The Forgetting Machine Read online

  “Fine,” said Ms. Pfleuger. “You are free to prevent your child from reading whatever you like, but you do not speak for my other patrons.”

  “All children are children of the Lord!”

  Just then Dottie noticed Mr. Peebles winding his way around her feet.

  “Mr. Peebles!” she exclaimed, scooping him up. “Where have you been?” She hugged the cat to her chest.

  “He’s been right here, Dottie,” said Ms. Pfleuger, “reading books of which your father no doubt disapproves.”

  “Animals do not read,” said Mr. Tisk.

  “Mr. Peebles does,” I said.

  “Tsk!” said Mrs. Tisk.

  I’ve noticed that in books, characters often say “tsk” or “tsk-tsk.” But in real life, nobody says “tsk.” Except for Mrs. Tisk, and not just when she is telling people her name.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?” said Ms. Pfleuger. Her tone of voice was more like Get your book-banning butts out of my library!

  “I will be bringing this up at the next town council meeting,” said Mr. Tisk. “We will do whatever is necessary to protect children—all children—from this wickedness, and we will not stop until we burn every last copy.”

  “You can’t set fire to an e-book,” I blurted.

  Mr. Tisk’s head swiveled toward me.

  “And you would be . . . ?” he said.

  “I would be Ginger Crump, and I’m just saying that book burning doesn’t work so well when there are millions of digital copies everywhere.” I smiled at Ms. Pfleuger, thinking she would approve of my clever rejoinder, but she was scowling at me just as hard as Mr. Tisk.

  Mr. Tisk smirked. “Your precious e-books are no match for the forces of righteousness,” he said. “I’ll see that every last copy of that book, paper or electronic, will be turned to ashes—starting now!”

  He lunged for the book, but Ms. Pfleuger was faster—she snatched up Charlotte’s Web and held it out of his reach.

  “You will do no such thing,” she said, her voice shaking with barely suppressed rage. “Now please leave before I am forced to call the police.”

  Mr. Tisk withdrew his clawed hands. “Very well, then. We shall see. There are many paths to righteousness. Come along, Mrs. Tisk. Come, Dottie. It’s time for us to do the Lord’s work.” Mr. and Mrs. Tisk spun on their heels and marched off. Dottie, still holding Mr. Peebles, turned slowly and followed them out the door.

  “Poor Dottie,” Ms. Pfleuger said. “She used to come in here all the time, but since her parents began homeschooling her two years ago, I’ve hardly seen her. She came in last week and checked out Charlotte’s Web.” She sighed. “After this, I expect I won’t see her again.”

  “Dottie’s been homeschooled? I thought they sent her away someplace.”

  “No, she’s been here all along, but she isn’t allowed to leave the house without her parents.”

  “No wonder she looks so pasty. At least they let her have a cat.”

  “Yes, although she isn’t very good at keeping him at home. Mr. Peebles has been stopping by quite often lately.” She shrugged. “I don’t mind. For a cat, he is quite intelligent.”

  “Well, he does live in Flinkwater.”

  Flinkwater, as I’m sure you know, is home to a large number of very smart people. It’s all because of Gilbert Bates, the founder and CEO of ACPOD. Years ago he hired the smartest scientists and engineers he could find and brought them all to Iowa. Tech Titans magazine once estimated that the average IQ in Flinkwater is twenty points higher than the national average, which is ridiculous. I’m quite certain it’s much higher.

  Also, we have at least one very smart cat.

  “Did you find out why our town is called Flinkwater?” Ms. Pfleuger asked.

  “Not exactly.”

  “I have several other books you could look into.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. There was no way I was going to plow through more sneeze- and sleep-inducing paper history. “I think I’m all booked out for the day.” I looked at the copy of Charlotte’s Web on her desk. “But that story sounds pretty interesting, with a talking spider and all.”

  “You haven’t read Charlotte’s Web?” Ms. Pfleuger looked horrified. “You must! Would you like to check it out?”

  “Um . . . no thanks. I have the e-book on my tab; I just haven’t got around to reading it yet.”

  “E-book?” Ms. Pfleuger snorted. “E-books will never replace real books.” She opened the book to a picture of a pig eating from a trough. “What about these beautiful illustrations?”

  “I’m pretty sure the e-book has all the pictures,” I said.

  “Pixels on a screen can never replace ink on paper! This electronica you are so enamored of is untrustworthy and unfaithful! Printed books are solid!” She thumped Charlotte’s Web with her forefinger. “Printed books are real! E. B. White must be spinning in his grave! Do you think he would want his masterpiece reduced to a flickering collection of bits and bytes?”

  “My tab doesn’t flicker.” I backed away nervously. “And it’s not flammable.”

  “One computer glitch and poof!” Ms. Pfleuger flailed her arms in a fit of librarian passion. “All your books disappear!”

  “I’m pretty sure I could just download them again,” I said.

  “One day you’ll see, Ginger Crump. Mark my words!”

  “Thank you,” I said as I backed out the door. I’d always known that the Pformidable Pfleuger was a bit odd, but I hadn’t realized until that moment that, in her own way, she was just as crazy as the Tisks.

  4

  Billy Bates

  It was a huge relief to get out of the library, but I still had my Flinkwater problem to deal with. Clearly, it was time to employ my secret weapon.

  Billy Bates, whose name used to be Billy George,I was the son of Gilbert Bates. That meant that Billy was fabulously wealthy, and he was my fiancé—or at least I planned for him to be. Since Billy and I were only fourteen, our wedding date had not yet been set. Also, he didn’t know about it.

  Lest you think that I am some sort of gold-digging hussy, my plans to marry Billy were formed long before he got rich.II I fell in love with him for his other qualities: great hair, cute smile, kissable lips, and an amazing brain. In fact, Billy was the smartest person on the planet. Or at least the smartest one I have ever met. Which was why I headed straight from the library to his house.

  Billy and his dad lived in the biggest house in Flinkwater, built seventy years ago by wealthy corn baron Wilhelm Krause—the same Wilhelm Krause who had written the snooze-worthy History of Flinkwater, Iowa. The house was pretty cool. It had about twenty rooms, and turrets on the corners, and a tall iron fence with all sorts of curlicues and spikes that were supposed to represent corn tassels but looked more like deadly weapons.

  I pushed through the iron gate, followed the cobblestone walk up to the front door, and rang the bell. Alfred, their new butler, let me in.

  “Ms. Crump. How lovely to see you again!”

  Alfred was an imposing fellow, but always polite. He was probably the only butler in all of Flinkwater. And he was most certainly the only one with a single multifaceted omnidirectional eye, two retractable pneumatic arms, and three rubber-clad motilators instead of feet. Including his sensor array, Alfred stood slightly more than six feet tall.

  As you may have guessed, Alfred was a robot.

  “Thank you, Alfred. You are looking quite handsome today.”

  “I find you handsome as well, Ms. Crump.”

  “I’m not handsome,” I said. “I’m ravishing.”

  “Would you care for a grilled cheese sandwich?” he said.

  “I’m not ravenous, Alfred. I’m ravishing!”

  He stood without moving or making a sound for a few seconds, then said, “Communication error alert. Please rephrase.”

  “Never mind. Is Billy home?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you tell him I’m here, please?”


  “I have already notified Master Billy. This way, please.” Alfred rotated on his motilators and headed off down the hall. I followed. We had gone only a few feet when one of Alfred’s hydraulic arms shot out to the side and punched a hole in the wall.

  He retracted his arm and kept moving. I stopped.

  “Er . . . Alfred?”

  Alfred halted. His sensor array rotated to face me.

  “Yes, Ms. Crump?”

  “Why did you punch a hole in the wall?”

  “Invasive species control function,” he said.

  I examined the damage to the wall—a perfect circle half an inch deep. In the center of the depression was what appeared to be a flattened insect.

  “You killed a fly,” I said, “but you also made a hole in the wall.”

  Alfred took a moment to consider that.

  “Recalibration in progress,” he said. “This way, please.”

  As we continued along the hall, I noticed a few other spots where plaster had crumbled and flies had died. I made a mental note to avoid getting between Alfred and any invasive species.

  When we reached the stairwell, Alfred opened the door and stood aside.

  “Thank you, Alfred.” I headed down the stairs to Billy Bates’s lair. If I lived there, I would want one of the round rooms in the turrets, but Billy had claimed an old subbasement bomb shelter as his domain. As expected, he was sitting in his swivel chair facing a bank of high-definition screens. Four games were running. I recognized Black Ops XIV, Ghast Wars, and Interzone Apocalypse. The fourth display showed shadowy figures moving in and out of a nearly black image space, with occasional splashes of red. Blood, I assumed.

  “What’s that?” I asked, pointing.

  “New MOG,” he said.

  MOG, in case you don’t know, stands for multiplayer online game. Billy was the only person I knew who could play three or four of them at once.

  “It’s called Deathdark.”

  “Very catchy,” I had to admit.

  “I hacked into their servers—you know, just to try it out. It’s a pre-beta release.”

  “Speaking of pre-beta—did you know that your butler is punching holes in your walls?”

  Billy turned to look at me, flipping his thick dark hair off his forehead. Have I mentioned his hair? Have I mentioned his molten-brown eyes to die for?

  “He’s still doing that?” he said.

  “You knew? And you let him answer the door? What if a fly had landed on my forehead?”

  “Good point. I’ll mention it to Gilly.” Gilly was Billy’s father, better known as Gilbert Bates. Most people called him Mr. Bates, but Billy and I called him Gilly, because we were friends with him before we found out he was actually Billy’s father.III

  “I have a problem,” I said. “I need to find out why Flinkwater is called Flinkwater.”

  “Because of all the flink in the water?”

  “Why do people keep saying that?”

  “It’s the obvious inference,” Billy said.

  “Well it’s wrong! Come on, Billy. I have a report due for history class on Wednesday, and I need help. Can’t you use your Web magic?”

  Billy sighed and switched off his game screens. “Okay, but I have school problems of my own, you know.”

  “You?”

  “Me.”

  “Tell me! Maybe I can help!”

  Billy gave me a look I can only describe as nervous, or perhaps fearful. I may have come across as a little too eager. Also, the last time I’d tried to help Billy with a problem, we’d both ended up in jail.IV

  “Seriously,” I said. “What’s the problem?”

  “I failed a couple tests, so Gilly hired a tutor.”

  “Oh.” A tutor! That was embarrassing. Especially for a kid so smart he’d skipped three grades. “How come you failed?”

  “I got bored. One was an American history test, multiple choice. I chose B for the whole test. And then I had to write this essay for language arts and I did it in pig latin. Mr. McPhee said ix-nay on at-thay.” He shrugged. “I was just messing around.”

  “Can’t you just explain to your dad?”

  “Gilly’s off on one of his work binges. He’s practically living at ACPOD. Last time he came home, I’m not sure he even recognized me—you know how he gets.”

  I did know. Gilbert Bates was the smartest person I’d ever met, next to Billy, but he could be quite absentminded.

  “Yeah, my dad’s been a little spacey too,” I said. “What’s he working on?”

  “It’s top secret.”

  “Everything at ACPOD is top secret, but that never stopped you from unsecreting it.”

  “True,” Billy said, “but you have to promise not to tell anybody. It’s a drone.”

  “What’s so hush-hush about a drone?” I asked.

  Drones, of course, have been around a long time. Chances are the last time you ordered a pizza, it was delivered by drone. In fact, Pizza Hut has more drones than the US military.

  “It’s not just any drone,” Billy said. “Most drones have propellers, like helicopters. This new drone is powered by antigravity waves. No propellers, just a disk about three feet across. Completely silent. It can carry up to a hundred pounds.”

  “So you could ride around on it? Like a magic carpet?”

  Billy looked down at his slightly rounded belly. “Maybe you could.”

  “Maybe the next prototype will carry more weight. How come it’s so secret?”

  “Gilly doesn’t want to take any chances that the antigravity tech will be leaked until he can figure out a way to control it. He’s been working on the project solo—that’s why he’s been working so much.”

  Bing!

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “Alfred is telling me that Mr. Rausch is here.”

  “Who?”

  “The tutor.”

  “Oh. Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

  Billy cocked his head. “How so?”

  “Maybe a bug will land on his chin, and Alfred will do his thing.”

  * * *

  I. You can read about why in our earlier adventure, The Flinkwater Factor.

  II. That story is also told in The Flinkwater Factor.

  III. Yes, yes, you can read about that in The Flinkwater Factor too. And I promise this will be the last irritating footnote!

  IV. Okay, I lied about no more footnotes. But this is it, I swear.

  5

  The Tutor

  Mr. Rausch, a tall, whippet-lean, long-limbed man, ducked through the door to Billy’s room and looked around with a sour expression. His narrow, tightly compressed lips were framed by a neatly trimmed mustache and a goatee that jutted from his chin like a black spike. His hair was slicked back and held in place by some sort of shiny substance. He was wearing black jeans and a white dress shirt fastened at the neck with a bolo tie. A sweet, spicy odor, like cloves steeped in rubbing alcohol, wafted off him.

  A smallish white bulldog of opposite proportions waddled in after him.

  “I am Ernest Rausch,” he said. “You may call me Mr. Rausch.” He gestured at the dog. “This is Gertrude. She is a French bulldog.”

  Gertrude rolled her eyes and drooled.

  “What is that smell?” I asked. I know it was rude of me, but sometimes the words just pop out.

  Mr. Rausch gave his dog a reproving look. “Gertrude! Shame on you!”

  “Not the dog,” I said. “It’s more like a cleaning product. Kind of clovey.”

  Mr. Rausch drew back. “Are you referring to my Bay Rum?” he asked.

  “It does smell sort of rummy,” I said.

  “Bay Rum is a classic men’s aftershave. Discriminating people find it pleasing.” He examined me critically. “Are you Billy Bates?”

  “Do I look like a boy to you?” I said, horrified. Clearly, Mr. Rausch and I were not destined to get along.

  He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. “Despite your unflattering jeans and T-shirt, you
appear to be a rather thin girl with extraordinarily curly, somewhat reddish hair and a large number of freckles, but I try not to make assumptions based upon physical appearance. Furthermore, the name Billy is not necessarily gender specific. Billie Holiday, for example, was a woman.”

  “I’m Ginger, and I’m a girl.” I pointed at Billy. “He’s Billy.”

  He turned his eyes to Billy.

  “I understand you are having trouble with American history and language arts.”

  “I was having a bad day,” Billy said.

  “With my REMEMBER learning system, we can make sure you don’t have any more bad days.”

  “Remember system?” Billy said.

  “REMEMBER. It is an acronym for the Really Excellent Memory Enhancement Method by Ernest Rausch. It can enable you to memorize pi to ten thousand digits.”

  “Cool!” Billy said.

  “Wouldn’t that take up a lot of room in your brain?” I asked.

  They both looked at me.

  Mr. Rausch said, “And you are . . . ?”

  “Ginger? Girl? Rather thin? Who you just met, like, sixty seconds ago?”

  “Correct!” said the tutor, as if I’d just responded to a test question. “As for memories taking up physical space, that is not a problem. Even Gertrude, for example, has the capacity to remember tens of thousands of smells, sounds, and images, and her brain is less than half the size of yours.”

  Gertrude looked up at the sound of her name and snorfled.

  “She just radiates intelligence,” I said.

  “She knows more than you can imagine,” Mr. Rausch said.

  “I can imagine a lot,” I said.

  He sniffed and returned his attention to Billy. “I thought we could start with history. Have you memorized the Declaration of Independence and the United States Constitution and its amendments?”

  “Er . . . not exactly,” Billy said. “Isn’t that like a hundred pages?”

  “Not precisely.”

  “I don’t think that’s something we have to do for school,” I said.

  “My method requires a solid foundation in the basics,” he said. “Furthermore, it works best when my tutee and I are able to work without constant interruptions. In other words . . . ”