Sixth-Grade Alien

by Bruce Coville

  When we burst into the studio the Fatherly One leaped to his feet in horror. “Pleskit! What are you doing here?”

  Harr-giss looked even more horrified to see us. But he quickly got his face under control, managing to make it look as if he was surprised by our breaking in, not by the fact that we had escaped from his evil plan.

  He turned to the camera. “This is exactly the kind of thing I was just talking about,” he said smoothly. “This alien child is totally impetuous, utterly unsuited to be in public school with our children.” He turned toward a computer to pull up the video. “Perhaps this is the time to show the world what I have learned,” he said.

  I knew it was the footage from Geembol Seven.

  “That man is a traitor!” I cried.

  My father looked like he was going to go into kleptra.

  “Pleskit’s telling the truth!” cried McNally. “Senator Hargis is an alien!”

  The people in the studio burst out laughing. I had expected Harr-giss to be outraged, but he just laughed, as if this was too preposterous for words. I had to work hard to keep my sphen-gnut-ksher from flashing, since I knew if it did everyone would take it as more evidence against me.

  “I can prove it!” I said. “I have brought my download box. I can download from my sphen-gnut-ksher the images of you threatening Tim and me.”

  Harr-giss looked uneasy for an instant, then slipped back into his act. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, son,” he said. “Who the heck is Sven Not Sure anyway?”

  “Sphen-gnut-ksher,” said the Fatherly One, pronouncing it correctly and clearly working hard to stay calm, “is the name for the sensory organ on the top of our head.”

  “You mean that vicious weapon you carry up there?” asked Harr-giss, pointing and pretending to be terrified.

  The Fatherly One scowled. “It is not a weapon. As everyone now knows, despite the initial misleading news reports, my son did no harm to that boy on the playground.”

  “He did, too!” cried a voice from the other side of the stage. “He scared the poop out of me!”

  That was the first time that I realized Jordan was there. Harr-giss must have brought him along for audience sympathy.

  “Fear is a great weapon all by itself,” said Harr-giss smoothly. “So are lies. Even if your boy does have something he can show us, how do we know it’s not faked?”

  That was when Tim made his move. Leaping from behind the chair where Harr-giss was sitting, he slapped the control disk on the back of the fake senator’s neck. Instantly I whipped the control pad from my pocket and began to adjust the dials.

  “Take off your mask!” I ordered.

  Harr-giss just sat there, while two security guards rushed over and grabbed Tim. They lifted him off the floor, and I was afraid they were going to tear him apart.

  I fiddled with the dial, terrified that I wouldn’t be able to make it work.

  “Take off your mask!” I ordered again.

  “Pleskit!” cried the Fatherly One, his voice a mixture of pleading and horror.

  The men began to haul Tim away. Jordan was laughing hysterically.

  And the entire world was watching.

  I adjusted the dial one more time.

  “Take off your mask!” I ordered.

  Slowly Senator Hargis moved his hands to his neck and began to peel off his false face.

  CHAPTER 25 [TIM]

  THE STARS

  The weird thing about Harr-giss taking off his mask was that he didn’t really look all that inhuman. Sure, humans don’t have scaly gray skin. But he was put together pretty much the same way that we are. I think it was the shock of it that really upset people. Well, that and the way his hair stood up and started moving and hissing like hundreds of tiny snakes.

  The two guards who had been about to carry me out of the studio put me down.

  Jordan fainted, which was fine with me. At least it shut him up.

  Meenom Ventrah stood and faced the cameras. “People of Earth! I am as shocked as you by this turn of events, and wish to apologize to you on behalf of all the ethical members of the Interplanetary Trading Federation. I guarantee you that I will work in concert with the governments of Earth to discover how this charade came to pass, and if there are any other disguised off-worlders working in positions of power.”

  That was when I understood that it wasn’t really over. Even though we had proved Harr-giss was a fraud, the hate and suspicion he had been fanning were not his creations. He simply took advantage of what was already there. And that hate was not going to go away just because he had been unmasked. It might even get worse, because his unmasking would convince the people who believed in alien plots that they were right.

  And maybe they were. Suddenly I realized it was possible there were more Harr-giss types out there, ready to undercut what Meenom was trying to do.

  I’d been waiting all my life for the aliens to get here. But at the same time other people had been fearing it, or had simply believed it would never happen, or perhaps had never thought about it at all. They were the ones Meenom was speaking to now, as he looked directly into the camera.

  “My friends, I understand that all this is strange and frightening. Please believe me when I say that every planet in the federation—and there are over a hundred thousand of us—has gone through the same thing. You exist for centuries, for millennia, thinking that your planet is the center of everything. Then, slowly, you start to understand how big the universe really is, how your own little planet is no more to the universe than a single grain of sand is to the vastness of the ocean—and you feel very alone. Alone, and small.

  “And then, one day, another world makes contact, and it turns out you’re not alone after all. It is as if you were raised in a tiny room all your life, and suddenly the walls were torn down and you found yourself facing the vastness and the strangeness of the world around you. It is exciting, but terrifying.

  “I tell you now that the universe is even vaster and stranger than you yet imagine, and the opportunities it holds even more exciting than you can guess. But it will take time to build the bridges that will connect us. I ask that you be patient with us—and I vow that I will try to be patient with you.

  “There is much to be done. Let us do it together, in good faith.”

  * * *

  My mother was waiting outside the studio. When we came out, she rushed over and threw her arms around me.

  “Mom!” I said, feeling embarrassed. I was even more embarrassed when I saw Linnsy standing behind her.

  “Listen, buster,” said my mother, “you scare me that much, you can suffer a public hug. Linnsy had come down to tell me you were going to Pleskit’s house, and we saw it all on TV. I can’t decide whether I should ground you for a year or give you a few hundred ‘Get Out of a Goof-up Free’ passes.”

  “Give him the passes, then ground him,” said Linnsy. “They can balance each other out.”

  “Thanks, pal!”

  Linnsy shrugged. “Anytime, buddy. Just remember, if you do something like this again and don’t include me, you’ll wish you were grounded.”

  “Come on,” I said. “Let me introduce you to Pleskit.”

  * * *

  Meenom invited Mom and Linnsy to come back to the embassy with us so we could all have a full tour. Unfortunately, once we got there, we discovered that Mikta-makta-mookta had managed to escape. But even that could not dampen our high spirits for long, since Meenom would be sending word of her crimes back to his bosses.

  “As they were the ones who assigned her to me, they now owe me several pounds of apology,” he said, sounding quite satisfied. “This will give me more freedom in how I make deals here on the planet—which will be good for all of us.”

  I had already seen most of the embassy, so for me the best thing about the tour was that it got me off the hook with Linnsy. But when Shhh-foop invited us to stay to dinner, I was the one who had to beg off.

  I really didn’t think my st
omach could handle it.

  * * *

  Late that night I slipped out of our apartment. Standing in the darkness I looked at the bridge, hung with twinkling lights, that led across the river. Next I gazed at the strangely beautiful embassy, rising from the top of the hill, and thought of my new friend. Finally I turned my eyes to the vast sweep of the heavens and studied the stars, where Pleskit had come from, where I plan to go.

  I stood there for the longest time, just looking.

  CHAPTER 26 [PLESKIT]

  A LETTER HOME (TRANSLATION)

  FROM: Pleskit Meenom, on Planet Earth

  TO: Maktel Geebrit, on Planet Hevi-Hevi

  Dear Maktel:

  Well, I survived my first week of school on Earth. It was rather more interesting than I expected. I am attaching a file that will tell you some of the things that went on.

  The best news is, I have made a friend! His name is Tim Tompkins. He is a little gib-stikkle, but I like him anyway.

  I still miss Hevi-Hevi, of course, but at least I do not feel totally alone here. I guess I’ll give up my plan to steal a spaceship and fly home. (Just joking!)

  This is a very strange place, but I think I may learn to like it after all. I hope you can come visit sometime. Until then—Fremmix Bleeblom!

  Your pal,

  Pleskit

  SPECIAL BONUS: On the next pages you will find Part One of “Disaster on Geembol Seven”—the story of what happened to Pleskit on the last planet where he lived before coming to Earth.

  This story will be told in six thrilling installments included at the ends of the first six books in the Sixth-Grade Alien series. Look for the next installment at the end of Book Two, I Shrank My Teacher!

  DISASTER ON GEEMBOL SEVEN PART ONE: NIGHT OF THE MOONDANCE

  FROM: Pleskit Meenom, on Planet Earth

  TO: Maktel Geebrit, on Planet Hevi-Hevi

  Dear Maktel:

  Ever since I got in so much trouble on Geembol Seven you have been nagging me to tell you what really happened there.

  I think I’m finally ready to do so.

  Why?

  Well, for one thing the Fatherly One is very pleased with me for my part in unmasking too-tricky Harr-giss and his plot to ruin our mission. So I am not quite so sensitive about this story anymore.

  For another thing, I now have two of you tweaking my sphen-gnut-ksher to tell the story—you, and my new friend Tim Tompkins! I figure neither one of you is going to leave me alone until I explain what happened.

  And, to tell the truth, I am sick of keeping it to myself.

  Even so, I probably won’t write it down all at once, because I still find it distressing.

  But here is how it began:

  Fourteen planets orbit the star Geembol. Of these, only two support life. And only one of these, Geembol Seven, is a member of the Interplanetary Trading Federation. (The intelligent creatures on Geembol Five are basically clouds with brains, and have nothing to trade.)

  The Fatherly One was pleased when we were sent to Geembol Seven. The world is very beautiful, which makes it a choice assignment. Not only that, he was being given a promotion to full ambassador.

  I was less happy, because I did not want to leave the world we were on, where I had made many friends. But that is the nature of the Fatherly One’s job, of course. We will always be travelers.

  Anyway, we had only been on the planet for a few days when the year’s first Moomjit occurred. This is what they call it when all their moons—they have twelve—are full at the same time. It happens only twice a year, and when it does they have a special celebration called a moondance. Everyone goes out to look at the sky, and dance and party and carry on. People set up rides and games. There are booths with all kinds of food. They have sing-offs, and dance competitions. Everyone stays out until almost morning, even the kids.

  I was out with the Fatherly One and some of his friends. The streets were filled with people—which, on Geembol Seven, means beings that look sort of like red jellyfish on stilts—and most of them were dancing in the moonlight. I got all wrapped up in watching the dancing. This was a fairly weird sight, since the people of Geembol Seven are mostly transparent. You could see their internal organs in the moonlight as they whirled around on their stiltlike legs.

  Suddenly I realized I had gotten separated from the Fatherly One. This didn’t bother me at first. I knew my way back to the embassy, and Geembol Seven is considered a safe world, especially for children. And the Fatherly One had given me some money, so I could buy a snack if we got separated.

  I had just bought some candied waterbugs—they have the best waterbugs of anywhere on Geembol Seven, really sweet and crunchy—when I noticed this skinny green kid staring at me. It was clear that, like me, he was an offworlder. He looked kind of sad and lonely, something I could understand. So I held out the sack and asked him if he wanted a bug.

  He shook his head.

  Then he burst into tears.

  Since he had six eyes, this made for a pretty soggy situation.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  Instead of answering, the kid turned and ran.

  If I had had any sense, I would have let him go. I didn’t know him. He hadn’t asked for help. And I really had to go look for the Fatherly One.

  I have no sense. I took off after the boy, dodging between the swaying bodies of dancing Geembolians. Strange music filled the air. The joyful odor of the dancers was so strong it made me dizzy.

  The green boy ducked between someone’s legs, nearly toppling him to the ground. I dodged around the dancer as he staggered, trying to keep his balance. His partner yelled at me as if it was my fault—the first angry words I had heard since we arrived on Geembol Seven.

  We were headed downhill, toward the harbor. The crowd was thicker there, and I had to work hard to keep the boy in sight. I should have turned back, but I am foolishly stubborn, and once I had started the chase I did not want to give it up.

  The moons sparkled on the water, and the sea beasts had risen to the surface, as if they were celebrating, too.

  The green boy stopped and leaned against a building, as if to catch his breath. I sped forward, but when I was within a few paces of him, he started off again, heading down a dark alley.

  I should not have followed.

  I did.

  The alley brought us out to a nearly empty street, one that was not part of the festival. The sounds of music and laughter were more distant now. The light of the twelve full moons made it nearly as bright as day, though it was a cold light, and made the deserted street seem eerie, almost ghostlike.

  “Wait!” I cried.

  To my surprise, the boy stopped.

  I hurried forward. “Why did you run?” I asked, holding my hand to my side, which hurt from the chase.

  He was still weeping from all six eyes. “I am in terrible trouble.”

  “Well, I’m not going to hurt you.”

  He looked around nervously. “It’s not safe here. If you want to talk, if you want to help, we have to keep going.”

  I should have turned back. I did not.

  We continued down the streets toward the waterfront, moving eastward, away from the celebration.

  In the old section of the city we came to the great docks, built hundreds of years before. The ancient wooden pilings that supported the docks were so thick, I could not reach my arms around them. We sat in front of one of them, looking out at the sea, the reflected moons, the silver-blue gabill-fish leaping joyously toward the sky.

  After a moment of silence the boy said, “Why did you follow me?”

  I was still trying to answer, when the piling opened behind me. A cold hand thrust forward and closed over my mouth.

  Struggling, trying to scream but unable to, I was pulled into the darkness.

  To be continued…

  More from this Series

  I Shrank My Teacher

  Book 2

  Missing—One Brain!


  Book 3

  Lunch Swap Disaster

  Book 4

  Zombies of the Science…

  Book 5

  More from the Author

  Goblins in the Castle

  Goblins on the Prowl

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR AND ILLUSTRATOR

  Bruce Coville has published more than one hundred books, including My Teacher Is an Alien; Into the Land of the Unicorns; and Jeremy Thatcher, Dragon Hatcher. He is a frequent speaker at schools and conferences, and has presented on five continents. He is also the founder and producing director of Full Cast Audio, an audiobook company that creates recordings of the best in children’s and young adult literature. He lives in Syracuse, New York, with his wife, author and illustrator Katherine Coville. Visit him online at BruceCoville.com.

  Glen Mullaly is an award-winning illustrator whose work can be found in books, magazines, greeting cards, and posters. He has also created puzzles and paper crafts for McDonald’s, and his Star Wars comics for kids (illustrated by legendary artist Ken Steacy) have been released by Marvel Comics in graphic novel format. In addition to the Sixth-Grade Alien series, he also illustrated Bruce Coville’s My Teacher Is an Alien series. He lives on the West Coast with his wife and cat. Visit Glen at GlenMullaly.com and follow him on Facebook at glenmullalyillustration.

  ALADDIN

  Simon & Schuster, New York

  Visit us at simonandschuster.com/kids

  www.SimonandSchuster.com/Authors/Bruce-Coville

  www.SimonandSchuster.com/Authors/Glen-Mullaly

  DON’T MISS THE REST OF THE SIXTH-GRADE ALIENS SERIES!

  Sixth-Grade Alien

  I Shrank My Teacher

  Missing—One Brain!