distance to Pluto would be—”

  “You think the treasure map is a scale model of the solar system?” I asked before he gave me the entire rundown.

  Howard blinked at the interruption. Then he nodded. “Yes. And IX—Pluto—marks the spot.”

  I looked at the page with Underberg’s riddle. You know where I’m from, and the gifts I have left there. And even if the sun sets on this Earth, you can use it to start your journey. Howard was right—it did sound like he was trying to make the sun the start of a trail to the treasure.

  “So all we’d have to do to find this treasure is figure out the relative distance of the planets, like on the worksheet!” I exclaimed.

  Eric tapped the page, where it said 0.05=1,391,000. “But in this case, instead of the sun being an orange, it’s 0.05 . . . something.”

  “That’s probably kilometers, too,” said Savannah. “0.05 kilometers is fifty meters.” I gave her a look but she didn’t seem to notice.

  “That’s as far as I got.” Howard sat back down at the desk chair. “But I don’t know what this fifty-meter thing was that Dr. Underberg was using for the sun.”

  “Well, that’s going to be impossible to find out,” said Eric. “It’s been decades since he wrote this riddle. Whatever it was has been moved or destroyed long ago.”

  I looked down at the diary page, and the concentric circles drawn there. When I’d first seen it, I’d thought it was a target. But now I knew it was supposed to be the solar system.

  I also knew where I’d seen it before.

  “No,” I said softly. “It hasn’t been destroyed. We were just there.”

  Eric’s eyes got really wide. “Solar Park?”

  “Solar,” I said. “Like the sun. And he says ‘you know where I’m from, and the gifts I have left there.’ He has to be talking about the park. It’s in his hometown. There’s even an engraving of the solar system on the dedication plaque that looks just like this one.” How funny. I always thought that was just because it was called Solar Park. I’d never even wondered why they’d called it that.

  And then I remembered something else. Fiona, knocking on the granite block where the plaque was set. Did she think that was where Underberg’s treasure was hidden?

  “The park is fifty meters across?”

  “It must be close,” said Eric. “Like half a football field?”

  “It has to be precise,” Howard said. “Any variation could ruin the calculation.”

  “Hey, Howard, can I see my dad’s book again?” He handed it over and I flipped through, looking for the page I remembered. “I think Dad wrote about the park in his book. They had to reroute roads and stuff to get it exactly how Dr. Underberg wanted. . . .” I found what I was looking for and started reading. “‘Town Hall meetings from this time indicate that there was much debate over Dr. Underberg’s specifications. He would only donate the money under the conditions that the park meet the following qualifications: 1) perfectly round, 2) precisely fifty meters from end to end, and 3) in the exact spot he specified.’”

  “That’s got to be it,” said Howard. He leaped up and snatched the book out of my hands, as if I was going to keep it.

  And that was probably why Fiona had been so interested in the park the other day. She knew Underberg had some kind of treasure, but without the last page of the diary, she had no idea about the riddle, and no clue that Solar Park was only the beginning of the trail. “So if the park is the starting point for the map, we have to . . . uh, find X.” I looked at Savannah helplessly.

  She was entering numbers into the calculator app on Howard’s computer. “If the sun is fifty meters across, then the relative distance to Pluto is . . .” She punched a button. “. . . about two hundred and twelve kilometers.”

  “No ‘abouts,’” said Howard. “We need the exact number, because Pluto’s going to be very small.”

  “How small? What size is Pluto really?” Savannah asked.

  “Two thousand, three hundred and sixty kilometers in diameter.” This time, when Howard rattled off the exact number from memory, Savannah didn’t so much as smirk. She was already deep into her calculations, punching in numbers.

  “Eight point four-eight centimeters,” she announced. “So about three inches.”

  “Like an orange,” Eric pointed out.

  “Or a doorknob,” said Howard.

  “Or a soda can,” Eric said.

  “Or a fist.” Howard was really getting into it now.

  I closed my hand into a fist. All the hair on my arms stood on end and I swallowed. “Or . . . a battery.”

  “What?” asked Savannah.

  I flipped to another page in Dad’s book. “The prototype for the Underberg battery,” I explained, pointing at the diagram in Dad’s book. “It was supposed to be small enough to hold in your hand.”

  Howard frowned. “You think the treasure is a battery?”

  “Not just any battery,” I said. “A hundred-year battery. It was going to revolutionize the world, end the energy crisis. It was going to change everything!”

  “Then why didn’t it?�
�

  I remembered what Dad had said the other day. “Because there were people out there who had a lot of power and money because the world didn’t have a battery like that. And they made Dr. Underberg and his battery disappear.”

  “They again?” Savannah asked.

  Howard thought about this for a minute. “That seems stupid.”

  “It’s because it is,” Eric said. “There’s no proof that battery ever worked, but Dr. Underberg kept trying until they fired him.”

  I whirled to face him. “Since when do you know so much about it?”

  “I live in our house, too.” He shrugged. “I know what’s in Dad’s book. I just came to a different conclusion than you guys did.”

  I’d show him. I’d show them all. If we found the battery, it would be a hundred times better than a statement from the diner owner. We could prove the battery worked, that Dr. Underberg wasn’t a crackpot, and that all Dad’s theories were right.

  “Dad’s book never mentioned anything about this riddle,” I said. “Do you think he just thought it was scrap paper, with all the random numbers?”

  Eric considered this. “I’m sure if Dad thought this had any potential, he’d be tracking it down—and dragging us along. Should we ask him?”

  “No way!” I shook my head. “If he finds out Fiona’s been snooping, he’ll go into security mode. And even worse, if he decides to trust her and tells her what we’ve discovered, she’ll—”

  “Be gone for good?” Eric suggested. “That is what you want, isn’t it?”

  I looked away. That was one goal, at least. But it also meant Fiona would get to . . . whatever it was first. I was pretty sure she had no intention of sharing the treasure if she found it. After all, she’d already stolen from Dad.

  Eric sighed, letting his head fall back in frustration. “Oh no. You think there’s really something to find there. Something that will maybe prove Dad was right?”

  “And you don’t?” I asked.

  Eric gave me a pitying look. It’s weird the way he looked so much like Mom sometimes. “Gills . . . even if you’re right about Fiona—and I kind of believe you are—even if she is only dating Dad because she wants this piece of paper . . . that doesn’t change anything. All it means is that Fiona is as gullible as Dad is. It doesn’t make Dr. Underberg any less crazy, and it doesn’t make Dad any . . .”

  He trailed off, but I knew where he was going. It didn’t make Dad any less wrong.

  The morning Mom walked off our campsite, we heard our parents arguing. “I refuse to sacrifice my career on the altar of your paranoia,” she’d told him. Mom left Dad because she didn’t believe him. But Eric and I were still here. Mainstream phase or not, my brother hadn’t given up on Dad entirely.

  My throat felt too full of words to speak.

  “Think about it,” Eric said. “If Dad thought there was anything worthwhile on this page, it wouldn’t have been filed away with a bunch of scraps. It’s just Dr. Underberg being delusional. Come on. Even Dad thought this was nothing.”

  Even Dad.

  But Fiona didn’t seem to think so. She wanted this piece of paper for some reason. Maybe it did lead to the battery. Maybe it was a wild goose chase. The only thing I knew for sure was that Fiona didn’t have the map.

  We did.

  7

  FAKE SCHOOL PROJECTS

  HOWARD WENT TO THE DOOR OF THE BEDROOM. “NATE!” HE CALLED.

  Savannah mouthed Nate at me.

  “Can I borrow your GPS?” He turned back to us. “My dad and brother have one for hunting trips.”

  Private Pizza—Nate—appeared at the door with a device that looked like a large cell phone in his hand. “What are you guys doing?”

  “School project,” Eric said.

  “A mapping project,” I clarified. “We, uh, need the GPS to get exact measurements.”

  Nate leaned against the doorjamb and looked at each of us in turn. “What are you guys mapping?”

  “Pollution,” I said, at the exact same time as Eric said, “Bird migration.”

  Nate snorted.

  “We’re making a scale model of the solar system based on a fifty-meter-diameter park in Reistertown,” Howard said.

  “Oh,” said Nate, as if it suddenly all made sense. “That’s cool, bro.”

  Howard turned to Savannah. “You have that exact number?”

  “What number?” Savannah smoothed her hair down and giggled in Nate’s general direction.

  Howard groaned, then shoved past her to his computer. “I need the exact relative distance from the sun to Pluto—” While he furiously pressed the keys, Savannah pushed away from the desk.

  “Geez, chill out. It’s just a calculator.”

  I shook my head at her. Seconds ago, she’d been the one doing all the math.

  “So, Nate,” she said with her most winning smile. “What grade are you in?”

  “Eleventh,” he stated flatly.

  “Cool.”

  Nate said nothing. Eric shot me a look, which I ignored.

  “Okay. 212,306.84 meters,” Howard announced. “That should be close enough to find the treasure. I’ll just make a line from the center of that park . . .” He picked up the GPS and started punching in coordinates.

  “What direction are you using?” Eric asked.

  Howard paused and looked up. “Huh?”

  “North, south, east . . .”

  “Oh.” Howard lowered the machine. So he hadn’t thought of absolutely everything, even if he had the measurement down to the atom.

  I read from the riddle. “‘Follow the path I’ve laid for you, in the direction marked by the birth of ice.’”

  “This doesn’t sound like a school project,” Nate observed.

  Howard shut the door in his brother’s face.

  “That was rude!” cried Savannah.

  “Shut up, Sav.” I didn’t have time for her crush right now. We were so close to solving this. “‘The birth of ice.’ That sounds cold, doesn’t it? Maybe it’s north.”

  “There’s ice if you go far enough south, too,” said Howard. “Like the South Pole.”

  “Duh,” Savannah grumbled.

  “Well, two hundred and twelve kilometers doesn’t get us that far south,” I said.

  “212,306.84 meters,” Howard said. “And it doesn’t go north all the way to the arctic circle, either.” He showed me the GPS. “Just most of the way through Pennsylvania.”

  “Please don’t tell me we’re going to draw a two-hundred-kilometer radius around the park and search the whole orbit of our imaginary Pluto,” Eric begged.

  “212,306.84 meters,” Howard repeated. “But I agree, that would be ridiculous.”

  “Yeah,” said Savannah. “That’s the part of this that’s ridiculous.”

  I sighed and looked down at the map. It was out there somewhere. All we had to do was figure out Underberg’s code. For those who trust me it shall not be difficult to reach safety, for you know my heart.

  No one knew Underberg like Dad did. No one trusted in the truth of his story more than us. Every other part of the riddle had to do with his biography: his twin, Pluto; Solar Park . . . If the truth was out there, there was no one on Earth better suited to finding it than my dad.

  We just had to get to him before Fiona did.

  WHEN SAVANNAH, ERIC, and I pulled our bikes up to the house that evening, we found Dad in the yard, airing out our pup tents.

  “You going camping?” Savannah asked.

  “Gills,” Eric whispered, stricken. “Do something.”

  I wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted me to do. If Dad had decided to take us all off grid, it wasn’t like I could change his mind. Maybe he’d noticed that the strand of my hair I’d so carefully trimmed down to appropriate Dad length and placed back in the Underberg file wasn’t his, despite them both being brown. Maybe Fiona had done something else we didn’t know about.

  On the other hand, Dad wouldn’t be spreading out our brightl
y colored tents on the lawn where they could be seen by everyone from nosy neighbors to passing spy satellites if he was afraid they were watching. But then, what was he up to with this very public display?

  I put the kickstand down and approached. “Hey, Dad,” I said, taking care to keep my voice light. “Are we going camping?”

  “Nah, just making sure everything’s in working order before I store it for the season,” he said. I looked at my brother, who had slumped against the porch railing in relief. “Hello, Savannah. Are you staying for dinner?”

  Savannah looked scared. I didn’t blame her. “No thanks, Dr. S.”

  “Gillian, honey, can you grab that corner over there and pull tight?”

  As I knelt to help Dad check the seams on the tent, he called to Eric. “Son, can you check the batteries on the head lamps?”

  “Sure thing!” Eric called, happy to help now that he was sure he wouldn’t be dragged away from his precious video games. He started unloading the flashlights and head lamps from the box on the porch steps, clicking each on and off. Savannah sat on the porch and wrapped an arm around the railing, watching us. She jerked her head in Dad’s direction. “Ask him about the ice thing,” she hissed at me.

  Fine. “It’s too bad we all lost out on Dr. Underberg’s batteries, huh, Dad?” I said, trying to keep my tone as casual as possible. “We’d never have to worry about replacing them.”

  “True,” Dad said, working his way down the long side of the tent. “It’s a sad statement, isn’t it? How much humanity as a whole loses out when scientists and . . . other people are silenced by their enemies.”

  “That’s so true, Dr. S,” said Savannah. “Like when that scientist, um . . . got iced?”

  Really, Sav? That’s your best shot?

  Dad gave her a quizzical look, then chuckled. “Iced? You watch too many cop shows, Savannah.”

  I sneaked another look at Eric, who was giving me a warning shake of his head. But I was well beyond warnings. I’d already messed with the security on Dad’s filing cabinets, and recruited Savannah and Howard into this treasure hunt. If there was something to find out there, I needed a few hints.