by Matt London
Still brooding and out of breath, Evie reached the base of a steep hill. This was an unpleasant development. Climbing barefoot was not going to be fun.
“At least it’s warm out,” she said with a sigh.
Lightning lanced across the sky. One deafening thunderclap heralded a downpour that drenched Evie in seconds. Her pajamas clung to her uncomfortably as heavy droplets splashed on her head, easily fighting through the tree cover to torment her. The raindrops were hot. The sky must have been boiling. Evie could relate.
“Evelyn! Please, Miss Evelyn!” a gentle voice cried out from behind her. She turned to see 2-Tor making his way through the trees, pushing branches aside with his beak. His dark feathers, soaked with rainwater, clumped against his body. Droplets beaded down the cracked TV screen in his belly, the last reminder of his former robot self.
“Go away, 2-Tor! I’m not going back there.” She grabbed the trunk of a young tree for support and started pulling herself up the hill. Her foot slipped and she fell, smearing her leg with mud. Undeterred, Evie pressed on, fighting her way to the top.
2-Tor shook out his soggy wings. He was too wet to fly, but the bird was persistent. He followed Evie up the hill. “I must say, miss, you certainly do not make things easy for anyone.”
“Yeah,” Evie grunted as she used a big brown rock as a stepping-stone. “Then they should be glad to be rid of me. Stupid Evie, always messing everything up.”
She slipped again, falling headfirst into the mud. It covered her front completely. “Ugh . . . Ugch . . .”
The big crow caught up to her and slipped his wingtips under her arms. He scooped her up and placed her back on the uneven ground. “What I was trying to say, miss, is that you do not make things easy, but you are worth it. The family needs you. Please come home.”
“I said no, 2-Tor!” She angrily shoved the bird, and his talons went out from under him. He landed hard in the mud and tumbled a short way down the hill.
“Evelyn! Waaark!”
2-Tor looked so miserable and helpless in the mud. She didn’t want to see him like that, so she pushed her way up the last hundred feet of hill and reached the top. Trees did not grow up there. Instead there was a grassy field under the tumultuous sky. Even in the mist and the rain, Evie had an impressive view of the eighth continent. She could see the three big mountain peaks at the center of the continent—Imagination, Perspiration, and Luck. Mount Luck was actually quite close. On the far side of the grassy hilltop, a natural stone bridge extended from the end of the field to a cliff near the base of the mountain. “Near the base” was actually several hundred feet up, and the bridge arched over a fairly deep ravine. Evie wondered what kind of trash had formed the bridge like that before the Eden Compound had turned it to stone.
The rain came down harder on the hilltop, where there were no trees to shield Evie. The water washed most of the mud from her arms and legs as she scurried across the hill and began traversing the bridge. The stone was wet and slippery. She tried to stay in the middle of the bridge, crouching down onto her hands and knees whenever she got dizzy.
“Do not cross that bridge, Miss Evelyn!” 2-Tor pleaded from behind her. His feathers were caked with dark brown mud that stuck to his beak. The big bird looked quite miserable but committed to his mission.
“2-Tor, go home! It’s not safe for you out here!”
“Nor you, dear girl!” The bird started after her across the bridge.
Evie picked up her pace. She didn’t know how else to get the message into his bird brain. She wasn’t going to be part of Rick’s scitopia anymore.
When Evie was nearly across, 2-Tor let out a desperate squawk. He had slipped on the wet stone and fallen. The bird now hung from the bridge, feet dangling. His mud-caked wings were outstretched on the edge. Unable to fly, he clung on for dear life.
“Evelyn! Please help me!” 2-Tor scrambled, kicking his legs.
She had half a mind to leave him. She had warned the bird that it wasn’t safe for him up here, that she didn’t want to be followed, that there was no point in him sticking around. If he got hurt while chasing after her, it was his own fault.
But that was too cruel. Evie could never be so heartless. She loved the silly old bird. Turning around, she ran across the slippery stone bridge, ignoring her own safety. 2-Tor was in danger. She didn’t have time to be cautious.
“Help! Heeeeelp!!!” 2-Tor was slipping. Evie grabbed his wing, but her fingers slid off with all the mud.
“2-Tor, no!” Evie wailed as the bird fell into open air. He flapped his muddy wings, trying to stay up. But the rain was too hard, and the mud too thick. He vanished into the trees far below.
Evie shrieked in horror. Now what had she done? She raced across the bridge and carefully scaled down the cliffs of Mount Luck. Gritting her teeth, Evie struggled to keep good handholds on the side of the mountain. Her hands were wet and shaking.
Several minutes later, she reached the base of the mountain. Down in the valley, rainwater surged through rivers of mud. Evie splashed down into the deepest part of the ravine.
She came to a glade she had never encountered on her many hikes through the wilderness. It was green and peaceful, surrounded by big trees. In the middle was a deep pool. A silvery substance filled the pool and had splashed across the ground in a circle. The area was littered with trash: torn-up Styrofoam cups, empty egg cartons, crumpled tin foil, and rotting Chinese takeout containers.
As Evie ventured forward, she kicked something with her foot. Pain shot through her bare toe. She crouched down to inspect the ouch-inducing object. It was a small pink mechanical bird. Its talons held the top half of a shattered plastic jar. The residue of a foul-smelling and unidentifiable substance was still inside.
“Ev- . . . Ev- . . . Evelyn . . .” chimed a strange voice from the pool. Limping on her throbbing foot, Evie ventured forward.
2-Tor’s black wing stuck out of the pool and then sank beneath the surface.
Evie cried out, “2-Tor! 2-Tor! Answer me! Stupid bird!” She bit her lip, looking around frantically for something to fish him out of the silvery pool.
With a splash, 2-Tor appeared. The thick liquid dripped down his face . . . his metal face. Evie covered her mouth. The bird turned, clacking his silver beak and staring at her with glowing red eyes. From deep within his robotic voice box, the bird-shaped machine growled, “Miss Evelyn . . . It is time for a quiz.”
It took most of the day to sort through the smashed remains of Lane Mansion, pulling from the twisted metal and broken furniture any mementos that were still intact. Some of Dad’s equipment was salvageable, as well as old family photo albums, which had been kept in a locked safe in the master bedroom. Rick’s video game systems were smashed to smithereens, adding a few new lines to the list of reasons to be mad at Evie.
Mom had been great at cleaning up the mess. Go figure. Sometimes having a parent who ran a global cleaning company had its perks. In the late afternoon, once the freak rainstorm had lifted, the Lanes finished sorting the mansion’s remnants into piles: Saved, Fixable, and Junk. Rick and his parents then sat on the beach for an overdue lunch of peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches.
“I’m worried about Evie and 2-Tor,” Dad said sadly. “They should have been back by now.”
Rick chewed his food and said nothing. While Dad was correct that it was strange for Evie not to have returned—and Rick was feeling pangs of regret for lashing out at her the way he had—Rick couldn’t help but be glad she was gone. Besides the destruction she caused, Evie had abandoned their mission to forge a new society. All she cared about was having fun and breaking rules. Rick had learned quickly on this continent that rules were important. They maintained order, kept people safe, and reflected the vision of the society that enforced them. That society, in Rick’s case, was a place where scientists were free to pursue daring research and explore the impossi
ble.
In the distance, out on the ocean, a cluster of ships was coming toward the continent. Rick squinted, trying to see who it was.
“Looks like transport ships,” Dad said. “Newcomers.”
No rest for a continent creator, Rick thought as he wolfed down the rest of his lunch in one bite and hurried back to the center of the settlement, where most of the workshops had been placed. This was the manufacturing hub, where settlers built inventions that helped the continent tick. Rick issued orders to all the workers in earshot. More immigrants were coming to the new new world, and soon!
The transport ships dropped anchor offshore and sent small water buses over to the beach, shuttling the new citizens of the continent to land. Every week it seemed more people arrived. It was hard to make room. They only had so many shelters, although the robots were always building more. Growth had been exponential: the population kept doubling, then doubling again. But as long as the newcomers had smarts and skills and an eagerness to build, the Lanes would make space.
The first boat arrived. Families climbed out and set their suitcases down in the sand. One group came from Zimbabwe, another from Italy, a third from Kuala Lumpur. The eighth continent was an international affair.
“Ah, salutations!” Rick hurried down the beach toward them, adjusting his glasses. “I’m Richard Lane. Call me Rick. If you head up this way, my friends will show you where to place your luggage and where you can wash up. The dining hall is at the western end of the main road—you can get a bite to eat there any time.”
He felt like he was screwing up his greeting. Evie usually welcomed the new citizens, as she had a way of winning people over with just a couple of words. Her style of dancing around whatever subject she was talking about always bugged Rick, but somehow everyone else always ate it up like 2-Tor with a big bowl of worms.
“Where’s the surf shop?” asked one of the kids who was wearing a Hawaiian shirt.
“There’s no surf shop,” Rick said sternly. “We’re forming a new society, an intellectual society. We are here to do hard work.”
“I heard there’d be smoothies,” an old lady in the crowd complained.
“Smoothies? What are you talking about?” The confusion rose in Rick’s voice.
“Isn’t this New Miami?” The kid in the Hawaiian shirt seemed thoroughly unimpressed with everything.
“New Miami!?” That was a name Rick hadn’t heard in a long time, and he wished it could have been longer. New Miami was the dream city of Vesuvia Piffle, a nasty tween villain who had been trying to steal the eighth continent from Rick and Evie since the very beginning. She was the super-secret CEO of the multinational real estate conglomerate the Condo Corporation, and there was no low treachery she would not stoop to if it meant winning the eighth continent all for herself. Twice the Lanes had thwarted her plans, and Rick hadn’t heard anything from her or Condo Corp since stopping her at the Pacific ink stain.
“Anyone looking for New Miami has come to the wrong place. But if you’re here to work for Lane Industries and form a new brilliant civilization, then raise your hand!”
About half the people in the crowd shuffled their feet and tentatively raised their hands.
“Well, fine. Anyone looking for New Miami can get back on the boats.”
There was a mad dash as families raced to be first back on the boats. The water buses pulled away from shore as people splashed into the shallows, tossing their suitcases aboard before their friends pulled them in.
Rick scowled, looking over the faces of the small group that remained. “Well, at least I have you all. Now, the first thing we should do is establish each of your expertises.”
Before he could continue, a blast of blaring music broke the quiet. It sounded horrendous, like a chorus of roaring tigers underscored by a vacuum cleaner ensemble.
A sleek white speedboat was cutting a sharp wake toward the shore. Behind the wheel was a teenage boy in a purple leather trenchcoat. His silvery hair stood straight up in one big spike, and he wore round spectacles that looked like red gemstones, concealing his eyes. Strapped to his back were two enormous stereo speakers that throbbed with each pulsing beat.
The newcomers sprinted for cover as the speedboat ran aground, stopping just inches from where Rick stood. He folded his arms over his chest and gave the boy his most intolerant glare. “If you are looking for New Miami, then you have come to the wrong place.”
“New Miami?” The boy leaped from the speedboat with a flourish and landed, his expensive boots kicking up two puffs of sand. He waved his hands like an orchestra conductor, and the music went silent. “Naw, man, I’m looking for that sweet settlement. The coolest of communes. The one, the only, eighth continent home of Lane Industries!”
He raised his arms, and thunderous applause erupted from his speakers. He fanned the air with his hands. Amazingly, this gesture seemed to pump up the volume.
“How are you doing that?” Rick asked inquisitively.
“Augmented reality, little dude.” He wiggled his red glasses. “You should see all the sweet holograms and digital stuff these babies project onto the real world. Voice control. Gesture control. Who needs a mouse and a keyboard when I can wield my entire electro-entertainment empire with the power of my body and mind alone?”
Rick had used augmented reality glasses before, but this boy’s setup was quite sophisticated. He was like some sort of techno music magician.
“Well, we’re happy to have you,” Rick said. “I’m Rick Lane. I—”
“I know who you are, little dude. You think I’d come all this way without doing my homework? Tristan Ruby, cyber rock star and party planner extraordinaire, at your service.” The boy extended his hand, and a swell of music came out of the speakers, as if something monumental was about to happen.
Rick reached out to shake Tristan’s hand, but at the last second the boy snapped his fingers and a silver card appeared in his hand. Rick hesitated, then took the card. By just one touch Rick could tell that it was cyber paper. He squeezed the card, and it played Tristan’s theme music, an overly digitized orchestral fanfare.
“I think I can help you with your public relations problem.” The cocky grin on Tristan’s face did not amuse Rick one bit.
“What public relations problem?”
“Your pitch, little dude! No one wants to come to a tropical paradise and do hard work. They want to relax. Hang out. No rules. Have fun! I’m a party planner. You know what that means?”
Rick glowered. “Does it mean you plan parties?”
Tristan snapped his fingers again. “Knife sharp, little dude. Knife sharp. That’s exactly what it means. Let me plan a killer party for your family. I’ll make the Lane settlement the coolest digs on all ocho continentos. We’ll get celebrities, reality TV stars, pop musicians—we’re talking grade-A famous people. They’ll be falling over each other trying to get here once I get my nightclub set up.”
“Nightclub? Whoa, whoa, whoa. Who said anything about a nightclub? This settlement is about science and hard work.”
“Science, schmience.” A deep raspy sound blatted out of Tristan’s speakers, like a foghorn. “Leave it to me, little dude. I’ll make the eighth continent cool.”
A hovership roared overhead, circling the settlement. Rick shielded his eyes and squinted up at it—a Winterpole shuttle. But there was no way Winterpole could get past the protective force field Rick and his dad had built, unless . . .
“Let me think about it, Mister Ruby.” Rick started back up the beach, toward where the Winterpole shuttle had landed.
As he approached, the side door of the shuttle slid open, and a girl in a three-piece suit, the standard uniform for an agent of Winterpole, stepped out. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight bun, but two wisps curled down, framing her cheeks. She had soft brown eyes and a sweet smile that looked nothing like the other Winterpol
e employees Rick had met. But this was no average Winterpole employee.
“Diana!” Rick cheered and ran to her.
She sighed in relief when she saw him. “Rick! It’s good to see you. Where’s Evie?”
Rick groaned. “It’s a long story. What’s up? How goes the secret campaign to bring down Winterpole?”
“Shh!” She hushed him, her eyes darting around to see if anyone was listening or watching. “It won’t be a secret if you keep talking about it so loudly. And I’m not trying to bring them down, I’m just doing what I can to get them to return to their original mission—unoppressively maintain order and preserve the planet’s environment.”
Winterpole was an eco-protection agency that had had it out for Rick’s family for as long as he could remember. Diana’s mother was a high-ranking officer in the organization, and she, along with many of Winterpole’s top agents, like the persistent Mister Snow, kept trying new ploys to stop the Lanes from setting up their society on the eighth continent. Diana had her own agenda. She wanted to limit Winterpole’s bureaucracy so it could focus on its actual mission. Unfortunately, this was no easy task. She had freed Rick’s father from the Prison at the Pole when he was last arrested by Mister Snow, and since then, Diana had been the Lanes’ snoop on the inside, alerting them to Winterpole’s crafty plans.
“Something big is happening, Rick. I’m nervous. We should talk somewhere private.”
Rick sent a quick message to his parents on his pocket tablet, alerting them to Diana’s arrival. Then he took her to the Roost. That was the most private place he could think of. Along the way, he explained what had happened that morning with the mansion and how Evie had stormed off into the jungle.
Diana frowned when Rick finished the story. “I hope Evie is okay. She must have felt so bad about what happened.”