Nikolas and Company: The Merman and The Moon Forgotten (8 page)

“I’ve always put it back together,”
Nick said.

“You did this before?” said their
mom.

“One time—”

“Ten times,” Tim corrected.

“I swear, Nick Lyons,” their mom said.
“You better put every wire and chip back in its place.”

“Yeah. About that.” Nick took a step
back. “The experiment was a resounding success, but it sorta blew
up the Accolade’s battery and—and the motherboard.”

Nick’s dad kept attempting words, but
none seemed to relate to the English language. He was beet red, and
his mouth looked like it was trying to decide between screaming and
crying.

“What did I tell you would happen if
you got your hands on one more electronic device?” their mom
said.

Nick’s eyes grew.

“I’ve had it with you, freak! You’re
getting the inhibitors tonight.”

“What?” Nick looked to his dad.
Everything just turned really serious. Neural inhibitors were given
to kids who were considered dangerous and out of control. Nick
would be seventeen the next time he could string together an entire
sentence.

Their mother pointed upstairs. “Get up
to your rooms now! The doctor will transmit a prescription to your
nannydrone.”

The brothers retreated to their
bedroom.

“Why don’t you shut your mouth?” Nick
said. “I protected you from Rocky. You know what? The next kid can
ape all over you for all I care.”

“I told you I didn’t want your help.
Besides, you ruined Dad’s Accolade. And for what? Another arson
attempt? Sorry, dude, but electronics are the last thing you should
touch.”

“It was coming together. Almost had it
ready. Would have won that money, too.”

“You almost burned down a forest, Nick.
Someone has to stop you.”

“If you want to make an omelette, you
gotta crack a few eggs.”

“Exactly! You know who said
that, Nick? Stalin said that. Stalin—who committed genocide against
his
own
people.”

“Well—we don’t know
who
really said that.”
Nick pounded the intercom. He had rewired it two-way, so he could
eavesdrop on his parents. It came in handy when planning a sneak
out.

His dad’s voice trembled. “My Accolade!
That crazy punk kid took apart my Accolade!”

“I told him what I’d do,” said their
mom. “He’s insane. He’s just insane. . . . Yes? . . . Um. Yeah. I
need that doctor—you know, the one who gives neural inhibitors.
He’s on the Medinetwork, right? . . . Yeah . . . No. We already
have a file opened in the psychiatric wing. . . . Yes. We have a
nannydrone. . . . Yeah, she better be able to process all forms of
medication. We paid, like, a fortune for her.”

“Whatever.” Nick fell back on the bed.
“It is time I leave this den of parental
totalitarianism.”

“Call the national guard. The monster
is loose and headed for Tokyo harbor.”

“You know what, Tim—”

“You seem distressed, Nick Lyons.” The
nannydrone crept toward him.

“Now is
not
the time,” Nick said. “Planning my
escape.”

“How might I make you happy today?” the
nannydrone continued.

“Disassemble yourself,” Nick
said.

“Please wait while I process your
request . . .” A clock symbol appeared over her face. “I am sorry,
Nick Lyons. I cannot perform such a task.”

“Of course you couldn’t. Wanna know
why? That would actually make me happy.”

“Oh dear, Nick Lyons. Now my bio-rhythm
sensors tell me you have been upset by an unidentified object
within this room.”

“Really?” Nick smacked his
forehead.

“I am formulating a solution for you,
Nick Lyons,” the nannydrone offered. “This solution is brought to
you by Pappy’s Popsicles. Lick your way to happiness. Due to a
decreased level of serotonin in your brain, dilated pupils, and
small but noticeable constipation—”

“Gross!” Tim sat up.

“You would be best served by having a
Pappy’s Popsicle. Chocolate.”

The nannydrone buzzed out the room and
returned with a chocolate Pappy’s Popsicle. Nick turned to his side
as the nannydrone rose to meet him eye-level.

“Enjoy, Nick Lyons.”

“I don’t want it,” Nick
said.

“Everyone wants a Pappy’s
Popsicle.”

“I. Don’t. Want. It! I don’t want a
Pappy’s Popsicle, and I don’t want a digital head floating in my
face, selling me junk all the time!” Nick grabbed the popsicle and
threw it.

The nannydrone spun, shooting several
laser beams to intercept the popsicle fragments before they hit the
wall.

“
That was a close one.” The
nannydrone grabbed the popsicle stick. “Cleanliness is next to
happin—Please standby. Receiving a transmission from St. Mary’s
Medinetwork . . . I have received your mother’s request to
administer the neural inhibitor, R-5235.” The popsicle-free hand
flipped like a switchblade, revealing a long, silvery needle. The
nannydrone moved slowly toward Nick.

“Crap.” Nick sat straight
up.

“Dude,” was all Tim could
say.

“Nothing to be concerned about,” the
nannydrone said. “This medication is not fatal. It will merely
suppress all aggressive thoughts and behaviors. Common side effects
may include dizziness, memory loss, aversion to social
environments, difficulty with complex verbal communication and
thinning of the hair. It is a very efficient medication, if I do
say so myself. One shot will last up to seventy-two months or three
years.”

The nannydrone spun around and headed
toward the trash compactor. “But my primary protocol is to clean up
your mess. Afterward, I will administer the drug.”

Nick stood to his feet.

The trash compactor slid
open.

Nick raised his right tennis
shoe.

The nannydrone held the popsicle stick
over the trash compactor.

Nick kicked. Before the nannydrone
could retreat from the compactor, he slammed the door.

Muffled commands came from the trash
compactor. “Open the compartment, Nick Lyons. The nannydrone is in
severe danger of being destroye—”

Nick tapped the
button:
COMPACT.

The compactor moaned, as it tried to
crush the nannydrone.

“Please open the compartment,” the
nannydrone repeated. “The nannydrone is in severe danger of b—eing
damaged or—d—estro—Would you lik—executable
file—chocoberry—R-5235—yum three-hundred and
Pappy’sssssssssssszzz—”

The compactor moaned again, and then
finally accepted its victim.

“You scare me,” said Tim.

An explosion of glass came from
downstairs. Both boys turned to the intercom.

“
Erik? Erik! What’s wrong?”
their mom cried.

The door swished, and Nick flew down
the stairs. “Dad?”

His dad lay in a halo of glass, still
gripping his diet soda. He was lathered in sweat and blood. From
what Nick could tell, he had collapsed onto their coffee
table.

“Dad!” Tim yelled. “Is it the Geneva
virus?”

Nick’s mom tapped her ear and shouted,
“9-1-1!”

The ear piece answered, “Dialing . .
.”

An electronic voice answered, “9-1-1.
What is your emergency?”

Nick’s mom sobbed into the phone,
“Erik—Erik! Something’s wrong with Erik!”

Sweat ran down their dad’s puffy red
face. Tim tried to prop him up.

“Don’t touch him!” screamed their mom.
“Yes? No, I was talking to Tim. . . . OK. I won’t hang
up.”

Within sixty seconds, a hoverbulance’s
siren descended to the front of the house. A woman with a black bag
and an ambudrone met Nick at the door.

“He’s over there.” Nick turned to his
dad. Blood had now moved past the glass and onto the Persian
rug.

The introductory system
announced:
Ambulance attendant Cheryl
Sierra has now entered. Condition: Healthy. Heart rate: Normal.
Geneva infection levels: 0.00. Ambudrone has now entered.
Condition: Unavailable. Heart rate: Unavailable.

Beep, beep.

House secure.

The attendant opened her black bag and
pressed a small, thin square on their dad’s chest. She fiddled with
an earpiece, paused, and pursed her lips.

“What?” Nick looked at her.

The attendant quickly placed a square
piece on Nick’s chest. Cold metal pressed through his shirt. She
repeated it with Tim, then their mom. The attendant paused, looked
at the diet soda in their father’s hand and closed her
bag.

“Was it the diet sodas?” said their
mom.

“Ma’am—” the attendant didn’t answer
her. “—we need to get you and your husband to the ER,
now!”

Their mom croaked through tears,
“Wha—?”

“Please, ma’am, follow us.” The
attendant turned to the boys. “Next of kin?”

“Our Grandpa, Grand,” Nick answered.
“Nikolas Lyons, the eleventh.”

“Call him now. Meet us at St. Mary’s
ER.”

Another ambulance attendant came in
with a stretcher. It was a whirlwind of limbs and lifting and
dispatches to the ER.

Ambulance attendant Cheryl
Sierra has now left the premises. Heart rate: Excited. Condition:
Healthy. Geneva infection levels: 0.00.

Ambulance attendant Robert
Killigan has now left the premises. Heart rate: Excited. Condition:
Healthy. Geneva infection levels: 0.00.

An ambudrone has now left
the premises.

Erik Lyons has now left the
premises. Heart rate: Low. Condition: Critical. Geneva infection
levels: 0.00
.

Sonya Lyons has now left
the premises. Heart rate: Excited. Condition: Critical. Geneva
infection levels: 0.00.

Beep, beep.

House secure.

Seven • A Question for the
Road

What a tragedy,” Yeri said, as he held
the parchment bearing the secret of the Merrows. “Of course I will
deliver this for you.”

“No common humling or creature has ever
known, until now,” said Nia. “You understand why the
pearl-of-devotion was so necessary.”

The guard took the scroll from Yeri and
returned it to Lir. Another attendant held out a large fish scale
with a puddle of steaming red wax. Lir rolled up the scroll, then
lifted the scale, and poured the wax over the edges of the
paper.

Lir raised a signet ring and, with a
commanding tone, said, “Be ye the hand of the Steward Nikolas Lyons
or be ye the hand that turns black and dead.” A hundred strands of
black swarmed between the signet ring and the scroll. He pushed his
signet ring over the flap. The wax sizzled and transformed into
glass, sealing the scroll.

“Remember,” said Lir, “only Nikolas
Lyons may read this.”

“Of course, Duke,” said Yeri, as he
took the scroll from the attendant. The senior stagecoach driver
felt a new emotion creep up his spine. He took it for
heroic.

“Please, Yeri,” said Lir. “Follow the
attendant downstairs.”

Nia gently pressed her hand on Lir’s
arm, “My body has betrayed my will. I must rest now.”

He nodded to an attendant, who quickly
brought a velle to the tired duchess.

h

Yeri could hear the ocean water break
between fortress and cliff side. The only thing that kept him from
plummeting down to his death was a thin plankway leading to the
cliff, on which he currently stood. Yeri took the last step and
exhaled. Lir and Captain Jonn followed slowly with the help of
their automaton legs. Having crossed, all three were now outside of
the fortress and walking down crude steps hewn into the cliff side.
After a few minutes of descent, they entered a cave. The only sign
of life was a lamp dangling at the stern of a small boat at the
edge of a pool.