The Rise and Fall of El Solo Libre

by Peter Nelson

  “I’m afraid not. We’re just…normal, boring kids.”

  Alex stopped pacing and looked Sammi in the eye. “All this time—I can’t believe you lied to me.”

  Sammi turned away. She felt horrible.

  “Oh, stop it, already.” Herbert walked over with three more dogs, sniffing them with scientific curiosity. “There was no harm done, and you got to believe you were a real live superhero, just as every man, woman, child, and G’Dalien living in Future Merwinsville still believes. A belief, by the way, that I vote we allow to continue.”

  Sammi shot him a stern look. Herbert nodded. “We’ll discuss that later. The main thing to remember is that no one was ever in danger. The chances of an actual alien attack taking place are a tetraquadzillion-to—”

  PLOP!

  Alex’s SuperCheezyFrankOnnaStick hit the floor with a splatter. Herbert and Sammi stared at him. He looked frozen, like he was in shock.

  “Alex?” Sammi asked gently.

  “Oh, no,” he said. “What have I done…”

  He turned and focused on Herbert and Sammi’s confused expressions. He wanted to tell them but knew they couldn’t help him anymore. They were just normal, boring kids now.

  There’s only one person who can help me now, he thought to himself. El Solo Libre.

  “Alex, you’re making me nervous,” Sammi said. “What is it?”

  He shook his head. “I gotta go.” He took one last look at Herbert and Sammi, then Alex ran out of the food court.

  Alex hit the cool, moonlit Merwinsville night air and stopped. He stood in the middle of the mall parking lot and looked up for any signs of Klapthorian Death Cruisers, then remembered the attack wasn’t due for another hundred years. He thought of Herbert and Sammi and felt angry, but also lonely and confused, like he didn’t know exactly who he was.

  How could they do this?

  Staring up at the full moon, Alex wished he could go somewhere and just disappear. Then he remembered something Old Man Herbert had said:

  “If you were suddenly alone, betrayed and friendless in this world, where would you go?”

  Suddenly, Alex realized what he had to do. He ran all the way home without stopping once—the bright, full moon lighting his way.

  The next morning, Alex jumped out of bed and tripped over a mound of dirty clothes on his bedroom floor. The sun was just coming up and his room was still quite dark.

  He pulled his N.E.D. suit out of his closet and slipped it on, then found a large duffel bag on the floor behind his shoes. He unzipped the bag and emptied it onto one of the few empty spaces on the floor. Alex sat down and studied the contents of the duffel bag as if they were some archaeological discovery: his GameTronic portable video game device, a few dozen game discs, various adapter cords, wires, and headsets, and, finally, a stack of VideoGamer Monthly magazines.

  As he looked down at it all, he got a tickle in his memory. Did I really used to like video games? He felt a sudden itch to flip through the magazines, throw in a disc, and play for a few hours. But he stopped himself. He had something far more important to do.

  Alex rummaged through a pile of dirty clothes, found his damp, striped beach towel, and tossed it into the duffel bag. He opened his underwear drawer and grabbed the cleanest pair of tighty-whities he had. He reached under his pillow and pulled out the blue and silver Mexican wrestling mask his Uncle Davey had brought back from Guadalupe. He folded it gently and placed it along with his tighty-whities in a ziplock plastic bag. He threw it in the duffel bag, zipped it up, and headed for the door.

  The last thing he grabbed as he ran out of his bedroom was the summer camp brochure his mom had left for him to look at.

  Alex’s dad was downstairs in his pajamas, hot cup of coffee in one hand, game controller in the other. He’d just fired up the TV and was preparing for battle when he spotted Alex.

  “Hey, big guy! You’re up early. You wanna play?”

  For a split second, Alex considered it.

  “Maybe later.”

  Mr. Filby smiled, then noticed the duffel bag.

  “Oh,” Alex explained. “Mom signed me up for that supercool summer camp weekend sleepover in the park. I was so excited I couldn’t sleep. I’m gonna head down there on my bike, pick out the best site, and see if I can make some new friends. Okay?”

  “Okay? Your mom will be thrilled!”

  “Yeah. I know. Tell her I’ll see her on Sunday.”

  “Have fun, champ. Oh, and wish me luck. Today’s the day I’m gonna defeat that stinky Leacacosian Emperor, I can feel it!”

  As Alex started toward the door, something popped into his head. He stopped and turned back.

  “Try using your Chromium Shield to deflect the Emperor’s FusionBlasts back at the green crystal in the center of his third eye.”

  His dad gave him a surprised look. Alex smiled at him, then walked out the front door. Where did that come from? Alex wondered to himself.

  Andretti’s Pizzeria was the only building in Present Merwinsville that still stood in Future Merwinsville, preserved as an historical building.

  Alex climbed up onto the rooftop of the old brick pizza place and found an air-conditioning vent. He stuffed the duffel bag deep inside and gave it a pat. “See you in a hundred years or so,” he said.

  Looking out across present-day Merwinsville, Alex could see nearly all of downtown. It looked so different without the shiny-white, football-shaped towers from the future. Alex wondered if a Klapthorian attack would destroy all those G’Dalien-designed buildings and if Future Merwinsville would then go back to looking just like this—his normal, boring little town. He shivered a little at the thought of this.

  “Not on my watch,” he said to himself.

  He climbed down the fire escape ladder, got on his bike, and headed for his backyard jungle gym.

  “Ew.”

  Sammi stood beside Herbert in the doorway, hesitating at the sight of Alex’s incredibly messy bedroom. Taking a deep breath, they stepped over piles of clothes, toys, and leftover snacks, trying to avoid touching anything as they approached his closet.

  “So if it’s in here, we can conclude he’s at camp, like his mom said,” Herbert said. “If it isn’t—”

  “Just cross your fingers that it’s in here,” Sammi said.

  “I don’t believe in superstition. It isn’t scientific.”

  “Neither is Alex. Do you believe in him?”

  Herbert looked at her as he put his hand on the doorknob.

  “I’m more curious to see if he still believes in us.”

  Herbert opened the door. Alex’s N.E.D. suit was gone. Taped to the hanger was a note, scribbled in Alex’s messy handwriting.

  Alex popped out of the wormhole, rolled a few feet across the caveman diorama, jumped to his feet, and dusted himself off.

  “Whoa! That was totally cosmic!”

  A little boy about the age of Alex’s little sister stood alone at the railing. His mouth was opened wide, and he’d just dropped his NeonPop TurboSucker.

  “Wow! A real live AlienSlayer!”

  Alex reached behind one of the fake rocks and pulled out one of the rubber G’Dalien suits Chicago had stashed there. He looked down at the kid staring wide-eyed at him.

  “We’ll see, kid.”

  He hopped the railing, picked up the boy’s lollipop, and handed it to him. Then he ran down the Hallway of Human History, disappearing around the corner. The kid turned back to the caveman diorama and stared at the solid, black-painted, fake cave entrance, waiting for something else to pop out. A voice from far down the hall called to him.

  “Sorry, son! That exhibit’s temporarily closed!”

  Dallas jumped out of the AirCart and began setting up the barricade. EL-ROY helped the little kid to the other side of the hall as Sausalito drew the curtain back.

  Chicago hopped the railing and looked back at the kid before disappearing behind the curtain. “Gotta make a few repairs.”

  The kid t
urned to walk off down the hall. “No duh. It’s totally leaking AlienSlayers.”

  Alex made his way through the squeaky-clean streets of Merwinsville, unnoticed in his baggy G’Dalien costume. He was trying not to look too panicked as he flopped his way toward Andretti’s Pizzeria. By the time he ducked behind the historically preserved building, he was sweating swamp buckets.

  Up on the rooftop of Andretti’s, Alex shed his rubbery skin, stuck his hand inside the air-conditioning vent, and immediately pulled it back out. It was covered with cobwebs.

  He took a deep breath. If he was going to be a solo AlienSlayer, he’d have to face much scarier things than cobwebs. He mustered his courage, reached back in, and yanked his duffel bag free from the sticky mess.

  “Yes!” he said in a deep, action movie–type voice. “El Solo Libre triumphs once again!”

  He shook off a century’s worth of dust and grime and zipped open the duffel bag. His heart sank—he was met with a stench so musty and nasty it would’ve made his bedroom smell like a perfume shop.

  Alex stared into his bag. It was covered with slimy greenish-brown mold. He mustered more courage, shut his eyes, and reached into the muck.

  SHHLORRP! He pulled out the striped beach towel, which was completely covered in cold, green slime. He tossed it aside. SPLAT! It stuck to the wall of the stairwell. Alex slid his hand into the goo again.

  He pulled the ziplock plastic bag out of the same moldy filth, wiped it off, and smiled as he unzipped it. Out tumbled his tighty-whities, as clean as the day his mother bought them for him.

  “Woo-hoo! El Solo Libre outwits the slimy green Mold Monster! Haven’t even suited up yet and I’m two for two!”

  He slipped the tighty-whities on over his N.E.D. suit, then looked down at the last thing in the plastic bag—the shiny blue and silver Mexican wrestling mask his Uncle Davey had brought him back from Guadalupe.

  “Hola, mi amigo.”

  Alex pulled the mask on over his head.

  His beach towel now a slimy heap of mold stuck to the wall, Alex was in need of a new cape. He came across a dusty old flour sack in a heap of pizzeria trash. The pull strings were torn and frayed but long enough for him to tie to the back of his N.E.D. suit. He fastened the cape, stepped back outside onto the roof, and walked over to the edge.

  Feeling his mask on his face and hearing his flour sack cape fluttering in the breeze gave Alex a unique sensation, to say nothing of the newness of wearing underwear on the outside of his pants. He stepped to the ledge and looked out at the city of Future Merwinsville.

  He stared out at the massive, glimmering G’Dalien-designed buildings he’d imagined being wiped out by Klapthorian Death Cruisers. As he stood there, he vowed to protect them.

  Past, present, or future, he thought to himself, this is my town. My planet. My home.

  “And no stink-suckin’ space shrimp is gonna kick me and my friends off it,” he suddenly blurted out. “Or my name isn’t…EL SOLO LIBRE!!!”*

  LO-PEZ was stuffed into the driver’s seat of the mayor’s newly waxed SkyLimo. Munching on a sandwich, he slammed the accelerator lever with his free tentacle and the towering buildings blurred past the windows. He licked a bit of mustard off his cheek and used another tentacle to jerk a red joystick to the right. The sleek, silent flying shuttle turned sharply, barely avoiding a floating MonitOrb advertising the Great G’Dalien Flee-Festival on Saturday.

  Not that anyone sitting in the back could read it. Herbert was pale and sweaty, groaning with each sharp turn LO-PEZ made.

  “I can’t believe you told Alex,” Chicago said to Sammi.

  “It didn’t feel right to keep lying to a real friend.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Never mind. I didn’t think you’d understand.”

  “Y’know what? Think whatever you want. I don’t care. LO-PEZ, let me out of here, now.”

  Without missing a beat, one of LO-PEZ’s tentacles hit a switch on the console.

  SPROING! Chicago’s seat launched out of the SkyLimo, into the air, with Chicago in it. Sammi looked back and saw a tiny speck in the sky, then a parachute pop out. Chicago drifted over the city.

  “Neat trick. Thanks, LO-PEZ.”

  “My pleasure. I always thought you could do better.”

  “Ugh, do me next. I want out of this thing…” Herbert’s eyes were shut tight and his cheek was pressed against the window.

  LO-PEZ yanked back on the joystick. The mayor’s SkyLimo lunged skyward so fast that Herbert felt like his stomach had dropped into his butt. He turned pale, put a hand over his mouth, and tried to think about ginger ale and salty crackers.

  Sammi was sad about Chicago, but she was more worried about Alex. She stared out at the approaching SlayerLair atop City Hall, silently hoping he was there.

  LO-PEZ parked the mayor’s SkyLimo and immediately began turbo-vacuuming the sandwich crumbs out of its genuine Corellian-9 leather seats. His two young riders quickly thanked him for the lift and raced inside the SlayerLair.

  Old Man Herbert looked busier than usual, and very concerned. Floating in front of SarcasmaTron, he worked the hundreds of switches and dials while keeping a close eye on the HoloScreen.

  “Mr. Slewg!” Sammi burst in, looking around the room. “We’re looking for Alex! Have you seen him?”

  Old Man Herbert answered without taking his eyes off the HoloScreen. “No. Isn’t he with you?”

  Herbert slowly entered behind Sammi, holding his stomach. The color was just starting to come back to his face. “That needle-brain came through the wormhole by himself, in direct violation of the pre-agreed terms.”

  “I haven’t seen him,” the old man said. “And I’m afraid I have even more potentially troubling news.”

  He hit a button. SarcasmaTron beamed a holographic map of the Milky Way into the center of the room. Everyone gathered beneath the familiar planets circling overhead: Mercury, Mars, Earth, and Venus, all the way to the outer edges of the galaxy, where there loomed a dark, pointy-looking shape. It moved slowly but steadily toward the center of the room—and the planet Earth.

  “What is that thing?” Sammi asked.

  “It’s either a very small, oddly shaped meteor,” Old Man Herbert said, “or a very large, properly shaped alien attack vessel.”

  “But more likely it’s a meteor, right?” Sammi asked.

  “Oh, yes,” said SarcasmaTron. “Because so many meteors nowadays are shaped like attack ships.”

  Herbert’s face began to go pale again. “It’s an alien?! A real one? But you calculated the chances of an attack at a tetraquadzillion-to-one!”

  “And I can’t tell you how embarrassed I am,” the snide computer quipped. “Really. I can’t.”

  Herbert began hyperventilating as he stared at the pointy black shape. It moved past Uranus and was fast approaching Neptune.

  “Take it easy. Maybe they’re friendly,” Sammi offered. “Like the G’Daliens.”

  “Yes!” Herbert said desperately. “They’re friendly, like the G’Daliens! If one alien visitor can be friendly, it’s absolutely logical to extrapolate that a second visitor would also be—”

  “Greetings, inhabitants of Earth. We bring you good news!” The voice interrupted Herbert’s hypothesis. He smiled for a moment—until he saw the Klapthorian’s creepy bug face.

  “This is your Klapthorian Confirmation for Earth’s appointment to be annihilated tomorrow, between the hours of noon and four. We’re happy to let you know that we are on schedule!”

  “Say, you were right,” Sarcasmatron said. “They are friendly!”

  Herbert let out a tiny squeal.

  “Wait.” Sammi stared up at the scaly faced captain. “What do you mean, ‘appointment’? No one here made any appointments with you!”

  She looked around the room. Everyone shook their heads no.

  “IT WAS THE ONE WHO CALLS HIMSELF…‘EL SOLO LIBRE!’”

  The image on the screen fizzled aga
in. Suddenly, they were watching a digital playback of Alex making his intergalactic crank phone call.

  Everyone stood around the room with mouths hanging open, watching as Alex trash-talked an actual Klapthorian captain, double-dog-daring an entire species of alien warriors to attack.

  “SEE YOU IN ABOUT TWENTY-FOUR EARTH HOURS, DEPENDING ON TRAFFIC. HAVE A TERRIFIC DAY!”

  The image fizzled again and disappeared. Sammi was in a state of shock.

  “We have to warn the mayor.”

  “Yes,” Herbert said through gritted teeth. His face had its color back. In fact, it had gone from pale to pink, and was now headed toward a fire-engine ragey-red.

  Alex strutted down Main Street with his chest puffed out and his flour sack cape flapping behind him. Human and G’Dalien heads alike turned as he passed by. Many recognized the silver N.E.D. suit, and they cheered him on—at least until they noticed the Mexican wrestling mask and tighty-whitey underwear. Then their cheers would fade and they’d just stare.

  “Stand aside!” he yelled heroically as he made his way through the confused crowd. “EL SOLO LIBRE, COMIN’ THROUGH TO SAVE THE WORLD!”

  The crowd parted. A mother G’Dalien gathered her four babies in her tentacles. Although he was technically solo, Alex knew he couldn’t fight the Klapthorians technically alone. Problem was, there was only one person he now trusted. And he had a strong feeling he knew where to find him.

  Alex entered the Lunar Shuttle Station and stepped to the back of the ticket line. It was mostly made up of picnicking humans, G’Daliens, and their pets, off for a day of low-gravity family fun on the moon’s LunaPark. Alex was the only one without a packed lunch, Golden Retriever, backpack, or Frisbee. He was also the only one wearing his underpants on the outside of his clothes.

  The ticket agent was a slim G’Dalien with a bow tie and poufed-up toupee. His name tag read FRANK-LIN.