Mad Professor Read Free Page B

ten-to-the-ninetieth-power years and he’ll never catch you,” Jack reassured me. “No one will ever catch you. You’re the winner forever.”
    â€œCool,” I said. “But I cheated. A bunch of machines did it for me. I was asleep.”
    â€œCount a little higher on your own,” said Jack, looking eager. “I’d really like that. Do it, Bert. Leave your footprints in thetrackless snows. According to the Winners’ rules, you can just say that same number again, and then continue from there. On past base camp Googol.”
    â€œSounds good. Only I forget the number.”
    â€œI’ll write it out for you,” said Jack. He scribbled with his pencil on one of the triangular scraps of paper he always had in his pockets.
    So I read the number out loud, and then I said the next one, and the one after that, and then I got into a counting trance for a while, and then—
    â€œWhat?” said Jack, who’d been watching me alertly.
    â€œI lost my voice,” I whispered.
    Jack poured me a glass of water. “Try again.”
    I tried again, but for some reason I couldn’t say the next number. “That’s enough anyway,” I said. “I hiked a good stretch on my own. It really feels like my own personal record now.”
    â€œI want you to try and write that very last number down!” insisted Jack, very excited. “You’ll see that it’s not there!” He handed me his pencil, a yellow #2, made in China.
    Just to please him, I tried to write down the number I hadn’t been able to say—but, sure enough, when I got to the last digit, the pencil lead broke.
    â€œThis is stupid,” I said. Jack was absolutely thrilled.
    He handed me his ballpoint. It ran out of ink on the freaking last digit again.
    â€œI quit.” I tossed the pen aside and shrugged. “What do I care if I count one more step? I’m already immortal. A proud, solitary figure in the endless fields of snow.”
    â€œMy life in a nutshell,” crowed Jack. “Until now.”
    â€œWhy are you so happy?”
    â€œBecause I’m not alone anymore,” he said. “You and me, Bert. I’m not crazy. You found a hole!”
    â€œWhat hole?”
    â€œA hole in the number line. That number you wanted to say—it’s not there, I tell you. That’s why you couldn’t say it or write it down. The number’s missing, Bert. And now that you’ve come across a big missing number, you’re gonna be able to notice some of the smaller ones.”
    â€œI thought your magic beanie had me count every single number up through base camp Googol.”
    â€œIt couldn’t help but hop over the holes. Like a rock skipping across water. Suppose you start counting backward. I’ll jigger my Whortleberry to be sure it flags the numbers you miss.”
    â€œI’m supposed to drag my weary ass all the way home from base camp Googol?” I exclaimed.
    â€œStarting in the foothills is fine,” he said. “It’s the smaller missing numbers that we’re after. Not the Swiss cheese in the peaks.” He handed me the magic beanie. “Suppose you count backwards from your first record. Twelve million, three hundred forty-five thousand, eight hundred ninety-three.”
    â€œHow do you remember these things?”
    â€œMathematicians don’t get senile,” he said.
    â€œThey just go nuts,” I muttered. But I did as I was told. I figured I owed Jack one. I pulled on the beanie, and lay back and closed my eyes, and started counting sheep jumping backward over the fence, tail first . . .
    Ever examined a sheep’s tail?
    It was a dirty job, but somebody had to do it. The herd milled around me. We flowed across hilltop pastures, down scrub-filled gullies, and into the cornfields outside of town.
    +   +   +
    â€œWake up,” said Jack.
    I woke up. I sat up.
    Jack stuck his