The 8th Continent (4 page)

DANGLING FROM AN ORANGE EXTENSION CABLE, RICK LOWERED HIMSELF THROUGH THE HOLE IN
the floor of the sub-sub-basement. The first aid kit he'd just picked up was tucked under his arm. “Evie! Are you hurt? I brought antibacterial gel.”

Evie had landed one level down on a pile of jumbled tarps. “Aw, Rick, you raced down here to rescue me. That's sweet.”

For a moment, deep worry was etched on his face. Then it faded. “I know. I'm always saving your reckless neck when you get in trouble.”

“Aaaand you ruined it. Great. Come on, hero. Let's check out this secret room.”

They were in a part of the mansion they had never seen before. It looked like a storeroom for their dad's retired experiments. Storage crates and rusted shelves formed a grid that crisscrossed like city streets. Dusty picture frames and broken robots were strewn around like discarded marionettes. At the far end of the room was a metal desk pushed against a concrete wall with an old desktop computer and a few data discs covered in dust.

One of the discs caught Rick's eye. Written on the top in big, bold marker was
EDEN.
He picked up the disc to inspect it, but Evie snatched it from his hand and started cleaning off the dust with her shirt.

“Don't scratch it!” Rick wailed as he powered up the computer. Evie rolled her eyes and popped in the disc.

A video began playing. The bad computer graphics in the animation made it look like an old movie. Rick had rendered better-looking CGI on his laptop.

The video showed a desert under a hot sun, with smooth, shifting dunes. The images changed to colorful rain forests as a voiceover explained. “Terraforming. Literally, it means ‘shaping the earth.' It's an advanced form of eco-modification through which scientists can alter the atmosphere and substance of an inhospitable environment to make it habitable for humans.”

Evie massaged her temples. “All these big words are making my brain hurt.”

“Shh . . .” Rick hushed his sister. “I think I get it. Using science, terraforming can transform a desert into a forest.”

The video showed a map of the world where all the deserts were slowly turning green. The voiceover continued. “Large areas of the earth are uninhabitable, like the great Sahara Desert and the entire icy continent of Antarctica. We wanted to create a chemical compound that would kick-start the earth's natural growth processes, to bring dirt to flower, and garbage to life.”

An image of Rick's father appeared on the screen, looking no older than twenty years of age. “Hi! I'm George Lane. Under the tutelage of my thesis advisor, Doctor Evan Grant, I have developed the Eden Compound, a remarkable new substance that will allow users to convert trash into organic matter.”

The video switched to a computer-generated image of a garbage dump—miles of trash heaped in big mounds, with the expected empty boxes and discarded food.

Dad's voice continued. “In small doses, the Eden Compound is capable of transforming garbage into organic matter—plastic into dirt, cardboard into grass, rotten food into fresh water. Landfills could become public parks or even farmland.”

An airplane flew over the landfill, spraying a mist of Eden Compound onto the garbage, transforming it into a verdant landscape.

The video abruptly cut out, and the computer returned to the desktop screen. Rick's mind flew faster than the
Roost
at top speed. The Eden Compound. He repeated the name out loud. “The Eden Compound. Think of the possibilities.”

“Every trash dump transformed instantly into fresh, fertile land. Gardens from garbage.” Evie was so excited she hopped up and down, accidentally knocking Rick's glasses off his face. He crawled around on the floor looking for them.

Dad's garbage chompers may have been destroyed, but with the Eden Compound, they could transform the Great Pacific Garbage Patch into an island the size of Texas (or at least the size of Rhode Island). Just like Dad dreamed.

Evie tapped a finger against her lips contemplatively. “If we made that island using Dad's formula, we would own it—a place where Vesuvia Piffle couldn't ruin my life at school, where Dad could set up a lab and conduct experiments in peace. We could provide a sanctuary to the birds and other animals of the world that have lost their homes. Just think of all the amazing things we could do.”

Rick imagined building his own castles and villages like in his city-simulator video game. He thought about getting every bird on the island to follow his commands. He could help his dad with wild experiments and even conduct some of his own.

“Of course,” Evie reasoned, “if we made Trash Island, Winterpole would still be sticking their noses into our business.”

With that realization, Rick's mind peeled back another layer of possibilities. “Wait a minute, Evie. Winterpole bylaws clearly state that they have jurisdiction over everything on all
seven
continents. But if we transform Trash Island, it would be big enough to be called a new continent. The eighth continent.”

“You mean Winterpole wouldn't be able to tell us what to do? Ooooh, Rick! This is cool. This is cool-plus. We have to do this.”

Rick, though quiet, felt his heart pound with the realization: Winterpole was the custodian of the technicality, and he was going to beat them
on a technicality.

“But there's one thing I don't understand,” Evie continued.

“One thing?” Rick asked with a wink.

“Okay, there a lot of things I don't understand, but there's one thing I don't understand about this. Where is the compound? I don't see it on the disc with the video. And where is this Doctor Grant who worked on the project with Dad? Have you ever heard of him? I haven't.”

Rick was too embarrassed to admit that he never had, either. “You're right. Where are these forested landfills? Why was Dad not already using the compound to terraform the garbage patch? Obviously, they never finished the project, and there has to be a reason why. We should consult all the top search engines, public library databases, and maybe look into hiring a private investigator. That should help us answer these questions.”

“Or we could just ask Dad.” Evie pointed at the ceiling. “He's right upstairs.”

“Good point.” Rick stuck the disc in his breast pocket and followed Evie back to their father's workshop. Breathlessly they explained what they'd discovered in the sub-sub-sub-basement while waving the disc in his face.

Dad leaned back in his chair, taking in what his children had just said. He rubbed his leg sorely. There were signs of a dark rash forming under the squid-cuff.

“So what do you think, Dad?” Evie was so excited she hopped from foot to foot, looking like 2-Tor did when he was leaking hydraulic fluid.

“What do I think?” George echoed. “I think that using the Eden Compound to create an eighth continent is a wonderful idea, children.”

Her dad's encouragement made Evie feel like her spirits were about to take off.

“But unfortunately, I only have half the formula.”

And then those spirits promptly drove off the end of the runway.

“Half the formula?” Rick parroted.

“Oh yes, it's been years since I've seen the other half. I used to dream about the Eden Compound all the time, but that was before I boarded up the sub-sub-sub-basement. Not that I'm saying you should worry about the hole in the floor.”

Evie began to turn red. “Hole? I prefer to think of it as . . . impromptu renovations.”

“Ha! I hadn't thought about that. And besides, patching the floor up will give me something to do while I'm stuck in this house.”

“Dad, Evie, can we focus, please?” Rick said, interrupting their exchange. “Why didn't you ever use the Eden Compound before now?”

George cast his eyes downward in regret. “One of our financial backers on the project was Mastercorp.”

“The military contractor?” Rick asked.

George nodded. “When Mastercorp found out what we had discovered, they wanted to take the invention for themselves. They saw the Eden Compound as a weapon. If the compound could transform plastic and metal inside a garbage dump, why not the same materials on a battleship or an airplane? We wanted nothing to do with weapons of war, so we scrapped the project and broke up the formula so that I took half the notes and Doctor Grant took the other half. Without possession of both halves of the formula, no one can create the Eden Compound—not even us.”

“Easy-peasy! All we have to do is go to Doctor Grant and get his half of the formula. Then we can create our own island, a new world of freedom and security!” Evie stood tall, thumping her chest like the politicians she had seen on TV. “The eighth continent! That's right, Rick, I'm stealing your name. So, where is Doctor Grant?”

“I have no idea,” their father said.

“Oh.” Evie's arms dropped to her sides.

“Alas, I haven't seen him since the day we abandoned the project, well before either of you were born. But Winterpole might know. When they got wind that we were working on an experiment that could change the face of the world, they kept a close eye on both me and Doctor Grant. Perhaps they have some record of his whereabouts in their headquarters.”

A muscle in Rick's eye started to twitch. “We can't just walk into Winterpole Headquarters without a reason. They'll never let us in.”

“We can sneak in! I'm already concocting a brilliant cover story for our entry.” Evie's voice took on the tone of a narrator in a movie trailer. “When a man . . . is wrongly imprisoned . . . one daughter . . . and her nerdy brother . . . will do
whatever
it takes. This summer . . . a family in tatters . . . a horrible injustice—”

Rick felt unsure about this plan, to say the least. “I dunno, Evie. No offense, but most of your ideas are pretty—”

“Terrible! Just terrible!” From the corner, 2-Tor, who had been quiet for some time, squawked. “Incoming communication from Melinda Lane. Please stand by for transmission.”

In a panic, Dad threw a tarp over his lap, hiding the squid-cuff. Rick bit his tongue so he wouldn't shout. It still felt wrong for his father to be keeping his latest misdeed a secret.

The video screen in 2-Tor's stomach brightened, and the comforting face of Rick's mother appeared. The soft wrinkles around her warm brown eyes were hidden mostly by her glasses. Her dark hair was pulled back in a no-nonsense bun. She smiled as her video feed came online, but the grin quickly vanished.

“George! What are the kids doing home from school so early?”

“They're not home early, honey. They didn't go in at all today.”

Dread filled up inside Rick like ink in a bottle. He remembered that he had missed a Latin quiz today while they were off saving the Buhana of Paradise.
Eheu.

“Sorry, honey!” Dad continued. “We had important business to take care of in the North Pacific. The kids were a big help.”

“But, George! They're supposed to be in class.”

“2-Tor did an excellent job teaching them today. They didn't miss anything at school. And they were here helping their very accomplished father.” Dad grinned. “Think of all the stuff they're learning from me!”

Mom groaned. “How are they going to develop healthy social lives if you're always pulling them out of their environment?”

Dad stammered, “I, well, um . . .”

Waving at the camera, but all business, Mom said, “Hi, kids. Listen. You have to go to school tomorrow. No exceptions. I'm going to check in with the headmaster, and if you're not both there in time for first period, all
three
of you are going to be in big, big trouble. Got it, George? Got it, kids? This is UN-AC-CEPTABLE.”

Rick had argued with Dad for three hours the night before about the trip to the Buhana Jungle. He hadn't wanted to go. Now Mom was mad at him just as she always was at Evie.

“Tomorrow. First period. Or else. Okay, byeeeeeee!” She switched off the feed, and 2-Tor's belly went dark.

“You heard your mother,” Dad said. “You gotta go to school tomorrow. That takes first priority.”

“I heard her say we have to go to
first period
,” Evie said with the sly smile that usually presaged Rick finding himself in unpleasant situations. “After that, all bets are off. We'll find a way to sneak out of school, and then a way to sneak
into
Winterpole Headquarters.”

2-Tor wailed like a talking doll with a broken pull-string. “I must strongly protest against this—”

“And then,” she said, turning to the robot, “we'll come home and you can quiz us all you want. Okay?”

Their father's eyes sparkled with pride at Evie's discovery of the loophole. He lowered his voice. “Richard, Evelyn, listen to me. You are about to infiltrate the headquarters of an international police organization under false pretenses. You are going to search for a scientist who has been missing for over a decade. You are doing this in order to create a substance that could save the world or, in the wrong hands, destroy it. Your mission is next to impossible, and almost certainly dangerous. So while you are on your quest, I beg you, whatever you do, don't tell your mother.”