A System Within a System
When Rick came down to breakfast the next morning, the day was already
hours old for his father, Steve Ames, Julius Weiss, Parnell Winston,
and Dr. Walter Miller alias Morrison. The scientists had been closeted
in the library with Steve since dawn, their talks interrupted only by
Mrs. Brant serving coffee to the group. Steve, too, had remained
overnight.
Barby and Scotty were around the island somewhere with Janice. Mrs.
Brant and Mrs. Morrison were in the kitchen, getting acquainted and
finding that they had friends in common.
It wasn't that Rick had slept late; he was on time. Everyone else had
gotten up early. Rick told himself that he was the only calm member of
the family, but underneath he was a little chagrined. If he had arisen
earlier, he might have been able to take part in the talks now going
on in the library.
The Morrisons had been so tired from the strain of getting out of
Washington undetected, and from the trip in the confined quarters of
the Coast Guard cutter that they had gone to bed almost immediately.
Dr. Morrison turned out to be a tall man with a kind, tired face,
steel-rimmed glasses, and a shock of curly white hair. Mrs. Morrison
was a pleasant, stylish woman whose reaction was a mixture of pure
pleasure at finding herself in the comfortable Brant home and
embarrassment at the circumstances that had forced her to impose
herself on strangers. Rick had liked both the Morrisons immediately.
His reaction to Janice was favorable, too. He admitted that she was a
remarkably pretty girl, as dark as Barby was fair, and of about the
same height and slimness. She hadn't said a great deal, and he decided
at once that she was shy. Barby had taken to her immediately, and she
to Barby. The last thing Rick had heard before falling asleep was the
two of them talking and giggling in the room down the hall.
He walked into the dining room, hoping he wasn't too late for
breakfast, and stopped short, stifling a laugh at the sight that met
his eyes.
The Morrisons' cat, whose name was Shah, was crouched on one of the
dining-room chairs. Dismal was sniffing around beneath the chair,
obviously looking for the cat. As Rick watched, Dismal gave up the
search and walked from under the chair. Instantly he was batted on the
nose from above by a paw that moved with supersonic speed. Rick
laughed as Dismal gave a cry of pure frustration and headed for the
kitchen at a trot. The cat had been playing, since the blow was struck
with claws sheathed. If Shah had wanted to hurt the pup, raking claws
could have torn deep furrows.
Rick stroked the silky fur and Shah purred hoarsely. He hadn't had
much experience with cats, but he liked this one. The Persian had a
sense of humor. Rick went into the kitchen and consoled Dismal, after
bidding good morning to his mother and Mrs. Morrison. The pup rolled
over on his back and played dead, his only trick. The boy scratched
Dismal's stomach until the pup's hind leg flailed in delighted
ecstasy.
"Am I too late for breakfast?" Rick asked his mother.
"Of course not. We'll be ready in ten minutes."
Rick wandered out to the screened front porch that was the Brants'
summer living room. The ocean was calm this morning. He searched the
horizon for some sign of the Coast Guard cutter. There was none, which
didn't surprise him. Steve was too old a hand to attract attention to
Spindrift by having a government craft waiting offshore.
Barby, Jan, and Scotty were walking from the long, low gray laboratory
building on the southeast corner of the island, past the place where
the Sky Wagon, his plane, usually was staked down. His landing strip
ran along the seaward edge of the island, from the lab building to the
front of the house. However, the plane still carried the pontoons
with which it had been fitted for the Virgin Islands trip, and for the
time being, it was drawn ashore at Pirate's Field.
Presently the trio joined him on the porch. Jan smiled and said good
morning in her soft voice. Scotty said, "I thought you were going to
sleep all day."
Barby came to Rick's defense. "He was tired. After all, it's hard work
to get wonderful ideas like the one he had last night."
Apparently Barby had told Jan all about it, because the girl asked,
"Can I be a member of the Megabuck Mob?" There seemed to be just a
touch of wistfulness about the way she added, "You always seem to be
having adventures of one sort or another at Spindrift."
Rick answered, "Please don't believe everything Barby tells you. She
exaggerates, sort of."
"I do not," Barby answered emphatically. "We do have adventures.
Besides, Jan already knew about some of them, because she read about
Spindrift in the papers. And she's already a member of the Mob,
because I invited her!"
Rick interpreted Barby's glare correctly. It said that if he wasn't
gracious and nice to their new guest, he would have his sister to
reckon with, and, as he knew full well, she was no mean adversary.
"Fine," he said. "Welcome to the Mob, Miss Morrison. We'll assign you
the subject of economic history."
"Jan, please," she answered, then smiled shyly. "But couldn't I have
another subject? I'm just not the type to know much about economics, I
guess."
"That's just the point," Scotty explained.
Barby had a serious look on her pert face. "Of course Rick's idea
about stealing a million from quiz shows was just a joke. But, Rick,
you gave me an idea--if you'll co-operate."
"It depends on the idea," Rick answered warily.
"Oh, don't be so cautious. I'm not trying to trap you into taking me
on any trips." Barby referred to the promise she had once wangled out
of her brother that she could go on the next expedition, a promise
that had gotten the Spindrift young people entangled in a hazardous
adventure in the far-off South Seas.
Rick perched on the arm of a sofa. "Okay. Let's have it."
"Well, I was thinking about the Harvest Moon Show at school." She
explained, in an aside to Jan, "Every October the high school puts on
a big variety show in the city auditorium to raise money for the
school athletic fund. Rick said he could make me a radio receiver that
I could wear in my hair."
"He can," Scotty interjected. "Remember the control radios we made for
the Tractosaur? He could make one for you the same way."
The Tractosaur was a "thinking bulldozer" the Spindrift scientists had
designed.
Barby continued, "I know you can make a small transmitter that will
fit in your pocket, because that's all the Tractosaur control was,
really. Well, if I wore a receiver that no one could see, and if you
carried a transmitter that no one could see, we could put on the most
wonderful mind-reading act in history!"
Rick's quick imagination elaborated on Barby's words. It was a great
idea! He could work among the audience, while Barby sat blindfolded on
the stage. He would choose a person in the audience and ask for
something from wallet or purse, and whisper: "Please let me have your
driver's license. Thank you. Mr. Charles Rogers, is it?... Where is
3218 Newark Drive?... Oh, over by the airfield. Well, Mr. Rogers, let
me see if I can transmit all this information telepathically to my
sister." Then he would hold up the driver's license and say loudly,
"What have I here?" And Barby, who had heard every whispered word,
would answer. He would coax the information out of her, and the
audience would be baffled.
"Sensational," he complimented her. "We'll do it."
"Brant and Brant," Scotty intoned, "the marvels of the universe! See
the living proof of the science of parapsychology! Mystifying,
terrifying, a scientific phenomenon without parallel that has baffled
the leading minds of the world!" Scotty's quick mind also had caught
the implications of Barby's idea.
Jan Morrison was a scientist's daughter, too, and printed electronic
circuits were no mystery to her. She said enthusiastically, "You could
even do mind reading at a distance."
"How?" Barby asked.
"Well, if there were two transmitters, Scotty could have one, too. He
could go to someone outside the auditorium, like the mayor, or some
other official, and have him write a sentence on a sheet of paper,
which Scotty could read over his shoulder. Then Barby, on the
auditorium stage, would ask everyone to look at their watches, and say
that the mayor had just written so and so on a sheet of paper, then
burned it. Scotty would bring the mayor to the auditorium, and Barby
would tell him what she had said, and at what time, and ask him if it
was right. Of course it would be."
Rick looked at the girl with new respect. It was a very good gimmick
indeed. He said as much.
Barby put her arm around Jan's waist. "We'll be sure to invite you to
the show. Won't it be fun?"
"If it's safe for us to let people know where we are by then," Jan
said somberly.
They fell silent at the reminder that Jan's presence was far more
serious than a casual visit. Finally Rick said, "We'll get to work on
the sets this afternoon."
"Make it tomorrow," Barby said quickly. "I sort of promised Jan
something...."
Rick and Scotty exchanged glances.
"I said you and Scotty would teach her how to use the aqualungs."
Rick breathed a sigh of relief. That would be no hardship. He and
Scotty needed practice, anyway. They had hardly used the lungs since
returning from the Virgin Islands.
Mrs. Brant summoned them to breakfast and they walked in to find Steve
and the scientists gathered at the big table.
"Got everything settled?" Rick asked.
"Just about," Steve replied. "We have a job for you, though."
Rick's pulse quickened. "What is it?"
"Your father and Weiss will need to pay a quick trip to Washington. I
want you to take them in the Sky Wagon."
"When?" Scotty inquired.
"Tomorrow morning. You'll come back tomorrow afternoon."
Over breakfast, Rick tried to get more information from the agent.
"Exactly what are we working on, Steve?"
Ames sipped steaming coffee thoughtfully. "Ever hear of a weapon
system?"
Rick had. "It's a weapon so complicated, with so many parts, that it's
actually a system instead of just a simple weapon. I think the term is
used mostly for missiles."
"You think right. Well, Winston, Weiss, and your father will help Dr.
Morrison do the basic design work on a system to go into a weapon
system."
Scotty had been listening, too. "How complicated can you get?" he
asked.
Dr. Morrison answered. "When it comes to missile work, you can get
fantastically complicated. In fact, some missile systems are so
complicated it's a wonder they ever work at all."
The telephone rang. Barby, who served when necessary as the island's
switchboard operator, ran to answer. In a moment she returned. "It's
for you, Steve. From Washington. I plugged it in on the library
extension."
Steve excused himself. A few moments later he returned. "Hartson, I
just took the liberty of ordering a scrambler placed on your phone
switchboard, in case we need to hold any classified conversations
between here and my offices. The phone man will install it today, if
you have no objection."
"Of course not," Hartson Brant said. "I think it's a sensible
precaution, especially with one member of the team remaining in
Washington."
"What's a scrambler?" Barby asked.
"A special device that turns phone conversations into jumbled
gibberish so no one can understand them. You talk normally, and sound
normal to the person listening. But anyone tapping in on the line gets
only sounds that mean nothing."
The agent's face turned grim. "Speaking of gibberish reminds me of the
reason for the call. The _Washington Post_ carried a story in one of
its columns this morning hinting that two scientists working on a
supersecret project had been driven insane. It also hinted that the
insanity was an effect of the gadget they were working on!"