by Peter Nelson
Sammi turned and stormed out of Andretti’s. Herbert watched her, then suddenly realized his booth wasn’t moving. He smiled down at his food.
“Finally,” he said, carefully lifting his last slice of spinach, olives, and mushrooms with extra anchovies pizza.
KERRRRASH! A pizza booth carrying a beefy G’Dalien family slammed into him, smushing the smelly slice all over his face.
GOR-DONNA entered data into SarcasmaTron at lightning speed. She and Alex were surrounded by a dozen empty Mega-Choco-Bomb Root Beer Marshmallow Smoothie mugs.
“BROOOOOAAAARRRRRP!”
GOR-DONNA’s massive belch didn’t slow down her tapping.
“My, you are a charming beauty, aren’t you?” the sassy supercomputer quipped.
“SarcasmaTron!” Alex said. “GOR-DONNA is our guest. And besides that, she’s a lady.”
“Of course she is. And I’m a toaster oven.”
GOR-DONNA hit another button. The HoloScreen on SarcasmaTron came to life. “Okay,” she said. “Contact with Klapthorian operator base established. Let’s hope they pick up.”
Alex put on his game face as the transmission began to crackle and pop. “This is gonna be so cool,” he whispered.
KRRGGT…KRRGGT…FZZZZT! SarcasmaTron’s HoloScreen projection rippled, cutting in and out for a few seconds.
Then it appeared.
Floating in the center of the room was the head of a Klapthorian. The hideous creature’s flesh had the color and texture of a chunk of meatloaf left out in the sun a few million years too long. Popping out on either side of its stubbly, antennaed head were a pair of bulging, bright-yellow eyes with no eyelids. Its unblinking glare gave it a disturbed, angry look. Alex’s first thought was that he would not want to get into a staring contest with this nasty bug monster.
Its jagged beak suddenly snapped open, and the horrible creature spoke.
“Mmm, y’ello?”
“Yeah. You a Klapthorian?”
“Last time I checked!” the horrid creature tittered pleasantly. “And with whom am I speaking, please?”
“I’ll tell you whom you’re speaking with. The greatest AlienSlayer in all the galaxy, that’s who—EL SOLO LIBRE!”
“And how may I help you today, Mr. Libre?”
“You don’t help me. I help you. By changing my mind and deciding not to kick your butt. Which I won’t. So forget it!”
Alex had to fight the urge to burst into an overexcited giggle fit.
“All right, let me just read back your message to you. You’ve come to the decision to change your mind and do a favor by opting against any butt-kicking. Do I have that right, Mr. Libre?”
“Wait. What? No, no! I said I won’t change my mind about not kicking your butt, meaning I will be kicking—”
“I’m sorry. How may I direct your call?”
“Oh. You’re not the leader of the Klapthorians?”
“Ah. Please hold. I’m connecting you now.”
Soft Muzak played.
Alex glanced over at GOR-DONNA. “Try being more direct,” she suggested. “Maybe get to it a little quicker.” Alex nodded. A new Klapthorian face appeared, uglier and meaner than the last one.
“Who is this?”
“El Solo Libre,” Alex said, a little less sure of himself.
“Okay. State your business.”
“Uh, kicking your butt…?”
The creature stared with unblinking eyes for a moment. His beak twisted upward into a tiny grin. “Franglaxx?” He laughed. “You crazy son-of-a-quasar, is that you?”
“No! This is EL SOLO LIBRE! The greatest AlienSlayer in all the galaxy, and sole protector of the G’Daliens!”
“Sorry. The Ga-Dealios?”
“G’Daliens! The alien race you bullied into fleeing from their home planet, like, fifty years ago! Ring any bells?”
“Fifty years?! D’you know how many alien races we bully? I can’t remember whose planet we invaded fifty minutes ago.”
“Well, you invaded the wrong one on that fateful day, space shrimp. You stole my friends’ LUNN-CHMUNNY, and now it’s payback time—El Solo Libre–style.”
There was a long silence. The Klapthorian leader’s stubby little antennae twitched. He spoke slowly and directly.
“What did you say?”
“I said a bunch of stuff. You really want me to repeat it all? Let’s see, I mentioned LUNN-CHMUNNY, said ‘it’s payback time,’ ended with ‘El Solo Libre–style…’”
“No, before all that. You called me…a name.”
“Oh, right. Stinkbug? No…was it dung beetle?”
GOR-DONNA leaned in. “I believe he said, ‘space shrimp.’”
“THAT’S IT!” The Klapthorian leader suddenly shrieked. “NO ONE REFERS TO THE KLAPTHORIAN RACE AS SHRIMP! WE ARE ALL-POWERFUL! YOU AND YOUR PLANET SHALL BE DESTROYED!”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Alex said. “Why don’t you come down here to Earth and just try to destroy us, shrimp-ola!”
“CHALLENGE ACCEPTED! YOU WILL BE ANNIHILATED! PLEASE HOLD!”
The leader slammed its clawlike pincer on a console. Alex was face-to-face again with the nice Klapthorian receptionist.
“Okie-dokie, let’s see here. The earliest availability I have for a global annihilation would be this Saturday, sometime between noon and four. We’ll see you then. Have a terrific day!”
FZZZZT! The Klapthorian disappeared, and the HoloScreen went blank. Alex blinked. Suddenly his tummy hurt. He also had a throbbing ice cream headache.
“Saturday?” he murmured to himself. “But I’ll be camping.”
“BWA-HWAAHWAAHWAA!” The sudden, disturbing laugh stopped Alex cold. He spun around to see his guest jumping up and down excitedly inside the SlayerVator.
“REVENGE SHALL BE MINE!” GOR-DONNA growled in a strangely lower-sounding voice. “SEE YA SATURDAY, SOLO SUCKER!”
The doors closed, leaving Alex sitting alone with his thoughts, his tummy ache, and a very sarcastic supercomputer.
“Well,” SarcasmaTron said. “She seemed nice.”
Sammi and Herbert entered the SlayerLair to find Alex sitting in a squishy chair, rubbing his belly. She eyed the empty smoothie mugs cluttered all over the floor.
“What happened here?” she asked.
“And what’s with all these empties?” Herbert added. “Did you drink all of these yourself?”
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Alex replied, careful not to look either of them in the eye. “I just got a little thirsty.”
“A little? You should have your stomach pumped!”
“Yeah. I need to lie down. I don’t feel too well.”
They both eyed Alex suspiciously.
“In his defense, some of those are mine,” SarcasmaTron wisecracked.
Chicago entered with an armful of rubber G’Dalien suits. “Sorry, guys, it’s time,” he said in a sad tone. “EL-ROY’s gonna have to lead you out again—my Dad’s making me wash and wax the mayor’s SkyLimo.” He looked right at Alex. “Someone got it all scratched up.”
GOR-DON was still chuckling fiendishly to himself as he slunk through the back alley behind City Hall. As he made his way he yanked the yellow wig off the top of his head and kicked the high-heeled shoes off the two tentacles he used as human legs.
“I don’t know how they wear those things.”
“Gordy?”
The giant G’Dalien spun around to face an almost equally large actual woman standing on the sidewalk. Her curly hair was pulled back in a hairnet and she had a puzzled look on her chubby face. It was the same woman from his framed photograph. She stared at his makeup.
GOR-DON straightened up to make himself look taller. “Hello, Marion,” he said. “You’re looking well.”
She looked at his frilly dress. “What are you wearing?”
“This old thing?”
Marion suddenly smiled warmly. “Oh, I get it! It’s your costume for the Great G’Dalien Flee-Festival this Saturday! What
a wonderful tribute to your human hosts! I love it!”
Marion flashed him her T-shirt. It read: I ALIENSLAYERS!
“What are you wearing?!” GOR-DON exclaimed.
“I’m volunteering to help with the event—and I’m hoping they’ll be there so I can meet them!”
GOR-DON’s evil glee quickly turned sour. His eyes welled up, smudging his makeup.
“Your, uh—mascara is running,” Marion noticed.
“How could you?” He began, almost in a whisper.
“Oh, it shouldn’t be too hard,” she said. “I’ll just help people find their seats, pass out banners and flags, maybe lead the crowd in a few cheers—Gimme an A! Gimme an L! Gimme an—”
“I don’t mean how could you help,” he suddenly snapped. “I mean, how could you be a fan of those—pseudo-slayer scum?!”
She gasped and stared at him. He took a deep breath and wiped his face with a tentacle, smearing his makeup across his quivering cheeks.
“All right, Marion. Believe in your precious AlienSlayers for just a little longer. But here—you’re going to want to keep this.”
He handed her a small business card. She stared at it.
“Yep, I got my own place now. Moved out of Mom’s guesthouse, just like you suggested. Well, technically she kicked me out after I lost my job as head janitor because my evil plot for complete domination by causing chaos and unrest between humans and G’Daliens was foiled by your little friends there.”
Marion nodded carefully and slowly stepped away from him as he continued. “But I’ve got another plan in place, so you should stop by. We’ll catch up, talk about old times, await the destruction of the city, and emerge from the rubble to enslave any survivors. I’ll make you that chicken curry you like. With the peas.”
She pocketed the card and continued to back away.
“Seriously, don’t lose that card. Because the day is soon coming when your so-called AlienSlayers will face a real challenger, and they’ll be exposed as the WORTHLESS, LYING FAKERS they are! Then you’ll see! You’ll all see! BWAH-HAH-HAH-HAH!!!”
GOR-DON’s insane laughter echoed off the alley walls for a good long while, until he finally stopped and noticed Marion was gone. He looked around. She was across the street, running away from him as fast as she could.
“She’ll be back.”
Alex, Herbert, and Sammi sat silently in the backseat of the Slewg family station wagon for the entire ride to the Merwinsville Mall. When Herbert’s mom pulled up to the curb, she turned around to face them.
“All right. I want all three of you to march straight to the food court, order your favorite junky food, sit down together, and talk out whatever’s going on between you. Got it?”
Herbert rolled his eyes.
Alex stared out the window.
Sammi said, “Thanks for the ride, Mrs. Slewg.”
The three of them piled out and walked toward the entrance as a group of eighth-grade girls were coming out. Mrs. Slewg honked her horn. Everyone looked up as she stuck her head out and shouted from the car window.
“And Herbie, remember—you’re lactose intolerant! No dairy, or you’ll have the rootsy-tooters all night, okay, sweetie?!”
The girls laughed. Herbie dropped his head and walked into the mall.
At the food court, Sammi got a chicken chimichanga with extra hot sauce. Herbert got a plain burger with no bun and extra anchovies on the side. Alex got a SuperCheezyFrankOnnaStick, with an extra stick.
The three of them sat down and began to eat in silence. Finally Sammi spoke up.
“Somebody say something! I’m sick of fighting.”
Alex and Herbert traded looks.
“All right, I’ll begin,” Herbert said. “I don’t think either of you, but especially Alex, have been respectful of the pre-agreed Rules and Terms we all pre-agreed to.”
“Well, that’s an easy one to solve,” Alex snapped. “My mom’s making me go to sleepaway camp this weekend, so I won’t be going through the wormhole at all for a while. So you and your stupid pre-agreed terms can have fun in the future together!”
“See?” Herbert said to Sammi. “He called the pre-agreed terms ‘stupid.’ This is what I’m talking about. This is the problem.”
“All right, all right,” Sammi said. “Your mom’s really doing that?”
Alex nodded. “She says no more playing ‘spaceman’ with you guys—thinks it’s abnormal.”
“If only she knew,” Herbert said.
“Well,” Sammi said, “I guess that means none of us go through this weekend, and then we’ll just have to see. Maybe it’s time we took a break, anyway.”
Herbert and Alex spat out a sardine and a hunk of hot dog, respectively.
“We’ve been going every day for months! We can’t all just suddenly take a weekend off!” Alex said.
“Alex is right!” Herbert exclaimed. The two boys looked at each other. This was a first. It even sounded awkward. “More important, I’ve got some work I was hoping to finish up in the lab.”
“It’s your rule,” Sammi said. “Either we all go through together, or no one does, remember?”
“Well, technically it was more of a guideline than a rule,” Herbert said.
“I completely agree with Herbert,” Alex said. They looked at each other again (this was starting to get creepy).
Alex’s mind was racing. Someone had to fight the Klapthorians, and Herbert and Sammi were the only ones even remotely qualified. Besides, he thought, defeating this alien menace just might remind the two of them of the importance of being AlienSlayers. “Seriously, you guys. Just because I can’t go this weekend doesn’t mean you shouldn’t. You should. Especially on Saturday, from like noon to four.”
“Do I get a vote?” Sammi asked. “Because I think this weekend is the perfect time to take a break. This big Flee-Festival thing is all about running away from aliens. Not exactly an AlienSlayer-approved message. I say we stay home.”
Herbert took a bite of his anchovy burger. Alex saw he was backing down. It was bad enough that he’d special-ordered a Klapthorian attack for the big day, and that he couldn’t be there to help protect Merwinsville; now, because of him, the city would be completely without any AlienSlayers at all.
“I don’t like this, guys,” he blurted nervously. “What if—what if Saturday’s the day?”
“What day?” Herbert said.
“The day there’s finally another alien attack!”
“Oh, Alex,” Sammi said.
Herbert rolled his eyes.
“What?” Alex exclaimed. “Look, I know the tetraquadzillion-to-one factor, but the ‘one’ in that means there’s still one chance there could be an attack! And if there is, Merwinsville is gonna need you two to do your jobs!”
“There won’t be an attack,” Sammi said. “And even if there were, and all three of us could be there—there’d be nothing we could do to stop it.”
“What are you talking about?” Alex looked at Herbert. “What is she talking about?”
Sammi and Herbert shared a look. “It’s time,” she said.
“Time for what?” Alex asked.
Herbert nodded to Sammi. Then he looked at Alex. “Time to go to the arcade.”
Herbert led Alex and Sammi past rows and rows of kids standing in front of arcade video games, tapping, jumping, shooting, and blasting.
“I just don’t see the point of these things,” Alex said.
“You used to,” Herbert said, pointing up at the wall.
“Wow, who knew there was another Alex Filby in the metropolitan Merwinsville area?”
Sammi put a hand on his shoulder. “There isn’t, Alex.”
Herbert stopped at a large, interactive arcade version of the game AlienSlayer: 3-D! Standing in its stall-like box, facing its big screen, was a six-year-old kid with shaggy hair. He was wearing giant mittens and holding a large plastic staff. He stood in a ready stance, waiting for the next challenge.
There’s so
mething weirdly familiar about this, Alex thought.
The kid crouched in front of the screen as the game announced, “PEOPLE OF EARTH! PREPARE TO BE INVADED BY ALIENS!” All at once, an army of holographic reptilian creatures began to hop out of the screen.
The little boy chopped wildly at his 3-D attackers, swinging the staff, taking them on and cutting them down one by one.
Alex’s eyes suddenly grew wide.
“Hey! Check it out! They made a video game of our victory!”
“Alex—”
Alex cut Sammi off as he stepped up beside the little boy. “Okay, kid. You’re gonna want to use your staff here. Trust me—I know what’s coming.”
The kid gave Alex a look. “So do I, dorkface. I have the high score. Now back off and stop trying to play my game for me.”
“I don’t need to play it, kid. I lived it.”
Alex stepped out and smiled at Herbert and Sammi. They weren’t smiling back.
“A video game of our exact battle?! I knew we were famous, but I didn’t know we were that famous. They must’ve gathered all the heroic details from the future, then come back to the present and designed the—”
He stopped, suddenly confused. “Wait a minute. If that happened in the future, then how’d they—”
Sammi put a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, Alex. I’m so sorry.”
At the food court, Alex paced back and forth in front of the SuperCheezyFrankOnnaStick stall.
“We’re fakes?! Why didn’t you tell me?!”
He held six of the goopy, pierced wieners in his two hands, and Herbert was at the counter ordering him more. He stuffed another SuperCheezyFrankOnnaStick into his mouth.
“Slow down on those things,” Sammi said.
“Sorry,” he said coldly. “I tend to overeat when I’ve been totally betrayed by my friends.” He kept on pacing. “So, we don’t have any alien slaying skills?!”