by Wendy Mass
“So, you know, hard to miss,” I add.
She shakes her head and comes around the side of the counter. “The only alien I’ve seen this morning was a tall, white-haired man in a fancy gray suit. Didn’t even know he was an alien until he ordered some pastries and a coffee and then started to drink the coffee through his nose.”
“Okay, that’s really weird,” I say.
“Yeah,” she agrees. “I tried to make small talk with him, you know, ask him where he was staying during the storm, but before he could answer I turned away for, like, a second, and he was gone. Just slipped away without waiting for his change.”
Dad looks quizzical. “I don’t recall seeing a man like that yesterday. Do you, Archie?”
I think for a minute, then shake my head. “It was really crowded, though.”
Even though Pockets is still acting like a regular cat, I can tell from the angle of his ears that he heard the conversation. He pretends to rub against my leg as he whispers to Vanya, “Let us know if he shows up again, or if the girl in the bubble does.” He motions for me to give Vanya my walkie-talkie. I pull it off my belt loop and she slides it into her apron pocket.
“Will do,” she says. Then she bends down and pets Pockets on the head. Smiling up at me, she says, “Your cat is so cute, how can you stand it?”
Pockets growls.
“You know he’s not really my pet, right?” I ask.
She grins. “I know. But it’s fun to make him squirm.”
“It is fun to make him squirm!” I agree. I like this girl!
Vanya hands me and Dad free bagels (mine has chocolate chips in it, which makes me like her even more!) and Pockets nudges us firmly toward the door.
Once outside, we duck into the alley beside the store and Pockets drops the “I’m just a cute, innocent house pet” act and gets back to business. “Whoever that man is, he’s not supposed to be wandering around.” He pulls out his tablet and taps it angrily a few times, then tucks it away again. “I’d already know his identity by now if this was working!” He sighs. “We’ll just have to keep doing this the old-fashioned way.”
He holds up his walkie-talkie and presses the button. “Simon? You there? Any word?”
Only static comes through. Pockets tries again, with the same result.
“Do you think something could have happened to him?” Dad asks. “Maybe this goes deeper than an alien running away. Maybe she was taken! And now they’ve come back for Simon!”
Pockets shakes his head. “You’ve been watching too much television.”
“Probably,” Dad admits.
“Still, let’s get back there,” Pockets says. “Maybe the girl’s shown up and we can get back to… well, to all the stuff we have to do.”
He looks away as he says that. I get an unpleasant chill down my back but force myself not to jump to any conclusions. As my mom told me once when I used to worry a lot, “Nothing’s wrong till something’s wrong.” Right now we already have one real mystery on our hands, plus we need to get back to Toe. Who knows what Penny’s done to him by now? I pick up the pace.
A few minutes later, Pockets pounds on Simon’s door. It swings open. “Any luck?” Simon asks.
Pockets holds up the walkie-talkie. “Why didn’t you answer?”
Simon reaches over to the hall table and grabs his walkie-talkie from under a pile of outgoing mail. “Oh, this thing? I didn’t know what it was.”
“Really?” I can’t help saying. “I got my first walkie-talkie when I was five.”
Dad leans toward me. “Simon spent most of his childhood away from Earth. His father ran the taxi operations at Home Base.”
Well, that explains it.
“Sorry I missed your call,” Simon says. “But I told your ISF buddy that I didn’t have any more news. Figured he’d pass that on.”
Pockets’ ears flatten. “I didn’t send anyone.”
“No?” Simon looks surprised.
“White-haired guy in a fancy gray suit?” Pockets asks.
“Yup. You ISF agents must make a good living to afford high-quality threads like that.”
Pockets ignores that comment and asks, “Did he drink with his nose?”
“What? No—I mean, I don’t know. He wasn’t drinking anything.”
“What exactly did he say?” Pockets presses.
“He just asked to see the girl, and when I said she wasn’t here anymore, he thanked me politely and left.”
“That’s it?” Pockets asks. He sits down on the porch and begins jotting down notes on a notepad. His pencil tip breaks, and that sends him nearly over the edge. He is not handling this low-tech lifestyle very well. He angrily pulls out another pencil and continues scribbling away. After a full minute of Pockets ignoring the rest of us, Dad and Simon strike up a conversation about boring space taxi stuff like wind drag and the importance of always having a roll of duct tape to patch torn hoses. I’m curious to see the girl’s escape route. I back off the porch.
“Be right back,” I tell Dad, and then hurry over to the side of the house, where Simon pointed earlier.
I tilt my head back and can see the still-open window. It must have been a tight squeeze. And the roof is pretty steep. At some point she would have had to soar through the air in order to reach the ground. I hope that bubble can bounce!
About halfway up the house I spot something yellow—fabric? paper?—stuck behind the rusty brown drainpipe that runs down from the gutter to the ground. At this distance I can’t tell what it is. Part of Bubble Girl’s duffel that ripped off on her way down? I try to remember what color that was, but can’t. It could be nothing, or it could be a clue.
“Pockets?” I call out. “Can you climb a drainpipe?”
Chapter Six:
Cracking the Code
Yup, Pockets can climb a drainpipe. But he doesn’t even need to. He just crouches low and then leaps up into the air, grabbing the yellow object with his teeth. For such a huge cat, he lands with only the slightest plop.
Dad pulls the object out of Pockets’ mouth. It does turn out to be paper—a flyer or an ad for something. Only it’s written in some foreign language. Pockets smooths it out on the ground, turns it a quarter turn, studies it, then turns it again. I’m preparing for that growl of frustration that’s become so common since yesterday, but instead he just sighs and hangs his head.
“It’s my own fault,” he says. “This could be the clue we need, but I didn’t pay enough attention in my classes at the ISF Academy. I figured, why should I bother to learn all those languages when all I have to do is plug them into my tablet or stick in my Translate-Ear? Now I know why.”
I awkwardly pat him on the shoulder. “Don’t feel too bad. A solar storm knocking out all your equipment almost never happens, right? And hey, Toe told me he’s studying to be a teacher. I bet he knows something about alien languages.”
We get home to find everyone around the kitchen table. Mom deposits a fresh stack of pancakes in front of Toe, who is clutching his belly. “I couldn’t eat one more bite,” he sings when he sees us. “Pancakes this good are a total delight!”
“Mom’s pancakes are definitely the best,” I agree. I give Toe a quick once-over to make sure Penny hasn’t decided to pierce his ears or strap her purple dragon to his back. Except for the fact that his wavy fur has been brushed straight, he looks pretty much how we left him.
Now back to being unable to speak since Penny is around, Pockets heads into the living room and curls up in a sunny spot. Ten seconds later, he’s snoring. Whatever else is bothering him, it can’t compete with his need to sleep.
Toe gets to work on the flyer while Dad and I help ourselves to his breakfast. Barney’s bagels are good, but nothing compares to Mom’s pancakes. Bored, Penny wanders off into the living room and curls up next to Pockets. His snores are now mixed with purrs. Penny can always get him to purr, even in his sleep!
“Archie,” Toe sings after making sure Penny can’t hear the question
, “does Pockets have a copy of Aliens ‘R’ Us?”
“He has a lot of books,” I reply. “I’ll go look.” I stop halfway out of the room. “I just rhymed! Well, sort of!”
Toe grins. “You’re a poet and don’t know it!”
Between missions, Pockets likes for us to take him to the local public library. He always comes home with an armload of books on all different topics. But now all his books are packed in one big box, and a suitcase sits in the middle of the closet floor. With all his built-in pockets to carry stuff, Pockets never needs a suitcase. Unless… unless he’s going away on a long trip and hasn’t told us? Is that what’s bothering him?
I sort through the books until I find the one Toe asked about. It must be one Pockets brought from home. A book describing all these different aliens would be handy to have on our visits to Akbar’s. Actually, it would have been handy to have yesterday at Barney’s!
I bring it back to the kitchen and Toe flips to a section at the end. It has a chart with all the letters of the alphabet in different boxes. He points to the page and sings, “Sorry to take so long. We were doing this all wrong! It’s not a language, it’s a code! That is what the book here showed. Every letter stands for another. Is it okay if I hug your mother?”
He jumps up, hugs a surprised Mom, and sits back down. I’m pretty sure he did that just so his song would rhyme!
Dad picks up the flyer. “So if A equals Z, and B equals Y, and C equals X, etc., then this should be easy to figure out!”
He grabs pencils from the drawer and we all begin writing the real letters under the fake ones. Slowly a message emerges.
Come to 37 Main Street and make new friends! B.U.R.P. will be hiring for many new positions. Salary dependent on experience and how much we like you. Cookies and lemonade will be served.
“Someone is recruiting for B.U.R.P.!” Dad exclaims. “On Earth!” He shudders. “B.U.R.P. has never made it this far into the galaxy before. We thought we were safe.”
“And the girl had this flyer,” I remind him. “That’s where she went—to the meeting!” As hard as it is to believe that the girl would want to work for the universe’s most villainous villains, one thing I’ve learned from being an ISF deputy is that you can’t judge people by how they look. And sometimes the bad guys aren’t always all bad, like the first time we saw Sebastian and he was feeding hungry cats. It can be confusing who to trust.
Toe shouts, “We figured it out, without a doubt!”
From his spot on the living room floor, Pockets springs up into the air. “You figured it out?” he shouts before hitting the ground at a run. Toe is happy to show him the newly decoded flyer.
I’m the only one who notices Penny sitting in the center of the living room floor, her mouth hanging open.
Chapter Seven:
Secrets and Sisters
I’m only half listening as Dad calls the other taxi drivers to find out if any of their houseguests got the same flyer. Four aliens admit they got one but say they couldn’t read it and threw it out. Another figured it out (he has a brain the size of a watermelon) but has never heard of B.U.R.P. because he is from a very peaceful planet where the worst crime is not saying hello when you pass someone on the street.
Meanwhile, Pockets and Toe have gone into my room to make a plan to sneak into the meeting. I’m not sure if Pockets is more worried about B.U.R.P. being on Earth, Bubble Girl’s bubble leaking, or his upcoming secret trip. I’m worried about all those things, too, but mostly I’m worried about Penny.
I haven’t taken my eyes off her. Her own eyes are all watery from holding them open so wide. My heart is pounding hard. All this time we’ve been keeping Pockets’ secret so that Penny wouldn’t blow his cover by telling everyone that her giant pet cat is actually a fairly regular-sized police cat from another planet.
What we should have been thinking about is how she would handle the news when she actually got it. After hearing him shout, she looks totally shocked. Should I tell her that she only thought she heard Pockets talk? That she’d fallen asleep and dreamt it? I need to do something.
I glance away from her and say, “Mom, Dad, um, we have a problem.”
“If B.U.R.P. is really here,” Dad says, “we have more than one problem.”
Mom looks up from the sink. “What’s wrong, Archie?”
I point down the hall to Penny, who chooses that moment to stand up. Her legs wobble under her. I’m afraid that she’s going fall or burst into tears. But to my surprise, she races down the hall, throws open my bedroom door, and shouts, “I knew it! I knew one day you would talk!”
Mom, Dad, and I reach my room in time to see her wrap her arms around a stunned Pockets. “You can talk now! You can talk!”
“Um, meow?” Pockets manages to reply, as we watch helplessly from the doorway.
Mom moves first. She hurries in and kneels down to peel Penny off of Pockets, but Penny’s not letting go. “Mommy, Daddy, Archie! Pockets has learned how to talk! Wait till I tell my friends at school!”
Dad sighs. “And there it is.”
Mom looks over at us. “Let me handle this,” she says, finally succeeding in prying Penny off of Pockets. “You all have to get moving if you want to make it to the meeting in time.”
Pockets doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s out the front door before Mom even finishes her sentence. Dad gives Penny a pat on the head and says, “Love you, little girl.” His eyes are watery. The last of his children will soon know the secret he’s kept for all these years. It’s a big day for him, too. I turn to follow Pockets, but Dad can’t seem to move.
Toe puts one furry hand on Dad’s arm. “I promise Penny will be okay. You knew it would happen someday. Your daughter is smart, with a big, trusting heart.”
“Thank you,” Dad says, and I can tell he means it. He strokes Penny’s hair one more time, then we run to catch up to Pockets. The meeting location is downtown, very close to Barney’s. We probably even passed by it already this morning!
Pockets comes to a sudden stop. “There!” he says, pointing. I follow his paw but only see a dirt lot between two buildings. Dad checks the address on the flyer, then looks at the numbers on the front of the two buildings.
“Huh,” Dad says. “Whatever building used to be here isn’t here anymore.”
“We’re not looking for a building,” Pockets says.
“We’re not?” I ask. I scan the area and see only one large tree, a few scraggly bushes, and a lot of dirt and yellow grass. “We must be too late, then. No one is here anymore.”
Pockets shakes his head. “They’re here, all right.”
He marches to the large tree and then walks around to the back of it. We follow him. At first I don’t see anything. He sticks out a paw and pushes on what looks to me like an ordinary lump in the tree trunk.
It’s not an ordinary lump. A door swings open, revealing a staircase. A staircase in a tree! I light up. I’m used to seeing unexpected and cool things on other planets, but this is in my own backyard, practically! I start to step inside but Pockets sticks out his paw again and blocks me.
“Wait,” he commands. “I’ll go first in case there are any nasty surprises waiting at the bottom.”
I step aside, and we all follow Pockets down the dark, winding staircase. It smells clean and earthy, like you’d expect the inside of a tree to smell. As soon as Toe closes the door behind him, we are plunged into complete darkness. Pockets uses the laser on his tail to light our way.
After a minute of walking, we feel the stairs flatten out and we step off onto solid ground again. A dim light reaches our eyes. What is waiting at the bottom is pretty much the complete opposite of a nasty surprise. Instead of stepping onto dirt like I expected, we are standing on soft grass and are surrounded by flowers and candles. Music wafts through the large open space and I smell freshly baked cinnamon rolls! The smell blends with Toe’s natural odor and my stomach begins to growl.
Wide-eyed, Dad asks, “What is t
his place?”
A few seconds later, a man’s voice calls out. “Welcome, visitor!” His words echo off the rock walls. “You must be here for the meeting.”
Chapter Eight:
B.U.R.P. Underground
Pockets puts his paw to his lips and motions for us to step back onto the staircase, where we can blend into the dark. Then he steps forward alone, into the light. The man approaches from the other direction and we can now see him clearly. He is tall and wears a fancy gray suit. Sigh. I should have seen that coming.
“This is the B.U.R.P. recruitment meeting, right?” Pockets asks.
“It certainly is, Mr.…?”
“You can just call me Pockets.”
“Hello, Pockets,” the man says. He is clutching red plastic cups in both hands. He holds one out to Pockets. “Would you like some lemonade? It’s very refreshing.”
“No, thank you,” Pockets says. Then he grabs for the cup and gulps it down anyway. The man lifts his own cup and pours it straight into his nose! Dad and I shudder. Toe just tilts his head, fascinated.
“Well, Mr. Pockets, are you interested in a life of travel and excitement, full of surprises and riches?”
“Sure,” Pockets says, tucking the empty cup into one of his pockets. “And you’re the guy to get it for me?”
The man bows and says, “Agent Igor Zell. Been with B.U.R.P. for fifty years. As you can see around you, it’s afforded me a wonderful lifestyle.”
“You’ve lived underground on Earth for fifty years?” Pockets says, his eyes wide with surprise.
Agent Zell laughs. “Of course not. I only came to this backward little planet a few days ago on some business, and got stuck after the storm hit.” He looks around him. “Stumbled into this place. Must have been an old storm cellar or something. Works great for my purposes. My partner just retired and I’m in the market for a new one. No one else has shown up, though.”