The Nerdy Dozen #2 by Jeff Miller Page B

better plan than nothing.
    â€œGuess we’ve got no other choice. Let’s go, everybody. Waffles, we’ll follow your lead,” Neil said. As commander of the mission, Neil knew he had to make decisions, and fast. Now, just how were they going to get there?
    â€œI’ll come with you guys,” added Biggs.
    The brothers climbed down from the ship, and Dale ducked inside the chimp-scented air lock of the Fossil . He quickly reappeared, and in his arms he clutched a yellow plastic brick. Neil instantly recognized it as an inflatable emergency raft. It looked just like the one from the Chameleon. The twin brothers pulled a valve, and the raft sprang to life.
    â€œI think this might work,” said Waffles, looking at the steep hillside around him. While the Fossil was angled directly off an icy cliff, the other side of the peak was a gradual decline that fed into a snowy valley. It looked like a ski resort’s quadruple-black-diamond run.
    Biggs hopped into the raft and grabbed tightly onto one of the canvas straps stemming from the floor. Dale stood behind and braced both hands on the back of the emergency blow-up sled.

    â€œA yeti bobsled isn’t complete without four people,” said Waffles, trying to wedge himself into the raft. “Technically it’s not complete without three hundred pounds of yak meat, but we’ll make do. Now hop in!”
    Well, here goes nothing.
    Neil jumped into the inflatable life raft, and Dale gave them all a quick push before darting in next to his brother. They instantly gained speed. They coasted over snow and ice, leaving a trail of flurries in their wake.

COMMANDER ANDERTOL AND HIS CREW FINALLY ARRIVED at the arctic outpost.
    Pale-yellow sunlight illuminated the shack. It was just bigger than a semi, with a blue light flashing on top of a pole.
    Up a tiny stairway was a door and a small window.

    â€œHello? Anyone?” Neil said as he opened the door. The station was a big open room, with papers messily strewn about over tables and laboratory equipment. Low static warbled over a radio telecom system. It looked deserted, but Neil soon saw what they’d come for: a telephone.
    â€œBiggs,” Neil said, tipping his head toward the phone.
    â€œOn it, my good man,” Biggs said, confirming with a new piece of sign language that involved lots of finger twisting.
    â€œI’m gonna try and call NASA first,” Biggs said, bringing the old brown phone to his ear. He cocked his head to the side to pinch the receiver between his shoulder and his cheek. “You think it’s just 1-800-NASA?”
    Biggs smashed the number into the keypad and soon heard a busy signal. He called again, this time getting through for a ring, but then he only received a recorded message about early registration for Space Camp.
    â€œNo luck,” said Biggs as he hung up the phone. Neil, Dale, and Waffles had all continued riffling through papers, which seemed to be in both English and Russian.
    Biggs dialed another number and held an arm high with a thumbs-up as it successfully started to ring.

    â€œWhoa, jackpot!” yelled Dale as he opened a small refrigerator in the corner of the room. He pulled out cans of Coke and tossed one to each fellow adventurer. Neil popped the top of his drink and listened intently to Biggs. He glanced over to the flimsy wooden door on the other side of the room and took a quick gulp of his drink. The fizzing bubbles tickled his throat.
    â€œAre you there, Harris? It’s me, Biggs,” Neil’s friend said, twisting the phone cord around his index finger. “First, great news on the smell front. I think we’re close to working those kinks out. Which is to say, about only half of the stuff still smells like dirty wildlife.”
    Neil cleared his throat, respectfully reminding Biggs of the task at hand.
    â€œOh, right,” Biggs continued. “And more important, Neil, you remember Neil, right?