The Nerdy Dozen #3: 20,000 Nerds Under the Sea

by Jeff Miller

  “Oh, there’s a radio,” Neil said. “Maybe this one works.”

  He found the simple switch for the radio. The small speaker sizzled to life. “We need to let somebody know what a maniac Jolly Rogers is.”

  Neil held on to the plastic receiver of the radio, which was tethered to the control panel by a spiral black rubber cord. “Hello? Anybody there?”

  There was no response, so Neil unplugged it.

  “Just in case she’s tracking us or something,” Neil said. “We’ll get in touch with the others once we get to Harris’s place.”

  He looked at the console holding the radio and saw the logo for Harris’s family company, Beed Industries.

  “Interesting,” Neil mumbled. Soon, the small chain of islands began to appear on the sub’s radar.

  “There they are!” said Neil. “Sam Gonzales, you are a genius.”

  “I just hope we can get there,” she said.

  As the escape pod charged toward the chain of small islands, it began to sputter. There’d been barely any fuel in the tank when they’d started, and now it was bone-dry. The sub slowly coasted forward only off momentum.

  The lights of the cockpit dimmed as the sub started to sink.

  “Uh-oh, c’mon, baby,” said Biggs, tapping the dashboard of the small submarine. Amazingly, the craft mustered one final push forward. Their heads jerked forward as they collided nosefirst with the sandy shore of the smallest island in the chain. Neil opened the hatch leading out and fought small waves as the cockpit filled with water. The three splashed out of the submarine and crawled to the shore. They lay out on their backs, all of them still pulsing with adrenaline.

  “I’ve never felt so happy to be on a beach,” said Sam. Neil, and his stomach, agreed. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the warm sun beat down on his face. He heard a familiar ostrich noise and opened his eyes.

  “Hey, this is Weo’s place!” Neil said, excitedly looking around. It was a place Neil had crash-landed on before. “He can help us get in touch with somebody.”

  If anyone will help us, it’s Weo. Unless he’s riding an ostrich somewhere. Then this could get interesting.

  “We could even make a phone call from Penny’s Pizza,” Neil said, his nerves settling at the thought of delicious pineapple. “I think I know how to get us there.”

  After twenty minutes of cutting through thorny trees, the group reached the vine net Neil had once called home for a few hours.

  “No way, it’s still here!” Neil said. The netting was overgrown with moss and looked like it was now a nest for a small family of birds. Weo’s tree house was in a similar condition. Vines were beginning to wind their way between the wooden slats of the floor.

  “Weo!” Neil yelled as Sam and Biggs finally caught up. “Weo?” There was no answer, apart from the song of the island’s tropical birds.

  Neil was getting a bit worried.

  He walked toward the wooden ladder that led to the tree house. As he climbed each rung, it groaned under his body weight. Neil reached the top and walked the handmade gangplank, his shoes kicking dust through the cracks of wooden slats. It looked like nobody had been there in years—even though Neil had visited six months ago.

  “Maybe he’s somewhere else,” Neil shouted down to Sam and Biggs. “It’s empty.”

  “Or maybe this whole place is deserted?” said Sam. “I don’t see too many signs of life. Unless you count the monkeys that keep trying to steal my hair bands.”

  “Let’s continue looking around,” Neil answered. “Where else could he be? You don’t think anything . . . bad happened?”

  The three climbed down from the tree house and walked to the top of the island’s rocky hill. They looked toward Harris’s island. A chorus of birds squawked from across the small channel of water.

  The ostriches had migrated from Weo’s island to the Feather Duster warehouse and had taken over. Ostriches poked around the island’s open spaces, leaving things filthy, covered with eggshells and bird droppings.

  “Let’s start hoofing it,” Neil said. Neil could feel the sun beginning to crisp his fair skin. Still wearing the white uniform from Reboot Robiskie’s party yacht, Neil Andertol began to walk over the sandbars leading to the home of the Feather Duster warehouse.

  Neil knew finding his friend could at least help solve the problem of getting home. Where there was Weo, you were bound to find Harris. Where there was Harris, there was a private jet.

  We can also see what he knows about Jolly, and why Beed Industries helped build that submarine.

  THE FEATHER DUSTER WAREHOUSE SMELLED LIKE NEIL’S garage, dusty and full of smelly fertilizer. Neil could see a single light filtering out through a window on the second floor.

  “Do you think that’s the main office? Who could be up there?” Neil asked, getting the creeps.

  “Maybe it’s Mr. Beed?” Sam suggested.

  They headed toward a freight elevator bay and pushed the up arrow. The doors opened and closed with a pleasant chime.

  The lift offered two buttons: W, the floor they were on, and P.

  “Ooh, where to go?” said Biggs, stepping alongside Neil in the elevator.

  “Gotta be the presidential suite,” said Biggs, who pushed the P button with an excited finger. They started to move up. “If Mr. Beed is there, this could be a good time to get some feedback on the smell technology he bought from me. I’ve been trying to set up a meeting for months.”

  Neil glanced at his watch. It was seven P.M. back home in Colorado. After some quick mental math, he realized he had roughly twelve hours to save every living shark before getting to homeroom. He probably needed to give his parents an update, too.

  Ding.

  The silver doors of the elevator rushed open to reveal a plush office. It was shaped like a lima bean and had blue shag carpeting. Every surface was covered in ostrich knickknacks. Pictures. Figurines. Slippers. In the center of the room was an L-shaped yellow couch that had ostrich legs for armrests. A single ostrich-shaped lamp gave the room an eerie glow.

  Neil, Sam, and Biggs walked toward the mahogany desk. A leather chair with a tall back was turned away from them.

  “Uh, hello, President Beed?” said Biggs. “My name is Robert Starlight Hurbigg, and I’m here to talk smells and sharks.”

  There was no response. They walked around the desk to see the chair was empty.

  “President Beed?” Biggs continued. From behind a closed door came the sound of water splashing in a sink.

  “Somebody’s in the bathroom,” Neil whispered.

  Before they could hide, the bathroom door opened.

  “Weo?” blurted Neil.

  The boy who walked out looked startled.

  “No way! Neil!” said Weo. He wore fresh jeans and a yellow button-down shirt with the Feather Duster logo stitched on its front. His hair was nicely trimmed, and he flashed an electric smile. He looked good, as if he’d been sleeping indoors or something.

  “What happened to the tree house?”

  “Well, I’m in here now,” Weo said. “The islands had an earthquake not too long ago, and the house was feeling sketchy. And all the killer surf got destroyed. It’s nothing but rocky shore now, so everybody bailed.”

  Weo sat down in the padded chair behind the comically large desk.

  “So what happened with Harris?”

  “Things are good with me and Harris, but a lot of employees left once the pizza place closed.”

  Neil let out an involuntary gasp. “No!”

  “Penny’s Pizza closed?” Biggs said, defeated.

  “Yeah, I know it’s a tragedy. Penny found another island where she could set up shop,” Weo said. “And Harris wanted to spend less time here and needed somebody to manage the facility. I’m in charge of the whole warehouse right now.”

  He twirled his hand in a circle. Neil looked at the boy’s desk. It had only a framed picture of Weo and Harris and a bronze rectangular nameplate that read PRESIDENT AND WEO.


  “You’re in charge now? At least that’s awesome news!” Neil congratulated him. “The place looks much nicer than before.”

  “Thanks,” said Weo. He cocked his head to the side. “So what are you guys doing here? Again?”

  “It’s a long story,” said Neil. “But we need to get home as soon as possible. And talk to our friends, and alert international shark authorities—and the president.”

  Weo gave him a puzzled look.

  “A crazy girl named Jolly is out in the ocean somewhere right now, trying to capture every shark in existence.”

  “What? Like, every shark?” gasped Weo. “That would destroy sea life as we know it.”

  “And she’s got some kind of secret ketchup to trap them. We’ve got to stop her before she goes through with her plan,” Neil explained.

  “Weo, can we use your phone?” asked Sam. “I should also tell my parents I won’t make dinner. And figure out what my excuse is for why I’m late. . . .”

  “You guys are more than free to use anything,” Weo said. He pointed to the black phone on his desk.

  “Thanks—you’re a lifesaver,” said Sam. She picked up the phone while Neil and Biggs continued talking with Weo.

  “Weo, I’m not sure if I’m doing this right, but I don’t think the phone’s working,” said Sam.

  “That’s odd,” Weo said. He walked next to Sam and investigated. “Yeah, no dial tone or anything.”

  Weo turned to his computer and attempted to go online or view email.

  “Weird,” Weo said. “Looks like everything is down.”

  “It’s Jolly,” said Neil. “I bet she’s blocking all signals so that we can’t contact anyone. Our radio on the sub didn’t work either!”

  “I’d offer to take you all home, really, but I can’t leave,” Weo said. “In case anything goes wrong around here, I have to stick around—but . . .”

  The boy cocked his head, as if he was listening for a distant noise.

  “But I might know someone who can take you guys. Come with me.”

  Weo walked to the rooftop terrace adjacent to his office. Neil, Biggs, and Sam followed Weo outside. It was covered in vibrant plant life and looked out over the small chain of islands. The sound of a jet engine filled the afternoon air.

  A Beed Industries private jet landed on the roof’s small landing strip. Its engines were slowly winding down as the rear passenger door popped open. A skinny frame filled the doorway as Harris poked his head outside.

  “Weo, my good man,” said Harris. His arms were full of RebootCon gift bags. “Come give me a hand with these, will you? I think I snagged every game coming out for the next two years.”

  Harris dropped his armload of bags when he finally saw the crowd that was with Weo.

  “Whoa, fancy seeing you guys here,” Harris said, wiping a few smudges from his sunglasses. “You guys have a good night? Sink Reboot’s yacht?”

  “Quit the friendly act, Harris,” said Neil. Harris looked startled.

  “Lovely seeing you as well, Neil.”

  Neil was angry that his friend could betray him.

  “Tell us everything you know about Jolly Rogers,” Neil demanded. “Or else.”

  HARRIS BEED LOOKED UNEASY.

  “Now settle down, Neil,” said Harris, clearly thrown by the accusations. “No need to go around ‘or else’-ing people.”

  “I don’t want to hear it. I need to know what you know about Jolly Rogers, starting with, for example, why Beed Industries helped build her monster shark.”

  Neil was right in Harris’s face. His jaw was clenched—they had met Harris as an evil villain, after all. It would be easy for him to still be up to no good.

  “Calm down, Neil,” Harris said. He put his sunglasses on top of his head. He looked at Weo, who was sitting in his desk chair. “Somebody needs less sugar.”

  “While that may be true, I still need answers,” Neil replied.

  Harris put his hands out to try and calm down his friend. “I’ll tell you what I know about her. But let me first say, her family’s and my family’s companies have done business for decades. We’re contracted to make lots of things for them.”

  “Like what?”

  “Ketchup-manufacturing equipment.”

  “Really? Including the robotic shark?”

  “Exactly!” said Harris. “‘Krill collectors,’ as my dad calls them. We worked with the Rogers family to create the top-of-the-line technology.”

  “This sounds like an easy excuse for another evil plan,” Neil said. “Am I the only one who thinks it’s fishy Beed Industries could be involved somehow?”

  “Neil, remember what Jolly was saying when she showed us Magda?” Sam said. “She modified one of the sharks they use to catch krill.”

  “Jolly’s parents created it in a certain way so that it wouldn’t disrupt the ecosystem,” said Harris. “They were sticklers for making everything sustainable. Plus it doesn’t disrupt krill-spawning habits.”

  “Jolly said there were more krill kollectors, though,” Sam said. “It was like she disassembled lots of them to make a bigger one.”

  “There’s plenty more. Rogers Ketchup is the worldwide leader in the tomato-based dipping-sauce game,” Harris said. “My dad and his friends love that expensive stuff.”

  “But the sharks—did your dad and his friends make these sharks?”

  “Pretty much, yes. There’s a fleet of those things. I helped with the controls—I should know.”

  “So you did help her!” Neil accused.

  Harris looked around the roof. “Neil, I did, but it’s complicated. Can we go inside? I just got home, and I kinda need to pee. Plus we should seek shelter. The ostriches use this runway as a fight club in the evenings. It’s awful.”

  Neil wasn’t sure if he could fully trust Harris, but he’d had enough ostrich-related injuries for one lifetime, so he followed everyone back into Weo’s office.

  “Did you know anyone in Jolly’s family?” asked Sam.

  “Hmm. My dad does, maybe. Her family had some real pirates in it, though. From way back,” Harris said. “My dad told me once to be nice to her, because practically her whole family has been killed by random shark attacks.”

  “Really?” said Neil.

  “Her parents were boating, doing krill research,” Harris said, his voice serious for once.

  “Hence her plot for revenge,” said Biggs.

  “I really felt for her, so I did a little pro bono designing. Made the controls like a game,” Harris. “Some of my best work, really. She said it was for science, so I didn’t charge. Something about an aquarium she was opening up.”

  “Dude, that was the game at RebootCon. The one onstage with the sharks?” Biggs said. “Like, the biggest game that was demoed there. And you did it for free?!”

  Harris raised his eyebrows.

  “Oooh, that makes sense now,” said Harris. “I thought that looked familiar. I was too busy with those glitches in Feather Duster. I never saw the demo.”

  “Well, it sounds like she stole your krill collector operating system to make her game, to find somebody to drive her evil shark,” said Sam.

  “Was the game fun?”

  Neil stared blankly at Harris. He realized that his friend was innocent of any conspiring with Jolly. Harris was brilliant, but sometimes he totally didn’t get it.

  “Oh, it was a real hoot,” said Neil sarcastically. “And news flash: I don’t think that aquarium is real.”

  “So it’s not an aquarium?” asked Harris.

  “No way. She’s made a monster to capture every living shark,” Biggs said. “She wants to get rid of them all. Like they did her family.”

  “Wow, that seems a little intense,” said Harris.

  “So was your crazy scheme to take over the world,” said Sam.

  “Good point,” Harris admitted. “Well, what can I do to help? I might have a copy of those game controls around here somewhere. Trevor kept asking me to try t
o get an advance copy of the game for him.”

  “Trevor?” Neil was intrigued.

  “Yeah, when you guys left, I interfered with security so that no one got kicked out. It was pretty nice of them,” said Harris, reaching into a dish of ostrich-shaped candies. He crunched them in his mouth, unaware that he’d witnessed Jolly’s plan to select the best pilots to steer her megalodon.

  “We’ve got to find everyone,” Neil said firmly. “Before she does.”

  “Who is everyone? You mean the other nine of us?”

  Neil nodded.

  “Something tells me she’s not giving up just because we broke her shark’s fin. She has a fleet of them, anyway,” he said. “Plus she’s going to go after more people to pilot that thing.”

  “So she’s coming back for you guys?” asked Harris.

  “Us, or the next best gamers alive, which would be our friends,” said Sam.

  “Harris, we’re the only ones who know what’s going on. The only ones who can stop Jolly,” Neil said. “We need your help.”

  Harris finished crunching one last ostrich candy.

  “Well, if we’ve got to do something, then let’s do something,” the boy billionaire said. He wasn’t an evil villain after all, really.

  “Harris, I’m gonna name a cat after you!” exclaimed Biggs. He ran to Harris and wrapped him in his wiry arms. “So what . . . do we do?”

  “We’re getting the team back together,” Neil said. “We’re coming out of retirement.”

  “Wait, we were retired?” said Biggs. “I thought it was just sort of an ‘on pause’ situation.”

  “Well, we’re unpausing, then.”

  I just hope everyone else wants to.

  Neil was still aware that his friends were probably furious that he’d ditched them at RebootCon.

  “If we have to go find everybody, let’s start making some calls,” said Harris to the group. He glanced at his ever-present phone to look at the time. It read 2:33 in ostrich-shaped letters.

  “Afraid we can’t,” said Weo. “I’ve been looking into it, and somebody’s jamming signals in the area or something. For now, we’re isolated.”

  Neil could hear the squawk of a few ostriches outside.