* * *
The assembly was held in the cafeteria. The tables had been folded up and replaced by chairs. The curtain on the stage was open. A podium with a microphone stood in the center of the stage. Seated in a row of chairs behind the podium were Principal Grand, the dreaded Ms. Buttsman, the Fatherly One, and me.
McNally stood behind us—as did four additional security guards. Mr. Grand called the assembly to order and introduced the Fatherly One, Ms. Buttsman, and me. Then he turned the assembly over to the Fatherly One.
Everyone clapped when he came to the podium.
“Children of Earth,” said the Fatherly One, raising both hands straight out to his sides. “I bring you greetings from the stars!”
Then he smiled and belched a greeting. Though this is standard for Hevi-Hevians, it still caused an explosion of laughter. Ms. Buttsman groaned and rolled her eyes. “How am I supposed to do my job if that stubborn alien refuses to listen to my advice?” she muttered.
I thought about suggesting that she resign, but decided this was not the time to bring up that idea.
The Fatherly One waited for the room to grow silent. Though I could not see him from behind, I suspect that he was scowling. I know from personal experience that the Fatherly One has a scowl that could stop a charging herklump.
“Your principal has invited me to speak to you about life on Hevi-Hevi, and this I am most happy to do. However, I think it would be even better for me to show you some things about our planet. For this reason, I have brought with me some images of home.” He turned to Mr. Grand. “Could you darken the room, please?”
Mr. Grand got up. A few seconds later the lights went out. According to Tim, usually that doesn’t make all that much difference in our cafeteria, which isn’t really set up to show movies and stuff, since even when you pull the shades a lot of light leaks in. But they must have installed something new over the windows, because we heard Zip! Zip! Zip! and suddenly the room was completely black.
People started to talk and laugh, but before it could get out of control, the voice of the Fatherly One cut across the babble.
“Behold!” he said in tones so loud and clear that everyone fell silent. “Behold the world of Hevi-Hevi!”
CHAPTER 5 [TIM]
HEVI-HEVI
As Meenom spoke a beautiful sphere appeared at the front of the room, floating several feet above the floor.
A big “Oooooh!” rose from the crowd. The sound was repeated over and over as the sphere was replaced by a series of astonishing images. I have no idea how Meenom did it; he had no projector that I could see. But the pictures he showed us (in full 3-D, of course) were so incredibly realistic that when we saw a waterfall, we automatically flinched back, because we expected to get splashed.
Brianna was sitting next to me. “Isn’t this exciting?” she whispered.
“Incredible!” I agreed.
After a scenery display that made me want to get on a rocket for Hevi-Hevi right that minute, Meenom showed us some of the plants and animals of Hevi-Hevi—not all of them, of course; you couldn’t do that any more than you could show all the plants and animals of Earth in a single slide show. But we saw enough to know that they were utterly strange and at the same time oddly similar to the kinds of living things we already knew. He showed us exploding flowers, walking trees (they have a main root that’s like a drill), and a vicious-looking crablike creature the size of a rhinoceros that is highly prized for its ability to lay eggs of extraordinary sweetness—though it does so only twice a year.
Next he showed us a waterfarm where they raise blobby purple creatures whose outer skin is peeled off every three months, then used for everything from seat covers to snack food. After that he showed us an airfarm where they cultivate vines that grow purple pods the size of bowling balls. These pods contain a liquid so fiery no one on Hevi-Hevi can stand to drink it. Yet it is exported to 516 different planets, where it is considered a special delicacy.
“One of my main tasks here on Earth,” said Meenom, after he had talked about this vine, “is to find some items that you can use for trading. Now, let me show you a few of our cities.”
The first city he showed was exactly as I had dreamed it would be, a place of soaring purple towers and buildings that were weird yet beautiful. The camera (or whatever had been used to make the images) started by showing a far shot of the city, so we could see its towering skyline. Then it swooped in to reveal the aircars, the bustling streets (thronged by millions of bald purple people!), and the huge statues that seemed to rise from almost every corner.
The next city was utterly different. Here the buildings were low and rugged looking, fitting into the land so perfectly that at first you hardly realized they were there.
The third city was so strange that at first we thought Meenom had made a mistake, for the image he showed was of a vast plain of waving purple grass. He laughed at his little joke, then explained that this city was entirely underground. Then he showed us images of its broad streets and cozy-looking buildings.
“This particular building is a nursery,” he said, showing us a rounded structure that looked almost like an egg itself. “In fact, it is the very place where Pleskit was hatched.”
That created a stir of giggles that made me a little embarrassed for my friend.
“Because your culture has many unresolved issues regarding biology, Principal Grand has asked me not to go into detail about how reproduction works on Hevi-Hevi. So I will simply tell you that every reproductive unit that contributes an egg is invited to the hatching, where they are given one of the childlings in return. All childlings are assigned at random.”
It took a second for this to sink in. “You mean you don’t get your own kid back?” cried someone sitting a few rows behind me. A murmur began to rustle through the cafeteria.
“That is correct,” said Meenom. “Except in cases of accidental rematch, the childling you receive is not from the egg you contributed. Even if you did receive the product of your own egg, you would not know it.”
The image had shifted now, showing dozens of recently hatched Hevi-Hevians. They were bald, purple, and incredibly cute.
“This system has one great advantage,” continued Meenom. “All creatures have a deep, powerful drive to protect and care for their offspring. Therefore, when any child might be your child, when the toddler you pass in the street may be the product of your own genetic material, all children suddenly become more precious. Your society claims to love and value children, and even seems to believe this claim. To an outside observer this is a hilarious bit of self-deception. As a re—”
“Really, Mr. Ventrah!” cried Mr. Grand, jumping to his feet and interrupting. “How can you say such a thing?”
Meenom turned to him. “Did you yourself not tell me that this school was greatly superior to the other schools in your city?”
“Well, yes, but…” Mr. Grand’s voice trailed off. In the dim light cast by the image of the nursery, he looked uncomfortable.
Meenom spread his hands. “Well, there you go. In a culture that truly values children, it would not be tolerable for one school to be inferior to another. All schools would receive an equal share of resources and be required to meet equally high standards. This is the value of our system.” He paused, then added, “To put it more precisely, on Hevi-Hevi there is no such thing as a starving child.”
* * *
That was pretty much the end of the assembly. The initial plan had been for Pleskit and Meenom to answer questions, but I think Mr. Grand decided their ideas might be too dangerous.
When he announced that it was time to go back to our rooms, a big crowd of kids surged forward and began swarming around Pleskit. I could see that the mob scene was driving McNally and the other special agents buggy. I tried to push my way in but couldn’t get anywhere near Pleskit.
At that moment I did not feel like a best friend at all.
Jordan—who has a genius for noticing people’s sensitive
spots—picked up on this. In a voice that could have been heard two blocks away, he shouted, “What’s the matter, Timmy? Your little purple pal dump you?”
Then he began to laugh.
I tried harder than ever to get near to Pleskit to prove that this wasn’t true. But before I could manage it, the agents divided the crowd and McNally hustled Pleskit out, shouting that they had to get back for some official event at the embassy.
“Looks like I was right,” sneered Jordan. “You’re not such an alien insider after all, Tim.”
“Shut up, Jordan!” I said.
He didn’t hit me; that wasn’t really his way. Besides, he didn’t need to. He could tell his comment had struck home.
It wouldn’t have hurt so much if I hadn’t been afraid it was true.
CHAPTER 6 [PLESKIT]
TENSION
The assembly was very embarrassing. Even worse, I was embarrassed because I was embarrassed. That is, I knew it should not be embarrassing. It was a simple presentation of things about our world. But I had already realized that many kids in my class consider it embarrassing to have to do something like that, and I was infected by their discomfort.
Even worse, rather than being able to reconnect with the kids afterward, I got rushed back to the embassy. This was especially frustrating because I wanted to talk to Tim. I could tell people had been surprised when the Fatherly One explained our birthing system, and I wanted to see what Tim thought of it.
The reason I got dragged off was that the Fatherly One had scheduled an afternoon meeting with the ruler of the country in which we have established the embassy. (It is strange, and slightly disturbing, that this planet has so many different governments. Small wonder they have so many conflicts. I seem to remember that sometime in our distant past Hevi-Hevi was divided up in such a way. Even so, it is hard to imagine how a world can make any progress like that.)
This ruler, who is called “the president,” was a very pleasant person. The Fatherly One later explained to me that he is chosen not on the basis of his actual qualifications for the job, but by popular election. So it is no surprise that he is able to charm people. Even so, it was interesting to see how McNally and Ms. Buttsman were awed by his presence. He was a person, just like them. So what was the big deal?
The president stayed for the evening meal.
Barvgis, the Fatherly One’s round and slimy assistant, joined us. He has been trying to learn Earthling jokes, which he was practicing on the president. The one about the farting elephant clearly upset Ms. Buttsman. The president, on the other hand, laughed very much. So I think it was probably a good joke.
We had Earthling food—ham (which is flesh from an animal called a pig), underground fruits called potatoes, green sticks known as asparagus—all prepared by an Earthling cook that Ms. Buttsman hired for the occasion.
The meal was good, but I can only eat so much Earthling food at one sitting. So later I went to the kitchen for a snack.
McNally and Barvgis were there already, sitting at the table. They both looked worried.
I wondered why, until I saw Shhh-foop.
Shhh-foop is the being who usually does our cooking. She is normally quite cheerful. Now, however, her orange tentacles were drooping mournfully. “Greetings, Pleskit,” she warbled when she saw me.
Her voice was so soft I could scarcely hear it.
“All you all right?” I asked in alarm.
“I fear I am no longer queen of the kitchen,” she sang sadly. “I was not allowed to cook for this day’s gathering.”
At that moment the dreaded Ms. Buttsman came in.
“Still moping around?” she asked sharply when she saw Shhh-foop.
McNally snorted in anger. “I suppose it was your idea not to let Shhh-foop cook today’s dinner?” he asked.
“It was a perfectly fine meal,” snapped the Butt.
“It was boring,” said McNally. “Do you really think the president wants food he could have any day of the year when he comes to the alien embassy? Besides, you should have been more considerate of Shhh-foop.”
Ms. Buttsman’s eyes flashed and her nostrils grew wide, which gave her a very interesting look. “I am more interested in making sure that things go well than in coddling the feelings of the staff,” she said sharply. “And that includes you, Mr. McNally. If you do not like the way I do my job, you might consider putting in for a transfer. I think things would go considerably more smoothly around here if your position was filled with someone who has a better attitude.”
“Just keep hopin’ and wishin,’ lady,” said McNally. “Because I’m gonna be here long after you’re gone.”
This was a great relief to hear. I have come to depend on McNally, and I did not want Ms. Buttsman to drive him away. Turning to me, he added, “I’ll be in my room if you need me, Pleskit. Send me a cup of coffee if you get a chance, will you, Shhh-foop?”
I was surprised to hear him say this, since he has found Shhh-foop’s attempts to make this Earth beverage quite deplorable. But when I saw the way Shhh-foop perked up and heard her warble, “It will be my pleasure, Just McNally,” I understood what he was doing.
Ms. Buttsman sniffed and left the room.
“She is not my favorite Earthling,” said Barvgis, who had been eating squirmers while this went on.
“Mine, either,” I said.
“I wonder how she’s going to get along with Beezle Whompis,” added Barvgis, tossing another handful of squirmers into his mouth.
I wondered the same thing myself. Even more, I wondered how I was going to get along with Beezle Whompis, who was to be the Fatherly One’s new secretary, in place of the evil Mikta-makta-mookta. This was an important question for me, since whoever guards the door of the Fatherly One has a great impact on my life. If the newcomer and I got along, my life would be improved. If we did not, things could get verplexxim very quickly!
I decided to speak to the Grandfatherly One about the matter. The Grandfatherly One—or, to be more precise, the brain of the Grandfatherly One, since that is all we have left of him—lives in a large vat. The vat is filled with an electrolyte solution that provides nourishment and upkeep. Mounted on the sides of the vat are a pair of speakers that allow him to express his thoughts. It also has sensors for sight, sound, and smell.
“Greetings, O Venerated One,” I said when I entered the darkened room where we keep the brain.
“Greetings, Whippersnapper. Have you seen your Fatherly One lately? When you do, please tell him that I continue to suffer from extreme boredom!”
“Boredom would be an improvement on what I went through today,” I replied.
We spent the next several minutes complaining to each other about how unhappy we were, and how unreasonable the Fatherly One was in the way he treated us. It was very satisfying.
“As usual, life has reversed things,” said the Grandfatherly One in conclusion. “I would like to get out into the world, while right now you would prefer to stay home. Therefore, I am stuck at home, and you are forced to go out into the world. I am moved to compose my first poem in our new language:
THE UNIVERSE:
IS QUITE PERVERSE!”
I farted my approval.
“Ah, I miss being able to do that,” said the Grandfatherly One. “Now, on to other topics. What do you think of our Ms. Buttsman? Never mind. I’ll tell you what I think of her. I think she’s trouble.”
“She is a dark cloud hanging over the embassy,” I replied. “Also, she does not get along with McNally, whom I like.”
“That’s no surprise. From what you’ve told me, the two of them are going to mix like spratzels and grakkims.”
I belched the belch of sad acceptance. I realized it was a relief to be talking to the Grandfatherly One, where I could use my full vocabulary. (Even though I was coming close to breaking the Fatherly One’s rule about only speaking the language of our hosts so that we can grow more comfortable with it.)
“I predict a long and nasty ba
ttle for dominance between McNally and Buttsman,” continued the Grandfatherly One. “With you caught in the middle.”
“My joy knows no bounds.”
“Ah, sarcasm,” said the Grandfatherly One happily. “I like that in a youngster. Shows a healthy view of the world. Speaking of views of the world, I would consider it a personal favor if you could figure out how I can get one. I want to get out and experience this planet!”
“I will do my best, O Venerated One.”
Little did I realize what a terrible idea this would turn out to be.
I decided to talk to Tim about a device for getting the Grandfatherly One out of the embassy, as Tim seems to have a special skill for planning such capers.
Alas, before I could speak to him at school the next day, disaster erupted.
CHAPTER 7 [TIM]
DISASTER!
(FROM THE JOURNAL OF TIM TOMPKINS)
Today was one of the worst days of my life! A pure disaster.
When I got to school this morning, everyone was clustered in little groups, talking and laughing. I couldn’t break into one right away, so it took me a while to find out what was going on.
When I did, I was appalled. Larrabe was holding a copy of The National News, a tabloid paper I personally hate because it is very anti-alien. The headline, written in huge letters, said:
ALIEN BOY HATCHED FROM EGG!
The tone of the article was pretty nasty, and it stressed the way Hevi-Hevians are different from us, rather than any similarities.
Even worse was the picture of Pleskit that went with it. Actually, it wasn’t the picture itself that was disturbing. It was the fact it had been taken right here in school. But since reporters are completely banned from the building, it raised a major question: Namely—who took the picture?
When Pleskit and McNally came in a few minutes later, Jordan shouted, “Hey, Pleskit—nice spread in this morning’s paper!”
Missing—One Brain! Page 2