Chapter 14

Saturday morning.

  Andy woke up with a big stretch. He felt unusually happy. Some birds played serenades that tickled his ears from his half-opened window. The sky was white and free from any flapping bird; winter had its way of doing that. The wind howled like a wolf under the full moon. That the chimney was on, Andy could tell due to the warmness that engulfed him.

  He quickly reached for his pair of binoculars, threw himself off the bed, slipped on his anticipating pair of slippers and scurried off to the bathroom where he washed his face thoroughly, brushed his mouth, then finally went for a bath. He laid inside the bathtub, completely caressed by the warm, soapy water in it.

  It was amazing to finally be visiting Portsmouth, and Andy knew it. He could see himself walking down its ancient streets with cathedrals and Queen Elizabeth's naval Hospitals. He could smell the nostril-soothing breeze, and the mouth-watering fruits in the market. He could touch the winter-ridden fig trees, and many a gentleman in their finely-woven, knee-length coats and archaic mannerisms of speaking. He could hear their cackling laughters as they strike drinks against drinks in a toast, in the local pub. He smiled, telling himself that nothing could ever go wrong.

  After having his bath, he walked to his cabinet, pulled the doors apart, and stared at the clothes he'd be wearing. He'd ironed and hung them, the previous night. It was a long-sleeved shirt, a pair of pants, and a black-coloured, knee-length garment Connor had given him the previous year. This day seemed to be just the best time to disvirgin it, he thought — his hands spread under his chin.

  Perfect!

HARRY woke up by falling off the bed in sleep. He almost broke an ankle and elbow to it. He gave a loud groan, then pulled himself up, applying a pain relief ointment.

  As if that was not enough, when he got into the bathroom — barefooted — he'd slipped and had almost slammed his head against the tiled floor, had not his head been shaded by an arm.

  "How else could misery be defined?" Harry asked himself. Since it was already after seven in the morning, he felt it was unnecessary to go back in bed.

  The day had had on Harry enough jinx, and it worried him. Something told him to hurry to his friend's home. He feared that the teenagers could hurt Andy to get what they needed, since they couldn't find it themselves. Just on remembering the teenagers, his heart skipped a beat as he remembered that they were cyborgs.

  Harry dropped in an armchair and began to analyse the information he'd received the previous night. If he was going to meet Anderson, then he'd want his points to be reasonable, worth the stress, and appreciated.

  "One; they're cyborgs," he said to himself.

  "Two; the boy in the group spoke about upgrading them for a contest — God knows what that means.

  "Three; what the heck is a QED?"

  Harry remembered the work of a dictionary, and reached for it on the fridge where he'd dropped it two days ago.

  "Q-E-D. Yes, found it!" he exclaimed, punching a fist to the air like he'd won a medal. His expression changed when he read the meaning: "Initialism of quantum electrodynamics."

  He groaned out, "What's this thing about dictionaries, anyway?! You search for one word and they give you two to search for. Why not just define everything at once?!"

  He was fortunate to find the noun, "Quantum Electrodynamics", on the previous page. He read it out confidently.

  "The study of the interaction of electromagnetic radiation with electrically charged matter within the frame work of relativity and quantum mechanics."

  He relaxed back to digest in what he'd just read. He outlined the keywords: electromagnetic radiation, electrically charged matter, relativity, and quantum mechanics.

  This time it made sense. "So the cyborgs probably needed all these features to get themselves a super upgrade. For what exactly?"

  He walked briskly to his laptop computer — a towel strapped around his waist — and sat down to the booting screen. Done. He typed on Google: Competitions for cyborgs.

  All he saw were written-fantasies. He paused a little, then rephrased: A competition that gives prizes for automaton makers. There were so many that popped up, but the first one on the list captured Harry's attention.

  The Greatest Scientist of the Age, Portsmouth.

  "It all makes sense now," said he. So that was what all those talk were about. And could it be that it was the main reason Andy worked hours on his stolen robot? He, probably, wanted to participate as well. And where on Earth did Mr. Hans find a QED to sell to Andy? How did Andy even purchase it in first place?

  He closed the computer and hurried to change. His parted cabinet doors revealed so many junky clothes. He looked out the window — the weather was not friendly. He turned his attention back to his cabinet, and a cocky smile raised his cheeks.

  "Hmm. . .say I looked a little 'gentlemanlike', ehn? That would leave Andy amazed. I shall speak in the most formal mannerism of my native—" he reached for a formal wear with a black tie to match. Then he coated himself in a dark-blue jacket. Before the mirror, he smiled in a way that only his upper set of teeth could be seen, "— and then he'll be left with no choice, but to welcome me in as custom requires of an English gentleman."

  Just then, his stomach groaned, and he hurried to grab himself a breakfast.

  Aweful!

HANSON woke up to the sense-organ-disparpling aroma of Lizzy's cottage pie. It embraced him with tender affection, such that made him to cuddle himself like a foetus. His mouth began to water as he saw himself placing the pie in his mouth and his teeth jamming against it, letting a burst of the nursh fall on his tongue and sending his brain a massive spin. His stomach knotted, and he tried propelling himself to his feet by doing a trick he'd learnt as a youth; it was futile. And so he had to roll to an edge of the bed where he threw one leg down, before another. He was an old crock, and he knew it — though many at times he'd told himself otherwise, especially when one had a wife like Lizzy who repeated how fit he was everyday of his life since their wedding day. He smiled as he sat on the bed, said a little prayer for his wife, then inserted his feet into his cover slipper.

  "Music," he called clapping.

  "Music mode activated," cried the robot from below. Next thing, the whole house was booming with the "Celebration" song.

  Hanson danced down the the staircase singing along, "Ceeeee-leeee-brate gooood times, come on!" He twisted and twirled, heading for the kitchen where he ran his hand around his wife's waist.

  "Good morning, dear. You seem happy this morning—"

  "That's the thing, my dear, you're my source of happiness."

  She hid a smile, and asked, "And how is that, Professor Hanson?"

  "Everyday of my life, I keep waking up realising I actually married you. It's just like fairytale! I'm in love with everything about you, Miss Elizabeth—"

  This time she couldn't suppress a grin, and he saw she was blushing a little pink.

  "I love you, Hanny—"

  "And I love you more, Lizzy—"

  "Can we continue with the business of cooking?" came Lucy's indifferent, mechanical voice.

  "Get the f**k off!" screamed Lizzy.

  "No, no — Lucy is right, and I've got to start preparing for Pompey, remember?"

  She gave a heart-wrenching groan, muttered curses under her breath, then nodded hesitantly, shooting a sinister glance at the unbothered robot; one that could kill any human in Lucy's shoes.

  They exchanged kisses — Hanson and Lizzy — before the former ran upstairs for a quick bath.

  Wonderful!

* * *

  "Okay, Son. Have a nice day."

  "You too, Dad."

  Andy was just about pulling the door open when a knock on it stopped him on his track. He pulled the door open, after looking at his dad's curious eyes, to see Harry in a winter coat. He was literally dressed up in Andy's manner.

  Harry's smile faded when he saw Andy — he was definitely not expecting this. Both boys stared at each other for an awkward moment, untill Mr. Simpson interrupted with a crack of his voice.

  "Howdy," Harry greeted. He looked at Mr. Simpson's face over Harry's shoulder to see an equal expression of surprise.

  "Andy, where did you say you were going?" asked the older man.

  Damn! This is not happening!

  "Umm. . .the question is, 'what are you doing here, Harry?'"

  "I've got something I wanted to tell you as soon as possible—"

  Andy screwed his eyes and looked at Harry's face.

  "Is that why you're dressed for an occasion?"

  He smiled, dusting some snowflakes off his shoulders, "Just wanted to look different for today. . .does that mean you're having an occasion? 'Cause you're dressed no differently."

  "Mr. Hans and I would be working on something today—"

  "Oh," he said. "I wish I'd called on phone—"

  "You should have."

  Andy's father left them at the door and went inside.

  "I know, I feel really bad," his shoulder sagged.

  "Well, what're you planning to do now?" asked Andy.

  "It was so important that I didn't even get a good sleep just to make it here, early enough," said Andy, dropping a deep sigh.

  Andy sighed equally, before saying, "Let's talk about it at Mr. Hans'."

  "Really? Thanks Andy, I'm sorry if I'd be interrupting anything—"

  "It's okay."

  Together, they walked to the bus stop where they'd gotten a bus that dropped them at Hanson's junction. From there, it was a one minute walk on strolling pace.

  Andy pushed the doorbell after adjusting his tie.

  Hanson opened the door with a warm smile on. He was dressed no differently from the manner of the boys, save for the Abraham Lincoln hat he had on his head. He looked from Anderson to Harrison, then gave Andy a questioning look, before welcoming them inside.

  While they were seated in the chairs, Hanson excused them to get some things. They were offered some snacks by Lizzy. Andy ate just two pieces with the excuse of already eating at home.

  "More for me!" exclaimed Harry as he turned Andy's into his plate. He dived into it, ravenously.

  When Hanson came down, he excused Andy from his friend to hear his explanations. After Andy told him how Harry ended up on his front door, the old man nodded — even though he thought it was the worst excuse ever. He, then, explained to Harrison that they'd be on a voyage to Portsmouth.

  "So that explains why you and Andy are dressed up like me—"

  "Huhn?"

  "Never mind. . .can I come along, please?! I promise I won't do a single thing to make you guys mad, I just need to stay away from home for today."

  "It's okay," said Hanson.

  Harrison wiped his mouth and drank from the glass of water he'd been served. Looking about him, he finally said, "Now this is royalty!"

  Hanson just smiled, while Andy knew better than forcing a smile on. And although Hanson saw this, he pretended not to.

  They saddled for the train station, in no time. The whole place was filled with moving people. They found a train heading for Portsmouth.

  After getting their tickets, they took a seat for three in a roll. Few minutes later, the ticket collector asked for their tickets.

  "Tickets, please," said he, after quickly examining their dressing fashion. "I see you're all warmed-over for Pompey."

  They passed their tickets to him, smiling, while Hanson said, "Oh, yes! It's been forever since I've stepped foot into the ancient city."

  "Really?" said the collector, clipping the edge of the tickets and handling it back to them. "And how long is 'forever'?"

  "About thirty years—"

  "Naw! You don't say!"

  "I mean every word."

  "You know, dear sir, that I'm roughly thirty years old."

  Hanson smiled then nodded.

  "Have you got a family of your own?"

  He smiled from ear to ear.

  "Naw, but I'm kinda in a relationship."

  "Pardon me, Son, but how d'ye define 'kinda'?"

  The fellow looked about him and lowered his head to Hanson. "Well, the relationship is lopsided. She complains I never have her time, and is inconsiderate about the fact that — as a young man — I'm obliged to work. Sir, d'you understand me?"

  "I sure do, lad," said Hanson. "It's really a big struggle for young men to keep up with work and family—" he remembered his own brother.

  The man nodded.

  "However, I'd advice you to look for a less, time-consuming job. One that could give you time for one another, and still pay you well."

  He smirked, "Nice idea. Thanks a million, sir. I really do appreciate. . .I guess I've crossed the boundary here, got to get back to work."

  Hanson smiled and waved at this man like he was waving to a staring, little child wearing on a silly smile.

  "And by the the way, I'm Wilson," said he, slipping a contact card into Hanson's hand. Before Hanson could introduce himself the man had dashed off to the next role of passengers.

  Meanwhile, Harry was telling Andy about the conversation of the cyborgs under his wondow.

  "And the one with the short bub—" he stopped himself as realisation slapped him on both cheeks. "Damn! Now I remember!"

  "Remember what?"

  "Where I'd seen that girl — they're the girls from the gym the other day."

  "Huh?"

  "You remember the day you had a fight at the gym?"

  "Of course, that was just three days ago!"

  "Oh, right. Well, when I came over you remember it was just us left in the gym, with two other girls?"

  "Uh-huh? What about them?"

  "They're the ones I saw, last night!"

  "And you can vouch that, can't you?"

  "Of course I can!" said Harrison.

  "What makes you so sure?" asked Andy, stealing a moment to glance outside of the moving train.

  "I, literally, stared hard at them—"

  "Hmm. . .I see," Andy cut in, hiding a grin.

  "Listen, it was because I'd noticed they didn't look familiar — I literally know everyone from this town—"

  "Little wonder," said Andy.

  "Can you quit sounding so weird?"

  "Really?" Andy said, turning to look at him. "Now, I sound weird?"

  "Are you angry with me for moving myself off my comfort zone so I could save your butt?"

  He sighed.

  "Not when you put it that way."

  "Look, I'm sorry dude — even though I still don't know why — but every word I say is true."

  "Harry, you realise that at the state you were, you could probably just have been hallucinating?"

  "Do not insult me, I was perfectly alright. . .now what's it with the QED they spoke of?"

  That was when Hanson joined the duo, "Did someone just say 'QED'?"

  Harry nodded.

  "It's a long story; some teenage cyborgs heard about it and, I think, they may have been the same people who'd burst into Andy's lab—"

  "Hmm. . .that makes sense," said Andy. He told them about what the detectives had informed him the previous day when Harry and Joce had visited him, and how he'd concluded it just could be automatons.

  "Now that's a 'wow'," said Hanson. Then to Harry, he asked, "Can you tell me the exact account of what you're talking about?"

  Harry nodded and renarrated it.

  "You said one of them sounded familiar?"

  "Uh-huh. But I just can't place anyone into the picture. One thing for sure is, if I heard the person speak again, I can sure identify him."

  Hanson nodded. "Well, that means we've got one human and two cyborgs."

  Harry nodded slowly, "I didn't think of that."

  "And it also means we've got two 'Brains' in Mcbornie," Hanson added.

  Andy raised his head to Harry. "A teenager you say?"

  The latter nodded.

  "Then, obviously, he attends Mcbornie Senior High." Andy fitted his chin in-between his spread thumb and forefinger. "Let me think; it can't be Michael, he's too cautious of failure; it can't be Thomas, he's always running home after school for his sister—"

  "That sounds questionable—" Hanson cut in.

  "Yeah, but I know him too well. He can't be the one," said Harry.

  "It can't be Harrison, he's too busy thinking of how to break his father's chin—"

  "Hey, I'm still here—"

  "Shh, don't interrupt me. It can't be Johnson, he has an awesome brain, but his works are too diminutive; and of course — it can never be Jake, my assistant, he's just too innocent and emollient—"

  Harry's ears cocked up, "Wait a sec—"

  "Do not interrupt me!"

  "Wait, Anderson! It's finally dawned on me; it's Jake!"

  "Huh, you mean the guy you saw is Andy's innocent and emollient assistant?" asked Hanson, with an arched eyebrow and a somewhat awkward appearance.

  "Yes!" exclaimed Harry. "It definitely has to be him — he has an unmistakable voice in Mcbornie, and no one can deny that—"

  "And, like I said, you're always busy thinking of how to apply new moves on your father's chin. Who ever mistakes his voice! Not to mention he was born right here in Mcbornie, few months before I was!"

  Harry rolled his eyes. "When you've got things worse than the sweet candies you have in your mouth, you'll know what it means to stay up all night — and when you've finally gotten a sleep, to be woken up by a nightmare."

  Andy was speechless for a few seconds as he stared at Harrison. He tried his best to avoid getting his eyes clouded by mist.

  "You have sleepless nights?" was all that could spill off Andy's mouth.

  Harry smirked, waving it off with the other arm.

  The train was churning full speed ahead, snow had completed covered the windows, the images of trees and people sped to, like the wind, and all Andy had in his head was a question.

  Could Harry have brobdingnagian emotional problems just as bad as mine that could keep him all night with a nightmare?

  "It's funny to know I'm not the only one with a robot in Mcbornie," Hanson whispered into Andy's ears.

  "And it's funny to know I'm not the only one after a contest," Andy pointed out. At the moment, just one thing rang in Andy's head — the Time Machine.

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Howdy mates! I'm glad you stopped by to read this. Thanks a million!

Did you like this? What really held you to read this chapter all through? I'd like to see that in the comments section below.

Till next week!😇