Welcome to the Jungle (17 page)

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, with 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.”

“Objection!” The Winterpole Advocate stomped his foot. “Just because she wasn't near the stain doesn't mean she wasn't behind its creation.”

Rick pulled an index card from his breast pocket and flung it at the advocate. “Permission to speak freely!” he shouted.

The cyber paper card fluttered toward the advocate and slapped against his face, sealing his mouth shut. It had taken Rick hours of filling out a fifty-page form to acquire a Winterpole gag order, but it was worth it. It would buy him the time he needed to make his case.

Rick cleared his throat. “Ahem. Furthermore, the stain is composed of Ink-A-Spot's trademark stain solution UberDark-X. The chemical makeup of this solution is a closely guarded corporate secret. Mrs. Lane never had, nor will she ever have, knowledge of this formula, nor the means to fabricate it herself.”

The Winterpole Advocate shoved Rick out of the way. “Mmph hmph mrff! Muffph!” he said. The gag order still blocked his sneering lips.

The first tribune leaned forward. “I believe what the advocate is trying to say is that Mrs. Lane may have fabricated the stain to frame Ink-A-Spot. We have testimony from a Cleanaspot employee claiming as much.”

“Who at Cleanaspot made these accusations?”

“Well, ergh . . .” the tribunes stammered and shuffled their papers.

“If you cannot produce the witness, then there is nothing connecting Mrs. Lane to the stain. She and the ocean are the victims here. Not Ink-A-Spot. In fact, without the witness, we can safely assume that this Cleanaspot accuser doesn't exist.”

“They do exist!” the Winterpole Advocate insisted, having finally removed his gag. “They were provided to us by Ink-A-Spot.”

“Ink-A-Spot?” the second tribune repeated.

Rick banged his hand down against the bench, like a gavel of his own. “Well, that just goes to show who the real culprit is.”

The third tribune beckoned for the Winterpole Advocate to approach the bench. “The boy is right. Produce the witness, or this tribunal is over.”

The advocate massaged his red lips. “My employer says I don't have to produce anything.”

“Your employer? You mean Winterpole itself?!” The three tribunes looked equally outraged. “Case dismissed!”

“On what grounds?!” The Ink-A-Spot executives in the audience rose from their seats, looking quite outraged.

“Lack of evidence!” the tribunes said, slamming their gavels in unison.

The security agents disabled the squid-cuff binding Rick's mother's hands. She raced to Rick and took him into her arms, showering him with mushy kisses. “You did it, my baby. You did it, you did it!”

“M-o-m! Stop!” Rick tried to cover his cheeks.

“I will not stop! Smooch!”

Rick was in a daze. The tribunal had taken a lot out of him. But he'd done it. He'd beaten Winterpole at their own game.

After a brief trip on the acorn escape pod, Rick, his mom, and 2-Tor landed on the flagship of the Cleanaspot fleet, the
Sudsy Bubbler
. Catherine was waiting for them, cradling her computer tablet. She gave Rick a high five as he hopped out of the acorn escape pod and onto the deck. “I'm so glad you're all right, ma'am,” she said, handing the tablet to Rick's mom, who examined the device quickly as they walked inside the ship. “I can't believe the Cleanaspot board was going to fire you over this stain. They must be getting nasty pressure from Winterpole to pull a stunt like that. But don't worry. Everyone on the
Sudsy Bubbler
is loyal to you, ma'am.”

They reached the conference room, just aft of the bridge. Long windows on either side of the bright room let in the sea breeze—the salty smell reminding Rick of mornings on the shores of the eighth continent. He longed to return to his new home soon.

No one blinked when a seven-foot-tall talking crow entered the room. Cleanaspot executives were used to the eccentricities of the Lane family.

Mom took her seat at the head of the large conference table. To Rick's surprise, she offered him the seat at her side. “This is the only place my hero should be,” she said, smiling. Rick wondered if this was how the heroes in his video games felt after beating the last level. But deep down he knew their troubles weren't over yet.

2-Tor perched on a chair and started pecking at the mountain of doughnuts laid out on the table. Crumbs and blobs of sugary icing spilled across the smooth tabletop. The Cleanaspot executives watched the crow in horror—birdliness they could excuse; messiness they could not.

Catherine began a slideshow to catch them up on the latest with the stain. “The black blob has not been responding to any of the usual treatments. It's quite vexing, Mrs. Lane. It's almost like the stain doesn't want to be cleaned up, like it's fighting us.”

“Double the amount of eco-cleaner in the water boats. Surely the stain will react to one of our products.”

“We've already tripled the amount of eco-cleaner, Mrs. Lane.”

Mom wrinkled her brow. “Hmm . . . can we reroute boats from other cleanup jobs? The stain has to be the biggest job we have going on right now. Let's get all hands on deck.”

Catherine shook her head. “We could try that, but some of those boats are days away. We don't have that kind of time.”

Rick's mom turned to him. “Got any ideas, honey?”

He thought carefully for a moment, applying all the analysis and calculations he could muster. There had to be some way to get rid of the stain. But what?

Suddenly, Rick remembered a fascinating book he had read recently on solvents. “What if we add water to the stain? Try to dilute it into a more manageable solution.”

Mom's forehead wrinkled. “You want us to add water to the stain? But it's in the ocean.”

“Yeah,” Catherine said. “That's about as diluted as it gets. But it's still not breaking up the stain.”

Rick polished his glasses, thinking. “Hm, good point. Well, I could do some research and try to find a new formula to break up inky compounds.”

Mom smiled. “Great. Can you do it by sundown?”

“Um, well, honestly . . . probably not.”

Rick was beginning to realize that he was going about this all wrong. He was trying to use logic and reason to solve the problem, but what he needed was creative, outside-the-box thinking. Whenever Rick tried to think that way, as soon as he came up with one bad idea, he stopped, because it seemed illogical to pursue bad ideas.

Across the conference table, 2-Tor was watching him, an expectant look on his avian face. The crow was trying to tell him something.

“We should ask Evie if she has any suggestions,” Rick blurted out suddenly.

Mom raised an eyebrow. “Evie? Why?”

“She's always coming up with crazy ideas. And thinking about this problem logically isn't working. Maybe what we need a crazy idea. Maybe what we need is Evie.”