Max Einstein Saves the Future Read online

  Ben answered on the third ring. He always answered on the third ring.

  “Um, hello, Max,” he said, without asking who was calling. Max figured he had the most sophisticated caller ID system in the universe. “How’s, you know, London?”

  “Boring.”

  “Seriously? London? The one in England? There’s so much to do and see…”

  “When do we start our next project?”

  “Soon, Max. Be patient. I’m doing some very extensive research. This will be your biggest challenge yet. We don’t want you to jump into it unprepared.”

  “Soon?”

  “Right. Just, you know, hang tight. I’ll get back to you. Soon.”

  Max terminated the call.

  Soon.

  It was one of those words that proved the relativity of time.

  For many children, “soon” seemed like forever when it was Christmas Eve and they couldn’t open their presents until Christmas morning. For others, it seemed like an instant when the dentist came into the waiting room and said she’d see you “soon.”

  Max was definitely in the Christmas Eve category. Soon seemed like forever.

  Resigned to waiting, she began strolling back to the youth hostel near Hyde Park where she and Leo had their flat, which was, basically, a college dormitory room.

  She saw a man pushing a grocery cart filled to the brim with plastic-wrapped sandwiches. Curious, she followed him as he rattled his cart down a cobblestone alleyway that was lit by a single misty streetlamp.

  “Evening, Franky,” the man said to a shadowy lump on the ground. “How’s the family?”

  The rumpled lump stirred. Max realized it was a man in a sleeping bag. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see a clump of sleeping bags. Some quite small.

  “Suppertime!” said the man cheerfully, dipping into his cart and pulling out a stack of shrink-wrapped sandwiches. “Sorry to be so late. Had to wait for the shop to close for the day. Wiltshire cured ham on malted bread for you and the missus. Bacon sandwiches for the kids.”

  “Thank you, Charles,” said the man who’d been sleeping with his family in the alleyway.

  Two little heads popped up from the bedding at the mention of food, and Max could make out their big smiles, despite their humble sleeping space. Kids were resilient, she knew, but seeing their little hands reach eagerly for the sandwiches broke her heart a little.

  She was that kid, once.

  When Max was living on the streets of New York City, finding food had been her primary objective every day. The quest sometimes led Max to eat things not as clean and neatly packaged as the sandwiches Charles was passing out. She guessed they were the ones his shop couldn’t sell before closing.

  Max carefully backed out of the alley. She didn’t want the homeless family seeing her. Especially the kids.

  She remembered the embarrassment and humiliation she sometimes used to feel while scrounging for food. Those emotions were strong. But not as strong as the hunger pangs in her belly.

  4

  When Max finally arrived home at her apartment building, she said hello to some of the other students staying there who were hanging out in the lobby.

  “Thanks for the help on my homework, Maeve,” said a girl named Olivia. “Amazing how much you know about quantum mechanics.”

  Max shrugged. “Just something I picked up.”

  “You’re blooming brilliant, Maeve,” the girl gushed. “A genius.” (Maeve was the name Max had been using in the hostel. “M” aliases were always easier for her to remember.)

  “Thanks,” Max told her. “Anytime.”

  She headed down the corridor to her room.

  When she unlocked the door and stepped inside, she saw her roommate, Leo, crouched on the floor in front of the far wall.

  He had his index finger stuck inside an electrical outlet. Again.

  “Just using this temporary lull in our activity level to recharge my batteries,” Leo explained when he saw Max rolling her eyes.

  Leo was an automaton, or a human-like robot. A walking, talking mannequin with incredible AI (artificial intelligence) who looked like he just escaped from the boys’ department of a clothing store. He had been designed to resemble a twelve-year-old male in order to make him seem less threatening.

  Leo, formerly known as Lenard, was built by the Corp to be a tool in their hunt for Max Einstein. Fortunately, one of Max’s colleagues at the Change Makers Institute, a sausage-loving kid from Poland named Klaus, was a robotics expert. After Max had captured Lenard, Klaus totally reprogrammed the bot’s AI and turned him into the very helpful, very friendly Leo.

  “He’ll be the perfect roommate,” Klaus had assured Max. “You have a question, he’ll have an answer. And if he gets too chatty, you can always give him a swift kick in the butt to reboot him.” Because Klaus was something of a jokester, he’d positioned the robot’s reboot button on what people in London would call his “bum.”

  “The temperature outside is thirteen degrees Celsius or fifty-five degrees Fahrenheit,” said Leo, sounding like a supercharged Alexa or Siri. “It’s mostly cloudy with sixty-seven percent humidity. Fog alerts are in effect for London, England, and the surrounding areas…”

  “Thank you, Leo,” said Max. “But I didn’t ask for a weather report…”

  “I do my best to anticipate your queries. The threat level is minimal. No Corp presence has been detected in our vicinity.” And then, Leo giggled. He giggled a lot. It was a programming bug that even a robotics genius like Klaus couldn’t erase from deep within the boy-bot’s silicon chips.

  “I’m going to go to bed,” said Max. “Today was a rough one.”

  “Would you like to listen to music?” asked Leo. “I notice you are carrying a violin case. Perhaps you are in the mood for Bach’s Concerto in D Minor for two violins? I could engage my synthesizer to provide the second violin…”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Have you made your plans for tomorrow, Max? There are several more locations on your Einstein tour of London, England, list. If you would like to visit Waterloo Station, for instance, where Einstein was spotted during a July heat wave—looking cool in a thin white cotton jacket, a tennis shirt, and loose white trousers—I would suggest taking the N38 bus, departing every five minutes, from Hyde Park Corner to Green Park Underground station where you would board the Jubilee line, also departing every five minutes, and disembark at Waterloo Station. I would not suggest wearing a tennis shirt as this is not a heat wave.”

  “Leo?”

  “Yes?”

  “You ever heard the expression TMI? Too much information?”

  “Yes. One time when Klaus was cataloguing his wide variety of burps for me. He called that exercise ‘TMI.’”

  Max nodded. “Just try to remember what Einstein said: ‘A theory is the more impressive the greater the simplicity of its premises.’”

  “Understood. In the future, I will attempt to adhere to a protocol of simplicity in all things.”

  “Cool. Good night, Leo. See you in the morning.”

  “Sleep well, Max. As I mentioned earlier, the threat level from the Corp is currently at zero point five six nine percent. It is minimal.”

  Of course, what neither Leo nor Max could know was that, at that very hour, in a secret subterranean hideaway in West Virginia, a meeting was taking place.

  Its goal?

  To increase that threat level significantly.

  5

  The Corp’s headquarters was hidden in a cavern, deep within the Appalachian mountains of West Virginia.

  An emergency board meeting had been called.

  “We have it on good authority that something big is coming from the young do-gooders at the Change Makers Institute,” said the chairwoman, who, when she wasn’t attending Corp board meetings, ran one of the world’s largest entertainment conglomerates. In fact, all the members of the Corp board had very important positions at major corporations. Ringed around the ma
ssive oval table were representatives of big banking, big pharma, big oil, big media, big agriculture, and every other big industry in the world. The members of the board were united by one thing and one thing only: greed.

  They wanted to make money. As much as possible. Because money bought access to power. Money wrote laws. Money could buy elections so, therefore, money could mold and shape the world the way the members of the Corp wanted it molded and shaped.

  No politician dared oppose the Corp’s will or might. No media outlet, either.

  The only real threat to the Corp’s dominance was a group of nerdy young geniuses, led by a twelve-year-old girl named Max Einstein, that was financed by a mysterious benefactor known only as “Ben.”

  “The CMI’s do-gooder projects continue to interfere with our money-making plans!” protested a man in a business suit and cowboy boots. He slammed his Stetson hat down on the table to emphasize his disgust. “And I want Lenard back! Them little brats stole our robot. There should be a law against that.”

  “Not if the automaton was being deployed for what some might consider nefarious purposes,” counseled one of the board’s many lawyers. “They could claim self-defense.”

  “I don’t care,” shouted the man with the Texas accent. “I want Lenard back so we can melt him down and make candles out of his waxy head.”

  “Lenard’s retrieval should, indeed, become a top priority,” said a German banker on the board. “After all, we invested heavily in his creation and manufacture. We did not do it so the other side could utilize his incredible artificial intelligence for charity missions.”

  “And, might I remind you all,” said the chairwoman, “we would still like to, how shall I put this, convince Max Einstein to come to work for us. The girl is a genius and could become the shortcut we’ve been seeking to ensure that we will be the first to market with a quantum computer.”

  “Do you still think Dr. Zimm is the one to bring her in?” asked a woman from Australia whose family owned multiple TV networks around the world. “Does he still have the skills and expertise we require?”

  The chairwoman shook her head. “No. We have lost all confidence in Dr. Zimm. He has found Max on several occasions only to fail in capturing her. And it was Dr. Zimm who lost Lenard—not to mention our very profitable bottled water subsidiary in India. In short, it is time for Dr. Zimm to go.”

  “So who will head up the hunt for Max Einstein?”

  “Me,” said a giant of a man who’d just marched into the boardroom. He stood nearly seven feet tall in his chunky military boots, and his head was shaped like an enormous pineapple without any fringe up top. When he moved, he jingled and jangled—signaling that his long black coat was lined with concealed weaponry.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” said the chairwoman, “allow me to introduce Professor Von Hinkle. You will find his résumé on your tablet computers.”

  The other board members tapped the tinted glass screens built into every place at the table. There were audible gasps of shock as the board members scrolled through Professor Von Hinkle’s long list of horrible accomplishments.

  “You did that?” said one. “The poisonous gas leak?”

  Von Hinkle shrugged. “We needed to evacuate the area to make room for a nuclear reactor.”

  “The oil fires that opened up the desert to new drilling,” said another. “That was you, too?”

  Von Hinkle nodded. “But, no one could ever prove it.”

  “And the ash slurry spill?”

  “Let’s just say we gave Mother Nature and the mud a gentle shove in the right direction.”

  “This is all well and good, professor,” said the man from Texas. “Very impressive credentials. But how does creating all this mayhem qualify you to snatch and grab Max Einstein, not to mention our hijacked robot?”

  “Simple,” said Von Hinkle. “I’m ruthless, brutal, and cruel. Some might call me inhuman. I am also very, very efficient. Trust me. I will get this job done. The little girl and the little boy-bot? They don’t stand a chance.”

  6

  The next morning, still bored, Max pulled on her big floppy sweater and went souvenir shopping.

  She came home with an Albert Einstein bobblehead doll (it was on display in a shop, right next to a solar-powered Queen Elizabeth doing a dainty royal wave). She placed her newest piece of Einstein memorabilia inside the battered old suitcase that, when propped open, served as her curio cabinet wherever she roamed.

  The antique piece of luggage (it had to be older than Max) had been with her as long as she could remember. It was filled with photographs, books, and figurines—all celebrating her hero.

  The oldest photograph in her collection, the one that someone other than Max (she had no idea who) had pasted inside the lid so long ago that its edges were brown, showed the great professor lost in thought. He had a bushy mustache and long, wispy hair. His hands were clasped together, almost as if in prayer. His eyes were gazing up toward infinity.

  That photograph was Max’s oldest memory. And since she never knew her parents, she found herself talking to the kindly, grandfatherly man inside her suitcase at bedtime when she lived in orphanages or foster care facilities. Her Dr. Einstein photo was a very good listener. As she grew older, Max became curious as to who the mystery man might be, and that’s how her lifelong infatuation with all things Einstein began.

  Max flicked Leo’s On switch. Sometimes she powered him down at night so he’d be quiet for a few hours.

  “Good morning, Maxine,” said Leo. “You have a new appointment.”

  “What?”

  “While you were out, Benjamin messaged me. I would have told you sooner, but, as you might recall, you shut me off for the night. That, of course, is not necessary. You can simply request that I enter my silent sleep mode as outlined in the PDF manual that Klaus—”

  “What did Ben want?” Max cut the chatty bot off. Sometimes, he never stopped talking!

  “He would like to have lunch with you today at the Blueprint Café, located at 28 Shad Thames, London, England. According to my research, this long-time favorite is famous for its floor-to-ceiling windows offering a stunning view of the Thames River and Tower Bridge.”

  “What time?” she asked.

  “Noon. I think you might enjoy the line-caught cod with a zingy green herb crust. It is stunning. Summer on a plate.”

  Max really needed to talk to Klaus about some software updates for Leo.

  At noon, when Max entered the Blueprint Café, it was easy to spot Ben. He was the only person in the whole restaurant. There weren’t even any servers or cooks, just platters of food under domes filling the three tables surrounding Ben.

  “I bought out the restaurant for today’s lunch,” he told her. “I prefer privacy whenever possible.”

  Max nodded.

  “Isn’t the view spectacular?” Ben asked, gesturing to the wall of windows framing bridges, barges, boats, and London’s skyline.

  “Fabulous,” said Max. She turned back to Ben. “So, what’s our next mission?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to eat something first? I ordered fish and chips, rump steak, fried polenta, cauliflower soup, an apple and blackberry crumble…”

  “I’m not really hungry. Besides, the last time we met, you sort of put me off feasting like this. You were telling me about world hunger, remember?”

  “Yes. I recall that conversation…”

  “You said seven hundred and ninety-five million humans go hungry every day. That’s about one in every nine people. Then you told me thirty-six million of those same people will die from hunger this year.”

  “You sure you don’t want some, uh, crumble from the pudding menu?”

  “No. And why do people in England call desserts pudding even when it’s not pudding?”

  Ben’s eyes twinkled. “Because they always have?”

  Max liked it when Ben’s eyes twinkled. She wasn’t exactly sure why. Sitting with him, she always got butterflies in h
er stomach, which was another reason she wasn’t really hungry for fish and chips or a “pudding” that sounded more like pie.

  “Listen, Max,” Ben said, taking a sip of tea, which seemed to be the only thing he was having for lunch. “I know you’re anxious for your next assignment, but it’s not quite ready for you. There are still a few details that need to be, you know, ironed out.”

  “Then what am I supposed to do?”

  “Be patient. And enjoy London. Just be careful.” Ben snapped open his attaché case and removed a clasped envelope. He opened it and pulled out a glossy photograph that he slid across the table to Max. “We have to worry about this man.”

  Actually, the man looked more like a craggy giant in a long black coat. His pineapple of a head was humongous and propped on top of a thick stump of a neck. He looked like he could be a cousin to the villain Thanos from the Avengers movies.

  “Who is he?” Max asked.

  “Your new nemesis. Professor Viktor Von Hinkle.”

  7

  “What about Dr. Zimm?” Max asked.

  Ben shook his head and tucked the photograph of Professor Von Hinkle back into his briefcase. “Our sources inform us he has been recently replaced by this new, much more ruthless adversary.”

  In a way, Max was sorry to hear it. Yes, Dr. Zimm was dangerous and despicable. But he had also claimed to know where Max came from. It could’ve been a big fat lie but every time she and the evil doctor bumped into each other, he promised to tell her “everything you’ve ever wanted to know.” Max would do almost anything to find out who her parents were. Who she was. But she couldn’t trust Zimm enough to believe him.

  “The Corp is still actively searching for you, Max,” Ben continued. “This Professor Von Hinkle has been tasked with, well, basically kidnapping you. My sources say he is ten times worse than Dr. Zimm. Ruthless, coldhearted, and determined. They say he’s a maniac who operates like a machine. Speaking of machines, the Corp would be pleased if Professor Von Hinkle grabbed the ‘traitorous’ Leo, too. Something about melting him down and turning him into a candle.”