Welcome to the Jungle (2 page)

Dad tried to explain. “Honey, the eighth continent isn't like earth's other landmasses. It's made of converted trash, which was floating on the surface of the water.”

“That means that the continent we created also floats on the water, all loosey-goosey,” Rick clarified.

“But a floating continent isn't our problem,” Dad added. “It's the fact that since it's been set adrift, it could hit other landmasses and completely disrupt oceanographic stability.”

“That sounds bad,” Evie said.

“Very bad.” Rick nodded, examining the
Roost
's global positioning system. “Based on the eighth continent's current trajectory, it will collide with Australia in two days.”

Mom turned white. “What kind of mess will that make?”

Rick looked at her, his eyes filled with fear. “I can't predict the extent of the damage, but ‘catastrophic' is a word that comes to mind.”

“Will the eighth continent be okay?” Evie asked worriedly.

Rick shook his head. “We wanted there to be eight continents, but if we can't stop ours from crashing into Australia, there will only be six.”

DIANA MAPLE'S FOOTSTEPS FELL LIKE RAINDROPS AS SHE RACED THROUGH THE FRIGID HALLWAYS
of Winterpole Headquarters. She still felt uncomfortable in her new junior-agent uniform. The waist was sewn so tight she could barely breathe, and the black collar constricted her throat. But she would never admit any of this to her mother.

Mrs. Maple walked a few steps ahead of Diana. Her chic black hair remained frozen in a perfect bob despite the speediness of her stride. As usual, Diana found it hard to keep up. It had been her mother's idea to enroll Diana in Winterpole's junior-agent program, an internship that let kids prepare for an exciting career in eco-protection enforcement. Except
exciting
meant
mind-numbing
, and
career
meant
paperwork
.

Despite her misgivings, Diana was not about to refuse an offer of employment at Winterpole. Her former boss and best friend, Vesuvia Piffle, had been locked up by the international rule-makers; and Diana's mother, a high-ranking Winterpole agent, had barely looked at her daughter since Vesuvia's incarceration.

Diana's lungs seized up whenever she thought about her mother's diamond-hard glare. That judgmental shake of her head. Diana didn't want to give her mom or anyone else reason to suspect she was still on Vesuvia's side.

As they reached the end of a long corridor, Diana's mother opened a set of heavy steel doors and the two Maple women stepped through. The room beyond was vast and rectangular with a high arched roof. Every surface—walls, ceiling, and floor—was covered with blocks of icy-blue metal. In the center of the room was a desk made of deep blue stone, and on it was an enormous flatscreen monitor, which displayed the bald head of an older gentleman. But the face wasn't a video as much a representation, lines of code that bent and danced as the visage moved. This indirect and unsettling method of communication was the Director of Winterpole's preferred way of dictating instructions to his employees. Diana had never seen the Director in person, and neither had any of the other junior agents.

Both side walls of the Director's office were lined with risers, formed of smooth-cut blocks of honest-to-goodness ice. “Sit,” Diana's mother hissed, pulling her to a spot where they had a good view of the Director.

Diana winced as she sat down. The icy seat chilled her to the marrow.

Before the desk stood a man wearing the standard three-piece suit of a Winterpole agent. He had trim hair, dark except for streaks of white on both sideburns, and was in the middle of a presentation to the Director and the assembled audience. Diana knew him to be one of Winterpole's top operatives—and also the man who had made it his mission to arrest George Lane.

Mister Snow cleared his throat and continued speaking.

“Approximately two hours ago, at oh-six-hundred Greenwich mean time, our aerial scanners detected an intercontinental collision. A pink UPO, or unidentified plummeting object, made impact on the surface of the landmass dubbed by the outlaw George Lane as ‘the eighth continent.' This collision knocked the former garbage patch into a southern-trending ocean current, and now the continent is on a doomsday course for Australia. Estimated time of impact is in just under forty-six hours. We must intercept the eighth continent and arrest George Lane before it's too late.”

When the Director replied, his voice was a dark and menacing mix of static and subwoofer. “Winterpole lacks jurisdiction beyond the seven continents. You know that, Snow. Every good agent knows that. Why would you bring me this information?”

“Yes, Director,” Mister Snow bowed his head, “but do not forget Statute 76A-501—”

“I never forget a statute!” the Director snapped. “76A-501: when one landmass threatens another, Winterpole may intervene, regardless of jurisdiction. Agents! Activate the Winterpole Crisis Clause.”

A high-pitched honking noise filled the air. Diana and some of the other junior agents covered their ears. Panels opened along the walls, and a gaggle of white geese spilled out like rats escaping a flooded subway tunnel. “HONK! HONK! HOOOOOOONK!” they screeched. The stampede of geese flooded into the halls, filling all of Winterpole Headquarters with noise.

Wincing, Diana looked at her mother. “Couldn't we come up with a more efficient alarm system?”

Diana's mother hushed her impatiently.

Straightening to his full height, Mister Snow smiled like he'd just won the world's creepiest lottery. “Mister Director, agents of Winterpole, now that the Crisis Clause has been activated, I must report a disturbing fact. George Lane has threatened the sovereign continent of Australia. We must intervene and legislate his illegal continent. George Lane must be taken into custody. He must be brought to the Prison at the Pole.”

“You will assemble a team, Mister Snow.” The Director sounded equally pleased. His digitized face grinned with satisfaction. “And good work.”

Mister Snow bowed his head more deeply this time.
Were those tears in his eyes?
“Thank you, Director. I live to please you.”

THE EIGHTH CONTINENT MOVED SOUTHWEST THROUGH THE PACIFIC OCEAN LIKE A TURTLE OF
unimaginable size. Frothing white wake churned behind the former garbage patch in the shape of a V. Despite its great mass, the continent showed no sign of slowing down.

Neither did the Lane family. They had worked straight through until morning to come up with a way to stop the eighth continent from crashing into Australia.

Rick checked the Continent Collision Counter application he'd programmed on his family's pocket tablets to keep track of how much time they had left. Just two days were remaining. Their predicament irritated Rick so much he almost couldn't breathe. He had big plans for the eighth continent, plans he had spent the past six weeks preparing to execute. His frequent disagreements with Evie about what to do with their new homeland had set him back enough already. And a crisis like this didn't just mean more delays; it meant that he might never see his dream of a thoughtful and unencumbered civilization realized. But this wasn't even Rick's focus at the moment. He had only one clear thing driving him: he
had
to find a solution, or else they'd be saying g'night to the people who say g'day.

Rick's mind sparked and skittered with ideas as dawn rose over the Pacific horizon, casting bright sunlight across the gentle hills of the eighth continent. Standing outside his father's hastily constructed laboratory, he looked at the landscape he'd helped create. Dirt and rocks and grass stretched as far as the eye could see. A mountain range stood tall in the distance.

Those were the things the eighth continent had. What it didn't have yet were trees or leafy plants of any kind, and the only buildings were the small cluster of temporary wooden shelters his family had erected north of the beach.

“Koo ka-koo ka-KOO!!!” From the open front door of the lab, Dad called like a bird. It was a cry the family used at times when it was urgent to have everyone rally to the same location. “Rick! Come here. I think I have something.”

Rick hurried inside, where his father was standing next to 2-Tor. The bird held a quilt-sized sheet of white paper in his beak and the tips of his outstretched wings.

Rick's dad scribbled something furiously, then stepped back to show Rick the plan. “If we construct a giant desk fan and mount it on the continent, we may be able to blow our runaway home off-course.”

Rick glanced across the room where Mom and Evie were considering an idea of their own. Mom was drawing on a chalkboard while thinking out loud. “The continent is like a dog off its leash. Maybe we could order a fleet of my Cleanaspot mega-vacuums to rendezvous with it. If they were all sucking water at full power, they might be able to slurp us off-course.”

“I don't know, Melinda. . . .” Dad piped up, looking over from the mess of scribbles on his paper. “Not a bad idea, but hmm . . . we need to get to the root of the problem.”

It suddenly dawned on Rick that his father was right. “That's . . . that's it!” he exclaimed.

His family turned to him in confusion. “What's it?” Evie said.

“What Dad just said. We have to get to the
root
of the problem. By rooting the eighth continent!”

“Richard,” 2-Tor interrupted, “I'm not sure what you took your father's meaning to be, but all he was suggesting was that—”

Rick cut his tutor off. “Mom hit on it too when she said the continent was like a dog off its leash.” He looked at his mother in expectation but she just stared back at him blankly. Rick searched for a way to explain himself. “You guys all know that even if we could build a fan or a vacuum big enough to push us away from Australia, we'd still run the risk of getting stuck in another ocean current. We're floating ducks out here unless we stop the eighth continent from moving permanently, and the only way to do that is by
rooting
the continent to the ocean floor.”

“Oh, I get it,” said Dad. “That's genius, son!”

Mom's eyes widened. “Brilliant! That'll be the perfect way to avoid dirtying the oceans.”

Evie raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Am I the only one here who still doesn't know what he's talking about?”

“Yes,” said her parents in unison.

Rick snatched Dad's pen from his hand and started sketching his vision. “Think of the continent as a lily pad. We need to create a tether to connect it to the bottom of the ocean.”

Rick's parents nodded in agreement as he spoke, making Rick swell with pride.

“The only issue will be finding a strong anchor that's long enough to hold a whole continent in place.” He turned to his favorite crow. “2-Tor, how long will the root need to be?”

“The ocean floor at our current location is fourteen thousand feet below sea level.”

“Well, that's not too far at all then, is it?” Dad exclaimed. “I think Rick may be on to something. Honey, what do you think? Is this a project Professor Doran could help us with?”

Rick's mother nodded. “Professor Doran! Now there's a fine idea.”

Dad nodded in satisfaction. “Good. Kids, listen up. Professor Doran is an old friend of your mother's and mine. He's a prize-winning botanist who specializes in super plants. If anyone knows how to grow a root big enough to anchor the eighth continent, it's him. I'll take you to his lab in Texas, down on the Mexican border.”

“Yee-haw!” Evie hooted. “We're going on another adventure.”

“But Dad,” Rick interjected. “You can't leave the eighth continent, or Winterpole will arrest you.”

“Oh yeah, he's right,” Evie agreed. “You can't go with us.”

Rick's father seemed quite flustered by this inconvenience. “Hmm. Okay. Well then your mother will go with you. 2-Tor and I will stay here to keep an eye on the continent and try to come up with alternative solutions, in case something goes wrong down by the border.”

Taking a deep breath, Rick steeled himself for the challenges that lay ahead.

“
Wark!
” 2-Tor squawked. “Pop Quiz! What river serves as a natural aquatic border between Mexico and the US state of Texas?”

“The Rio Grande!” Evie cheered, tugging on her mother's arm. “Mom, can we leave right now?”

“We better!” Mom said. “I pride myself on Cleanaspot's efficiency. Why not our family's, too?”