by jeff brown
“We scientists,” said Dr. Ep, “dream larger than other men.”
“For three days, at the Science Center,” President Ot went on, “Ep brewed his Super-Gro. Great smelly vats of it, enough for the whole planet. But then … Oh, no Tyrran will ever forget that fourth day! I myself was strolling through Ux Park. How beautiful it was! The trees and grass so green, the sky—”
“Green?” said Arthur. “But everything’s brown here, not green!”
“A mishap,” murmured Dr. Ep. “With the Super-Gro.”
“Mishap?” barked General Ap. “The stuff exploded, Ep! All over the place!”
“Well, nobody’s perfect.” Dr. Ep hung his head.
“All those huge vats, Lambchops!” President Ot continued. “Boom! One after another! Shattered windows, blew the roof off the Science Center! No one hurt, thank goodness, but great clouds of smoke, darkening the sky! And then—such dreadful luck!—it began to rain. A tremendous rain, mixing with the smoke, falling all over Tyrra, into the rivers, on to every field and garden, every bit of greenery.”
Rising from his thumbtack, he paced back and forth across the table.
“When the rain stopped, there was no green. None. Just brown. Worse, Ep’s tests proved that our water was undrinkable, and that nowhere on Tyrra would anything grow. I broadcast at once to the nation. ‘Do not despair,’ I said, ‘Tyrra will soon recover.’”
“Oh, good!” Mr. Lambchop said.
President Ot shook his head. “I lied. I couldn’t tell the truth, for fear of causing panic, you see. The tests showed that it would be a year at least before Tyrra was green again. And long before that we will have emptied our last tin, our last bottle of Fizzola.”
He sat down again, covering his face with his hands.
“So then we … We sent a message, into space. Lure some other planet’s spaceship, we thought. Hold it for ransom, you see, make them send food and water. Oh, shameful! Underhanded. You will never forgive us, I know …”
His voice trailed away, and there was only the patter of the rain.
Close to tears, the Lambchops looked at each other, then at the little people on the tabletop. The Tyrrans seemed particularly tiny now, and brave, and nice.
“You poor dears!” Mrs. Lambchop said. “There was no need to conquer us. We would help you willingly, if we could.”
The Tyrrans seemed at first unable to believe their ears. Then, suddenly, their faces shone with joy.
“Bless you!” cried General Ap.
“Saved!” Mrs. Ot clapped her hands. “We are saved!”
“Saved …?” said Mrs. Lambchop.
“Of course!” said President Ot. “Don’t you see? Earth’s spaceships can bring food and water till— Oh! What’s wrong?”
It was Arthur who explained.
“I’m very sorry,” he said. “But there’s just the Star Scout. Earth hasn’t got any other spaceships. And it would take years to build them.”
The Tyrrans gasped. “Years …?” said Dr. Ep.
Stanley felt so sad he could hardly speak. “And it’s no use going for food in the Star Scout,” he said. “By the time we returned from Earth, you’d all be— Well, you know.”
“Dead,” said Mrs. Ot.
In the Star Scout, a terrible silence fell. The facts were clear. The cupboards of Tyrra would soon be empty. And then all its tiny people would starve to death.
Stanley’s Good Idea
The teapot was cold now, and a last cookie crumb lay unwanted on a plate. Gloom hung like a dark cloud within the Star Scout.
“It’s not fair,” Arthur said for the third time. “It’s just not.”
“Stop saying that,” Stanley told him. “That’s four times now.”
“Five,” said Dr. Ep.
General Ap tried to be cheerful. “Ah, well … Still some tinned meat, eh? And plenty of Grape Fizzola. Much to be thankful for.”
“I will never be thankful for Grape Fizzola,” said Mrs. Ot.
“It’s just that …” Arthur sighed. “I mean, Earth has so much food. Millions of people, and there’s mostly still enough.”
The Tyrrans seemed amazed. “Millions? You’re joking?” said President Ot.
“Hah!” said General Ap. “Dreadful crush, I should think. Millions?”
Mrs. Lambchop smiled. “With all our great nations, many millions. And still the numbers grow.”
“Well, here too.” President Ot shook his head. “Youthful marriages, babies one after another. But millions? Our population—there’s just TyrraVille, of course—is six hundred and eighty-three.”
“Eighty-four,” said Mrs. Ot. “Mrs. Ix had a baby last night.”
Now it was the Lambchops who were amazed.
“Just TyrraVille?” Arthur cried. “But TyrraVille’s your capital, you said!”
“Well, it would have to be, wouldn’t it, dear?” said Mrs. Ot.
Stanley shook his head. “On the whole planet, only six hundred and eighty-four Tyrrans! Gosh, I’ll bet—Wait!”
An idea had come to him. Stanley had had exciting ideas before, but none that excited him as this one did.
“Mrs. Ot!” he shouted. “How much do you weigh?”
“Stanley!” said Mrs. Lambchop.
Mrs. Ot was not offended. “Actually, I’ve slimmed a bit. Though not, sadly, in the hips. I’m six ounces, young man. Why do you ask?”
The words rushed out of Stanley. “Because if you’re average, only children would be even lighter, then all the Tyrrans put together would weigh—Let me figure this out!”
“Less than three hundred pounds,” said Mr. Lambchop, who was good at math. “Though I don’t see—” Then he did see. “Oh! Good for you, Stanley!”
“The lad’s bright, we know,” said General Ap. “But what—”
“General!” said Mr. Lambchop. “Summon all Tyrrans here to the Star Scout! Fetch what remains of your tinned food and Grape Fizzola! Perhaps Earth can be your home till Tyrra is green again!”
The Weighing
From each little house on each little street, the Tyrrans came, every man, woman, and child, even Captain Ik with a guard from the jail. The rain had stopped, and the evening light shone gold on the brown field in which the tiny people stood assembled.
President Ot addressed them. “Fellow Tyrrans! I must confess that your government has deceived you! The truth is: It will be at least a year before our fields and streams are fit again.”
Cries rose from the crowd. “We were lied to!” … “Lordy, talk about bad news!” … “We’ll starve!” … “Shoot the scientists!”
“Wait!” shouted President Ot. “We are offered refuge on Earth, if the voyage is possible! Pay attention, please!”
Stepping forward, Mr. Lambchop read aloud from the booklet that had come with the Star Scout.
“‘Your spacecraft has been designed for safety as well as comfort. Use only as directed.’” He raised his voice. “‘Do not add weight by bringing souvenirs aboard or by inviting friends to ride with you.’”
Cries rose again. “That did it!” … “We’re not souvenirs!” … “He said no friends either, stupid!” … “We’ve had it, looks like!”
Mr. Lambchop raised his hand. “There is still hope! But you must all be weighed! Also the supplies you would require for the trip!”
The Star Scout’s bathroom scale, set down in the field, proved too high for the Tyrrans, and the weighing was briefly delayed until Arthur, using the Monopoly board, made a ramp by which they could easily mount.
General Ap barked orders. “Right, then! Groups of twenty to twenty-five, families together! And don’t jiggle!”
The Ots and six other families marched up onto the scale, beside which Mrs. Lambchop stood with pad and pencil. “Seven and one-quarter pounds!” she said, writing it down.
“Next!” shouted General Ap, but the Ot group was already starting down, and another marching up.
Group after group mounted the scale. There was jiggling, due to excited
children, but Mrs. Lambchop took care to wait until the needle was still. Within an hour the entire population of Tyrra had been weighed, along with its supplies of tinned food and Fizzola, and she added up.
“Tyrrans, two hundred and thirty-nine,” she announced. “Food and Fizzola, one hundred and forty. Total: Three hundred and seventy-nine pounds!”
“Are we saved? Or are we too fat?” came a cry.
“Too soon to tell!” Mr. Lambchop called back. “We must see how we can lighten our ship!”
A good start was made by discarding the Star Scout’s dining table and one steel bunk, since Stanley and Arthur could easily share. Then out went Stanley’s tennis balls, extra sweater, and his Chief Pilot zip jacket with the American flag; out went Arthur’s knee socks, raincoat, and a plastic gorilla he had smuggled aboard. Mr. and Mrs. Lambchop added their extra clothing, lamps, kitchenware, the Monopoly game, and at last, the posters of Mexico and France.
The crowd stood hushed as the pile was weighed. Somewhere a baby cried, and its parents scolded it.
“Three hundred and seventy-seven pounds!” Mrs. Lambchop announced. “Oh, dear!” she whispered to President Ot. “Two less than we need.”
“I see.” President Ot, after a moment’s thought, climbed up onto the scale. “Good news, Tyrrans!” he called. “Almost all of us are saved!”
Cheers went up, and then someone shouted, “What do you mean, almost all?”
“We weigh, as a nation, a bit too much,” President Ot explained. “But only four, if largish, need stay behind. I shall be one. Will three more volunteer?”
Murmurs rose from the crowd. “That’s my kind of President!” … “Leave Ik behind!” … “How about you, Ralph?” … “Ask somebody else, darn you!”
The matter was quickly resolved. “I won’t go without you, dear,” Mrs. Ot told her husband, and Captain Ik, hoping to regain popularity, announced that he too would remain.
General Ap was the fourth volunteer. “Just an old soldier, ma’am,” he told Mrs. Lambchop. “Lived a full life, time now to just fade away, to—”
“Hey! Wait!”
Arthur was pointing to the scale.
“We forgot that,” he said. “We can leave the scale behind. Now nobody has to stay!”
Heading Home
“Mr. and Mrs. Ix, and the new baby?” said President Ot, beside his wife on a ledge above the Magnifying Window. “Ah, yes, on the fridge!”
The people of Tyrra were being made as comfortable as possible in the various nooks and crannies of the Star Scout. Stanley and Arthur had cleared a cupboard where Tyrra High School students could study during the trip, and Mrs. Lambchop had cut up sheets to make hundreds of little blankets, and put out bits of cotton for pillows. “Makeshift, Mrs. Ix,” she said now, settling the Ixes on the fridge. “But such short notice. Back a bit from the edge, yes?”
“Short notice indeed,” said Mrs. Ix. “So many—”
“Not to worry.” Mrs. Lambchop smiled proudly. “My son, the Chief Pilot, will call ahead.”
From a nearby shelf, Captain Ik whispered an apology for attempting to paralyze Arthur. “Between you and I, I didn’t really think it would work,” he said.
“Between you and me,” said Mrs. Lambchop. “But thank you, Captain Ik.” She turned to Stanley. “We’re all ready, dear!”
Stanley checked his controls. “Let’s go!”
“Tyrrans!” President Ot called for attention. “Our national anthem!”
Everywhere in the Star Scout, Tyrrans rose, their right hands over their hearts. “Hmmmm …” hummed Mrs. Ot, setting a key, and they began to sing.
“Tyrra, the lovely! Tyrra, the free!
Hear, dear planet, our promise to thee!
Where e’er we may go, where e’er we may roam,
We’ll come back to Tyrra, Tyrra our home!”
The words echoed in the softly lit cabin. Many Tyrrans were weeping, and the eyes of the Lambchops, as they took their seats, glistened too.
“Be it ever so humble, there’s no planet so dear,
We’ll always love Tyrra, from far or from—”
Stanley pressed the “Start” button, and—Whroooom!—the Star Scout’s rockets roared to life.
The singing stopped suddenly, and Mrs. Ix cried out from the fridge. “Oh, my! Is this thing safe?”
“Yes indeed,” Mrs. Lambchop called back.
“Perhaps,” said Mrs. Ix. “But it is my belief that if Tyrrans were meant to fly, we’d have wings.”
Whroooom! Whroooom!
The Star Scout lifted now, gaining speed as it rose. Its mission was done. The strangers who had called from a distant planet were no longer strangers, but friends.
It was all very satisfactory, Stanley thought. The other Lambchops thought so too.
Earth Again
“… real pleasure to welcome you, Tyrrans,” said the President, almost done with his speech. “I wish you a fine year on Earth!”
Before him on the White House lawn, with newspaper and TV reporters all about, sat the Lambchops and, in a tiny grandstand built especially for the occasion, the people of Tyrra.
The Tyrrans were now applauding politely, but they looked nervous, and Mrs. Lambchop guessed why. That crowd at the Space Center for the Star Scout’s landing, that drive through crowded streets into Washington, D.C.! Poor Tyrrans! Everywhere they looked, giant buildings, giant people. How could they feel comfortable here?
But a surprise was in store. Across the lawn, a great white sheet had been spread. Now, at the President’s signal, workmen pulled the sheet away.
“Welcome,” said the President, “to TyrraVille Two!”
Gasps rose from the Tyrrans, then shouts of joy.
Before them, on what had been the White House tennis court, lay an entire village of tiny houses, one for each Tyrran family, with shops and schools and churches, and a miniature railway serving all principal streets. Begun when Stanley called ahead from space, TyrraVille Two had been completed well before the Star Scout’s arrival, thanks to rush deliveries from leading toy stores in Washington and New York.
The excited Tyrrans ran from the grandstand to explore their new homes, and soon happy voices rose from every window and doorway of TyrraVille Two. “Nice furniture!” … “Hooray! Fresh lemonade! No more Fizzola!” … “In the cupboards, see? Shirts, dresses, suits, shoes!” … “Underwear, even!”
The Ots, General Ap, Dr. Ep, and Captain Ik came back to say good-bye, and the Lambchops knelt to touch fingertips in farewell. The TV men filmed this, and Arthur made everyone laugh, pretending to be paralyzed by the touch of Captain Ik. Then the newsmen left, the Tyrrans returned to TyrraVille Two, and only the President remained with the Lambchops on the White House lawn.
“Well, back to work.” The President sighed. “Good-bye, Lambchops. You’re all heroes, you know. Saved the nation.”
“Not really,” Stanley said. “They couldn’t have conquered us.”
“Well, you know what I mean,” the President said. “You folks care to stay for supper?”
“Thank you, no,” Mrs. Lambchop said. “It is quite late, and this has been an exciting but very tiring day.”
It was bedtime when they got home. Stanley and Arthur had a light supper, with hot chocolate to help them sleep, after which Mr. and Mrs. Lambchop tucked them in and said good night.
The brothers lay quietly in the darkness for a moment. Then Arthur chuckled.
“The Magno-Titanic Paralyzer was sort of scary,” he said. “You were brave, Stanley, protecting me.”
“That’s okay,” Stanley said. “You’re my brother, right?”
“I know …” Arthur was sleepy now. “Stanley? When the Tyrrans go back, will their land and water be okay? Will they let us know?”
“I guess so.” Stanley was drowsy too. “Good night, Arthur.”
“Good night,” said Arthur, and soon they were both asleep.
And in time, from the great farness of space, but a far
ness no longer strange or unknown, another message came.
“We are home. All is well.”
And again.
“We are home! Thank you, Earth! All is well!”
The End
ABOUT THE AUTHOR AND ILLUSTRATOR
Jeff Brown created the beloved character of Flat Stanley as a bedtime story for his two sons. He has written other outrageous books about the Lambchop family, including Flat Stanley, Stanley and the Magic Lamp, Invisible Stanley, Stanley in Space, Stanley’s Christmas Adventure, and Stanley, Flat Again! You can learn more about Jeff Brown and Flat Stanley at www.flatstanleybooks.com.
Macky Pamintuan is an accomplished illustrator. He lives in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, with his wife and dog.
For exclusive information on your favorite authors and artists, visit http://www.authortracker.com
OTHER WORKS
DON’T MISS ANY OF THESE OUTRAGEOUS STORIES:
Flat Stanley: His Original Adventure!
Stanley and the Magic Lamp
Invisible Stanley
Stanley’s Christmas Adventure
Stanley in Space
Stanley, Flat Again!
AND CATCH FLAT STANLEY’S WORLDWIDE ADVENTURES:
The Mount Rushmore Calamity
The Great Egyptian Grave Robbery
CREDITS
Cover art by Macky Pamintuan
COPYRIGHT
Stanley in Space
Text copyright © 1990 by Jeff Brown
Illustrations by Macky Pamintuan, copyright © 2010 by HarperCollins Publishers.
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