Welcome to the Jungle (4 page)

“Eight-with-feet? You mean ‘ampersand'?”

“Precisely, Mister Snow. It states that no one may question someone carrying a signed perMission slip without permission.”

Lines of sweat streaked from Mister Snow's white sideburns down his cheeks. Diana imagined that this must have been an unusual experience for him. People rarely questioned his vast knowledge of Winterpole statutes, let alone junior agents.

“Very well, Junior Agent Maple.” Mister Snow cleared his throat. “You may accompany us. Here, be of use and carry my briefcase.”

He tossed the briefcase to her. The leather brick was so heavy it nearly dropped her to her knees. Straining to carry it, Diana couldn't help but smile.
Take that, Benjamin
, she thought smugly. She may have been the “boss's stupid daughter,” but
theft and forgery were two skills Vesuvia had insisted Diana learn long ago. Sure, they were heinous crimes, but as her ex-best friend had frequently reminded her, they'd only get her in trouble if she got caught.

“MOM, CAN I FLY THE
ROOST
?”

“NO, EVIE, YOU CAN'T FLY THE
ROOST
.”

“But M-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-m!”

The trip had gone smoothly so far except for this current fight between Evie and her mother. They were a little more than halfway to Texas, and Rick sat in a cushioned seat at the back of the
Roost
's bridge, listening to his mother and sister argue. He was trying to study Professor Doran's research in the hope of identifying plants that might help them root the eighth continent, but he was finding it hard to concentrate.

“Hey, Mom,” he called out, hoping to distract her from Evie's pleas, “how do you and Dad know Professor Doran?”

His mother almost laughed. “Nathaniel was pursuing his doctorate while your father and I were undergraduates.”

“I'm surprised you haven't stayed in better touch,” Rick mused. “The more research I conduct, the more it seems like Professor Doran is a fascinating individual.”

“Research?” Evie repeated.

“Why yes, just a little.”

“How much is ‘a little'?”

Rick pulled up a document on his pocket tablet. “I compiled a twelve-page brief on the subject. Feel free to review it.”

Grimacing, she took the tablet. “I guess I am curious why we've never met him.”

“Well, it wasn't as easy to stay in touch back then,” their mother explained. “And you can't stay close to everyone. Still, I hope he can help us.”

Evie spun around in her cushioned swivel chair. “I'm going to ask Professor Doran to transform Evie World into a big old jungle where every tree is bigger than the
Roost
and has vines you can swing from and leaves the size of your head! And we can run around and hunt and play, and I'll be like a lioness, queen of the jungle!”

Rick blinked in disbelief. “Lions live on the savannah, not in jungles. And what in Turing's name is
Evie World
?”

Evie snorted, as if the answer to this question was as obvious as the forty-seventh digit of pi. “
Psssh.
Why, it's what we're naming the eighth continent, silly!”

“First of all, there is no way we are naming the eighth continent ‘Evie World.' You might as well call it ‘Evie Thinks She's the Best Person Ever so We're Naming the Continent After Her Even Though a Lot of Other Important People Helped Make the Eighth Continent Too . . . World
.
'”

Scratching her chin, Evie mused, “That's not a bad name, actually.”

“Forget it, Evie. And second, you can't make the continent a dense jungle. That would be totally counterproductive to our goal to develop an urban infrastructure capable of sustaining a large permanent population.”

Evie clutched her head. “Ugh, Rick. That's so boring you're making my brain hurt. We finally have a vast untapped continent, and your instinct is to make it just like all the others.”

“There is way more to my ideas than that.”

A noisy beep from Mom's communicator interrupted their argument. She pushed a button on the command console and a pixelated image of Mom's assistant, Catherine, appeared over the windshield.

“Hello, Catherine, what is it?”

Mom's assistant was a pretty and bookish young woman with thick green-rimmed glasses. Two fountain pens kept her wavy red hair tucked behind her ears. “I'm sorry to bother you, Mrs. Lane, but something has come up that requires your immediate attention. I'm sending the video data to you now.”

The image shifted from Catherine's face to a wide aerial shot of the ocean. The clear blue water was marred by a huge blob. At first Rick thought it was an island.

“What am I looking at, Catherine?” Mom was all business.

Catherine explained, “Several hours ago, we discovered a massive stain in the South Pacific. Early reconnaissance indicates that it's ink, ma'am.”

“Ink?”

“Yes, ma'am. An ink stain. We've been getting reports of seabirds so dirty they can't fly. I don't have numbers yet, but fish are dying, ma'am. Thousands of them. Cleanaspot has received several requests that we intervene.”

“Those poor fish,” Mom said.

“There's something else. The stain appears to be expanding at an alarming rate. If the current rate of growth continues, it could cover the whole ocean in less than a week.”

Mom rose from her chair. “We have to do something right away.”

“But Mom!” Evie tugged on her sleeve. “Our mission!”

“Yes, yes, honey. Hold on.” Mom downloaded all the info about the stain to her phone. “Catherine, initiate Clean Up Protocol One. Get Charles and Doctor Wong on the phone. Tell them to begin work on a containment procedure. I'll be in touch soon. Don't worry. We'll put a stop to this stain.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Lane. I knew you'd know what to do.”

The feed switched off, and the windshield returned to the
Roost
's view of the ocean, sky, and approaching California coastline.

Mom was once again all business. “Rick, Evie, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to put our trip to Texas on hold.”

“But . . . but . . .” Evie muttered in disbelief. “Our new home is in danger. And what about Australia?”

Rick adjusted his glasses. “Evie's right, Mom. This is a crisis.”

“A giant stain on the ocean is also a crisis. Didn't you hear what Catherine said? The
whole ocean
could be in danger. Imagine the ecosystems that could be wiped out. Rick, you know the risks if I do nothing. It'd be a global catastrophe. Cleanaspot has to help.” Mom bit her lip and stared out the window, obviously trying to come up with a plan.

Evie looked up from her seat hopefully. “What if 2-Tor met up with us?”

“That's not a bad idea.” Rick raced over to the communicator before Mom could argue. He punched in the number for Dad. It started ringing. Once Dad picked up, they could ask him to send 2-Tor to their current location, and when their feathered guardian arrived, they would be back on their way to Professor Doran.

But Dad didn't pick up. That was odd. Odder than the usual Dad oddness, which was quite odd.

Rick tried calling three more times, but there was still no reply.

“Why isn't Dad answering?” Evie asked, worry filling her voice.

Mom patted Evie's head soothingly. “I'm sure he's just working on some experiment with 2-Tor. It's nothing to worry about. But I can't leave the two of you unsupervised. And if we can't get 2-Tor to watch you both . . .” She looked toward the command console.

“No, Mom,” Evie pleaded. “Not that, anything but that.”

“I'm sorry, Evie,” Mom said, sitting back down at the controls.

Rick watched his mother disable the autopilot and enter new coordinates. His heart sank. “Geneva?”

“That's right.” Mom looked tough, focused, and all business. “The oceans are in danger, and it's my duty to clean up that stain. I'm sorry that all of these terrible things are happening at once, but we don't have time to take you back to your father on the eighth continent. And it's too dangerous for you to go on a mission alone without me or 2-Tor, so there's only one option: I'm taking you to school.”

Evie groaned.

Rick tugged on his mother's arm. “Mom, if we don't go meet Professor Doran now, what will happen to Australia and the eighth continent?”

She rubbed his back soothingly. “Don't get discouraged, honey. We aren't giving up yet. Let me keep trying to reach your father while I evaluate this stain situation, and then I'll reconnect with you later tonight. Meanwhile, do what you can to keep the mission going after you arrive at the International School for Exceptional Students. Research more ways to root the continent. Do a cross-analysis of all the goos, glues, and gruels we may be able to use as waterproof adhesives.”

“I'll get right on it, Mom.” Rick didn't like this at all, but maybe he'd be able to use the time at school to find an even better way to stop the continent from moving.

Evie tried once more to make her mother reconsider. “Mom, please, I'm begging you, in the name of all that is scientific and awesome, please, PLEASE, don't make us go to school.”

Mom was hearing none of it. She filled one of the
Roost
's acorn-shaped escape pods with her luggage and other business papers, kissed her children goodbye, and was off to clean up the stain.

When the acorn had flown out of sight, Evie sprinted back to the bridge. Rick chased after her. He opened the bridge doors to find his sister aggressively punching new coordinates into the navigator.

Oh no.
Rick had a bad feeling about this. “Evie, what are you doing?”

She glanced over her shoulder at him and grinned. “I'm, uh . . . programming the
Roost
to take a shortcut to school. Well, more of a long cut. You see, I put us back on our original course to Texas.”

Rick had no interest in getting between Mom and Evie on this. He wanted to do what his mother had ordered, but they urgently needed to root the continent. According to his Continent Collision Counter, they had less than thirty-five hours before the big crash.

“But Mom said to go straight to school,” he moaned feebly.

“We will go to school,” Evie said, “. . . eventually.”

A FEW HOURS EARLIER
 . . .

“Eyes front, agents.” Mister Snow's stern command came from the cockpit of the lead hovership. “The Great Pacific Garbage Patch is straight ahead.”

Diana's heart was beating as fast as it used to on missions with Vesuvia. She hadn't seen the Great Pacific Garbage Patch since it had been transformed into the eighth continent. There was no telling what kind of traps George Lane would have waiting for them.

Diana had been issued one of Winterpole's iceberg helmets, but it was so big it sank over her shoulders. She removed the helmet and peered out the hovership window at the continent below.

The Eden Compound had done its work. A whole continent had appeared where previously a garbage dump had been. The spongy earth of the continent stretched past the horizon, the greenish-brown plain broken only by the occasional rocky outcropping and a few twisting rivers and streams.

Near the shore Diana could make out a small encampment where campfires and a couple of temporary wooden shelters were laid out. There was also a parked hovership that Diana recognized—the
Condor
, George Lane's personal vessel.

The hovership the Winterpole agents were aboard started to descend.
Guess that's where we're headed
, Diana thought, plunging her head back into the oversized helmet.

“Go, go, go!” Mister Snow ordered as the hoverships landed and the doors slid open. Winterpole soldiers spilled out of the ships like plastic army men from overturned toy chests, piling up on top of each other. Diana carefully followed Mister Snow out of the ship as he stepped over the fallen agents, who looked quite comical in their iceberg helmets and three-piece suits.

Diana took a breath of the salty sea breeze. The wind was quite pronounced, which she supposed made sense. After all, the continent was moving speedily toward Australia. Despite the impending danger, Diana found the air quite pleasant.

George Lane approached, wiping his hands on a grease-stained rag. He wore a sweatband high on his forehead so his poofy auburn hair went straight up like a volcanic eruption. At the inventor's side was the seven-foot-tall crow, 2-Tor.

“Did you forget that Winterpole has no jurisdiction over the eighth continent?” George asked without a trace of fear.

Mister Snow showed his best sneer to his adversary. “Actually, that's no longer an issue.”

“Come again?” George Lane blinked.

“Winterpole may intervene if one landmass threatens another; and, as I'm sure you're aware, this ‘continent,' as you like to call it, is currently barreling toward Australia.”

“That's one of the kinks I'm working out.”

“You call the imminent demise of twenty-three million people ‘a kink'? I'm not sure if it was your negligence, incompetence, or propensity for evil, Mister Lane, but you've managed to cause quite a bit of havoc. And so, I'm delighted to inform you that you, George Lane, are under arrest.” Mister Snow whipped a thick piece of cyber paper out of his jacket and showed it to George. The text glowed.

“Negative! Negative!” squawked 2-Tor. “You may not take him.”

“Ah, but we will!” Mister Snow snapped in response.

“I say, over my feathered body!”

Mister Snow signaled his agents. Diana flinched as two dozen ice cannons opened on 2-Tor simultaneously. When the mist cleared, the formerly robotic crow was barely visible through the thick block of ice that now encased him.

Furious, George snatched the cyber paper from Mister Snow's hand and moved to tear it. He grimaced and strained, hunching over to get leverage, but the cyber paper just stretched and creaked like old leather. It wouldn't rip.

Mister Snow and the other agents laughed at George's frustration. Diana was the only one who didn't.

George threw the cyber paper on the ground in disgust. “You shouldn't have frozen my bird.”

“Ah, yes, get angry.” Mister Snow licked his lips with more relish than a jumbo hot dog. “Poor Georgey. No more excuses. No more escape plans. Now, at long last, you are coming with us.”

“Didn't we do this once already?”

“Yes, but last time I could only place you under house arrest. This time I have the authority to take you to the Prison at the Pole.”

Defiantly, George said, “I'm not afraid of the Prison at the Pole.”

Mister Snow snorted. “Give it time to convince you.”

The agents laughed uproariously. George Lane looked shattered as they bound his wrists behind his back with a squid-cuff and dragged him onto one of the hoverships.

As Mister Snow watched the agents carry his adversary away, Diana approached. “Mister Snow, I'd like to take a squad and inspect the compound. My guess is that the Lanes were working on a way to stop the continental collision. Maybe we can find their research and use it to help us.”

“Don't interrupt me. I'm savoring my victory.” Mister Snow smirked and hummed a triumphant ditty.

Diana watched, frozen, as the agents began unloading the supplies to set up their base of operations on the eighth continent. Everything was going right. So why did it all feel so wrong?