Ben’s lunch was a peanut butter sandwich, glass of milk, and a handful of carrot sticks, healthful and nutritious. He could be a poster boy for our school nutrition class.
He went up to his room, and I heard the start-up gong of his computer. I guessed he was doing research. I microwaved tuna fish and mayo on toast and mixed up chocolate milk. A bowl of real fruit sat on the kitchen table, so I grabbed a banana, too. The article about the clams was still on the breakfast table. I read it while I ate.
It said that a long time ago clams were “harvested” not only for pearls but mostly to make buttons from their shells. The little guys could live a long time if left alone. Some managed forty, fifty, sixty years or more. The floor creaked behind me, and I jumped.
“I have to go downtown,” Ben said.
“Jeez, don’t sneak up on me.”
He just twisted his mouth up into a lopsided smile and said, “Remember to save the banana peel for the compost.”
“Yes, sir. You doing more research?”
“There’s nothing current online about freshwater pearl fishing. The central library has a book from 1913.”
“I can help.”
“I don’t think so. I’ll be back in an hour. Don’t let anyone in the house.” He slung a backpack over his shoulder, grabbed his bike helmet from a hook by the back door. Out he trotted. “And don’t go outside,” he said before closing the door.
“Fine!” I snapped at the door. I watched him cross the backyard to the little garage and get his bike. If he wanted to be mysterious, fine. Two could play that game, though there wasn’t much point in my being mysterious. And I guessed I’d go outside if I liked. But first . . .
Creeping up the stairs, I realized I was sneaking for no reason. Nobody was home besides me. Still, it was spooky, and I went to my room first and grabbed my stuffed toy camel. I always felt safer when I held it. Its mismatched black eyes always made me feel a little sorry for it. Mom wanted to get rid of it. She was afraid it might have chemicals that would make us sick. She thought Dad was stupid for going back to Iraq to help set up clinics. Did I say he was a medic? Sometimes I missed him more than Mom. I gave the camel a squeeze and tiptoed down the hall.
At home, I never went into my brother Tyrone’s room, mostly because it stank and was disgusting. He also would have pounded the crap out of me.
Ben’s room was like something out of a TV commercial: no food wrappers or pop cans on the floor, bed made, clothes hung up or in the dresser. I couldn’t see one sock on the floor. I liked order, but this was something else.
It was about the same size as my room: space for a double bed, a desk, a set of drawers, and room to walk around. His window faced the house next door. Sun-lit tree branches outside his window waved in the breeze. A group of posters featured Frank Zappa, Captain Beefheart, and They Might Be Giants. There were also sketches of seriously odd creatures, most of them two-legged, all hairy, with claws and good-sized teeth. So, Ben had some deviant interests. It was good to know.
He had one of those computer desks with a slide-out shelf for a keyboard and a ledge full of books over the monitor. The books were old histories about the Mississippi River, tales of Native Americans, and descriptions of mythical creatures. He was into elves, gnomes, werewolves, and weird spirits. I poked through papers on his desk and found notes and diagrams for a robot, I guessed the one Werling had talked about. It looked like a footstool with one gangly arm on top.
His computer was on but sleeping. I tugged on one of the desk drawers but it was locked. “Damn.”
The computer’s screen flashed on. It was like a close-up of a red eye. Then it spoke. “State that as a question, please,” came a tinny voice, and I scrambled to the door, my heart pounding. I paused and looked back in. No one was in the room. A series of question marks bounced around on the computer’s screen.
I pulled myself together and approached the desk again. “Did you just talk? To me?”
“Yes.” The screen changed to a pool of concentric red circles, like the reflections in a lens.
“Cool.”
“State that as a question, please.”
“What?”
“A sentence worded or expressed in such a way as to elicit information.”
“Oh. A question.”
“Precisely.”
“What is two plus two?”
“Four.”
“Wow. A talking computer.”
“State that as a question, please.”
“Are you a talking computer?”
“Yes.”
This was over the top, but somehow, knowing this was Ben’s computer, I wasn’t surprised. “Do you have a name?”
“Yes.”
I waited. “Okay, okay! What is your name?”
“HAL 9000 and a half.”
I was tempted to ask what it meant but decided to stick to the things I really wanted to know. Ben could get back sooner than he said. I probably had less than an hour. Right away, I had a very basic question. “Who is Ben Preston?”
“I have 7,210,165 pieces of information related to ‘Ben Preston’ worldwide. Required time in audio format: one hundred fifty-two hours, thirty-seven minutes, twenty-eight seconds.”
“One hundred fifty-two hours?”
“And thirty-seven minutes, twenty-eight seconds.”
Jeez, I never thought Ben was this well known. For a kid, he must have been ultra famous, but I knew that wasn’t true. “Is there any way to make it shorter?”
“Narrow the scope of your inquiry.”
“How would I do that?”
“Limit your inquiry to a specific Ben Preston by designating a mailing address, phone number, e-mail address . . .”
“Okay, okay.” I understood. Hal 9000 and one half had information on all the Ben Prestons out there—in the world. “I want to know about the one that owns you, Hal. Ben Preston of West River Road in Minneapolis, Minnesota.”
“State that as a question, please.”
I took a breath and held it. Getting mad at a machine would be stupid. But I was beginning to feel like I was playing Jeopardy. “Okay, who is Ben Preston of West River Road, Minneapolis, Minnesota?”
“Access denied.”
“Access denied?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Access requires a password.”
“Password? What password?”
“The user’s password is required.”
“Listen. What can you tell me about Ben Preston . . . of West River Road, Minneapolis, Minnesota? What can you tell me that doesn’t require a password?”
“There is someone at the front door.”
“What?”
“There is someone at the—”
“I know what you said.”
“State that as a question, please.”
The doorbell rang, followed by intense banging.
“Who could that be?” I asked myself aloud.
“Two minions of darkness and a water spirit. House security enabled.”
Minions? A water spirit? “What are you talking about? No, cancel that—I don’t want to know what you’re talking about. Forget it. I’ll find out for myself.”
“State that as a question, please.”
Whoever was at the front door had a determined fist. The whole house shook with every knock. “I’m coming already!” I shouted and snatched up my camel. I couldn’t imagine a neighbor hammering like this.
I put my eye to the peephole lens and got a wide-angle view of two guys in white shirts, dark pants, and black ties. They might have been Jehovah’s Witnesses except for their slightly pointed ears and red caps. I thought the hats were called fezzes, like Moroccans wear—or Shriners. There was no hair around their caps, so they might have been bald. Their faces were identical, blah and emotionless. They could be twins, but it wasn’t because they looked so much alike as they didn’t look like much of anything at all. Three hunchbacked dogs circled their feet. Ugly, mean-looking dogs. Their fur was rough and patchy. I remembered Ben’s instructions not to let anyone in. These guys made his advice easy to follow.
“Who’s there?” I held my camel tight.
“Um,” said the one on the left and shrugged, pushing the one on the right up to the door. I guessed they didn’t figure I was watching through the peephole. This one slapped the left one, who slapped him back. The right one wound up for another slap but pulled it and simply scowled at the left one, then said, “Wendy Adair, you are eligible to win a substantial prize and must open the door and invite us in.”
I didn’t see a prize, substantial or otherwise. I didn’t think I’d want a prize from this pair. That they knew my name creeped me out. Our old apartment door had a triple set of deadbolts. The Prestons’ single lock didn’t look that sturdy. I wished Ben were here. Even Werling would have been welcome.
“There’s no one home,” I shouted through the door and instantly cursed myself for being so stupid. I should have kept my mouth shut and waited for them to leave. But curiously enough, Tweedledum and Tweedledee looked totally confused.
After a short, whispered conversation, they shrugged and turned to go.
“You great prancing pillocks!” It was the voice of Cathal Corkin. But instead of the buff boy I had seen on the bridge, a sleek black horse stepped into view, its mane dripping water on the step. The dogs snarled and backed away form the horse.
Circling the Doublemint twins, the horse shook its head at them, splashing them. I’d swear that it steamed where the water struck them. The horse whinnied and turned to the door. Its long face and body transformed into the beautiful Cathal I met. “Wendy, lass. Open the door and invite me in.”