The Nerdy Dozen #2 Read online

  “Okay, this should do it,” Harris said after a couple of minutes.

  “Thanks,” Neil said. “You’ve literally saved this whole mission.”

  Neil opened his arms for a hug good-bye, but Harris took a step forward and lowered Neil’s arms back down to his sides for him.

  “Nope, I’m coming with you,” Harris said.

  Neil laughed, but as Harris began to leave behind his winter gear in his ostrich saddle, he could see the face of someone who’d made up his mind.

  “Really,” he insisted, determined. “I owe you guys from last time. And I love a good mission. Who doesn’t?”

  “It’ll be dangerous,” Neil replied, but Harris was unflinching. “We’re basically chasing someone who has hacked an entire government branch.”

  “Only one?” he said to Neil, taking his snow-caked scarf off his neck. “Neil, I’m coming. I’ve done four flights with my dad and his pet space project, Beed-X. We’ve been making supply runs to the ISS for months now.”

  Neil had heard about private companies doing flights to the International Space Station. It made sense Harris’s billionaire father was getting into the mix.

  “And besides, there’s normally twelve of you, right? From my count I only saw eleven.”

  Man, this guy is good.

  “Yeah,” Neil said. “Yuri didn’t make the mission. You might remember him as the dude who smashed that huge window in your dad’s old warehouse.”

  Harris bobbed his head in acknowledgment.

  “Fine. You can be the engineering specialist on board, in case anything else breaks,” said Sam, reluctantly welcoming her newest teammate.

  “Well, what are you?” Harris asked her.

  “Medical specialist. Basically I just slap anti-nausea patches on people who look like they’re going to hurl.”

  “I’ll take one of those. And we’re in luck if you need backup; my CPR card is up to date, and I’ve seen the first three seasons of the reality TV hit My Big Fat Rural Disaster.”

  “Well, welcome aboard, Astronaut Beed,” Neil said with a salute.

  Harris gave a salute with two fingers and, with a whistle, sent his ostrich running home. He followed Neil into the main flight cabin containing all twelve seats, Neil’s up front next to Trevor’s.

  “Here’s the only spare space suit we have,” said Jason 1, holding out a vintage burned-orange suit. As it was designed for a chimpanzee, it was a little long in the arms and short in the legs, but Harris could make do. The name Pickles was printed on its front in block letters.

  “I know some of you may not be excited to see me, but I want to help you guys out. To do what I can to make up for last time,” Harris said as everyone began reattaching their seat belts and fastening them in place. “Oh, and one more thing.”

  All eleven gamers went silent, wondering if this was when Harris would unleash a thousand ostriches to overthrow the mission and NASA as a whole.

  “We’re going to need to fly off the cliff.”

  “What?” everyone exclaimed.

  “Listen, I know it sounds crazy, but trust me,” Harris explained. “I did something similar with my dad during one of his commercial flights.”

  “Like a TV commercial?” asked Jason 2.

  “No, the private company Beed-X. He’s trying to be the first private team that makes it into deep space.”

  “Lucky,” said Sam.

  “My dad showed me all the specs for these things. The engine on this ship was probably designed to work like a booster rocket, right?”

  “Correct,” said JP from his seat.

  “So for the thrusters to work properly on this thing, we really need to be moving,” Harris said. Neil could tell he had a take-charge personality—perfect for unexpected problems on top secret missions, horrible for board games.

  “So in order to take off, we, well . . . ,” Harris said, trailing off.

  “We’ll have to free-fall from the cliff for a minimum of eight seconds. It’s a three-hundred-foot drop, so we should be okay,” JP said, interrupting. “By my calculations.”

  Neil was beginning to get slimy palms. The pressure of commanding the ship and mission, without radio support, was mounting. He could feel more eyes looking his way for direction.

  Am I really about to give this order?

  “Crew, you’ve received the orders,” Neil said in his best Jones impersonation. “Now let’s get a move on it. Fasten yourselves in and prepare for takeoff. On my mark, we’ll disengage our flaps and, ah, fly off the cliff, I guess.”

  While the speech probably wasn’t up to his standard, Neil hoped Jones would be proud. Maybe there were some freeze-dried sunflower seeds on board, to make his impersonation complete.

  Neil put a hand on the flap controls.

  “Everyone ready?” Neil asked his team, and himself.

  “Let’s do this, baby!” shouted Waffles.

  “We’ll follow your lead, my liege! We’ve got a mission to finish! The cosmos calls us!” added Riley.

  At the edge of the frozen ice cliff, the craft creaked on tightly packed snow.

  Terrified, Neil pulled the handle. The flaps of the ship lifted up, and the rocket instantly slipped forward, careening off the lip of the cliff.

  It fell faster and faster toward the ground, building speed as it tore through the cold arctic air. Trevor was counting down from eight.

  “Four . . . three . . . two . . . ,” he said through everyone’s radio communication.

  “The engine isn’t catching!” JP shouted, frantically checking every gauge and control in front of him.

  “We can’t die like this!” shouted Corinne. “My body is supposed to be turned into ashes, then converted into pages for encyclopedias!”

  But in the final second, the engine of the ship fired a glowing red and blue. JP shot the ship forward, and Neil and Trevor pulled hard to guide the nose upward. With force that was five times that of a Chameleon, Neil and his crew launched forward. Everyone held on tightly as the rumbling ship soared up, up, up.

  NEIL CLOSED HIS EYES AS HE FELT THE G FORCES PUSHING down on him. He tried to focus on more tricks to breathing steadily, but his mind could only think of things that could go wrong. There were quite a few of them.

  Were they headed in the right direction? Had Harris properly fixed the wing? Was Biggs currently answering nature’s call in his suit?

  Neil’s body was filled with a sensation of complete lightness.

  “Sch . . . chh . . . recruits?” buzzed the radio. It was Dallas’s voice, coming through in fuzzy clipped waves.

  “We’re here, Houston-Dallas! We made it!” said Biggs through his radio headset. “Dallas?”

  Only crackling and the occasional high-pitched squeak came through the radio.

  “Still must be something wrong,” said JP. “But I think I’ve fixed the radar, at least.”

  Neil looked out of the cockpit windows to the blue atmosphere of Earth, which slowly gave way to an intimidating blackness. Neil was speechless. His body was strapped into the tiny primate-sized chair, but Neil could feel himself bobbing in the half inch of wiggle room.

  This is amazing.

  This wasn’t just floating in a fake air hockey simulation; this was real. It made flying a Chameleon feel like riding a bike with training wheels. Really, really awesome training wheels, but restricted nonetheless.

  Automatically, the ship’s engine decreased its thrust. It glided as if sliding on ice, responding to any minor piloting correction. The Fossil slowly twisted, and the blue orb of Earth appeared in the small cockpit windows of the ship.

  All twelve astronauts were stunned, and only the hum of the ship’s computers and oxygen filtration filled the cabin. There was also the occasional chimpanzee shriek from the deck below, but Boris seemed to pretty much keep to himself otherwise.

  It almost looked fake, Earth. Like something Finch would’ve projected back in the NASA training room. White clouds swirled over choppy oceans and coa
stlines covered in greenery. Islands in blue water looked like floating pieces of cereal. Neil wasn’t prepared for how huge the planet would look.

  “Whoa, you can see satellites,” said Jason 2. “I wonder how many channels we could get up here.”

  Neil watched the tiny metal structures suspended in orbit. His eyes also caught the glint of smaller objects dangling precariously above Earth.

  “Space junk,” JP said, referring to a silvery ribbon of old broken satellite equipment.

  “Think there’s a space recycling program, Biggs?” said Neil. He chuckled at his joke, but it didn’t get as big a response from his conservationist friend as he’d hoped.

  “Why should I know?” Biggs said defensively.

  “Whoa, sorry, man. Just thought, you know, you’d be interested,” Neil replied. “Because of recycling? How it’s kind of your thing?”

  “No, I’m sorry. That was a bit harsh,” Biggs said. “But you did just grab that phone from my hand in the polar bear den before I could finish explaining everything to Harris—that’s all.”

  “What? A polar bear den?” asked Jason 1. “And we missed that!”

  “Oh,” Neil said. He didn’t enjoy this new feeling of weirdness between him and Biggs, but he didn’t apologize. As commander, he did need to make sure everything was done, and done properly. He was just taking charge.

  “Trouble in Bromance Town,” said Sam. Harris, in the chair behind her, laughed along with his new crew—maybe even a bit too hard.

  “No, no trouble,” Biggs reassured. “Bromance Town is thriving. The mayor’s doing some great work there.”

  Neil smirked, and his eyes wandered to the pulsing, pristine stars spread out in every direction. As the now-blindingly bright sun dipped behind Earth, Neil felt the immensity of the universe around him. The shimmering darkness of space was awe-inspiring, and it sort of looked like the dark velvet material from the pants his grandmother always wore to brunch.

  “Recruits!” said Dallas’s voice, clear for the moment. “Think . . . communication . . .”

  “What’s that, Dallas? Repeat, please?” said Biggs.

  “We . . . can’t talk . . . with our shuttle. Only hours . . . but the Newt! You must get the Newt . . . coordinates.”

  On JP’s radar screen, a long series of numbers appeared.

  “Yes! The coordinates NASA received from the Hubble telescope,” said JP. “It’s where Dallas said we can find the Newt. And it’s not far from here.”

  The radio transmission fizzled, and Biggs frantically pushed buttons to try and bring it back. He flipped a switch that had two bananas on it. Nothing happened, so he flipped a switch picturing three bananas. Still nothing.

  “Dallas? Did we lose you again?” said Biggs.

  A big wave of space junk floated past.

  “Let’s move out of this stuff. JP, enter those coordinates. Full speed ahead,” said Commander Andertol to his crew. It was tough to see through the flurry of spiraling space garbage, but Neil’s eyes stayed fixed on open spaces for maneuvering.

  “Hold on, everybody.” Neil grabbed what he thought was the throttle, making the ship spin in an erratic circle.

  “What are you doing, Neil?” yelled Trevor.

  “Whoops, sorry about that,” said Neil.

  Even with minimal training on Shuttle Fury, Neil was able to fly mostly on instinct.

  Neil composed himself and pulled the ship out of a spiral. The joystick in his control felt exactly like a video game’s. He didn’t need to know scientific words or the actual physics assisting him in the miracle of flight—this spaceship did everything Neil wanted it to do.

  The Fossil finally reached the coordinates provided by NASA.

  “I don’t see anything,” said Trevor, leaning forward in his harness to get a better view. His head darted up and down as he tried to look out at every possible angle.

  Just as another passing mess of satellite shreds coasted out of view, the ship’s radar began a steady beep. The noises grew faster and louder as Neil saw a blue spark. It was the back of the Newt.

  BETWEEN PIECES OF SPIRALING METAL SHARDS, THE STOLEN Whiptail slowly came into view.

  “That’s it,” whispered Neil. “Now . . . what exactly do we do?” The radio was still out, and Neil didn’t quite feel like asking Boris for help.

  “The electromagnetic pulse cannon,” said JP.

  “It’s what Dallas trained us on,” said Waffles, punching his brother in the shoulder, excited at the mere chance of making something explode.

  “From level five in Shuttle Fury. Remember?” added JP. “It would prevent the Newt from escaping, and we could safely tow the craft home.”

  Neil had never heard of such a thing, but his crew didn’t have to know that, necessarily. He was slowly picking up some of the tricks of the trade for being in charge. Things like not telling the complete truth seemed to be cheat codes in the world of bossing people around.

  “Pulse cannon, right. Duh,” Neil said. “Dale, prepare the pulse cannon. We’ve got to recover that ship.”

  But before any type of target lock could be made on the stolen Whiptail, the Newt turned to face Neil and his band of astronauts.

  “Careful, they could be trying to pulse cannon us! Who knows who’s in there,” said Sam. “Or what that ship does.”

  Neil knew she was correct, and he banked the Fossil right, engaging the thrusters on the left side of the ship. Even in a dangerous situation, he loved the feeling of piloting in space. Instead of his power only coming from the four glowing jets at the rear of the craft, he was able to maneuver his ship with propulsion from all sides. Possibilities were endless.

  As the ship slid through the black sky, Neil squinted to look into the cockpit of the ship opposite him. He spotted a silhouette.

  Two silhouettes, actually. And they seemed . . . small. Maybe even smaller than Neil, which was saying something.

  Are they just kids?

  With a quick spin, the stolen ship suddenly shot off, a billion-dollar speck of technology whizzing next to Earth.

  “Not so fast!” Neil yelled as he propelled the spacecraft after them. Without gravity to contend with, the ship responded to even the tiniest of turns and corrections.

  Any real pilot would’ve already pulled a move on me. These people are amateurs.

  Neil felt the adrenaline of an entire night of gaming begin to rush through his body. The mission was about to be a success, and in record time for Commander Finch. Neil would be back soon to recount the story to the commander, and probably to Jones, too. They’d be three veteran pilots talking feats of bravery.

  But you’re not done yet.

  As he drew close enough to get a visual on the stolen craft, its white-and-black sides stamped with the NASA logo, it escaped into some kind of hyperdrive. It looked like a blue orb burst out from the rocket engine, which sent the Whiptail screeching deep into the starry galaxy.

  “Warp speed! Warp speed!” the other gamers shouted at Neil.

  “Yes! That’s what I’m saying!” Neil said, hoping someone would kick the hyperdrive into gear on their ship. But the ship kept on at its regular velocity as the stolen craft completely disappeared from the radar. The beeping detection system went silent.

  “Neil,” Trevor said slowly, his voice eerily calm. It reminded Neil of a scary movie, the kind where an evil boy shows up in your basement every night. “Why didn’t you pull the warp-speed lever?”

  Neil’s face turned a deep amber, and his voice began to get tense in embarrassment.

  “I, uh . . . ,” Neil stammered sheepishly as he fumbled with the controls. He didn’t even know there was a warp-speed lever.

  “Yeah, Neil. What gives?” JP added.

  Much like his attempts at it before, Neil’s foray into lying caught up to him—and this time the fate of his crew and the mission was in the balance.

  “Take a chill pill, everyone. Neil has gotten us this far. He might have just had a brain malfunction.
I get those all the time when I eat organic Cheetos,” Biggs said.

  “Neil?” Sam asked. She could see that Neil was far from his normal color. “Is Trevor right . . . ?”

  Neil decided that there was no better moment for the truth.

  “Um, well. Full disclosure: I didn’t know there was a warp speed,” he admitted. “I never really finished that game . . . and I hid a couple packets of space ice cream in my jumpsuit.”

  His fellow gamers went silent, their disappointment leeching into the air. Neil could almost feel their anger weighing him down.

  “’Tisn’t true, is it, Master Andertol?” asked Riley, his voice dripping with Olde English disbelief.

  “You’re no commander,” scowled Trevor.

  The remaining groans all washed together, deflating Neil even further. But the next voice he heard was the one that hurt the most. The voice that had been with him for all-night gaming sessions and rescuing top secret military intel, both as a boy and a girl.

  “You mean you didn’t finish the game? Or you didn’t play it?” asked Sam. “Because what about all those times I asked to practice with you? And you said you’d just finished?”

  Neil knew he was sticking to the truth from then on.

  “Basically, I played the game for probably an hrfhr,” Neil said.

  “I’m sorry, say that again?” said Trevor.

  “For an hour.”

  “An hour a day?” asked Harris.

  “Like an hour total? And there’s a good chance there was a bathroom break for thirty-five of those minutes,” Neil confessed.

  “Really, dude?” asked Biggs. He looked at Neil with disgust as everyone leaned in their seats to face Neil. “Oh. That’s why you said that lame joke twice. You were just trying to butter up Finch.”

  Trevor angrily unhooked himself from his tiny chimp seat and drifted over to Neil. He tore the commander pin from Neil’s chest, and then he pinned it to his own.