Welcome to the Jungle Read online

  No one would ever describe Diana Maple as an impulsive girl. That personality trait had stuck to Vesuvia like a cherry lollipop to a car seat. But she was tired of her classmates’ taunts, she was tired of Benjamin Nagg, and most of all, she was tired of the suspicious looks her mother had been giving her ever since Vesuvia had been exposed as an enemy of Winterpole. So for this one moment, Diana imitated her ex-best friend.

  She waited until Mister Skole wasn’t looking and then snuck out of the classroom.

  Long-distance missions launched from a docking bay on the top floor of Winterpole Headquarters, where an enormous skylight opened so hoverships could depart. Normally the docking bay was empty, save the hulks of neglected hoverships that took up space in a circle around the bay, and the occasional cleaning robots that flitted around like insects, slurping up spills.

  But today the bay was a mad house.

  Long lines of paperwork experts snaked across the metal floor. Each employee had been assigned a different stack of permission slips to be filled out in anticipation of the mission. Enforcement agents in iceberg-shaped helmets hurried about, armed to the molars with glue guns and other weaponry.

  Diana couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for Rick and Evie. The full force of Winterpole’s might was about to hit them hard. But at least after that nasty business was over, Winterpole would save Australia. Now that was something she hoped she’d be there to see. And she would be, if the plan she had set in motion worked.

  Diana had decided that to prove to her mother, Mister Skole, Benjamin, and all the rest that she could be just as good as a Winterpole agent as any of them, she would have to work with the best. And who was the best? Mister Snow.

  Diana watched as he stood at the center of the docking bay, barking orders. “I want seventeen fully equipped enforcers on every hovership. Have your EMP grenades checked. I will not tolerate any errors, ladies and gentlemen. So do not slip. Do not waver. It is imperative we do not disappoint the Director. His favor is all that matters to us—the humble guardians of the planet Earth. We are going to find George Lane and stop him permanently.”

  Diana felt a little queasy. Sure, she’d chosen to force her way into the mission for personal reasons, but still, she didn’t like the way Mister Snow talked about what they were up to. Winterpole was supposed to legislate the eighth continent, but all anyone was talking about was arresting George Lane and pleasing the Director, not saving Australia. This was bigger than the quirky inventor. Couldn’t Winterpole see that?

  “Where are those geolocation reports?” Mister Snow shouted over the racket. “Will someone PLEASE get me the geolocation reports?!”

  Diana searched the crowded docking bay. She found the missing reports in a stack of cardboard boxes on a dolly. They were hiding behind an artillery tank that looked like an old-fashioned clothing iron strapped with machine guns.

  Diana dragged the dolly to the middle of the room where Mister Snow paced impatiently.

  “Junior Agent Maple, what are you doing?”

  “Here are those—uff!—geolocation reports you requested, sir. I found them over there.”

  Mister Snow nodded approvingly. “Not bad, Maple. We may make an agent out of you, yet.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Diana smiled proudly. “To that end, I wish to make a request.”

  “Now is hardly the time, Maple. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  Vesuvia had dismissed her the same way many times (albeit with much more colorful language). At any other moment Diana would have given up, but not today. “Sir, I want to go on the mission to the eighth continent.”

  “Don’t be outrageous! This is the most important operation that Winterpole has ever run. I can’t have some trainee getting in the way.”

  She had expected him to say that. That’s why she’d come prepared.

  From the pocket of her uniform, Diana withdrew a rolled up piece of cyber paper—the latest advancement in Winterpole paperwork. The synthetic document was made of a durable polymer instead of pulped trees, which made it un-rip-able, un-spill-juice-on-able, and filled with electronic metadata.

  Diana pointed the rolled up cyber paper at Mister Snow like it was a fencer’s foil. “I need to go on this mission, Mister Snow. To that end, I have acquired a perMission slip, which authorizes me to join you on the eighth continent.”

  Mister Snow blinked in disbelief. “A perMission slip? Where did you get that?”

  The truth was that she had stolen the perMission slip and forged her mother’s signature after sneaking out of her classroom. But she wasn’t going to tell Mister Snow that.

  “Mister Snow, I’m positively shocked that you would ask me that question. Aren’t you forgetting Winterpole Statute Twenty-three-dash-fourteen-alpha-eight-with-feet?”

  “Eight-with-feet? You mean ‘ampersand’?”

  “Precisely, Mister Snow. It states that no one may question someone carrying a signed perMission slip without permission.”

  Lines of sweat streaked from Mister Snow’s white sideburns down his cheeks. Diana imagined that this must have been an unusual experience for him. People rarely questioned his vast knowledge of Winterpole statutes, let alone junior agents.

  “Very well, Junior Agent Maple.” Mister Snow cleared his throat. “You may accompany us. Here, be of use and carry my briefcase.”

  He tossed the briefcase to her. The leather brick was so heavy it nearly dropped her to her knees. Straining to carry it, Diana couldn’t help but smile. Take that, Benjamin, she thought smugly. She may have been the “boss’s stupid daughter,” but theft and forgery were two skills Vesuvia had insisted Diana learn long ago. Sure, they were heinous crimes, but as her ex-best friend had frequently reminded her, they’d only get her in trouble if she got caught.

  “MOM, CAN I FLY THE ROOST?”

  “NO, EVIE, YOU CAN’T FLY THE ROOST.”

  “But M-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-m!”

  The trip had gone smoothly so far except for this current fight between Evie and her mother. They were a little more than halfway to Texas, and Rick sat in a cushioned seat at the back of the Roost’s bridge, listening to his mother and sister argue. He was trying to study Professor Doran’s research in the hope of identifying plants that might help them root the eighth continent, but he was finding it hard to concentrate.

  “Hey, Mom,” he called out, hoping to distract her from Evie’s pleas, “how do you and Dad know Professor Doran?”

  His mother almost laughed. “Nathaniel was pursuing his doctorate while your father and I were undergraduates.”

  “I’m surprised you haven’t stayed in better touch,” Rick mused. “The more research I conduct, the more it seems like Professor Doran is a fascinating individual.”

  “Research?” Evie repeated.

  “Why yes, just a little.”

  “How much is ‘a little’?”

  Rick pulled up a document on his pocket tablet. “I compiled a twelve-page brief on the subject. Feel free to review it.”

  Grimacing, she took the tablet. “I guess I am curious why we’ve never met him.”

  “Well, it wasn’t as easy to stay in touch back then,” their mother explained. “And you can’t stay close to everyone. Still, I hope he can help us.”

  Evie spun around in her cushioned swivel chair. “I’m going to ask Professor Doran to transform Evie World into a big old jungle where every tree is bigger than the Roost and has vines you can swing from and leaves the size of your head! And we can run around and hunt and play, and I’ll be like a lioness, queen of the jungle!”

  Rick blinked in disbelief. “Lions live on the savannah, not in jungles. And what in Turing’s name is Evie World?”

  Evie snorted, as if the answer to this question was as obvious as the forty-seventh digit of pi. “Psssh. Why, it’s what we’re naming the eighth continent, silly!”

 
“First of all, there is no way we are naming the eighth continent ‘Evie World.’ You might as well call it ‘Evie Thinks She’s the Best Person Ever so We’re Naming the Continent After Her Even Though a Lot of Other Important People Helped Make the Eighth Continent Too . . . World.’”

  Scratching her chin, Evie mused, “That’s not a bad name, actually.”

  “Forget it, Evie. And second, you can’t make the continent a dense jungle. That would be totally counterproductive to our goal to develop an urban infrastructure capable of sustaining a large permanent population.”

  Evie clutched her head. “Ugh, Rick. That’s so boring you’re making my brain hurt. We finally have a vast untapped continent, and your instinct is to make it just like all the others.”

  “There is way more to my ideas than that.”

  A noisy beep from Mom’s communicator interrupted their argument. She pushed a button on the command console and a pixelated image of Mom’s assistant, Catherine, appeared over the windshield.

  “Hello, Catherine, what is it?”

  Mom’s assistant was a pretty and bookish young woman with thick green-rimmed glasses. Two fountain pens kept her wavy red hair tucked behind her ears. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mrs. Lane, but something has come up that requires your immediate attention. I’m sending the video data to you now.”

  The image shifted from Catherine’s face to a wide aerial shot of the ocean. The clear blue water was marred by a huge blob. At first Rick thought it was an island.

  “What am I looking at, Catherine?” Mom was all business.

  Catherine explained, “Several hours ago, we discovered a massive stain in the South Pacific. Early reconnaissance indicates that it’s ink, ma’am.”

  “Ink?”

  “Yes, ma’am. An ink stain. We’ve been getting reports of seabirds so dirty they can’t fly. I don’t have numbers yet, but fish are dying, ma’am. Thousands of them. Cleanaspot has received several requests that we intervene.”

  “Those poor fish,” Mom said.

  “There’s something else. The stain appears to be expanding at an alarming rate. If the current rate of growth continues, it could cover the whole ocean in less than a week.”

  Mom rose from her chair. “We have to do something right away.”

  “But Mom!” Evie tugged on her sleeve. “Our mission!”

  “Yes, yes, honey. Hold on.” Mom downloaded all the info about the stain to her phone. “Catherine, initiate Clean Up Protocol One. Get Charles and Doctor Wong on the phone. Tell them to begin work on a containment procedure. I’ll be in touch soon. Don’t worry. We’ll put a stop to this stain.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Lane. I knew you’d know what to do.”

  The feed switched off, and the windshield returned to the Roost’s view of the ocean, sky, and approaching California coastline.

  Mom was once again all business. “Rick, Evie, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to put our trip to Texas on hold.”

  “But . . . but . . .” Evie muttered in disbelief. “Our new home is in danger. And what about Australia?”

  Rick adjusted his glasses. “Evie’s right, Mom. This is a crisis.”

  “A giant stain on the ocean is also a crisis. Didn’t you hear what Catherine said? The whole ocean could be in danger. Imagine the ecosystems that could be wiped out. Rick, you know the risks if I do nothing. It’d be a global catastrophe. Cleanaspot has to help.” Mom bit her lip and stared out the window, obviously trying to come up with a plan.

  Evie looked up from her seat hopefully. “What if 2-Tor met up with us?”

  “That’s not a bad idea.” Rick raced over to the communicator before Mom could argue. He punched in the number for Dad. It started ringing. Once Dad picked up, they could ask him to send 2-Tor to their current location, and when their feathered guardian arrived, they would be back on their way to Professor Doran.

  But Dad didn’t pick up. That was odd. Odder than the usual Dad oddness, which was quite odd.

  Rick tried calling three more times, but there was still no reply.

  “Why isn’t Dad answering?” Evie asked, worry filling her voice.

  Mom patted Evie’s head soothingly. “I’m sure he’s just working on some experiment with 2-Tor. It’s nothing to worry about. But I can’t leave the two of you unsupervised. And if we can’t get 2-Tor to watch you both . . .” She looked toward the command console.

  “No, Mom,” Evie pleaded. “Not that, anything but that.”

  “I’m sorry, Evie,” Mom said, sitting back down at the controls.

  Rick watched his mother disable the autopilot and enter new coordinates. His heart sank. “Geneva?”

  “That’s right.” Mom looked tough, focused, and all business. “The oceans are in danger, and it’s my duty to clean up that stain. I’m sorry that all of these terrible things are happening at once, but we don’t have time to take you back to your father on the eighth continent. And it’s too dangerous for you to go on a mission alone without me or 2-Tor, so there’s only one option: I’m taking you to school.”

  Evie groaned.

  Rick tugged on his mother’s arm. “Mom, if we don’t go meet Professor Doran now, what will happen to Australia and the eighth continent?”

  She rubbed his back soothingly. “Don’t get discouraged, honey. We aren’t giving up yet. Let me keep trying to reach your father while I evaluate this stain situation, and then I’ll reconnect with you later tonight. Meanwhile, do what you can to keep the mission going after you arrive at the International School for Exceptional Students. Research more ways to root the continent. Do a cross-analysis of all the goos, glues, and gruels we may be able to use as waterproof adhesives.”

  “I’ll get right on it, Mom.” Rick didn’t like this at all, but maybe he’d be able to use the time at school to find an even better way to stop the continent from moving.

  Evie tried once more to make her mother reconsider. “Mom, please, I’m begging you, in the name of all that is scientific and awesome, please, PLEASE, don’t make us go to school.”

  Mom was hearing none of it. She filled one of the Roost’s acorn-shaped escape pods with her luggage and other business papers, kissed her children goodbye, and was off to clean up the stain.

  When the acorn had flown out of sight, Evie sprinted back to the bridge. Rick chased after her. He opened the bridge doors to find his sister aggressively punching new coordinates into the navigator.

  Oh no. Rick had a bad feeling about this. “Evie, what are you doing?”

  She glanced over her shoulder at him and grinned. “I’m, uh . . . programming the Roost to take a shortcut to school. Well, more of a long cut. You see, I put us back on our original course to Texas.”

  Rick had no interest in getting between Mom and Evie on this. He wanted to do what his mother had ordered, but they urgently needed to root the continent. According to his Continent Collision Counter, they had less than thirty-five hours before the big crash.

  “But Mom said to go straight to school,” he moaned feebly.

  “We will go to school,” Evie said, “. . . eventually.”

  A FEW HOURS EARLIER . . .

  “Eyes front, agents.” Mister Snow’s stern command came from the cockpit of the lead hovership. “The Great Pacific Garbage Patch is straight ahead.”

  Diana’s heart was beating as fast as it used to on missions with Vesuvia. She hadn’t seen the Great Pacific Garbage Patch since it had been transformed into the eighth continent. There was no telling what kind of traps George Lane would have waiting for them.

  Diana had been issued one of Winterpole’s iceberg helmets, but it was so big it sank over her shoulders. She removed the helmet and peered out the hovership window at the continent below.

  The Eden Compound had done its work. A whole continent had appeared where previously a garbage dump had be
en. The spongy earth of the continent stretched past the horizon, the greenish-brown plain broken only by the occasional rocky outcropping and a few twisting rivers and streams.

  Near the shore Diana could make out a small encampment where campfires and a couple of temporary wooden shelters were laid out. There was also a parked hovership that Diana recognized—the Condor, George Lane’s personal vessel.

  The hovership the Winterpole agents were aboard started to descend. Guess that’s where we’re headed, Diana thought, plunging her head back into the oversized helmet.

  “Go, go, go!” Mister Snow ordered as the hoverships landed and the doors slid open. Winterpole soldiers spilled out of the ships like plastic army men from overturned toy chests, piling up on top of each other. Diana carefully followed Mister Snow out of the ship as he stepped over the fallen agents, who looked quite comical in their iceberg helmets and three-piece suits.

  Diana took a breath of the salty sea breeze. The wind was quite pronounced, which she supposed made sense. After all, the continent was moving speedily toward Australia. Despite the impending danger, Diana found the air quite pleasant.

  George Lane approached, wiping his hands on a grease-stained rag. He wore a sweatband high on his forehead so his poofy auburn hair went straight up like a volcanic eruption. At the inventor’s side was the seven-foot-tall crow, 2-Tor.

  “Did you forget that Winterpole has no jurisdiction over the eighth continent?” George asked without a trace of fear.

  Mister Snow showed his best sneer to his adversary. “Actually, that’s no longer an issue.”

  “Come again?” George Lane blinked.

  “Winterpole may intervene if one landmass threatens another; and, as I’m sure you’re aware, this ‘continent,’ as you like to call it, is currently barreling toward Australia.”

  “That’s one of the kinks I’m working out.”

  “You call the imminent demise of twenty-three million people ‘a kink’? I’m not sure if it was your negligence, incompetence, or propensity for evil, Mister Lane, but you’ve managed to cause quite a bit of havoc. And so, I’m delighted to inform you that you, George Lane, are under arrest.” Mister Snow whipped a thick piece of cyber paper out of his jacket and showed it to George. The text glowed.