Forever Begins Tomorrow Read online

  In short, their parents and the other scientists were trying to create a machine that could say “I am” and have some idea of what those simple but utterly mysterious words really meant.

  Once they understood the adults’ quest, the gang had decided to see if they couldn’t beat them to the punch. It was an undeclared race—the adults had no idea what the kids were up to. But the gang took it very seriously. And now their work was beginning to pay off. Whether or not ADAM (the adults’ name for the main computer) was actually approaching consciousness, the gang’s Sherlock program had become a useful tool.

  Roger, the group’s unofficial leader, dashed across the room and switched on the scanner they had attached to their main terminal a few months earlier. “Be my guest,” he said, bowing to Trip and gesturing to the operator’s seat.

  Trip exasperated the others by ambling slowly across the room, then acting particularly fussy about inserting the message into the scanner.

  No sooner was the paper in position than a small green light began to flash, indicating Sherlock had “read” the message. Trip flipped the display switch, and the message appeared on the main monitor—an oversize screen designed by Wendy and constructed by Hap.

  Date: October 25

  To: The A.I. Gang

  From: A friend

  Re: Our Mutual Enemy

  Congratulations on thwarting Black Glove’s attempt to use your rocket to send a transmitter into space when you launched Dr. Weiskopf’s robot. Your work on that affair was outstanding.

  “Outstanding!” snorted Roger. “Half the point of that project was to set a trap for Black Glove. Three of us nearly died in the process, and all we managed to find out from it was that B.G., whoever he or she is, has black hair!”

  “Shhh!” said Hap. “I’m reading!”

  I am sorry I am not able to reveal myself to you. It is impossible at this time. I can, however, tell you this: I am fairly certain I know Black Glove’s identity. Unfortunately, I cannot act without positive proof. You must continue to be wary. The enemy is desperate—and dangerous.

  I want to share a clue I uncovered recently—a scrap of paper with the following symbols:

  !A@ @% ## )!$ #& @(

  I am sure this is significant, but I can’t make head or tail of it. Perhaps you will have more success with it than I have.

  Good luck.

  A friend

  “Looks like a bunch of comic-strip cuss words,” said Wendy, squinting at the screen.

  “Could be a substitution code,” said Ray.

  “Could be,” agreed Roger. “Let’s feed the symbols into Sherlock. After all, that’s the kind of thing we initially intended him for.”

  “Already done,” said Rachel. “It happens automatically with anything that goes into the scanner.”

  “Great,” said Wendy. “Now if we can just ask Sherlock the right questions, we might actually get somewhere with this.”

  “I have a possible solution,” said Sherlock, about forty minutes later. The computer spoke through a voice simulator programmed to sound like Basil Rathbone, the actor who had played Sherlock Holmes in so many movies.

  “Display!” said Roger.

  A red light began to flash on the monitor as Sherlock listed the results of its long series of calculations.

  Wendy scanned the screen and let out a low whistle. “Sherlock, you are a plasmagoric genius. In fact, you’re almost as smart as me!”

  “Thank you,” said the computer. “Actually, it was elementary.”

  Paracelsus was sitting on a shelf above the computer. Now the bronze head opened its eyes and muttered, “Smart-aleck machines give me a headache.”

  “Thank you,” repeated Sherlock. “Actually, it was elementary.”

  No one heard. The gang had already barreled out of their headquarters and was sprinting toward the trio of dune buggies they had checked out of the motor pool.

  “I don’t get it,” said Ray, scrambling over the side of the buggy he shared with Trip. “How did the code work?”

  “Later!” yelled Wendy, from her own duner. “If Sherlock is right, Black Glove’s probably got a transmitter in place already. It could be spilling Project Alpha’s secrets to G.H.O.S.T. right this minute!”

  The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

  “Take the west beach, Roger,” called Hap Swenson as he settled in beside Wendy. “Then cross the island when we get past the motor pool.”

  “Got you,” said Roger. “Hang on, Sis,” he added to Rachel as he switched on the duner’s electric engine. He slammed his foot onto the pedal. Current flowed into the silent engine and with a spray of dust the dune buggy shot forward.

  Rachel, the wind whipping through her outrageous flame-red hair, clutched the side of the buggy. It looks like there might be a real storm brewing, she thought, glancing at the sky. Her stomach was already jumping with that peculiarly pleasant excitement that accompanied the chase. A good storm, if not too severe, would add to the fun.

  The dune buggy bounced over a rock and Rachel tightened her grip. A grim smile touched her lips. Where else could a pair of twelve-year-olds have this kind of vehicle at their disposal?

  She glanced over her shoulder. The others were close behind, with Wendy in the lead. The look of fierce joy that lit the Wonderchild’s face made Rachel laugh.

  “What’s up?” asked Roger.

  “I was just remembering how Wendy drove her parents’ Volkswagen through the doors of the computer center the night we saved the island from blowing up.”

  Roger smiled. “Did it ever strike you what a backward kind of luck that was?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, in a way we owe a lot to the maniac who tried to blow us all up. If not for that bomb, we would never had found Black Glove’s first transmitter—in which case it might still be sending Project Alpha’s research straight to G.H.O.S.T.!”

  Rachel glanced at her hands, which still bore a slight scar from the burns they had suffered when the transmitter had self-destructed while she was holding it.

  The gang had first become aware of G.H.O.S.T. through their friend Dr. Stanley Remov, a code expert who had worked for numerous spy agencies before turning to pure research. He swore the mysterious initials stood for “General Headquarters for Organized Strategic Terrorism,” a secret group out to take over the world. The problem was, the group was so secret most people refused to believe it even existed!

  That was the case with Dr. Hwa. “Sheer nonsense,” was his response whenever the question of G.H.O.S.T. came up. It was a hard charge to refute. The first transmitter the gang found had self-destructed before they could show it to anyone. The second, located in the rocket they had prepared to take Dr. Weiskopf’s robot Euterpe into orbit, had actually been seen before it disintegrated. But since the rocket had also been tampered with by another spy—the notorious foreign agent Ramon Korbuscek—it had been easier for Dr. Hwa to blame the transmitter on him than to believe that it came from G.H.O.S.T.

  Dr. Hwa’s reluctance to believe in G.H.O.S.T. didn’t really surprise the gang. Despite his responsibilities as director of Project Alpha, the diminutive scientist preferred to dedicate his time to the technology required for the project, and hated having to give attention to non-research problems. That tendency, combined with the fact that the government itself refused to acknowledge the existence of G.H.O.S.T., made it possible for Dr. Hwa to convince himself there was no problem on the island.

  The gang knew better. Dr. Standish and Ramon Korbuscek had been distractions. The real enemy was still undiscovered—and still trying to find a way to smuggle information from Anza-bora Island to G.H.O.S.T.

  But with any luck, we’ll derail this scheme as well, thought Roger as he cut his wheel to the right.

  Following Roger’s lead, Trip gave his own wheel a sharp spin and began heading east across the island. His increasing skill as a driver pleased him—especially since he still carried unpleasant memories of the very first day
he had been allowed to use one of the dune buggies and had nearly collided with Hap Swenson!

  “Where are we going?” asked the Gamma Ray, picking himself up from the effect of the rapid turn.

  “To the marina, I assume,” said Trip.

  Indeed, even as they spoke, Roger was turning into the circular parking area that fronted the island’s docking facilities. Several boats of various sizes were moored in the harbor, rising and falling gently with the waves that rolled in from the Pacific.

  “I hope The Merry Wanderer is available,” said Hap.

  Wendy smiled at the thought of the beautiful boat. When Anza-bora had been a fully operative Air Force base, the gang would have been hard-pressed to get their hands on something like that. Military regulations would have made it impossible.

  But the government had already decided to close the base when Dr. Hwa approached the Department of Technology for assistance with Project Alpha. With the help of his powerful political connections he had convinced the President that the artificial intelligence project was a perfect use for facilities that would otherwise go to waste. So the government had agreed to grant him use of Anza-bora. In return the Feds had insisted on keeping a small security force here. The reason was simple: While Project Alpha was an independent effort, the government felt the results might be important, even vital, to national security—which was one of the reasons it was willing to help to begin with.

  Despite the security force, Anza-bora’s rules were far more relaxed than those of an ordinary military base; the gang was allowed access to almost all of the island’s resources without ever being questioned.

  This was partly Dr. Hwa’s doing; he didn’t want bored children distracting his scientists.

  Actually, boredom has been the least of our problems, thought Wendy as she brought the dune buggy skidding to a halt behind the others. Some days it seems as if just staying alive heads the list!

  “I’ll grab a couple of sets of scuba gear,” yelled Hap, jumping over the side of the buggy without bothering to open the door.

  “I love an eager beaver,” said the Wonderchild as she watched her husky blond companion sprint for the storage shed. The remark sounded sarcastic, but the glow on Wendy’s face showed her true feelings: She couldn’t wait for the fun to start.

  Less than five minutes later the gang was climbing aboard The Merry Wanderer. Rachel took the controls, and they headed out of the small harbor.

  Hap came to stand next to her. “God, I love the smell of the sea air,” he said, taking a deep breath.

  Rachel smiled, enjoying the way the wind tousled his blond hair.

  “Have you got that current detector, Ray?” asked Roger.

  “I think so.” The Gamma Ray began pulling stuff from his pockets, searching for the homemade device that had already served the gang so well by revealing the microphone that had been planted on Rachel’s collar.

  “You should get a purse,” said Rachel, turning her attention from the open waters to survey the rapidly growing pile at Ray’s feet.

  “Too much bother,” said Ray, pulling two quarters loose from an unwrapped caramel in which they had become embedded. “I’d probably forget it every time I put it down.”

  “It looks like you never forget anything,” said Roger, who was continually amazed by the amount of garbage Ray could stuff into his pockets. “What do you need that for?”

  “Emergencies,” said Ray, dropping the large rubber lizard that had prompted Roger’s question onto his stack of stuff. “Ah, here’s the current detector. New improved version, actually. I suppose you could call it the current current detector.”

  He held out a small, square device that had several wires protruding from it. “Dad and I added a couple of new twists that really extended its range,” he said proudly. “This baby can pick up the electricity in a hearing aid at thirty paces.”

  “Well, climb up on the front of the boat and see if you can pick up Black Glove’s latest transmitter,” said Roger. “If Sherlock is right, it must be planted somewhere near the mouth of the harbor.”

  Ray looked at Roger nervously. “I’m not the world’s greatest swimmer.”

  “I’m not asking you to swim. I just want you to use the scanner to see if you can spot the transmitter. You understand how it works better than any of the rest of us. But if you want one of us to go up instead…”

  “I didn’t say that!” protested Ray. He glanced around at the others. “I’ll go. Just make sure you pull me out if I fall in.”

  “Of course,” said Trip. “If we don’t, we’ll be stuck taking care of all that stuff you had in your pockets.”

  “Yuk-yuk,” said Ray. Bracing himself on the windshield, he climbed around onto the prow of the boat. Then he lay on his stomach and extended the current detector in front of him.

  While Trip and Hap went below to change into the scuba gear, Rachel began steering the craft in long sweeps back and forth across the front of the harbor.

  Half an hour went by. The wind grew stronger. Rachel began to have trouble keeping the boat steady as it crested the increasingly stiff waves.

  “If we don’t spot the transmitter in a few minutes, I think we’d better head in,” she said nervously. “I don’t think I can control the boat much longer.”

  A light rain began dappling the waves.

  “I hate to turn back without finding it,” said Roger. “Who knows what information Black Glove might get off Anza-bora between now and tomorrow?”

  Hap cleared his throat. “I don’t want to be a wet blanket—”

  “You won’t have much choice if this rain keeps up,” said Wendy, interrupting him.

  “Cute, Wendy. But if we’re lucky, the storm will be like you.”

  “Exciting?”

  “No. Short.”

  Roger, well aware of Wendy’s low tolerance for short jokes, grabbed her shoulders to keep her from jumping at Hap.

  “What I was trying to say,” continued Hap, ignoring the Wonderchild’s glare, “was that we have to consider the possibility that Sherlock was wrong. Maybe there isn’t a transmitter here.”

  “Not a chance!” cried Trip.

  “Look, it’s a fantastic program,” said Hap. “But we both know it still has some weak points—”

  He was interrupted by a shout from Ray. “Stop the boat! I think I’ve got something!”

  Concentrating on dealing with the waves, Rachel was so startled by Ray’s shout that she pulled back on the throttle too hard and accidentally threw the boat into reverse.

  It was as if they had run into a brick wall. The Merry Wanderer shuddered, lurched to a stop, then shot backward with a roar. Crying out in dismay, Rachel jammed the throttle back to neutral. The boat began to slow. But it was too late for Ray. The rapid change in direction had sent him flying off the bow. He hit the water about twenty feet ahead of them, then disappeared beneath the waves.

  “There he is!” cried Wendy as Ray came gasping to the surface. He was floundering and shouting for help.

  “You guys had better get out there,” said Roger to Trip and Hap. “He’s in big trouble!”

  “We’re on our way,” said Hap. He and Trip, now clad in full scuba gear, flipped backward over the side of the boat. Within seconds they were heading toward the spot where Ray thrashed desperately in the water.

  The wind continued to rise, whipping the waves higher and higher. The rain became thicker. Wendy had all she could do to spot the Gamma Ray as he struggled to keep his head above the water. “Come on, guys,” she muttered to herself. “He needs help now!”

  Trip was the first to reach Ray. Hap was close behind him. To their surprise, they found their friend clinging to the handles of a metal sphere about the size of his beloved basketball.

  “I got it, guys,” he whispered wearily. “I got the transmitter!”

  Then he went under.

  Hap swam beneath him, grabbed him from behind, and pulled him to the surface.

  The Gamma Ray
was unconscious when they broke through. Hap tried to pry his arms from the transmitter, but found that Ray was gripping the thing almost as if it were a life preserver.

  Spitting out his air tube, he yelled, “Trip, I can’t get him to let go of the transmitter!”

  “Then let’s just haul him over to the boat.”

  “We can’t! The damn thing is anchored in somehow!”

  “I’ll take care of it,” said Trip. Slipping his own air tube back into his mouth, he plunged beneath the surface. His heart sank when he saw the chain trailing from the metallic ball locked in Ray’s grip. It stretched down until it was lost from sight in the deep blue water.

  Wondering how far it was to the bottom, Trip took an underwater torch from his utility belt and began trying to burn through one of the links.

  Seconds after Trip disappeared beneath the surface, Wendy spotted a new danger.

  “Shark!” she screamed. “Hap, there’s a shark behind you!”

  Spinning in the water, Hap shouted in horror at the sight of the huge black fin bearing down on him and Ray.

  Then the heavens opened up as the rain began for real, falling in sheets from the iron-gray sky. Within seconds the three kids in the boat were as wet as the ones in the water.

  The Merry Wanderer was thrown from wave to wave. Leaning over the edge, Wendy craned her neck and tried to shield her eyes from the pounding rain.

  It was useless; she had lost sight of the boys—and the shark.

  Underwater, unaware of either shark or storm, Trip had a shock of his own: The transmitter chain was being retracted! Whatever it was anchored into was slowly drawing the transmitter—and with it the three of them—toward the bottom of the sea.

  Hap, clutching the still unconscious Gamma Ray in his arms as he fought the waves, felt himself being pulled down. Fighting back a surge of fear, he slipped his air tube between his lips, then clamped one hand over Ray’s nose and mouth. He cursed the around-the-neck design that kept him from sharing his hose with Ray as he tried to pry his friend’s arms from the metal ball. It was no use; Ray was clutching it as if his life depended on it. But the truth was, his life depended on his letting go of it!