“Rrrrrrrrrr,” growls Klink. “That is not true. Recalculating. Recalculating.”
“Ha-ha-ha. Ha-ha-ha.”
“OK,” says Frank. “He’s fine. Let’s get back to work.” Frank folds his arms and stares at his Wall of Science. He looks over the wonderful mess of pictures, information, ideas, quotes. He thinks.
Klank lumbers to his feet. Klink resets his recalculating GPS brain. Watson sorts through a stack of papers and finds the one he is looking for.
“Hey, Frank, what do we want—”
Electrical impulses in Frank’s brain cells connect, multiply, form a pattern, make an idea.
“That’s it!” says Frank. “Exactly, Watson. What do we want? And we work back from there.” Frank starts pacing again. “First, obviously, win the Midville Science Prize. But more importantly—master all science. The word comes from the Latin for knowledge. We want all science. All knowledge. Klink and Klank, your robot brains make this possible.”
“Obviously,” says Klink.
“Doo-bee-doo-bee-doo,” hums Klank.
Frank points to a picture on his Wall of Science. “Like this guy, Aristotle. He wanted the science of everything.”
Watson answers, “No—”
“You’re right, Watson,” says Frank. “It’s not about Aristotle. Let’s divide all of science into six areas. Then, with Klink and Klank, we study each area, and we learn everything!” Frank pins a symbol to the top left corner of the Wall. “First, matter. Atoms, molecules, elements, compounds. States of matter. What atoms are made of—protons, neutrons, electrons. And antimatter.”
Watson holds up one hand. “Yeah, but—”
“But what about energy?” asks Frank. “Exactly. That’s next, Watson.” Frank pins a second symbol to the top of the Wall, next to the first. “Energy. It’s what makes all life possible. We are alive because energy from the sun is converted into food . . . that we convert back to energy to run everything in our bodies. And there’s light, sound, motion, magnetism, electricity—all different kinds of energy. Then there are Forces, Laws of Motion. All stuff we know from Sir Isaac Newton!”
Klank hears the name Newton and chimes in: “There once was a fellow named Newton, whose beans gave him trouble with tootin’—”
“Stop that limerick right there,” says Klink. “That is not true.”
“So—” begins Watson.
“So what about humans? Perfect, Watson. That should be next. Frank pins up a third symbol. “Humans. How the human body works. All its different systems. Bones, blood, nerves, breathing. The brain, organs, senses, all the different kinds of cells . . .”
“No,” says Watson, showing the paper in his hand. “I mean we should—”
“Go bigger! Study life! All living things!” Frank throws up his hands and paces around the workbench. He pins up a fourth paper. “Life. Of course—the next logical step. The interconnections of plants, animals, and people. How everything fits into the bigger picture. How we organize and classify all living things. Reptiles, mammals, birds, and bees . . .”
“Animal, Plant, Fungi, Protist,” Klink chants.
Watson squints at the Wall of Science. “Wow. I gotta tell you, I—”
“I’m amazed, too.” Frank rubs his hands together. “So much. So incredible. And then how all of this works on our planet.” Frank pins up a fifth symbol. “Yes, Earth. Continents, oceans, climates, weather, types of rocks . . .”
Klank lights up. “Hey, what is a rock’s favorite music?”
“A rock cannot have favorite music. It cannot hear music.”
“Rock and roll!” Klank dances to ROCK BEAT 2.
“Ummmmmmm,” says Watson, knowing what is coming next.
“Brilliant,” answers Frank, pinning the sixth symbol to the top of the Wall. “Everything. The universe. Where Earth fits into our solar system. Our galaxy, space, other suns, other planets, maybe even other universes . . .”
Watson holds his head in his hands.
Frank spins around and looks at his charts of dinosaurs, birds, fish, and mammals. He takes in his diagrams of steam engines, lightbulbs, jet engines. He checks his portraits of Galileo, Charles Darwin, Albert Einstein.
“So much science,” says Frank. “Almost too much.”
The tiny DroneBug high above zooms its camera eye in tight on the paper Watson is holding.
“It is definitely too much,” says Watson. “Because I just want to know what we want”—he raises the takeout menu he has been holding for the last twenty minutes—“for lunch.”
“Oh,” says Frank, still thinking about matter, energy, humans, life, Earth, and the universe. “Probably pizza. And most definitely with everything on it.”
WATSON GRABS THE LAST SLICE OF THE BELLYBOMB SUPREME. He spots Frank eyeing him. “What? You want this?”
“No,” says Frank. “I am just always amazed that you eat like a horse and look like a beanpole. We are going to have to design an experiment on you when we get to the human body systems.”
“Pepperoni, mushrooms, ham, black olives, ground beef, onion, green pepper, sausage, cheese, chicken, spinach, bacon . . . ohhhhhhhh,” says Klank.
“No,” says Frank. “You are a robot. Do not put anything into your input port again.”
“Dextrose, potassium sorbate, modified corn starch, partially hydrogenated soybean oil, sodium phosphate, citric acid, ferrous gluconate, BHA, BHT,” adds Klink. “And yellow number 5.”
Frank rolls out his diagrams, charts, and blueprints on the workbench. Klink, Klank, and Watson gather around.
“So, to build the ultimate science-prize project, we start with the first section of our total-science layout—matter. The building blocks of everything. This paper, this table, this cardboard pizza box, this pepperoni, this water, the air. Solid, liquid, gas. Everything in the universe is made of matter.”
Watson finishes off his slice of BellyBomb Supreme—cheese, crust, yellow number 5 and all. “You sound like a science textbook.”
“Exactly correct,” says Klink.
“I am hungry,” says Klank.
“You cannot be hungry.”
“How do you know?”
“You are a robot.”
“So are you.”
“I know I am.”
“Maybe you are not.”
“That is ridiculous.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I am not.”
“You are not a robot?”
“Aieeeee! Ding! In. Three. Hundred. Yards. Turn. Left,” Klink intones in his worst GPS voice. “Recalculating.” Klink smacks himself in the memory circuits and reboots. “I really wish you would not do that to me.”
“Guys!” yells Frank. “Stop it. We don’t have time.”
“Yes,” Klink resumes in his regular voice. “Matter is made of tiny particles called atoms. Atoms are made of even smaller particles called protons, neutrons, and electrons.”
“Like this pizza is made of dough and cheese and toppings,” says Watson.
“Kind of,” says Frank.
“So you’re going to make a model of an atom?” guesses Watson.
Frank leans over the table. “Watson, please. Any second grader can make a model of an atom. My invention, my project, goes beyond matter—to antimatter.”
“Hmmmmm,” hums Klink. He quotes, “Antimatter—elementary particles with the mass of ordinary matter, but with the opposite charge.”
Watson frowns. “Ele-who? With what?”
Frank translates Klink’s definition. “Scientists believe that for a lot of the small pieces that make up an atom, there are exactly the same pieces with an opposite electrical charge.”
“Antiprotons and positrons are the antiparticles of protons and electrons.”
“And here’s the crazy part: When this antimatter is combined with its matter,” continues Frank, “annihilation occurs. And that releases huge amounts of energy.”
“Is annihilation delicious?” asks Klank.
&
nbsp; “Oh, do not start that again,” moans Klink.
“That’s actually a good question,” says Frank. “Because you are a machine. You need to ‘eat’ energy to operate. If we can perfect my invention, that’s exactly what we can use it for—to ‘feed’ all the machines in the world.”
“But that’s nuts,” says Watson. “You would need to smash together a lot of matter and antimatter to power all the machines in the world.”
Frank smiles. “No, that’s the best part. It only takes a teeny bit of matter mixed with the same teeny bit of antimatter to make the biggest amount of energy.”
“True,” says Klink. “Your other Einstein wrote the equation that calculates the amount of energy from matter exactly.”
“E equals mc squared,” says Frank. “The amount of energy created can be figured out by multiplying the mass of the particle times the speed of light squared.”
Frank picks a mushroom off the pizza box. “So if we had this mushroom and its antimushroom . . . Let’s say their mass is 1 gram.”
Frank types into his calculator.
“The energy created from smashing them together would equal 1 gram times the speed of light squared. What’s the speed of light, Klink?”
“300,000 kilometers per second.”
“So we square that.” Frank calculates, “300,000 times 300,000 equals . . . 90 billion kilometers per second squared. We multiply that times the 1 gram. So from 1 gram of mushroom and antimushroom, we get 90 billion units of pure energy!”
Energy = 1 x 300,0002
Energy = 1 x 90,000,000,000
Energy = 90 billion
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. But that’s a crazy amount of energy from one mushroom!” says Watson.
Frank faces his new robot pals. “Can we combine matter and antimatter?”
Klank nods. “Does a robot clank in the woods?”
Klink studies Frank’s sketches and drawings. He instantly searches, scans, reads everything he can find on creating and annihilating antimatter.
“It is not impossible,” concludes Klink.
“So what would you make with all that energy?” asks Watson.
Frank smiles. “I would make my—”
Frank hears a very faint, very tiny, very mechanical, buglike zzzzzzzzz. “Wait. Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” answers Watson. “The fish alarm didn’t go off.”
Frank pauses, looks around, then rolls out his plan.
A KID WEARING SIZE-FIVE WING-TIP SHOES HUNCHES OVER A GIANT polished black desk, staring intently at one of six high-definition video screens. The screen labeled DRONEBUG’S-EYE VIEW.
“Man, I hate this guy!” says the kid. “It’s bad enough he invents two great robots. But then all he does with them is talk—‘blah, blah, I love science this, blah, blah, I love science that.’ What a moron. What an idiot.”
“Eeeep, meep,” replies the chimpanzee in the pin-striped pants sitting at the controls next to the kid.
The big robot on the screen says, “Does a robot clank in the woods?”
“What did he say?”
Edison—because yes, of course it is T. Edison in his headquarters, because really, who else wears size-five wing-tip shoes?—looks even more closely.
“Those robots are going to be tough to beat for the Science Prize. But Frank Einstein is not going to one-up me again!” Edison slaps his hand on the desk. “Wait. What is that? They are making plans for something else. Zoom in!”
“Don’t tell me it’s too noisy, you pooping primate. Zoom in!”
Mr. Chimp toggles the joystick control on the master panel. The picture zooms in tight on Frank Einstein.
On the screen, Frank pauses. “Wait. Did you hear that?”
Mr. Chimp leans back in his office chair. He crosses his big, hairy bare feet on the desk. He pulls out the small metal antbox from his pants pocket and pushes a slender stick into the hole on top.
“Hear what?” answers Watson on-screen. “The fish alarm didn’t go off.”
Mr. Chimp pulls out the ant-covered stick and licks up a quick snack.
On the DRONEBUG’S-EYE VIEW screen, Frank Einstein pauses, then rolls out his plan.
“I can’t believe this,” says Edison. “Is that what I think it is?”
Mr. Chimp tucks his antbox back in his pocket, brushing a few stray ant legs off his white shirt and striped tie.
“No!” screams Edison. “No, no, no!” He thrashes around in a tantrum, scattering papers, knocking pens and pencils flying.
Mr. Chimp grabs the joystick with his toes and scans the DroneBug camera over the plans. He signs:
“Yes, I know it is what I think it is, you mangy monkey! But, no, this cannot happen! That goober Einstein cannot win the Science Prize!”
Mr. Chimp curls back his lips and shows his teeth again in what a human might think was a smile. But if you were a chimpanzee, you would know Mr. Chimp was thinking about biting your throat out, ripping your arm off, and beating you senseless with it.
“So Einstein has a plan?” says Edison. “Well, I have a plan, too. Mr. Chimp, listen up!”
KLINK, KLANK, FRANK, AND WATSON KICK INTO HIGH GEAR.
Frank lays out his wrenches and soldering iron, screwdrivers and pliers, hacksaw and hammer, rulers, clamps, and files.
He consults his plan and directs his team.
Klink prints out blueprints, charts, and formulas.
Klank hauls in bits and pieces of a bicycle, mower, and motorcycle—wires, tires, chains, and gears—from the yard.
Watson raids the repair shop and the kitchen for nuts and bolts and corkscrews and magnets.
Frank solders and connects, screws and bolts, hammers and files. Klink and Frank check, test, recheck and retest, and test some more.
Time flies by without anyone noticing it.
Until suddenly the fish on the wall wiggles, flips its head sideways, and starts singing, “WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS! WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS!”
“Everyone under the workbench!” calls Frank. “No one can know about you guys or our project yet.”
Watson throws a blue tarp over everything and dives under the workbench with Klink and Klank.
“Move over,” beeps Klank. “You are hogging all the room.”
“I am not,” whispers Klink.
“Stop pushing,” hisses Watson.
“Shhhhhhhh!” says Frank, just as the door to the lab opens and—
“Hello, scientists!”
Watson, pushed by Klank’s big foot, rolls out from under the workbench. “Oh, hi, Grampa Al.”
“Dr. Watson! Good to see you . . . uh, playing with the new robots?”
Watson jumps to his feet. “Oh, no. We are working on Science Prize stuff here. I’ve perfected my Peanut Butter Bubble Gum. And just wait till you see what Frank has.”
Klink and Klank roll, crawl, and unpack themselves from under the workbench.
“Hey, boys. Good to see you again. What have you been up to all morning?”
Klank hums, blinks his antenna, and answers, “I have been up to about 1.8288 meters all morning. Or, in American measurements, six feet.”
“Ha! Good one,” laughs Grampa Al.
“Except he’s not kidding,” says Frank. “He means it.”
Klink revs his vacuum engine. “We have actually been combining atoms and anti-atoms to produce energy for Frank Einstein’s invention.”
“Ha! Another good one. Making your own particle collider. Just like my scientist pals at CERN, who have been smashing atomic parts together for years and spending millions of dollars to do it.” Grampa Al winks at Watson. “And you guys did it all in one day. With repair-shop junk. You robots are funnier than a monkey’s uncle.”
“He’s not kidding either.” Frank whips the blue tarp off the object in the middle of the room. It looks like a bike from the future. Instead of pedals and gears, it has a small silver motor.
Grampa Al checks it out and nods. “Your flying bicy
cle. I remember when you were working on this.”
“But I could never get enough power in a small-enough engine.”
Grampa Al looks more closely at the engine, and his eyes go wide. “No! Really? So you mean you and your robots made an—”
“Antimatter Motor,” says Frank.
Grampa Al takes off his faded NASA baseball cap and whistles. “Well, if that isn’t the bee’s knees. Unbelievable!”
“Oh, very believable,” says Klink. “A small amount of H2O combined with an equal amount of anti-H2O produces—”
“Crazy amounts of energy!” marvels Grampa Al.
Frank holds up an eyedropper. “You are just in time for the first test run. We have the antiwater we made all loaded. All we need to add now is the one drop of water.”
Grampa Al puts a hand on Frank’s arm. “Frank, this is really dangerous.”
“Don’t worry, Grampa. We’ve run all our tests. We’ve double-checked everything. The Antimatter Motor Fly Bike is good.”
“One hundred percent. All systems go,” Klink reports.
“Boom-chicka-boom-chicka-boom,” TECHNO-BEATS Klank.
Grampa Al nods. “It’s not your Fly Bike I’m worried about. It’s what other people might do with your antimatter invention if they get ahold of it.”
“No one else can do this,” says Frank, “because no one else has Klink and Klank. And isn’t this just the coolest bike ever?”
Grampa Al scratches his head and smiles. “Absolutely cool.”
“This is going to work, Grampa,” Frank says. “The Antimatter Motor Fly Bike is going to win the prize, and we are going to keep this place forever.”
Grampa Al smiles and nods.
Frank carries the Antimatter Motor Fly Bike out into the deserted alley and empty lot behind Grampa Al’s building. He loads the motor with one drop of water to mix with the one drop of antiwater. He straps his helmet on tight, hops on the bike, and with one small flick of his thumb on the ignition switch, fires up the most amazing invention, powered by the smallest bit of matter meeting the smallest bit of antimatter with a powerful HMMMMMMMMMM.