The EngiNerds Strike Back

by Jarrett Lerner

  After what seems like an hour, but really must be only a couple seconds, Kermin takes a step down the ramp, closer to me.

  “Careful, Kermin,” says the other alien, who evidently goes by the name Muckle. “Recall that Chief Scientist Fliffersnapper could not determine whether or not human beings’ stupidity is contagious.”

  “I recall,” Kermin says. “But the pupperoni is in very close proximity to the human and its stupidity, and he does not appear to have been infected. The pupperoni appears to be as observant and insightful as ever.”

  Without moving my head, I aim my eyes down at Kitty. He’s just sitting there beside me, breathing hard, his slobbery tongue drooping goofily out of his mouth.

  “I suppose you are correct, Kermin,” says Muckle.

  At which point Kermin takes another step down the ramp.

  Followed by another.

  And then a few more, the fear in my body building with each one.

  The alien pauses there before taking one last step, which brings him off the ramp and onto the pavement of the street. He’s now just a few yards away from me, and once Muckle, still up at the top of the ramp, sees that his pal hasn’t fallen down in a fit of human-induced idiocy, he comes down and joins him.

  “GREET-TINGS, HUE-MAN,” Kermin calls to me, separating every syllable and taking it nice and slow. “I AM KER-MIN-FLAP-PER. THIS IS MY AH-SOSH-EE-IT MUCK-ULL-MICK-DUNK.”

  “YOUR PLAN-ET,” Muckle shouts in a similar fashion, “IS BOTH FASS-SIN-ATE-ING AND BE-YOU-TIFF-ULL.”

  My eyes go wide, and I feel a hint of hope stir in my stomach.

  Because if these aliens find our planet fascinating and beautiful, maybe they’ve changed their minds about demolishing it and just haven’t informed Bem yet.

  “Wow,” I say, taking it slow myself, worried about possibly saying the wrong thing. “Uh, thanks. And, yeah—I mean, I agree.”

  I look around. First at the little tree standing in the middle of one of the nearby lawns, its branches crisscrossing and creating diamond patterns against the sky. Then at the bush that sits at the tree’s base, studded with bright red berries and awash with movement from a gentle breeze. And then at the grass-covered ground around it all, beneath which, I know, curl and twist an incredible nervous system–like network of powerful roots.

  “It really is fascinating and beautiful,” I say, turning back to the aliens. “I’m glad you think so.”

  “YES,” shouts Kermin. “THINK SO WE DO.”

  And then Muckle says, “WE WILL NOW PRO-SEED TO METH-OD-IC-AL-LEE DEE-MOLL-ISH IT.”

  29.

  KERMIN LIFTS HIS HAND AND aims a thin silver cylinder at the bush whose fascinating beauty I’d just been admiring, and a split second later—well, it’s gone.

  Like, gone gone.

  Like, it’s no longer there.

  Like, it’s just been, in the literal blink of an eye, wiped out of earthly existence.

  In the bush’s place sits a small pile of greenish-brown dust, the size and shape of an anthill.

  This is, without a doubt, the most bafflingly terrifying thing I have ever seen—and remember, just yesterday I was dodging the superfast farts of an extremely angry robot. But that’s nothing compared to this. I’ve reached a brand-new level of terror. My brain feels like it’s tumbling down a never-ending mountain, and I’m all of a sudden shivering and sweating at the same time. I want to run. I really, really want to run. But I’m also intensely aware that running won’t accomplish anything—besides maybe getting me turned into a pile of dust faster than I might otherwise be turned into one, that is.

  I turn back to the aliens just in time to see Muckle reach for the silver cylinder in his associate’s hand.

  My brain fills with noise, like someone just cranked up the volume knob on my thoughts.

  No no no no please No please NO PLEASE—

  Kermin pulls the weapon away before Muckle can grab it.

  “Kermin,” Muckle says. “You claimed we could take turns employing your zap-cannon.”

  “I recall, Muckle,” says Kermin. “But my turn has not yet expired. I am allowed multiple zaps per turn. I am allowed… four zaps.”

  Muckle glares at Kermin.

  “You have just invented this rule,” he claims. “That is not reasonable.”

  Kermin lifts his chin. “You may employ your own zap-cannon, then.”

  “I have previously informed you, Kermin, that I have misplaced my zap-cannon.”

  “And I ask you, Muckle—was that my failing? I believe not. Now, if you are able to pardon me, I have a planet to methodically demolish.”

  Kermin aims the silver cylinder at the tree, the one that had only seconds ago had a beautiful, fascinating bush at its base.

  And I know I need to hurry up and do something.

  Unfortunately, my terror seems to have transformed me back into a sweat-drenched steel rod.

  But luckily for me—and for the rest of the planet, too—I don’t end up having to do anything.

  For now, at least.

  Because before the alien can reduce anything else to dust, Kitty throws his head back and lets out a loud, commanding bark.

  30.

  KERMIN LOWERS THE ZAP-CANNON AND turns to Kitty.

  “The pupperoni,” he says to Muckle. “It would appear he wishes to speak.”

  As if to confirm this, Kitty lets out a whole round of barks.

  “Rarf! Rarf! Rarf! Rarf!”

  Kermin angles his head, tipping his ear so it’s aimed directly at Kitty.

  “Please, pupperoni,” the alien says. “Proceed.”

  Kitty once again barks:

  “Rarf! Rarf-rarf RARF!”

  Kermin, meanwhile, has his face scrunched up in concentration.

  “Kermin,” Muckle says after a moment. “I ask you to recall that Chief Scientist Fliffersnapper was unable to decipher the complicated language of the pupperoni.”

  Kermin’s face falls into a frown.

  But only for a second.

  Then he’s turning to me, hope brightening his big, otherworldly eyes.

  “HUE-MAN,” Kermin calls to me.

  “Uhh,” I say. “Yes?”

  “I UNDERSTAND THAT YOUR SPECIES HAS A VERY LIMITED MENTAL CAPACITY. THAT, DESPITE HAVING RATHER LARGE BRAINS IN YOUR SKULLS, YOU EMPLOY ONLY A VERY SMALL FRACTION OF THEIR POWER, AND TYPICALLY DO SO FOR INANE, SELF-DESTRUCTIVE PURPOSES. HOWEVER, YOUR SPECIES HAS EXHIBITED A SMALL AMOUNT OF CLEAR THINKING AND SENSE BY DECIDING TO SURROUND YOURSELVES AND POPULATE YOUR PLANET WITH SEVERAL VASTLY SUPERIOR SPECIES. AN EXAMPLE: CANINES.”

  Here Kermin pauses to point—and smile—at Kitty.

  Kitty says:

  “RARF!”

  “I ASK YOU,” Kermin says, addressing me again. “IS IT POSSIBLE THAT YOU, DUE TO EXTENSIVE AMOUNTS OF EXPOSURE AS OPPOSED TO ANY INNATE OR ACQUIRED COGNITIVE ABILITIES, HAVE BECOME ABLE TO COMPREHEND THE PUPPERONI TONGUE AND CAN RELAY THE MEANING OF HIS RARFS TO US?”

  It takes me a minute to pick all this apart.

  But I’m pretty sure the alien is saying something along the lines of this:

  I know you’re super stupid, just like all the rest of humanity. But clearly you’re not SO stupid that you can’t see how awesome dogs are. Is there any chance that, since you’ve spent a lot of time with dogs, you can understand their language and can translate it for us?

  Once I’ve got all this straight in my head, I look down at Kitty, and he looks up at me.

  And I wonder…

  Could he be as brilliant as these aliens seem to think he is?

  As much as I love him—and I love Kitty as much as anything or anyone on the planet—I’ve always thought of the pooch as having, well, a particularly “limited mental capacity.”

  But am I the dumb one?

  Is it just that I can’t fathom Kitty’s intelligence?

  “Kermin,” I hear Muckle say. “It appears the human has fallen asleep. Your query must have overtaxed and exhausted his brai
n.”

  “Negative,” Kermin says. “His eyelids remain flapping. We must allow time for his inferior brain to process my request.”

  “Kitty,” I say. Quietly. So only he can hear. “I don’t know if you understand what I’m saying. But if you do, I could really use your help here. Get us out of this, and I’ll never stop you from licking the kitchen floor again. I’ll never—”

  “HUE-MAN!” Muckle shouts. “CEASE! SLEEPING!”

  I give Kitty one last pleading look, then lift my head.

  “Yeah,” I tell the aliens. “I can, uh, relay the meaning of his rarfs to you.”

  Kermin grins.

  Then says:

  “Excellent.”

  31.

  WHETHER OR NOT KITTY IS actually as smart as the Plerpians seem to believe he is, whether or not he truly understands what it is I’m asking him to do, I don’t know.

  All I know is that he does it beautifully.

  He barks in all the right places and does so with enough tonal variety that it really does sound like he’s speaking a complicated language instead of just, you know, barking over and over again. And after every “phrase” he “speaks,” he waits until I’m done “translating” before he starts up again, like he gets exactly what I’m up to. The pooch even throws in a few dramatic pauses to really sell it.

  It’s either the greatest, most statistically unlikely series of coincidences in the history of human and canine relationships, or the dog’s a downright genius.

  “Rarf!” Kitty says.

  And I translate for the aliens, whose eyes ping-pong back and forth between Kitty and me the entire time:

  “Thank you for allowing me an opportunity to speak.”

  “Ruff-ruff RARF-rarf!” Kitty says.

  And I translate:

  “Welcome to the planet Earth.”

  We go back and forth nearly a dozen times.

  Kitty:

  “Ruff RUFF-ruff rarf ruff!”

  Me:

  “I understand you are here on some very important demolition business.”

  Kitty:

  “RARF ruuuuuuuff?”

  Me:

  “But may I please request a favor of you?”

  Kitty:

  “Ruff-ruff-ruff! Ruff-ruff-ruff! Ruff-ruff-ruff ruff RUFF!”

  Me:

  “We, uh… um… we have a very important… dog meeting tomorrow morning. Yes. A… big dog meeting. A canine conference at, uh… at the one and only Feldman’s Field.”

  Kitty:

  “Rarf-ruff raaaaaaaarf!”

  Me:

  “So if you could maybe refrain from demolishing our planet for a little bit longer…”

  Kitty:

  “Ruff-ruff rarf-rarf! Ruff RARF-RARF-RARF!”

  Me:

  “… that’d be super hugely appreciated.”

  Kitty:

  “RUFF-RUFF rarf!”

  Me:

  “Thank you for considering this request.”

  Kitty:

  “Ruff-ruff-ruff-ruff RARF-rarf!”

  Me:

  “You… magnanimous creatures, you.”

  Kitty:

  “RARF!”

  Me:

  “Okay. I’m done speaking now.”

  Kermin is grinning.

  Muckle looks slightly suspicious.

  Which is worrisome.

  But he’s not the one who makes the final decision.

  “YES!” shouts Kermin. “We enthusiastically agree to the pupperoni’s request!”

  My heart slows.

  My lungs loosen.

  My shoulders sink.

  “We shall refrain from methodically demolishing the remainder of your planet until tomorrow’s morning has ceased,” Kermin goes on. “Demolition will recommence tomorrow at the time you refer to as noon.”

  The alien continues grinning at Kitty for a moment, then directs his attention toward me.

  “It is conceivable,” he says, “that you are not as stupid and useless as you seem to be, human.”

  “Uhh,” I say. “Thanks?”

  And then, just like that, the aliens turn around, climb their ramp, and disappear back into their spaceship.

  32.

  KITTY AND I REMAIN RIGHT where we are as the door of the spaceship closes and is quickly covered up by a swirl of cloud. Seconds later, I can no longer make out any of the ship’s charcoal-colored hull. And then, as quietly as the movements of an actual mass of condensed water vapor, the cloud-draped spaceship lifts off the ground and rises into the air.

  I feel some of my fear drift up and away with it.

  Kitty lifts his head and licks the tips of my fingers, as if he’s comforting me, telling me I can relax.

  I tip my head back to follow the spaceship up into the sky. And just about when it’s fully camouflaged among all the real clouds up there, I hear:

  “Ken!”

  It’s Dan, hurrying up the street toward me.

  Mikaela and John Henry Knox aren’t far behind.

  “Was that the ship?” Dan says, pointing up at the clouds. “I thought I saw it going back up. Did you see the dem—” He gets tripped up on the word. “The demolition crew?”

  I nod.

  Dan, Mikaela, and John Henry Knox peer into the sky to try to see where the ship has gone.

  “What—what happened?” Dan finally asks.

  I look down at Kitty.

  The dog’s staring up at me, the grin on his furry, drool-flecked face as big and stupid-looking as ever.

  “Thanks to Kitty,” I tell my friends, “we’ve got ourselves a little more time to try to save the planet.”

  33.

  I TAKE A SEAT ON the curb.

  I need a second.

  A chance for my brain to catch up.

  To process the fact that I’ve now, in the space of a single day, met and spoken with not one, not two, but three extraterrestrials—and also, maybe even more mind-bendingly, seen just what one of their terrifying little zap-cannons can do.

  “Are you—” Dan starts to ask.

  But he’s interrupted by a

  Beep-beep BOOP.

  Dan digs Bem’s communication device out of his pocket. I guess he stuck it in there before we all rushed out of my house.

  Swiping the screen, angling his head so he can get a better look at the message through all the cracks, Dan reads: “ ‘Tonight on The Bean Show, an interview with global superstar Rooparoopamcsewerswapper.” Dan gives the screen a few more swipes to make sure that’s it, then shoves the thing back into his pocket. “Spam,” he says.

  I take a deep breath, then quickly catch the others up on what went down with Kermin and Muckle.

  “Okay,” says Mikaela, after I finish the part where Kermin told me it was conceivable that I wasn’t as stupid and useless as I seemed to be. “So there’ll be no more zap-cannoning for the rest of the day because of this dog meeting the aliens think is happening. We’ve delayed them, but they’re still planning on zapping the rest of the planet to microscopic smithereens and putting up their billboard tomorrow.”

  Dan offers me a hand and pulls me up onto my feet. Together, we all start back to my house.

  “So…,” Mikaela says. “What are we gonna do?”

  I can only think of two options. One: get down on our knees and beg the aliens to pretty, pretty please let us go on existing. Or two: stand up to them, try to put up a fight against their zap-cannons. Unfortunately, both seem incredibly unlikely to work, so I don’t even bother sharing them with the others.

  Judging by the thick, knotty silence between us, I know none of them have come up with any brilliant ideas either. At least not by the time we turn the corner onto my street.

  And it’s there that my feet freeze and my brain completely short-circuits.

  Because we can see my house.

  And see that Edsley is waiting for us on my lawn.

  And see, too, that he’s not alone.

  Standing beside him is a
robot. A robot who appears to have recently participated in the world’s most epic food fight.

  And just in case there’s any confusion about who it is, he calls out to us:

  “Greee-tings, NIN-com-poops.”

  34.

  IT’S KLAUS.

  The robot, let me remind you, that Edsley built several days ago, after we explicitly told him not to build it.

  The robot, let me remind you, that Edsley upset to such an extent that he attacked the kid and then stormed out of his house.

  The robot, let me remind you, that we then spent several unimaginably stressful days searching everywhere for.

  The robot, let me remind you, who on multiple occasions nearly ended our lives with his fatally speedy farts.

  The robot, let me remind you, who we only just finally managed to subdue and, by removing his limbs and head from his torso, render harmless.

  And now, it appears, Edsley has gone AND PUT THE FLIPPING THING BACK TOGETHER AGAIN.

  More or less.

  Because I’ve got one of the bot’s arms and legs, plus a handful of his hardware, up in my bedroom.

  But Edsley used a duct-tape-reinforced broomstick in place of the bot’s leg, a few braided clothes hangers for an arm, and a couple of ropes to hold the guy’s torso together.

  It’s these little details that finally force my brain to reboot. And since it doesn’t look like Klaus is in much of a butt-blasting mood at the moment, I stomp down the rest of the street and up onto my lawn.

  “MIKE!” I shout on my way. “WHAT—WHAT THE—WHAT THE—”

  Kitty bolts up from behind me a beat after I make it onto the grass.

  “RARF! RARF! RARF!” he roars, running laps around the robot.

  Klaus does his best to keep his eyes on the dog. “The CAY-nine is up-SETT-ing MY eee-QUA-lib-ri-ummm,” he complains.

  A second later, Dan and Mikaela and John Henry Knox are there beside me.

  But before they can say anything—or, you know, just angrily gesticulate and shout, like me—Edsley lifts his hands and pushes them toward us in a calming motion.