The Case of the Exploding Brains (6 page)

“Mare Nubium?” I flick through my memory:

“What kind of shocking results?” I ask.

“The top-secret kind. Death, destruction, people going crazy and attacking each other. Brains exploding. That sort of thing.”

“Literally exploding?” I ask. “How is that possible?”

“The NASA chaps said something about the rock’s properties reacting with Earth’s atmosphere to create a low-oxygen environment.”

“Like altitude sickness?” I ask. “That can make your brain swell if fluid breaks through the blood-brain barrier.”

“No one is entirely sure, to be honest, but it sounds squelchy, unpleasant and to be avoided at all costs. NASA were going to exchange our rock for a less explosive piece of the moon next
week, under cover of darkness. But it’s too late now.”

“Why all the secrecy?”

“NASA didn’t want to cause a panic. They made me swear not to tell a soul.”

“You just told me,” I point out.

Museum Curator Gnome waves his hand in a gesture that I suspect is supposed to mean ‘I’m very important and I don’t have to listen to NASA’, but in reality makes him look
like a short, bearded contestant in a beauty pageant. “The time has come to cause a panic. This information must be shared with my worthy colleagues and the ladies and gentlemen of the
press.” Museum Curator Gnome casts a nervous glance at the reporters swarming through the museum. “The rock must be found.”

I remember Dad’s research. “It might help us find it if you could tell me anything about the CCTV cameras on the day of the robbery.”

“CCTV cameras?” Museum Curator Gnome gives me a vacant stare and turns back to James Watt. “Wouldn’t have a clue, young lady. You’ll need to talk to
security.”

“I just wondered if anything unusual happened that day.”

“Many unusual things happened that day.” As Museum Curator Gnome’s face sags, I notice his hair is unwashed and he’s wearing the same clothes as last time I saw him.
“They blame me, you know.” He looks around furtively and then, in a dramatic whisper, says, “
I hear their thoughts
.”

Uh-oh. It seems Museum Curator Gnome might be going a tiny bit insane. Is this the first sign of the exploding brain apocalypse?

I give him a weak smile and edge backwards until I reach the kindly-looking woman at the front desk. “Hello . . . Miriam,” I read from her name badge. “I think the Museum
Gno— I mean Curator, needs help. He’s ill. Paranoid. Says everyone blames him for what’s happened.”

Miriam screws up her kind face until she resembles an angry walnut. “Maybe he’s right. He can’t keep secrets from us any more. We all know what he’s up to.”

Archimedes!
Beneath that gentle exterior, Miriam is a festering pit of fury. Is no one what they seem around here?

“I’ll . . . er . . . talk to someone else, shall I?” I mutter, scuttling off in the direction of two security guards.

They grimace when I mention the Museum Curator Gnome, who seems to have wandered off anyway, so I give up on him and ask to see the CCTV footage instead.

They laugh. “We don’t share that kind of information with children.”

I wonder if flattery only works on Dad or if it’s good for all men of his age. Nothing to lose by trying. “You are clearly very conscientious security guards.”

The taller guard keeps on laughing.

“Oi!” The other guard pokes him. “You think that’s a joke? You don’t agree that I’m a conscientious guard?”

Tall Security Guard stops laughing. “Don’t be stupid.”

“So now I’m stupid as well as useless?”

“I didn’t say you were stupid. I told you not to
be
stupid.”

“There you go again, trying to fool me with words. You think you’re smarter than I am. Don’t deny it.”

“Don’t be sill . . .” Tall Security Guard begins to defend himself but Other Security Guard stares at him until his cheeks go red. “Sorry,” Tall Guard mutters.

Hmm. Something weird is going on here.

I glance at my watch. Time to meet the others – and I’ve got nothing. Unless you count a feeling of complete confusion.

Holly has been equally useless. She kicks the wall in irritation. “They seemed to know what I wanted to ask before I opened my mouth, and they had no intention of answering. Still, at
least we’re where we’re supposed to be. Where’s Porter?”

We find him in the gift shop, talking to the girl on the till. Her hand is on his arm and she must have something in her eye because she keeps fluttering her eyelashes at him.

“She needs an eyebath,” I tell Holly. “And a bottle of water. Look how dehydrated she is. She keeps licking her lips.”

“She’s not dehydrated, you donut. She’s flirting with Porter!”

“Seriously?” I stare at the girl in astonishment. She must be at least two years older than him. “Weird. Do you reckon she’s the volunteer Dad was talking
about?”

“No, idiot. Gift shop workers get paid.” Holly hits the wall violently, making me jump.

“I was only asking,” I protest. “No need to destroy the building.”

“Whatever!” Holly says. “Anyway, that girl doesn’t look smart enough to be part of any plan.”

Whoa! Mean! Holly’s not usually mean. What’s put her in such a bad mood? I’m guessing Porter, from the way she’s scowling at him as he heads towards us. Gift Shop Girl
waves goodbye, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

No hair tossing for Holly. Instead, she kicks a shelf of NASA toy spacesuits and yells, “What do you think you’re playing at, Porter? We’ve been knocking ourselves out hunting
for clues and interviewing witnesses while you’ve been – what? Collecting girlfriends?”

Porter’s ears turn red and he giggles. “Collecting girlfriends? I didn’t know that’s what I was doing. Cool!”

“Not cool.” Holly glares at him.

Porter is no match for that stare. He looks down and tries to change the subject. “Okay, since you’ve been so efficient, why don’t you tell me what you’ve
learned?”

“That’s not important,” Holly lies, fiddling with a NASA space glove. “What’s important is we’ve been trying. Unlike you.”

“I’ve been conducting my own investigation.”

“That’s not what it looked like from here.” Holly hits him with the space glove.

Porter snatches the glove and points a NASA finger at her. “Ha. Then how do I know that at the time of the Moon Rock’s disappearance a security camera blacked out in the
‘Investigating Alien Worlds’ section?”

I clap my hands together. “Good work, Porter!”

He bows. “I like to think so.”

“We should stop calling it a Moon Rock though.” I tell them what I learned from Museum Curator Gnome.

“Space Rock it is then.” Holly turns to poke Porter. “So you were only being nice to that girl to get information?”

Porter’s nod upsets me, although it seems to make Holly happy. I don’t like to imagine him being fake-nice. Vigil-Aunty’s voice echoes through my head: “
All charm,
that boy, weaselling his way into people’s homes.
”

Porter wiggles NASA glove fingers at me, making me feel disloyal for doubting him. I tune back in to what he’s saying: “My new friend explained the camera didn’t cover the Moon
– sorry –
Space
Rock, so the police are treating it as a coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” I say, my mind back on the case.

“Nor do I,” Porter says. “The gift shop girl also said the police are convinced a schoolboy was involved. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that their description
matches Smokin’ Joe either.”

Days Left to Save the Earth: 11

I tug at a loose bit of wool on the cuff of my jumper as we sit on the wall outside Smokin’ Joe’s house, waiting for him to come back from the shop so we can
interrogate him about his role in the Moon Rock’s disappearance.

Smokin’ Joe as a suspect? For a bungled smash-and-grab robbery, maybe. But as part of a skilled criminal gang? Not so much. Something is going on. Something connected with his
nosebleeds.

There is no way the Smokin’ Joe I know could have planned a Space Rock heist. But what if he’s been increasing his brain power with the missing brain ray? Admittedly, there
hasn’t been much sign of superior intelligence from him, but I can’t rule the idea out.

“Einstein!”
I mutter as my cuff starts to unravel.

Holly grabs my wrist and bites off the end of the wool. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. Look at the massive hole.”

“Just stick your thumb through it. You wanted fingerless gloves.”

I glare at my sister. “Fingerless gloves, yes. Fingerless jumper, no. It makes me look neglected.”

“Then you’ll blend in perfectly,” Porter says. “The Slaters’ house is like a shrine to the God of Neglect.”

“No such god,” I say.

“Bet there is,” Porter retorts. “Bet there’s a Greek one. The Greeks had a god for everything.”

“Aphro-forgot-to-tidy?” Holly giggles.

“Shh,” I hiss. “No silliness during investigations.”

But Porter’s right about the state of the Slaters’ house. The walls are crumbling, the window frames are cracked and the guttering is hanging down, dripping water on to the five
square metres of weeds and old junk that make up the Slaters’ front yard. A deformed tree grows in the middle of the concrete, pressing close to the house and adding to the gloom.

Through the broken front window, we can hear the buzz of daytime TV presenters discussing the threat from the Space Rock. An American reporter has revealed a cover-up at a NASA facility in the
US, where a whole town was secretly quarantined last month after they took a Mare Nubium space rock sample out of its case for testing and it sent the local population into a frenzy.

I’d like to hear what they’re saying, as the presenter is asking the American journalist whether he found any evidence of brains exploding, but their voices are drowned out by Ma
Slater screaming down the phone at someone called ‘You-Useless-Piece-of-Poo’. (‘Poo’ isn’t the exact word she used.)

Smokin’ Joe lurches into view at the end of the street, stuffing his face with crisps – turquoise earphones in his ears and a dazed expression on his face. At least there’s no
blood trickling from his nose today. He hasn’t spotted us yet and lumbers down the road in our direction. When he reaches his front gate, he hacks up a ball of spit and gobs on the floor.

“You honestly think he’s had his brain
boosted
?” Porter murmurs.

“He did start from a very low base,” I say uncertainly.

“One way to find out.” Holly leaps up from the wall and yells, “Hand over the brain ray, Joe Slater, or you’ll regret it!”

It’s a vague threat, but that doesn’t matter. The sudden movement is enough to startle Smokin’ Joe. He drops the iPod, which falls to the floor pulling his headphones with it.
He collapses to the ground beside it, sobbing into a large bunch of weeds.

Fibonacci!
My stomach feels hard and uncomfortable as we listen to him wailing.

“It was me . . . I did it . . . At least I think I did. It was me! . . . Or maybe it wasn’t? Waaaaaah!”

Is this a clue or is Smokin’ Joe Slater yet another person going completely mad?

Porter shifts from foot to foot, opening his mouth to speak but saying nothing. Holly picks up the iPod and leans forward to return it to Smokin’ Joe. I grab her arm. The iPod would
probably stop him crying, but during the Case of the Exploding Loo we learned that it’s usually a good idea to remove people’s earphones if they’re behaving oddly.

“Maybe it’s not him,” I say.

Holly pokes Joe with her finger. “Looks like him to me.”

“No. I mean maybe Smokin’ Joe had nothing to do with the disappearing Space Rock.”

“But the girl in the gift shop said—”

“Look at him.” I crouch beside the snotty heap of wailing bully. “He hasn’t a clue, have you, Joe?”

Smokin’ Joe wipes away mucus. “Dunnowhachatalkinbout.”

“Someone messed with his brain in the Science Museum,” I say. “It was hard to work out what they’d done at first, because he didn’t have much of a brain to start
with. But seeing the effects up close, I’m sure they zapped him with the negative brain ray, not the positive one. This isn’t his—”

WALLOP!

“Owww!” I scream, crashing to the floor beside Smokin’ Joe.

I roll on to my back and stare up into the wild eyes of Ma Slater. She’s armed with a large iron frying pan and pulls her arm back, ready to strike again.

Raising my hands in surrender, I wiggle backwards, pushing desperately at the weeds with my feet. “Mercy! Mercy!”