The 8th Continent

by Matt London

  Diana grimaced, glancing at the bag of fungi at her feet. It had not been easy, breaking up the asphalt with the concrete sucker, then foraging in the stiff dirt below for the few shriveled mushrooms that had survived the construction project.

  “We’ve been following you almost from the beginning,” Vesuvia explained. “My little bird kept a close eye, so we were always one step behind you, until we found our window to get ahead. And now here we are. Time to leave you in our dust.”

  “You’ll never get away with this!” Evie cried out. “We’ll find you.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so.” Vesuvia smoothed her shiny plastic hair against her head. “My concrete sucker is going to slurp up all this concrete, and then it’s going to slurp up you. Did you know my concrete sucker was manufactured by Lane Industries? How ironic is it that your own father’s invention is going to kill you? Hahahahaha! That’s hilarious! Enjoy your last few minutes of being a total loser with no taste in clothes.”

  Vesuvia turned on her plastic heels. Diana hurried to follow. As they passed the concrete sucker, Vesuvia flicked the throttle up to full. Gears roared, and the machine lurched toward the bound Rick, Evie, and 2-Tor.

  Diana followed Vesuvia back to her pink hoverjet, leaving the Lanes and their poor robot chaperone to their demise. Vesuvia wasted no time in buckling into her seat in the cockpit and ordering Diana to take off.

  “Music, please,” Vesuvia commanded once the ship was in the air, and Diana immediately obliged. During the whole ride to the Arctic Sea they blasted the latest album from True North, the world’s hottest boy band. Tad Hutstoff was the coolest, and his solos made Diana want to sing out loud. She resisted the urge, however. Vesuvia had made it clear that she thought Diana’s singing sounded like a drowning mongoose.

  They parked the hoverjet with a splash, just above where the pink bird had told them the submarine lab was hidden. An empty raft of lashed-together plastic bottles floated nearby.

  “Diana, you twit, open the torpedo tube.”

  Frowning sullenly, Diana mumbled, “It’s really not nice to talk to me like that. You just have to say please.”

  Vesuvia scrunched up her face, looking like Diana had insulted her grandmother. “I will talk to you any way I want! I’m the one in charge. Me!”

  Diana lowered her head and nodded.

  “Now”Vesusiva smoothed her plastic hair against her head,—“deploy Chompedo!”

  Something like a giant pink bullet shot from the torpedo tube at the front of the hoverjet. It had the red eyes, dorsal fin, and jagged grin of a bloodthirsty shark.

  The pink robo-shark swam in a tight circle around the hoverjet, looking hungry. Diana followed Vesuvia through the top access hatch and watched the shark crash through the waves.

  Vesuvia’s instructions were somewhat predictable. “Chompedo! Destroy!”

  Chompedo jerked his pink metal body sharply, veering onto a collision course with the empty bottle raft. He opened his hydraulic mouth wide, revealing two rows of razor-sharp chainsaw teeth, whirring hungrily.

  He didn’t need the chainsaws. Chompedo was so big he engulfed the raft in one bite, swallowing it whole. The metal leviathan leaped triumphantly into the air and hit the water with a splash that sent a salty wave crashing down on top of Diana.

  Vesuvia was miraculously spared. “Excellent work, Chompedo! You will never fail me. Now come. Let us climb aboard that pretty pink hull of yours. We have work to do.”

  The robo-shark pulled alongside the hoverjet. Vesuvia and Diana hopped onto his back, the bag of fecundite mushrooms in tow. There was another access hatch that led to a small storage compartment inside Chompedo where the two girls could ride out the journey.

  Through the porthole at the front of the compartment, Diana watched as Chompedo dove beneath the waves, speeding them to their destination. Chompedo’s red eyes clicked into bright spotlights, which illuminated a long black submarine in front of them.

  “Align with that access hatch on the starboard side,” Vesuvia ordered.

  Chompedo connected the two hatches, forming an airtight entryway.

  Vesuvia grinned and twisted open Chompedo’s access hatch eagerly. “We are so close, Diana. I can smell it!”

  She opened the submarine’s hatch, revealing the face of a lonely seal. “Rowf!” The seal barked fish breath in Vesuvia’s face.

  Vesuvia turned green and fell to the floor of the storage compartment with a clang.

  “Arf! Arf! Arf!” the seal laughed.

  Diana helped her friend to her feet, and together they climbed aboard the sub.

  “Now what do we do?” Diana asked, swinging the bag of mushrooms over her shoulder.

  Vesuvia scampered ahead, past the sub’s darkened laboratories. “Remember what my pink bird told us. This old doctor who helped the Lanes is blind. They were supposed to bring him the febundie mushrooms.”

  “Fecundite,” Diana corrected.

  “Fekundun. Felitebrite. Whatever. We give him the mushrooms, he gives us the compound. We just need to pretend to be the Lanes. Should be easy.”

  Diana wasn’t so sure, but Vesuvia had brought her this far. There was no turning back now. They made their way to Doctor Grant’s lab, where the old scientist was putting the finishing touches on a big project. Several vats of steaming liquid crossed the middle of the chamber. What looked like giant eggbeaters bobbed in and out of the vats, mixing their contents.

  As the girls entered, a long, thin cat sat up on the desk and hissed at them. Doctor Grant spun around in his chair. His unseeing eyes stared blankly into the darkness. “Quiet, Niels Bohr! Um, hello? Is someone there?”

  Vesuvia cleared her throat and spoke with the same energetic twang as Evie Lane. The resemblance was uncanny. “Doctor Grant? It’s me, Evie! Rick and I are back with the fedoodoo mushrooms you asked for. Hooray! I did it. I am totally not a loser who would wear shoes from two seasons ago. I’m awesome!”

  Doctor Grant showed a relieved smile. “Rick, is this true?”

  Diana coughed, trying to make her voice as deep as she could. “Uh, yes! Uh, ahem. Fascinating. Er . . . affirmative. We have the fungal component you requested, Doctor.”

  “Splendid, just splendid!” Doctor Grant said, holding out his hands. “Give it here.”

  “Uh, ahem . . . here you go, sir,” Diana said, handing over the bag of mushrooms.

  The cat—who, upon closer inspection, resembled a tiger—hissed again.

  Doctor Grant ignored him and took the bag gratefully. “Rick, you sound funny. Are you all right?”

  Diana gulped. Vesuvia gave her a look that could have flayed a fish. Diana tried to laugh. “Huh-huh. Guess so, sir. The water is quite cold.”

  “Yes, yes, I suppose,” Doctor Grant said. “Well, take a seat in the hallway and give me a few minutes. I’ll add the mushrooms to the compound so you can be on your way.”

  “What?!” Vesuvia exclaimed, sounding surprised that her plan had worked. “Really? Oh, wow bam yippie! Thanks, mister!”

  Vesuvia and Diana shuffled out of the room, while Doctor Grant added the mushrooms to the vats. The distillation process did not take long at all. A few minutes later, they were back in the lab. Doctor Grant brought out a pushcart. On it was a machine that looked like a cross between a monster-truck engine and a lawn sprinkler.

  “This is my rain machine,” Doctor Grant explained. “I’ve equipped it with a bottle of the condensed Eden Compound. All you have to do is take it to the garbage patch and throw the switch. The compound will disperse into the atmosphere and rain down over the entirety of the garbage patch. And then the eighth continent will be yours!”

  “Hooray!” Vesuvia cheered in Evie’s voice. “I’ve never had an accomplishment like this before in my whole life. I wonder what’s different about me that it’s happening now? Hmm . . .”

  �
�Well, don’t wonder too long,” Doctor Grant replied, giving the pushcart an extra shove. “You better hurry, or some little snot will try to take the Eden Compound away from you.”

  Diana coughed. “Ahem. He is right, Ve—uh . . . Evie. We better go.”

  Silently, Vesuvia stuck a finger in her mouth like she was gagging. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mister Doctor Grant.”

  They retreated to Chompedo as quickly as they came, dragging the Eden Compound rain machine behind them.

  When they were safely back aboard the robo-shark, Vesuvia said, “That was easier than I’d thought! What a blind, old idiot. Chompedo, this smelly old man and his not-pink cat have served their purpose. Once we are away in the hoverjet, you know what to do.”

  RICK FOUGHT AGAINST HIS BONDS, BUT THE CHAINS OF THE ROBOT BIRDS KEPT HIM PINNED TIGHT. Their plastic wings dug into his skin, leaving red scrapes along his arms and legs.

  The concrete sucker roared menacingly as it rumbled toward the helpless children. The nozzle vacuumed up the concrete like dust, crumbling it into nothing as it moved.

  2-Tor flailed madly. “This is terrible! Horrible! My date of manufacture is much too recent for me to die.”

  “2-Tor!” Evie shouted. The birds were chirping so loudly Rick could barely hear her over the noise.

  “My circuits cannot take it! I think I leaked some oil. Oh dear oh dear.”

  “2-Tor!” Evie shouted again. “Will you shut up and listen to me? It’s urgent.”

  The robot hooted. “What could be more urgent than our imminent demise? My only solace is that I will be destroyed along with you both. I could not face your father having failed you so.”

  “I need you to do something.”

  2-Tor stopped struggling and gave her a stern look. “Now is certainly not the time.”

  “Now, I think, is certainly the time!” Rick squirmed frantically. “That machine is gonna get us!”

  The concrete sucker inched closer. It was only a few feet away. Rick tried to pull his legs back, but the bird chains had him stuck tight. He shivered at the thought of the concrete sucker overtaking them.

  “What can I do?” 2-Tor wailed. “I’m stuck.”

  “2-Tor! 2-Tor!” Evie said. “I want you to give me a quiz.”

  “A what?” 2-Tor asked, confused.

  “A WHAT?!” Rick screamed. “How is that going to help?”

  “A quiz,” Evie repeated. “Give us a quiz. Algebra, European history, anything. Please, just please, give us a quiz.”

  2-Tor grew solemn. “Evelyn, I want you to know that I always thought you failed to value my service as your education augmenter. Now I see that you really do care about your studies, and I am humbled that you would choose to spend your last moments in this life gaining a sliver of knowledge from me.”

  She glanced at the approaching concrete sucker. “Forget about all that, 2-Tor. Just ask a question.”

  Rick could feel the hot air of the garbage sucker’s nozzle on his toes. “Yeah, she’s right. 2-Tor. Quiz us. Hurry!”

  2-Tor’s body went rigid, and his voice sounded cold and automated. “Quiz administration initiated. Begin comprehension evaluation now. Geography. Children, what is the capital of the United States?”

  “New York City!” Evie shouted.

  “Incorrect. Complete system shutdown in thirty seconds.”

  The concrete sucker got closer, and louder.

  Evie winced. “Can you make it fifteen seconds?”

  2-Tor plowed on. “What is the capital of the United States?”

  “Paris!” Rick answered, giving Evie a wink to let her know that he had figured out what she was up to. In spite of their crazy situation, she smiled.

  “Incorrect,” 2-Tor said. “System shutdown in fifteen seconds.”

  “Boston! Rome! Montreal!” Evie’s voice rose with every word.

  “Incorrect. Incorrect. Incorrect. Your performance is shameful, Evelyn. System shutdown in five. Four. Three . . .”

  The concrete just beyond Rick’s legs broke off and was snorted into the machine. His shoes came off with it. He knew his feet were next so it really didn’t matter that he had six changes of sneakers back on the Roost.

  “Two. One. Engage system shutdown.”

  2-Tor’s crow eyes turned bright red. Electricity surged over his metal exterior, just like it had when the EMP fried his systems back home. The blast cooked the internal computers of the little robot birds pinning them down. The birds fell away like dead insects. An even bigger surge of electricity rushed over the outside of the concrete sucker. The machine smoked and sizzled.

  “Come on, run!” Rick brushed away the disabled robot birds and pulled 2-Tor to his feet with Evie’s help. They ran away from the concrete sucker as fast as they could. As they reached the edge of the parking lot, they dove to the ground just before the concrete sucker exploded in a flash of light and rubble.

  When the dust settled, Rick and Evie rolled onto their backs and held their bellies, trying to catch their breath. Rick couldn’t believe they’d survived.

  “Oh my sparks!” 2-Tor said, pressing his wings against the video screen in his belly. A big crack cut diagonally across the glass. “What happened?”

  “2-Tor, you are on the fritz!” Evie explained. “When that EMP zapped you, it fried some of your circuits. We brought it out of you when you gave us a quiz back on the Roost. You shut the whole tree down, and we almost crashed. I thought that maybe it would work on Vesuvia’s birds if I could get you to repeat what happened before.”

  “A brilliant solution,” Rick said, amazed. “Truly, Evie. You saved us. I wish I’d thought of it.”

  She smiled at him. “Thanks, Rick.”

  “We need to contact Dad,” he added, rising to his feet and dusting himself off. “He’ll know what to do.”

  “But Dad can’t use technology,” Evie said. “How are we supposed to reach him?”

  “Maybe 2-Tor can help. 2-Tor, can you broadcast over the mansion’s communication system?”

  “I suppose I could,” the robot said. “But I am not feeling very top form.”

  “We just need you to do one more thing, and then back on the Roost we will give you the best oil bath of your life.”

  “Very well,” said 2-Tor, who was not a robot to pass up an oil bath. “Initiating communications relay in three, two, one . . .”

  Evie called into 2-Tor’s speaker box. “Dad! Dad, if you’re there, please respond. It’s Evie. We’ve made a lot of progress, but we’re in trouble. This girl from our school, Vesuvia Piffle, has stolen the last piece of the Eden Compound. She’s going to get the rest from Doctor Grant and take the eighth continent for herself. Dad! Please answer! We need your help to stop her, or we’ll lose the continent. Please respond. Please!”

  There was no reply.

  “Communications relay deactivated,” 2-Tor said.

  Throwing her hands in the air, Evie groaned, “Now what do we do?”

  “Evie, I hate to say it, because you are not going to like it, but I think we need to call Mom.”

  Evie’s voice got dark. “Rick, these words are dread words. They are the second-worst words I have ever heard, a little worse than ‘We are all out of ice cream’ and not quite as bad as ‘You have to go to school on Saturday’. Do we have to?”

  Rick nodded. “Yes, we do. Going off again to make the eighth continent. Finding Doctor Grant. Almost dying twice. We have to tell her everything.”

  “This sounds like a terrible idea,” Evie said.

  “If Vesuvia is going to take the eighth continent, we’ll need Mom’s help getting it back.”

  Evie shrugged. “Okay. 2-Tor, call Mom.”

  2-Tor’s eyes sparked. “Internal database returned zero results for query: Mom. Would you like to search again?”

  Evie
looked to Rick, puzzled.

  Rick slumped down on the curb. “Ugh. That last shock must have corrupted some of his memory. Try her full name. 2-Tor, call Melinda Lane.”

  “Initiating Internet search for Melinda Lane, CEO of Cleanaspot.”

  “No, no! Call her. Don’t search her.”

  “Returning 246,108 results. Displaying news stories from the past six hours.” The cracked video screen in 2-Tor’s stomach brightened, showing a flurry of inexplicable images that made Rick’s heart wither.

  Rick’s mother, in a trim pantsuit, stood on a dais in front of dozens of photographers. The caption read, Cleanaspot CEO Seals Deal with Winterpole. She was shaking hands with Diana’s mother. They both grinned stupidly, looking like they were thrilled to be there.

  “What?!” Evie stammered. “No! This can’t be real. Mom is working with Winterpole?”

  Rick sounded angry. “2-Tor, give me a veracity check. Where did you acquire this footage?”

  “It is available on all business news networks. Such a merger between a corporation and an oversight organization is unprecedented. Usually, Winterpole would veto attempts to form such a merger, but in this case—”

  “Winterpole is the group merging,” Rick finished sourly.

  “We can’t trust her,” Evie said. “Not until we know more about what’s going on. She might be helping Vesuvia and Diana as well as Winterpole.”

  “I hate to say it, but you’re right.” Rick was so angry he almost didn’t notice the tear rolling down Evie’s cheek. There had to be a reason for this. He couldn’t believe that his mom would sell them out and team up with Winterpole—not after all the work he had done to save the family. How could she do that?

  But there was no time to think about this now. Vesuvia was on her way to steal the Eden Compound. They had to race back to the Cichlid and warn Doctor Grant before it was too late.

  EACH HEAVY FOOTFALL ECHOED OFF THE METAL FLOOR AS EVIE AND RICK RACED THROUGH THE submarine to Doctor Grant’s lab, calling out his name.

  They burst into his lab. The vats of Eden Compound churned noisily.