The Nerdy Dozen #2 (12 page)

“YOU CAN'T LEAVE,” LARS SHOUTED, HIS VOICE HEATED. “I'M
sick of being up here all alone.”

Neil imagined it could get pretty lonely planted on the moon all alone. It seemed a lot like being stranded in a field in the middle of nowhere, like a cowboy.

Space cowboys. Oh, now I get it.

“If you think there's any chance we're staying in here, you're sorely mistaken,” yelled Trevor, trying to stomp angrily toward Lars. In the low gravity, however, it was still a gentle bouncing, and not at all what he was going for. “My dad doesn't practice space law, but I'm sure he could start.”

“You think anybody knows what goes on up here? Ha!” Lars said, which made Neil feel nervous. In space nobody could hear you yell for help against a turtlenecked tween, and that went double inside a glass dome. “I've known you were after those kids the whole time. Do you think I'm stupid?”

“I get that it must be lonely up here, but we need to go,” Neil said. Trevor and Waffles tugged at the door's metal handle, but it refused to budge.

“We've got some serious stuff to attend to.”

Lars's face was covered in shadows, and his features that seemed goofy and friendly before now appeared sinister. His head tilted slightly forward, and the circles under his eyes grew shades darker.

“Serious stuff?” Lars questioned. “Stuff pertaining to how, exactly, twelve kids just showed up at my invisible moon habitat?”

“Well, what about you? Why is your little space condo showing up on our radar?” said JP.

“New Dists welcome everyone. We have a constant radar beacon welcoming any intelligent life-form,” Lars said. “But I'm beginning to wonder more about you all. Especially where you found these very realistic NASA outfits.”

Neil hesitated, unsure what to admit. Even if he hinted at the truth, where would he begin explaining the situation?

You see, we're a group of gamers working for the US military. We did one tour a few months back, and now we've flown to space with little training in a spaceship full of space bananas as Earth's last hope.
It was all completely understandable.

Neil heard clanging at the door, and turned to see Waffles and Dale attempting to wedge dinner knives into every possible crevice.

“You can mess with that door as much as you like, but every exit is sealed shut with reinforced steel,” Lars said with a snarl. “The New District just doubled its population.”

Neil's watch beeped, reading 03:00. It was closing in on a full twenty-four hours since they'd left NASA, and the
Newt
was probably long gone, its warp drive kicking up stardust throughout the galaxy. Neil and the others took naps, waking up in shifts to do battle with Lars.

“Forty-seven straight victories!” blared Lars's froggy voice.

What initially seemed like a fortress of never-ending joy and gaming was now a prison. A prison with video games, yes, but a prison nonetheless.

Thus far Lars had gone undefeated on head-to-head matchups in space Ping-Pong, space foosball, and Shuttle Fury, possibly proving he should've been selected to pilot the secret mission in the first place.

“Who's up next? I'm beginning to think we may not have any more challengers,” Lars said with an arrogant tone. He seemed to lack awareness about the benefits of sharing and playing nice with others. And hygiene, for that matter. But he was a ruthless pilot.

“You'd think he'd get sick of beating everyone repeatedly on that stupid game,” Harris said to Neil as the two sat down on Lars's couch on the main floor. After an hour of silently snooping around every exit for a point of weakness, they'd given up hope of an escape. Lars's lunar home was on lockdown.

“Looks like we'll just have to plan to grow old in this place,” Jason 2 said, joining the couch with a joke. Nobody laughed, but Neil could tell Harris's brain was busy thinking through something.

“Hey, Harris, you're next,” said Lars from the bottom of the basement staircase.

“Dude, you already beat me once,” Harris yelled back. “I get it; you're very good at games involving the space program. Call me when you play a game with some real action.”

Neil could hear scuffling from the floor below, followed by Lars reappearing at the top of the stairway.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Lars said, looking offended. “Shuttle Fury is hands down the—”

“Save it, Moonboy,” Harris said, unapologetic for cutting him off. Neil could see flashes of the attitude that made him a formidable villain. He could really get under your skin. “You want to have a video game challenge, let's up the stakes.”

Lars looked shocked and intrigued. His boogery-nose breath subtly whistled in the recycled space air.

“We play one game of my choice,” Harris explained. “I win, you let us out of this little space shack. You win, we take you to an actual spaceship, like the ones you pilot in the game. The real deal.”

“What's the game?” said Lars, looking unimpressed by news of a ship. JP, Riley, and the others filtered into the room, watching as Harris gave away their prized possession.

“The highly anticipated sequel to Feather Duster,
Bird and Beast Magazine
's number three ostrich-themed virtual reality,” Harris said.

“What?”

“Feather Duster 2,” Harris said as he reached into a pocket of his suit and brandished a clear case housing a silver disc. With it were two masks that looked a lot like ostrich beaks. “Complete with smells.”

Lars said nothing and stood in silence, possibly calculating his odds at victory.

“If I win, each one of you has to play an hour of games with me a day,” Lars added. “I'll sleep twelve hours and play twelve hours.”

“When will you eat?” asked Corinne.

“We'll cross that bridge when we get there,” Lars said. “And another thing: I'm not playing you. I'm playing
him.”

Lars pointed a clammy finger directly at Neil.

“If he's as good at this Feather Duster game as he is at Shuttle Fury, this will be a piece of cake.”

“Deal,” said Harris, not giving Neil a chance to respond.

Neil shot him a look, remembering how when Neil was Harris's prisoner, Neil played him for his release. It ended with Neil being returned as a prisoner, despite being victorious. Plus he hadn't had a chance to play the newest version of the long-awaited sequel.

“Why should Neil get to play? I want to challenge this worm,” said Trevor, attempting to remind everyone he was still in charge.

“No. No, it's perfect,” Harris said, trying to hide a smile. “Neil and Lars.
Feather Duster 2: Eclectic Bugaboo, Smells Edition version three-point-oh
.”

Harris tossed the game disc to Biggs, who slipped it into the console connected to the TV. He punched on the power to both, and the screen lit up with a flapping ostrich, with much more detail than the first game Harris had created.

“Wow, this new screen looks great,” said Neil as he grabbed one of the two controllers sprawled on the small coffee table. His joystick controlled a moving bag of ostrich pellets. They looked just like the ones Neil fed Regina. He tapped a button and fed a few to the strutting ostrich wandering around the starting menu.

“And you guys are gonna love the smell technology,” said Biggs, securing an ostrich beak to each competitor. Neil wasn't surprised to see Harris carrying these around in his backpack. “I think we've really worked out some of the kinks this time around.”

It would be exciting to see what Biggs and Harris had worked on. Neil wondered if Biggs's made-up sign language would appear in the next installment.

“So the match will be two laps, standard bird specs. Lars, you choose the level,” Harris explained.

Lars scrolled through the levels menu on the game and chose “Suburb Sprinter.”

“Nice choice,” Harris said. “Controls are the same as the first one, but you really just need sprint and jump. Eating potted plants gives you a speed boost, and watch out for neighbors with leaf blowers and sprinklers; they'll make you wipe out.”

The two boys each controlled an ostrich, the screen divided in half. After a quick three-second countdown, the race began. The ostriches sped down an asphalt street, candy-colored houses lining the sides. The level looked like a neighborhood you could find anywhere, with curving pristine streets and cul-de-sacs full of crazed children.

Neil barely dodged a pigtailed girl riding a tricycle as his ostrich raced beyond one of the paved dead-end streets.

“Power up!” said an enthusiastic voice from the game as Neil's bird chomped down on a planted row of tulips. But Lars was a natural, and he kept pace with Neil. After biting through a patch of daisies, Lars even took the lead. Smells of freshly cut grass and hot charcoal grills oozed out from the fake beak.

Come on, Neil, you can't blow this.

“Final lap!” announced the game, after the two racing ostriches sprinted through the parking lot of a strip mall. But as they passed the open doors for smoothie joints and chain restaurants, the scents began to be a bit off.

Neil sniffled a few times, but instead of smelling bread outside of a bakery he was getting something else. It was more of a rotten-egg-meets-dirty-sock bouquet. He knew he couldn't let this distract him, and Neil forced himself not to think about the smells. He'd done it with the apple that got lost somewhere in his locker for all of seventh grade, so a minute longer was nothing.

“These smells are awful,” Lars complained, catching a talon on a sprinkler. His ostrich fell a few steps behind Neil's. Basically everything was beginning to smell like a wet dog that lived in a pile of garbage.

“Sorry,” Harris said. “We haven't beta tested some of these new scents.” In Harris's eye, however, was a glint that made him seem anything but apologetic.

Lars tried smushing his nose against his shoulder to block his nostrils. There was only half a lap left, and his racing bird was actually neck and neck with Neil's. But suddenly his face turned an even ghostlier pale, and it looked like he could no longer take it. Lars dropped the controller to the ground and ripped off the smelly gadget wrapped around his face.

“Player two smell-forfeits!” declared the game. Lars's half of the screen turned a drab gray, while Neil's was soon filled with confetti.

“
Gaghhh
,” Lars gurgled as he punched a code into the keypad near the front door. “I need fresh garden oxygen!”

The door swung open, and Lars bolted out of sight.

“Quick, before it closes!” Harris yelled. Jason 1 Olympic-style long-jumped to wedge a foot in the doorway. The crew took off toward the New Dist Colony's exit.

“How did you know that would work?” Neil asked Harris as he and the others fastened their helmets back on. Harris smiled.

“We haven't been able to get the smells right. Pretty much everything Biggs has made recently smells like someone filled a watermelon with spoiled eggs. I knew they would start to get really gross,” he explained.

“But I mean, how did you know I would last longer than Lars?” Neil asked. Harris laughed a few hard chuckles.

“Neil, no offense, but I've seen your room,” Harris said. “That one video chat after your last mission? The amount of dirty laundry in there speaks for itself. That place was a swamp. I figured your smell tolerance was off the charts.”

The group was giddy with the promise of freedom as they crammed into the tiny air lock once again. Everyone patted Harris on the back as they secured their helmets and space suits.

Sam shared a huge laugh with Harris, uncorking a bright smile Neil hadn't seen since a sun-kissed aircraft carrier somewhere in the Pacific Ocean.

Neil felt sheepish, especially at how hard Sam was laughing. It had more of a “laughing at you” feeling instead of a “laughing with you” he would have preferred.

Harris seemed to be getting the praise, but Neil was the one actually playing the game. But as they opened the air lock, leaving behind the New Dist Colony forever, Neil couldn't bounce away from the glass bubble fast enough.

“GUYS, I KNOW WHERE WE SHOULD GO,” SAID A CONFIDENT
Harris, in the center of everyone huddled together in the
Fossil
's air lock. They were waiting for a light with three green bananas, showing the air lock was pressurized and full of oxygen.

“I do, too, I think,” Neil added. But the group was turned to Harris, apparently more anxious for his thoughts.

“Quiet, cabin boy, Pickles has an idea,” said Trevor.

“The ISS. When I went up there before with my dad, there were all sorts of scientists with crazy technology. They could find that ship in a second.”

“I actually think we should—”

“Neil, you can play a game about ostriches, yes, but let the adults talk,” said a sassy Waffles.

“You know what? Fine. I'm going down to middeck with Boris,” said Neil, pushing through the crew as the air lock beeped. He unclicked the metal ring connecting his suit and squiggled out. “Apparently nobody wants to listen to me.”

He opened the door to the ship's tiny main cabin and bounced over to the hatch on the floor, hitting his head on the ceiling. He lifted the hatch and effortlessly glided into the dimly lit room below. He could see Boris's eyes gleaming in the light of the equipment and wondered if he had just made a huge mistake.

“Boris, I'll be on this side, and you stay there. Everything will be cool,” said Neil, his body pressed into a corner of the ship. The chimpanzee stood in his polyester suit and bared his teeth and gums at Neil before making a wet kissing motion. His lips were puckered, and Boris gave a quick shriek before going back to his task on the ship.

Neil tried to make out the gauges and levers Boris was constantly flicking and adjusting, but it seemed to make sense only to a primate. Everything had pictures of chimpanzees making hand signals. It really looked similar to Biggs's sign language, unbelievably.

Neil missed his friend Biggs. While he was just upstairs, this mission was different. Since Harris was pretty much Biggs's boss, Neil understood if things were a bit weird.

“Boris,” said Neil, “maybe we can try communicating in other ways, instead of just screaming and throwing bananas at eyeballs.” He was moving his hands around like he was churning butter. It was a rhythmic, calming motion Neil hoped might settle down his flight mate. He figured there was a 50 percent chance it was a sign for bacon.

Boris, however, replied by tossing a banana right at Neil. As they'd left the moon, the ship was once again in a zero-g environment, and the piece of yellow fruit cut a direct path to Neil's face.

“Ow,” he said, rubbing his eye. Boris threw another, and a third. “What? What do you want, me to eat these?”

Boris smiled, chucking another bunch. Neil flung two back.

The food fight heated up, and Neil realized just how hungry he was. He grabbed a floating banana and started peeling it his normal way. It wasn't normal by most people's standards, but Neil always peeled it from the bottom up, splitting it on the peel seam. Boris grew excited and slapped the floor and ceiling with both hands.

“Oh, now you like me?” Neil mumbled through his banana. “At least there's somebody on this ship who does.”

“
Pppbttt
,” said Boris.

Boris peeled a banana just like Neil and took three delicate bites before peeling another.

Neil smiled, and he and Boris ate in silence. The chimp moved to sit next to Neil, and they relaxed between the bananas. Neil's head began bobbing, and eventually rested on the sturdy shoulder of the cosmonaut.

Neil could feel the ship slowing. They must be closing in on the ISS. He wedged his eyelids open. He and his chimpanzee friend had dozed off. Neil was surprised that the screaming primate from before was so good at cuddling. He wondered if one day he'd get to snuggle with Regina, if she didn't get too smelly . . . and if he ever made it home. His watch flashed 05:00.

Neil looked up through the machinery and banana peels. He couldn't allow himself to be stuck in the middeck all mission. If he'd learned anything from his food fight with Boris, it was that sometimes it helped to work out all the issues at once. He wanted to be part of the group again.

Untangling himself from the banana cargo nets, Neil floated up to the hatch. He pushed it open and crawled into the main cabin of the
Fossil
, followed by Boris.

“Hey, keep him downstairs; what if he freaks out and bites somebody?” yelled Trevor.

“I've been saying the same thing about you this whole trip,” said Neil. “Boris is fine. He's the best friend I've got on this mission.”

Neil noticed Harris had taken his seat in the front of the ship.

“Quiet, cabin boy,” said Trevor. “I'm trying to command this mission.”

“No. And I'm not a cabin boy. Finch made me commander,” Neil said. “Listen, I know I messed up. But I can fix it.”

“Really? Is there a black hole that would lead us to a dimension where you actually played Shuttle Fury?” said Sam.

“You're right; I shouldn't have lied about all that,” admitted Neil. “But I can be there to help you guys. That's what a good commander does.”

“Listen, Neil, you had a chance and you blew it. I'm sorry, but that's how life works,” said Harris.

“Harris, no offense, but you wouldn't even be on here if not for me. You weren't invited,” Neil said.

“Well, I think Neil should stay. We're a team, you guys,” interrupted Biggs.

Neil took a deep breath. Biggs was right. He didn't want to fight with his friends; he just wanted to be included on the mission. “Thank you, my main man,” he said to Biggs. “If no one objects, I'd like to stay on deck. If anyone has any objections, state them now.”

Nobody spoke, and Neil settled himself into Yuri's seat. Boris jumped onto his lap and gave him a wet chimpanzee kiss. Sam turned around in her seat and gave him a smile, then she said, “No matter what Neil has done, he's still part of the group. We all mess up sometimes, but he didn't mean to hurt anyone.”

Neil felt a warmth creep up his cheeks. Sam and Biggs had just really stood up for him.

Harris cleared his throat in embarrassment. “I feel obligated to say that I'm sorry, Neil. It's not something that I say often . . . but I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you.”

“Don't worry about it, Harris; we're glad to have you here.”

And with that, it was basically like Neil had never almost entirely screwed up the mission. As they approached the ISS, Trevor slowed the ship to mimic the speed of the station. The International Space Station looked like a long fort with solar energy panels sticking off it.

“This is the
Fossil
, requesting permission to dock,” said Biggs, manning the radio. “Do you copy, ISS?” Nobody replied. “This is an American shuttle looking for air-lock clearance. Do you copy, my dudes?”

There was no voice on the other end, and the crew watched the station float on.

“Should we try in Russian?” asked Sam. “Basically every astronaut has to be fluent.”

“Yuri was the only one who could,” said Jason 2. “Blast him and his weak stomach.”

“I think it's just the radio in general. It hasn't seemed to be working since we crashed,” said JP after investigating the issue further.

Neil stared down at Earth from nearly three hundred miles above. Had Neil known this would be how his weekend played out, he might have paid more attention to the planet he called home.

“Fine, we'll just let ourselves in,” said Trevor. He guided the nose of the ship toward the orbiting station and spun the
Fossil
's air-lock hatch to align with the ISS tunnel, forming an airtight seal.

“We are successfully docked,” Trevor said smugly. “That's in level three if you were wondering, cabin boy Neil. Wanted you to see that one.”

Waffles began to open the two doors of the
Fossil
's air lock, now connected via tunnel to the ISS. The twelve astronauts fanned out to explore the station.

“Hello? Honey, we're home!” shouted Waffles. He looked left and right but saw only the empty interior of the giant laboratory. It was all white, with silver, black, and blue computers and screens bolted to every surface.

The station was eerily empty, and the electronics seemed to be malfunctioning in waves, scrambling and surging off and then on again.

“The place is empty,” said Jason 1, returning from a lap through the station.

“Guys,” Sam said, sighing. “I vote we go back to Earth and get in touch with Finch. This is feeling weird.”

Maybe she was right.

On a wall of electronics, Neil saw a radio. It had a small video screen.

“Do you think if you just press zero we can talk to an operator?” he said. JP looked at the equipment and tapped a few buttons. Soon everyone saw the image of Commander Finch. The screen was fuzzy, and lines of static kept washing over it.

“Recruits? He . . .
echs
—” Finch said, his words cutting in and out. Jason 1 slapped the screen.

“We're here, Commander Finch,” said Sam, talking into a mic.

“You're coming in patchy,” said Finch. “But I'll keep talking and hope this makes it to you.”

He nervously swished his black mustache.

“I guess I saw something in all of you, and I let it cloud my judgment. I should never have sent you up there,” Finch said. His voice was empty and defeated. “It was shortsighted and stupid.”

Maybe Sam was right after all. Was something fishy happening with this mission?

“There's something you all need to know about Q-94,” said the commander. “This mission is to . . .”

Uh-oh.

His transmission cut out.

From the far end of the station, a hatch opened. A woman appeared wearing a bright-red jumpsuit, the Chinese flag stitched to her left shoulder.

“Hey!” shouted Biggs.

She looked shocked, completely surprised to see twelve other people inside the ISS.

“What are you doing here?” she said, her pin-straight black hair drifting out as she floated toward them.

“Why is this place abandoned?” said Harris. “We need help finding a ship.”

“There's no time for helping with anything,” said the astronaut, her English choppy. “I'm getting in a Soyuz back to Earth for however long we have left. Do you need a ship? I can get you home, too, but we've got to go right now.”

She was exasperated, beads of sweat collecting in the air around her.

“What do you mean, ‘for however long we have left'?” asked Corinne.

“The asteroid.”

“Yeah, we know,” said Sam. “But that's like thirteen or so days away. We've got a mission to complete before then.”

The astronaut looked startled.

“You don't understand. It was a miscalculation. Q-94. It is going to hit Earth in less than twenty-four hours.”