by Wendy Mass
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Copyright Page
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For Bethany, who lovingly guides our little taxi through the cosmos.
Chapter One:
Hi, My Name Is Bloppy
If you’ve never been woken up by your little sister lifting your eyelid with sticky peanut butter fingers, consider yourself lucky.
It’s still dark, so it can’t be time to wake up for school yet. Plus, it’s Saturday. I try to bat Penny’s hand away, but she grabs my sleeve and tugs. I groan. “Can’t you see I’m sleeping?” She doesn’t answer, of course. It’s times like this when I wish Penny would say more than two words in a row.
“Go back to sleep, Penny.”
She tugs again. I rub my eyes and look at the clock. It’s 11:55 at night. I start to lie back down when it hits me.
It’s 11:55 at night!
My dad and I leave in five minutes and I’m still in my pajamas! The business of ridding the universe of supervillains has been slow these days, so Dad was allowed to get back to his regular space taxi job. I am still his awesome copilot. But not if I’m late! I throw off my blanket and, by mistake, Penny with it. Oops!
“Sorry!” I say, lifting her from the floor. She just giggles.
I look around for a pair of jeans. Yesterday’s clothes should be in a heap by my bed. Ugh, Pockets cleaned my room again. I know he is bored not saving the universe every day, but he needs to find better ways to spend his time between missions.
“Why are you even awake?” I ask Penny as I grab clothes from my drawer.
She puffs out her pink cheeks. She does this when she’s about to speak. The seconds tick by. I wait as patiently as an eight-year-old who is late for a trip into outer space can wait. Seriously, I should get some kind of award. Finally she blurts, “Kitty.” Then she takes a deep breath and adds, “BIG kitty.”
“Yes, he is a very big kitty,” I agree, pulling a sweatshirt over my head. I should have figured Pockets woke her. He insists on sleeping at the end of her bed every night. Sometimes his purring wakes up the whole family. He purrs louder than Dad snores!
I lead Penny back into her room, and she climbs into bed. “Story?” she asks.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “Bedtime stories are a Mommy thing.”
She curls up around her stuffed purple dragon and is asleep before I shut the door. I tiptoe to the kitchen. Mom hands me my snack and thermos, my silver space map tube, and my Intergalactic Security Force badge. “Dad and Pockets are waiting for you in the car,” she says, hugging me. “Have fun. Make good choices.” The fact that Mom doesn’t seem nervous anymore when I go into space makes ME a little less nervous.
“Why is Pockets with us?” I ask Dad as we head downtown in the taxi. “Aren’t we just picking up a regular customer?”
“Yup,” Dad says, “but Pockets couldn’t miss a chance at a tuna sandwich from Barney’s.”
Pockets springs up from his nap. “Did someone say tuna?” He rolls down his window, takes a deep whiff, and announces, “We have arrived!”
He bounds from the car before we come to a full stop in front of the restaurant. He’s already eating by the time we get inside. The man behind the counter hands Dad a slip of paper and says, “Your pickup’s in the back room.”
I follow Dad to a door at the end of the restaurant. It’s marked KEEP OUT.
“This is where the customers who can’t blend in on Earth wait for their taxis,” he explains. “You can open it.”
But my hands stay at my sides. What if something gigantic is waiting on the other side, ready to shoot fire out of its eyes? “It says ‘keep out,’ ” I tell him. “And you know how Mom’s always telling me not to rush into things.”
He laughs. “I promise it’s okay.”
I take a deep breath and face the door again. An ISF deputy has to be brave, I tell myself, and slowly push open the door. All I see at first is normal stuff that you’d find in the back room of a restaurant. Shelves with napkins, pickles, and ketchup, along with a few chairs set up in front of an old TV set. I relax. “I don’t think our customer is back here, Dad.”
Then out of the shadows glides the blobbiest, slimiest, gooiest creature I have ever seen. Picture a melting marshmallow snowman, only orange-colored like the inside of a ripe peach. He has two large black eyes, no visible nose, and a rectangle-shaped sticker on his chest that says HI, MY NAME IS BLOPPY.
I know it’s not polite to stare, but wow. I’ve seen some odd-looking aliens in my short time as Dad’s copilot, but nothing this odd. A puddle of orange goo lands at his feet. I watch as more goop drips and plops to the floor.
Dad looks down at the paper in his hand, clears his throat, and says, “Hi, Bloppy, I’m Sal Morningstar. My son and I will be taking you to Libra 6 today. Looks like it will be a one-way trip?”
Bloppy begins to quiver and shake. Maybe he’s getting ready to shoot fire after all! I’m not proud of it, but I sort of hide behind Dad.
But no fire comes out of Bloppy—just big, wet, goopy tears.
Chapter Two:
Change of Plans
After about five minutes of crying and sniffling (turns out he DOES have a nose), Bloppy pulls himself together. “Sorry you had to see that,” he says in a wobbly voice. “I’m starting a new job on Libra 6 tomorrow. I’m a little nervous.”
“That’s normal,” Dad says, nodding. “I was nervous the first time I drove my taxi.”
“And I was nervous the first time I had to be a copilot,” I add. “I’m still nervous. But I love it. I bet you’ll love your new job, too.”
Bloppy shakes his head. “You two are lucky,” he says sadly. “I know I won’t like my new job selling shoes to ten-footed Orthopods, who have the smelliest feet in two galaxies, but I can’t be picky. Not many choices out there for someone like me.”
I guess most people don’t want to hire you if you drip goop everywhere you go.
“I bet you’ll feel better when we get there,” Dad says. “We’ll go out the back exit, and then I’ll bring the taxi around.”
It’s a good thing Pockets has towels in his awesome bottomless pockets. The way Bloppy is dripping, the backseat’s gonna get awfully messy. But to my surprise, when we start moving to the door, all the goop on the floor slurps back up onto Bloppy’s body! All that’s left on the floor is a shiny glow.
That’s a neat trick!
The door leads to a narrow alley, where the taxi is already waiting. Pockets jumps out of the driver’s seat. Bloppy begins to quiver again.
“Cats can drive?” I ask, wide-eyed.
“Not all of them,” Pockets replies. “As an ISF officer, I know how to drive more than three hundred different vehicles.”
“Without the key?” Dad asks.
Pockets reaches into his fur and pulls out a huge silver circle with hundreds of keys dangling from it. “An ISF officer is always prepared.”
Bloppy is now shaking all over and staring right at Pockets. Finally he shouts, “I LOVE cats!”
Before Pockets can duck, Bloppy has pulled him into a tight hug. I can barely see him—he almost completely disappears into the folds of Bloppy’s blobs.
“Let me go!” Pockets shouts, but his voice is muffled, so it sounds like “Eat
my toe!” Which I’m pretty sure is not what he means.
I reach over and tug on Bloppy’s arm. It’s less sticky than I thought it would be. “I don’t think he can breathe,” I tell him.
Bloppy lets go but stares adoringly. Pockets just glares. He’s not the huggy type.
“Well,” Dad says. “This is awkward.”
“I’m sorry,” Bloppy says. “On my home planet, cats are really friendly.”
“Pockets is friendly,” I tell Bloppy. “You just have to get to know him.”
Dad opens the back door of the taxi. “Ready?” he asks.
Bloppy tries to climb in, but he’s way too big to fit! Each time he squeezes one part of his body into the car, another part oozes out.
Dad and Pockets stand behind him and push. His head and belly make it in, but that’s it. The rest hangs out the door. I run around to the other side of the car and grab his hands. I tug as hard as I can. My hands slide right out of his, and I fall back onto my butt.
“Are you all right, young human?” a concerned Bloppy asks from his half-in, half-out position. “Are you hurt?”
I dust myself off and reach back in. It’s going to take more than that to keep an ISF deputy down! After another minute of pushing, pulling, and grunting, Bloppy fills every inch of the backseat. He smiles. “Whew!”
I return to my seat, exhausted, as Dad climbs into his. Pockets leans into my window. “And just where am I supposed to sit?” he asks.
I pat my knee. He sighs and climbs in. Settling on my lap, he says, “If you pet me, I’ll bite.”
I hold up my hands. “No petting, I promise.”
Pockets sleeps through Bloppy’s constant chattering about each cool thing we pass. There are the moons of Jupiter! There goes a comet! Is that a new star? He’s fun to have along.
We’re about halfway across the galaxy when the com system buzzes. “It must be Minerva calling back,” Dad says. We had tried to check in with headquarters when we left, but a recorded message said Minerva was away from her desk. Dad turns the knob. “I was wondering when you’d check in, Minerva,” Dad says. “We’re on our way to Libra 6. Estimated time of arrival is—”
“Never mind that,” a deep voice cuts him off. “You’ll need to change course right away. You have a mission.”
That’s not Minerva’s voice! I shake Pockets. “Wake up! Your dad is calling!”
Pockets jumps so high he lands on the ceiling of the car! He hangs from his claws, upside down. Bloppy and I gape at him. “That’d better not leave holes in the fabric,” Dad warns.
“Father?” Pockets shouts. “Is everything all right?”
“Hello, son. I don’t have time to tell you the whole story right now, so I’m beaming the information to your mini-tablet.”
Pockets lands back on my lap with a thump. He reaches into a pocket and pulls out a small screen. I watch as text scrolls quickly across it.
“Morningstar!” Pockets’s dad bellows.
I jump, but Dad remains calm. “Yes, Chief?” he says.
“I’m sending the coordinates straight into your navigation system. My son will fill you in on the mission. This is an emergency, so you must drop your passenger off immediately. Good luck.”
A second later my map begins to shake. It’s never done that before! I have to hold it off to the side, since Pockets is in the way. Planets and stars rise up off the page as usual, but this time a glowing red line snakes its way from our current location through two wormholes and across three more galaxies. “He wants us to go in the complete opposite direction of Libra 6!” I tell them.
“Can’t be helped,” Pockets says, switching off his screen. “We’ve got a princess to rescue.”
Chapter Three:
A Dark Landing
Akbar’s Floating Rest Stop is only a little bit out of our way, so that’s where we head to drop Bloppy off. I’m excited to see the place again. Since it’s full of aliens from all over, Bloppy won’t have to worry about standing out.
“You’ll only be here for a few hours, tops,” Dad promises Bloppy as we enter Akbar’s enormous gift shop. “I left two messages at headquarters, and they’ll send another space taxi to take you the rest of the way. Okay?”
Bloppy’s eyes are big and round. He is actually taking the news pretty well. Personally, I think he’s relieved that he’s not getting to his new job so quickly.
“Do you still need this?” I ask Bloppy, pointing to his name tag.
He nods. “We all wear them where I’m from. This way we can greet everyone by name.”
“I like that idea,” I say, reaching over to straighten it for him. Then we all shake his hand, even Pockets. Dad presses some money into Bloppy’s palm. “Go have a skate at the new rink,” Dad says, pointing to a sign advertising a new roller rink at Akbar’s. “Or browse the bookshop. There’s always a great selection of books from across the universe.”
I know Dad feels terrible about making Bloppy wait for another driver. But our jobs as ISF deputies have to come first. We wave as we back out of the gift shop. Goop splatters on the floor as Bloppy waves back. I’m sorry to leave him, too.
“This is a tricky mission,” Pockets says once we’re on our way. “As your map shows, we’ll be going to planet Tri-Dark. This planet—like Earth—is not aware of alien life in the universe. It is like life in medieval times, with castles and knights and horse-drawn carts. We’ll have to hide our modern technology and disguise ourselves.”
“Awesome!” I shout. “Can I be a knight? I’ve always wanted to wear armor and swing a sword.”
He shakes his head. “You’ll need more than costumes to blend in. I will alter your molecular structure with my Atomic Assembler.”
“I only understood two words in that sentence,” I tell him.
“I will make you look different,” Pockets says plainly.
“What about you?” Dad asks him.
“They have cats on Tri-Dark, so I have no need to change.”
“So you still get to be you,” Dad says, “while Archie and I get turned into aliens?”
“Pretty much,” Pockets admits. “But I will have to pretend to be a normal house pet again, so it won’t be all fun and games for me, either.”
“I’ll promise not to scratch you behind the ears, if that helps,” Dad says, grinning. “So, what’s the mission?”
“King Argon owns a long walking stick—it’s like a cane—that he calls the Staff of Power,” Pockets begins. “He claims that it has magical powers and that it once destroyed a forest. I don’t think it’s true. Magic is only science that’s not yet understood.”
“So says the talking cat!” I comment.
Pockets pretends to ignore me and continues. “Anyway, B.U.R.P. must believe the staff has some kind of power—they took the king’s only daughter, Princess Viola, and sent a ransom note insisting he hand over the staff in exchange for her safe return. We will have to find her before he gives the staff to B.U.R.P. Our undercover ISF agent was able to send the princess’s last known location before his signal disappeared.”
I quickly look at the map again. “A few more minutes until we cross into Tri-Dark’s atmosphere. If the people there don’t know about aliens and spaceships, what will happen when they see our taxi land?”
“They have not invented electric lights yet,” Pockets replies. “So the planet will be totally dark at night. Can you fly this thing without the headlights?”
“Fly, yes,” Dad says. “Land? No. I guess I should say I’ve never had to find out.”
“No time like the present, then,” Pockets says. “How long till we enter the atmosphere, Archie?”
“About three minutes.”
“Not much time,” he says. “Use your map to find a safe spot to land where our approach might be hidden.”
I tap the image of the planet floating above my right knee. It gets larger. I stretch it out until I can see details like buildings and rivers. “Here!” I point to a wooded area with a cle
aring in the middle. “It’s behind a large hill and looks far away from everything else.”
“Good,” Pockets says. “That hill should block us in case anyone is looking up. Now turn off the lights.”
Dad and I exchange a quick glance, and then we are in total darkness. The can’t-even-see-my-hand-in-front-of-my-face kind of darkness. “Um, how am I supposed to guide us down to the surface if I can’t see the map?”
“Night vision goggles!” Pockets declares, handing a pair to each of us.
“Why didn’t you tell us earlier that you had these?” Dad asks.
“I can’t be expected to remember everything in these pockets!” he replies.
We quickly put them on. The dark outline of the planet rises up right in front of us! Dad tilts the wings and lowers the wheels to slow us down, but we’re coming in fast. My first reaction is to shut my eyes tight from fear, but I’m pretty sure that won’t help me guide the taxi. I force myself to check the map. “We’re only about three hundred feet away, Dad.”
I point out the window and shout, “There’s the clearing!” A few seconds later, the wheels touch ground. Instead of gliding along smoothly, though, the taxi bumps up and down. It sounds like rocks are hitting the underside of the car.
When we roll to a stop, Dad shuts off the engines. No one moves.
Then Pockets asks, “Does anybody else smell popcorn?”
Chapter Four:
Is There Something Different About Me?
Apparently, if you drive over a cornfield, the heat from your car will pop some of the kernels. Woo-hoo! I open the door and take a deep breath. Nothing better than freshly popped popcorn! “Can we eat some?” I ask Dad as we all climb out. “It smells soooo good!”
“Not a chance,” Dad says. “What would your mother say if I let either of you eat something that I drove over with the car?”