Welcome to the Jungle

by Matt London

  The crew chief waved goodbye and walked back to her hangar, while the Winterpole agents moved in closer.

  “You’re the son of Melinda Lane?” one of them asked.

  “The stainer?”

  “The liar?”

  “What’s your name, boy?”

  “Uh . . . um . . .” Rick tried to think of something to get him out of this mess.

  “I say!” 2-Tor bellowed. “I do rightly say. Step back, agents. I know the law! I know Winterpole tribunal statutes like the back of my drumstick. I demand you let this boy see his mother at once, criminal or not! Who is in charge here?”

  “Quit squawking, you costumed freak,” said one of the agents, an older bald man with a hooked nose. “I’m Mister Horn. I’m in charge here.”

  “Costumed!?” 2-Tor said like someone had called him fat.

  Mister Horn tried to lower the rising tempers. “All right, everyone calm down. The guy in the bird suit is right. The statutes clearly state that family can visit the prisoner the day before the trial.”

  “Trial?!” Rick cried.

  “Bird suit?!” 2-Tor said, equally in horror.

  “Well, come on,” Mister Horn said, waving them to the back room. “This way.”

  Relieved, Rick felt the blood rush back to his head. The good news was that this division of Winterpole had not been notified of the break-in at the Prison at the Pole. As long as the agents stayed in the dark, Rick could stay out of trouble.

  From what Rick could tell, Winterpole had been given space to operate on the Ink-A-Spot vessel. The architecture and furniture were all too clean and modern for Winterpole, but the people, with their stiff outfits and overly serious attitudes, were more what Rick expected.

  They reached a heavy locked door with an entry keypad. Mister Horn shielded the keypad with his hand as he punched in a few numbers. The door opened and suddenly Rick was back at the Prison at the Pole.

  Well, not quite. But it was a jail and did bring back those rotten memories.

  Here the walls were made of glass and metal instead of ice, and cramped cells lined both sides of a narrow corridor. The cells were empty except for the one at the end, where Rick’s mother was sitting on a thin cot, her head in her hands.

  “Mom?”

  She raised her head, a look of pure disbelief in her eyes. She ran to the bars of her cell and reached for her son. “Rick! Rick, my darling!”

  “No touching!” snapped Mister Horn.

  “Mom, are you all right? I have to get you out of here. We have to get back to the eighth continent. Everything is in danger. What happened to you?”

  His mother sighed. “Oh, Rick, it was terrible. Cleanaspot has stripped me of my command.”

  “What? How can that be?”

  She looked at 2-Tor expectantly and a silent understanding passed between them. “Yes, Mum,” he said, nodding. Then he walked over to Mister Horn. “I say, I have a very complicated question about Statute Forty-Zero-A. Might you be able to clear things up for me?”

  Mom lowered her voice and leaned close to Rick. “Ink-A-Spot accused us of creating the stain ourselves. They got Winterpole involved. Then Cleanaspot realized all of Winterpole was after was me. Probably revenge for something to do with your father and the eighth continent. Anyway, Cleanaspot had to distance itself from me so Winterpole would back off, but now people are saying that I created the stain by myself. How could that even be possible?” She sighed. “The Cleanaspot board says if I don’t clean the stain by sundown, I’ll lose my job forever.”

  “But it’s your company,” Rick said. “They can’t fire you, can they?”

  “They can. But that’s not even the worst of it. Winterpole is going to put me on trial for creating the stain. That’s why I’m stuck here. They’re going to keep holding me captive until I am found guilty or innocent—but probably guilty. I don’t know how to prove I didn’t do it.”

  “Who is defending you at your trial? You need an advocate.”

  “I was going to do it myself, but”—Mom shook her head sadly—“Winterpole issued a gag order on me for the trial. I won’t be able to speak.”

  “Mom . . . I can do this. I can defend you!”

  “But Rick, you’re just a boy. I can’t ask you to—”

  “—You won’t be able to stop me,” he said. “I’ll start studying right away.”

  She reached her hand through the bars to touch his face. “I need you now more than ever, Rick.”

  “Hey!” Mister Horn shoved 2-Tor out of the way. “I said no touching.”

  2-Tor scratched his beak. “Ah, yes, I see. Fifty-Zero-A. Very illuminating.”

  That was all the time they were allowed with the prisoner. Mister Horn showed them out of Winterpole’s makeshift office-slash-jail. Rick’s head was spinning. Mom imprisoned. Dad missing. Evie off on her own.

  This was exactly what Evie was trying to prevent—the family was all broken up.

  But no more. Rick would find a way to bring the family back together and save the eighth continent. And if that meant taking on the entire Winterpole Tribunal system by himself, then that’s what he was going to do.

  DIANA STEPPED INTO ROOM Z-99 AND CLOSED THE DOOR. GEORGE LANE SAT IN THE CHAIR BEFORE her, slumped over in exhausted defeat.

  A fish slid out of the bucket above him and landed on his head with a squish. George didn’t even react.

  Diana had told the Polar Bear she needed to see the prisoner to conduct research for the report her mother had requested. But, of course, that wasn’t exactly true. Circling behind George, Diana switched off the torture device. The hum of the machine faded and suddenly the only audible sound was George Lane’s shallow breathing. He tried to look back at her, but he was too weak to move. When he spoke, his voice was a whisper, barely audible. “What are you doing?”

  Diana struggled with the ropes tying him to the chair. Her fingers were cold and the knots were tight. At last Diana managed to undo the bonds. “I’m getting you out of here. Try not to speak,” she said as the ropes dropped to the floor. Diana pulled George to his feet and led him to the door, attempting to hold her breath. It wasn’t his fault that he reeked of fish, but that didn’t mean he smelled any less like the seafood section of the local supermarket.

  The halls of the Prison at the Pole were quiet and empty. George was too weak to walk on his own, so Diana put his arm over her shoulder for support and helped him limp down the corridor. George looked at her quizzically, as if asking whether she was sure that she wanted to do this.

  Diana nodded. Yes, she was sure. More sure than she’d been in a long time. She kept mentally replaying the fight she’d had with everyone back in Vesuvia’s cell. She couldn’t believe that her mother actually sided with Benjamin Nagg over her. The whole thing felt so typically Winterpole, but she’d have hoped that her mother would have cared about her enough to see reason.

  Diana led George to the roof access doors at the end of the hall, taking most of his weight on her shoulders. She opened the doors and went up the stairs.

  A few small hoverships were parked on the rooftop landing pad. One of the armed sentries approached.

  “Where are you taking this man?” he asked.

  Diana flashed him her identification card. “Prisoner transfer from room Z-99. Warden’s instructions.”

  The guard grimaced. “Yikes. I wouldn’t want to cross the Polar Bear today. Move along.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  She helped Mister Lane lie down in the back of the hovership and then ignited the engines. It didn’t matter what her mother thought anymore. Diana was through following orders from Winterpole.

  EVIE SAW THE PINK ROBOTS EVEN BEFORE SHE SAW THE EIGHTH CONTINENT.

  “Look at them rascals yonder.” Sprout pointed out the front view screen of the Roost. The birds and flying fish and other
robo-animals were spewing multicolored liquids of questionable origin.

  “It’s not going to be easy to sneak around them.” Evie shook her head in dismay. Her mind was still crowded with regrets about her fight with Rick, but she had to focus on the mission at hand. She angled the Roost down. They plummeted through the clouds. Swirling white vapor rushed past the windshield. Then they broke into the clear. Directly below them, the Big Whale loomed. It was even bigger up close.

  Evie screamed and pulled up hard on the Roost’s flight stick, missing the Big Whale so narrowly her hovership’s leaves brushed the side of the blimp. “We got pink thingies on our tail!” On our tail was something Evie had always wanted to say in a hovership battle. In this case, however, the phrase was an understatement. The persistent robo-birds flung their payloads at the Roost, battering the aft of the hovership with noxious substances like acid, raw sewage, and high-fructose corn syrup. “Sprout, where do we need to plant the super root?”

  “We’ve got to attach it to the underside of the continent all snug-like. That’ll let it grow up and grow down at the same time.”

  “Sounds good!”

  Evie directed the Roost toward the ocean surface. They had to root the continent right away. Even without Rick’s countdown application, Evie knew they were out of time. She could see the eighth continent approaching Australia through the hovership window.

  Sprout raised a nervous eyebrow. “Evie, what are you doing? You’re heading right for the water. We’re gonna be smashed flatter than a tomato under a boot!”

  “You said we had to get under the continent. Well here we go!” The Roost picked up speed. Evie gripped the flight stick with all her strength. At the last second she pulled up, and the hovership skimmed along the surface of the water, coming to a stop close to the sandy shore of the eighth continent.

  Evie engaged the autopilot and set it on a two-minute timer. She hurried to the storage hold, grabbed the super root that they’d stashed in a waterproof bag, and waved for Sprout to follow.

  Together they opened the diving locker. They zipped on wetsuits, shouldered oxygen tanks, gathered heavy diving weights, and put on their scuba helmets. Evie stuck her pocket tablet in a waterproof case and strapped it to her wrist, so she could issue commands to the Roost underwater. Next she opened the thick bark gate and she and Sprout hopped in the water, clutching the weights to their chests.

  As soon as they were deep enough, the Roost rocketed into the air and led the attacking robo-birds away.

  Sprout’s voice came in through the short-range communicator. “Yee-haw! It worked! Them robo-birds ain’t following us no more.”

  Evie’s sudden rush of relief morphed into a calm focus as the weights pulled them down through the dark, cold water. For the first time, she saw the underside of the eighth continent. From down here, it looked almost like an egg in a nest, the last remaining vestiges of garbage cupping the natural earth and sand. The Eden Compound must not have reached the trash under here—it was still the Great Pacific Garbage Patch.

  Winterpole, the return of Vesuvia, and now this—Evie was starting to realize that bad things never went away for good. It was not a comforting notion.

  Once they had descended enough to swim under the continent, Evie and Sprout released the diving weights. They tumbled into the depths, but just as they were about to fade from view, a big pink blur swam beneath them and swallowed the weights in one quick bite.

  Evie and Sprout shared a frightened look. Chompedo!

  They kicked frantically through the water. Maybe, just maybe, if they hurried to the underside of the continent, they could not only root it but also find a place to hide where Chompedo wouldn’t be able to get to them. Reaching out a hand, Evie grabbed at the mangled bicycles and broken inventions closest to her. She wormed her way through the twisted metal and plastic, pulling herself inside the hard bramble. Sprout followed her and Chompedo tried to do the same.

  Evie held her breath as the robo-shark slammed into the trash—once, twice, three times to no avail. He can’t break through! Evie realized. Their unspoken plan had worked.

  Chompedo floated in the water, staring up at Evie and Sprout hungrily. From this perspective, Evie could see that the giant shark was damaged. One of his eyes was completely smashed, and his pink hull was dented in a dozen places, the paint scraped and abraded, presumably as a result of the impromptu EMP she and Rick had built during the Piffle Pink Patrol’s assault.

  Chompedo slammed into the tangled garbage, denting it and breaking off pieces. He stuck his nose through this new hole like a dog, trying to wriggle his way to Evie. When that didn’t work, he bared his chainsaw teeth and tried to cut through the metal, but some of his teeth were broken and others were missing.

  Hmm . . . probably not worth it to test the robot’s capabilities, Evie thought. “Sprout, let’s hurry!” she said.

  The trashy base of the continent was too dense to swim through; they had to squeeze through the metal root system like it was an oversized jungle gym. Soon they reached the top, where the metal and plastic turned into the spongy earth of the post-Eden Compound continent.

  “Plant the bulb here,” Sprout said through the radio in his scuba helmet. He unzipped the top of his wetsuit, took the bulb out of his pocket, and handed it to her. “I reckon it’ll start to grow as soon as we introduce it to the soil.”

  This was the moment Evie had been waiting for. She only wished her family were there to see it. She scooped out a handful of earth and smooshed the root into the hole, then packed the earth back in place. The plastic and scrap metal beneath them thrummed as Chompedo repeatedly rammed into it.

  Evie watched in anticipation as the first tendrils of vine curled out of the dirt. The vines spiraled through the metal and plastic, spreading. One of the longer roots struck Chompedo as it reached down. Lucky for them, Chompedo took that as his signal to flee from the pugnacious root.

  The vines grew thicker, pushing Evie and Sprout apart. The kids climbed away from the growing tendrils of root. Checking her pocket tablet, Evie brought up the Roost’s external camera. The vines had broken through the surface of the continent, and plants were popping up all over.

  We did it! Evie thought. It reminded Evie of that fateful moment when they’d showered the Eden Compound down on the garbage patch and transformed it into her beloved continent. Only last time, Rick had been at her side and her parents had swooped in at the last moment. It didn’t feel the same without them.

  She hailed the Roost to come pick up her and Sprout. Soon they were back aboard and toweling their wet hair dry.

  The effect of the super root was even more impressive when seen in person. Evie watched the vines tear through the Winterpole camp, smashing buildings to bits.

  But something wasn’t right. The continent was still drifting closer toward the Australian coast.

  “Why hasn’t it stopped moving?” Evie asked in dismay.

  Sprout wrinkled his forehead. “We wanted to use the root as an anchor, right?”

  “Yeah . . .”

  “Well, there must not be anything for the root to connect to on the ocean floor. We need to attach it to something.”

  “But what?” Evie thought about it but got nowhere. This was exactly the kind of thing Rick was good at, coming up with plans that worked even when she felt like they shouldn’t. His brain was so stuffed full of facts, and his little computer programs were always so helpful. She regretted now, more than ever, how much she’d argued with him and hadn’t appreciated his ideas.

  Suddenly, Evie had an idea of her own. “Sprout,” she said. “I’ve got it. I know how to anchor the continent for good.”

  WITHOUT A PICOSECOND TO SPARE, RICK PUSHED OPEN THE HEAVY DOORS INTO THE COURTROOM where the tribunal was being held.

  No one seemed to notice.

  The room was curved like an old Greek amphitheater, wit
h steps leading down to a flat stage at the bottom. Behind this stage was a large structure where three tribunes in powdered wigs witnessed arguments.

  The Winterpole Advocate, whose only job was to convince the tribunes that Rick’s mom was a bad person, had just completed his closing statement.

  “I believe we have heard testimony to our satisfaction,” said the first tribune. He glanced dismissively at Rick’s mother, who sat on the floor, her arms bound by a squid-cuff. “Shall we render a verdict?”

  “I submit an affirmative,” stated the second tribune.

  “Then let us proceed,” the third tribune agreed.

  Rick shouted from the top of the chamber. “You will not proceed! I object!”

  The first tribune rose from his padded leather armchair and slammed his gavel against his desk. “No one may object without the proper permission slip. Silence!”

  Where the gavel struck, a shockwave emanated. These devices detected sound waves and reflected the reverse waveform of whatever sound they picked up—the latest in noise-canceling technology.

  But Rick was holding a large piece of cyber paper, curled at the bottom like a long scroll. The cyber paper thrummed like a gong, deflecting the noise-canceling attack.

  “You will not silence me!” Rick bellowed. “I have permission to speak!”

  He and 2-Tor had spent the whole day speed reading Winterpole legal books and submitting applications for permission slips. Now he was ready to make the case to free his mom and then get back to the eighth continent. Rick was packing paper.

  “Come down here, boy,” said the Winterpole Advocate. “There’s no need to resist justice. These good tribunes know Mrs. Lane is guilty. You must accept reality.”

  “I demand proof of evidence!” Rick raced down the steps to the tribunal stage, past several stern-faced executives from Ink-A-Spot in the audience. He flung his completed request forms at the wigged tribunes. The cyber paper sheets landed in front of them and switched on, illuminating holographic projections of his list of demands. “I’ve done the research into this matter. Has the tribunal? There is no evidence linking Mrs. Lane to the stain. In fact, she has a solid alibi—she was nowhere near the stain’s origin point when it formed.”