to California, if we wanted. But the Whiz Wagon ain’t exactly a Chevy.” Flip gazed appreciatively out past the windscreen and patted the padded dash. “Not to put her down, but she does look like a cross between a grand prix racer and somethin’ outta Star Trek. We’re gonna attract attention wherever we go.”
“Oh, most assuredly. There is, however, within close proximity an arboreal sanctuary wherein we can conceal ourselves for the preparation of any further course of action.”
Scrapper pulled his cap low over his eyes and sank back into his seat. “Can anybody put that into plain English?”
“Arboreal?” Flip looked skeptical. “You mean we’re gonna hide out in some trees?”
“Not just some trees . . . those trees!” Tommy pointed across a small clearing. Big Words smiled smugly, as three sets of jaws dropped in amazement. Ahead of them loomed wooden towers, terraces, and avenues.
“Holy cow.” For once Gabby had trouble finding his voice. “It’s . . . it’s . . .”
“It’s dat big tree city what the Project built! I remember now . . . they called it ‘Have-a-trap’ or somethin’.”
“ Habitat, Scrapper! And it wasn’t built, it was grown—right into the shapes of buildings and streets.”
“Correct, Flip. But Habitat wasn’t exactly a product of the Project per se. Strictly speaking, it was more of a by-product or offshoot of allied research into—!”
“Yeah, yeah. We get the picture, Words. The Project don’t keep close tabs on the joint, do they? So we can hide out here for as long as we want, wit’ no one the wiser.”
“Well, within reason, Scrapper. By the time they’ve exhausted their normal search patterns, we shall be—!”
“Nuts!”
“What’s wrong, Tommy?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why’re you slowing down?” asked Flip.
“I’m not. We’re losing power. The Whiz Wagon’s turbines just shut down.”
“Don’t tell me . . . we’re gonna have to get out and push.” Scrapper was already starting to unbuckle his seat belt.
Tommy fiddled with the starter. “Maybe. But we’re still on a bit of an incline. With a little luck we can coast the rest of the way into—uh-oh.”
“ ‘Uh-oh?’ ” Flip gave Tommy a worried look. “What’re you ‘uh-oh’in’ about?”
“Him!”
Straight ahead of them, the Guardian sat astride his motorcycle, arms folded across his chest. Tommy hit the brakes, and their vehicle rolled to a stop barely a foot in front of the man clad in blue and gold.
“Going somewhere?” In a half century of police work Harper had developed the ability to assume a very businesslike monotone.
“Oh, man, he’s Jack Webbin’ us,” whispered Flip. “We’re in trouble now.”
“Guardian, we . . . uh . . . we were just catchin’ a little air. Ain’t we, guys? Guys?”
“Yeah, Gabby’s right,” insisted Scrapper. “We’re growin’ boys, after all. The docs said we needed more fresh air.”
“I see.” The Guardian drummed his fingers against the side of the long silver vehicle. “And these . . . doctors . . . advised a nice long drive in the country?”
“Yeah. Sure!”
“In a stolen car?”
“Yeah, we . . . no!”
“We din’t steal no car! Tell ’em, Words.”
“Yes, well . . . ahem . . . there may have been a slight lapse in acquiring the proper requisitions, sir, but I assure you, it was never our intent to abscond with the Whiz Wagon. We have the greatest respect for all Project equipment.”
“Yeah, we didn’t mean to break it!”
Scrapper clamped a hand over Gabby’s mouth. “Will you pipe down?”
Tommy slumped glumly behind the wheel as Big Words nervously cleared his throat. “I’m sure you realize, sir, that some of our progenitors worked on the design of this vehicle, so naturally we would have a proprietary interest in it.”
The Guardian towered over them. “But you don’t own it, do you?”
“Well, technically . . . we . . . ah . . . no.”
“And did any of
“Oh, most assuredly. There is, however, within close proximity an arboreal sanctuary wherein we can conceal ourselves for the preparation of any further course of action.”
Scrapper pulled his cap low over his eyes and sank back into his seat. “Can anybody put that into plain English?”
“Arboreal?” Flip looked skeptical. “You mean we’re gonna hide out in some trees?”
“Not just some trees . . . those trees!” Tommy pointed across a small clearing. Big Words smiled smugly, as three sets of jaws dropped in amazement. Ahead of them loomed wooden towers, terraces, and avenues.
“Holy cow.” For once Gabby had trouble finding his voice. “It’s . . . it’s . . .”
“It’s dat big tree city what the Project built! I remember now . . . they called it ‘Have-a-trap’ or somethin’.”
“ Habitat, Scrapper! And it wasn’t built, it was grown—right into the shapes of buildings and streets.”
“Correct, Flip. But Habitat wasn’t exactly a product of the Project per se. Strictly speaking, it was more of a by-product or offshoot of allied research into—!”
“Yeah, yeah. We get the picture, Words. The Project don’t keep close tabs on the joint, do they? So we can hide out here for as long as we want, wit’ no one the wiser.”
“Well, within reason, Scrapper. By the time they’ve exhausted their normal search patterns, we shall be—!”
“Nuts!”
“What’s wrong, Tommy?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why’re you slowing down?” asked Flip.
“I’m not. We’re losing power. The Whiz Wagon’s turbines just shut down.”
“Don’t tell me . . . we’re gonna have to get out and push.” Scrapper was already starting to unbuckle his seat belt.
Tommy fiddled with the starter. “Maybe. But we’re still on a bit of an incline. With a little luck we can coast the rest of the way into—uh-oh.”
“ ‘Uh-oh?’ ” Flip gave Tommy a worried look. “What’re you ‘uh-oh’in’ about?”
“Him!”
Straight ahead of them, the Guardian sat astride his motorcycle, arms folded across his chest. Tommy hit the brakes, and their vehicle rolled to a stop barely a foot in front of the man clad in blue and gold.
“Going somewhere?” In a half century of police work Harper had developed the ability to assume a very businesslike monotone.
“Oh, man, he’s Jack Webbin’ us,” whispered Flip. “We’re in trouble now.”
“Guardian, we . . . uh . . . we were just catchin’ a little air. Ain’t we, guys? Guys?”
“Yeah, Gabby’s right,” insisted Scrapper. “We’re growin’ boys, after all. The docs said we needed more fresh air.”
“I see.” The Guardian drummed his fingers against the side of the long silver vehicle. “And these . . . doctors . . . advised a nice long drive in the country?”
“Yeah. Sure!”
“In a stolen car?”
“Yeah, we . . . no!”
“We din’t steal no car! Tell ’em, Words.”
“Yes, well . . . ahem . . . there may have been a slight lapse in acquiring the proper requisitions, sir, but I assure you, it was never our intent to abscond with the Whiz Wagon. We have the greatest respect for all Project equipment.”
“Yeah, we didn’t mean to break it!”
Scrapper clamped a hand over Gabby’s mouth. “Will you pipe down?”
Tommy slumped glumly behind the wheel as Big Words nervously cleared his throat. “I’m sure you realize, sir, that some of our progenitors worked on the design of this vehicle, so naturally we would have a proprietary interest in it.”
The Guardian towered over them. “But you don’t own it, do you?”
“Well, technically . . . we . . . ah . . . no.”
“And did any of
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