The 8th Continent Read Free Page B

and trunks locked straight. As the machines moved over the surface of the water, they gobbled up the trash in their way, depositing blocks of plastic as they passed by.
    â€œWhat are those things?” Rick asked, his eyes almost as wide as his glasses.
    â€œThose are my garbage chompers,” his father said. “Aren’t they cute?”
    Evie wrinkled her nose at the sight of the garbage-guzzling elephant bots. She patted Dad’s shoulder. “
Cute
is not the word I would use, but sure, Dad. Sure.”
    â€œHave I ever told you my dreams of island building?” their father asked.
    â€œA society on the sea?” Rick winked at Evie.
    â€œLane Industries’ Ocean Empire!” Evie said in her best imitation of her exuberant father.
    Rick rolled his eyes. “Only about two billion times.”
    â€œChildren!” 2-Tor interrupted. “It’s time for a quiz. Mathematics. What is two billion in scientific notations?”
    Rick didn’t miss a beat. “Two times ten to the ninth power.”
    Evie stuck her tongue out at him. Rick made a mental note to design a mechanical grasping claw that could pinch her whenever she did that.
    â€œExcellent, 2-Tor! Excellent!” George exclaimed, sitting up straight and smug. 2-Tor’s job was to keep Rick’s and Evie’s minds sharp with surprise quizzes when they missed school on their adventures. Dad looked quite pleased with the way the educational birdbot was working, but he didn’t let his satisfaction with his invention distract him from the mission at hand. “Now, pay attention, children,” he continued. “This trash-gobbling venture is my latest attempt at island building. Just think, with the garbage processed into plastic blocks, we can use the pieces as building materials to construct a landmass, right here in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Then all the world’s birds will have a safe place to live, free of toxic, glow-in-the-dark fish and plastic booby traps.”
    Something large passed in front of the sun, casting Rick, his father, and his sister into shadow. Rick looked up to see two hoverships fly overhead. “Winterpole! I knew this would happen!”
    â€œIncoming message,” Evie said, reading off the communicator screen. “‘George Lane! We are locked on to your vessel. Attempts to escape will prove fuh-tilly.’”
    â€œIt says
futile
,” Rick groaned.
    The Lanes had no choice but to set the
Roost
to hover mode and listen to Winterpole’s demands. George pushed away from the console and headed out of the cockpit. “Come on. Let’s go see what they want.”
    Rick followed Evie and their dad through the winding, wooden passageways and returned to the balcony overlooking the garbage patch.
    The Winterpole hoverships looped around the
Roost
, pulling up in front of the Lanes’ hovership. A sliding door on the side of the lead ship opened, revealing a middle-aged man in a trim gray suit. His eyes were the color of faded jeans, and he wore a fedora that covered his hair, save for his graying sideburns.
    â€œGeorge Lane!” the man shouted over the wind and the roaring engines. “I have caught you at last.”
    â€œWho are you?” George asked.
    The man looked offended. “What? It is I, Mister Snow.”
    â€œSorry, the name doesn’t ring any diamonds.”
    The offense on his face turned to annoyance. “I’m a penalty enforcer for Winterpole.”
    George continued to stare at him blankly.
    â€œMister Snow? We’ve met six or seven times.”
    George shrugged.
    â€œNever mind!” snapped Mister Snow. “You are in violation of Winterpole Statutes 23-12, 41, A-76, and 31-B. Statute 31-B is kind of a big deal.”
    George snorted. “Your alphabet soup doesn’t mean anything to me. What was my crime?”
    â€œYou removed a bird from its protected habitat.”
    Evie couldn’t