Frank Einstein and the Electro-Finger

by Jon Scieszka

  Frank and Watson exchange a glance. They both wonder what Edison might be up to.

  “Give it the Electro-Finger!” yells Charlie the postman.

  “Yeah, do that!” adds Fireman Chad.

  “OK,” says Frank Einstein. “That should be simple enough.”

  Frank sets the Electro-Finger on LOW, aims it at the model elephant, and presses the button.

  Slowly the elephant begins to raise its trunk.

  Frank increases the power. The elephant shakes its head and flaps its ears. Watson nods and smiles.

  In the shadows, Klank bangs his monkey-wrench hand on the side of his metal body as Frank gives Topsy full Electro-Finger power.

  The mechanical elephant raises its trunk and trumpets.

  Janegoodall starts the crowd clapping and cheering again.

  And that is when a faint wisp of smoke starts leaking out Topsy’s left ear.

  Edison points at the smoke so the crowd doesn’t miss it. “Oh no!” Edison calls, in fake alarm.

  Frank quickly shuts down the Electro-Finger. But Topsy smokes out both ears now. She twitches. She shakes.

  “Make it stop!” someone in the crowd yells.

  Frank holds up the Electro-Finger to show that it’s off, but no one sees. All eyes are on Topsy.

  The elephant shakes and shudders. She smokes and convulses. In one last burst of smoke and a twitch, she tips over and falls with a resounding THUD.

  “Einstein’s Electro-Finger electrocuted Topsy!” someone screams.

  “That invention is a death machine!”

  “Oh my!”

  “AIEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

  Someone throws a Fall Festival gourd, and it splatters wetly onstage.

  Klank grabs Klink and from out of the shadows jumps to protect Frank and Watson. “Frank Einstein is good! The Electro-Finger is a good invention! I will give you all hugs!” Klank extends his flexible metal arms.

  “Oh no,” says Watson, more to himself than to anyone else. “That does not look good.”

  “Killer robots, too?!” another hysterical voice screams.

  A small orange pumpkin bounces off Klank and splits in half, dripping its stringy pumpkin guts.

  “Frank Einstein is creating monsters!” yells someone who sounds exactly like T. Edison trying to disguise his voice.

  “No, wait—” Frank starts to explain.

  But then the crowd starts taking apart the rest of the Fall Festival display and moving toward the stage.

  Janegoodall understands the dangerous power of the crowd mind. She runs toward the backstage exit and calls out to her friends, “Follow me, NOW!”

  Frank, Watson, Klink, and Klank follow Janegoodall.

  The crowd of angry Midville villagers swarms after them, shaking pitchforks and lifting burning torches, calling, “Frank Einstein is creating monsters!”

  FLUFFY WHITE CLOUDS DRIFT ACROSS THE BRIGHT BLUE SKY OVER Grampa Al’s Fix It! shop. Rays of morning sunlight (A) beam down to the repaired roof, onto a dark blue panel angled toward the rising sun.

  The energy from the sunlight is absorbed by the solar panel (B).

  The sunlight-energized material of the solar panel frees charged electrons (C).

  The charged electrons flow as direct current through the wire (D).

  The current travels down through the roof to the power inverter (E), which changes the direct current into alternating current.

  The alternating current snakes through the main electric line (F).

  Around Frank’s bedroom (G).

  Into Grampa Al’s kitchen (H).

  Behind the atomic clock (I).

  Out of the wall outlet next to the refrigerator (J).

  Through the power cord and into the toaster (K).

  Around the toaster coils, heating them orange-hot.

  Browning the bread in the slots and making—

  Ding!

  “Toast,” says Grampa Al. “One of the true wonders of the world. Don’t you think so, boys?”

  Frank holds his head in his hands. He doesn’t say anything.

  Watson, who has slept over, looks just as shell-shocked.

  Grampa Al cracks one last egg into the bowl and stirs. “How can you guys not love toast? Who doesn’t love toast?” he says, holding the slice of bread up to the light.

  Frank and Watson don’t move.

  Grampa Al notices. “It’s a beautiful new day. Why the long face, Einstein?”

  Frank holds up his Electro-Finger. “They called Klink and Klank monsters. They think my invention fried Topsy.”

  “Edison and his creepy monkey did it!” says Watson. “I don’t know how they did. But I’m sure it was them!”

  “Ape,” Frank corrects Watson.

  Grampa Al pours the beaten eggs into butter sizzling in the pan. “Well, you know what I always used to say when I was working as a chef . . .”

  “What?” says Frank. “You never told me you were a chef.”

  “You never asked,” says Grampa Al. “But I always said, ‘You can’t make an omelet without breaking some eggs.’”

  Grampa Al flips the eggs in the pan into a perfect half circle.

  “You made up that saying?” marvels Frank.

  “What does that even mean?” asks Watson.

  “The ingredients for an omelet are eggs,” Klink explains. “So eggs must be broken to be made into an omelet.”

  Grampa Al flips the omelet in the pan, slices it in half, and slides one half onto Frank’s plate and the other half onto Watson’s. “It means that to make something good, you sometimes have to wreck something else.”

  Klank beeps. “Yes. Exactly. Like, why did the simple machine throw the clock out the window?”

  “Oh no. Please do not start this again,” says Klink.

  “Why?” asks Grampa Al.

  “It wanted to see time fly. Ha-ha-ha.” Klank’s antenna flashes blue and green. “And why did the simple machine put his clock inside a safe?”

  “No, no, no . . .” begs Klink. “Your bad jokes crash my system!”

  Grampa Al can’t help himself. “Why?” he asks.

  “It wanted to save time. Ha-ha-ha.”

  Flash flash flash. Klink spins in a circle, his GPS hiccuping, “Recalculating. Recalculating.” His brain software crashes with a small ding.

  Grampa Al sits down next to Frank. “But the saying that is probably more to the point here is: Beware of snakes in the grass.”

  “Right!” says Watson, now hungrily digging into his omelet. “Uh . . . why?”

  “Watch out for dangers you can’t see,” says Grampa Al. “History is full of scientists whose ideas were frightening or odd at first . . . but were then made popular by other people, who took credit for the work. Your guy Nikola Tesla is a great example. Not everyone knows his name . . . or how important his work was in perfecting radio, television, wireless, even the alternating-current electricity that everyone uses today. The electricity we used to toast this toast. All brought to us by Tesla’s work.”

  “Or like the guy who invented potato chips!” adds Watson. “One of my favorite inventions of all time! But who knows his name?”

  Klink boots back to life. He reports, “George Crum. A cook at a restaurant in Saratoga Springs, New York, in 1853. He sliced potatoes as thin as he could and fried them to satisfy a fussy customer.”

  Frank Einstein absentmindedly scratches his head with the tip of the Electro-Finger. “So we have to watch out for Edison. And figure out how to show people that our invention really is something good.”

  “But how do we do that?” asks Watson, finally picking up his toast.

  “The Midville Police Station might be a good place to start,” answers Grampa Al.

  “Please do not put us in jail!” bleeps Klank.

  “My pal Police Chief Jacobs just might need your help,” says Grampa Al, finishing his perfect toast. “I saw him this morning at Poetry Club, and it sounds like he’s got his hands full with all kinds of pow
er-plant troubles.”

  Frank Einstein gulps down the last of his omelet and nods. “If we can help Chief Jacobs, everyone will know the Electro-Finger is good.”

  “Poetry Club?” asks Watson.

  “You never asked,” answers Grampa Al with a big smile.

  FLUFFY WHITE CLOUDS DRIFT ACROSS THE BRIGHT BLUE SKY OVER the field in the middle of the Midville Woods. Rays of morning sunlight beam down to the trees, the grass field, the hundreds of dark blue panels angled toward the sun.

  These panels are the Midville Solar Array.

  The energy from the sunlight is absorbed by the hundreds of panels covering the field. This sunlight energy frees electrons in the layers of solar-panel material. And these free electrons then flow as electricity.

  A pair of bright orange-and-black monarch butterflies flap over the sea of solar panels. A red-breasted robin sweetly tweets. A curious chipmunk pops his head out of his hole and sits, looking oh so cute, until—

  WHAAAAAAAMMMM! WHAAAAAAAMMMM! WHAAAAAAMMMM!

  The solar panels, metal supports, robin, and curious chipmunk are smashed in an explosion of broken solar-panel bits and pieces. The butterflies are blown away by a blast of black engine exhaust.

  WHAAAAAAAMMMM! WHAAAAAAAMMMM! WHAAAAAAAMMMM!

  Enormous spiked-metal feet shatter panel after panel after panel with their stomping steps.

  A flock of crows escapes to the trees, panicked and cawing the whole way.

  More freaked-out chipmunks, terrified field mice, and one slow groundhog dive to safety underground.

  WHAAAAAAAMMMM! WHAAAAAAAMMMM! WHAAAAAAMMMM!

  The giant feet clomp-stomp-smash-shatter their way up one solar row, and blam-stamp-bust down another.

  WHAAAAAAAMMMM! WHAAAAAAAMMMM! WHAAAAAAAMMMM!

  The giant feet are attached to thick mechanical legs. The legs are powered by a squat motor body. A glass cab sits atop the motor body. And in the glass cab of this custom-built Bigfoot Stomper machine, a chimpanzee push-pulls the two hand levers back and forth, back and forth, raising and lowering the monster metal feet.

  Edison, wearing his orange safety helmet, yells over the noise of the Bigfoot engine and the shattering solar panels.

  “Beautiful! Just beautiful!”

  Mr. Chimp pauses, pulls, holds the huge right foot over the last solar panel. He signs:

  And pushes the lever to drop the steel foot and smash the last panel into broken junk.

  T. Edison pulls out his notebook and makes one last big check in it.

  Fluffy white clouds still drift across the bright blue sky.

  Rays of sunlight still beam down to the grassy field.

  But there are no solar panels left.

  Nothing to gather the energy of the sun.

  Nothing to convert sunlight to electricity.

  FRANK AND WATSON BIKE THE BACK ROADS OF MIDVILLE, AVOIDING any townspeople, hiding the Electro-Finger in a plain backpack.

  Klank follows right behind, propelling himself with semi-controlled bursts of his foot-jets, holding Klink and trying his best to look like some kind of completely not-dangerous-to-anyone motorized vehicle.

  Frank and Watson park their bikes in the lot behind the Midville Police Department, and all four hustle in the back door. They hear Police Chief Jacobs before they see him.

  “Ten-four! Unit One, report latest on the Midville Coal Plant!”

  BZZZZT BZZZZT.

  “Ten-four! Unit Two, report latest on the Midville Wind Farm!”

  BZZZZZT BZZZZT.

  “Well, find something! These power plants aren’t wrecking themselves!”

  Frank and Watson step into police headquarters and see Chief Jacobs hunched over an old-fashioned microphone, directing police-radio traffic.

  “Oh, hey, guys,” he says, and waves Frank and Watson over to an old green leather couch. “Take a load off. This day has started crazier than a fruitcake and busier than a cat in a full litter box!”

  Frank laughs. He remembers why Chief Jacobs and Grampa Al are such good friends.

  Klank peeks around the corner.

  BZZZZZT BZZZZZT.

  “Yep . . . uh-huh . . . right . . . ten-four,” Chief Jacobs says into the microphone. “And tell Klink and Klank to come in and make themselves comfortable. Or at least robot comfortable.”

  “What?” says Frank.

  “How did you know about Klink and Klank?” asks Watson.

  BZZZZZT BZZZZT.

  “Poetry Club. Your grampa and I talk.”

  Klink rolls in and sits on the couch. Klank plops down next to him.

  “Frank Einstein and his merry band,” says Chief Jacobs. “What can I do you boys for?”

  “Huh?” says Klank.

  “We might be able to help you, Chief,” says Frank. “And you might be able to help us prove to the people of Midville that my invention”—Frank pulls the Electro-Finger out of his backpack—“is not dangerous.”

  Chief Jacobs leans back in his swivel chair. “I heard all about the unfortunate elephant incident last night.”

  “That wasn’t the Electro-Finger’s fault!” says Watson.

  “But everyone thinks it was,” says the chief. “I wish there was something I could do . . . some way you could show that the Electro-Finger does good, not harm. But I just don’t—”

  BZZZZT BZZZZZT.

  The speaker squawks, “Ten sixty-seven, Chief! Ten sixty-seven! Caller says Midville Solar Array is being attacked by some kind of robot monster. Repeat—Midville Solar Array being attacked by a robot monster.”

  Chief Jacobs jumps up. “Unit Three to the Midville Solar Array,” he barks into his radio. “Unit Three to the Solar Array. Right now!”

  The radio beeps. “Um, we don’t have a Unit Three, Chief. We only have two.”

  Chief Jacobs yells at his radio. “Aw, dang it, Sergeant Susan! What are we supposed to do now?”

  Frank Einstein jumps off the couch. “We are on it, Chief!”

  “Great idea, Einstein!” says Chief Jacobs.

  Frank leads the charge out the back door. “Come on, guys. Electro-Finger to the Solar Array’s rescue!”

  FRANK AND WATSON RACE THEIR BIKES UP THE MIDVILLE WOODS dirt path. They skid around boulders and jump small logs, hustling to the Midville Solar Array as fast as they can.

  Klank runs a clomping, crashing, straight line behind them, but instead of using the path, he stomps right through the brush and over small trees—carrying (and wildly swinging) Klink by his handy Shop-Vac handle.

  “How embarrassing,” says Klink. “I simply must make myself a more dignified form of transportation.”

  “BAM BAM BAM!” answers Klank, smashing happily along.

  Frank, Watson, Klink, and Klank burst out of the woods and into the open meadow. The tall grass waves in the wind.

  All four stop dead in their tracks at the sight in front of them. What used to be neat rows of blue solar panels angled toward the sun . . . is now a graveyard heap of broken glass and silicon bits, twisted metal supports, and snapped wires.

  “We have to find out who this helps,” says Watson. “We have to follow the energy.”

  A crazy scream of crushed metal and a deep, diesel-motor roar answers. It’s a huge metal beast with massive spiked feet, stomping the wreckage of the Solar Array to even smaller pieces.

  Klank screams, “Robot monster!” and drops Klink in the weeds.

  Frank jumps off his bike, whips the Electro-Finger out of his backpack, and straps it on. “We have to stop this thing now!” he yells over the shrieking and pounding. “Watson, you go left. Klink and Klank, go right. When it chases you, I’ll Electro-Finger-zap it.”

  Watson hops off his bike. “Wait, what? You’re using us as bait?”

  The metal monster stomps some glass and heads right toward the guys.

  “Yes,” says Frank Einstein, with calculated cool. “Now go!”

  Klank grabs Klink. “Attack the robot monster!”

  “Stooooop swiiiiinging
ggg meeeeeeee!”

  Klank runs right. The monster giant-steps right.

  Watson runs left. The metal beast giant-steps left.

  Frank kneels to steady his arm on one knee. He dials the Electro-Finger to MAX.

  The metal monster lifts a spiked foot right over Watson.

  “Aieeeeeee!” yells a running Watson. “Now, now, now, Einstein!”

  Frank takes careful aim and fires an electromagnetic burst of energy toward what he hopes is the heart of the monster.

  Watson jumps for the tall grass over the hill, screaming, “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

  The thing lunges, belches a smoke-billowing roar . . . then—screeeeeech, creak—freezes on one leg and falls over sideways, landing with a huge, metal THWUMMMP!

  Frank lowers the Electro-Finger and cautiously approaches the felled monster. Klank appears from behind a bush and carries Klink over.

  “Is the robot monster dead?” asks Klank.

  “It was never alive,” says Klink. “It is a machine.”

  Frank inspects the hulk. “A very amazing custom demolition machine . . .”

  Klank takes a step closer. The side of the thing’s skull suddenly swings open.

  “Shoot it!” yells Klank. “Zap it again!”

  Frank lifts the Electro-Finger. But before he can fire, a familiar kid with a bad haircut pops out of the machine and jumps to the ground. He stands with his hands on his hips, and he is not happy.

  “Oh, great! It’s genius Frank Einstein, his genius Dum-Bots, and his dangerous Killer-Finger again.”

  “Edison?”

  “More genius,” says Edison.

  A chimpanzee in dress pants and a hard hat hops out of the machine. He flips open the engine panel, runs a quick check, and turns to yell at Frank, “Eeeee-eeee-eee oooo-oooo!”

  “You have made Mr. Chimp very mad. This is his Bigfoot Stomper machine. And you fried its electronics.”

  Frank lowers the Electro-Finger. “But it . . . You were destroying the Midville Solar Array. You can’t do that.”