Free The Flinkwater Factor by Pete Hautman Page B

to a couple of electrodes glued onto his skin.” At the ends of the wires were two disks no bigger around than a pencil eraser.
    I could hear Redge whining and Myke blubbering.
    Billy said, “Come on out, you guys. Everything’s okay.”
    It took a few minutes to coax Myke and Redgeout from under the bed. Myke was hugging the dog and crying. I think Redge was more upset at being strangled by Myke than he was by having the wires ripped off. When Myke loosened his grip enough for us to get a good look at Redge’s head, I could see that Billy was right. There were two tiny bald patches where the electrodes had been fastened.
    â€œHe’s gonna be fine,” Billy said.
    â€œYou could have killed him!” Myke said.
    â€œHey, I didn’t do anything. He tore them loose himself. How come he jumped like that?”
    I said, “It was me.”
    They looked at me.
    â€œI sort of accidentally stepped on his tail.”

    We gave Redge a pound of hamburger from the freezer. As Redge gnawed happily on the brick of frozen meat, we discussed our next step.
    â€œWe’ve stolen a piece of ACPOD secret technology, and we’re harboring a fugitive hound,” I said. “That means Homeland Security is going to be coming after us, if they aren’t already.”
    â€œHow about we just return the collar,” Myke said. “They don’t care about the dog—they were going to kill him.”
    Billy was at his desk, using a tiny screwdriver to do something to the collar.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” I asked.
    â€œI just want to see if it—oops.”
    â€œDon’t say ‘oops,’” I said. “‘Oops’ is scary.”
    He was down on his hands and knees. “Dropped a screw. Here it is.”
    Myke said, “Once we get the collar back to Area Fifty-One, they’ll stop looking for the dog. Right?”
    â€œExcept that they might want to plug the dog back in so he can tell them who kidnapped him,” I said.
    â€œTrue  . . .”
    â€œThis is really cool,” Billy said. He had the back off the collar and was examining its innards with his handheld digital microscope.
    â€œPut it back together, Billy. Myke’s right—we have to return the collar. We can tell them we found it on the street.”
    â€œYou think they’ll believe us?” Myke asked.
    â€œWe’re just kids. All we have to do is act stupid.”
    â€œWhat about Redge?”
    â€œRedge will have to lay low for a while.”
    â€œWhere? He can’t stay with me,” Myke said.
    â€œMe either—my mom would freak.”
    We both looked at Billy, who was plugging a slim cable from his tablet into the collar.
    â€œCheck this out,” he said. His tablet lit up, displaying a complicated schematic.
    â€œWow,” I said, with no idea what I was lookingat.
    â€œIt’s incredibly simple,” Billy said. He then rattled off a long string of words that included “synthetic bionomic interruption circuit” and “dynamical ergonomic interface” and “adaptive cybernetics.” None of which meant a thing to me.
    â€œHow fascinating,” I said boredly.
    â€œWhat’s really fascinating is that it’s no more complicated than a lawn-mower engine. I bet I could make it even simpler. The gubble gubble circuit is redundant, and the gobbledygook is framistating wingleberries  . . . .”
    I looked at Myke to see if he was following any of it. Nope.
    I said, “Billy. Stop talking .”
    He stopped talking.
    â€œPut the collar back together. Myke and I are going to get rid of it.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œWhat have we been talking about for the past half hour?”
    â€œCybernetic interfaces?”
    â€œNo. Put the collar together. And hurry up, before Homeland Security finds us here and framistats all over your thingamabobs .”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œJust do