The Secret of Sigma Seven (6 page)

Frank took a deep breath. “We're detectives, Mr. Feinbetter. We've been asked by the people who put on the convention to find the film.”

“Maybe we should have business cards printed up,” Joe suggested. “Then we wouldn't have to answer that question a zillion times a day.”

“You really think I might have stolen the film?” Feinbetter asked.

“Well, you seem to have a motive,” Frank replied.

“How would you know about that?” Feinbetter snapped.

“We, uh, heard a rumor,” Joe said, “that you believe Simon Devoreaux ripped off some of your ideas in his Galactic Saga films.”

Feinbetter rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “I bet Arlen Hennessy told you about that. Arlen never did know when to shut up. And I suppose you're following me around the hotel to see if I meet with a fence to sell the stolen film. Correct?”

“That's about it, sir,” Frank said.

“Well, I'm not,” Feinbetter said. “I'm going up to my room to take a nap. I'm scheduled to be on two more panels this afternoon and evening, and at my age I need all the rest I can get. Do you have any objections to that?”

“No, sir,” Joe said.

“I don't suppose you'd have any objections to putting down that gun?” Frank asked. “It's making us very nervous.”

“Oh, this,” Feinbetter said, looking down at the pistol in his hand. “Gave you a scare, did it?”

He aimed the gun directly at Frank, then pulled the trigger. Frank gasped and jumped backward, but all that came out of the gun was an orange flag that had the words “ZAP! You're star dust!” written on it.

“I bought this for my grandson,” Feinbetter said with a grin. “Thought it was kinda cute.”

Joe let out a sharp breath. “Another zap gun,” he said. “Those things must be all over this con. It's so dark in this stairwell that I didn't recognize it.”

“At least,” Frank gasped, “this one didn't have a real gun hidden inside it.”

“Now, if you boys will excuse me,” Feinbetter said, “I'm going back to my room. And when I finish with my nap, I'm going to have a long talk with Arlen Hennessy.”

“Yes, sir,” Frank said as the writer disappeared through the doorway.

“Well, what do you think?” Frank said to Joe. “Do you think Feinbetter acts like the kind of guy who would have stolen Devoreaux's film?”

“How would I know?” Joe said with a shrug. “When's the last time we caught a crook who looked like a crook? Half the time the culprit turns out to be some perfectly innocent-looking person who helps little old ladies across the street. Sometimes it's even the little old lady.”

“True,” Frank said. “And Feinbetter never specifically denied taking the film. So far, he's got the best motive in the place.”

“He definitely does,” Joe agreed. “But I'm beginning to think that George Morwood might be in on this, too. Maybe they're in it together. Feinbetter stole the film, and Morwood plans to bootleg it.”

“Maybe,” Frank said. “What do you think about Morwood, Brian?” He turned and saw that Brian's face was completely white. He was staring at the Hardys, an awed expression on his face.

“Is this what you guys go through every day?” Brian asked. “Face people who point guns at you? If that had been a real gun, you could have gotten killed.”

“Well, we don't run into guns every day,” Frank said. “But it's not the first time, and sometimes the guns are real.”

“Great,” Brian said. “Maybe I shouldn't hang around you guys quite so much.”

“I hope this doesn't scare you away,” Joe said. “We really appreciate you taking us around the convention.”

Brian glanced at his watch. “I know where I ought to be taking you right now. My uncle Pete is giving a presentation in about ten minutes. I promised him I'd be there.”

“What's it about?” Joe asked. “I thought you said he was a professor at Boston Tech?”

“He is,” Brian said, “so the presentation must have something to do with his specialty, computer science. Want to come watch?”

Joe frowned. “We really ought to be checking out
Feinbetter's room to see if he's got the stolen tapes hidden there.”

“Except that Feinbetter's
in
his room right now,” Frank said. “So let's go to the lecture. We might actually learn something.”

“That's what I'm afraid of,” Joe joked.

The three teenagers went back downstairs and through the lobby to one of the conference rooms. The room was already crowded with people, but the Hardys and Brian managed to find three seats together in the front row.

At the front of the room Joe saw Pete Amchick fiddling with a monitor attached to a video recorder. A variety of electronic instruments were strewn across the table next to the recorder. Finally the computer scientist stepped up to a microphone and cleared his throat.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “I'm Pete Amchick. I know that a lot of you science fiction fans are interested in the subject of computer graphics. I've been doing a lot of work in that area, and I've brought along a presentation of some of my work. I'll be playing a short videotape for you. All of the images that you'll be seeing were generated by a computer.”

Joe stifled a yawn. “This sounds about as fascinating as watching grass grow.”

“We all know computers aren't your strong point,” Frank said to his brother. “But try to stay awake, okay?”

Pete Amchick signaled to someone standing next to the door, and the lights began to dim. Then he pushed a button on the video recorder, and an image appeared on the monitor behind him.

Frank stared at the image, trying to decide exactly what it was. The truth was, he thought, that it didn't look like much of anything, just a white misty cloud swirling in front of a purple background. But then he noticed a small object in the center of the picture, growing rapidly larger, as though it were moving directly toward the viewer. As it grew, he saw that it was the planet Earth, spinning in space. It grew larger and larger until it filled the entire screen, and it kept right on growing.

Frank leaned forward in his seat and watched with growing fascination. It was as though he were in a spaceship hurtling down toward the surface of Earth. The ship zoomed directly in on the North American continent. Mountains and rivers began to appear, and then trees and roads and even buildings.

Frank turned to see his brother staring wide-eyed at the picture, too. “Wow!” Joe exclaimed. “Did he say he did this whole thing with a computer? It looks real.”

Frank turned back to the monitor. His brother was right. It did look real. All the colors were brighter than he had ever seen before in a movie. The images were so clear they seemed to jump right off the screen at the audience.

The film was now rushing along the ground, past
trees and mountains. But Frank could see something else in the distance, something large and green. As it grew closer, he realized that it was a giant dinosaur—a fifty-story-tall
Tyrannosaurus rex
with green scales and dripping fangs. As the spaceship approached it, it seemed to sense their presence. It turned away from its meal and reached out toward the viewers with its slavering mouth and . . .

The spaceship suddenly took off into outer space, leaving the Tyrannosaurus far below. The blue sky changed to black, and stars began to twinkle. And then it appeared as though the viewers were racing
through
the stars, as if they were in a starship with a warp drive.

“This is better than a roller coaster,” Joe whispered. “You didn't tell us your uncle was into wild stuff like this, Brian.”

“He never mentioned it,” Brian said. “I told you, Uncle Pete isn't very talkative.”

“Hey, look,” Frank said, his eyes never leaving the monitor. “It's a spaceship. Like the ones in the Galactic Saga movies.”

A large silver spacecraft had appeared on the monitor. It was a saucerlike shape and had large engines shooting out streams of red particles to its rear. As the viewers flew toward it, the spaceship began to change shape. Like a lump of clay being molded in the hands of a sculptor, the spaceship became rounder. At one end a face appeared, while at the other end the craft seemed to grow feet. Fiery
eyes stared out from the monitor, and a mouth full of fangs appeared where the bridge of the spaceship had been.

The gaping mouth seemed to lunge at the viewers, and then they were inside the space monster, hurtling down into its metal gullet, sailing through its throat and into its stomach.

Then the picture went black, and large computer-style letters appeared,
SORRY, YOUR JOURNEY HAS ENDED. YOU HAVE BEEN SWALLOWED BY A VORACIOUS GALACTIC TRANSFORMER DISGUISED AS A SPACESHIP. BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME.

Pete Amchick pushed a button, and the words vanished from the monitor. Somebody turned up the lights. There was a moment of silence, then the audience began to applaud loudly.

“That was terrific!” Joe shouted, jumping to his feet and clapping.

“I thought this was going to be as fascinating as watching grass grow,” his brother said, looking up at him.

“Well, it wasn't exactly what I expected,” Joe said.

Pete Amchick stepped up to the microphone, and the audience quieted down. He gave a brief speech, explaining that he was studying computer graphics techniques in order to create realistic images, and that this film was his most recent work.

“Can you produce any kind of image?” Frank asked. “Absolutely anything you want?”

“Pretty much,” Pete answered. “We can show anything that we know how to write a program for.
All we have to do is feed the right data into the computer, and out pop images like the ones you just saw.”

“Pretty impressive,” Frank said.

Pete answered some more questions and demonstrated some of the electronic devices that were arrayed on the table. Finally the session came to an end, and the Hardys stood up to leave.

“Your uncle is a real whiz,” Frank said to Brian.

“He sure is,” Brian said. “Ever since I was a kid, I remember him building things. He has a robot that can travel around his apartment. It can even bring in the newspaper.”

Joe led the way out of the room and into the hallway. He noticed that the afternoon crowd was getting larger and there were more and more people around in costume.

He turned to the others. “Anybody for lunch?” he asked.

“The motel coffee shop is right down this way,” Brian said. “Follow me.”

The coffee shop was large and about two-thirds filled with fans. Joe got a hamburger, and Frank and Brian bought subs. When they finished eating, they headed back toward the lobby.

“Speaking of lunch,” Frank said, “weren't we supposed to be meeting Chet sometime soon?”

“Yeah,” Joe said, looking around. “Maybe he decided to get into his costume for the masquerade contest later. I wonder if he—”

Joe stopped in midsentence, his gaze caught by
something in the hallway. Frank turned to see what his brother was looking at, but he saw only a fan in costume walking down the hallway toward them. The fan was dressed as a magician or sorcerer, with a pointed hat perched on his head and long, flowing black robes. His face was covered with a small mask and a long white beard.

Frank gasped when he saw there was a green medallion around his neck with a moon and star on it.

“That's him!” Joe shouted. “That's the guy who tricked me into using that broken elevator last night.”

Joe shot forward, running toward the costumed fan. The magician stopped short, reached inside his robes, and pulled out a small object, which he threw directly at Joe's feet.

“What's going on?” Frank shouted.

With a loud poof a cloud of red and blue smoke filled the air, obscuring the Hardys' view of the costumed fan. Joe tried to run right through the smoke.

“Don't!” Frank cried. “That stuff might be poisonous.” But his warning came too late. Joe was already in the middle of the smoke.

Suddenly the younger Hardy began to choke. He clutched a hand over his mouth and doubled over. With a strangling noise, Joe collapsed to the floor.

Joe felt as if his lungs were going to burn right out of his chest. The brightly colored smoke had worked its way into his nose and mouth. He coughed desperately to push it back out, at the same time waving the smoke away from his face with his hand. Tears formed in his eyes, leaving him temporarily blinded.

He could hear the sound of the costumed fan running down the hallway toward the lobby, but there was nothing he could do to stop him.

Frank rushed to his brother's side and pulled him to his feet, out of the smoke.

“I got a—a real lungful of that stuff!” Joe exclaimed between coughs.

“Don't try to talk,” his brother advised. “Cough it
out. That must have been some kind of smoke bomb.”

“Catch that guy in the magician's outfit,” Joe sputtered, “before he gets away.”

Frank looked through the thinning clouds, but there was no sign of the person who had thrown the smoke bomb.

“I'm going to try to find him,” Frank said. “Hang on. I'll be right back.”

Waving the smoke away from his own face, Frank ran down the hallway in pursuit of Joe's attacker. When he reached the lobby, he saw that one of the elevator doors was just closing. He rushed over and banged on the button, trying to make the elevator door reopen, but it was no use. He watched the flashing lights above the elevator go all the way to the fourth floor, then stop. For a moment he considered running up the stairs in pursuit of the man with the medallion, but he knew that by the time he had climbed four flights of stairs, the magician would have disappeared. Feeling disgruntled, Frank headed back to the hallway, where Joe was waiting.

Brian was helping Joe stand up. “Are you okay, Joe?” he asked. “It looked like he got you pretty good with that stuff.”