Scrawled on the paper in shaky handwriting were ancient words in a language he did not know and could not read. Fortunately, Professor M had translated them before he died. What the words said were unbelievable. But the old professor swore they were true. The fragment was so old, Blackgaard didn’t dare remove it from the bag, but he ran his fingers over the plastic, imagining he could feel the power of the words through it.

  His fingers stopped at the bottom of the fragment, where the most astounding words of all were written, words that made him believe the professor was right. There was no need to translate them; they were written in English, in the same handwriting as the ancient language above them. Three clear words:

  “John Avery Whittaker.”

  Chapter Seven

  Although Eugene had been in the computer department at Campbell College many times, he had never been nervous about it before. Then again, he had never been hired to work there before. He was also rather surprised at how fast the hiring process had been. After his conversation with Philip Glossman at Mansfield Computers, he had decided that perhaps the councilman was correct, and he needed to explore his options. Not that he desired to be beholden to Glossman, of all people, but he was secretly grateful for the information about the job opening in the computer department. He really didn’t want to work in a computer store. He felt the duties there would have been far beneath his skill set in computer technology and far above his skill set in sales.

  So after pondering the pros and cons, he decided to give it a go, and he applied for the job with Mr. Burglemeister the next morning. He was just in time. Mr. Burglemeister told Eugene that he was the last applicant for the position. The department head had all but made the final decision on filling the position with the previous applicant. Eugene left the preinterview believing that he had not gotten the job, but that afternoon he got a call from the department secretary asking him to come to the office immediately. When he did, Mr. Burglemeister hired him on the spot. The last time he had been hired that fast was . . . well . . . at Whit’s End.

  Eugene felt a pang of remorse thinking about his former job and his former employer, but he didn’t allow the feeling to go any further. He needed to focus on the task at hand. It had been five days since he was hired, and today was his first day on the job, even though it was the first week of the second, shortened, summer semester. Mr. Burglemeister was giving Eugene a guided tour of the college’s computer facilities, much of which Eugene had already seen. Their first stop was the student lab, a sterile, white room with rows of computers humming and whirring, in front of which sat a variety of students typing away at their keyboards and occasionally whispering or talking in low voices, sometimes to each other, and sometimes to themselves. There was no rule about not talking while in the lab, but for some reason everyone treated it as if it were a library.

  Eugene and Mr. Burglemeister exited the lab into the hallway, and Mr. Burglemeister pointed out several rooms as they passed them, describing their functions and the work that went on in them.

  “. . . und zat room is zee college’s general data-processing department where information about zee students are put into zee computers—names, addresses, zat sort of thing.”

  Eugene nodded. “I understand.”

  Burglemeister motioned toward the next door to their right. “Now, if you come zis way, I’ll show you something really special!”

  They strolled down the hallway, and Eugene cleared his throat. “Mr. Burglemeister, I hope I’ve made it very clear how much I appreciate the college hiring me.”

  Burglemeister waggled a finger at him. “Tut, tut, Hubert.”

  “Eugene.”

  “Yah, yah—your records show you are one of our best graduate students. Mit your computer experience, I should be thanking you for taking zee job. Ve must make sure ve are hiring zee right kind of people to verk for us. Ach! Here ve are!” They stopped in front of a door. Unlike all the other doors, this one had no window in it or sign on it. It also had on the wall next to the doorknob a keypad with a card slot. “Zis is our computer security division. You’ll notice zat zee door is always locked. You’ll haf your own keycard. Zis room is sehr top secret. Die meisten confidential.”

  Eugene frowned. “Top secret? Why?”

  “Zese computers contain all our financial information, student grades, und reports. Ve can’t haf just anyone poking their eyes around in it.”

  “I see,” said Eugene thoughtfully. “Very impressive.”

  Burglemeister slid his keycard through the slot and punched a code into the keypad. The door buzzed, he pulled it open, and they went inside. The door automatically shut behind them. Like the computer lab, this room was also sterile and white, but unlike the lab, it was empty and completely quiet except for the mild electronic hum of the computers. Burglemeister stopped and closed his eyes blissfully. “Ahhh . . . listen.”

  Eugene stood perfectly still, straining to listen. Oddly enough—or perhaps not, when he thought about it—the sound reminded him of the computer room at Whit’s End. But he said aloud, “What am I listening for?”

  “Nichts! Nothing! Zat’s zee point. In zis room, you haf zee joy of peace und quiet. Ah, vat I vouldn’t give to be vere you are.”

  Eugene’s brow furrowed. “Where am I, sir?”

  Burglemeister opened his arms wide. “Here! Zis is vere you’ll be verking! Ve’re putting you in charge of our high-security programming!”

  Eugene’s jaw dropped, and he blinked several times. “You’re putting me in charge? Nothing was said to me about being in charge!”

  Burglemeister scratched his head. “Nein? Hmm! Must’ve slipped my mind. But why shouldn’t you be? Your records show you’re a near genius mit computers.”

  “Near?”

  “Ach! How I envy you!” Burglemeister sighed. “Zee solitude, zee programming . . . no loud people, no noise but zee gentle hum of zee elektronik. It should be quite a relief after verking at—vat vas zee name of zat kids’ place, Hubert?”

  “Eugene. It was called Whit’s End.”

  “Yah, yah, zat’s right: Mit’s End. You can put zat nightmare behind you. You’ll enjoy zis job. Just computers und computer programs. Wunderbar! No more screaming children surrounding you mit clutter und distractions. Absoluten paradise.”

  Eugene sighed sadly. “Yes . . . paradise.”

  Suddenly, a throat being cleared very loudly invaded the peace of the computer hum. “A-hem!”

  Eugene looked around. “What was that?”

  Burglemeister also looked. “I’m not sure. It sounded like—”

  A quiet male voice said, “Over here, sir.”

  Burglemeister turned and smiled. “Ach meine sternen! Nicholas! Sorry, I didn’t see you sitting over zere! Nicholas, come over here und meet Hubert Meltsdip.”

  Eugene watched as a small, freckled boy wearing a white lab coat emerged from behind a computer workstation.

  Eugene extended his hand. “Eugene Meltsner, actually. Pleased to meet you.”

  “And zis is Nicholas Appleworm.”

  Nicholas peered up at Eugene through dirty, oversized glasses and took his hand. “Uh, Adamsworth. Hello, Mr. Meltsner.” They shook.

  “Please, just call me Eugene, uh, Nicholas.”

  Burglemeister beamed. “Nicholas vill be verking for you. He’s part of a special test program zee college has started for jugendliche—er, children—mit extremely high intelligence. He’s proven himself to be quite goot mit computers—so goot, in fact, ve put him in here. Don’t let his age fool you.”

  “How old are you, Nicholas?” Eugene asked.

  “Eleven years, three months, two days, ten hours, and fifty-four minutes old,” Nicholas replied instantly. “Not counting daylight savings.”

  Eugene smiled, impressed. “Eleven years old! I didn’t start my college studies until I was thirteen.”

  Nicholas nodded. “You know what it’s like, then.”

  “Oh yes. But at that time, they didn’t have advanced study programs like this, and—”

  “Ach, I’m sure you wunderkindern haf a lot to talk about!” Burglemeister interrupted. “Und I’ll leave you to it. Hubert, if you haf any questions, don’t hesitate to call.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Burglemeister. I won’t.”

  “Auf Wiedersehen, Nicholas. Don’t dillydally too long. Remember, zee study program depends on you.”

  “I won’t forget. Good-bye, Mr. Burglemeister.”

  Burglemeister clapped them both on the shoulders affectionately, beamed again, and then left the room.

  Eugene chuckled. “Well. He seems competent enough.”

  Nicholas shrugged. “He’s all right . . . for someone with his IQ.”

  “What did he mean when he said the program depends on you?”

  “This is a test program for some of us kids in the foster program. My parents died when I was little.” He pushed his enormous glasses higher up on his nose. “Anyway, they started this program to see if kids my age with my intelligence can adjust to college life. They say I’ve got the brains for it, but not the body. It’s not exactly elementary school around here.”

  “Is the program working?”

  “I hope so. If we fail, they’ll cancel the program, and then we’ll all be stuck.”

  “All?”

  Nicholas nodded. “Yes. Me and kids like me. We’ll go back into the system, which means going back to regular school. Then I’ll spend most of my time trying to keep from being picked on. A lot of kids are barbarians when it comes to us geniuses.”

  Eugene frowned. “Oh yes. I remember those days.”

  “At least in college, they leave me alone.” Nicholas gestured around the room. “Here, I can try to fit in . . . as well as I can fit in anywhere, I suppose. Sometimes I’m not sure I ever will. That’s why they put me way back here. They don’t know what else to do with me.” He put his hands in his lab-coat pockets. “I overheard Mr. Burglemeister say you used to work at some sort of amusement shop for children. That must’ve driven you crazy!”

  Eugene sighed. “No, actually now that you mention it, it’s the only place I ever thought I fit in.” The pang of remorse returned, and this time he let himself experience it for a few moments. He really did miss Mr. Whittaker and Whit’s End—and even Miss Kendall, though he’d never admit it to her. He felt the sadness welling up inside him and then noticed that Nicholas was staring at him. He took a deep breath and said, “But enough of this sentimentality. I would be grateful if you would introduce me to the computer operations here, Nicholas.”

  Nicholas smiled from freckled ear to freckled ear. “My pleasure! Come right this way.”

  Chapter Eight

  A few days later, Eugene received an interesting request via e-mail from Mr. Burglemeister, though he didn’t realize just how interesting it was at the time. The request itself was rather routine; what was interesting was Nicholas’s reaction to it. Eugene found the boy sitting at his usual workstation in the computer security room.

  “Salubrious salutations, Nicholas.”

  The boy grinned at the greeting. “Hi, Mr. Meltsner!”

  “As I’ve been telling you for the last two days, Eugene will be sufficient.”

  The grin became a smile. “Okay, Eugene. How may I help you?”

  “Now that I have the hang of the computer system here, Mr. Burglemeister has sent me an e-mail asking me to do a random check on the students’ grades.”

  Nicholas’s smile faded. “A random check?”

  “Yes. He wants to make sure they’re being put into the computer correctly. We would certainly hate for a student who received an A to accidentally get a C in a class.”

  Nicholas shifted uneasily on his stool. “Do you think that’s absolutely necessary? Wouldn’t it be better to . . . to wait for the student to complain?”

  Eugene shook his head. “Mr. Burglemeister said he wants this department to have a reputation for accuracy. Complaints from students would give the wrong impression of our work.”

  Nicholas licked his lips. “But you shouldn’t have to do that. I’ll do it.”

  “It’s quite all right, Nicholas. Why should I give you the boring work?” He turned to go to his station.

  Suddenly Nicholas jumped off his stool and grabbed the sleeve of Eugene’s lab coat. “I don’t mind. Really! Let me do it, Eugene. Please!”

  Eugene looked at his sleeve and then at Nicholas, who quickly let go and dropped his hand. Something wasn’t right here. During the past two days, he had found the boy to be brilliant, friendly if somewhat timid, and very eager to please—but not this eager. “Nicholas, is everything—”

  Just then, there was a loud knock at the door, so loud they both jumped and turned. “Hello? Who could that be?” Eugene said.

  Despite being startled a second ago, Nicholas now looked relieved. “Oh, that’ll be Richard Maxwell. He’s my counselor here at the college.” He crossed the room to the door.

  Eugene blinked. “Counselor?”

  “He’s in charge of me—a student-counselor, of sorts. He’s the one who has to tell the college how I’m doing.”

  Nicholas twisted the knob and pushed open the door, and in sauntered Richard Maxwell. The door auto-shut behind him. “Hey, there, Nicky, what’s happening?”

  “Hello, Mr. Maxwell.” Nicholas tried to smile, but Eugene thought it looked more like a grimace. Maxwell chuckled.

  “‘Mr. Maxwell.’ You crack me up, kid.” He ruffled Nicholas’s hair and then noticed Eugene. “Oh! You must be Eugene Mellnerd.”

  “Meltsner.”

  Another chuckle. “Yeah, sure. You’re the bum who got my job.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Maxwell strolled into the room as if he owned it. “You got my job. I was all lined up to work in here until you applied.”

  Eugene’s mouth dropped open. “You were going to work in here?”

  Maxwell stopped next to Nicholas’s workstation and ran his fingers lightly across the keyboard. “Sure! Computers are my area of expertise, as they say—that and a good game of pool.”

  Eugene’s brow furrowed. “I’m slightly confused. I thought you were a counselor.”

  Maxwell smirked. “I am. I’m a lot of things at this college. I’m whatcha call a Renaissance man. Okay with you?”

  “I suppose so.” There is something familiar about this person, Eugene thought, but I can’t place my finger on what it is.

  Maxwell leaned back on the workstation table and crossed both his arms and legs. “You used to work in town, didn’t you? For that Whittaker guy. Whit’s End. He has computers there—or were you cleaning high chairs for him?”

  Eugene stiffened. “Computers . . . inventions . . . I did a variety of work for him.”

  “What happened? Get bored?”

  “No. I had a run-in with a computer program called Applesauce.”

  Maxwell looked amused. “Applesauce, huh? What kind of run-in can you have with a program called Applesauce?”

  “It was a special program that—” Eugene stopped himself. Why am I telling him this? Aloud he continued, “I am quite certain that is no one’s business but my own.”

  Maxwell uncrossed his arms and held up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, no problemo. Just making conversation. I wanted to stop in and make sure you’re not overworking Nicky, that’s all.”

  Nicholas had been so quiet, Eugene had almost forgotten he was there. He turned to the boy. “I’m not overworking you, am I, Nicky—I mean, Nicholas?”

  “No, sir.” The boy’s eyes shifted rapidly back and forth between Eugene and Maxwell, who uncrossed his legs and stood.

  “Good. That’s all. Take ’er easy.” He crossed to the door casually, opened it, and then looked back at Nicholas. “I’ll . . . be talking to you later, kid.”

  Nicholas nodded. “Yes, Mr. Maxwell.”

  “Mr. Maxwell . . . You crack me up.” He chuckled and exited. The door auto-shut behind him.

  Eugene frowned. “Well, all I can say is counselors certainly have changed since I was an undergrad.”

  Nicholas took a deep breath and returned to his workstation. “H-he’s okay. He’s actually pretty smart.”

  Eugene’s eyes narrowed. “He’s not treating you badly, is he?”

  “No, no, sir!” said Nicholas a little too quickly.

  Something is definitely not right here, thought Eugene. Nicholas was behaving oddly, and there was, indeed, something familiar about Maxwell, but he just couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

  Eugene decided to put it in the back of his mind and let his subconscious deal with it for a while. He took a breath and said, “Well, we should get back to work. You have data to enter, and I have grades to check!”

  Nicholas licked his lips again. “A-are you sure you don’t want me to do that?”

  “Positive. You just keep doing what you were doing before Maxwell came in.”

  The boy looked as though he were about to argue again, but then he sighed and said, “Yes, Mr. Meltsner.”

  “Again, it’s just Eugene,” he said with a smile.

  Nicholas nodded, smiled weakly, then climbed back onto his stool.

  Chapter Nine

  Eugene spent the next few hours poring over grade sheets and computer records from the previous semester. He had found no discrepancies and considered reporting back to Mr. Burglemeister that the entire exercise had been both fruitless and pointless. He decided to examine one last grade sheet before giving his bleary eyes a break. He opened a folder labeled “Chemistry 101—Professor Cyril.” His eyes flitted back and forth between the paper and the screen. Nothing. Nothing. Nope. Nothing. No—

 

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