Frank Einstein and the BrainTurbo Read online

  Mr. Chimp nods.

  T. Edison shakes the dirty gum at Mr. Chimp. “Stop saying that! If you know so much, why don’t you explain how we catch the vandals who wrecked my invention?”

  Mr. Chimp spits out the empty shell with another satisfying p-tuuu. He holds up a worn brown baseball glove he found under the bench. He turns the glove around to show T. Edison the name written on the back in big black letters:

  FRANK EINSTEIN TIGHTENS THE LAST BOLT ON KLANK’S TWO ORIGINAL arms. Klink oils Klank’s two original legs.

  Klank sighs. “I liked my new arms and legs.”

  “OK,” says Frank, “so the new and improved skeletal system didn’t work out. But how about this?”

  Frank pulls out a big canvas poster, unrolls it, and pins it on the Wall of Science.

  “The muscular system. Humans have over six hundred and fifty muscles. Some automatic—like our heart and breathing muscles. Others controlled by thoughts, for movement.”

  Klink hums and offers his latest research. “The strongest human muscle is the masseter. It moves the jaw. And the biggest human muscle is the gluteus maximus. It keeps the human body upright. Also powers running and jumping. This is your butt muscle.”

  “Ha-ha-ha!” beeps Klank.

  “Now what is so funny?” asks Klink.

  “You said butt muscle! Ha-ha-ha!”

  Klink checks his research. “Yes, that is correct. The gluteus maximus is also called the butt. And it is a muscle.”

  Klank falls on the couch laughing. “Ha-ha-ha!”

  “Ooooooooo,” hums Klink.

  Frank ignores Klink and Klank. Thinking out loud, he says, “Muscles are attached to bones by tendons. A lot of muscles work in pairs. Like in Janegoodall’s arm. To bend the arm, the bicep tightens and the tricep relaxes. To straighten the arm, the tricep tightens and the bicep relaxes.”

  “So bigger and stronger muscles could also pitch the ball faster,” figures Watson.

  Janegoodall studies the muscular system chart. “Again, brilliant . . . except for the fact that we have exactly one day before the tryouts. And I don’t have time to lift weights to make my muscles bigger.”

  “I’ve got it!” says Watson. “We switch your small bicep . . . with your large gluteus maximus . . . for a Super-Power Butt-Muscle Arm!”

  “Ha-ha-ha!” Klank giggles again.

  Janegoodall whacks both Watson and Klank with her Midville Mud Hens hat. “Very funny. But we need a real idea for more power. Like—right now!”

  “OK,” says Frank Einstein. “Back to the drawing board.”

  THE PANZER TANK ROLLS OVER A SMALL ARMY OF NEON-GREEN jittering bugs and pushes the purple monster truck into the corner of the lab.

  “I’ve got you now!” hoots Watson. “Demolition Derby!”

  “You wish,” says Klank. He turns his monster truck wheels, hits full power, and escapes by rolling his big tires right over the top of Watson’s tank.

  Frank scratches his head with one hand and checks the math on his blueprint with the other.

  Watson jams his tank into fast reverse. He tries to slam Klank’s truck but misses and smashes a rainbow-hearted pony.

  “Raaahhhhhr!” roars a one-legged T. Rex.

  “Wee tah kah loo-loo,” moans a one-eyed purple Furby, wriggling on its back.

  Klank spins his monster truck around to face Watson’s tank.

  Watson turns the Panzer turret to aim its cannon right at Klank’s truck.

  “Come on, you guys,” says Frank. “We need your help.”

  Watson and Klank count down together: “Three . . . two . . . one!” and forward-charge each other. The monster truck plows over the T. Rex. The tank plows through the Furby. And all four—truck, T. Rex, tank, and Furby—crash in one giant pileup and land in a motionless heap.

  “Yeah!” cheers Watson.

  “Who wins?” asks Klank.

  From somewhere under the toy wreck pile, the Furby says, “Doo doo yoo yoo,” and with a bzzzzzzt, shorts out.

  Frank Einstein digs through a pile of medical charts and models and posters.

  He chews the eraser end of his pencil. He scratches his head. He thinks. He unrolls a poster. “OK—here’s another system we could boost for more power.”

  “The circulatory system. The heart and all the blood vessels that deliver energy and oxygen to the muscles and organs,” reports Klink, after instantly reading a whole stack of medical encyclopedias in exactly three seconds. “Blood is pumped away from the heart in arteries. Blood is returned to the heart in veins.”

  With his chewed pencil, Frank traces the path of blood in a heart-lung diagram.

  “The heart pumps blood to the lungs. That blood picks up oxygen and goes back to the heart, then out to the rest of the body.”

  Janegoodall drops her hat on the lab table. She looks at the heart diagram and gives a whistle. “Woowwww. The heart is a crazy, complicated thing!”

  “The human heart is about the size of two hands held together. It beats one hundred thousand times a day. It pumps one and a half gallons of blood every minute. The heartbeat is the sound of valves opening and closing,” adds Klink.

  “And check out these great crazy names,” says Watson.

  Frank traces more on a 3D heart model:

  “Blood flows through the superior vena cava into the right atrium. It’s pumped to the right ventricle and flows out to the lungs through the pulmonary artery. It flows back from the lungs through the pulmonary vein into the left atrium. It’s then pumped to the left ventricle and out to the body through the aorta. Simple.”

  Watson fiddles with his growing candy-ball invention. “I don’t think I’d call that simple. And how the heck do we boost this? Or the blood system?”

  “Like this,” says Frank. “The blood carries oxygen to the muscles for more power. If we can figure out a way for the blood to carry more oxygen. . . we can produce more power.”

  “Without giving me any extra arms or messing with my gluteus maximus,” adds Janegoodall.

  “Exactly,” says Frank.

  Watson shakes his head and reaches in his pocket for a sunflower seed to add to his invention. “Oh no!” says Watson.

  “Oh yes,” answers Frank. “See, the red blood cells absorb oxygen—”

  Watson looks suddenly a bit panicked. “I mean—oh no, I forgot my sunflower seeds back at the baseball diamond.”

  “This is not the time to worry about sunflower seeds, Watson.”

  “Uhhhhh, but I think I forgot my sunflower seeds and my baseball glove . . . with my name written on it.”

  “Why does that matter?” asks Frank.

  The answer to that question comes as a sudden pounding on Frank Einstein’s laboratory door.

  BAM! BAM! BAM!

  The whole door of Frank Einstein’s laboratory shakes.

  Bam! Bam! Bam!

  It sounds like someone with the strength of three men is pounding on the door.

  Bam! Bam! Bam!

  Frank checks his spy cam.

  Bam! Bam! Bam!

  It is someone with the strength of three men.

  “Mr. Chimp!”

  “Open up,” calls a squirrelly voice.

  Frank recognizes the voice. “And T. Edison, too! What could they want?”

  “Nothing good, I’m sure,” whispers Watson. He ducks behind the workbench. “Let’s pretend we’re not here.”

  “And don’t pretend you’re not there!” yells T. Edison. “I know you’re in there. Mr. Chimp can smell you.”

  Frank opens his laboratory door.

  T. Edison, looking even goofier than usual because he is wearing orange high-top tennis shoes, steps into Frank Einstein’s laboratory with his hands behind his back.

  Mr. Chimp, his assistant and chief financial officer, slides in behind him. He stands with his back to the wall.

  “Well, hello, Yogi and Boo Boo,” says T. Edison. “So nice to see you . . . again.”

  “So unfortunate to se
e you and your ape . . . again,” says Frank.

  Edison looks around the lab, eyeballing the Wall of Science, the diagrams and models and posters on the lab table, and the pile of electronic parts and toys on the floor.

  “And hello, Janegoodall. What are you doing hanging out with these losers?”

  Janegoodall doesn’t answer. She just gives Edison a small nod, because she is much more fascinated by the real, live version of her favorite subject—primates—standing by the door.

  Watson can’t stand it. “What are you doing here, Edison? You are always bad news.”

  “Me? Bad news?” says Edison in fake surprise. “Good heavens, no. I’m just a fellow scientist.”

  “Who took the Antimatter Motor,” says Klink.

  “Who tried to destroy the Electro-Finger,” adds Klank.

  “Oh, look!” says T. Edison to Mr. Chimp. “It’s Frank Einstein’s talking vacuum cleaner and walking trash can friends—Plink and Plunk.”

  “That is wrong,” says Klank. “My name is Klank. And Klink’s name is . . . Klink.”

  Frank flips over his invention sketches on the table. “What do you want, Edison?”

  “Oh, I don’t want anything. I came to give you something.”

  Mr. Chimp rocks from one foot to the other and gives a little cough.

  “Yeah right,” says Watson.

  T. Edison smiles. Or at least he tries to. It comes out looking more like a show of teeth.

  From behind his back, Edison pulls out a baseball glove and flips it around to show the name written on it. “Watson, I presume?”

  “Hey! There is your baseball glove!” booms Klank.

  “Thanks, Klank. I can see that,” says a red-faced Watson.

  “But why do you have it?” asks Frank.

  T. Edison tosses the glove to Watson. “Oh, Mr. Chimp and I just happened to find it in Midville Menlo Park . . . after this came through my very expensive new laboratory roof and crashed into my most amazing invention!”

  T. Edison holds out his other hand.

  Mr. Chimp nods and hooo-hoots.

  “Hey!” booms Klank again.

  Watson tries to cover up Klank’s mouth speaker but can’t quite reach him in time.

  “And that is our baseball!”

  Mr. Chimp claps his leathery hands and signs:

  Edison walks around the lab like he owns it now. He plops the baseball on Frank’s workbench.

  “Yes, this is your baseball. It broke my glass roof. It ruined my invention. So now you must pay for everything.”

  “But we don’t have any money,” Watson protests.

  T. Edison runs a finger over the human-heart model. “Oh, that is so sad. I guess you will have to work for me, then.” Edison picks up a brain model. “Or give me one of your inventions as payment.”

  Frank takes the brain model away from T. Edison. “Not likely.”

  Frank and T. Edison stand nose to nose, eye to eye.

  The lab is dead quiet.

  Then Mr. Chimp knocks over a metal trash can with a sudden clang-crash! He grabs a broomstick and drags it behind him, hops around the lab, sweeps tools and books off tables, knocks down shelves, hoot-screams as he flips over cans and boxes and anything in his path.

  Frank and Watson jump back in shock. Klink and Klank get out of Mr. Chimp’s way. No one knows quite what to do.

  Except Janegoodall. She stays exactly where she is and doesn’t move a muscle.

  Mr. Chimp hops and hoots and slaps the table right next to Janegoodall.

  She still doesn’t move.

  Mr. Chimp pauses. He turns his head to look at Janegoodall, then charges—slapping and screaming—right out the door.

  T. Edison tilts his head, follows, stops, and turns.

  “Like Mr. Chimp says: Pay up . . . or else.”

  T. Edison leaves and slams the lab door shut behind him.

  Watson peeks out from behind the workbench. “Geez! That is one crazy monkey!”

  “Ape,” Janegoodall corrects Watson. “And not really crazy. That was a very deliberate territory and dominance display.”

  “A wha—?” says Watson.

  “A demonstration to tell us that he is in charge of Midville, and that he is in charge of us,” says Frank.

  JANEGOODALL STRAIGHTENS THE STUFF ON THE WORKBENCH, THEN slings her gear bag over her shoulder. “OK, geniuses. I’m outta here. I’ve got to keep practicing. You let me know if you come up with anything.”

  Frank carefully places the brain model back on the shelf. “We will. We always do.”

  “See you laters, alligators,” calls Janegoodall on her way out the door.

  Watson sets the trash can back upright.

  Klank picks up the baseball. “Very good. We have our baseball. Watson has his glove.”

  “No,” says Watson. “This is not so very good. We don’t have enough money to pay off Edison. And we don’t—”

  Brrrrrrrnnnnngggg ahhhhchooo! The oversize model of the human nose suddenly ring-sneezes.

  “Yahhhhhh!” yells Watson, jumping to his feet.

  Brrrrrrrnnnnngggg ahhhhchooo! The nose ring-sneezes again.

  “Why is that nose ringing?” asks Watson.

  “Grampa Al rewired the phone again,” explains Frank. He picks up an equally oversize model of the human ear and answers into it, “Hello, Einstein Laboratories.”

  “Hello, sweetie,” says the nose.

  “Oh, hi, Mom.”

  “How are you and Grampa Al doing? Are you staying out of trouble?”

  Frank looks around the trashed lab.

  “Um . . . yeah! Mostly. Just getting ready for the Midville Mud Hens tryouts tomorrow. And Watson is over. We’re working on some . . . uh . . . human-body inventions.”

  “We are throwing a baseball very fast,” adds Klank.

  “Attempting to throw,” corrects Klink.

  “Oh, hello, Klink and Klank. What’s new with my favorite robots?”

  “In the two minutes since you called, I have scanned eight hundred and seventy-two new books. I have also added seven hundred ten thousand one hundred and forty-four new connections in my electronic brain,” answers Klink.

  “Oh my!” says Mom Einstein.

  “I am reading Go, Dog. Go! by P. O. Eastman,” says Klank. “The green dog is up. And the yellow dog is down. And T. Edison came to visit with his assistant, Mr. Chimp, and they—”

  “Are all doing just great!” says Frank, cutting off Klank. “How are you and Dad?”

  “We have found the most wonderful spots to tour,” says Mom Einstein through the NosePhone. “The Franklin Institute here is fascinating. Did you know that Benjamin Franklin invented bifocals and swim fins?”

  “Oh, he’s another one of my favorite inventors,” says Watson. “Maybe my candy invention should be called the Franklin.”

  “Frank, your father wants to tell you something.”

  “Helloooooooo from the Keystone State!” booms the NosePhone.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “The City of Brotherly Love!”

  “Philadelphia, right?” says Frank.

  “Home of Independence Hall, the Liberty Bell, the cheesesteak, and cream cheese, I believe. Can you guess where we are?”

  “Benjamin Franklin invented the cheesesteak?” asks Klank.

  Klink instantly checks his memory banks. “No.”

  “Hello, Klank,” says Dad Einstein. “That reminds me of a great Philadelphia joke. Did you hear the one about the Liberty Bell?”

  “No,” beeps Klank.

  “It will crack you up!”

  “Ha-ha-ha!”

  “What is the joke?” asks Klink.

  “That is the joke.”

  “What is?”

  “That is!”

  “Rrrrrrrrrrrrrr bzzzzt bzzzzzt bzzzzt.” Klink shorts out.

  “There are all kinds of great science museums here,” says Dad through the NosePhone. “But right now we are in the craziest place I have ever seen�
�the Mütter Museum. It’s a whole collection of models of the human body, real bones, and real preserved body parts.”

  “Whoa!” says Frank. “That sounds amazing.”

  “A collection of one hundred and eighty-nine skulls,” Dad Einstein continues, “and one doctor’s collection of two thousand three hundred and seventy-four weird things that people swallowed or inhaled!”

  “Gross!” says Watson.

  “Fantastic!” says Frank.

  “And the most amazing thing of all—the museum has pieces of Albert Einstein’s brain!”

  “What? Are you kidding?”

  “I am not kidding. Ohhh, but we have to run. One more spot to check out for travelallovertheplace.com—the Pizza Museum!”

  Mom Einstein chimes in. “Bye, sweetie. We’ll be home on Tuesday. Don’t forget to brush your teeth.”

  Frank hangs up the ear.

  “A pizza museum!” marvels Watson. “Now that’s genius.”

  “Liberty Bell joke,” beeps Klank. “It will crack you up.”

  “Rrrrrrrrrrr.” Klink spins, still trying to compute what was funny.

  “Einstein’s brain?” wonders Frank. “Einstein . . . brain . . . ?”

  T.EDISON AND MR. CHIMP SIT ON THE PLUSH RUG IN THE WARM, sunlit glass tower of the new T. Edison Laboratories. They are surrounded by talking dolls, talking tigers, talking parrots, talking reindeer, alligators, sheep, bears, cowboys, spacemen, princesses, chickens, pickles, mermaids, pigs, frogs, cars, elephants, hamsters, babies, aliens, gorillas, and a talking toilet.

  Mr. Chimp smacks his lips, enjoying his favorite break-room snack—the T. Edison PowerMix of figs, nuts, and termites.

  T. Edison loudly slurps the last of his apple juice box and picks up a blue-eyed, blonde-pigtailed doll. He gives her a squeeze.

  “Twinkle, twinkle, little star,” sings the smiling doll, “how I wonder what you are.”

  “Hmm,” grunts Mr. Chimp.

  T. Edison twists off her head and pulls out the voice mechanism.

  “This is what I’m talking about, Mr. Chimp. Inventions are the thing—we stay on schedule, one small invention every ten days, one big invention every six months.”