Begin Reading
Table of Contents
About the Author
Copyright Page
Thank you for buying this
Feiwel and Friends ebook.
To receive special offers, bonus content,
and info on new releases and other great reads,
sign up for our newsletters.
Or visit us online at
us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup
For email updates on the author, click here.
The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy.
For Sophia, who helped me rediscover heroes
PROLOGUE
SOMEWHERE BELOW THE NORTH PACIFIC
THREE MILES BELOW the ocean’s surface, the earth is dark. Mountains rise and valleys spread out; billowing silt ripples over old bones and lost, crumpled wrecks. Sunlight may as well be a myth, and crawling beasts, colorless and dense, make their homes in a world where humans cannot survive.
Where humans cannot survive. Not without help, anyway.
The whirring servomechanisms in Dr. David Nemo’s suit hummed in strange mechanical chords with his every step. David looked behind him toward his vehicle and saw another scientist walking toward him, clad like him in a hardened, mechanically assisted deep-dive suit that glistened silver against the backdrop of the silty floor.
David unclipped a tablet computer from his suit to bring it up toward his faceplate. The whirring sound of the servos in his suit quieted as he turned, casting beams of light from the LEDs that lined his helmet. He almost didn’t need the light just now. Several hundred yards away, a parked Nemotech rover rumbled, kicking up clouds of silt as brilliant floodlights on the rover’s roof pointed in all directions and lit up the valley for three quarters of a mile.
“You want to give me a hand with this?” Dr. Sharmila Kassam was carrying a white, four-and-a-half-foot-tall metal barrel using a pair of silver handles on its sides. She held the barrel in front of her as she walked.
David studied a screen on the tablet and saw faint green images circling the map that represented the valley in which he stood. He didn’t look up at Sharmila. “You seem to be handling it okay. The servos in your elbows should allow you to lift three hundred pounds without any effort on your part.” He had designed the suits himself.
“Still hits my knees.” Sharmila set the barrel down when she got near. “You have carried barrels, right?”
“Seriously, you could lift it over your head.” He expanded the screen with the fingers of his glove. This time he looked up and smirked at Sharmila. “But thanks.”
Sharmila nodded, her own smirk visible inside her faceplate. She rested her hand on the barrel’s lid and looked up. “Do you see the Lodgers?”
“I can see a few on the scanner,” David said. “About a dozen.” The creatures they had taken to calling Lodgers—for their habit of putting on and wearing giant, old wrecked planes—were still out of sight above them, circling the valley and possibly exploring beyond.
Sharmila flattened her gloved hand against the top of the barrel, and filaments along the palm and fingers glowed red as soon as they detected the scanner in the barrel lid. A metal panel slid away into the lid, revealing a glassy surface that Sharmila hovered her glowing palm over. A series of short bursts of light sparkled against her palm, and then the metal panel popped back into place. The cover of the barrel unhooked itself with a clunk that David could hear through the water, and Sharmila lifted the lid away.
The inside of the barrel gave off a slight glow, and though David couldn’t feel it through his suit, he knew that removing the lid had also activated heating elements that would make the cargo nice and warm. The barrel was full to the brim with countless pellets of bright blue plastic, each about the size of a marble. The cargo was patterned after the pellets that occurred in the Great Pacific Garbage Patch in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, where bits of plastic debris and litter battered against one another and against waves until they formed small, rounded globs. The Lodgers had taken to treating the pellets of the Patch as their main food source, and these in the barrel were especially made by the Nemos to suit their tastes.
One of the shapes on the screen grew larger, and David looked up. The first creature to arrive dipped down toward the scientists and whipped its wings to slow its descent. The wings were silver and still painted with old American World War II markings. Inside the broken-glass cockpit, stalk eyes blinked and swayed in the water. Tendrils searched through crevices along the wings. This was one of the first Lodgers that the Nemos had ever seen, a creature like a crustacean that inhabited the body of a B-17 bomber.
David tapped a button on the tablet, and the barrel began to spew its contents in a column that rose forty feet up into the water and started to spread out, sparkling like a galaxy. The B-17 Lodger swam through, taking in pellets as it went.
David’s tablet filled with more green shapes as the creatures emerged out of the darkness, some of them whipping wings of ancient airplanes, some gliding in suits of custom-crafted Nemotech armor. The armor was modular, allowing the strange creatures to experiment, if it could be called that, with fitting different sections to their particular needs. David took a moment to study them.
A thrumming rumble filled the water and made David’s suit vibrate. The sound first came from the B-17 and then was followed by the others. The Lodgers were vocalizing. But so far it had been impossible to understand what, if anything, the vocalizations meant.
“What are you going to try today?” Sharmila asked.
David tabbed over to a new screen on the tablet and found a keyboard with a series of sliders. “Communication,” he said. “They’ve responded to pulses before, but today I’m going to make up some grammar.” The communication program had been created by Peter, who served on the Nemoship Obscure with David’s son, Gabriel, and another of Gabriel’s friends. If served was the right word for volunteers who were still in school.
Very likely the pulses it sent were gibberish to the Lodgers, if they had a language at all. But he felt certain that he had generated a response. “Any day now,” he said, “I’m going to get one of them to say hi, and then—”
Whunk.
The sounds emanating from the rover stopped instantly with the crunch of metal. David turned, the servomechanisms in his suit singing out as he spun. At first he thought that one of the Lodgers must have become irritated by the sound coming from the rover, which would have been a really interesting development in itself. So far they had more or less ignored him, unless you counted the attention that the little submarine may or may not have just earned. But no, there was no Lodger chewing away at the rover.
Sharmila staggered in her suit, suddenly seeing the same thing he was. On the roof of the vehicle, not far from one of the floodlights, was a circular machine that at first reminded David of an old satellite. His next thought was: It’s a spider.
The bulk of it, its main body, was a silver globe about three feet wide. Out of the globe protruded metal, multi-jointed legs and cables with pointed, metallic ends.
“That’s … some kind of drone.” Sharmila sounded as shocked as David felt.
David nodded as he started running toward the rover, the knee servos in his suit whirring as he and Sharmila moved quickly across the ocean floor.
“What is it doing?” David asked. He tapped a button on his helmet. “Nemolab, this is Dr. David. We’ve run into a strange drone.” Nemolab was a
large complex of domes about twenty miles away on the bottom of the ocean. It was a closely guarded secret, the most precious stronghold of the Nemo family.
“Or, rather, the drone has run into our rover,” Sharmila said.
“That makes it sound like an accident.” As he got closer, he could see that there was no way this was accidental. The drone shoved aside the battered loudspeaker on the roof of the rover and unfolded one of its arms as the pointed end began spinning. A few particles of Lodger food had floated there, and he could see them swirling in a mini tornado around the drone’s hand.
The hand began to drill through the roof of the rover as David drew an energy weapon from his shoulder. The device fired “pincer” energy, a sort of dense and focused plasma that could stun people and disrupt machinery. But whereas a pincer rifle could fire sustained streams of the stuff, his hand weapon fired only bolts. He had to stop and aim carefully, and when he pulled the trigger, the bolt sizzled from the barrel and flew wide, glancing off the roof of the rover and missing the drone entirely.
Sharmila fired hers, and her bolt hit the drone along the top, just barely. The energy arced and danced around the drone and dissipated in the water. The drone kept drilling.
“What’s going on?” came the voice from the control room back at the lab.
“I don’t know.” Above him, the Lodgers fed on, satisfied in their own world. “This drone is drilling into the roof of our rover.”
Suddenly the drilling stopped, and David saw silvery metal undulate in the arm of the drone. The arm was vibrating as the drone sat still.
David reached the rover and leapt up onto the hood of the vehicle. He fell through the water and landed at the front of the roof, reaching out to grab one of the drone’s arms.
The drone had no face to express emotions, but David had the impression of an annoyed creature swatting a fly as it swept one of its arms and whacked him in the shoulder, sending him tumbling back. He flipped end over end and skidded along the ocean floor.
“Be careful,” Sharmila said. “That thing could crack your faceplate.”
David nodded. She was right. Down here the pressure was immense—if his pressurized suit were punctured, it would crumple and implode, turning him into nothing more than a trace of himself inside whatever tiny wreck of his suit was left.
“Shoot it!” David cried, raising his weapon at the same time Sharmila did. They both fired, and this time their bolts were true, striking the drone smack in the center. The drone began to bounce, one of its legs going haywire and flying back.
David fired again, and this time the drone split apart. A burst of flame issued from the silver ball and hissed in the water.
“Got it,” Sharmila said, but no, David didn’t think they had gotten it at all.
The top of the silver globe was spinning, not with the momentum of the bolt but entirely on its own. An egglike portion, the top of the globe, spun itself free and lifted off. As it rose high, quickly escaping, the rising top dragged a tail, a long silvery cable that David now realized had reached through the drill leg and into the body of the rover. As the egg lifted into the sea and rose, the cable trailed after it, shortening, reeling itself in.
Sharmila and David stared up into the darkness, watching the rising drone disappear.
And then the rover rumbled. The husk of the drone scattered and fell down the hood, landing at David’s feet.
He glanced at it and back up at the rover and heard a distinct pop as the drilled hole in the roof burst inward. “Get down,” David called.
He and Sharmila dropped to the silty ocean floor as the rover began to shake, and then the skin of the vehicle, powerful enough to withstand a rocket-propelled grenade, split open and ripped itself inward as the ocean proved its superiority to the works of man.
The rover groaned, its wheels lifting off the silt, and then all at once it crunched itself into a ball of metal the size of a refrigerator.
Sharmila started and then looked up, as though they could still see the drone.
“Good Lord,” she said. “What was that?” But she wasn’t talking about the implosion, David realized. That was bound to happen the moment something drilled through the roof.
“I have no idea.” He shook his head.
He turned away from the imploded vehicle to watch the Lodgers, who were done with their feeding and heading off to amuse themselves however they saw fit. Sharmila servoed her way next to him and tilted her helmet back at the wrecked rover. “What do you think that was about?”
David looked back. He was thinking of the snaking cable that drew itself into the fleeing drone. And the computers inside the rover, with their open connecting ports. “I’m not sure. But I’m worried that it got whatever it wanted.”
1
“I’VE GOT IT … Gabe, I’ve got it.” Peter Kosydar’s voice cracked excitedly as he picked up the remnants of the cardboard insert of a T-shirt. He uncapped a marker and started to scrawl, bumping into the table with the model on it along the way.
Gabriel Nemo grabbed on to the edge of the glass-topped desk Peter had bumped into and steadied the table. A two-inch G.I. Joe figure of a US Marine toppled over, and Gabriel righted it again. The Marine figure sat in a little cardboard captain’s chair in the center of a model they’d been cobbling together from whatever they could get their hands on in their room for hours. Ever since Peter had woken Gabriel up in the middle of the night with inspiration—a lot of inspirations, in fact. They’d set to work immediately.
Little bits of plastic and cardboard littered the desk around the model. In cardboard miniature lay the bridge of the submarine Obscure. Its floor was an oval cut from the T-shirt cardboard. The faceplate of their only room clock, detached and held up by toothpicks, indicated the view screen at the front.
Peter tapped the cardboard he was drawing on and picked up a pair of scissors. Over his shoulder, warm sunlight speckled the surface of the water outside the Nemo Institute, just over the horizon from California. The sight of the choppy blue and a distant dolphin leaping and diving warmed Gabriel’s heart, and he looked back at Peter, who was cutting out long rectangles along which he had scrawled the numbers 3.5′ on the side and 5′ across the top.
“What are those?”
“Walls.”
“In the middle of the bridge?”
Peter pushed back his glasses. His blond hair was matted and irregular, as though he were wearing a crown of straw. He placed the pieces of cardboard behind the sections of the bridge. “We’ve got the room. We already decided we’ll take a lot of equipment and put it in the new egress hatch next to your captain’s chair.”
“Yeah, but we might need more room for that,” Gabriel said. “How am I gonna spin around?” Gabriel turned the Marine sitting in the captain’s chair and had to stop. “See? My legs hit this new wall over the egress hatch.”
“So maybe it’s just the hatch there,” Peter answered. “Plus, seriously, the cardboard is not to scale; that action figure’s legs look about seven feet long.”
That seemed right. Gabriel moved the action figure over by the view screen and saw that, indeed, the sizes were all wrong. “Okay, so tell me about the walls.”
“We have a five-foot-long wall behind Misty’s station and another behind mine.” Peter pointed. “The walls are three and a half feet tall, two feet thick. I say we make them hollow. So we can open them up and use them.”
“As … shelves?”
“Yeah. Yeah!” Gabriel looked down. He kicked a stray shoe aside as he circled the table. The shoe landed somewhere with a soft wallop. The room was a disaster, uniform pants and shirts strewn over every possible ledge, unrecognizable crumbs dotting every surface. Peter had covered the walls with movie posters that stretched back a hundred years, such that their friend Misty had said it looked like a movie theater snack bar that hadn’t been cleaned in years. That didn’t mean anything to Gabriel. But he loved it. “We could store emergency supplies right there. That way in a pinc
h we wouldn’t need to run back to the dive room.”
“And a bigger refrigerator could go in the little wall the Marine hit his legs on,” Peter added.
Gabriel nodded. That was a great idea. The cooler he had to the right of his chair now was a poor excuse for storage if they were gone for days—even though a long trip like that was rare.
So far they’d covered changes to the view screen, communications equipment, and flooring, and now they were all the way into storage.
“It’s amazing,” Gabriel said. “I thought the design was perfect when we rolled out the Obscure.” That was a year ago.
“Well, you didn’t have a crew to give you more ideas.”
Gabriel folded his arms over his navy-blue T-shirt. “I guess that’s true.”
“And,” Peter said, “we can decorate the shelves.” He looked up. “You know?”
“Decorate it? Like with The Blob posters?”
“What, there’s a Nemo regulation against Technicolor? Sure! Misty’s, too.” Peter moved over next to Gabriel and indicated her station. “Oh,” he said abruptly as though just getting an idea. He turned around and ran to the corner of the room, rummaging through a stack of school papers. He came back with two tiny pieces of colored paper, which he rolled into balls, one pink and one green. He put the pink ball on the cardboard that indicated Misty’s station on the Obscure—ops and weapons—and the green on the floor behind her spot. He picked up a Sharpie and quickly drew a long rectangle. “Imagine there’s a wall there.”
“What’s the pink…?”
“It’s the Troll doll,” Peter said. Misty had stuck a wild-haired doll to her station a few weeks ago.
Gabriel snorted because he loved that the Troll was now built into their model. “What’s the green ball?”
“It’s a plant,” Peter said. “Haven’t you seen her room? She has plants.”
“Sure, okay.” Gabriel ran his fingers through his hair. “But how are you gonna secure a plant when we go into a steep dive?”
Quest for the Nautilus Page 1
