Identity Swap: Card People 2

By James Sulzer

Previously in The Card People series . . . Soon after the disappearance of Samir Kapadia, a computer genius, his son Paul found a deck of cards. Thanks to Samir’s most astounding creation, a life-giving nanodust, the cards could move and speak. These card people were kind and resourceful, but a terrifying enemy, in the shape of flying scissors, threatened their destruction.

Paul and his brother Sam turned for help to David Westfield, Samir's former associate. But after meeting with the kids, Westfield betrayed them. He was the brain behind the scissors people, and soon with his own evil nanodust, he would create even deadlier weapons.
As part 1 ended, Paul devised a daring new idea to stop Westfield. Find out what it is in Part 2, IDENTITY SWAP.

This novel is for ages nine and up, and is the second in a trilogy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fuze Publishing
• Release date: Apr 26, 2018
• ISBN: 9780999808955

James Sulzer

James Sulzer, author of "The Voice at the Door," lives on Nantucket Island, Massachusetts and teaches reading and writing to students in grades 5-8. A graduate of Yale University, where he was a Yale National Scholar, he is also the author of Nantucket Daybreak (Walker and Co.) and the memoir Mom Comes Home. He has produced countless “sonic id’s” for National Public Radio, some of which aired on Ira Glass’s This American Life. He has spent the past 40 years of his life reading, living with, and cherishing the poetry of Emily Dickinson.

Book preview

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Identity Swap

Part II of

The Card People

by James Sulzer

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Ashland, Oregon

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Identity Swap Copyright © 2018 by James Sulzer All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions. Fuze Publishing, Ashland, Oregon

Book design by Ray Rhamey

Cover art by Caleb Kardell

ISBN 978-0-9998089-5-5

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Dedication

for my brothers, Mike and Steve

A long time ago

We found ourselves together

Sharing a quest to make sense of this world.

Thank you for being there.

With love.

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Previously in The Card People series

After the mysterious disappearance of Samir Kapadia, a computer genius, his twelve-year-old son Paul met with a stunning surprise. The playing cards that he and his father had used for their nightly card games were alive!

They could sprout arms and legs, move around and talk, and the Aces could even fly. Each card revealed a distinct personality. The number cards were children—the lower the number, the younger the child—and the face cards were adults. They all apparently had built-in restraints against harming existing life forms, animals as well as people.

Their spokesperson, the Jack of Hearts, known simply as Jack, quickly became Paul’s friend, confiding in Paul and his younger brother Sam the danger threatening the cards’ existence: a murderous band of scissors people, had also—and perhaps not coincidentally—sprung to life recently and dug a hideout nearby.

When he vanished, Samir had been working on new forms of nanotechnology—making tiny computers, smaller than hydrogen atoms, that could usher in the age of artificial intelligence. Paul eventually realized that his father had succeeded in creating a nanodust that could nanimate, or bring alive, any object it touched.

Meanwhile, Paul was receiving mysterious emails from someone called HOBO, offering threats and sometimes advice. In fact, the HOBO had invaded his computer and was observing him through the camera on his laptop. To add to the confusion, Curtis, Samir’s former scientific associate at MIT, was now hanging around their house. The boys suspected that his odd behavior might conceal an evil scheme. Paul and Sam turned for help to David Westfield, another of Samir’s former associates.

Westfield seemed to be helping them at first . . . but after one meeting with the boys, he seized the cards and drove off. Too late, the boys learned from their mother that Curtis was a loyal friend, who had a form of autism that affected his behavior.

Paul and Sam enlisted their friend Nim and her boyfriend Lex in a desperate attempt to recapture the living cards. By the time they arrived at Westfield’s hideout, Westfield and his associates had already killed several card people to frighten the rest into revealing their secrets. But through quick thinking and bold action, the kids managed to rescue the survivors. In the process, they noticed that Westfield’s company was called Haul-Over Biotec Options, and figured that Westfield, all along, had been spying on them as the HOBO.

Paul, Sam, Nim, and Lex returned home with the cards—only to sustain further violence from Westfield: a devastating attack by the scissors people. To stop Westfield’s scissors people, the kids realized they would need to infect these creations with a computer virus that would neutralize their monstrous tendencies. To accomplish this, Jack would have to allow his consciousness—his codes—to be transferred into a pair of scissors. And to complete his disguise as a scissors person, Jack would have to behave like one. That meant removing the restraints on his behavior that Samir had planted in his code.

Under cover of night, Jack traveled to Westfield’s lab in his new guise. The four kids and the surviving cards went along to back him up. Jack succeeded in making contact with the scissors people, but before he could transfer the virus, the scissors people saw through his disguise and took him prisoner. Seeing that the scissors people were about to destroy Jack, Nim ran forward to save him. Immediately, the scissors people launched into the air and hung there, poised to attack her. With her life in danger, Paul raced to her aid. He’d come to realize that his feelings for Nim were more than those of a mere friend, and now he interposed himself between her and the scissors’ blades, shielding her from attack with his own body. But the attack never came, for Jack had freed himself and neutralized the scissors just in time. Kids and card people were safe. Afterwards, Nim gave Paul a sweet and fateful kiss.

Later that night the police apprehended two of Westfield’s assistants, but Westfield himself escaped, still in possession of the nanodust. Back home, Paul and Sam learned the truth from their mother that their father had died of multiple scissors wounds. Curtis restored Jack to his card body; the boys’ mother reminded him also to restore Jack’s built-in restraints against harming existing life forms.

By now, word of the card people had spread to the highest levels of government, and at the end of Part 1, the military and the CIA were on their way to the Kapadia household to offer protection—and perhaps to seize the card people for their own use. The kids waited anxiously, certain that the future would bring more trouble.

As Paul fell asleep, he had an epiphany: I thought of Jack’s strange journey—becoming a scissors person and venturing into a new and unknown world—and then, like a sparkle of sunlight on water, an idea flashed before my eyes. An idea that was far stranger and more daring than anything I’d ever thought of before . . . but I had a feeling it might just lead to an answer.

What is Paul’s daring new idea? Find out in Part 2, IDENTITY SWAP.

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1

My kid brother Sam shoved my bedroom curtain to one side.

Too many CIA spooks out there, he muttered. Look—there’s one dude under the dogwood tree. And one in the garden—old Squinty-eyes. There’s at least five more out back. I say, it’s time we make a major jail break.

Patience, I replied. Next to me Brinda, our beagle, flexed her feet in her sleep.

Beside Brinda, the Jack of Hearts leaned into the breeze of the old dog’s wheezing breath. Less than five inches tall, he wore a tiny velvet crown on his round head, and a royal weave of finely spun fabric covered his flat card body.

You must remember that they’re here to protect us, Jack pointed out.

Protect us from what, Jack? Sam shook his head glumly.

Master Sam, do you recall what you yourself once said about the next generation of weapons from David Westfield? the card asked in his small, pleasant voice. Guns, maybe even jetfighters or missiles, awakened to consciousness with his evil nanodust? He shuddered. A fat beetle was waddling toward him across the bedspread, and he made a gesture as if to knock it off the bed, but stopped himself.

Sam snorted. Bottom line is, Jack, the military and the CIA just want to capture you guys for their own purposes.

Surely you prefer the US military to the terrorists allied with David Westfield. Jack picked up the beetle and turned it around, and it scrambled away.

Of course. Sam threw his arms up in the air. But they’re holding us back, and we’ve got work to do! He gestured toward me. Top priority is we need to break into the lab at MIT and steal the last batch of Dad’s nanodust. But how’re we gonna do that when we’re prisoners in our own house?

Patience, Sammy, I repeated.

I told you before, don’t ‘Sammy’ me! he snarled. So what if I’m younger’n you? I’m also smarter and better looking. He sat down and crossed his arms.

Sure, if your ideal body shape is a mango, I said. As soon as the words left my mouth, I wanted to take them back.

At least I don’t look like a pipe cleaner! Sam retorted. He sucked in his stomach, pulled his pants up to his armpits, and stood. ‘Hi, I’m Paul. I’m skinny and I’m as shy as a gopher. I won’t have my first girlfriend till I’m twenty-seven.’ He shook his head. Well, I for one am not gonna sit here all evening rotting in your boring bedroom!

Don’t do something stupid, I warned him. And don’t blow Nim and Lex’s cover. Our friends Nim and Lex were taking turns watching our house from a hiding place across the street—on the lookout for anything unusual or threatening.

Get ready for some fun, bro. And do me a favor, slip out of here while you have the chance. Sam strutted out of the room.

No stopping him now, I commented to Jack.

Indeed not, Jack agreed.

I took a deep breath. Say, Jack—have you and the other cards had a chance to discuss my idea?

He nodded. About the body transfer? The Spades have been hard at work.

And do they think it’s possible?

He gave a slight nod. Well, as a matter of fact—

There was a loud thud in the hallway followed by the drumbeat of footsteps down the stairs.

Sam! I exclaimed. I ran to the top of the stairs—just in time to see him throw open the front door, stagger out into the night, scream, and collapse onto the ground.

What in the world? I ran downstairs to the living room window. Sam was clutching his left hand, and in the light from the front porch I saw globs of something red. Probably catsup. By now he was whimpering, The scissors people! Help me! Please, someone! Help me!

Our mother darted into the room. What just happened? she panted.

I nodded toward the door. I don’t know, it’s Sam. He—

She raced outside, followed by Brinda. The moment she reached Sam, three agents pushed her to the side and crowded in around him.

Code red, the lead agent announced. Code red.

Let me in! Let me in! another agent insisted. He ripped open Sam’s shirt.

It’s still here! Sam screamed. The scissors person! It’s in the grass!

Two agents fell onto their hands and knees and crawled about the lawn like little kids.

I found it! one of them called.

Careful . . . careful . . . the other agent cautioned. He approached carrying something that looked like a fancy wrench. He used it to pick up the scissors and hold them carefully at arm’s length.

Code red. We have contact. The lead agent’s voice ripped across the evening. Three more agents pounded onto the scene, racing around from the rear of the house.

As flashlights played across Sam’s face, his head flopped and his eyes rolled backwards. One of the agents grabbed his hand and examined it. It was Squinty-eyes, the agent Sam particularly despised.

Tell us what happened, buddy, Squinty-eyes ordered.

Sam sat up slowly, blinking and shaking his head.

Focus, now. Where did this all begin? Squinty-eyes prompted him.

Sam shuddered. I was brushing my teeth . . . and I saw one, he began.

By now I counted all five agents from the backyard—all here. All distracted.

Sam was right. This was my chance.

I raced up to my bedroom, grabbed a roll of ten 20’s from my dresser drawer, and stuffed it in my pocket. I tied the pack of cards to my chest, then placed another, normal deck in my pants pocket.

I was ready. I sneaked down the back stairs to the laundry room in the rear of our house.

Then the night got even weirder.

As I was about to climb out the window, there was a blinding flash of light from somewhere, and I felt something massive pass through me—a force field, or a wave of energy. An instant later there was a deafening explosion, then another, then a third. They were coming from the front of the house.

Had the fake attack turned real?

Crouching down, I bobbed back to the living room and stopped at the window. A few agents lay on the ground, motionless. Another agent was hovering over Sam. Was Sam okay? I ran to the door and stood there, gazing at him. Sam turned then and saw me—and he waved his arm. Go! he mouthed silently. Go!

I spun around and ran to the back of the house.

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2

I was in the garden, alone. Another explosion boomed from the front of the house, rattling the trashcans, followed by an eerie silence.

I sprinted to the back fence and slipped out the gate. It was already deep twilight, and no one could see me as I took off down the alley. The Bayview bus station was about a mile from our house.

Still puffing and panting, I joined the ticket line inside. The wait seemed forever, and I glanced about, hoping that no one recognized me. No one took note of me . . . except maybe one dark-haired woman across the room, who . . . But nothing to worry about: she wasn’t one of Mom’s friends who might question what I was doing.

I paid cash for a ticket to Salem and boarded the bus, slumping down in a seat in the rear. Twenty minutes later I transferred onto the bus to Boston, where I took a local bus that rumbled into Central Square, Cambridge.

I slunk off the bus, ducked into the shadow of the stone tower of City Hall, and tried to get my bearings. A few blocks away, a gleaming new MIT building rose into the night sky, carbon blue against the cityscape. I patted the deck of cards inside my shirt.

The light from the street lamps gleamed cold and pale. Even in late spring there was something in the air that felt like winter here. Not a breath of motion, not a hint of fragrance from tree or flower—only a steady hum that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.

Yet this was the place where Dad had done his greatest work, where he had created new life forms with as much heart and spirit as the finest humans on Earth.

I scurried down the narrow street.

In my pocket, inside my roll of money, was a key I’d taken from a drawer in our father’s dresser, where Mom had placed it after he disappeared. It was one of the few things that remained after his car crash and the horrible attack by the scissors people.

In happier times I used to visit Dad here at the lab, and I had no trouble finding the side entrance he always used. I glanced at the security camera over the door. There would be a short window of time before they discovered me.

Was it possible I’d already been spotted? At the end of the alley, a small convertible was parked with the engine running, and the driver was gazing into her rear-view mirror.

I drew the key out of my pocket. It was double-sided, with lots of intricate little teeth. I placed it in the lock and whispered a little prayer. The key clicked into place and turned to the right . . . and the door opened with a soft whoosh. Inside, a yellow light pulsed softly, and I pushed the orange button beside it. The light stopped. Good. The alarm system was quieted for now.

A voice in the back of my head asked, Wasn’t that just a little too easy?

A metal staircase led up to a massive steel door. This door was new and it, too, was barred shut. My palms were sweating. I took a deep breath.

Beside the door was a keypad—sort of like an ATM keypad, with numbers and letters on the keys. (2 was ABC, 3 was DEF, and so on.) There was no time to think, I had to go with my gut. Carefully, I typed in seven keys. 2827586. Dad’s secret password. Would it work?

The door buzzed softly. I leaned against it and pushed it open, and I was inside. On the wall, another yellow light was flashing, and I pressed the orange button to disable it.

I stopped to wipe the sweat off my forehead.

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3

The hallway was long and narrow, lined with steel doors. The floor, made of some space-age material painted stone gray, glimmered in the high-tech lighting. Most of the rooms on the hall were closed, but ahead—about halfway to Dad’s lab—bright white light spilled out an open door.

I crept forward.

Inside that room, a man was talking. Quick bursts of speech followed by long pauses—he was probably on the phone. Soon I was close enough to make out some words. Yes, of course I thought of that, he was saying. But he was very secretive about such things.

His dark shape bobbed near the threshold, and I stopped just short of the door. Then his voice faded into the depths of the room. It was now or never. I slipped past the door and hurried down the hall.

And there it was: the lab that Dad had shared with David Westfield and Curtis.

Yet another locked door and another keypad. Again I typed in Dad’s password. 2827586. Again the right guess. A faint whirr, and the door pushed open.

I eased it shut behind me and took a few steps into the room. Along the rows of high-tech equipment, monitors glowed and sensor lights glimmered—just enough illumination to start my search.

In a dark corner of the room,