Free Robot Trouble by Bruce Coville Page B

amazing,” said Hap, referring to the state-of-the-art crystal-based printer Wendy had borrowed from her parents. It could churn out a five-hundred-page book in less than three minutes.
    â€œThe printer is okay,” said Rachel. “It’s Wendy’s password program that’s boggling my mind.”
    â€œAw, shucks,” said Wendy, batting her eyes. “Twarn’t nothin’, ma’am.”
    Secretly she was pleased by Rachel’s praise—especially since the program had nearly turned out to be a total embarrassment. After assuring the others that she could easily tap into the mainframe’s secret files, she had discovered that the computer’s security system was more complex than she had suspected. For weeks the thing had blocked all her attempts to milk it for data. Cracking its security code had taken considerably more work than she had anticipated.
    She suppressed a shiver. Given this morning’s message from Black Glove, she had succeeded just in time.
    Roger glanced through the stack of papers and let out a low whistle. “I think we’re playing with fire this time, guys. If the adults ever find out we pulled this stuff out of the mainframe, we’ll really be in the stew.”
    Rachel pressed one of the stickers she had been preparing onto a folder, labeling its contents. “Desperate times require desperate measures,” she said primly. “By the way, here’s Dad’s file.”
    Roger took the sheaf of papers and began leafing through it.
    They had created seventeen folders in all, one for each major suspect. Inside the folders were the hard copy versions of the ultra-secret personnel files that Wendy had called up from the computer.
    â€œI didn’t know Dr. Clark liked to water-ski,” said Hap, flipping through one of the files. He tried to imagine the tall, chestnut-haired woman skimming across the water behind a powerboat, but the picture didn’t make sense. He shook his head. “She seems too dignified for something like that.”
    Before anyone could answer, the door swung open, revealing two masked figures.
    â€œAll right, everybody!” shouted the taller one. “Hit the floor!”
    â€œThat means now,” said the shorter one, pointing a strange looking gun toward the center of the room.
    Rachel’s initial surge of fright was immediately replaced by one of righteous indignation. “If we weren’t stuck in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, I’d call a rest home to come get you two,” she said angrily.
    The taller figure peeled off its mask to reveal the grinning face and sandy brown hair of Trip Davis. “Sorry,” he said. “We couldn’t help ourselves.”
    â€œAren’t these guns neat!” enthused Ray, waving his in the air.
    â€œNeat,” said Roger. “Now get your basketball and come here. We’ve got work to do.”
    â€œAll right, all right,” said Ray. “Don’t get hyper. You’ll have a heart attack and end up in the infirmary with Dr. Clark’s icy fingers wrapped around your wrist.”
    â€œInfirmary!” cried Hap. “That’s what I wanted to tell you guys. With everything that’s been going on today, it slipped my mind.”
    â€œCare to explain what you’re babbling about?” asked Roger.
    â€œWell, to begin with, I got up early this morning.”
    â€œDon’t worry,” said Wendy sympathetically. “Another year or two and we’ll have you on civilized hours.”
    â€œUsually I take kind of a cross-country path to get here,” continued Hap, ignoring the interruption. “This might not mean anything, but… as I was cutting past the infirmary this morning, I saw a guy letting himself into it.”
    Ray shrugged. “So maybe he needed a Band-Aid.”
    â€œCould be. Like I said, it might not mean anything. But a few things about it bothered me. First, the