Free Nikolas and Company: The Merman and The Moon Forgotten by Kevin McGill

go!”
Iron-like hands seized their shoulders and shifted the boys away.
He mumbled something about “my scent” as they marched out of the
hospital.
    “In the truck. Don’t doddle,” their
grandfather commanded.
    The hovertruck’s nose was
buried in a mulberry bush, clearly ignoring the parking pads. Both
boys tumbled into the cab and were met with the smell of pipe smoke
and truck sweat. Before they could manage their harnesses, the
hovertruck rocketed upward and in complete defiance of all
commercial airway regulations. They sped through a pair of
holosigns that read, Beauty and the Botox:
When nature has been beastly to you, and Mind Transplants: Don’t die,
download! Nick glanced quickly at St.
Mary’s. He half-expected a fleet of policedrones on their tail, but
there were only a couple of mangy dogs tearing across the
lawn.
    Or were they horses?
    “What’s going on?” Tim said, just as
they broke through the clouds.
    “Waiting . . . no use waiting at the
hospital,” said Grand.
    “For what?” said Tim.
    Grand squeezed the steering wheel. “For
your parents.”
    Nick looked sideways to his
grandfather. His crinkled brow spoke worry, even fear.
    Nick really considered that
idea.
    Grand? Afraid?

 
    Nine • Going to a Better
Place

     
     
     

     
    Grand nearly circumvented the Earth
over the next week. He only left the cloud line to eat and use the
bathroom. Most of the conversations consisted of Tim saying: “We
need to go back.” “Mom and Dad might be dead.” “What’s going on,
Grand?” But Grand remained tight-lipped about their parents. In
fact, Grand said very little to the brothers. What was said
consisted of: “What will you be eating for breakfast?” “Time for
bed now.” and “Think we’ll see the Himalayans in the
morning.”
    As always, it wasn’t what Grand said to
them that mattered, it was what Grand said to himself. Three days
into their globe-trip, they stopped off at a Mumford’s
electrostation in south of Wales to let Tim use the bathroom and
recharge the hover. Two paces back, Grand was mumbling to himself,
“Mustn’t let them know what I’m thinking, Huron. Keep ‘em confused.
Break the scent.”
    Huron? Nick thought to himself as he walked inside the food mart to
buy a candy bar. Grand hears the same
voice?
    “Psst,” Tim called Nick over, having
just grabbed a bag of Sour Powers.
    “Yeah,” Nick said.
    “What’s wrong with Grand? Is he
getting, you know, Alzheimer’s?” said Tim.
    “No,” Nick shook his head. “Grand is
incapable of illness.”
    Tim gave a withered look. “Dude. I know
you think he’s the patron saint of awesomeness or something, but
Grand’s mind’s all screwy. He keeps talking to himself.”
    “We can drop you off at the nearest
daycare if it makes you feel better.”
    “Just saying that I’m having major
doubts about Grand’s psychological stability.” Tim snatched a bag
of jelly beans. “Don’t have to be a jerk about it.”
    “He told us to wait; we
wait.”
    “Since when did you heed an authority
figure?”
    Nick shrugged.
    Grand was the only adult Nick had ever
heeded, which makes sense, since Grand was also the only adult that
ever scared him. It was like someone had taken Aragorn, William
Wallace, Conan the Barbarian, and mashed them into their
grandfather. What do you say to a person like that?
    Truly, they never had had the average
grandfather-grandson relationship. Grand never celebrated national
holidays with them, or Christmas for that matter. He never sent
them e-cards with e-money. Grand would send real, physical letters.
They were twenty pages long, recording his whereabouts and
archaeological activities across the globe, giving full details of
the local aviary, with samples included. Bat wings. Parrot beaks.
Eye and talon of a Sulawesi serpent eagle. It took Nick hours to
read the letters because he spent most of the time
cross-referencing between Grand’s words and the
e-dictionary.
    Also, Grand never