by Jeff Miller
“Who goes there?” Harris shouted in panic, moving away from Neil.
Sitting proudly atop an ostrich and followed by hundreds of other birds, Riley burst through the tunnel and into the warehouse. The hungry ostriches charged ahead and started pecking everywhere for food—including at the blubbery stomachs of invisible guards, who began to squeal and moan in protest.
“Sir Riley,” Neil cried out. “You faced the fall of waters.”
“It was all thanks to my trusty steed, the noble Bartholomew,” Riley replied, gesturing to his ostrich. “And I am but a humble squire, my lord, joined in pursuit with Sir Jason the First.”
Jason 1 bowed from atop an ostrich, then sprang off to try to help his captured friends.
“Here is Sir Weo, whose assistance you requested,” Riley finished, heading after Jason to help him pry open the arms of the guards holding Sam and Trevor.
“You okay there, Neil?” Weo asked, staring down at Neil, who was still on the ground. Weo was sitting on the tallest ostrich of all, in a specially made ostrich saddle.
“Weo!” Neil cried out.
“Guards, attack him!” commanded Harris, but they were all too busy fighting off the persistent birds.
“The switch! That thing right over there—flip it!” Neil yelled to Weo before he felt Harris’s boot on his face.
Weo charged his bird ahead, dodging invisible guards as he made his way to the switch. With a quick flip, Harris and his men became visible.
“Harris, stop it,” demanded Weo, his eyes flying to where Harris stood over Neil.
From the ground, Neil watched the status of the transfer inching along. While the money’s destination was encrypted on the screen, Neil knew that once it was complete, it would mean that the most advanced camouflaging technology in the world would be in the hands of some anonymous and possibly dangerous stranger.
“And why should I listen to someone who just abandons his friends?” Harris snorted, still pinning Neil to the ground. Around him, ostriches chased his goons, but he ignored them.
“Weo!” Neil interrupted. “We’ve got to stop this transfer. Harris is selling the invisibility technology from our jet, and it cannot fall into the wrong hands. It’s top secret!”
Harris rapped Neil on the back of his head, and Neil gritted his teeth.
“Your jet?” Weo asked. “Scientists get jets?”
Neil had nearly forgotten that Weo didn’t know the truth. “Well, I know it might not look like it, but I’m with the Air Force. The US Air Force,” Neil explained. Weo looked shocked.
“It’s true!” cried Trevor, who broke free of one grasp only to be clotheslined by another. He dropped below a small flock of ostriches.
“Wow, I’m surprised they let you guys in. Do they have physical requirements these days, or are they just taking anybody?” Weo ribbed. “It’s okay. I mean, chameleon-hunting scientists? I kind of knew there was something fishy going on.” He hopped off his ostrich and walked over to Harris.
“Is this true? Why would you have to steal something and sell it? What happened to the money from the game?”
“You know they pulled the game,” Harris said. Then he grew quieter. “After you left, the game turned awful. The controls got all weird. The controls that only you knew, and only you could help with.”
Watching Harris talk to Weo, Neil didn’t think he seemed like a truly evil villain at all. He seemed almost vulnerable.
“It was what you deserved after you fired my father,” Weo replied.
“My father said we had to cut spending somewhere. I fought him all the way!” Harris said in defense.
“I don’t believe you!” Weo shot back. “I’m glad I didn’t help finish your stupid controls! I’m doing just fine on my island without you.”
Clearly, Neil thought, there was bad blood between them, the kind that had apparently escalated to net-capturing lengths.
“Hey, guys?” Neil said, his face still smushed on the cold concrete floor. “How about this: Weo, what would it take for you to come back and help with the second Feather Duster?” Neil’s eyes watched the download percentage click to 99% and the lettering turn to a bright and serious red. There was probably a minute or so remaining before the technology was gone for good.
“He knows,” Weo said, glaring at Harris.
“Harris, I think you know what that means. If Weo came back to help with your game, is there a job left for his father?”
Harris didn’t respond, only sat motionless. Neil watched as guards grouped together, having now wrangled in all of Neil’s fellow recruits.
“Harris, you can stop this and relaunch your game—the right way. Don’t you want everyone buying it because they love it? Not because it’s the only option they have available?” Neil could feel the tension of Harris’s grip growing looser. “Listen,” he pressed on. “I’m not the one who pulled your game, and neither is Weo. And things aren’t ruined yet. But they’re about to be. Now, let me help you before you get into actual, serious trouble. Let’s stop this together.”
Harris eased off but still drove a knee into Neil’s back, keeping him immobilized.
“Weo, that laptop,” Neil cried out, giving up on Harris. “Go to that laptop! There’s got to be a kill code we can enter!”
Weo hurried over to the silvery notebook open on the control console, the guards seemingly hesitant to attack him. Neil realized they all must have worked with Weo’s father.
“You forgot to use those motion-sensor thingies,” Weo said tentatively to Harris, glancing at him from behind the computer. Neil eyed the final percentage of the download, a lump forming in his throat. “We could get some of those. They could help. But only if you’ll help me.”
Harris was silent, his body heaving as he still stood over Neil.
“HnWFriends4Ever,” Harris whispered.
“What?” Weo asked.
“Our code! Enter it!” Harris responded. Weo typed it into the computer, and the screen froze. Neil feared it was too late. Weo hit ENTER twice more, and a giant X appeared, refreshing the page and replacing the status bar.
Seconds later, a scrambled video feed flashed on the giant screen.
“What’s going on?” screamed the mystery man expecting the invisibility technology. “You can’t cancel on me! You promised me that software! Give it to me, now!”
“Sorry,” Harris said, stepping forward into the video chat window. Neil, at last able to move his neck, started to sit up. “I changed my mind,” Harris said, and hung up the call.
Free from Harris’s grip, Neil walked toward the dock to stretch out when from above he heard a whirring sound approaching. The Chameleons operating in humidity! Neil remembered.
“Back up!” Neil yelled to everybody in anticipation of a jet’s arrival, and after a whoosh of air passed over him, he knew it had landed.
Like a bead of quicksilver, the craft slowly glimmered into visibility, and the cockpit lid opened. Jones and Lopez jumped out.
“Andertol! We tried to radio you! When we didn’t hear from you, we circled back, only to find this whole place flickering in and out like a giant hologram!” Jones shouted. He turned to Harris, who was standing near the laptop, his hands in the air. “You! Stay back!”
“I surrender! I surrender!” exclaimed Harris, closing his eyes as if bracing himself for the worst.
Jones took a step forward, then suddenly slipped on something black on the floor, landing on his rear end. He sat up slowly, glaring at Harris, who looked like he might faint.
“Sorry,” Harris said, his voice small. “That’s the Feather Duster–themed ostrich ooze. Limited edition. It should come right off with the Feather Duster screen wipe pads. You’ll find them right up there, in that box in the far corner.” Harris gestured with his chin, still clearly scared to lower his arms and point.
Jones frowned and got back to his feet, his eyes still on Harris. “Okay, kid,” he said. “Who are you, and what did you do to my missing Chameleon
?”
“My name is Harris Beed. I design video games. Well, just one video game, and its sequel,” Harris babbled to Jones. “I’ll return your stolen invisibility technology. I promise.” He looked right at Weo. “You can trust me.”
Neil stood with the rest of the team in the sun-soaked courtyard of the compound, waiting to take off for the aircraft carrier. Harris, handcuffed, stood next to Jones while the major furiously wrote some kind of mission report on an official-looking Air Force pad. Penny was there and milled around, handing out small slices of pineapple pizza. The twelve starving gamers quickly finished them off.
“I thought your place burned down?” Neil asked her, grabbing a thin slice. He was hooked.
“Just that silly video game caught fire, Mr. Plain Cheese,” she said with a smile. “Must have happened when Harris messed around with those scores.”
Finishing his bite, Neil spied Jones leaving Harris, who looked dejected, his hair falling in front of his face as he stared somberly at the ground. Neil walked over to him.
“Harris,” said Neil.
“Yeah? What do you want?” Harris looked up at him in surprise and confusion.
“Just . . . here’s my username, if you ever want to play, once—well, once whatever happens, happens,” Neil said, extending a crumpled piece of paper. Harris didn’t move to take the paper, so Neil laid it by his feet and began to walk toward his Chameleon, now dug out of the sand of Ostrich Island.
“Hey, Neil!” yelled Harris. Neil stopped in his tracks, spinning around. “You meant what you said before? That you liked the game?”
“Yeah,” Neil replied. “I really did. Although having done the real thing, you may want to get some of those motion-sensor devices, like Weo said. Just so players can get the feel for it. I mean, it’s a rush.”
“Yeah, it is, isn’t it,” Harris said, looking into the distance fondly. “You know, I just might.”
“Harris, my man,” Biggs said, approaching him. “Let’s say, hypothetical situation: You have created a video game that proclaims you’ll even smell like an ostrich. And then there’s a gentleman who, I don’t know, has created a smell journal for the long journey humans are about to take into smellable television. And this gentleman may happen to”—Biggs winked—“know people.”
Harris turned to Biggs. “You know? Hypothetically speaking, we might just be able to look into that,” he replied.
Jones glanced up from his paperwork and rolled his eyes. “Come on, Andertol,” he said, leading Neil out into the middle of the courtyard. The glowing light of an island sunset seeped down around them. The grass was springy under their boots. “Andertol, I just wanted to say—well, I wasn’t too sure about you at first, but you’re all right. Now, let’s get those Chameleons fired up. We’ve got to get home. Recruits!” Jones called out, then seemed to think better of it. “Soldiers! Time to move out!
“And Andertol,” Jones added. “How about you fly the stolen bird?”
Neil nodded. “Sir, yes, sir.” Neil saluted, then lingered as Jones headed back toward Harris. He was curious about what Harris’s punishment would be. Despite all that had happened, he hoped that everything with Harris would end up okay.
“Now, Harris,” he heard Jones say, “if I didn’t love that stupid ostrich game of yours, you’d be in serious trouble. So I’ve got some special plans for you.” Jones cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck with a satisfying pop. “You’re going to tell me everything I need to know. The first thing being the location of that blasted talon upgrade. Now, get up. I’m not a babysitter.”
AS NEIL FLEW HIGH INTO THE ENDLESS SKY, HE REFLECTED ON all that Jones had told him about flying. He pitched and yawed, and it felt like he was swimming underwater, like the plane was part of his own body once again.
“Nice,” said Neil’s copilot. He was one of the men they’d been sent to rescue. The other, exhausted, had slumped in one of the backseats.
Neil let out a yawn, realizing how little sleep he’d had over the past two nights. As his steering began drifting, the copilot leaned forward.
“Mind if I—” he asked.
“Oh, thanks. I can keep gowaahhh—” Neil started, but another yawn took control. “Okay, yeah. Maybe a break for a few minutes. But don’t think you’re landing this puppy.”
“I’m impressed, kid. Glad to see they went ahead and declassified the program to let you kids fly,” said the pilot in the back.
“Oh, nothing was classified, really. Was it?” Neil said, beginning to drift into the comforting riptide of a little shut-eye.
“You mean they didn’t tell you about Level Twelve?”
Neil shook his head, his eyelids slowly batting. The pilot pointed to the patch on his left sleeve. Where Neil’s was embroidered with the seal of the Air Force, this pilot had an entirely different patch. It read LEVEL TWELVE in a half circle below a shadowy Earth. In one motion, the sleepy pilot in the auxiliary seat ripped the patch from his own sleeve, then reached forward and placed it in Neil’s palm. The pilot’s hand soon dropped to the floor as he fell into a deep sleep.
“Don’t worry about him. He hasn’t slept since Thursday,” said Neil’s copilot.
Wow, I can’t believe it’s only been a weekend. It would soon be Monday—and Neil’s family would be home. He tried to imagine what type of karate podium Janey was currently standing on and then quickly nodded off for a minute. He started into an elaborate dream where he was yet again the hero, but his eyes opened. I’m living this dream now. Save the sleep for later.
Neil watched the aircraft carrier appear on the Chameleon’s radar and calmly guided the fighter onto the deck of the USS Martin Van Buren. He reached up to grasp the dog tags clinging around his neck, dragging his thumb over the raised letters.
The sun dipped farther into a bed of clouds, and the sky was a fading orange as the cockpit slid open. Excited muttonchop soldiers gathered around, shouting and talking over one another.
The sailors of the Martin Van Buren grabbed Neil, unfastening his safety restraints and crowd-surfing him to the boat deck. Neil smiled as people of all ranks came out to voice their appreciation.
“Let’s get a grandfather clause for that haircut, too!” shouted a voice from the top deck of the aircraft carrier. Everyone laughed as Neil reached up to touch the haircut he’d almost forgotten about.
Neil spied Sam standing near the edge of the aircraft carrier and asked for everyone to set him down. After a few high fives, he walked over to her. Her dark hair was twirling in the wind. The two stood there for a moment in silence, looking at the sun as it began to duck into the horizon for the night. A few stars popped into view.
“See that? That’s Sasquatch Minor,” Neil joked, pointing to some barely visible specks in the sky. Sam smiled, and Neil felt comfortable.
“Here, I want you to have this,” Sam said, offering him her lucky trilobite from her pocket. “Just in case you need good luck or anything.”
“I can’t take your good luck charm!” Neil argued, moving his hand away from Sam’s.
“Come on, just take it,” she insisted, grabbing his hand and pushing the trilobite into his crinkled palm. “I found an ostrich talon on the beach, so I think that’s a sign that it’s time to swap anyway. Might even look into getting an eighteenth favorite thing.”
They chuckled. “Samantha?” someone called from behind them. “You’re wanted on the flight deck for departure.”
Sam sighed. “I guess this is good-bye for now,” she said. “See you online, ManofNeil?”
“Of course,” Neil replied. They hugged quickly, and it somehow wasn’t weird at all.
“Time to get a move on, soldiers. Your weekend’s almost up, and we’ve got some curious parents making calls,” barked a soldier with shorter, five o’clock–shadow chops. “Who’s Hurbigg? We need you to come in and shoot a video for your mom. She’s apparently tried to call your cell eighty-seven times since yesterday morning.”
There, on an aircraf
t carrier in the middle of the ocean, they all gathered to say good-bye. Jason 2 in his costume, sharing contact information with Jason 1. Yuri proudly saluting, the 13 on his white, now-misshapen die proudly facing outward. Corinne spelling out USA in grandiose body movements. Dale and Waffles gyrating in an attention-deficit dance. And then there was Trevor, who was, just barely, smiling at Neil.
Soon they would all go their separate ways, taking commercial flights home to avoid any suspicion. Neil didn’t know when he’d see everyone again, but he would miss them all. Then again, they were all just an internet connection away.
Neil turned to follow Jones and begin the long trip home but realized he hadn’t said a proper good-bye to Biggs. Neil spotted him across the deck, sitting in front of a green screen while some of the Martin Van Buren soldiers were slumped over a laptop.
“Okay, kid!” Neil heard the soldier shout. “We told your mom you were at camp, so just read this card, and we’ll be that much closer to getting you home.”
“Dear Mom. Camp is great. I’ll be home early Monday,” Biggs said, but paused and went off script for his next line. “Feed the cats!”
Monday evening, Neil sat in the backseat of a hired limousine. It was long and fancy. The driver had been at the airport waiting for him, holding a sign with Neil’s name on it. Neil leaned back into the seat and started to eat the airplane snacks he’d taken from the flight. This was the life.
He was well on his way to eating his weight in pretzels when the car rolled up in front of his house. He thanked the driver and headed up to his garage door, wondering if anyone was home. He stood on his toes to peer in the window, his hands circling around his eyes to fight the sun’s glare. The garage was empty: his mom and Janey still hadn’t returned from the tournament.
Neil grabbed the spare key from underneath a fake rock and slipped through his back door. After everything that had happened over the last few days, it felt strange to be home. He hurried upstairs to his room to turn on Chameleon out of habit and smiled. Sam’s icon popped up on Neil’s screen at the same moment, his speakers making the little bubbling noise Neil had set to alert him whenever Sam signed on. It felt just like before. The only difference now was— Well, there are a lot of differences now, Neil thought. But in the best way.
