The Nerdy Dozen #2 by Jeff Miller Page A

seemed ready to refute Trevor. Without any way to get ahold of Finch or NASA, being stranded was becoming a distinct possibility.

    â€œWell, let’s not overreact,” Neil said, half in agreement with Trevor’s negative outlook.
    Trevor kicked the metallic side of the plane’s wing. The space-age material absorbed the kick, but Neil watched some snow from the collision fall from the ship’s wing. A small logo was uncovered on the corner of the heavily bolted metal sheeting.
    BEED INDUSTRIES it read, with some sort of long lightning bolt in the background.
    Neil crinkled his eyebrows—that name sounded familiar.
    Harris Beed! Beed Industries belonged to Harris’s father!
    â€œGuys. If we can’t reach NASA,” Neil said, the gears of his brain turning, “maybe we can get . . . Harris.”
    â€œYou mean the guy who basically tried to illegally steal a top secret jet, as well as destroy all video games in the world apart from his own?” JP asked, his voice serious and concerned.
    â€œYup, that’s the one,” Neil said, his voice brimming with confidence. “In case you guys have forgotten, we have a mission to get back to, a ship to fix, one to save, and right now Harris’s help is our only option.”

    He knew Harris wasn’t actually an awful person, just a bit mixed up. If anyone was able to help them out in a ridiculous situation like this, it would be Harris, a ridiculous person.
    â€œNow we just need to figure out a way to contact him. Our radios are definitely out?”
    â€œYes, Commander. Maybe something just got knocked loose,” said JP, heading back inside the Fossil .
    â€œI could go check on it, too. But I’m not exactly sure how it all works,” said Trevor. “I can’t figure out if a chimpanzee picture with a mouth closed and arms straight up means ‘do’ or ‘do not touch.’”
    â€œOkay. Biggs and the twins stay with me. Everyone else head inside; we’re going to go find some help. You said you’ve been working with Harris, right?” Neil asked. “We need to find a way to call him.”
    The rest of the group trudged inside. Sam gave Neil a hug and sent them off.
    â€œI’ve got Harris’s private number,” Biggs said proudly. “We’ve been trying to find a time to talk about some new smells for our game. He’s a very particular man when it comes to his privacy and ostrich scents.”
    Neil felt weirdly jealous. After exchanging gaming names earlier, he had expected to be the one hearing from Harris.

    â€œLet’s find a lookout,” said a helpful Dale.
    With squeaks from their bulky space-suit boots, Waffles and Dale attempted to scramble up the ship’s wing to climb to the top. The snowy conditions didn’t help matters, and the two kept sliding back down. They trudged through the snow to the front of the plane, and Biggs boosted the brothers up. Neil followed behind, resting a hand on the side of the spaceship.
    â€œYou know, call me crazy, but I might know this mountain range,” said Waffles, glaring out across ice fields sparkling in the fierce sunbeams. “Yeah, I think if we just curl around that last hill, there may be something. I kind of think this is a level on Yeti Bobsled.”
    â€œYou think? Also, what’s Yeti Bobsled?” asked Neil. He’d spent all summer glued to Chameleon, so he wasn’t up-to-date on the newest offerings in the gaming world.
    â€œIt’s sort of like hide-and-seek with mythical frost beasts,” Waffles explained. “It’s a five, maybe six, out of ten. Could use more yetis. But this mountain range is definitely in there. I remember that hill that looks like a baby camel. There’s an outpost that way. Can you see a beacon?”

    Neil thought for a second, following Waffles’s pointed finger toward a small humped mountain with a speck of blue light. It was a