Текст книги "NERDS: National Espionage, Rescue, and Defense Society"

Автор книги: Michael Buckley

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

Each of the scientists the Hyena kidnapped and delivered to the secret lair at the North Pole went through the same process. Henchmen took their clothing and personal possessions and gave them orange prison jumpsuits. They were shoved into tiny cells without windows and told to sit tight until they were needed. They weren’t allowed to use the phone, but they were well fed and even given magazines and books to help them pass the time. At last they were ushered into a large room filled with chalkboards and chairs. Half the chalkboards held a long, intricate equation. Xs and Ys swam through it, and quite a number of question marks. The henchmen forced chalk into the scientists’ hands and instructed them to fill in the missing numbers and finish the equation. They worked day and night, though it was clear none of them was sure exactly what the equation was or what it might solve.

It was during those long afternoons that the Hyena started to see Dr. Jigsaw’s diabolical nature. What kind of black-hearted soul forced a person to do math problems? She remembered the math teacher she had had in the third grade who insisted that someday she would need long division. Three years later she was still waiting. But Jigsaw’s evil went far beyond any math teacher’s, because of how he reacted to the scientists’ progress. Every few hours he would emerge from behind a locked door in the back of the room and study the equation. Sometimes he would get very excited and praise his hostages, but more often he would get violently angry, snatch an eraser, and obliterate days of work right before their eyes. The first few times this happened, the scientists took it in stride, but by the tenth time they were in tears.

The Hyena couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the scientists. They all looked distraught and exhausted. But her sympathy quickly turned to anger. She wasn’t supposed to have compassion! She was a professional assassin. She was supposed to have veins clogged with ice and a heart as black as coal. Contract killers didn’t sit around worrying about their victims. She had to get herself under control. Sympathy was very unprofessional.

Eventually, one of the braver scientists stepped forward. “Dr. Jigsaw, this would be easier if you would tell us what this equation is meant to solve.”

Jigsaw rolled back on his heels. “It’s not obvious?”

The scientists shook their heads.

Jigsaw let out an exasperated sigh, grabbed a stick of chalk, and drew a picture of the Earth. At the top he drew a massive satellite dish and on each of the major continents he drew arrows pointing toward the other continents. The Hyena had no idea what any of it meant, but once Jigsaw’s drawing was complete, the kidnapped scientists let out a collective gasp.

“You can’t be serious!”

“You’ve lost your mind, Jigsaw!”

“It will never work!”

“It will never work?” Jigsaw cried as he spun around and walked back to his private room. “Follow me.”

The henchmen shoved the scientists along and into Jigsaw’s secret room. Eager to see what was inside, the Hyena followed the crowd. She was flabbergasted by what she found. The room was as big as a football field, with walls that rose to the clouds. There was no ceiling and it was bitterly cold. Dozens of henchmen dressed in heavy coats, gloves, and goggles rushed about working on a massive satellite dish pointed toward the sky.

“It has to work, my friends,” Jigsaw said as he gestured to the dish. “You see, I’ve already built it.”

Jackson’s brain screamed for him to run, but when he spun around to flee, a metal slab dropped from the ceiling, blocking the exit. He saw other exits being cut off around the room. He raced toward the only open doorway he saw, but the scientists lined up to block his path. However, they were no match for the Fighting Tigers’ former star quarterback! Jackson rushed forward, executing a block that knocked a scientist to the floor, and a stiff arm that kept another at bay. He weaved and danced around a couple of tables, and slipped through the open doorway just as a steel slab fell behind him.

When Jackson caught his breath, he found himself in another strange room, this one shaped like a circle with a mosaic of the universe laid into the floor. Aside from the shelves of dusty manuscripts that lined the walls, the only other thing in the room was a silver pedestal. The pedestal was covered in knobs, buttons, and blinking lights, and a large blue orb hovered above it, just like the one Jackson had seen in the other room. Hanging from the ceiling directly above the pedestal were more computer monitors and hundreds of thick, loose cables dangling like the arms of an electronic octopus. Jackson studied the pedestal and his heart soared. It was clearly some kind of computer, even if it did have more bells and whistles than most. It had to have e-mail too! He could send for help! He’d have the police, the FBI, the army, and the local Girl Scout troop kicking down the door of this screwy secret lab in no time.

Unfortunately, Jackson had no idea where to start. There was no mouse and no obvious power button. In desperation, he went to work pushing all the buttons, not sure of what they might do.

Then the strange voice he had heard after falling through the locker returned. “You have accessed the physical enhancement protocol of the National Espionage, Rescue, and Defense Society. Prepare for upgrade. Code name, please?”

“Are you talking to me?” Jackson asked, looking around.

“Yes. Have you chosen a code name?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jackson said. “I’m just trying to find a way out of this—”

The voice interrupted him. “No code name submitted. Subject has twenty-four hours to log in a code name or an appropriate one will be assigned. Scanning for weaknesses.”

Suddenly, the bookshelves on either side of Jackson moved away from the walls, revealing banks of little green lights. Each emitted lasers, which whisked across his body in odd patterns. They didn’t cause him any pain, but they did make him nervous.

“Physical attributes are above normal range,” the voice said. “Continuing to scan for weaknesses.”

As the lasers continued to sweep across his body, there was an awesome bang on the door and a huge dent appeared, as if a giant had tossed a rhino against the steel. The scientists on the other side were trying to break down the door.

“Where’s the e-mail program?” Jackson cried as he frantically pushed more buttons.

A bank of little red lights appeared on the pedestal. The machine began to beep and twitter and the orb above it began to spin. It turned slowly at first, but then whirled so fast it dazzled Jackson’s eyes. A million light particles scattered around the room.

Crunch! A bigger dent appeared in the door.

The particles swirled over the walls and floor, eventually collecting into one unified shape—a three-dimensional skeleton floating directly before Jackson. It seemed to move as Jackson did. When he turned his head, it turned its head. When he raised his arm, it did the same. He reached toward the skeleton, but when his hands broke the image’s surface, the figure disappeared. “It’s a hologram,” he said aloud.

When he pulled his arm away, the skeleton reappeared, this time showing a heart, lungs, kidneys, liver, and stomach. After that, a layer of muscles and veins was added to the skeleton.

“Internal organs within normal range. No chemical imbalances detected. No allergies detected. Scanning continues,” the odd voice said.

Crunch! One of the door’s bolted hinges bent and the screws that held it fell to the floor.

Now the skeleton was covered in skin. Eyeballs appeared, followed by hair and fingernails. Now it was clear to Jackson that the hologram was a three-dimensional portrait of him from the inside out. He only wished the computer would add some clothing.

The strange voice returned. “Weakness detected. Subject has extensive dental devices. Upgrade will take place in three …”

“Wait! What’s an upgrade?”

“Two …”

Jackson started pushing buttons in a panic. “How do you stop this thing?”

“One. Upgrade commencing.”

Suddenly, a leather chair rose out of the floor. Jackson fell into it, and before he could scramble out, his hands and feet were strapped down. The chair tilted back, then stretched out into a cot. Two spiderlike machines emerged from the jungle of cables above and lowered to just inches above Jackson’s face. Each had eight arms, with different devices attached to the ends: knives, drills, and saw blades, all whirling and spinning wildly. Jackson opened his mouth to scream, only to have one of the arms use rubber hooks to pull back his lips from his teeth.

“Help!” he shouted, and though the pounding at the door continued, the scientists had yet to break through. Oh how Jackson wished he had been captured by them instead of the ruthless, faceless computer!

“Think pleasant thoughts,” the voice said.

And then, everything went black.

For a professional killer with ice in her veins, the Hyena was pretty cute. She had platinum blonde hair and bright green eyes, long eyelashes, and a nose like a button. When she was seven years old, her mother decided to capitalize on her daughter’s stunning good looks. She packed up their belongings, bought a used Winnebago, and plunged her daughter into the world of professional child beauty pageants. She dressed the Hyena in sparkly gowns, false eyelashes, and high-heeled shoes. Twice weekly she sent the little girl for spray-on tans that left her looking like a walking tangerine. She enrolled the Hyena in hip-hop, jazz, and modern dance classes. She sent her for voice, acting, and piano lessons twice a week. She hired coaches who taught the Hyena how to bat her eyes and flash a smile at the judges as she sang “Minnie the Moocher.”

Their hard work paid off. The Hyena won hundreds of trophies, received thousands of dollars in college scholarships, and had a collection of crowns to rival a princess’s. She was named the Georgia Beef Beauty, Little Miss Florida Citrus, California’s Canola Oil Charmer, Wisconsin Wheat Fairy, Dairy Princess of Lawrence, Kansas, and Idaho Spud Queen all in the same month. She was a bright, over-tanned representative of all six major food groups!

But it wasn’t her good looks and spunky personality that won her so many competitions. What put her over the top every time was the talent portion. While some girls played the violin or recited Hamlet, the Hyena gave an instructional lesson on how to fend off an attacker with flaming nunchakus. She slashed, jabbed, and dismembered a training dummy with a twinkle in her eye. The judges were impressed by her mercilessness. Or perhaps they voted for her out of fear. Regardless, the act was a smash.

Ever the show-woman, the Hyena’s mother eagerly expanded the act to include more weapons: sai, daggers, and swords; billy clubs, Tasers, and brass knuckles. Their Winnebago was a rolling arsenal. The Hyena’s mother also enrolled her daughter in whatever martial arts classes they could find as they journeyed across America. The Hyena learned judo in Juneau, aikido in Akron, jiujitsu in Jamestown, tae kwon do in Tallahassee, sambo in San Diego, kendo in Kansas City, Jogo do Pau in Jersey City, and kung fu in Kissimmee. As a backup, she learned tap dancing in Tulsa. Unfortunately, her mom’s enthusiasm backfired when the Hyena announced she wanted to do something else with her life—something more dignified than prancing around in a cocktail dress.

She wanted to become a professional assassin.

Sadly, as the Hyena had discovered, the life of a freelance professional contract killer was not all that it was cracked up to be. In fact, she hadn’t actually gotten to kill anyone yet. And because of her lack of experience, she was forced to accept less desirable jobs in the world of professional crime—namely, being a goon. Not a highly trained killer! Not even a minion or a henchman. A goon! If the other contract killers found out she was kidnapping people, she would be a laughingstock.

Now, the average person might not know the difference between an assassin and a minion, a henchman and a goon, but they are as different as apples and oranges. Assassins, naturally, assassinate people and are paid incredible sums of money to do it. They wear a lot of black and sometimes have really cool scars on their faces. And they have nicknames like the Scorpion, or Le Tigre, or Black Widow.

The next step down is a minion. In a nutshell, a minion’s job is to fulfill the often impossible demands of his evil boss. If the boss says he wants an army of man-eating gophers, a minion has to get on the phone and track down some of the furry little demons. If the boss says he wants a secret lair on the moon, the minion has to order the supplies of Tang and freeze-dried space ice cream that will be needed in the rocket. Other major responsibilities include praising the boss’s evil plots and feeding his psychotic pet (typically a venomous snake or a tarantula or a horribly mutated house cat). Basically, a minion is a personal assistant—only an evil personal assistant. It’s not as cool as being an assassin, but you get health and dental insurance, and the boss usually pays into your 401(k).

After minions, there’s henchmen. Henchmen are grunts who do all the hard labor. They build the secret fortress and massive doomsday devices. They usually guard the lair and, in a pinch, can be called in to help push the boss’s enemies into the shark tank. All in all, the work is fine. It’s the uniform that stinks. See, henchmen have to wear ridiculous costumes. If your boss is a lunatic obsessed with bears, you can be sure you’re wearing a big furry suit to work. If your boss dresses like the ringleader of a circus, you better buy yourself a pair of stilts or some clown shoes. It’s downright humiliating, and, unfortunately, workers in the crime industry do not have strong union representation.

Goons, however, are at the very bottom of the villain food chain. Most are no more than muscle for mad scientists, corrupt politicians, evil geniuses, and megalomaniacs. They kidnap people, break a lot of legs, and make a lot of threats (all while cracking their knuckles for dramatic effect). Most of them are misshapen, with huge jaws, arms like gorillas, and heads resembling damaged pumpkins. The Hyena did not want to be a goon. Sure, it beat competing in the Putnam County Pancake Pageant, but it would still look terrible on her résumé. It was very easy to get typecast in her business, and once you got pegged as a goon, it was hard to work your way up.

But a paycheck is a paycheck. The Hyena needed the money, so she was doing her best to put her concerns aside and follow a few simple rules: (1) Don’t date the other goons. (2) Get the money up front and in cash (it was tempting to work for free, especially when your boss promised to give you a small continent or chain of islands to rule when he was in charge of the world, but promises don’t pay the bills). And (3) Don’t criticize the boss.

Rule number three was giving the Hyena trouble. Dr. Jigsaw was perfectly pleasant to her. She rarely saw him (which was good because the bizarre perfection of his surgically designed face unnerved her), and he brought in donuts every Friday for the staff. But though he provided a happy work environment, he neglected important details. For instance, he had failed to tell her that some of the scientists on her kidnapping list were world-class athletes. Dr. Hammond was a semiprofessional boxer. Dr. Beldean had once been a Navy SEAL. Professor Church was incredibly fast with a slide rule. A little information could have spared the Hyena a lot of grief and quite a few bruises. When she asked Jigsaw if he was aware that Dr. Banyon had once been a pro wrestler, he nodded and offered her the last jelly donut.

So when the Hyena went after her next target—a Professor Joseph Lunich, who was the world’s preeminent expert on magnetism—she wondered what she didn’t know about him. Jigsaw was obsessed with Lunich’s latest invention—the miniature tractor beam—and not only wanted the Hyena to bag him, but his machine as well. Jigsaw claimed the device was revolutionary and essential to his plans. The Hyena couldn’t have cared less about some goofy machine. She was more concerned about whether Lunich had been an Ultimate Fighter or a defensive tackle before he invented it.

The professor’s lab was in an empty warehouse on the campus of Vassar College in Poughkeepsie, New York. The Hyena slinked inside and found a good hiding space to wait for the scientist. He arrived hours later and went right to work on his device. The Hyena quickly understood why Jigsaw found the miniature tractor beam so intriguing.

Lunich stuffed a tiny pointed device into a potted plant, pushed a button on the device’s side, and aimed the beam that shot out of it at a pickup truck parked inside the warehouse space. Then he climbed into the pickup truck, started the engine, and floored the gas. The truck’s powerful engine throbbed as its wheels spun in vain. The tractor beam bathed it in a green energy and held it fast. The truck couldn’t move an inch; it was held in place by a device no bigger than a pencil. Then, remarkably, the truck began to slide backward—it was being pulled across the room by the tiny device.

When the experiment was over, the Hyena stepped out of her hiding place. “I have to admit, I think your machine is pretty awesome,” she said to the startled scientist. “So does my boss. He’d like you to show him how it works. So, how about it? Want to give a kid a break and go quietly?”

Unfortunately, the only break Dr. Lunich gave was for the door. In a flash, he was gone, leaving the would-be assassin dumfounded. The Hyena would later learn that Dr. Jigsaw had neglected to tell her that the professor was not only a brilliant scientist, but also a record-breaking sprinter.

What happened next was an exercise in humiliation. Lunich raced across the campus as gracefully as a deer. He weaved through the maze of paths, shouting for help along the way. The Hyena was sure the campus police or some Good Samaritan would arrive at any moment. Worse, she realized, she was never going to be able to catch the doctor in her high-heeled boots. When she fell in the grass for the fifth time, she noticed she had broken a heel. Disgusted, she vowed to track down and kill the people who designed women’s shoes. In her frustration, she pulled the boot off and angrily tossed it in Lunich’s direction. To her utter amazement, it sailed across the lawn and smacked the doctor squarely in the back of the head. He crumpled to the ground and lay still.

It was a lucky break for shoe designers everywhere.

STILL HERE, HUH? WELL, GOOD

FOR YOU. I SUPPOSE YOU’RE

EAGER TO READ MORE OF THE

FILE. FINE, BUT TO CONTINUE,

YOU MUST HAVE LEVEL 4

CLEARANCE, AND TO GET LEVEL

4 CLEARANCE, I’M GOING TO

NEED A DNA SAMPLE. PLEASE

PLUCK A STRAND OF YOUR HAIR

AND PLACE IT ONTO THE

SENSOR FOR ANALYSIS.

UGH … CAN I GET A

STRAND NOT COVERED IN

DANDRUFF! TRY AGAIN.

LEVEL 4

ACCESS GRANTED

As Jackson hovered between consciousness and oblivion, he could make out several dark figures standing over him. They spoke angrily to one another.

“How did he find his way down here?”

“He’s been watching us.”

“Well, I guess we have to wipe his mind.”

“My pleasure.”

“We can’t wipe his mind. Benjamin gave him the upgrades. We can’t set him loose with all that technology. He’s got about ten billion dollars worth of nanobytes in his mouth. We should call for the director.”

“Since when do we listen to the director? I’m team leader and I say he needs a mind wipe.”

Jackson sat up groggily. He wished someone would turn on the light so he could see who was talking about him. “Where am I?”

“What did he say?”

“Who knows? He’s got so much metal in his mouth.”

“Who are you people?” Jackson said.

“He sounds like a baby. Do you want a bottle, baby?”

“Don’t tease him.”

“As if he deserves better. Hold his arms.”

“I got him,” another said as two very strong hands clamped down on Jackson’s shoulders.

Suddenly, a shaft of light illuminated two of the biggest front teeth Jackson had ever seen on a person. Jackson had seen donkeys with smaller teeth. Looking at them caused a strange sensation to come over Jackson. His head felt like it was full of soup and his thoughts seemed heavy. He wanted to leap from the chair but he’d lost the will to do so.

“Just stare into my teeth,” a voice said.

And then all the lights came on, and the owners of the voices were revealed. The hands holding Jackson belonged to tiny Flinch Escala and the giant teeth that threatened to steal his soul were attached to Heathcliff Hodges. Ruby Peet, Duncan Dewey, and Matilda Choi were standing nearby. Behind them was another figure, a tall, broad-shouldered man carrying a mop. He had just walked in and he was angry. It was the school janitor, Mr. Brand.

“What is going on in here?” he demanded.

“Look! You gotta help me,” Jackson said, “’cause these nerds are holding me against my will—”

Ruby interrupted him. “He’s seen the Playground. He’s gotten the upgrades. We have to wipe his mind.”

Mr. Brand hobbled forward, using his mop as support. He stood over Jackson and peered at him closely.

“There’s a very good chance that his brain can’t take it, Pufferfish,” Mr. Brand said. “I don’t want another Stevie Lazar on our hands.”

Jackson knew Stevie Lazar. Not long ago he had been a national spelling bee champion and on his way to NASA’s space camp for a week during fall break. Then, suddenly, he lost interest in school, friends, and bathing. Now he spent his days picking his nose, drooling, and singing nursery rhymes to a filthy sock puppet he carried with him everywhere he went. He had become a moron overnight. Were these kids responsible? Had they turned an honor roll student into a kid who stuffed his pockets with frozen fish sticks?

“How did this happen?” Brand continued.

“He found his way into the Playground and the science team chased him in here. Somehow he accessed the upgrade program,” Duncan said. “It must have been blind luck.”

“Or maybe he’s a spy,” Ruby said.

“I doubt very much that he’s a spy, Pufferfish,” Brand said. “Any suggestions other than erasing his brain?”

“Lock him up in a cell and throw away the key,” Matilda said.

Heathcliff agreed. “Remember how he treated us—spitwads, swirlies, atomic wedgies. He’s a menace. Lock him up, wipe his mind—either way, we’re doing the world a favor.”

Flinch shook his fist enthusiastically. With the lights on, Jackson could see the scrawny boy was wearing a strange harness that covered his arms and legs. A pulsing light flashed on a plate on his chest, right beneath a large knob. “Or you could let me throw him in the ocean. I’m strong like bull!”

Jackson was startled by the herd’s anger. He’d never heard anyone talk about him with such venom. Everyone liked him. Sure, he’d had a setback lately in the popularity department, but everyone knew he was a great guy.

“People, just calm down,” Brand said as he went to work unfastening the straps that tied Jackson to the bed. “There’s not going to be any mind wiping or throwing anyone in the ocean.”

“You’re not saying we’re going to kill him, are you?” Matilda asked. She broke into excited gasps, then used her inhaler to calm herself.

Brand shook his head and helped Jackson to his feet. “Hardly. I’m letting him go.”

Ruby clenched her fists. “Mr. Brand, as team leader I believe that’s my decision, and I say we lock him up.”

“Pufferfish, let me make this clear one more time. I’m the boss and this kid is going home,” Mr. Brand said.

Brand pushed a button on the wall and a glass tube came down from above and encased Jackson. He was sucked upward, and a moment later he was tumbling out of the lockers and onto the cold floor.

Jackson wanted to tell his family what he had experienced but was afraid they would think he had lost his mind. Not that he would blame them. He couldn’t expect his father and brother to believe that his elementary school was the headquarters of a secret organization run by five nerds and a janitor with a bad leg. Who would believe that? He wasn’t sure he believed it.

Maybe he had imagined the whole thing. Maybe he was sick. The tater tots at lunch had smelled a little funky.

Still, he felt he should say something. He waited until dinnertime.

“Dad, something happened at school today,” he said.

His brother, Chaz, who was fully dressed for football practice, laughed. “Did someone steal your lunch money again?”

Jackson’s dad wasn’t listening. He was busy spoon-feeding his closest friend and constant companion in life, a pit bull named Butch. Butch was a fat, sour animal who was bitterly jealous of Jackson and Chaz. He growled and snapped whenever the boys were around, but their father was convinced the animal farted rainbows. Butch’s worst quality, however, was his ability to steal their father’s attention.

“Dad, I really need to tell you something. It’s important,” Jackson said.

Mr. Jones set down the spoon, causing Butch to erupt in fury. “OK, Jackson. You have my attention. Did you get bullied again?”

“I’m—that’s not what I want to tell you,” Jackson stammered. The telephone rang in the kitchen.

“Can you hold on for a sec?” his father said as he got up and headed for the kitchen. “Feed Butch while I’m gone.”

The boys exchanged pained expressions.

“Well, I got practice,” Chaz said, shoveling a heaping bite of Swiss steak into his mouth and then getting up from the table.

“Jerk,” Jackson called after him.

“I’ll pray for you, Nerdatron,” Chaz said, and disappeared out the front door, leaving Jackson and Butch alone.

The pit bull eyed the boy with contempt.

“Right back at you, ugly,” Jackson said.

Butch exploded with angry snarls, causing Mr. Jones to pop his head into the room. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Jackson said, and his father disappeared again. “Only your dog is insane,” Jackson muttered.

Jackson took a seat near the dog and picked up the big wooden spoon his father used to feed the beast. He loaded it with veal, but, unfortunately, as soon his hand got close, the evil canine lunged for it and nipped him hard. Jackson clenched his teeth and tried again. This time the dog nearly took a chunk of his thumb.

“If you do that one more time, I’m going to let you starve,” Jackson threatened.

When the third spoonful approached, Butch sunk his teeth into the side of Jackson’s hand. Jackson was about to cry out when he felt an odd swirling in his mouth. It felt as if his braces had come to life. They were moving left and right and up and down, and then his mouth flew open and two long metallic tentacles shot out. One snatched Butch by the jaws and forced them open, while the second grabbed the plate with the veal and poured it all into the dog’s mouth. When every last chunk was inside, the tentacles forced the dog to chew.

“That was your principal,” Jackson’s dad said as he came back into the room.

Jackson looked down and saw that the odd appendages had slipped back into his mouth. Butch looked stunned.

“He says you’ve been cutting classes and disappearing,” Mr. Jones said as he sat back down at the table.

“That’s what I wanted to tell you about—”

Jackson’s father shook his head. “Son, four weeks ago you were the most popular kid in school. Now you’ve been cut from the football team, your grades are in the toilet, and you’re turning into a delinquent. What is going on with you?”

Jackson was about to explain, but his father stopped him, again.

“Look at your brother. Chaz is an all-star. He’s dependable. He’s starting at quarterback as a freshman in high school. He’s well liked and has a million friends. If you want to know what I expect from you, just take a look at him.”

Jackson’s face reddened with anger and embarrassment.

“Whatever is causing this turnaround in you is a bad influence. Get rid of it, Jackson. Get your act together.”

Jackson’s dad turned to Butch. “You want to go for a walk, big guy?”

The dog raced out of the room.

“What’s got into him?” Mr. Jones asked.

Jackson watched his dad leave the room. After a moment, he shook off his hurt and hurried out to the garage to search in his father’s old toolbox for a pair of pliers. When he found them, he ran back inside, climbing the stairs two at a time until he reached the bathroom, and closed the door tight behind him. He flipped on the light and stepped in front of the mirror. He opened his mouth to study his braces. They were moving! He could see them swarming here and there like worker ants. What had the nerds called them? Nanobytes? Regular braces were bad enough. The last thing he needed were braces made from tiny supercomputers. He had to get rid of them. But as soon as he put the pliers in his mouth, his braces lashed out like a whip and knocked the tool out of his hand. On the next try, they snatched the pliers out of his hand and smacked him on the top of his head with them.

Jackson gave up. He went to his room and threw himself on the bed. He knew he was in big trouble. Whatever that strange computer had done to him, it had made him dangerous. He wondered how long it would be before his braces hurt someone. He imagined himself being tried and sentenced to life in prison for assault with a deadly dental device. He wondered what life would be like for a fifth grader in a federal penitentiary. Eventually he fell asleep and dreamed of a life on a chain gang, fixing the roads as Principal Dehaven stood over him shouting his name, over and over again.

When he woke, it was still dark out. He sat up, waited for his eyes to adjust, and then screamed and nearly fell out of bed.

Mr. Brand was sitting on the edge of his mattress. He looked completely different than he did at school. His face was shaved, his hair was washed, and he was dressed in an expensive-looking dark gray suit. In his hand he held a small black case.

“How did you get in my window?” Jackson cried. “I keep it locked.”