Zeke Bartholomew by Jason Pinter Page A

laid out as neatly as a surgeon’s table. A bookshelf was piled high with manuals, glossaries, instruction books, and how-to videos. Blueprints were tacked to the walls, each design one of our own making.
    There were screws, bolts, wires, tubes, cylinders, beakers, and everything a growing mad scientist could possibly want. It had taken Kyle and me weeks and weeks to gather everything, transporting it step by careful step down that dark hole and through the damp sewers. This GeekDen was everything I couldn’t do out in the open. In here I was allowed to be myself. In here I wasn’t Zeke Bartholomew, First-Class Nerdzilla. Here I was Zeke Bartholomew, Superspy.
    I turned the ComLet over in my hands. It was a fantastic piece of equipment, something that would have been impossible to manufacture given my relatively meager access to these kind of high-tech materials. Still, despite its technological advances, the ComLet was assembled in a pretty primitive fashion. Aside from the lack of waterproofing, the circuitry was all wrong. It was too bulky, too heavy. If I had the resources Sparrow did, I could make the most kicking ComLet ever.
    â€œGive me a minute,” I said. I took the ComLet over to the workbench. I unscrewed the battery chamber and pried open the circuitry board. The batteries were a little waterlogged and would need to be replaced. I didn’t recognize the type of batteries it used—but I could work around that. The wiring was another matter.
    Much of the circuitry board was fried. The wires had grown corrosive. Diodes ruined. I pulled a box off the shelf, rifled through it, and spilled a mess of pieces onto the table. I could feel Sparrow’s eyes watching me intently. I had no intention of letting her down.
    I put on a pair of magnifying glasses to get a better look at the circuit board close up. It didn’t look good.
    The first step was replacing the destroyed wiring. With a pair of tweezers, I gently removed the burned wires, including pieces stuck to the board. I opened up a fresh toothbrush from a box and dipped it in rubbing alcohol. Using my makeshift cleaner, I brushed away any residue and scraped off any bits of metal and wiring that had fastened themselves to the board. Any debris I threw into a small box. Some of it might be able to be repurposed later. Then I took a soldering iron and replaced the damaged wires with fresh ones.
    It was a painstaking, arduous process, not made easier at all by the fact that Sparrow spent the entire time leaning over my shoulder and asking unhelpful questions like, “Are you sure you’re not breaking it?”
    â€œYour ComLet fell from a plane, landed in a lake, and short-circuited. And you’re asking me if I’m breaking it?”
    Finally she got the picture and backed off a bit. I got the sense that Sparrow was not used to anybody other than herself having control over a situation. And it was just as strange for me. The only situation I tend to have control over is how much milk I pour into my cereal in the morning.
    Half an hour after I began, I’d done all I could. The wires were replaced. The board cleaned of all residue. I still had no idea if any of this would work—but there was only one way to find out.
    I handed the newly repaired ComLet back to Sparrow. “Give it a whirl.”
    She took it from me and turned it over in her hands. “Let’s see just what kind of whiz kid you are, Zeke.”
    Sparrow strapped the device back onto her wrist, then held a pair of buttons on the outer rim. For a moment, nothing happened. No sounds, nothing. My heart sank. Sparrow looked dejected. Then…a light began to blink. It was yellow. I pointed at it.
    â€œWhat…what does that mean?”
    Sparrow’s eyes lit up. “That means it’s recalibrating. It’s what happens after you restore the ComLet to its original settings. It means it’s working.”
    There was a faint humming