Chapter Thirteen
The next morning was Connie’s turn to open the shop. Eugene had a study group at the college and would be in a little later. Whit called soon after she opened and said he would be in that afternoon. As usual on a Saturday, the place soon filled up with kids. She was just finishing setting up the soda counter when Donna Barclay walked up.
“Connie.”
“Hi, Donna. Feeling better today?”
Donna shrugged. “Sort of.”
“Sort of? Did you see Richard Maxwell again?”
“No, but I have a feeling I might.”
“Why?”
Donna sighed. “I haven’t talked to Mr. Whittaker yet about what happened yesterday. You know how he is about these things. He’ll want me to go back and visit Mrs. Hooper again.”
Connie nodded sympathetically. “That sounds like Whit, all right. But you know why he’ll want you to do that, don’t you?”
Donna rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Because it’s the right thing to do.”
Connie smiled. “And not just for Mrs. Hooper, but for you.”
“You know, that sounds like Mr. Whittaker too,” Donna said, grinning. “Anyway, I thought before I talked with him, I’d have a little fun with the train set. But it isn’t working, and I can’t find the switch to turn it on.”
Connie thought for a second, then remembered. “Oh, that’s right. Eugene turned it off at the computer last night.”
Donna looked confused. “Huh?”
“Nothing. I’ll get the train running for you, but I need to go to the office for a few minutes. Can you watch the soda counter for me, Donna? Just let me know if a customer comes in.”
“Sure!”
Connie rounded the counter’s corner, crossed the room, and bounded up the stairs. She had a set of keys on a lanyard around her neck, and when she got to the office door, she sorted through them, selected the right one, unlocked the door, and walked inside.
She tried to remember what Eugene did when they left last evening. First, she needed to get the bookcase out of the way. Eugene locked it —the keyhole was in the wall next to the case. Now where did he put the key? Yes . . . in one of the books. But which one? She searched the books, trying to recall. The titles flipped by: Voyage of the Dawn Treader, The Magician’s Nephew, The Silver Chair. Wait! This one. This was it. The Last Battle.
She took the book from the shelf and opened it. Sure enough, the key was pressed inside the front cover. She retrieved the key, set down the book, inserted the key in the lock, and turned it. There was a loud click and a soft, vacuum-like sound. The bookcase creaked as it slowly swung open. The familiar hum of the computer greeted her.
She stepped into the room and up to the big screen. Now how did she get this thing to work? Maybe if she just talked to it like Eugene did. She cleared her throat and adopted a serious tone. “Mabel?”
Beep. Whir. “Good morning, John Avery Whittaker.”
So much for serious. She giggled. “It’s not him. I mean, I’m me. I mean, I’m not John Avery Whittaker. I’m Connie. Why am I explaining this to a stupid computer?” A breath. “Mabel, I need you to turn on the trains, please.”
Beep. “I do not understand.”
She frowned. Weren’t computers supposed to be smart? She slowed down and spoke louder. “Turn. On. The. Trains. You know, trains? Wooo-wooo! Tracks? Chugga-chugga-chugga? Turn them on.”
Beep, whir. “Please make your selection from the program menu.”
Connie blinked. “Oh! Good idea. The program menu; that’s what Eugene said.” The menu appeared on the big screen. She scanned it and found “train-set program.” Now how did Eugene say it again? “Mabel, please, uh, please . . . oh yeah! Please load the train-set program.”
Beep. “Loading train-set program.”
Ha! Success. All right!
Beep-beep. “Train-set program loaded. Run train-set program?”
“Uh, yes, Mabel. Run train-set program.”
Beep-beep. “Train-set program is running.”
Connie grinned broadly. “Great! Thanks. Boy, this is so easy. Eugene isn’t the only brainy one, Councilman Glossman.”
Beep, whir. “Please make your next selection from the program menu.”
“Next selection? I don’t want to make a next sel —”
She stopped. There it was on the menu screen.
Applesauce.
Curiosity suddenly overwhelmed her. She wondered what Whit put in the program. Maybe it was a file about her. One of those personnel files about how she was doing. No, Whit would tell her if she was doing something wrong. Wouldn’t he?
Her brow furrowed. What if he hadn’t been happy about her work and didn’t have the heart to tell her? If the file was about her, she should be allowed to see it, shouldn’t she?
“I’ll bet Eugene’s looked at it,” she muttered. It wasn’t fair. Why should he get to know all the secrets, especially ones about her? She didn’t get to know any of his secrets. Maybe they were in the file too.
Yeah, that must be it! Both of their files were on there, and now she’d be able to see his secrets like he’d seen hers. A little peek wouldn’t make any difference —not if she and Eugene were truly equals. She cleared her throat again. “Ah, Mabel? Please load the program called —”
“Connie?”
She jumped and shrieked. “Aaah! What?”
It was Donna standing frozen and wide eyed in the computer-room doorway. “Wow. I didn’t mean to scare you!”
Beep, whir, boop. “Please repeat command. I do not have a program called Aaah-what.”
Donna stepped into the room. “Look at all this equipment!”
Connie’s heart raced. “No. You don’t see this, Donna. Promise me you don’t see it. Just go back to the counter and forget about it. Promise me, okay?”
Donna backed away, looking at Connie as if she was crazy. “Uh, sure, okay, whatever you say, Connie. I’ve just never seen —”
“I know, I know. I said the same thing when I saw it.” She forced herself to calm down. “But you have to pretend like you didn’t see it. Nobody’s supposed to know it’s here. Okay? Please?”
Donna still looked wary but nodded. “Okay. I didn’t see it. It doesn’t exist.”
“Thanks. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Okay.” Donna turned and walked away, shaking her head and muttering, “Wow.”
Connie exhaled, relieved. She couldn’t believe what she almost did.
Beep. “Please repeat command.”
She turned back to the screen. “No, just forget it, Mabel.”
Beep. “I do not understand.”
“I wanted you to load Applesauce, but —”
Beep, whir. “Loading Applesauce.”
“What? No. Don’t!”
Beep. “Applesauce is loaded. Please push any key to continue.”
“But I don’t want to push a key.”
Whir. “Push any key to continue.”
“I told you —”
Whir. “Push any key to continue.”
Connie growled. “All right, all right!” She punched the space bar as though it were a red-hot coal. “There. I’ve pushed the key. Now will you just stop and —”
Beep, whir, beep. “Applesauce level one. Internal matrix for Whit’s End is loaded. Systems check beginning.”
Her eyes widened. “Internal what? Mabel, what are you doing?”
The computer beeped, whirred, and blinked faster and faster. And now there were other noises as well. They were outside the room but within the building: clanking, honking, buzzing, ringing, whirring, knocking, pinging, revving, and a muffled alarm. Connie looked back and forth rapidly between the noises out there and the beeping, whirring, and blinking in the room.
“What’s all the noise? What are you doing, Mabel?”
Donna ran back into the room, looking scared. “Connie! Connie! Everything’s going crazy —all the displays, the trains, the Imagination Station. They’re going nuts!”
Connie’s heart pounded and she started to sweat. She whipped around to the screen. “Oh no oh no oh no. Don’t do this to me, please. I’m sorry! How do I turn this thing off?” She started mashing keys on the computer keyboard. “One of these has to turn it off!”
Donna pointed to the ESC key. “Try that one!”
Connie pressed it repeatedly. “I am, I am! Just go and tell everyone to . . . to get out of the building. Pretend it’s a fire drill or something. And be calm!”
“Okay, Connie!” Donna ran out of the office. The noises in the building got louder and more frenzied. What was the stupid computer doing? And why was it doing this to her? She yelled, “Heeeeelllllp!”
Suddenly Eugene was at the computer-room door. “Miss Kendall! What’s going on here? The entire facility is —”
She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the room. “Eugene! Am I glad to see you. You have to stop this thing. Please. I’ll never touch it again, I promise. But please make it stop.”
His eyes scanned the big screen. “What did you do?” His jaw dropped. He looked horrified. “Applesauce. You loaded Applesauce!”
She was near tears now. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to. Just stop it.”
He brushed her aside and said in a commanding voice, “Mabel. Do you hear me? Please respond, Mabel!”
Beepboopboopbeep. Beepboopboopbeep. “Systems check nearing completion.”
“But, Mabel —”
Beepwhirwhirboopbeep. “Systems check finalizing.”
“Mabel, discontinue —”
Beepbeepboopboop. “Systems check complete.”
Almost instantly, all noises wound down. Mabel’s beeping, booping, whirring, and blinking decreased. After a few seconds, Whit’s End seemed to return to normal. All Connie could hear was her heart pounding in her ears, and her and Eugene’s heavy breaths. She touched him on the arm. “It stopped. You made it stop.”
He looked at the big screen warily. “I’m not sure I did anything.”
She exhaled sharply. “I don’t care. It stopped. Oh, Whit’s going to kill me!”
Eugene still faced the screen but spoke to Connie very carefully. “Well, dare I say it? If we close up this room and go about our business, Mr. Whittaker need never know.”
She was touched. “Eugene . . . would you do that for me?”
He shook his head. “Not just for you; for both of us. Now let’s get out of —”
Beep, whir, beep. “Applesauce proceeding to level two.”
Eugene gulped. “Level . . . two?”
Connie’s heart started pounding again. “What does that mean, level two?”
“I don’t know.”
Whir. “Please enter password.”
His shoulders drooped. “She wants a password.”
Whir. “Please enter password.”
Eugene held up his hands. “I don’t know the password.”
Connie whacked him on the shoulder. “Make something up.”
Whir, beep. “You have ten seconds to enter password.”
A different beeping started, deeper and evenly paced. It grew steadily louder with each beep, and as it did, the noises around Whit’s End wound up again and increased.
Connie was getting frantic. “Everything’s going nuts again! What’s it doing?”
Eugene shook his head. “I don’t know, but I need a password!”
Beep. “Ten.”
“Uh . . . applesauce,” Eugene guessed.
Beep. “Nine.”
“Whit’s End! John Avery!”
Connie grabbed Eugene’s shirt. “What will it do?”
Beep. “Eight.”
“Tom Riley! Whittaker!”
Beep. “Seven.”
“Eugene, what’s it —”
“Quiet, Miss Kendall! Bible!”
Beep. “Six.”
Eugene shouted. “His wife’s name?”
Beep. “Five.”
“What was it?” he squeaked.
Beep. “Four.”
Connie drew a complete blank. “Uh . . .”
Beep. “Three.”
Eugene’s face was red. “Connie?”
Beep. “Two.”
“I don’t remember!”
Beep. “One. You have failed to provide a password. System will now shut down functions until further information is supplied.”
In the soda shop and events rooms, the displays and machines ran at a fever pace, the noises combining into a cacophony. Mabel’s beeps, boops, and whirs increased rapidly, and her lights blinked so fast, they began to strobe. Connie covered her ears. Eugene grimaced. Mabel’s voice slowed down. “Have . . . a . . . nice . . . daaaaay.”
The activity peaked. There were electrical surges, the room lights flickered, there was a loud snap, and then everything suddenly turned off. It wasn’t just the rooms and Mabel but the overhead lights, air-conditioning, outside lights, and everything that made the place run. It all flashed, ground to a halt, and went silent and dark. The whole building was completely quiet, completely dead.
Eugene’s breathing was very shallow. He whispered, “Oh no.”
Connie pulled on his T-shirt sleeve. Her voice quavered. “Eugene? What happened? What have we done?”
He looked extremely pale. “I think . . . we killed Whit’s End.”
A few moments later, many miles away, a soft ding announced the arrival of a notice on a computer screen. The notice read, simply, “Applesauce engaged. Level one successful. Level-two security measures successful. Total shutdown achieved.”
The owner of the screen leaned back in his chair, smiled, and growled softly, “Excellent.” He pressed an autodial button on his phone and then pushed the speaker button.
After three rings, the phone clicked, and a filtered voice on the other end said, “Glossman.”
“Hello, Philip. Have you found him yet?”
“Yes. He’s working as an orderly at the retirement home. You can pretty much guess what he’s doing there.”
“Mmm. Petty but useful. Pick him up and bring him to me.”
“To you? In Chicago?”
“Was I unclear?”
“N-no, sir, but I-I thought you wanted me to put him to work disrupting things here in Odyssey —”
“Events have accelerated, Philip. I take it you talked to Whittaker’s employees as I asked you to?”
“Yes, sir, one of them anyway. The girl —Connie.”
“Mmm. Well, whatever you said to her has worked out splendidly. So I’ll need Maxwell’s skills sooner than expected. Which is why I must meet with him face-to-face. Bring him. Now.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you found a building for Webster Development yet?”
“Yes, sir. We’re already putting measures in place to acquire it.”
He smiled. “Excellent.”