20,000 Nerds Under the Sea (9 page)

HARRIS BEED LOOKED UNEASY.

“Now settle down, Neil,” said Harris, clearly thrown by the accusations. “No need to go around ‘or else'-ing people.”

“I don't want to hear it. I need to know what you know about Jolly Rogers, starting with, for example, why Beed Industries helped build her monster shark.”

Neil was right in Harris's face. His jaw was clenched—they had met Harris as an evil villain, after all. It would be easy for him to still be up to no good.

“Calm down, Neil,” Harris said. He put his sunglasses on top of his head. He looked at Weo, who was sitting in his desk chair. “Somebody needs less sugar.”

“While that may be true, I still need answers,” Neil replied.

Harris put his hands out to try and calm down his friend. “I'll tell you what I know about her. But let me first say, her family's and my family's companies have done business for decades. We're contracted to make lots of things for them.”

“Like what?”

“Ketchup-manufacturing equipment.”

“Really? Including the robotic shark?”

“Exactly!” said Harris. “‘Krill collectors,' as my dad calls them. We worked with the Rogers family to create the top-of-the-line technology.”

“This sounds like an easy excuse for another evil plan,” Neil said. “Am I the only one who thinks it's fishy Beed Industries could be involved somehow?”

“Neil, remember what Jolly was saying when she showed us
Magda
?” Sam said. “She modified one of the sharks they use to catch krill.”

“Jolly's parents created it in a certain way so that
it wouldn't disrupt the ecosystem,” said Harris. “They were sticklers for making everything sustainable. Plus it doesn't disrupt krill-spawning habits.”

“Jolly said there were more krill kollectors, though,” Sam said. “It was like she disassembled lots of them to make a bigger one.”

“There's plenty more. Rogers Ketchup is the worldwide leader in the tomato-based dipping-sauce game,” Harris said. “My dad and his friends love that expensive stuff.”

“But the sharks—did your dad and his friends make these sharks?”

“Pretty much, yes. There's a fleet of those things. I helped with the controls—I should know.”

“So you did help her!” Neil accused.

Harris looked around the roof. “Neil, I did, but it's complicated. Can we go inside? I just got home, and I kinda need to pee. Plus we should seek shelter. The ostriches use this runway as a fight club in the evenings. It's awful.”

Neil wasn't sure if he could fully trust Harris, but he'd had enough ostrich-related injuries for one lifetime, so he followed everyone back into Weo's office.

“Did you know anyone in Jolly's family?” asked Sam.

“Hmm. My dad does, maybe. Her family had some real pirates in it, though. From way back,” Harris said. “My dad told me once to be nice to her, because practically her whole family has been killed by random shark attacks.”

“Really?” said Neil.

“Her parents were boating, doing krill research,” Harris said, his voice serious for once.

“Hence her plot for revenge,” said Biggs.

“I really felt for her, so I did a little pro bono designing. Made the controls like a game,” Harris. “Some of my best work, really. She said it was for science, so I didn't charge. Something about an aquarium she was opening up.”

“Dude, that was the game at RebootCon. The one onstage with the sharks?” Biggs said. “Like, the biggest game that was demoed there. And you did it for free?!”

Harris raised his eyebrows.

“Oooh, that makes sense now,” said Harris. “I thought that looked familiar. I was too busy with those glitches in Feather Duster. I never saw the demo.”

“Well, it sounds like she stole your krill collector operating system to make her game, to find somebody to
drive her evil shark,” said Sam.

“Was the game fun?”

Neil stared blankly at Harris. He realized that his friend was innocent of any conspiring with Jolly. Harris was brilliant, but sometimes he totally didn't get it.

“Oh, it was a real hoot,” said Neil sarcastically. “And news flash: I don't think that aquarium is real.”

“So it's not an aquarium?” asked Harris.

“No way. She's made a monster to capture every living shark,” Biggs said. “She wants to get rid of them all. Like they did her family.”

“Wow, that seems a little intense,” said Harris.

“So was your crazy scheme to take over the world,” said Sam.

“Good point,” Harris admitted. “Well, what can I do to help? I might have a copy of those game controls around here somewhere. Trevor kept asking me to try to get an advance copy of the game for him.”

“Trevor?” Neil was intrigued.

“Yeah, when you guys left, I interfered with security so that no one got kicked out. It was pretty nice of them,” said Harris, reaching into a dish of ostrich-shaped candies. He crunched them in his mouth, unaware that he'd
witnessed Jolly's plan to select the best pilots to steer her megalodon.

“We've got to find everyone,” Neil said firmly. “Before she does.”

“Who is everyone? You mean the other nine of us?”

Neil nodded.

“Something tells me she's not giving up just because we broke her shark's fin. She has a fleet of them, anyway,” he said. “Plus she's going to go after more people to pilot that thing.”

“So she's coming back for you guys?” asked Harris.

“Us, or the next best gamers alive, which would be our friends,” said Sam.

“Harris, we're the only ones who know what's going on. The only ones who can stop Jolly,” Neil said. “We need your help.”

Harris finished crunching one last ostrich candy.

“Well, if we've got to do something, then let's do something,” the boy billionaire said. He wasn't an evil villain after all, really.

“Harris, I'm gonna name a cat after you!” exclaimed Biggs. He ran to Harris and wrapped him in his wiry arms. “So what . . . do we do?”

“We're getting the team back together,” Neil said. “We're coming out of retirement.”

“Wait, we were retired?” said Biggs. “I thought it was just sort of an ‘on pause' situation.”

“Well, we're unpausing, then.”

I just hope everyone else wants to.

Neil was still aware that his friends were probably furious that he'd ditched them at RebootCon.

“If we have to go find everybody, let's start making some calls,” said Harris to the group. He glanced at his ever-present phone to look at the time. It read 2:33 in ostrich-shaped letters.

“Afraid we can't,” said Weo. “I've been looking into it, and somebody's jamming signals in the area or something. For now, we're isolated.”

Neil could hear the squawk of a few ostriches outside.

“Then we should split up,” Harris said. “We can cover more ground separately, and it doesn't sound like we have much time to waste.”

“How do you suggest we do that?” said Sam.

“Well, we've got my chauffeured jet here. Vinny's twin sister, Winnie, drives it. Sam, why don't you and Biggs go in there?” Harris said, pointing to the plane.
“And Neil and I, we'll pick up the other half of the group in my helicopter.”

“Deal. We'll just take the helicopter,” said Neil, trying his best to be cool. It wasn't as if he had any other modes of transportation to offer up. To his name, he owned a scooter he'd outgrown and a bike with two flat tires.

“The chopper's in the courtyard. I'll warm it up,” Harris went on. “And since I only got my license a week ago, I'm calling dibs on Andertol as my copilot. No offense.”

“None taken,” said Biggs. “Does the jet have peanuts?”

“You'll find out soon enough. Neil, let's go. We might just have to battle a few ostriches first,” Harris said.

“So it's settled. You get a few, we get a few, and we'll meet back here before sunset to stop Jolly. Easy.”

Yeah, easy.

NEIL AND HARRIS CLIMBED THE BRICK STAIRS THAT LED TO
Corinne's front door. Next to the doorbell a sign read:
EVERY TIME YOU PUSH THIS DOORBELL, A QUARTER IS DONATED TO PUBLIC RADIO
.

The home itself was a charming cottage nestled into a small patch of pine trees. Neil pushed the doorbell and listened to the sound of a few chimes. After a minute the door was opened by a man Neil assumed was Corinne's father. He looked confused.

“Hi, hello, sir,” Neil stammered. “I was wondering if Corinne might be home.”

“Who might I tell her is here?” said Corinne's father. He was a stout African American man with trim hair and a gray mustache. He wore a tan suit coat with brown patches on the elbows and had a newspaper curled under his left arm.

“My name is Neil Andertol.”

“Oh, Corinne,” her father called out. “A Neanderthal boy is here to see you.”

Really?

Her father unfolded his newspaper as he walked them toward the small kitchen. After a moment Corinne appeared in the doorway. She wore flannel pants and a baggy
BEE CHAMPION
T-shirt. Shocked to see Neil and Harris, Corinne ushered them to the living room.

“What do you want?” Corinne said. “Do you need help moving onto Reboot's yacht?”

“OK, I deserve that,” Neil said. “And I'm really sorry. I wasn't thinking clearly, and I let the idea of meeting Reboot get the best of me.”

“You can apologize all you want, but I used all my allowance money for three years to go on that trip,” Corinne said. “And I barely spent time with everyone.”

“Well, the good news is that we're getting everyone back together,” Neil said. “Another mission.”

Corinne's eyes lit up. She looked at her father, whose attention was on his paper's crossword puzzle. She sat down on the bench by her glossy upright piano. She crossed her arms and leaned back on the off-white keys. An ominous tone played, startling a cat sleeping in a nearby window.

“We need your help,” Neil whispered. “That game at RebootCon wasn't a
game
. The creator was just finding people to use to capture sharks. Every shark.”

“He's telling the truth, as crazy as it sounds,” Harris added. A clock chimed in another room of the house. “Plus I'll give you five thousand Beed Airlines miles. You can go wherever you'd like.”

Corinne wriggled her nose.

“Well, OK,” said Corrine. “But you'll have to get this approved by my father somehow.”

“Whatever that means, sure,” Neil said.

“He'll demand one thing.”

“What? A kidney? A spleen?”

“A spell-off.”

“Right now?” Neil asked.

“Y-E-S,”
Corinne spelled out, cracking her knuckles to warm up.

“OK then,” Neil said. “A spell-off it is.”

“Dad, come here, please. Neil would like to speak with you.”

SAM AND BIGGS HUDDLED ON THE GROUND, SURROUNDED
by the vibrant colors of freshly fallen Montana leaves. Dried twigs crunched under their bodies as they crawled behind a fallen maple tree.

Phwap! Phwap!

Blue paint splattered just above their heads.

“Guys, do we really have to do this?” yelled Sam from behind a bulky safety mask.

“Sundays are for paintball! Nothing else!” yelled Dale. Bits of bark fell on Biggs's head as more paintballs peppered their tree bunker.

“But we need your help!” said Biggs, his hair dusted with tiny blue paint blobs.

“If you guys want us to help so badly, you'll have to earn it,” said Dale from behind a giant spruce tree.

“I'd love to play all day, but we don't have time,” said Sam, keeping her head tucked behind the makeshift
bunker. “A lunatic ketchup pirate is threatening to kill every shark on the planet.”

“With her own monster shark,” Biggs said, poking his head up before a splash of orange paint tagged his curly hair.

The volley of paintballs stopped as Biggs heard the two boys step out from behind their shelter. A few birds chirped from hidden nests in the thick branches above.

“Did you say monster shark?” asked Waffles.

Biggs stood up, his clothes covered in new splotches of wet paint. Sam joined him, her hair now a neon blue.

“Monster
metal
shark, my dudes,” said Biggs.

“Well, in that case, we're on board,” said Waffles, lowering his bright-orange paintball gun. “Sundays are for paintball
and
sharks.”

AS THE ENGINES LOWERED HARRIS BEED'S PRIVATE JET
onto a field, people in capes and chain mail scattered in all directions.

“Lo, what metal bird is this?” shouted a villager, spilling the heavy bucket of cream he'd been carrying. “Get thee to thine horses!”

The plane had landed in the center of the Renaissance
fair, Riley's home away from home. Once again, he had found himself in the stocks. His stubby arms and head poked between wooden slats in the center of the town.

“Riley!” yelled Sam, stepping out from the jet and running toward him.

“Look how the flying woman moves just like one of us,” said a frightened villager, never once dropping character. “What be this wizardry you share with us, magicke woman?”

“Ye olde jet plane,” Sam said, popping the lock of Riley's stocks with a bobby pin. “Give it another hundred or so years; you guys will love 'em.”

“While I appreciate this rescue, my fair compatriots,” said Riley, “I'm not sure why 'tis happening.”

“We've got a mission to complete!” yelled Biggs over the whirring of the jet engine.

“A mission? But whither is Jones?”

“Our own mission,” said Sam. “We've got to find everyone else and put a stop to a crazy homeschooled pirate.”

“Pirates?” said Riley. Other villagers shuddered at the very mention.

“Scallywags! If 'tis pirates you battle, then you will have my help,” Riley exclaimed. “Onward, my friends!”

“Agreed! Whatever all that meant, I agree!” yelled Biggs.

The citizens of the fake historical village continued to scream in terror as Riley was freed. Rubbing his wrists and neck, he walked after Sam toward the aircraft.

“Huzzah!” shouted Riley. “Send a pigeon to my mother; let her know I will return before the school bus cometh!”

The crew strapped into the safety harnesses of the plane and flew toward the San Diego airport, looking to retrieve Yuri and the Jasons.

“I hope there's still time,” said Sam.