by Matt London
Evie’s insides felt as cold as the candy bars she sometimes put in the freezer. She’d only heard rumors about the Prison at the Pole, but she knew it was a place she never wanted to visit. Prisoners were supposedly kept in blocks of ice to ensure they wouldn’t escape, with nothing to eat except frozen sardines. According to the stories, anyone who had ever attempted to find the prison had met with disappointment. It was said that the compound was carved out of an enormous iceberg that floated off the coast of Antarctica, and so it never stayed in one place, always eluding the attention of those who were desperate to find their imprisoned loved ones.
Worst of all, no one who had been sent to the Prison at the Pole had ever returned.
Her dad tried to reassure them. “Don’t worry, kids. I’m not going to the pole. I’ll just stay here for the time being.”
At that, Mister Snow slapped the squid-cuff over Dad’s leg. The tentacles wrapped around him like a snap bracelet, but with a loud, wet SLURRRRRP! The squishy texture of the tentacles hardened, and the color turned from silver to slate, forcing George’s leg rigid. He grunted in pain.
Evie ran to his side. “Dad! Are you all right?!”
Under the squid-cuff’s translucent skin, colored alert lights blinked their readings. Wires fed data from the tentacles’ suction cups back to the microprocessor brain located in the big floppy part, which Evie thought she remembered was the technical term for a squid’s head. If Evie’s father made any attempt to leave Lane Mansion, the squid-cuff would constrict, cutting off all circulation to his leg.
“Who would invent such a horrible device?” Evie asked.
“Why, Lane Industries, of course,” Mister Snow said proudly.
Dad winced and said, “We used to do some contract work for Winterpole, developing technology for their eco-protection unit. When I saw how inefficiently the place was run, we ended the contract. They’ve been hounding me ever since.”
Mister Snow patted George on the head as if he were a small child. “Now, now, Mister Lane. It is you who insist on breaking the rules. We are merely the enforcers.” And with that, Mister Snow reentered his hovership and blasted away.
Evie seethed. Winterpole had dealt a crushing blow to her family, and they didn’t even care. There had to be something she could do to undo this injustice. Her family was good. They worked so hard to make the world a better place. Evie swore she would do everything in her power to right this wrong.
Rick adjusted his glasses and squinted at the squid-cuff. “Though cruel, the technology behind this incapacitator is fascinating.”
Dad grunted in pain. “Thanks, Rick. I’ll take that . . . unff . . . as a compliment.”
Evie glared at Rick. “Why don’t you think less about how fascinating it is and more about how to get it off our dad?”
“Good idea, Evie. Let’s head down to my workshop and find a solution together.” Dad turned the wheel on the rooftop access hatch and opened it, revealing the spiral stairs that led down into Lane Mansion. The birds squawked loud goodbyes as he descended into the house, Evie and Rick following closely behind.
Lane Mansion was a long but oddly narrow building that stood ten stories tall. Spiral staircases and secret passageways led to the various floors, and Dad was always encouraging the kids to come up with new ways to get around the estate. For example, Evie’s bedroom was directly above Rick’s. They had installed a fireman’s pole connecting the two, so Evie could quickly descend into Rick’s room—usually to ask Rick about some homework problem or to borrow a video game.
Down the stairs the family went, passing by the master bedroom, the game room, Rick’s and Evie’s rooms, the living room, the dining room, and the front hall, and into the basement. When they reached the sub-basement, Evie’s father pushed open a door, exiting the stairwell and entering his home workshop.
The walls were lined with broken computers, machine parts, and every imaginable tool from a micro-needle to a chainsaw. Wires were piled on the workbench like a giant collection of candy-colored worms. A few of the birds from the aviary had broken into the workshop and were perched on some of the equipment shelves. Bruce, their pink cockatoo, and Spruce, their cerulean warbler, were circling each other near the ceiling.
“Wark! Wark! Waaaaaaaark!” Bruce said, agitated. Evie reasoned that he probably didn’t like how grumpy the humans were acting.
A scale model of one of the garbage chompers stood on two sawhorses in the middle of the workshop. Looking like he had eaten more bags of Super Lemons than Evie had in her whole life, Evie’s dad grabbed an oil-stained sheet and threw it over the model. The weight of the sheet knocked one of the sawhorses aside, sending the mini garbage chomper crashing to the floor.
“Dad! Are you okay?” Evie raced forward to help him.
“I’m fine.” He slumped down in a heap. “Evie, Rick, would you do me a favor? I’m not going to be able to get this squid thing off me, but down in the sub-sub-basement I have a bottle of high-tech skin spray. It should help me conceal this tentacled monstrosity from your mother once she returns from her business trip. Can you fetch it for me? I’m going to try to figure out how to shower with this thing.”
“Sure, Dad,” Evie replied, then she and Rick ran down a flight of stairs to the sub-sub-basement.
“I don’t like how Dad is hiding what happened from Mom,” Rick told her once they were out of earshot. “She deserves to know.”
“You know how she is—you can’t tell her. We’ll all get in trouble. Even you.”
Their argument abruptly ended as they reached the sub-sub-basement, where their father conducted some of his more explosive experiments. Careful of their footing, Rick and Evie climbed over a barricade of shrapnel and mangled furniture to enter the room.
The chamber was dark, and the wooden floor groaned like a sick wombat when Evie stepped on it. In the center of the room was a large star of charred flooring, the shadow of some forgotten detonation. On the far side of the room, Evie spotted the bottle of skin spray on a shelf. She promptly forgot about the charred floor as she ran to get the spray for her father.
“Evie, wait!” Rick cried out. But it was too late.
As her foot touched the burnt flooring, the wood made a cracking sound like thin ice breaking, and then splinters flew and Evie tumbled into darkness.
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 wr
ongly 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?”
