THE INCREDIBLE HARE

Professor Benjamin P. Burnside opened his mouth, took a deep breath – and hollered:

"HOPPER!"

He waited for a response. Hearing none, he yelled again, only louder.

"HAROLD HOPPER, where are you?!"

The professor fumed, his bald head flushing with frustration; his teen-aged lab assistant's delays in answering his calls had been growing ever longer as of late.

Burnside drummed his pudgy fingers on his desk. He thought about giving Harold a cell phone so he could summon his assistant without raising his voice, but quickly dismissed the idea. Why exert oneself pressing all those phone buttons (or spending all that money) when a forceful, authoritative bellow was much more effective? "HOP –"

Harold burst into the office, his oversized lab coat (a hand-me-down from Burnside) flapping behind him. He seemed worried-looking and winded as if he had just run from one end of the building to the other – which he had, not to mention up two flights of stairs from the sub-basement. His unkempt, every-which-way hair was more unkempt than usual and his glasses seemed at more than their usual risk of slipping off his nose.

Harold's sudden arrival took Burnside by surprise. He choked on the last syllable of 'Hopper' and started coughing. The next moment he was waving his arms like an orchestra conductor trying to finish a long symphony in a hurry. Harold took a puzzled step towards his boss. Burnside stopped conducting his phantom orchestra and raised a hand to halt his assistant's approach.

Harold practically screeched to a stop. Burnside gestured at the cabinet behind the teenager. Harold pivoted around; nothing there except the usual assortment of books, scientific journals, Burnside's beloved solar system model – and next to it, his coffee maker. Harold turned back to ask the professor if he wanted some coffee, but Burnside was already nodding 'yes' so vigorously that his face was a pink blur – actually, a deepening red one.

Harold lunged towards the machine and quickly poured a cup of yesterday's coffee – too quickly to notice his coat snag onto the model. He rushed towards the professor with the cup, the solar system dragging behind him. Burnside could see what was about to happen and tried to warn his assistant: "HopFERKHH – HoRKCHH! Watch OuCHCTT!" Burnside's sudden urgency had the opposite effect: the professor was choking to death – he barely had seconds to save him!

Harold all but leapt towards Burnside. His coat yanked the solar system halfway off the shelf before the seam gave way. The model teetered back and forth for a moment, then seemed to stabilize. Burnside breathed a cough of relief; maybe it wouldn't –

The solar system fell to the floor with a noisy crash, the impact sending the planets flying in every direction. Harold turned to see what the noise was – just as several of them rolled under his feet.

Harold stumbled over Saturn and trying to regain his balance, gave Uranus a swift kick. He tottered towards Burnside, cup in outstretched hand, determined not to spill its contents. Unfortunately, the professor had chosen precisely the same moment to reach for the cup.

A basic scientific principle states 'two objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time,' a principle that is even truer for three objects: in this case, Burnside and Harold's outstretched hands – and that cup of coffee…

Luckily for Burnside, being drenched by cold, day-old coffee was enough to snap him out of his coughing streak. Harold stared at his soaked mentor. A small drop of coffee at the tip of Burnside's nose grew larger and heavier. Finally, it broke loose and landed in the puddle atop his desk with an audible plip.

"Hopper," Burnside said tonelessly.

Harold gulped. "Y-yes sir?" The words came out all quavery. He hated it when he sounded like that, but he couldn't seem to help it – especially around Burnside.

"I was about to ask you to make some coffee… but for some reason I'm not thirsty anymore."

Harold tried to put the best face on things, which was difficult since his was wide-eyed and Burnside's was still quite damp. "Then I guess…it's a good thing I forgot to make a fresh pot this morning."

Chapter Two
The Burnside Brainstorm

Professor Burnside mopped his face with a cotton towel from his private bathroom. (Paper towels would irritate his sensitive skin, he often explained, which was why Harold had to do the lab's laundry twice a week – with extra fabric softener, please.) He glanced at the shopping bag full of planets against the wall; he had enjoyed imagining himself Emperor of the Solar System, his backside nice and warm as he sat atop the sun… Later he would instruct Harold to reassemble the model; at the moment there was something else on his mind.

"Hopper, what did you do with the prototype? I can't find it anywhere, and I distinctly remember giving it to you for safekeeping."

"I… I'm keeping it in the safe."

Burnside was about to continue when he realized his question had just been answered, but decided not to let his assistant off so easily. "Next time kindly inform me about this sort of thing."

"But I told you –" Harold began.

"– in writing, of course."

Harold stifled a sigh; the professor was running true to form this week, doling out twenty or so complaints to every compliment. I guess I can't blame him, Harold thought. He's really worried about–

" – the press conference, Hopper. The press conference is tomorrow morning, and the prototype has to be functioning perfectly. Do you want me to look like a fool in front of all those reporters?"

"No! No, of course not Professor!" he protested, even as he heard a voice way back in his brain say Why not? You do it every day in front of me. Harold grimaced at the uninvited thought. If it weren't for Burnside's recommendation, the local university would never let a high school freshman – even a brilliant one like Harold – take advanced-level science courses one after another. Working as Burnside's unpaid lab assistant before and after school was the least he could do – or so the professor would remind him on a regular basis. There was no way he could afford to alienate his benefactor – and yet here he was, waiting for Burnside to leave the laboratory and he would be free to –

Burnside noticed his assistant's pained expression. "You did remember to charge its batteries, didn't you?"

"Yes sir. I was about to put them back in when you called."

"Then why are you just sitting there? Don't you understand, Hopper? I've timed everything perfectly. Tonight everyone will see me recreate Galileo's famous experiment on live TV – it's amazing how many people don't even care that gravity affects all falling objects equally. Then tomorrow, once I'm a celebrity, I'll unveil the Burnside Brainstorm to the world!"

Harold braced himself for Burnside's 'Brainstorm' speech.

"Think of it, Hopper: an object that rests gently against your ear, light as a feather and translates what anyone says into English, no matter what their native tongue. Believe me Hopper, the Brainstorm will revolutionize everything it touches: business, politics, education…"

"I know all about the Brainstorm, Professor, I helped you build it."

In reality, the device was more Harold's doing than Burnside's. Over the last few months, and with the professor looking over his shoulder the entire time, Harold had written an elaborate computer program and designed the tiny circuits necessary to make the Brainstorm a reality.

As usual, Burnside did not hear him. "I wanted to demonstrate the Brainstorm on the show, but you know how those TV people are," he explained in a worldly sort of way.

"I do?" asked Harold; he had never met a TV person in his life.

"They said, 'go for the visual, Professor, the picture is everything.' I have to admit they have a point. Once you've captured the public's attention it's a lot easier to explain a breakthrough concept like the Brainstorm to their quotidian minds." Harold had never heard the word 'kwoh-tiddyan' in his life, but suspected Burnside had not meant it as a compliment.

"That's when they offered to do the show live out at Gorgeous Gorge. They said that simultaneously releasing a golf ball and a 10-pound weight into the gorge would be far more dramatic than just dropping them at my feet – now that's going for the visual, Hopper! They also pointed out that way I wouldn't have to worry about them landing on my feet."

Harold's ankles went all rubbery at the mention of Gorgeous Gorge. He remembered the time he looked down into the Grand Canyon. (Actually, it had only been a picture of the Grand Canyon, but it was still pretty scary.) Harold and high places didn't get along very well.

Burnside rose to his feet. "At the conclusion of my experiment, I'll announce my press conference. I trust you'll have everything ready by then, Hopper." He gave his assistant a piercing look. "Eight a.m. – sharp."

Harold gulped and stood up as well. "Y-yes sir. I'll, I'll put the battery in right now." He tried and failed to make eye contact with Burnside. He'll figure out what I'm up to, he thought, then heard himself say "in fact, I'd like to test the Brainstorm one more time to make sure it's working properly." 'One more time' – why did I say that? Now he'll know I'm up to someth–

"Excellent, Hopper – that's the kind of initiative I like to see. A self-starter will always find a place for himself in the world." Burnside suddenly felt quite benevolent towards Harold. "Perhaps you'd like to accompany me to the Gorge."

Way up to the Gorge? The Gorge? Leave the lab now, after all his planning? Harold felt a full-fledged anxiety attack coming on. He had never refused one of the professor's requests, but tonight might be his last chance to use the Brainstorm. What if some big corporation showed up tomorrow and bought the device on the spot? Tomorrow night it might be hundreds of miles away.

Burnside noticed Harold's anxious expression and immediately regretted his invitation. An image of the solar system flying apart courtesy of his clumsy assistant popped into his mind, and Burnside was one of the planets hurtling off into deep space. "On the other hand, I'm sure you're in a rush to get home and look after your sister."

Harold relaxed. Cindy might be five years his junior but if there was one thing she didn't need, it was looking after. He made a mental note to call and let her know he'd be late tonight. "Yes sir, that's right – I'll watch the show at home with Cindy. Good luck, Professor – see you in the morning."

"Luck?" Burnside scowled. "We're not talking about luck, Hopper – we're talking about science! Now where are those directions to the Gorge?"

Harold watched Burnside shuffle through the still-damp papers atop his desk. "I think you're holding them, sir."

Burnside glanced at the sheaf of documents in his hand; Harold's step-by-step directions were right on top. "Very good, yes, excellent," Burnside muttered, folding up the paper and putting it inside his suit jacket. He stood up and headed for the door, then turned back to Harold.

"There's just one thing I can't figure out, Hopper. Isn't America's Most Dangerous Amateur Stunts an unusual name for a science show?"

Chapter Three
You Go, Girl

The giant robo-droids had Power Babe cornered. Their massive legs blocked the alley's entrance, leaving her no escape. In a few seconds their immobilizing kineto-rays would paralyze her, leaving her easy prey for their master, The Bombast.

Power Babe (or 'Pow,' as the oppressed city-dwellers called their heroine) checked her wrist blasters. They barely had enough energy left to display 'NEGATIVE' on their status screens. The droids closed in for the kill, their kineto-ray eyes beginning to glow and crackle with deadly force. This is it, not a chance in the world, she thought – until she noticed the microwave tower directly behind the droids. Its fearsome array of armed satellite dishes sent a constant flow of surveillance data to the Bombast's nearby citadel.

Pow allowed herself a slight smile; a one in a million shot – what more could I ask for?
The kineto-rays flashed out, striking the ground where Pow had stood a nanosecond earlier; now she was somersaulting towards the robo-droids, a whirling target impossible to get a bead on. She landed beneath the lead droid, where the rest of the pack couldn't fire without destroying their compatriot. Pow flung an arm against the robo-droid's giant mechanical ankle. Her blaster slammed into an exposed power coupling with a metallic clang. The weapon's display instantly changed to 'MAX CHARGE L/R.' Pow pointed her other arm at the tower. "Power ON!" she cried, firing the blaster. A green energy bolt whooshed upwards, faster and faster. Nice of the Bombast to help me to destroy his spy system, Pow thought. The bolt neared its target and Pow braced herself for the apocalyptic explosion about to occur – one she suddenly realized could vaporize her as well…

KZAKKK-BRAMMM! KZAKKK-BRAMMM! KZAKKK-BRAMMM!

Blastron, The Mighty Robot of Destruction – or at least the ringing telephone version of him – brought Cindy Hopper's latest action-adventure masterpiece to a sudden end. Reluctantly, she abandoned her heroic bedtop pose. (The ceiling light – now decorated with green silly string – made an excellent microwave dish.) She unstrapped the bicycle helmet from her bobbed hair and jumped to the floor. If any robo-droids show up around here they're toast she thought, lifting Blastron's laser cannon off the robot's shoulder and bringing it to her ear. "You're talking to the Babe – power on!"

"Cindy, hi it's me," Harold answered.

"Hi Harold, ready for tonight's big show? I put a casserole in the oven and made room on the DVR. I wonder what kind of surprise they're gonna spring on the Prof. How'd he ever wind up thinking Stunts is a science show?"

"He saw an episode where they put someone in a centrifuge to see how much acceleration he could take. They called it 'astronaut training.' He missed the part where the audience voted on how long it would take him to throw up… or which direction the vomit would go. Listen, Cindy –"

"Oh yeah, I remember that show," Cindy laughed. "What a mess! Last week they had this guy who thought he was going to bell a cat, like in that old cartoon – only it was a baby rhinoceros named 'Kitten.' I bet – "

"Cindy, that's why I called. I can't – I won't be back in time for the show. I've got to finish a – a project here at the lab."

Cindy frowned. "I swear Harold, sometimes I think the Prof is your personal evil stepmother. What does he have you working on now – version 2.0 of the Brainstorm?"

"No Cindy, you don't understand." He felt himself growing irritated with his sister. He had expected an 'oh sorry, see you later' so he could get to work setting things up. He glanced at his watch; it was less than an hour until the show began. "It's – it's a project of my own. It's –" Now Harold was downright angry with Cindy. He hadn't meant to tell her anything about his experiment – just in case… "It's something I have to do, only I can't with Professor Burnside around. It's no big deal, really."

"Harold, does this have anything to do with Fluff showing up at the lab? Sometimes I think that screwy rabbit of yours –"

Harold cut her off; she was getting too close to the truth. "Cindy, I can't talk now, I have to go. I'll see you later."

Blastron's laser cannon went dead in Cindy's hand. Harold was up to something, something he wouldn't tell her about. This wasn't like her brother at all, she thought.

It was almost two years now since their parents and the alpine research expedition they were part of vanished in a sudden avalanche. There were no close relatives to take them in and they refused to be split up when they discovered none of the town's would-be foster parents had room for two children. Instead, they managed to convince the authorities they could look after themselves. With an occasional visit from a social worker (not to mention the ever-helpful Burnside) they were so far doing fine.

Except that Harold had changed. He had always been quiet and almost unnaturally studious. Sports, friends, movies – none of that seemed to interest him. Encouraged by his brainy mom and dad, he devoured knowledge as if it were candy. (When it came to Cindy, they shrugged their shoulders, hugged their daughter and praised her boundless imagination.)

Then the avalanche swept their parents away and Harold grew more distant. She could see him thinking everything through before saying a word, then saying as little possible. When he adopted Fluff he seemed to open up a little, but now…

Cindy glanced out the window. Puffy-topped cumulonimbus clouds were approaching, red and ominous in the setting sun. A gust of wind banged the screen door against the house. Power Babe froze at the sudden noise. Had one of the Bombast's robo-droids survived the blast? Slowly, cautiously, she peeked over the shattered slab of concrete that had protected her from the explosion...

To be continued...