The Nerdy Dozen #2 (5 page)

It was completely empty, apparently controlled by autopilot. Flashing computers lined the walls, and two silver poles ran the length of the ceiling. Neil figured they were for balance while standing, as he didn't see any seats. All twelve recruits followed their commander, who sealed the door shut once Riley finished climbing aboard.

“Recruits, this is the
Ray
. Our lift to the SQUID,” Finch said.

“You guys
really
have a thing with the animal names, don't you?” Neil said as Finch gave him a glare. “You
did
say to keep questioning.”

“What kind of miles per gallon you get on this beast?” interrupted Waffles, his hyperactive body pressed up against the unstaffed control panel at the front of the vessel. With thirteen passengers, space was limited.

“Submarines don't go by miles, dude,” Dale said to his brother. “Maybe nautical miles?”

“And did you say ‘squid'? I'm vegetarian. Just so you know,” said Sam.

“And I haven't been eating anything with more than three vowels in it, so just something else to keep in mind,” Biggs added. “Oh, I'll make that a question. Do you have any space oats on your SQUID?”

“Okay, we're getting the hang of questioning everything. We can save some for later,” said Finch with a hint of exasperation in his voice. “And lucky for you we've got freeze-dried PB&J on the SQUID, which stands for Space-Quality Underwater Immersion Domicile.

“Most astronauts train there for a week or so before their mission. Our training facility offers the most realistic space training in a zero-g, underwater environment. Astronauts used to do immersion training in huge pools, and that was merely scratching the surface. One night here, and we'll see who among you is cut out to be an astronaut.”

Now we're talking.

AS THE SHIP'S HATCH CLOSED WITH A SOFT HISS, ENGINES
below the floor buzzed to life, and Neil could feel vibrations through his thick boots. The craft lurched from the shoreline and plunged back underwater. Floodlights on the front of the ship sent schools of tiny shimmering fish darting in opposite directions.

Neil watched the submersible cruise toward an underwater structure awash in fuzzy lighting. It had a giant circular main level and four tunnel arms that extended down into separate smaller structures. It really looked like a squid with tentacles.

“This is awesome,” muttered JP.

“This already feels like space,” said Jason 1. Neil agreed.

The vehicle drew closer and entered an air lock underneath the main structure. The entrance resealed, and the water in the transition room flooded out.

The room was sparse, with just a sturdy yellow-and-black door marking the way out.

“And we're home,” said Finch. “After me, recruits. No time to waste.” The hydraulic door of the shuttle opened, and the group rushed out into the small windowless air lock. Finch placed his thumb against a scanner, and the door slid open after a series of beeps.

Neil wondered what might happen to unauthorized thumbprints.

“Some extensive underwater security, Commander Finch,” JP remarked.

“Well, a lot of unsavory people would be very interested in the information and training that happens down here. Some things are best left classified,” the NASA official responded.

Finch moved across the threshold of the doorway into the SQUID, interior lighting illuminating the shiny silver-and-blue floors and walls. The place was pristine and very new, with the main section of the SQUID serving as a kitchen, library, and classroom. The main floor had the NASA logo emblazoned in sparkly paint, and another blue-suited NASA official was standing in wait.

She had short black hair, which was lightly hair-sprayed and parted to one side. Her skin was a radiant light brown, and she had eyebrows that looked like sharp apostrophes.

“Good to see you, Dallas,” said Finch.

“Sir,” saluted the soldier opposite the commander. More NASA specialists and scientists scurried around her in all directions, flying past like worker bees. They wore the same sterilized white outfits from before, carrying laptops and messy spools of diagnostic cables.

“Any leads on our hackers?” Finch asked.

“None yet, but we're working nonstop, sir.”

“Recruits, allow me to introduce you to Dallas Bowdin, my right-hand woman and chief CAPCOM, or capsule communicator,” said Finch to his group of twelve. “She runs operations on the SQUID.”

She looked to have the same stern eyes and gritty disposition as Jones.

And there's that clenched jaw muscle!

“Welcome to the SQUID, ladies and gentlemen,” she said, her voice slightly raspy, like Sam's. “Now down to business.”

Neil's eyes darted quickly around the room, watching the contained insanity held within the underwater facility. There were no more than ten NASA workers motoring around the SQUID, but they moved like crazed speed walkers.

He counted six separate doorways out of the main structure. Two were marked as the men's and women's barracks, with the others most likely leading to the tentacles.

“As you'll see, each tunnel leads down to a unique training simulation,” Bowdin explained. “We'll start tonight, and you should all have enough time to complete each section by tomorrow morning. Ideally, we'll be able to determine crew positions by training scores. But first things first: in twenty minutes, you've all got a date with the Vomit Comet.”

Neil looked at his watch, and he couldn't help but feel a little uneasy and reluctant. Not only would this be his first date, but he didn't necessarily trust methods of transportation that spoke so freely of puking.

“For now, everybody find bunks. And I need two volunteers,” Finch said to the group, pointing at Sam and Neil. “Our first duo on kitchen duty. Just grab some snacks from the kitchen for after the Vomit Comet. You're going to love our freeze-dried cuisine. We make sure to fine-tune every recipe. I did a four-hour debrief on the chicken Alfredo alone.”

“As long as it's better than those MREs, we'll love it,” said Waffles.

“Ugh. It's been years since my Air Force days, and I still have nightmares about those. You kids are in for a treat.”

Finch began rounds to tour the facility, checking illuminated touch pads built into the walls of the SQUID. Biggs and JP headed for the bunks, while Dale and the rest followed Finch, eager to see the rest of the secret underwater station.

“So is one of these things where we train to fight sharks? Or did I hear you incorrectly,” trailed Waffles's voice as the group plodded into a corridor.

Soon Neil and Sam were left alone in the main circular room.

They wandered toward the kitchen, mesmerized by their surreal enclosure. Glass skylights overhead let the natural moonlight mix with the blue LED bulbs lining the room, and the two friends roamed the SQUID in silence, reflections of water dancing on the floor below.

While Sam was, by all accounts, Neil's best friend, there was an awkward silence hanging between them. It wasn't like they hadn't spoken for a while, as Neil received Sam's message earlier in the day; it just felt like forever since they had actually
talked
. Just about games, or their day, or being grounded for triple-knotting a younger sister's karate belt.

Neil remembered entire weekends spent talking with Sam, and now he was struggling to come up with a sentence.

He turned to Sam and finally opened his mouth. He mustered a sputtering wheeze.

“You okay there, champ?” Sam laughed.

“I was just gonna say you look pretty official,” Neil said to his friend in her new NASA duds. “Like you were meant to wear that jumpsuit.”

Sam's hair seemed to be longer and shinier than before, like one of the actresses in a shampoo commercial who constantly twirled her hair while holding a tiny dog.

“Astronaut Neil Andertol has a pretty good ring to it, too,” said Sam. “Seems much cooler than just a plain old pilot.”

“Hey, don't hate on pilots,” Neil replied. “But Astronaut Gonzales sounds pretty good, too. You play that bad boy in Scrabble, and there's some points comin' your way.”

What? Was that a Scrabble joke?

“Neil, you are the weirdest person I know. In a good way,” she said, her soft brown eyes sparkling. “And I really think I'm ready for space. I've been practicing all summer on that simulator.”

“Oh, that's where you've been when you were abandoning me to fly with only Biggs?”

“Oh, whatever,” she replied. “You're like the king of that game. I'm sure noobs were lining up to copilot.”

Neil could only wish she was right. He'd spent an entire summer buckling down to master Chameleon, and it seemed like the only people who talked to him were his babysitter, mom, and the beef jerky–loving Tyler.

“And my Chameleon skills got a little rusty over the summer. Shuttle Fury controls took some getting used to.”

“Oh, right,” Neil said, unaware the controls were any different. He leaned in toward Sam. “Jones actually told me it's impossible. Just something they give people as a joke.”

Sam looked taken aback, her eyes flaring a bit.

“Really?”

“Totally. I don't even think we need to worry about that game,” Neil reassured. “They obviously wanted us because of our Chameleon skills.”

“Hm, yeah maybe, I guess.”

“Anyways, I heard about a weird space thing today. Made me think of you.”

“Ha, you mean like a NASA commander giving us a whole speech about a shuttle being stolen?”

“Ugh, that's not what I mean, a
different
space thing,” Neil playfully shot back. “A crater. I can't remember that name, though. Like, ‘Chicken Laboos.' Is the Chicken Laboos crater a thing?”

“Pretty sure that's a fast-food value meal.” Sam laughed. “But I think I get what you're saying. That asteroid that hit in Mexico, right?”

“Yeah! Man, you really do know all things space.”

“Some. There's quite a lot of it to know,” she replied.

“I bet the Question Commander knows most everything, though,” Neil said, referring to their new quirky superior.

“Everything? They don't even know who took their spaceship.”

Well, good point.

“I mean, yeah,” Neil said. “But Jones had no clue a mad genius video gamer was the reason for our last mission either, right?”

Sam seemed hesitant to agree.

“First, let's not get carried away calling that Harris kid a genius,” she joked. “And I'll admit there's a chance you could be right. Just getting a weird gut feeling, I guess.”

“You know what's best for weird gut feelings? Freeze-dried ice cream,” said Neil as he pulled open a drawer in the futuristic kitchen area. Inside were silver-packaged bricks of rocky road and Neapolitan stacked in neat rows.

“Think we should wait until after a training simulator named for puke?” Sam debated.

“A little bit won't hurt.”

Neil tore two open, and the friends took bites into the soft fake ice cream. Crumbles of dehydrated dessert fell onto their uniforms.

“Thanks, Neil,” Sam said, pulling out enough packages for everyone else.

Neil smiled and nervously brushed off his suit.

Moonlight glimmered through waves and small schools of fish, and Neil's thoughts went up above the surface. He gazed upward through a glass bubble above the kitchen, which magnified the ocean above.

“Apart from skilled, professionally trained astrophysicists and astronauts, there's nobody else I'd rather venture into space with than Neil Andertol: ice cream taste tester of the future.”

“That's Astronaut Neil Andertol.”

Sam groaned, her mouth half-full of powdered ice cream.

“One thing at a time, hero. One thing at a time.”

“RECRUITS, IT'S TIME TO SEE HOW YOU HANDLE THE VOMIT
Comet,” said Finch to his twelve potential spacewalkers. They were in a staggered crescent, surrounding the NASA commander outside a training tentacle. It was a bulky white structure the size of a tank, with a sturdy metal door. “Any questions before we get started?”

While he wasn't going to ask, Neil was wondering if vomiting was simply encouraged, or a mandatory requirement.

“Yes, question?” said Finch to Biggs, who had raised his stringy arm in the air.

“Commander! Thanks. First-time caller, longtime listener,” Biggs said. “I do have a pretty serious question for you in regard to this whole space mission.”

“And that is?” said Finch, fidgeting. Neil wondered if Jones had given Finch some kind of advanced warning for life with Biggs. His questions were always . . . interesting.

“Well, sir, exactly how much urine will my space suit hold? Does that type of thing come standard in any and all jumpsuits, or will we have a separate session dealing with each uniform's urination logistics?” Biggs asked. “I've been reading a lot of online literature on the topic lately and could use some answers.”

“I can reassure you all we'll thoroughly go over the specifics of the suit technology,” replied Finch. He looked to see more hands raised with questions. Yuri and both Jasons' arms were stretched intently, hoping the tallest hand would have questions answered first.

“Everyone, if you have a question related to answering nature's call in zero gravity, please save it for later.”

All raised hands slowly recoiled, except Sam's. She had a determined look on her face, and she coolly lowered her hand as Finch nodded to her.

“So is this a ship? Or just a place where new astronauts are made to toss their cookies?” Sam asked bluntly.

“A reduced-gravity simulation,” Finch explained. “Designed to re-create a zero-g environment. The very kind you'll be encountering on your mission.”

Neil liked how Finch seemed confident in everybody, that sending anyone home didn't appear to cross his mind.

“We used to simulate weightlessness out in the desert, flying up and down for hours,” Finch said. “Now we have a deep-sea Vomit Comet, where there's no time limit on weightlessness.”

How can I rent this thing for my birthday party?

It was like an amusement park ride, but better. Plus you didn't have to wait next to people with small tank tops and large amounts of body hair.

Neil couldn't wait to get inside, but he wondered if the amount of space ice cream he had eaten would pose a problem. Neil only had a package and a half, but he'd snuck Riley and Jason 2 a few, and they had gone hog wild.

“The clock is ticking, everyone,” Finch said. “Now, after you, my recruits.”

Sam was first to walk through the simulator's heavy door. Her hair swung back and forth with each step.

The interior was a giant white padded room with all sorts of handles and straps fastened to the walls and ceiling. It looked like a really wide school bus with no seats and a marshmallow interior.

“This will be a simulation of a sixty-parabola flight,” Finch explained.

“Which means what exactly?” asked Waffles, tugging at a rope on a side of the room.

“It means this is gonna be awesome,” said JP excitedly as his brain went through the calculations.

With a thud, the door to the simulation cabin shut, and the ground hummed with a hydraulic roar. Neil studied the walls and floor of the Vomit Comet closer, and saw every inch was speckled with tiny holes.

“When does the no-gravity part happen?” asked an impatient Yuri.

“Trust me. You'll know. Now hold on, people,” said Finch. A high-pitched whirring began, and cool air rushed through the cabin. Neil felt like he was on a giant air hockey table.

Neil's body started to lift up from the floor.

“Whoa! This is unreal!” said Neil. It felt like he was rising out of his seat after hitting a huge hill on a roller coaster, only gravity wasn't pulling him back down.

Corinne was the first person to launch herself off the wall, floating through the cabin like a stuntwoman. Everyone followed her lead, and Neil felt like a superhero as he took a nosedive into a padded wall. He pushed off again, bending his knees to spring out. The whole experience was way more relaxing and comfortable than he'd expected.

“Easy, recruits,” Finch urged.

Neil contorted his body, spinning midair like a figure skater. His stomach flitted a bit, but Neil felt like he could be weightless forever.

“And the simulation will end in ten . . . nine . . . eight . . . ,” Finch said, counting down while looking at his watch. Neil did a quick back somersault and grabbed a strap near to the floor. Gravity took hold again, but Biggs, however, was still upside down.

“Ow,” he grunted as his body crumpled to the floor.

“That's just round one,” Finch said, assessing the condition of his astronaut candidates.

Most of Neil's friends were doing just fine, smiling as if they were at an amusement park. Jason 2, however, was starting to look unwell. His eyes glassed over as he brought a hand to his stomach. Chocolate space ice cream clung to the corners of his mouth. Next to him, Yuri seemed worse.

“Another three minutes begins now,” Finch said.

“Yuri, my dude, how you hanging in there?” Biggs asked, his hair branching out as gravity disappeared.

Yuri kept his lips pursed tight and made a motion to Biggs with both hands.

“Wait, you need something?” Biggs said, like a person deciphering a dog's barking. “What is it, boy? What's wrong? Trouble down at the old coal mine?”

“Here,” said Sam, floating a barf bag to Yuri just before they were all witnesses to a lesson in applied zero-g physics.

“Oh, right,” Biggs acknowledged. “Well, they don't call it a Vomit Comet for nothing. We've got our first member of the Spew Crew: Commander Yuri!”

“And possible second resident of the Yak Shack!” said Corinne as she watched Jason 2 reach for a barf bag. While he didn't puke, his body was turning all shades of green.

“Hey, Commander Vomit Comet? Update from the Spew Crew. I think we've got a Category Four, maybe Five with this one,” said Biggs. He was looking at Yuri, whose body was a pale-yellow hue. In his stringy hands was a conspicuously lumpy waste receptacle.

Finch ended the simulation early, shutting off the high-powered vents on the simulator's control panel. Neil and the others slowly returned to the floor.

“Well, the good news is I think you're almost all cut out for our mission,” Finch murmured, but nodded sadly at Yuri. “Unfortunately, we can't take him.”

The crew was now down to eleven.

Finch opened the door and walked to the side of the Vomit Comet. He untied a stretcher and wheeled it to the doorway. There would be no extra lives or games to restart for Yuri, only a nightmarish lesson in human regurgitation.