My Teacher Flunked the Planet

by Bruce Coville

  “Stop!” screamed Duncan.

  The poot stretched until it was about three feet long. “Pooooot!” it cried. “P-O-O-O-O-O-O-T!”

  Then it snapped in half.

  “What did you do that for?” asked Duncan, his voice quavering.

  “I thought you might like a poot of your own,” said Kreeblim. She sounded puzzled by Duncan’s reaction.

  Duncan blinked. Each of Kreeblim’s outstretched hands held a poot identical to the one she had pulled off her shoulder, but only half the size. Was one poot the parent and one the child? Or were they both the same poot, now living in two bodies? It was very confusing.

  Duncan was pale. “Did you hurt it?” he asked, his voice trembling.

  “Not badly,” said Kreeblim. “But the extension of life always involves some pain. Pick one.”

  “Pain or life?” asked Duncan, sounding confused.

  “No, pick a poot,” she replied, exasperated.

  Duncan hesitated, then reached forward and took the small poot that lay quivering in Kreeblim’s left hand. “Thank you,” he said in a voice that sounded like he was far from certain whether he meant it.

  “You are most welcome.”

  Duncan lifted the poot to his shoulder. After a moment it stretched a blob of itself up, patted him on the cheek, and said, “Poot!”

  Duncan smiled and seemed to relax a bit.

  “Time to go,” said Broxholm as he programmed the transcendental elevator to take Susan and Duncan to CrocDoc. I was very fond of CrocDoc (despite the fact that he once took out my brain to examine it!) so I went along to say hello.

  Susan and Duncan flinched as we entered the room. I couldn’t blame them. CrocDoc was nearly seven feet tall, and looked like a human version of a red crocodile.

  “Don’t worry,” I whispered to Susan. “He’s a very good being.”

  She nodded, but didn’t relax.

  “Greetings, Krepta,” said CrocDoc, displaying his teeth. “May the wisdom of the egg be with you.”

  “Greetings, Fixer-of-Bodies,” I replied, touching my forehead in a gesture of respect. Then I translated for him as he asked Susan and Duncan to climb onto his operating tables.

  “I’ll see you guys later,” I said once they were settled. Leaning close to Susan, I added in a whisper, “Don’t worry.”

  Then I turned to Duncan. “Have fun!” I said cheerfully.

  Duncan squeezed his poot, which was still clinging to his shoulder.

  I felt a brief wave of dizziness. I knew I should go to my room to rest, but I decided to visit Hoo-Lan instead.

  I had two reasons for this. First, I was terrified that he might die before we finished our mission; if so, this would be the last chance I would ever have to see him. Second, even though he was in a coma, I suspected he was somehow connected to what had happened to me in the council chamber.

  I took out my URAT, which Hoo-Lan had given to me the day I met him. A URAT (Universal Reader and Translator) is like a pocket computer, but with more information plugged into it than you can begin to imagine. Flipping it open, I requested the code for Hoo-Lan’s room. The screen displayed a pattern of colors. I punched the pattern into the keypad of CrocDoc’s transcendental elevator.

  When the elevator was ready, I stepped through the wall.

  My teacher’s little blue body was floating in the center of a nearly invisible bubble. The bubble was a fancy version of the force fields Broxholm and Kreeblim had used to imprison Ms. Schwartz and Duncan. I call it fancy because it was keeping track of everything from Hoo-Lan’s temperature to the electrical activity in his brain.

  Walking to the bubble, I stared through its clear, curved side. It was strange to see Hoo-Lan, who was one of the liveliest beings I had ever met, lying so still and quiet. His thick white mustache drooped limply beneath his big nose, and his huge eyes were closed. He was glowing, as he had been when he fell into the coma, but the glow was so faint it could barely be seen. I kept thinking of a dying firefly.

  I asked the URAT a question. When it gave me the okay, I placed my hands against the bubble.

  Nothing. No sense of communication, as Susan and I had felt when we touched the force field that held Ms. Schwartz. But maybe that was good, considering what had put Hoo-Lan here to begin with.

  What is so awful about the human brain that it could do this to him? I wondered. I leaned my head against the bubble, trying not to cry.

  To my surprise, Hoo-Lan opened one eye.

  Opened it, then closed it. Very slowly. That was all.

  It took me weeks to figure out what he had just done.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Big Julie

  Seconds after Hoo-Lan opened and closed his eye, another alien came through the wall. This alien—I would say “he” or “she” but you can’t always tell with these beings—had a beetlelike shell on its back, and more arms and legs (or whatever) in front than I could count.

  “Greetings, Krepta,” it said in a language that seemed to consist mostly of clicks.

  “Greetings,” I replied.

  The alien scuttled to Hoo-Lan’s bubble. “We registered a small movement.”

  “He opened one eye,” I replied, lowering and raising my own left eyelid in demonstration.

  The bug-being waved its antennae. “That’s the most he’s done since we put him here!” it clicked. “He must have been aware of your arrival.”

  That made me feel good—though I was still feeling guilty about whether my brain had driven Hoo-Lan into the coma in the first place.

  I watched the bug-being putter around for a bit, then decided to go to my room. As I stepped through the wall a ball of red fur dropped from the ceiling to my shoulder. I jumped in surprise, then relaxed as the furball started to chitter.

  “Hi, Murgatroyd,” I said. Murgatroyd was a skimml. He had been given to me by Fleef and Gurk, two aliens I’d met my first day on the New Jersey, as a kind of get-well present after CrocDoc had taken out my brain.

  “They’re squishy,” Gurk had said, squeezing the skimml so hard that red fur had bulged from the top and bottom of his brown fist.

  “Lots of fur, no bones,” Fleef had explained.

  I gave Murgatroyd a squeeze now. He began to chitter more loudly than before. (He loved being squished.) Cuddling him to my chest, I whispered, “I think you’d better stay here, fella. I’m not sure what’s going to happen down there.”

  I used my URAT to send a note to Fleef, asking her to take care of Murgatroyd while I was gone. Then I started to pack.

  Fifteen minutes later I had stowed everything I wanted in a knapsack I ordered from the synthesizer. Knowing it would be a while before Susan and Duncan were ready to go, I called up a program about undersea life on Hoo-Lan’s planet. But even watching three-dimensional sea creatures swim through the middle of my room couldn’t take my mind off what we were facing. It was almost a relief when Broxholm walked through my wall and said, “Time to go.”

  I followed him to the departure chamber. Duncan, Susan, and Kreeblim were already there.

  No one else came to tell us good-bye and good luck.

  No brass band played to send us on our heroic mission. But that was no surprise, given Broxholm’s feelings about band music.

  Besides, the aliens didn’t think what we were doing was all that heroic. They had given us a last chance before they decided our fate, and we were just doing something that ought to be done.

  I glanced around at the ship, then closed my eyes and stepped into the blue light.

  We materialized in a kitchen. The house we were in belonged to Betty Lou Karpou, which was Kreeblim’s Earth identity. Only something had changed in the few hours since we had left it.

  At first, I couldn’t figure out what it was.

  Then I realized that I could hear someone breathing.

  Someone who wasn’t a member of our group.

  Someone who was very, very big.

  I glanced at Broxholm. He looked wary. Rememb
ering how sensitive his ears were, I guessed that he had picked up the sound of the breathing right away. As I watched, Kreeblim caught the expression on his face. “What is it, Broxholm?” she asked.

  Before he could answer, she noticed the sound, too. Her eyes went wide, and she said a word nearly unpronounceable for a human tongue. It came from deep in her throat, and about the best I can do to represent it is, “Uhrbhighgjououol-lee.”

  Broxholm wrinkled his brow in affirmation.

  Duncan wrinkled his brow, too, but in his case it indicated puzzlement. “Did you say ‘You’re Big Julie’?”

  Broxholm showed the tiniest bit of amusement. “That’s not exactly what she said, but for your purposes, it’s close enough.”

  “Who’s Big Julie?” asked Susan.

  “I AM!”

  The words, spoken in a whisper, rumbled through the floorboards like thunder through a cloud. Duncan screamed and grabbed Susan’s arm.

  “Who said that?” I asked nervously.

  The floor shivered again as the voice whispered, “I DID!”

  “Oh, stop it, Uhrbhighgjououol-lee,” snapped Kreeblim. “You’re frightening our friends.”

  “THEY FRIGHTEN ME!”

  “Broxholm, please tell us what’s going on,” said Susan.

  Broxholm pulled on his nose, which was his way of sighing, and said, “We’ve been assigned a watchdog.” He sounded annoyed.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “The council doesn’t entirely trust Kreeblim and me not to become too fond of you earthlings. So they’ve sent Uhrbhighgjououol-lee to keep an eye on us, to prevent any such fondness from leading us into a bad decision.”

  “You mean this guy is here to keep you from going native?” I asked. If our situation hadn’t been so serious, I would have thought the idea was pretty funny.

  Kreeblim closed her middle eye. “You could put it that way.”

  Susan frowned. “Well, where is he? Is he some weird creature with no body? Did he sink his molecules into the floor?”

  Broxholm showed that hint of amusement again. “Big Julie is hardly a creature without a body,” he said mildly. He started to say something else, but his words were interrupted by that deep voice.

  “I AM HERE,” it rumbled. “COME SEE.”

  Duncan moved closer to me. I gave Broxholm a questioning look.

  “It’s all right,” said Kreeblim. “He won’t hurt you. Yet.”

  “Yet?” asked Susan.

  Brotholm showed his purple teeth. “Big Julie does not like earthlings very much. I suspect one reason he was chosen to keep an eye on us is that he is one of the most vocal supporters of the blow-up-Earth-today faction. Even so, you might as well go meet him.”

  “The breathing sounds like it’s coming from down the hall,” said Susan. She glanced at Broxholm, who wrinkled his brow in affirmation. Reaching out, she took my hand.

  The slow, steady sound of Big Julie’s breathing filled the air.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Springing Susan

  Imagine you’re walking down a hall in a house that belongs to an alien. You’re scared, but not too scared, because the alien has turned out to be fairly friendly. Still and all, you know this is a pretty weird place.

  Filling the air around you, so slow you can hardly make it out, yet unmistakable once you’ve noticed it, is the sound of incredibly deep breathing—as if someone were trying to take a deep breath, and then couldn’t stop, but just kept breathing in, in, in. And then, finally, the seemingly endless exhalation.

  “There,” I whispered, pointing to a closed door.

  Susan nodded. Duncan said nothing, but took a deep breath himself.

  We moved closer. I could feel air moving around my feet.

  “Should we knock?” Duncan whispered.

  “It might sound aggressive,” Susan replied.

  “Then let’s just talk to him,” I said. Raising my voice a bit, I called, “May we come in?”

  “NO!”

  “Maybe we should just go,” whispered Duncan.

  Before I could answer, the voice spoke again. “YOU CAN’T COME IN BECAUSE YOU CAN’T COME IN. BUT YOU CAN OPEN THE DOOR.”

  I reached forward, turned the doorknob, and pulled. Then I screamed.

  I don’t feel bad about that. I bet you would scream, too, if you found yourself face to face with an eyeball taller than you are.

  At least I knew why Big Julie had said we couldn’t come in. There was no room! His vast body—green and brown, if the bit of flesh I could see at the bottom of the door was any indication—took up every bit of space available on the other side of the door.

  “GREETINGS, LITTLE ONES. DID YOU HAVE A GOOD TRIP?”

  “What do you care?” asked Susan, her voice bitter.

  Big Julie blinked, his eyelid moving so slowly it looked like a shade being pulled over a window, then raised again. The blink made me think of something, something that seemed important. Only I couldn’t figure out what it was.

  “I HAVE NO GRUDGE AGAINST YOU. IT’S YOUR SPECIES THAT TERRIFIES ME.”

  I didn’t want to get into that debate again, so I decided to change the subject. “How did you get in that room? Did they beam you into it?”

  “I CAME DOWN IN PIECES.”

  “Eeuuw!” cried Duncan. “That’s disgusting.”

  Big Julie’s sigh made the floor shake. “ONE OF THE MANY PROBLEMS WITH YOUR PEOPLE IS YOUR DISGUST WITH THE MATTER OF LIFE. LISTEN!”

  He belched, which made the walls of the room rattle.

  “HEAR THAT? IT’S THE SOUND OF LIFE IN ACTION. PROCESS. BIOLOGY. STOP IT, AND YOU’RE DEAD. HOW CAN IT BE DISGUSTING?”

  “It was lovely,” I said. “Please tell us more about coming down in pieces.”

  “WHAT WAS ONE CAN BECOME MANY,” he replied. “WHAT WAS MANY CAN BECOME ONE. YOU JUST HAVE TO KNOW HOW TO DO IT.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Duncan, his curiosity overcoming his fear.

  “JUST BECAUSE SOMETHING IS SPLIT DOESN’T MEAN IT’S BEEN DIVIDED.”

  “Thanks for the clarification,” muttered Duncan.

  I was trying to figure out what to ask next when Broxholm came down the hall. He stopped in front of Big Julie and touched his forehead in a gesture that my translator told me indicated formal respect, but not friendship. “We need to make some plans,” he said. “So if you will excuse us . . .”

  “PLAN AWAY,” said Big Julie. His voice was jovial, as if he knew that whatever we did, it wouldn’t make any difference.

  “I don’t understand how he can keep an eye on you if he can’t leave the room,” I said as Broxholm led us back to the kitchen.

  “Man, if that guy kept an eye on you, it would squash you flat!” said Duncan.

  “Kreeblim and I will have to report back to him on a regular basis,” Broxholm explained. “If he suspects we are becoming too involved, he will communicate his worries to the ship, and we will be called back. Also, he can, I suspect, detect anything said within these walls.”

  “THAT’S RIGHT!”

  I was hoping we might sit down and eat when we got back to the kitchen. But as we walked through the door Susan glanced at the clock. “Oh, no!” she cried. “I was supposed to be home half an hour ago!”

  With all that had happened in the last several hours, I had completely forgotten that when the evening started she had told her parents she was going to a school dance. She had left the dance to sneak into Kreeblim’s house, hoping to find Duncan, and ended up getting dragged into space and having brain surgery. Under the circumstances, I didn’t think half an hour late was that bad. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the kind of excuse Susan’s mother would understand.

  “If I don’t get home soon, I’ll be grounded for life,” she groaned.

  “Your parents can’t ground you,” said Duncan. “You have to save the world.”

  “You tell that to my mother,” snapped Susan. Suddenly she looked nervous. “You are going to let me go ho
me, aren’t you?” she asked, turning to Kreeblim.

  Kreeblim’s lavender hair leaned to the right. “We have to. When I abducted Duncan, people were willing to believe he had run away. They were upset, but not suspicious.”

  Actually, I doubted that anyone except his mother was even upset. I could remember nights when I had prayed that Duncan would run away. Of course, he was different now. But I suspected that not many people had gotten used to that idea.

  Kreeblim was still talking. “If you were to disappear as well, it could cause a panic. Given the events of last spring, people would connect your disappearance to our work.”

  She glanced at Broxholm when she said this, twitching her nose sharply to the left. The gesture told me something I hadn’t realized before: she was Broxholm’s boss! The nose-twitch was a reminder that she thought he had been careless last spring when he had let Susan and the school band overcome him. They had used music, which affects Broxholm ten times worse than fingernails scraping on a blackboard affects us. (I happen to know that he had had special ear filters installed since that incident.)

  That information was passed in less than a second. Kreeblim didn’t even pause in what she was saying. “While a panic about your disappearance would not stop us, it would create problems I would rather avoid at the moment.”

  “So what do we do now?” asked Susan. She sounded cranky, which was unusual for her. I realized she must be very tired.

  “To start with, I’ll call your home, as Betty Lou Karpou, and tell them it’s my fault you’re late. I’ll say I asked you to help me clean up after the dance and we lost track of time.”

  Susan smiled. “That ought to work. Mom loves it when I help my teachers.”

  Kreeblim pulled her poot off her shoulder and handed it to Duncan. He looked at it for a moment, and then held it at arm’s length. I think he was afraid it might try to merge with his own poot, which was resting on his shoulder.

  Susan recited her number to Kreeblim, who had moved to the phone. She dialed, waited, then spoke quietly and calmly to Mrs. Simmons. After a few minutes she extended the phone to Susan, who talked briefly, then hung up and said, “If you can get me home in half an hour, I’ll be safe. Then all we have to do is figure out how to get me free from school for the next month!”