CHAPTER SEVEN

Oliver's mind spun as he hurriedly showered. Armando hadn't said he could stay or be an apprentice, but he was giving him some kind of opportunity and that kept the flame of hope burning inside of him. He couldn't help but feel like he was going to be put to some kind of test. Not that Armando had said as such; in fact, he'd not said much about it at all. But Oliver was desperate to prove himself and show Armando that he belonged here.

  He went to the closet and found that it was full of multiple sets of workman's overalls. Though they were clean and well made, they looked very old-fashioned. He picked out a pair of dark blue overalls and slipped them on. Of course they were far too big for him, so he rolled up the pant legs. Then he looked in the mirror and marveled as his appearance. It looked like he'd stepped out of the 1940s!

  As soon as he was ready, he ran back out to the factory floor, eager for his first lesson from Armando.

  "I'm here," he said, wide-eyed, as he skidded up to the old man.

  Armando nodded at his appearance, clearly approving the fact that he was no longer wandering around in pajamas.

  "I see you've found my old workers' closet," he said. "These clothes were left over from the war effort. People worked here and slept here around the clock back then."

  "Do you mind me wearing them?" Oliver asked, suddenly worried.

  "Not at all. It's nice to see them being put to some use after all these years." Armando looked away into the distance as if reminiscing on better times. "Now. You were wanting to demonstrate your abilities to me, if I recall."

  Oliver nodded, though he was filled with apprehension. He chewed his lip and began to follow Armando past a row of workbenches. As they went, Oliver noticed that one was covered with different fabrics and a pile of wires. He knew right away that he was looking at all the theoretically necessary components to create an invisibility coat. He craned his neck as they passed, then turned, wide-eyed with surprise, to face Armando.

  "Are you making an invisibility coat?" he asked.

  "Not anymore," Armando replied, dismissively. "No one's ever cracked it and I've not been able to either."

  "I've been trying myself," Oliver confessed.

  "Well, if you want my advice, best not waste any more time on it," Armando replied. "I gave up years ago."

  Oliver couldn't help but feel disappointed. The thought of cracking the invisibility coat was one of the things that excited him the most about inventing. But if Armando didn't want him working on it, there was nothing he could do. He'd have to let that particular dream go.

  Oliver continued following Armando through the winding corridors of the factory. He soon recognized that they had entered the corridor with the room that contained the big military tank. To Oliver's surprise, this was the room they headed straight into.

  "You don't want me to make a weapon, do you?" Oliver asked, staring up at the huge tank with wide eyes as they drew closer.

Goodness, no," Armando said. "I want to see if you can make the periscope inside digital."

  "Oh," Oliver said, not entirely certain that that was any better.

  The only successful periscopes he'd ever made had been done using the good old-fashioned technique of a pair of telescopes and precisely angled mirrors. But he knew that the Navy had invented televised periscopes all the way back in the 1960s, and then the more modern photonic masts, which used cameras and infrared. So it was possible. And Oliver was determined not to fail. Armando hadn't said this was a test, or even that he could stay on at the factory based on the outcome of the task, but Oliver felt

personally as if his entire future was resting on its success. There'd be next to no chance of him convincing Armando to take him under his wing if he couldn't even prove himself on this one little task.

  He spent a long time pondering, looking at the current periscope set-up, which was indeed the same old crude version he'd made himself before. When he'd finally worked out a possible solution in his mind, he decided what specific materials he'd need to achieve such a feat.

  "Do you have a spare cathode ray tube?" Oliver asked, considering that the first step would be to create a working screen like a television.

  "Of course," Armando said. "I have something of everything somewhere."

  "In which case, I will also need a camera. And a whole load of wire. A motherboard and solder. Oh, and a battery pack or similar type of power source."

  Oliver wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a little upward twitch at the corner of Armando's mouth. Perhaps the old inventor was starting to wonder whether Oliver might be apprentice material after all. Still, Oliver wasn't going to start getting overconfident. He still had to make the thing.

  "You're done?" he asked.

  Once again, Oliver felt the enormity of this task pressing down upon him. Had he really done everything he could? Was this the absolute best of his ability? He suddenly felt extremely insecure in his creation. Not to mention terrified that if it didn't work it would prove once and for all that Oliver wasn't talented enough to be Armando's apprentice. Then he'd be sent back to his terrible life for sure. The thought was unbearable.

  "It's ready," Oliver said with a nod, his chest tight with anguish.

  He flicked on the machine and heard the buzz of electricity as it came to life. He let out a little bit of held breath. So far so good.

The LD light on the end of the camera blinked red. So that was working too, Oliver thought with a growing sense of relief and accomplishment.

  Then he and Armando walked over to the screen. To Oliver's utter dismay, they were staring at nothing but blackness. The image from the camera wasn't being displayed onto the screen, which was the whole point of the task. If he couldn't make the image come onto the screen, he'd effectively achieved nothing.

  Beside him, he could feel the disappointment coming off Armando. But it didn't even begin to match the disappointment Oliver felt in himself. He'd let himself down. He'd been a fool to ever think he could be more than a poor kid from a bad neighborhood.

  Oliver couldn't even bear to hear what Armando was about to say. He didn't need it confirmed to him, he already knew. He turned and headed for the door, trudging dejectedly away from his failure.

  "Oliver…" Armando said.

  Oliver couldn't even bear to look back. "No, no, you don't have to say it. I'll just leave."

  "Oliver…" Armando repeated.

  "It's fine. I understand. I'm leaving."

  "OLIVER!" Armando yelled, interrupting him.

This time, Oliver finally stopped. He'd made it all the way to the door, and he turned now at the threshold, looking back through sad eyes at Armando, who was still standing beside his crude invention.

  "Yes?" he said, sadly, bracing himself for Armando's disappointment.

  "I think you missed something," Armando said.

  Oliver frowned. It was not what he'd been expecting to hear. "What?"

  Armando just nodded at the invention. "Come and look. You'll figure it out once you get here."

  His brow furrowing even more, Oliver walked back over to his ugly machine. He didn't really want to look at it again, at his failure. What good would it do, other than rub salt in the wound?

  But as he approached, he noticed the same thing Armando had. There was something wrong with the camera he had connected to the screen. Though it was on and working, as indicated by the flashing light, the actual lens didn't look right at all. In fact, it looked as though it had been coated in a film of something black, like oil or dust.

  Oliver hurried over and used the sleeve of his overalls to wipe the lens. The thick, black muck started to come off onto his sleeve, and Oliver saw as he cleaned it that a blurred image was starting to appear on the screen.

  He couldn't believe it. The machine had worked all along! It had just been the dirty lens obscuring the image, projecting back nothing but its blackened surface.

  "I did it," Oliver muttered, too stunned to really believe it.

  He kept wiping the lens, amazed to see more of the picture appear. It grew ever clearer the more he removed the dirt. With the irrefutable evidence emerging before his eyes, it began to dawn on Oliver that the invention was a success. That he'd done it.

  He looked over at Armando. The old inventor looked thrilled. Hope made Oliver suddenly buoyant. He felt tears begin to well in his eyes.

  "Does that mean…" he began, his voice thick with emotion, "that I can stay?"

  "Yes," Armando confirmed with a nod. "You can stay." Then he added, with stern emphasis, "For now."

  The qualifier did nothing to quell Oliver's excitement. He just couldn't contain himself. He

leapt up and down on the spot, punching the air, whooping and hollering.

  "I did it!" he cried, running in triumphant circuits around the room. "I did it!"

  Armando chuckled but kept a more tempered response. "I feel with your determination and thoroughness, not to mention the enormity of your brain power, well, I'd be foolish to send you away rather than nurture your talents."

  Oliver stopped running, halting in front of the inventor and gazing up at his hero. He was so overwhelmed with gratitude, he wanted to throw his arms around the old man. But he held back. It didn't seem appropriate.

  "What now?" he asked, overjoyed that he'd really done it, that he'd proven himself. "What do you want me to work on next? How about the invisibility coat?"

Oliver's fear had given way to excitement. All he wanted to do now was get going. But Armando shook his head with good humor.

  "You're getting ahead of yourself, my boy. I need to see how you get along first. With actual inventions, rather than theoretically possible but practically impossible ones. We must start with the basics."

  "Whatever you want," Oliver said. "I'm ready to learn. Let's start right now."

  Armando smiled kindly. "Of course. Come with me. We will work on more things and see how you get along. Then we can discuss what to do with you on a more long-term basis."

  Oliver felt like he was walking on air as he followed Armando to a corner of the factory. Here, there was a workbench set up with a whole array of tools—saws, clamps, and files—and a range of materials—wood, metal, and plastic. Oliver gingerly touched his fingers against them, delighted by the prospect of soon using them.

  "Let's go through the basics," Armando began, indicating a pair of plastic goggles. "Safety first."

  Oliver put the goggles on.

  "These are special ones, by the way," Armando said. "Modified by myself for improved functionality."

  He reached and clicked a little button on the bridge of the glasses. Oliver gasped as the world turned black and white.

"The black and white function is for improved contrasting," Armando explained. Then he clicked the button again and Oliver's world turned green. "Infrared for night work."

  "Will there be a lot of that?" Oliver asked. "Night work?"

  He didn't mind if there was. In fact, the prospect was quite exciting. The idea of working until midnight seemed quite romantic to Oliver.

  Armando was nothing more than a heat-sensored red blob as he answered. "I'll try to keep it to a minimum." He clicked the button and reappeared in front of Oliver's eyes once again as the old man he'd become quite familiar with. "But there may be times when we must, times when you will be expected to forgo sleep."

  "I'll do anything," Oliver replied stoically. And he really meant it. He wanted nothing more in the world than to help Armando. To be his apprentice. To have the old man as a mentor.

  But Armando's troubled expression seemed to suggest he had other things on his mind. "I'm most certain you will." Then he snapped back to attention. "Come, come, let's get to work."

  The rest of the day for Oliver was a dreamlike blur. Armando showed him all the basics of carpentry and electronics. They started by making simple paper circuits with copper tape, coin batteries and LEDS, then moved on to building a small electric motor with a battery, wire, and magnets.

  "We'll look at the chemicals another time," Armando explained as the exciting day drew to a close.

  Oliver's head felt very full, but he absorbed everything like a sponge, eager only to know more and more and more, eager, too, to prove himself to Armando so that the elderly inventor trusted him enough to take him on full time as an apprentice.

  As night fell on Oliver's second day in the factory, Armando announced, "Let's stop for dinner."

  Oliver removed his goggles and smoothed down his flyaway hairs, wiping away others that had gotten stuck with sweat to his forehead. It had been hard work but he wouldn't have it any other way.

  As they began to walk together toward the kitchen, Oliver heard a sudden noise from the other end of the factory. He flinched in shock, and heard the thin growl of Horatio the bloodhound in the distance.

  "Someone's here," he exclaimed, turning back to Armando with an expression of panic.

  "Yes," the old inventor confirmed. "That'll be Lucas, the factory foreman."

Oliver paused, shocked and surprised. "You mean to say, someone else works in the factory?"

  He felt a strange swell of jealousy in his chest. He thought he'd be the only one working here. The thought of sharing his hero with another left a bad taste in his mouth.

  "I've been meaning to tell you," Armando added, somewhat flippantly. "Lucas has been at my side since day one. He's the only person who has stuck with me through thick and thin. When I'm not around, you'll be working alongside him. He'll be showing you what needs to be done."

  "When you're not around?" Oliver repeated, feeling an anxious shard lodge in his throat. Sharing his hero with someone else was one thing but having his hero not available was something else entirely! "What do you mean? Where else would you be if not here?"

  Before Armando had a chance to reply, an approaching figure drew up beside them. Lucas too was an old man, though clearly not as old as Armando. Oliver estimated him to be in his eighties. If he had indeed been foreman of the factory for the last seventy years, he must have been around Oliver's age when he started working there! That thought bothered Oliver even more.

  Lucas's lined face seemed stuck in a permanent frown, his features dragged downward from gravity, making him look as unhappy as Horatio the bloodhound. He eyed Oliver suspiciously.

  "Lucas," Armando said brightly. "This is Oliver."

  Lucas's expression could only be described as cold. His eyes were very pale and very blue, and they seemed to penetrate right into Oliver's soul. Clearly, Lucas didn't like the idea of sharing the old inventor with anyone either.

  "He's working here, is he?" Lucas said, his voice dripping with disgust.

  "Yes," Armando replied cheerfully, clearly not picking up on the hatred in Lucas's voice. "For the time being anyway. Tomorrow morning, I'll need you to show him the ropes and get him up to speed. I have some important business to attend to and will be out all day."

  Oliver tore his gaze from Lucas to Armando, feeling suddenly panicked. This wasn't what he'd imagined at all. He'd thought Armando would be teaching him, not this horrible scowling man who clearly hated him!

  "Come, come," Armando said. "Dinner, then bed."

  "Wait…" Oliver said, about to protest about the arrangements for the next day.

  But Armando seemed suddenly very distracted. It was as though his focus had shifted instantly from Oliver to something else entirely.

  Oliver looked over at Luas, at the intruder into his otherwise perfect life. Lucas locked eyes with Oliver. Slowly, a menacing grin spread across his face. Oliver gulped.