by Peter Nelson
“The G’Daliens run the whole city from up there,” Chicago said. He suddenly stopped walking and smacked himself in the head. “Oh, no!” he said. “That reminds me—I’ve got school today!”
“Uh, okay.” Herbert said awkwardly. “We understand.”
“Do you guys mind waiting?” Herbert and Alex glanced at each other. “Cool!” Chicago said. He stepped over to a head-sized cone mounted to a post and stuck his head inside of it. Display lights flashed. The cone made a school-bell sound. Chicago popped his head out.
“Sorry that took so long—I had three tests, a ton of reading to download and a mental report due.” Alex and Herbert smiled. “Okay! On to our next stop.”
The First National Memory Bank looked like an ordinary bank, if banks were run by squidlike aliens. It had a wall of ATM machines and a walk-up counter of G’Dalien bank tellers. From a comfortable distance, Alex watched one of them greet an old woman with an Australian-accented “G’day, ma’am!” The teller slapped one of her tentacles onto the old woman’s forehead and immediately seemed to know all about her.
“Mrs. Nebraska! Nice to see you again! Enjoy your visit with the grandkids last month, didja?”
“Oh, it was a wonderful trip, thank you,” the woman said, completely at ease with having a slimy tentacle flopping in front of her nose.
“I’ll bet those little ankle-biters are getting bigger by the second,” the G’Dalien said. “Now, how can I help you today?”
“Well, I can’t seem to remember where I put the cat.”
“I’m sure Little Fluffernutter is safe and sound. Now, let’s have a quick looky-loo.” The G’Dalien stared off for a few seconds, then suddenly blurted out, “Aha! Looks like you accidentally mailed that furry little roo to your sister Rita again. And I think you’ll find the sweater you knit her for her birthday in the litter box. Now, is there anything else I can help you with today?”
“No, thank you so much,” she said.
POP! The teller yanked her tentacle off Mrs. Nebraska’s head. “Alrighty! G’day, then, Mrs. N!” She looked past her to the line. “Next!”
Alex looked terrified as he watched Mrs. Nebraska shuffle past him with a relieved smile on her face and a red mark on her forehead. He rushed over to Herbert, who was lying on the floor, inspecting the underbelly of one of the ATM machines. “Hey! Curious George! We gotta get out of here! This is not a normal bank!”
Herbert sat up and gave him a look. “This is not a normal bank. Take a look at these ATM machines!” Alex looked at the top of the machine. ATM stood for Access-Transferable Memories, and the one Herbert was studying was designated WITHDRAWALS ONLY. Herbert leaned his head toward the screen. A suction cup shot out and stuck to Herbert’s forehead.
Alex grabbed Herbert’s hair and yanked. “This is just like Human Zombies: Global Mind-Control 3! Quick! Clear your head—think about baseball! Or else the aliens will suck everything out of your brains and replace it with freaky gibberish!”
Herbert smacked Alex’s hand away. He spoke in a dazed voice. “It’s…an open-source temporal portal to a synapse-based data-retrieval system…”
Alex stepped back, horrified. “I’m too late…. The transformation has begun.”
POP! The suction cup snapped back into the machine. Herbert looked at Alex with a dazed grin.
“Are you okay? Say something!”
Herbert smiled. “That thing just downloaded gigabytes of general knowledge into my prefrontal cortex! The city’s layout and cultural history, movie and restaurant reviews—Hey! Andretti’s Pizzeria is still over on Seaver Street! Oh, and we need to come up with place names for ourselves—most people our age are named after where their ancestors were born. And wait till you see the—”
“All right!” Alex snapped. “I get it! You’re still way smarter—and might I add, annoyinger—than me!” He stepped over to the next ATM machine. “Well, stand back, Smarty McShinyPants. Because now it’s my turn to get me some gigglebites.”
Herbert glanced up at the machine Alex was suddenly jamming his head into, and his eyes grew wide. “No, wait!” he cried.
THWAP! The suction cup hit Alex’s head, and the machine hummed to life. A minute later it popped back off and Alex stumbled back.
Herbert looked at him. “You okay?”
“I think so. Don’t feel any smarter, though.”
“No, I wouldn’t think you would.” They both looked at the top of Alex’s ATM machine. It said, DEPOSITS ONLY.
“Uh-oh,” Alex said.
“Think,” Herbert said. “What memories did you deposit?”
“I don’t know. I can’t remember.”
“Okay. Don’t panic.”
Alex thought hard, then finally said, “What the heck’s a video game?”
Herbert stared at Alex. Chicago appeared behind them. He had a big red suction mark on his forehead. “All set—” he stared at them for a few seconds, as if he were trying to remember something. “I just realized I forgot to ask you guys your names.”
“Oh! I know this one,” Alex said. “My name’s Alex—”
“—Ville!” Herbert quickly added. “He’s Alexville. And I’m—”
“—Herbalulu.” Alex grinned.
“Okay, Alexville and Herbalulu. You guys like pizza? I know this great old place over on Seaver Street, called Andretti’s.”
Alex stared at Chicago. “Wow. It’s like you just read my mind.”
As they exited the bank, a skinny man stepped up to the ATM Herbert had used. He was suddenly hip-checked across the room by a large blobby butt. “Pardon me,” GOR-DON hissed.
“But I believe I was next.” He inserted a small green cube into a square hole in the ATM. It began to glow.
CHAPTER 14
The three boys made their way across town, with Herbert happily using his brand-new downloaded knowledge of the city to advise Chicago on a more efficient way to get to Andretti’s Pizzeria. Alex followed them, studying the mixed-species crowd. For some reason, the G’Daliens didn’t scare him anymore. He caught up to Herbert and quietly spoke to him as they continued walking.
“It’s so weird,” Alex said as they passed a group of G’Daliens in business suits on their lunch hour. “Earlier today, I’d have slowed down to walk behind you when I saw one of those wobbly dudes coming toward me—hoping that it’d eat you first and be too full to chase me.”
“I see,” Herbert said.
“But since we left the Memory Bank, it’s like I can’t remember why I was ever afraid of aliens in the first place.”
“That is weird,” Herbert said, trying not to smile. “Maybe they brainwashed you.”
Alex considered this. “Maybe.” He shrugged. “But it’s really not so bad.”
Andretti’s Pizzeria was one of the few good things about Merwinsville back in Alex and Herbert’s time. It had the best pizza in town—at least, it did back at the start of the twenty-first century. And that, Alex and Herbert figured, must be the reason it was chosen above all others as a historical building and preserved for a hundred years.
“Can you believe Andretti’s is still here?” Herbert whispered to Alex as they approached the familiar-looking pizzeria.
“It’s like a beautiful dream wrapped in a happy fairy tale,” Alex said, “then stuffed inside a cheese-filled calzone.”
“I wonder if they kept the giant pizza oven.”
“And if my high score is still on the—” Alex looked off, trying to remember something. “What was that machiney-thing, over by the bathroom, where you’d put money into it and get a score?”
“Soda machine?” Herbert asked innocently.
“Yeah.” Alex said. “It’ll be cool to see if my high score is still there on the soda machine.”
Chicago reached the restaurant first and opened the door for Alex and Herbert. “Welcome to Andretti’s, guys. Some of my teammates should be here already. I can’t wait for you to meet them.”
Alex and Herbert stepped in
side.
“The pizza oven’s gone,” Herbert said.
“And where’s the soda machine?” Alex asked.
“At least the booths are still here.”
“Yeah, but I don’t remember them flying.”
The red leather booths attached to round tables were all that was left inside Andretti’s. There was no counter, no kitchen, no oven, no video games near the bathroom, no bathroom. Just the booths attached to the tables. Each one was packed with kids, and they were all hovering a few feet off the floor, flying around the restaurant, slamming into one another.
“What’s the matter with you guys? You look like you’ve never been to a bumper-car pizza place before.” Chicago looked across the room and exclaimed, “There are my buddies—c’mon!”
Alex and Herbert watched as Chicago ran across the middle of the restaurant, which in this particular restaurant was extremely dangerous. He dodged speeding bumper-booths, leaped over one table, grabbed the back of a red leather booth, and hopped into it as it zoomed by. As it spun and sped past a stunned Alex and Herbert, Chicago yelled, “Hop on!”
“I suddenly find that I’m not that hungry,” Herbert muttered.
“Who cares?” Alex replied. “This is so cool!” Alex grabbed Herbert’s hand and yanked him out onto the floor.
“Aaaaah!” Herbert screamed as he and Alex dodged and weaved past colliding booths, just missed getting slammed, and finally leaped for Chicago’s red leather banquette.
A thick arm pulled both of them up, and a skinny arm quickly buckled them in. The arms belonged to two of Chicago’s best friends, as Chicago explained when he introduced them. Dallas was a big kid with a buzz haircut, bulky muscles, and a constantly confused look about him. Sausalito was a tall, skinny kid with longish hair that flopped over sleepy eyes. He wore a goofy grin and music earbuds with antennae sticking out of them. Alex thought he looked like a very relaxed insect.
As their booth bounced off the far wall, Herbert and Alex knocked heads. “EL-ROY, watch where you’re steering!” Chicago said. “Oh, and say hello to Alexville and Herbalulu.”
“G’day, fellas!” shouted a tiny voice from a tiny head that barely peeked over the tabletop. EL-ROY was a young, very short G’Dalien. He hopped back onto his booster seat and regained control of the big, silver pizza-tray holder in the center of the table. He spun it, and the booth veered around a group of kids by the door waiting for a table.
Herbert smiled hello to EL-ROY. Alex grinned and blurted out, “You don’t creep me out, and I can’t remember why!”
The G’Dalien waiter suddenly bounced up to their table and latched on. He spun a giant slab of raw pizza dough over his head as they all slammed around the room. Without saying a word, he shot his other arms out and popped a tentacle on each of the boys’ heads.
“I’m totally cool with this!” Alex said from behind the fat alien-arm dangling in front of his nose. The waiter mind-read their favorite topping, popped his tentacles off their heads, and flipped ingredients out of his apron pockets onto the still-spinning pizza dough.
As the booth bounced off a wall, the G’Dalien waiter calmly pulled out a very dangerous-looking laser-wand and scanned it over the dough. He dropped the piping hot pizza on top of the silver wheel and then leaped to another table to brain-suck another order.
“I love this place!” Alex suddenly yelled out. Alex was feeling good. It was the feeling-good kind of good feeling anyone might get if they were about to share their favorite pizza in the whole world with a bunch of new friends. The only thing was, when Alex was feeling this good, he got chatty. And when he got chatty, he made stuff up. And Alex was feeling really good.
“So,” Dallas asked, grabbing a slice, “are those silver suits, like, A.G. T-Ball uniforms or somethin’?”
“T-ball?” Alex said. “Why yes. Yes they are.”
“So why are they all…silver and stuff?” Dallas probed further.
“Well, obviously they’re professional grade,” Alex confidently fibbed, “which is as it should be, since Herbalulu and I are professional T-ball players.”
Chicago and EL-ROY looked up from their pizza. “You guys are Level One Certified?” the little G-Dalien squeaked.
Alex nodded proudly as he held up his sleeve. “Check out this material. Of course we are!” He felt Herbert kick him under the table and ignored it.
“Awesome!” Chicago said, “We need two players for tomorrow’s game!”
“Well, then this is your lucky day,” Alex smiled, “because we happen to be two players who are awesome.”
High fives broke out around the table. Alex smiled and did his best to ignore Herbert, who glared at him.
“You guys are saviors!” Chicago said. “We’ve got a game against the Thrashers at noon tomorrow and I’ve got two guys out with head injuries!”
CHAPTER 15
Everyone stepped outside of Andretti’s, dizzy but excited. That is, everyone but Alex and Herbert—they were dizzy and concerned. “So guys,” Alex asked sheepishly. “We are talking T-ball, here. Little ball sits on a little tee, you walk up, hit it, go around the bases, right?”
“That’s the game, mate—no worries!” EL-ROY chuckled. Dallas slapped Alex on the back, way too hard.
“This dude is funny!” Dallas blurted. “He’s a funny dude!” They all laughed together. Alex shrugged to Herbert and forced a laugh. Herbert wasn’t laughing.
“I’ve gotta tell my dad about you guys,” Chicago said. He squeezed the rim of his baseball cap. “I’m team captain, but he’s the coach.” A small antenna popped out of the top of Chicago’s cap and emitted a tiny beep before disappearing back inside. He nodded up at the sky. “He should be right down.”
Alex and Herbert squinted up at the sky. High above, they could barely make out a tiny black dot. It looked like a birthday balloon that had escaped the party. WHOOSH! In less than a second, the black object was right in front of them. But it wasn’t a dot—hovering above the street was a sleek, black flying car with words printed on its side: DEPARTMENT OF HUMAN/G’DALIEN HARMONY ENFORCEMENT. The door lifted open like a batwing and a man with a thick mustache stepped out. He was wearing a trench coat and an old-timey hat. He looked around very seriously, like he was expecting trouble, or hoping to find it.
“Hey, Pop!” Chicago said. As soon as he spotted Chicago and his friends, the man’s face lit up. He gave his son a hug. Then he stepped over to Dallas and EL-ROY.
“Hey, how are you two getting along?” he asked with some suspicion.
“Great!” Dallas said.
EL-ROY smiled. “No worries, Mr. I!”
Mr. Illinois seemed a little disappointed to hear this. As Dallas, EL-ROY, and Sausalito said their good-byes and headed off, laughing and talking together, Mr. Illinois sighed.
“Good kids. Never any trouble. Not even a little.” He suddenly called after them. “Well, you be sure to report any trouble, or let me know if you’re not, y’know, getting along, okay?”
“Why wouldn’t they get along?” asked Alex.
Mr. Illinois spun around and faced Alex and Herbert. “Exactly who are you two?” he asked.
“Dad, meet Alexville and Herbalulu,” Chicago said. “They’re Level One Certified! They’re gonna fill in tomorrow!”
Mr. Illinois squinted at them slowly and carefully. “I’ve got a keen eye,” he finally said. “And two things tell me you guys are good—my gut…and your shiny suits.” He smiled and offered his hand. “Welcome to the team, boys. Springfield Illinois–Human/G’Dalien Harmony Force. You two troublemakers?”
“No, sir,” Herbert said.
“Good,” Mr. Illinois said, sort of sadly. “That’s what we, y’know, like to hear.”
The other batwing door whooshed open and the floating car lifted about another foot. Out stepped the biggest, fattest G’Dalien Alex and Herbert had seen so far.
“Don’t mess with me, LO-PEZ,” Mr. Illinois barked. “I’m not in the mood.”
�
��I’m not messin’, Sarge.” said LO-PEZ. “Just came in, and we’re the only ones on duty.”
Mr. Illinois slowly walked over to LO-PEZ. He stared at his extra-large partner, then suddenly burst into a big grin. He hugged him and jumped up and down, like he’d just won the lottery.
“Dad?” Chicago said. “Shouldn’t you, y’know, go?”
Mr. Illinois looked back at them with tears of joy in his eyes. “Hey! Why don’t you guys come along! We haven’t had a call to check out in years! Who knows if this’ll ever happen again!”
The enormous LO-PEZ looked like he’d been poured into the tiny driver’s seat. His blobby alien-flesh smooshed against the windows and drooped onto the floor. But his six arms were a blur: hitting buttons, pulling levers, steering, accelerating, adjusting the air conditioner—all while eating a bag of chips.
“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Herbert mumbled to Alex. Herbert, Alex, and Chicago were jammed in the tiny backseat.
“Don’t,” Alex shot back without looking up from the floor. “If you hurl, your chunky puke will mess up my view!”
Beneath their sneakers, the floor of the SquadCar was see-through. Alex was amazed as he watched the tops of the huge, G’Dalien-designed orb-buildings whiz by below. Herbert couldn’t look. He was too nauseous.
Mr. Illinois turned around in the passenger seat. “Okay, boys, here’s what we got. A G’Dalien janitor called in a disturbance up at the Museum of Human History. Says he saw two young humans ‘vandalize’ one of his exhibits.” Alex and Herbert glanced at each other. Alex’s amazement vanished. Herbert’s nausea quadrupled.
CHAPTER 16
“Securing drop-corridor,” Mr. Illinois said as LO-PEZ hovered the SquadCar high above the museum. Alex looked down through the floor at the massive plaza a thousand feet below and tried to figure out what the little gray spots were, gathered in front of the museum steps.