by M. E. Castle
Instead, all they’d brought was an appetite.
It wasn’t until I met aliens who acted like humans that I truly understood how annoying humans are.
—Amanda Cantrell, Diary
“This may be the single biggest danger humanity’s ever faced. But how come they brought you in?” said Alex, frowning darkly up at Dr. X.
“Yeah,” said Fisher. “As I recall, you were supposed to be spending the next few lifetimes in a little concrete room eating canned string beans off of a Styrofoam tray. Besides, you’ve tried to rule the world twice. Why would you even want to help?”
“My boy,” Dr. X said, “exactly how much of a world would be left for me to rule after the Gemini have consumed it? I am as invested in our planet’s survival as you are. I was temporarily released from my prison because, like it or not, my country—my world—needs my help. Besides”—he lifted his arm, allowing the sleeve of his white coat to fall down and revealing a tight steel bracelet—“I’m on a very, very short leash. A leash that will render me unconscious if I pull on it too hard,” he said.
Fisher and Alex exchanged a look. At least Dr. X was being very closely monitored. Clearly, the MORONS weren’t taking any chances.
“All right,” Fisher said, sighing. “So what else do you know?”
“Fortunately, I’ve been able to make significant repairs to this craft,” Dr. X said, pointing up at the prow of the ship jutting high overhead. The metal glimmered in the lab lights. “But there is still an enormous quantity of work to do. I could use your help,” he added bluntly.
“What kind of help?” said Amanda, narrowing her eyes.
“There are some … items I need you to fetch for me,” Dr. X said. For the first time, he seemed uncomfortable. He wouldn’t look Fisher in the eye, but instead studied the hull of the ship, as if the most fascinating story ever were written there.
Warning lights started blinking in Fisher’s mind. Dr. X was a genius, and he could plan very far ahead. He might continue asking for seemingly harmless items for days or weeks, all the while assembling them into some kind of weapon for his escape.
“What kind of items?” Alex said coldly. He was obviously thinking the same thing as Fisher was.
“The food here is terrible,” said Dr. X with a shrug. “I’d like, for starters, a truly gargantuan Reuben sandwich.”
“You want us to make a deli run??” Amanda squealed, outraged. “When the future of our species is at stake?”
“How do you expect me to save our world with an unsatisfied gullet?” X said, blinking at her. “And perhaps on Thursday a turkey might not be out of the question. It is Thanksgiving, after all.”
Fisher looked at Alex.
“Is there anything non-food related on your list?” Fisher said. “Anything at all?”
“Possibly,” Dr. X said. He turned back to the chart of the ship projected on his computer. “See here? There’s a large cavity in the ship’s port side. It looks like a cargo chamber—but missing its cargo. We’ve had teams scouring the crash site, but saw no evidence of damaged freight. Any ideas?”
Fisher puzzled over the diagram.
“I don’t know,” he said, scratching his chin. “Maybe it’s some kind of escape pod? Maybe the Gemini loaded and jettisoned important equipment so it wouldn’t be hurt in the crash?”
“Could be,” agreed Alex. “Or maybe it was a backup power source or a secondary engine.”
“We’ve barely been able to restore minimal power to this ship,” Dr. X said. “If the missing item is a fully functional piece of this ship’s technology, then studying it in operation would give us very valuable information. Perhaps you might be able to locate it, particularly since you have an in with the Gemini.”
“Yeah, about that.” Alex coughed. “I think relations are a little sour at the moment.”
“Still, we have to try,” Fisher said. Despite his hatred of the evil former teacher/megalomaniac, Dr. X did have a good point. “If we can figure out their technology, we might be able to get in the ship and use it to our advantage. The Gemini must have a weakness. We just need to figure out what it is.”
“Agreed,” said Veronica. “It’s time to reclaim the Earth.”
“Absolutely!” Dr. X said. He turned to Fisher and put his hand up. “High five!”
Fisher sent a crinkled look at Alex, but after a moment’s pause he slapped his own palm into Dr. X’s, hopefully hard enough to sting.
“It’s settled, then,” said Dr. X. “Find the missing mystery piece of the ship, study it in operation, and bring me as much data as possible. And don’t forget that sandwich—extra sauerkraut.”
Maybe our next space mission should be to put a giant “closed for repairs” sign in orbit around Earth.
—Alex Bas, Personal Notes
An official car whisked them home from the lab, dropping first Veronica and then Amanda off at home. Once they were alone, Alex turned to Fisher, his eyes gleaming in the dark.
“I think I know a way to earn the Gemini’s trust back,” he said.
Fisher felt a pulse of apprehension. He was still not entirely over the days when most of Alex’s plans had involved explosive materials and/or detention. “Go on,” he said.
“Well,” Alex’s mouth quirked into a smile. “The Gemini like parties, don’t they?”
“Yep,” Fisher said, sighing. “Almost as much as they love eating.”
“Exactly,” Alex said as the car pulled up to the curb. “Seems to me they’d really enjoy a national party about eating, don’t you think?”
Fisher’s thoughts snapped right into line with his clone’s.
“I think I see where you’re going with this,” he said, stepping out of the car.
Taking a deep breath, Fisher approached the silver, bullet-like bus parked curbside by the Bas house, Alex a step behind him. Alex’s plan was simple but brilliant. Inviting the Gemini to join in the Thanksgiving celebrations would surely convince them that the humans meant them no harm. Maybe then he might even ask about the missing piece from the ship. But whatever he did, he had to be sure they didn’t suspect that their ship was in Dr. X’s claw-like hands.
He reached up a hand to knock, but before he could, the door swung open, revealing Anna and Bee, hands planted on hips, green eyes shining ominously.
“H-hello,” he said in as cheerful a tone he could muster toward beings who intended to eat his home planet. “We, um, we realize that we’ve had some troubles communicating. As the Earth representative, I’m here to propose a solution. Can I come in?”
Anna and Bee hesitated for only a second before moving aside. As Fisher and Alex climbed up into the bus, he tried not to think about the fact that they weren’t two separate girls, but actually two random appendages of an enormous, goop-like alien creature.
He smiled nervously. The bus was packed with Gemini. They fell silent when they saw the boys. Fisher cleared his throat.
“This week, people in our part of the world have a celebration called Thanksgiving,” Alex said. “It commemorates the meeting of two different civilizations, and celebrates a moment in time when they worked together in peace.”
“Yes,” said Anna, “we learned about Thanksgiving when we were studying you.” She wasn’t smiling.
“Good!” Fisher squeaked. He was sweating. Was it his imagination, or did the Gemini look … hungry? “Then you must have seen the big parade that happens in New York City,” he rushed on quickly. “It just so happens that we’ve got our own Thanksgiving parade at Wompalog. It’s a big school tradition. It takes place on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, which is tomorrow. Short notice, I know, but we’d like you to participate.” When Anna looked unmoved, he added, “There will be balloons and floats and … and … costumes!”
The word costumes obviously had the desired effect. There was another fractional moment of hesitation, and Fisher had the weirdest sensation that the Gemini were communicating soundlessly, all together, the way muscles commun
icate, or cells.
Anna smiled at last. “Thank you for the invitation. We would be thrilled to participate.”
“Wonderful,” Fisher said, trying to smile but managing only to grimace. Already, he was imagining Terence the Towering Turkey going up in a cloud of scorched feathers and papier-mâché smoke.
“In fact, we have just the thing for a float, as you call it,” Anna said calmly. “We will use our small shuttlecraft. It will look very pretty decorated with balloons.”
“Shuttlecraft?” Fisher said, trying to mask the surprise in his voice. With hardly any effort, he’d learned that Dr. X’s assumption was correct: an important part of the ship was missing.
“Yes,” Bee said. She didn’t seem to notice Fisher’s sudden interest. “It’s waiting for us in orbit and can be called down at any time. We will—what’s the word?—camouflage it so that it is suitable for your parade.”
Fisher had to bite his lip to keep from shouting for joy. It was almost too easy. He’d thought he’d have to tease clues about the object’s whereabouts from the Gemini over the course of days, and then track it down himself. Instead, the Gemini were going to practically drop the shuttlecraft at his feet.
“That would be perfect,” Fisher said, smiling. And for the first time in a long time, he thought that maybe the humans had a shot against the Gemini after all.
I thought sprinkling salt on me was a local greeting custom. Then they turned on the oven.
—Hal Torque, brief sidekick to Vic Daring, Issue #122
“These feathers are stabbing me in the back,” said Alex, shifting his position.
“Funny, you could say the same thing about the Gemini,” said Fisher drily.
It was Tuesday afternoon, and the Wompalog Thanksgiving Parade was about to begin. Everyone had the morning off from school for the celebration. Fisher and Alex stood on top of Terence the Towering Turkey, the biggest and most beloved float, usually the last in the procession. The monstrous bird had papier-mâché feathers in every color imaginable and his beak was the product of one of the earliest ceramics projects in the art department’s history. As was the custom, the float would be towed by Principal Teed in his car.
Their parents still hadn’t returned from Washington. Another message had been sent to them through the sergeant of the guard. Apparently Mr. and Mrs. Bas were making progress, but they weren’t sure how much longer they would be. Fisher was starting to wonder if Palo Alto would still be around when they got back. Making sure this parade went smoothly would be a crucial step to ensure it would.
The Wompalog Thanksgiving Day Parade had started by accident. Many years ago, the Wompalog cafeteria had been preparing to serve a special Thanksgiving lunch on the Tuesday before the holiday, and a group of eighth graders plotted to steal the turkey. They slipped into the cafeteria, grabbed the big cart that the huge roast turkey was sitting on, and rolled it right out of the school and down the street. Cafeteria staff chased after them, followed by other kids who’d heard the commotion. The following year a group of kids commemorated the event by creating Terence and rolling him down the street to cheers from the whole school.
But by now, the parade was a true Wompalog tradition.
The school’s trailers had been cleared to the far side of the King of Hollywood parking lot, creating a vast space in which the various floats could congregate before setting off. Wompalog Middle School was abuzz with the news that the girls from Geminolvia were going to take part in the Thanksgiving parade, and Teed expected record attendees—all of which made Fisher very, very nervous.
Fisher adjusted his position against the turkey’s neck. They would have to be incredibly careful. Somehow, Fisher didn’t think the Gemini would react well if they knew that the humans were taking such an interest in their shuttlecraft.
That’s why Fisher, Alex, Amanda, and Veronica were camouflaged in experimental suits. Fisher had spent a sleepless night analyzing a tiny sample of Gemini residue. With the resources available at the MORONS laboratory, mini-generators, and the—much as it made his stomach churn to admit it—help of Dr. X, he’d redesigned his old spy suits with the ability to automatically change their appearance and shape to match their surroundings. It even included a manual mode that let the wearer choose the suit’s shape, regardless of the environment. Fisher called them ChameleoClothes.
At the moment, the ChameleoClothes were manifesting itchypaper feathers that smelled vaguely like decade-old cheese.
“Keep your eyes open,” Fisher whispered, awkwardly shifting the bulk of the suit as he reached up and planted a miniature radar dish on the underside of Terence’s beak. He affixed it with quick-drying glue. Fisher looked down at a screen attached to his wrist and a field of blips and fuzzy shapes popped up. He would be able to keep track of all activity in and around the parade.
In Alex’s backpack was the portable scanner entrusted to him by Dr. X. If they could attach it to the hull of the Gemini shuttle for just thirty seconds, it would reveal and store details of the shuttlecraft’s interior and exterior. With this knowledge, they could finish repairing the big ship and even unlock its main hatch.
Fisher raised a hand to his ear and tapped the nearly invisible earbud he was wearing.
“Amanda, are you and Veronica in place? Over.”
“Copy, in position on the condiments float. Feeling ridiculous.”
“You’re supposed to say ‘over.’ Over.”
“Are you serious? Fine, over.”
Fisher could feel Amanda’s annoyance through the earbud. He held up a pair of binoculars and shaded the lens from the bright California sun. The binoculars autofocused until the girls were in sight.
Amanda and Veronica were across the parking lot on one of the very first floats. Their suits were bright red and bumpy to help them blend into the huge bowl of foam cranberry sauce they were hiding in. Amanda and Veronica would create a diversion by using the condiments float’s famous Cran-Cannons. At the end of the parade route there were several targets set up, and a part of the big finale was a marksmanship contest wherein several lucky volunteers would try to launch massive globs of cranberry sauce with great accuracy. If Amanda and Veronica could get to those cannons, that might distract the Gemini long enough for Fisher and Alex to approach and scan the shuttle.
“Now we just have to wait for the aliens to show,” Alex sighed.
No sooner had he said it than a low hum filled the lot, making their ears buzz and sending flurries of dust and pebbles skittering along the vibrating asphalt.
“Here we go,” Fisher said, tapping his earpiece. “Stay hidden until we’re ready to launch the diversion. Over.”
“Got it,” Amanda responded. “Over,” she added in an annoyed voice before Fisher could remind her.
Cheers from the onlookers pealed across the lot as the disguised Gemini shuttle appeared. Fisher had to admit it looked amazing. It floated gracefully out into the open, seeming to glide on the air—which, Fisher knew, was exactly what it was doing, though it was draped with a cloth to conceal the fact that it didn’t have wheels. It was covered in balloons and swirls of fabric painted in browns, reds, and golds, and the back sprouted a turkey tail-like crest of construction paper feathers. And as it rotated slightly from left to right, the gleam of thousands of tiny sparkles dazzled the crowd.
Eight of the Gemini, including Anna and Bee, were standing on a platform built on top of the craft. They waved and smiled. Lulling the population into blissful unawareness, Fisher thought to himself.
Principal Teed wiggled out of the sunroof of his car, holding a bullhorn.
“Welcome one and all, particularly our new friends”—cheers broke out again—“to the forty-eighth annual Wompalog Middle School Thanksgiving Parade!” Thunderous applause echoed throughout the parking lot.
Principal Teed disappeared once again into his car and honked the horn, signaling the parade could begin.
The first float was a display of a field of maize accented by squash a
nd pumpkins on sticks, complete with waving scarecrows. The maize looked like it had been sitting in the sun for a few too many years without being harvested, but the float was neatly put together and did a good job setting the tone. The second float was a reasonably authentic miniature version of a Native American longhouse, upon which stood eighth grader Grace Beaumont, who was half Iroquois. After that was the float full of side dishes where Veronica and Amanda were hunkered down.
The parade slowly unspooled from a clump in the parking lot to its full length along the street. Hundreds of people were clustered behind the sidewalk barricades shouting and waving. Teed had been right. The crowd was even bigger than usual. Fisher swallowed hard. Nothing bad would happen. Nothing bad could happen.
Ahead of the Gemini shuttle was a marching band from a nearby high school. The trombones were a little warbly, but the sound was solid overall.
Fisher looked down to check the radar and it was right on target, the dots and clumps moving just as they should be.
“Hey, Fisher,” Alex said, “how many snare drummers are in that band?”
“I didn’t count,” Fisher said. “Four, maybe?”
“That’s what I thought,” Alex said. “There are eight now.”
Fisher looked up from the radar screen, his heart ramping up to panic speed. Eight snare drummers marched in the band. Four of them were real. The other four had to be Gemini, using their powers of transformation to disrupt the parade. After a moment, Fisher saw which were the impostors: four of them abruptly changed tempo, speeding their beat up to double time. About half the band tried to follow their rhythm, marching at double the speed of the rest of the band. Ringing crashes rang out as trumpets smacked into tubas, tall hats were swiped off by trombone slides, and bass drums scooped up everything in their path.