Omega City (6 page)

“And you don't?” I asked.

Eric gave me a pitying look. It's weird the way he looked so much like Mom sometimes. “Gills . . . even if you're right
about Fiona—and I kind of believe you are—even if she is only dating Dad because she wants this piece of paper . . . that doesn't change anything. All it means is that Fiona is as gullible as Dad is. It doesn't make Dr. Underberg any less crazy, and it doesn't make Dad any . . .”

He trailed off, but I knew where he was going. It didn't make Dad any less wrong.

The morning Mom walked off our campsite, we heard our parents arguing. “I refuse to sacrifice my career on the altar of your paranoia,” she'd told him. Mom left Dad because she didn't believe him. But Eric and I were still here. Mainstream phase or not, my brother hadn't given up on Dad entirely.

My throat felt too full of words to speak.

“Think about it,” Eric said. “If Dad thought there was anything worthwhile on this page, it wouldn't have been filed away with a bunch of scraps. It's just Dr. Underberg being delusional. Come on. Even Dad thought this was nothing.”

Even Dad
.

But Fiona didn't seem to think so. She wanted this piece of paper for some reason. Maybe it did lead to the battery. Maybe it was a wild goose chase. The only thing I knew for sure was that Fiona didn't have the map.

We did.

HOWARD WENT TO THE DOOR OF THE BEDROOM. “NATE!” HE CALLED.

Savannah mouthed
Nate
at me.

“Can I borrow your GPS?” He turned back to us. “My dad and brother have one for hunting trips.”

Private Pizza—Nate—appeared at the door with a device that looked like a large cell phone in his hand. “What are you guys doing?”

“School project,” Eric said.

“A mapping project,” I clarified. “We, uh, need the GPS to get exact measurements.”

Nate leaned against the doorjamb and looked at each of us in turn. “What are you guys mapping?”

“Pollution,” I said, at the exact same time as Eric said, “Bird migration.”

Nate snorted.

“We're making a scale model of the solar system based on a fifty-meter-diameter park in Reistertown,” Howard said.

“Oh,” said Nate, as if it suddenly all made sense. “That's cool, bro.”

Howard turned to Savannah. “You have that exact number?”

“What number?” Savannah smoothed her hair down and giggled in Nate's general direction.

Howard groaned, then shoved past her to his computer. “I need the exact relative distance from the sun to Pluto—” While he furiously pressed the keys, Savannah pushed away from the desk.

“Geez, chill out. It's just a calculator.”

I shook my head at her. Seconds ago, she'd been the one doing all the math.

“So, Nate,” she said with her most winning smile. “What grade are you in?”

“Eleventh,” he stated flatly.

“Cool.”

Nate said nothing. Eric shot me a look, which I ignored.

“Okay. 212,306.84 meters,” Howard announced.
“That should be close enough to find the treasure. I'll just make a line from the center of that park . . .” He picked up the GPS and started punching in coordinates.

“What direction are you using?” Eric asked.

Howard paused and looked up. “Huh?”

“North, south, east . . .”

“Oh.” Howard lowered the machine. So he hadn't thought of
absolutely
everything, even if he had the measurement down to the atom.

I read from the riddle. “‘Follow the path I've laid for you, in the direction marked by the birth of ice.'”

“This doesn't sound like a school project,” Nate observed.

Howard shut the door in his brother's face.

“That was rude!” cried Savannah.

“Shut up, Sav.” I didn't have time for her crush right now. We were so close to solving this. “‘The birth of ice.' That sounds cold, doesn't it? Maybe it's north.”

“There's ice if you go far enough south, too,” said Howard. “Like the South Pole.”

“Duh,” Savannah grumbled.

“Well, two hundred and twelve kilometers doesn't get us that far south,” I said.

“212,306.84 meters,” Howard said. “And it doesn't go north all the way to the arctic circle, either.” He showed me the GPS. “Just most of the way through Pennsylvania.”

“Please don't tell me we're going to draw a two-hundred-kilometer radius around the park and search the whole orbit of our imaginary Pluto,” Eric begged.

“212,306.84 meters,” Howard repeated. “But I agree, that would be ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” said Savannah. “
That's
the part of this that's ridiculous.”

I sighed and looked down at the map. It was out there somewhere. All we had to do was figure out Underberg's code.
For those who trust me it shall not be difficult to reach safety, for you know my heart
.

No one knew Underberg like Dad did. No one trusted in the truth of his story more than us. Every other part of the riddle had to do with his biography: his twin, Pluto; Solar Park . . . If the truth was out there, there was no one on Earth better suited to finding it than my dad.

We just had to get to him before Fiona did.

WHEN SAVANNAH, ERIC, and I pulled our bikes up to the house that evening, we found Dad in the yard, airing out our pup tents.

“You going camping?” Savannah asked.

“Gills,” Eric whispered, stricken. “Do something.”

I wasn't sure exactly what he wanted me to do. If Dad had decided to take us all off grid, it wasn't like I could change his mind. Maybe he'd noticed that the strand of
my hair I'd so carefully trimmed down to appropriate Dad length and placed back in the Underberg file wasn't his, despite them both being brown. Maybe Fiona had done something else we didn't know about.

On the other hand, Dad wouldn't be spreading out our brightly colored tents on the lawn where they could be seen by everyone from nosy neighbors to passing spy satellites if he was afraid
they
were watching. But then, what was he up to with this very public display?

I put the kickstand down and approached. “Hey, Dad,” I said, taking care to keep my voice light. “Are we going camping?”

“Nah, just making sure everything's in working order before I store it for the season,” he said. I looked at my brother, who had slumped against the porch railing in relief. “Hello, Savannah. Are you staying for dinner?”

Savannah looked scared. I didn't blame her. “No thanks, Dr. S.”

“Gillian, honey, can you grab that corner over there and pull tight?”

As I knelt to help Dad check the seams on the tent, he called to Eric. “Son, can you check the batteries on the head lamps?”

“Sure thing!” Eric called, happy to help now that he was sure he wouldn't be dragged away from his precious video games. He started unloading the flashlights and
head lamps from the box on the porch steps, clicking each on and off. Savannah sat on the porch and wrapped an arm around the railing, watching us. She jerked her head in Dad's direction. “Ask him about the ice thing,” she hissed at me.

Fine. “It's too bad we all lost out on Dr. Underberg's batteries, huh, Dad?” I said, trying to keep my tone as casual as possible. “We'd never have to worry about replacing them.”

“True,” Dad said, working his way down the long side of the tent. “It's a sad statement, isn't it? How much humanity as a whole loses out when scientists and . . . other people are silenced by their enemies.”

“That's so true, Dr. S,” said Savannah. “Like when that scientist, um . . . got iced?”

Really, Sav? That's your best shot?

Dad gave her a quizzical look, then chuckled. “Iced? You watch too many cop shows, Savannah.”

I sneaked another look at Eric, who was giving me a warning shake of his head. But I was well beyond warnings. I'd already messed with the security on Dad's filing cabinets, and recruited Savannah and Howard into this treasure hunt. If there was something to find out there, I needed a few hints.

“Is there anything else he invented?” I asked carefully.
The birth of ice, the birth of ice . . 
. “Some kind of cool . . .
refrigerator? Or what is it called when you freeze people and then bring them back to life?”

“Cryogenic freezing?” Dad sat back on his heels, a wistful look on his face. “Who knows, sweetheart? Who knows what we lost when we lost him? Dr. Underberg was a brilliant man, dedicated to the betterment of the human race. He fought to end the nuclear arms race, to create clean, renewable energies, technologies that would help humans live with fewer resources or in places we never thought we could: deserts, under the sea, even in outer space . . .” He trailed off. “The possibilities are endless.”

I slumped. And what were the possibilities regarding ice?

“But Underberg thought it was all just a dream. He was certain humanity would destroy itself before we ever had a chance to progress that far. You don't know what it was like, to live during the Cold War. I hope you guys never do. Every day people like Dr. Underberg were certain we were about to get bombed into extinction by the Russians, or vice versa. Even when I was younger, that possibility haunted us.” He sighed. “Do you remember when we went to visit Underberg's Solar Park the other day?”

I perked up at the words. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Eric and Savannah lean in, too.

“There was that plaque there, with his speech from the dedication. Let me see if I have this right,” Dad said.
“Something about how
the human race holds the power to bring itself into the light or into the darkness
.”

“
To let the sun rise or set on the face of history
,” I continued. I'd seen that plaque a million times.

“That's the one.” Dad moved down to the other end of the tent, and as soon as his back was turned, Eric lobbed the head lamp into my lap.

“Hey!” he whispered as I scurried up to meet him on the porch. “Isn't that what the riddle said? Something about the sun setting on the Earth?”

I nodded, surprised that he'd actually memorized it. What's more, he was out here, listening to me and Dad talk instead of rushing through his chores, then beelining for his video games. I couldn't remember the last time that had happened, but I certainly wasn't going to complain.

Whatever we were looking for, we had to be on the right track. The last line of Dr. Underberg's speech on the Solar Park plaque was about how his dream of a better future had become a reality. It sounded like he was talking about building a nice park for his hometown, but what if it was something more? What if he was talking about a battery that would help fix the environment and end wars over oil?

“Just don't let this one blow it with all her gangster talk.” Eric gestured to Savannah. “
Iced?
Really?”

She glared at him. “You have a better idea?”

“How could anything possibly beat mobsters and cryogenics?”

I giggled and she turned to me. “Are you seriously taking his side?”

“He does have a point,” I admitted. And I'd be more than happy to take his side now that he was finally taking mine.

“Gillian, we're following a treasure map written by a mad scientist to a model of Pluto. Nothing is off-limits.”

“Okay. You have a point, too.” I smiled at her, but she sniffed and looked away.

Eric rolled his eyes and began putting our camping supplies back in the crate, then suddenly froze. “Gills,” he whispered. “It's degrees!”

“What?”

He was crouched on the porch, his old compass cradled in his hand. “Degrees! Like degrees of temperature. Ice freezes at thirty-two degrees.”

The birth of ice . . 
. that made sense. “But how does that help?”

He showed me the face of the compass and pointed to a ring of tiny numbers marching around the outside. “Don't you see? Directions have degrees, too. We use them in sailing. Like zero degrees is due north and one hundred eighty degrees is south.”

“So what is thirty-two?”

“Kinda north by northeast . . .”

“Wait,” I said. “That's Fahrenheit. Wouldn't a scientist use Celsius or something? Zero is the freezing point of water in Celsius.”

“So that would be north,” Eric said. “By degrees.” Which led us back into northern Pennsylvania.

Savannah mumbled something.

“What?” I asked.

“Oh, now you want my opinion?” she snapped. The light was failing but I could see well enough to catch the spark of anger in her eyes.

“Well, if you have actual information to give,” Eric said.

“As a matter of fact, Eric, I do.” She straightened. “The Kelvin scale—scientists usually use that. And the freezing point of water in Kelvin is 273.15 degrees.”

“Hey, Dad? We'll be right back. Have to make a phone call.” I raced up the steps and into the cottage, with Eric and Savannah right behind.

“Noland residence,” said the pleasant-sounding woman who answered the phone.

“Hi, Mrs. Noland,” I said. “Can I speak to Howard? This is Gillian Seagret. From school,” I added.

“Howard?” Mrs. Noland said. “Really?” But she got him anyway.

“Am I on speakerphone?” he asked when he came on the line.

“Yes.” I pressed the button.

“Who is there?”

“Me and Eric and Savannah,” I replied.

“No one else?”

“No one else, Howard,” Sav said, annoyed. “Just tell him.”

“Do you have your GPS? Try plugging in the distance at the following angle . . .” I trailed off and looked at Eric for help.

“273.15 degrees,” Eric said. “It should be slightly north of due west.”

Howard was silent on the other end for a second. “That's the Deep Creek Lake area,” he reported.

Eric and I stared at each other. He groaned, but a thrill shot through my body. Deep Creek Lake was where Dad had taken us when we went off grid. I bet it was because the area had something to do with Dr. Underberg.

“That's like an hour away,” Eric said. “It's way too far for our bikes.”

“We could tell Dad it was for a school project. The bird . . . pollution thing.”

“I'll back you up, Gillian,” said Savannah, her voice soft. “If we find something, fine. If not, we tried.”

“It won't be easy,” Howard said over the phone. “It'll be really small. Three inches.”

“If it's even there anymore,” Eric pointed out.

I looked at Eric, willing him to understand.

He took a deep breath. “I just don't want you thinking you can save the day. And I really don't want Dad to get all paranoid, which you know he'll do if he figures out why we're really out there.”

“I'll ask my brother to drive us.” Howard's voice broke in over the phone. “Tomorrow's Saturday.”

Savannah gave a little hop and clapped her hands together. “Yes! That's an amazing idea! Thank you, Howard!”

“What are you going to tell him?” Eric asked. “I don't think he buys that we're doing a bird poop project.”