The Nerdy Dozen (17 page)

“Just . . . here's my username, if you ever want to play, once—well, once whatever happens, happens,” Neil said, extending a crumpled piece of paper. Harris didn't move to take the paper, so Neil laid it by his feet and began to walk toward his Chameleon, now dug out of the sand of Ostrich Island.

“Hey, Neil!” yelled Harris. Neil stopped in his tracks, spinning around. “You meant what you said before? That you liked the game?”

“Yeah,” Neil replied. “I really did. Although having done the real thing, you may want to get some of those motion-sensor devices, like Weo said. Just so players can get the feel for it. I mean, it's a rush.”

“Yeah, it is, isn't it,” Harris said, looking into the distance fondly. “You know, I just might.”

“Harris, my man,” Biggs said, approaching him. “Let's say, hypothetical situation: You have created a video game that proclaims you'll even
smell
like an ostrich. And then there's a gentleman who, I don't know, has created a smell journal for the long journey humans are about to take into smellable television. And this gentleman may happen to”—Biggs winked—“
know
people.”

Harris turned to Biggs. “You know? Hypothetically speaking, we might just be able to look into that,” he replied.

Jones glanced up from his paperwork and rolled his eyes. “Come on, Andertol,” he said, leading Neil out into the middle of the courtyard. The glowing light of an island sunset seeped down around them. The grass was springy under their boots. “Andertol, I just wanted to say—well, I wasn't too sure about you at first, but you're all right. Now, let's get those Chameleons fired up. We've got to get home. Recruits!” Jones called out, then seemed to think better of it. “Soldiers! Time to move out!

“And Andertol,” Jones added. “How about you fly the stolen bird?”

Neil nodded. “Sir, yes, sir.” Neil saluted, then lingered as Jones headed back toward Harris. He was curious about what Harris's punishment would be. Despite all that had happened, he hoped that everything with Harris would end up okay.

“Now, Harris,” he heard Jones say, “if I didn't love that stupid ostrich game of yours, you'd be in serious trouble. So I've got some special plans for you.” Jones cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck with a satisfying pop. “You're going to tell me everything I need to know. The first thing being the location of that blasted talon upgrade. Now, get up. I'm not a babysitter.”

AS NEIL FLEW HIGH INTO THE ENDLESS SKY, HE REFLECTED ON all that Jones had told him about flying. He pitched and yawed, and it felt like he was swimming underwater, like the plane was part of his own body once again.

“Nice,” said Neil's copilot. He was one of the men they'd been sent to rescue. The other, exhausted, had slumped in one of the backseats.

Neil let out a yawn, realizing how little sleep he'd had over the past two nights. As his steering began drifting, the copilot leaned forward.

“Mind if I—” he asked.

“Oh, thanks. I can keep go
waahhh
—” Neil started, but another yawn took control. “Okay, yeah. Maybe a break for a few minutes. But don't think you're landing this puppy.”

“I'm impressed, kid. Glad to see they went ahead and declassified the program to let you kids fly,” said the pilot in the back.

“Oh, nothing was classified, really. Was it?” Neil said, beginning to drift into the comforting riptide of a little shut-eye.

“You mean they didn't tell you about Level Twelve?”

Neil shook his head, his eyelids slowly batting. The pilot pointed to the patch on his left sleeve. Where Neil's was embroidered with the seal of the Air Force, this pilot had an entirely different patch. It read
LEVEL TWELVE
in a half circle below a shadowy Earth. In one motion, the sleepy pilot in the auxiliary seat ripped the patch from his own sleeve, then reached forward and placed it in Neil's palm. The pilot's hand soon dropped to the floor as he fell into a deep sleep.

“Don't worry about him. He hasn't slept since Thursday,” said Neil's copilot.

Wow, I can't believe it's only been a weekend.
It would soon be Monday—and Neil's family would be home. He tried to imagine what type of karate podium Janey was currently standing on and then quickly nodded off for a minute. He started into an elaborate dream where he was yet again the hero, but his eyes opened.
I'm living this dream now. Save the sleep for later.

Neil watched the aircraft carrier appear on the Chameleon's radar and calmly guided the fighter onto the deck of the USS
Martin Van Buren
. He reached up to grasp the dog tags clinging around his neck, dragging his thumb over the raised letters.

The sun dipped farther into a bed of clouds, and the sky was a fading orange as the cockpit slid open. Excited muttonchop soldiers gathered around, shouting and talking over one another.

The sailors of the
Martin Van Buren
grabbed Neil, unfastening his safety restraints and crowd-surfing him to the boat deck. Neil smiled as people of all ranks came out to voice their appreciation.

“Let's get a grandfather clause for that haircut, too!” shouted a voice from the top deck of the aircraft carrier. Everyone laughed as Neil reached up to touch the haircut he'd almost forgotten about.

Neil spied Sam standing near the edge of the aircraft carrier and asked for everyone to set him down. After a few high fives, he walked over to her. Her dark hair was twirling in the wind. The two stood there for a moment in silence, looking at the sun as it began to duck into the horizon for the night. A few stars popped into view.

“See that? That's Sasquatch Minor,” Neil joked, pointing to some barely visible specks in the sky. Sam smiled, and Neil felt comfortable.

“Here, I want you to have this,” Sam said, offering him her lucky trilobite from her pocket. “Just in case you need good luck or anything.”

“I can't take your good luck charm!” Neil argued, moving his hand away from Sam's.

“Come on, just take it,” she insisted, grabbing his hand and pushing the trilobite into his crinkled palm. “I found an ostrich talon on the beach, so I think that's a sign that it's time to swap anyway. Might even look into getting an eighteenth favorite thing.”

They chuckled. “Samantha?” someone called from behind them. “You're wanted on the flight deck for departure.”

Sam sighed. “I guess this is good-bye for now,” she said. “See you online, ManofNeil?”

“Of course,” Neil replied. They hugged quickly, and it somehow wasn't weird at all.

“Time to get a move on, soldiers. Your weekend's almost up, and we've got some curious parents making calls,” barked a soldier with shorter, five o'clock–shadow chops. “Who's Hurbigg? We need you to come in and shoot a video for your mom. She's apparently tried to call your cell eighty-seven times since yesterday morning.”

There, on an aircraft carrier in the middle of the ocean, they all gathered to say good-bye. Jason 2 in his costume, sharing contact information with Jason 1. Yuri proudly saluting, the 13 on his white, now-misshapen die proudly facing outward. Corinne spelling out
USA
in grandiose body movements. Dale and Waffles gyrating in an attention-deficit dance. And then there was Trevor, who was, just barely, smiling at Neil.

Soon they would all go their separate ways, taking commercial flights home to avoid any suspicion. Neil didn't know when he'd see everyone again, but he would miss them all. Then again, they were all just an internet connection away.

Neil turned to follow Jones and begin the long trip home but realized he hadn't said a proper good-bye to Biggs. Neil spotted him across the deck, sitting in front of a green screen while some of the
Martin Van Buren
soldiers were slumped over a laptop.

“Okay, kid!” Neil heard the soldier shout. “We told your mom you were at camp, so just read this card, and we'll be that much closer to getting you home.”

“Dear Mom. Camp is great. I'll be home early Monday,” Biggs said, but paused and went off script for his next line.
“Feed the cats!”

 

Monday evening, Neil sat in the backseat of a hired limousine. It was long and fancy. The driver had been at the airport waiting for him, holding a sign with Neil's name on it. Neil leaned back into the seat and started to eat the airplane snacks he'd taken from the flight. This was the life.

He was well on his way to eating his weight in pretzels when the car rolled up in front of his house. He thanked the driver and headed up to his garage door, wondering if anyone was home. He stood on his toes to peer in the window, his hands circling around his eyes to fight the sun's glare. The garage was empty: his mom and Janey still hadn't returned from the tournament.

Neil grabbed the spare key from underneath a fake rock and slipped through his back door. After everything that had happened over the last few days, it felt strange to be home. He hurried upstairs to his room to turn on Chameleon out of habit and smiled. Sam's icon popped up on Neil's screen at the same moment, his speakers making the little bubbling noise Neil had set to alert him whenever Sam signed on. It felt just like before. The only difference now was—
Well, there are a lot of differences now
, Neil thought.
But in the best way.

Welcome home, ManofNeil!
Sam sent in a message that flashed across his screen. He smiled.

Can't play now
, he wrote back.
C U later?

Neil wandered slowly downstairs, his attention drawn to the family's mantel. He removed the entries occupying his side and placed Sam's trilobite there, along with the patch the rescued pilot had given him. He heard a beep in the other room and walked over to play the voice mail message waiting for the Andertols.

“Hi, guys. It's Mrs. Scott. Tommy said he called already but glad to hear Neil's friend's mom was able to come pick him up. I think the other boys really loved having him around, if he'd ever like to—”

“You have no new messages,” said a robot voice as Neil pushed delete with a smirk. For once Neil appreciated Tommy Scott and his dense brother, even though Tommy had clearly only been lying to save himself.

Suddenly Neil heard the sounds of his mom arriving home, the metal planks of the garage door rolling up their smooth metal track. He turned to see Janey swing open the door connecting the garage to the kitchen. She was still wearing her white karate gear, and three yellow-banded medals hung around her neck. In her left hand, she held a trophy shaped like a hand chopping a giant evergreen tree.

“Neil! First place!” she screamed, punching a decorative basket of fake flowers off the stone countertop with her free hand.

“Nice job, Janey!”

He reached out his hand for a high five. Janey looked puzzled, not sure whether this was actual encouragement or if her brother had been replaced by a robot.

“Hi, honey,” said Neil's mom. She walked through the garage doorway, her arms filled with bags of clothes and the watered-down remnants of an iced coffee. “You have a good weekend at Tommy's? I was surprised not to get a call from you all weekend. You must've been having so much fun!”

“Erh, yeah. Yeah, something like that. It was a really great weekend,” Neil said with a smile.

“That's great. We're both starved. Can you order pizza, Neil?” Mrs. Andertol asked, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head.

“Sure thing,” Neil replied. He went to the cordless phone in the kitchen and began to order. “Hi, delivery, please? Thanks. We'd like an extra-large pizza. Extra pineapple.”

Neil's mother stopped in her tracks as if she had just heard a criminal confession.

“Neil, are you okay?” she asked, feeling his forehead with the back of her hand while he gave the pizza place their address.

“Never been better!” he said, hanging up the phone. “Have you never had pineapple pizza before, Mom? You really need to expand your horizons. I'll be upstairs if you need me.”

He climbed the stairs two at a time and returned to his room. Sam had signed off, but a new message blinked in its place.

User HarrIsTheBest has sent you a message.

The message consisted of a simple line of text with attachments.
Neil—Thanks for your help. Enjoy.

Attached were Feather Duster and the anticipated sequel—Feather Duster 2: Eclectic Bugaboo (Beta). Neil opened the new game and saw the menu screen. Since it wasn't an official game yet, the wallpaper showed a picture of Harris and Weo. They each sat atop an ostrich, green motion-sensor balls stuck to their birds' legs, wings, heads, and tails.

Neil selected the game, and the screen flashed to life with the plumage and chortling of an ostrich. A warning message appeared, alerting the user that since this was still in demo-only mode, options for a cartridge with a smellable experience were still unavailable.

As Neil selected his ostrich, which came with a new naming option, the doorbell rang downstairs.

“Whoa, that was quick,” he said, pausing the game before rushing down the steps. He flung open the front door only to hear the squeak of tires. A black SUV was pulling away, turning the corner at the end of his street. Instead of the pizza he was expecting, a white envelope sat on the doorstep. Neil picked it up and examined it closely, running his finger over the logo for NASA printed on the thick white paper. Neil turned it over.
TOP SECRET: FOR N. ANDERTOL ONLY
was scrawled on the back.

Neil shut the door and raced back upstairs, locking himself in his room before sliding his forefinger through the adhesive closure. The envelope contained an unlabeled black CD and a note. Quickly fumbling with the buttons on his console, Neil popped open the drive and inserted the disc. The screen opened with a rocket, much like a Chameleon, hurtling through black and starry outer space. Swirls of stars and galaxies were bursting out in every direction.

Neil looked down at the note. The writing was in all capital letters, written in fountain pen.

Nice work, Andertol. I wanted to write you personally to say so. We probably wouldn't be alive without you. You should feel good about that. But now I get a summer with the
grandkids
. . . babysitting. Go figure. Anyway, thought you should have this. Keep practicing. You never know when we may need you again.

—Major Clancy Shannon Jones.

Neil looked up at the screen and smiled. He grabbed his controller and confidently pressed
PLAY
.