Free Robot Trouble by Bruce Coville Page A

mock chagrin. “Silly me!” he said, making a little snort. “It’s the secret name for the central command center for Project Alpha. It’s supposed to be classified—but unless you’re like Stanley and believe in crackpot theories about Black Glove and G.H.O.S.T., I can’t figure out what difference it makes.” He winked at them. “Just don’t tell anyone you heard it from me, all right?”
    â€œYou’ve got our word,” said Trip.
    â€œWell, that’s a relief,” said Dr. Mercury, putting his hand to his heart. Realizing that his fingers were covered with flour, he began wiping them on his lab coat, asking as he did, “So what is it that brings you two here? Despite my charm and wit, I have a feeling this is not merely a social visit.”
    Trip glanced at his partner. It was the Gamma Ray who had pointed out that until they got the matter of the security robots under control their other work could be stymied by lack of materials at any time. That was why they were here now, on what was, for them, a most unusual scrounging mission. Instead of scouring the warehouses, they were actually going to ask to borrow something. Trip felt almost as if they were breaking the rules of the game.
    Unfortunately, with Brody’s robots still in action, they had no choice.
    When Ray didn’t speak up, Trip finally said, “We’re working on a little project, sir. We know you specialize in sound command systems, and we were wondering if we could borrow a pair of synthesizer guns.”
    Dr. Mercury’s keen eyes seemed to burrow into Trip’s skull. After a moment he pursed his lips and pressed his chubby hands together. “Do you know exactly what a synthesizer gun is?”
    â€œSure,” said Ray. “Sound engineers use them to create precise tones for audio control systems. You can dial up virtually any form of sound wave and direct it at a target.”
    â€œAnd what what would you want something like that for?”
    â€œWe’re working on a robot control system,” replied Trip, remembering Roger’s oft-repeated dictum that truth was the simplest disguise.
    Dr. Mercury chuckled. “Sounds like an interesting project. Give me a minute, I’ll see what I can dig up for you.”
    Trip’s eyes followed the scientist as he waddled away from the table and disappeared into another room.
    â€œHe knows what we’re up to!” he whispered. “I could see it in his face. And you know what that means.”
    Ray shrugged. “I guess it means he doesn’t care if we screw up Brody’s robots. Which could mean—”
    â€œOne of two things,” interrupted Trip. “Either (a) Dr. Mercury is really Black Glove and wants the robots out of commission for reasons of his own, or else (b) he’s like most of the rest of the people here and would be glad to see us make a monkey out of Brody.”
    Ray smiled. “Either way, we get what we need,” he said. Then a troubled look replaced his smile. “Though he is short enough to be Black Glove.”
    Trip nodded. “I know. I’ve been trying not to think about it, because he’s such a nice guy. But when you come right down to it, all the suspects seem pretty decent. The problem is, one of them isn’t.”
    Ray shivered. “If he really is Black Glove we might be playing right into his hands.”
    â€œHere we are!” boomed Dr. Mercury, heaving himself back into the room. “I knew I had a couple of these things around here somewhere.”
    He held out a pair of the sound guns and gave the boys a big wink. “I want you to promise you’ll make good use of these.”
    Then he began to chuckle.
    â€œWell, that’s the last of them,” said Wendy, drawing the still warm stack of papers out of the machine. She pushed back one of her pigtails and passed the pile to Rachel.
    â€œThat thing is