by M. E. Castle
“Right,” Veronica said. But she sounded uncertain.
A few phone calls to the right people and the influence of NASA and the MORONS team had gotten the Gemini permission to take up study at Wompalog in the guise of foreign exchange students. Because Fisher’s parents had headed the M3 project, they’d taken responsibility for the well-being of the alien visitors. The bus the Gemini would be living on would stay parked at the Bas residence.
It had taken a significant amount of behind-the-scenes work to create the cover IDs for the Gemini. To ensure they’d be welcome at the school, Principal Teed had received a personal call from the vice president letting him know how important it was that this group of “foreign visitors” would be allowed to take classes at Wompalog. The Independent Federal Republic of Geminolvia was—or so the pamphlet being passed around school read—a tiny nation between Lithuania and Belarus. Most of Fisher’s classmates hadn’t heard of Lithuania or Belarus, so sticking a made-up country between them wasn’t that difficult. To explain the diverse appearance of the Gemini, the country had been described as a tax haven for financial moguls from all corners of the globe. Additionally, the pamphlet read, Geminolvia boasted the highest population of twins in the world.
The stage was set. Principal Teed was standing outside the front doors with an eager crowd of kids waiting to greet the new “foreign exchange students.”
Fisher sucked in a deep breath. He just had to make sure that the Gems didn’t have the same experience in middle school that he’d had. If that happened, this time tomorrow the whole parking lot would be a smoking mound of charcoal and goop.
A not-too-distant rumble stirred up the eager crowd. The sleek, chrome-trimmed white and gray sides of the Gemini’s bus appeared at the far end of the parking lot, eliciting a cheer that spread from one side of the Wompalog crowd to the other.
But as the bus stopped and the door hissed open, silence fell.
The Gemini flowed off the bus as if they were floating. The Gemini greeted their new classmates with waves and dazzling smiles. The girls began whispering and muttering. The boys, by and large, were left mute and wide-eyed, staring at thirteen gorgeous pairs of identical twins.
Wait. Fisher’s palms began to sweat. Thirteen? Four Gemini had exploded. There should only have been eleven pairs, and twenty-two Gemini. He counted again. Definitely twenty-six.
Before he had time to puzzle this out, Principal Teed stepped up next to the Gemini with a cordless microphone in his hand. He paused in front of the Gemini, making a hesitant offer of his hand before settling on a nod of his head in greeting.
“We at Wompalog are extremely honored and very proud to be a part of this special exchange. We welcome our visitors from the great Independent Federal Republic of, er”—he briefly consulted his notes—“Geminolvia. I know that the bright, kind, and gifted students of this school will give you one of the friendliest welcomes you will find on this planet!”
Fisher chuckled at the principal’s choice of words as the students erupted in cheers. He hoped dearly that the Gemini would get a better welcome than he ever had.
The bell rang, signaling it was time for first period, as Principal Teed distributed class schedules to each of the Gemini pairs.
Like everyone else in first period biology, Fisher spent most of his time glancing over at Claire and Deb, Gemini girls Three and Four, studying how they acted and what they said. The boys in particular were hanging on their every word, even if the words weren’t anything unusual. Ms. Snapper called on the girls enthusiastically, not missing the chance to educate special guests.
“Now,” Ms. Snapper said, “who can tell me the different functions of B and T cells in the human immune system?”
Ms. Snapper scanned the classroom. Claire glanced cautiously left and right. Fisher nearly choked as her arm became longer. Just a few inches—too small a change for anyone besides Fisher to notice. But the change had the desired effect. Ms. Snapper promptly beamed at her.
“Claire?”
“Well,” Claire said, “first of all, they work a lot like the immune cells of the wild Eight-Fanged Mud-Dancer of Tixtillorsk Seven—”
“Lake!” Fisher jumped in before Claire could go on. “Lake Tixtillorsk Seven, in Geminolvia. Claire was just telling me about it before class. Named, of course, for the great General Tixtillorsk, who, uh, was so great that naming one or two or six lakes after him just wasn’t enough.”
He heard his own breathing in his ears as the room went silent and everyone’s attention turned from the Gemini to him. They seemed to have bought it. If anything, they were just annoyed that someone other than Claire had spoken.
“Well, thank you for the background, Fisher,” Ms. Snapper said. “Please go on, Claire.”
The rest of Claire’s answer was a perfectly ordinary description of B and T cells and contained no further references to planets nobody’d ever heard of. Still, Fisher realized he might soon find himself explaining some very strange facts about the wildlife in Geminolvia.
One period down. As Fisher headed to math, he saw four of the Gemini standing with the Vikings by a bank of temporary lockers that had been shipped in along with the trailers. Apparently, the Gemini had forgiven the Vikings for being massive wastes of carbon and hydrogen, and the Vikings had apparently forgiven the Gemini for nearly blowing them into nanovikings.
Brody and Leroy were shuffling their feet, and their hands hung at their sides like freshly caught grouper fish. Willard was telling the Gemini all about his rocket scientist dad and his work at NASA.
“It really is very s-simple,” he said. “B-Beethoven’s Fifth Law says that an object at rest will stay indoors, ex-except after C,” he said. “Or C minor.”
Fisher kept walking. The Gemini, he thought, looked amused—kind of like a person watching a dog trying to carry a long stick through a narrow door over and over again.
Math went smoothly, until the last twenty-five minutes, when Anna and Bee recited the first three thousand digits of pi. Fisher had heard experts recite a thousand pi digits before, but he’d never seen two people go back and forth, not making a single error and in perfect rhythm, until the class was nearly hypnotized.
As Bee spoke the three thousandth digit, the bell rang for lunch.
“Brava!” Mr. Taggart, the math teacher, burst into enthusiastic applause before dismissing the class. “Truly remarkable. Thank you, girls.”
Fisher was getting increasingly confident as the day went on. The Gemini were a hit—and he’d seen no signs of their earlier explosive tendencies.
He might actually be able to pull this off.
Fisher and Alex shepherded Anna and Bee through the trailers that currently made up Wompalog. The school had set up a temporary cafeteria under a tent, but Fisher and Alex weren’t going to subject the Gemini to Wompalog food and risk another fiery display of temper. Instead, they guided the extraterrestrial visitors to the one redeeming feature of their parking lot school’s existence: the King of Hollywood.
As usual, the KOH was flooded by the Wompalog population at lunchtime, with a line out the door. Rather than stand in line, however, Bee and Anna walked immediately to the soda station, and grabbed a huge handful of cup lids. Then they marched up to the counter. The kids in line still marveled at the sight of them and let them cut ahead without complaint. They didn’t even seem to notice the lid collection.
“All of these, please,” said Anna, indicating the lids.
“Er … okay!” said the woman behind the counter, radiating confusion. “What size do you want the drinks?”
“We get drinks with them?” said Bee with a giant smile.
Fisher scurried up to the cashier, and explained that the girls were from Geminolvia and things were very different there. He then pointed out the wall menu to the Gemini, and soon he, Alex, Anna, and Bee, had loaded up trays with delectable grilled and fried Earth cuisine.
They took their lunch to a big, round table. Alex pattered ahead, set his tr
ay down, and pulled out a chair for Bee, who graciously accepted. Alex, instead of sitting down himself, pulled his chair into the middle of the room.
“All right!” he said, hopping up on the chair and tapping a plastic cup with a plastic spoon to indicate a toast was coming. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, today is a very special day.” He beamed in the direction of the Gemini.
“Our guests”—he indicated them with a sweep of his right hand—“have traveled a very long way to be here. They could have chosen any spot on this planet … er, continent … as their destination. They have chosen our spot.” Applause began in a few areas around the room. “So let’s make sure they have, truly, the best day on Earth.” He winked knowingly at Anna and Bee, who winked in return. The applause broke out in full force, accented by cheers, whoops, and shouts. Fortunately, all the noise and excitement prevented the students from remarking on the fact that the Gemini were busy devouring their spicy fries—boxes included.
Fisher’s happiness was disrupted only once, when Amanda and Veronica sailed through the doors, glared first at Fisher, then at Alex, and then at the Gemini, and deliberately took a seat in the opposite corner of the room. Fisher was starting to get frustrated. Maybe the girls thought he and Alex were being too trusting too soon. But how were they supposed to build a diplomatic relationship if they didn’t extend all courtesy to the Gemini? As awful as Veronica’s glare felt, Fisher had to stomach it. The future of human–extraterrestrial relations was more important.
After lunch was phys ed. The gym was the only portion of Wompalog that hadn’t been badly damaged in the final battle with Three.
When Fisher emerged from the locker room, the Gemini were already assembled, in identical blue shorts and T-shirts. Amanda was glaring at them, arms crossed.
“They didn’t even go into the locker room,” Amanda muttered. “They just ducked into a side hallway and transformed. If anyone else had seen, they would’ve been busted.”
“We’ll tell them to be more careful,” Fisher whispered back. He was just relieved Amanda was talking to him. Not so with Veronica. She was sitting on the bleachers, deliberately avoiding eye contact. He cleared his throat. “I think today’s gone pretty well so far, don’t you?”
Amanda shot him a dirty look and merely grunted.
“Okay! The sport of the day is dodgeball,” announced Mr. Wells, the massive gym teacher, brushing a hand across his blond bristle.
“Um,” Fisher said, “I’m not sure if that’s really—”
“We don’t know that much about your sports,” said Bee, cutting him off. “But we’re familiar with the rules of your ‘dodgeball.’ We would be honored to participate in your athletic custom.”
“I agree,” Amanda said, adjusting her prescription athletic goggles. “It’s a great idea.” Fisher didn’t like the look on her face at all. “In fact … there are twenty-six Wompalog students in this class. There are twenty-six Gemini. In the spirit of healthy competition and mutual entertainment, why don’t we make it an interstell … an international contest?”
Mr. Wells beamed. “I think that would be a fine way to welcome our guests,” he said. “Let’s try it!”
Cheers went up from the human students. The Gemini nodded in unsettling unison.
Amanda was cracking her knuckles as she stretched her calves and tested her still-recovering ankle. She gave the Gemini a grin that showed a bit too many of her teeth. Fisher had seen that look at the beginning of every one of Amanda’s wrestling matches.
“Do you really think competition is a good idea?” Fisher said to Alex as the teams lined up and started picking up the rubber dodgeballs. The Gemini looked at their balls like they were contemplating how good they would be with a side of hash browns.
“Why not?” Alex said. “This could pave the way for Galactic Olympics, or a Many Worlds Cup! Think of the possib-ouuumphh!” He was cut off as a dodgeball ricocheted off his head, dropping him faster than a wrecking ball covered in tranquilizer darts.
The onslaught began.
The Gemini worked together like they had planned every move and practiced for years. They shifted positions fluidly, one ducking just as another leapt over her, two exchanging places with a single sidestep to dodge incoming throws and deliver precise counter-throws. The Wompalog kids ran back and forth in disarray as the incoming projectiles arrived with incredible speed and sent them crashing to the floor or sailing off their feet.
They were dropping like very uncoordinated, panicky flies.
Fisher was finally lining up a throw on Kat when Leigh sent a shot straight at his right ear. His ears started to ring and his knees simply gave out, as if they’d been vaporized.
He looked around as he sank to the floor. Amanda was fuming. Alex was still clutching his head. Erin’s lanky frame was splayed out on the ground like a tackled spider.
“Round one, Gemini!” said Mr. Wells. “Take a minute, then line up for round two.”
“VICTORY!” shouted all the Gemini together.
Alex crawled over to Fisher.
“Still think this was a good idea?” Fisher said.
“Sure do,” Alex said, gasping. “I actually came prepared for just such a situation.” He picked himself off the ground and then limped over to a duffel bag sitting to the bleachers. From it, he pulled out a thick handful of translucent plastic.
“Are those my strength-enhancing sleeves? The ones I’ve been working on in secret?” Fisher said pointedly, emphasizing secret. Alex acted as if he hadn’t heard. As soon as Mr. Wells was bent over the water fountain, Alex called a huddle and began distributing the sleeves to his teammates.
Fisher scrambled to his feet and yanked Alex back from the crowd. “I only made four of them,” Fisher whispered. “Prototypes.”
“Mm-hm,” Alex said, sliding one of the sleeves onto his right arm and flexing his fingers.
“You stole one and duplicated them!” Fisher said.
“Seems like you’ve figured everything out by yourself,” Alex said, pulling the last of the sleeves onto Fisher’s arms. “Just suit up, ’kay?”
Fisher complied, sighing. Just because they got along now didn’t mean the old Two was gone. Sometimes, Alex’s unpredictability had saved Fisher’s life, and sometimes it filled him with the urge to throw his clone off a house and into a swimming pool full of mustard.
Alex had made an important modification to Fisher’s design—after stealing it, Fisher thought grumpily. The sleeves took on the skin tone of their wearers, becoming nearly invisible once worn.
“Ready?” said Mr. Wells. His whistle shrieked, and the second battle was on.
This time, the students had the firepower they needed. The Gemini were caught totally off guard. They couldn’t dodge the much-faster balls, which whistled through the air like cannon fire.
Fisher ducked under a bright green ball, cocked his right arm back like a baseball pitcher’s, and slung his orange ball at Bee with a stinging whishhhhh! Bee tried to sidestep, but his augmented throw tagged her right on the ribs, and she staggered and finally collapsed to the floor. Amanda took a two-step windup, hurling her own orb of rubbery destruction from a full backward extension like a javelin. Anna took the shot on her left hip and flailed, balance gone, until she landed right on top of Bee. A sinister grin curled Amanda’s lip.
Fisher picked up another ball and searched for a new target. As he held the dodgeball up in a ready position, his bicep twitched. Unfortunately, the sleeve augmented the muscle movement, making Fisher’s arm thrash sideways and slam the ball into his own head.
As Fisher stumbled, he noticed other kids having similar problems. The sleeves were very powerful, but they weren’t fine-tuned. Alex had taken and copied them before Fisher had had time to properly test them. Every few seconds a dodgeball would go flying in a completely random direction.
Despite the malfunctioning sleeves, however, in the end, the humans narrowly prevailed. The Gemini sat or lay on the floor, looks of utter
shock on their faces, as the human students let out cheers and excited whoops.
“Round two to Wompalog!” Mr. Wells said. “I knew you just needed to warm up a little. Okay, we can take a water break if you …” He stopped, tilting his head, and his nose began to twitch. “What is that sound? Is—is somebody making popcorn?”
Oh, no, thought Fisher, not again.
BOOM.
What was left of Mae and Nina had turned a section of the bleachers into a spray of mulch and an enormous puff of sawdust. A thin layer of green glop coated a fair amount of the gym floor. A girl named Kiera was screaming as the other kids flattened themselves to the ground, clearly assuming they were under attack. Mr. Wells had fallen over, partly from the blast wave, but mostly from surprise. He popped up quickly, doing a rapid check to make sure everyone was all right.
Fisher put his arms around his knees and bowed his head. Sirens were audible in less than a minute.
The Gemini smoothed their hair in unison.
“We would like to play a different game,” said Anna, smiling.
The primary motivator of every organism is survival. The primary obstacle to survival, often enough, is another organism. This fact is responsible for everything interesting about life.
—Dr. X, “Thoughts on Human Weakness”
“This whole situation is hovering an inch from disaster,” Fisher said gloomily as he and Alex trudged home from school. “How did this happen?” He kicked angrily at a pile of leaves.
“We weren’t ready for the Gemini, pure and simple,” Alex said, his right hand tapping a nervous rhythm against his right leg. “If Mom and Dad had warned us the Gemini were coming, maybe we could’ve prepared.”
“I doubt it,” Fisher grumbled.
The Bas boys had taken the fall for the explosion in the gym. They’d confessed to using strength-enhancing sleeves and claimed that an external power generator to which they were wirelessly connected must have overloaded. There were so many Gemini, no one had noticed that two of them had been incinerated by the blast.