The kid made a flicking motion with his finger. The branch went tumbling across the grass.
“So much for the friend-in-the-tree theory,” he said smugly. “Now do you believe me?”
I just stood there, gaping.
“I said, ‘Now do you believe me?’ ”
“Yeah, I guess I do,” I muttered.
Suddenly the situation had become far more confusing. Even though the kid’s demonstration of telekinetic powers was enough to convince me that what he was saying was true, I still wasn’t sure I should help him. That felt weird, since helping an alien in distress had been one of my prime daydreams from the time I was in kindergarten. But I had already lived out that dream by helping Pleskit. In the process I had spent more time than I would have liked being terrorized by aliens who wanted to suck out my brains and stuff like that. So I wasn’t quite as eager for something like this as I would have been B.P. (Before Pleskit).
“Okay,” I said slowly, “I believe you’re an alien. But what do you need me for? Why don’t you just contact the embassy yourself?”
The boy looked horrified. “I can’t do that!”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m an illegal alien.”
“Huh?”
“I don’t belong here,” he said, speaking slowly, as if he thought I was some kind of idiot. “I will be glad to tell you the entire story, but not while we are standing out in the open.”
Well, I was still kind of nervous about all this. But the kid seemed truly distressed. And he was just a kid, after all.
At least, he seemed to be.
“All right,” I said slowly. “You’d better come home with me.”
He broke into a huge smile. “Thank you! You may have just saved my life!”
That made me nervous all over again. “Is someone out to get you?”
“No, no. At least, I don’t think so. Come on, let’s go!”
So I took him back to my apartment. Mom was still at work, which made things a little easier. As I opened the door, my Veeblax scampered over, yeeping as it came. It sniffed at the kid suspiciously, then climbed onto my shoulder and changed its shape so it looked like a rock, which was something it did whenever it wanted to hide.
The kid laughed. “I did not know you had shapeshifters on Earth!”
“We don’t. This is a Veeblax. They come from Hevi-Hevi. I raised this one from an oogslama that Pleskit gave me.”
“Can we contact Pleskit now?” the kid said eagerly.
“Tell me your story first.”
“It will be easier to tell you both at once. I’ve already proved I’m not from this world. If you’re still worried, remember that Pleskit won’t come without his bodyguard. So you’ll have plenty of protection.”
“How do you know about his bodyguard?” I asked, suddenly suspicious again.
The kid looked at me in disbelief. “Everyone on your planet knows about Pleskit and his bodyguard! I can read a newspaper, you know.”
“Okay, okay. No need to get so cranky.”
“Sorry. I am just very scared right now.”
“All right, you stay here. I’ll go contact Pleskit. Uh, do you want something to eat while you wait?”
“That would be nice. I’m hungrier than a paznak.”
I made him a baloney sandwich, then went to call Pleskit on the special comm-device he had given me.
Unfortunately, it was not Pleskit who answered—it was the dreaded Ms. Buttsman.
She looked unusually happy, which made me nervous.
My nervousness only increased when she said, “Ah, Mr. Tompkins! I’m afraid I have some rather unpleasant news for you. Ambassador Meenom has decided that you and Pleskit make a dangerous combination, so he has asked me to disconnect the direct line the two of you have been using to communicate.” She smiled gleefully. “Sorry, Timbo!”
Then the screen went blank.
She must have left the sound on for a moment longer, because her laughter lingered in the air even after her face was gone.
CHAPTER 4 [PLESKIT]
EARGON FOOZ
As MCNally and I left the office of the Fatherly One, his secretary, Beezle Whompis, flickered into sight. Beezle Whompis is an energy being. He’s usually invisible and only takes physical form as a convenience for the rest of us. I noticed that he was flickering a little around the edges and wondered if he was tired. It wouldn’t be surprising. Everyone in the embassy has been working very hard since the discovery of the Grand Urpelli.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you, Pleskit,” he said, “these snacks Maktel brought as a guesting gift are extraordinarily pleasing.”
He reached into the bag holding the snacks and pulled out a glowing blue sphere. The bag was nearly empty, but given how long it had been since Maktel’s visit, Beezle Whompis was clearly working to make the snacks last.
He tossed the sphere, which was actually condensed energy, into his mouth. I heard a loud zap! Instantly he was surrounded by a glow of crackling blue light.
“Ah,” said Beezle Whompis. “I needed that!”
“That reminds me,” said McNally. “I could use a cup of coffee.”
I smiled. “I’m sure Shhh-foop would be glad to prepare one for you.”
McNally groaned. “Don’t even mention it to her!” he ordered.
I tried not to laugh. Despite Shhh-foop’s wondrous skills as a cook, for some reason our Queen of the Kitchen has yet to master the art of making a simple cup of coffee. Her continued failure in this matter has caused her much emotional distress. McNally, to his credit, has been willing to sample every new experiment, despite the often disastrous results she achieves. But it was nothing he tried to encourage, and I could tell he just wanted to slip away for a while.
“You need to go anywhere, Pleskit?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “I am going to stay here and brood about what the Fatherly One said. I am most disturbed by the possibility of being pulled out of school.”
“I’m not wild about the idea either,” said McNally. “You’ll still need a bodyguard, I suppose, so it’s not like I’ll lose my job. But it’s going to be awfully boring if we spend most of our time stuck in the embassy.”
Though he did not say it, I suspected one of the reasons McNally did not want to stop going to my classroom was that he enjoyed seeing our beautiful teacher, Ms. Weintraub, every day.
“I am going to go seek the advice of the Grandfatherly One,” I said.
“Good idea. I’ve got some reports to do, but I’m gonna slip out for a cup of joe first. See you later, kid.”
I like it when McNally calls me “kid.” It feels friendly and comfortable.
* * *
I went to the chamber where we keep the brain of the Grandfatherly One.
I was surprised to find Eargon Fooz there.
Though I am used to many forms of beings, for some reason Eargon Fooz’s horselike body seemed oddly confined in the room. Perhaps it was because I first knew her as a creature of the jungles. Her tribe follows a way that is close to nature, using only the simplest tools to build homes that are little more than shelters from wind and rain. They live this way not because they can’t do better but basically because they think it is a good way to exist.
She is strong but gentle, and she had saved our lives on Billa Kindikan. Unfortunately, she had been banned from her own tribe because she had been kidnapped and taken into the forbidden city of Ilbar-Fakkam by one of Mikta-makta-mookta’s thugs. She could return to her people only after a year of “purification” had passed. The Fatherly One had invited her to live with us during this time—which seemed the least we could do, considering that she would never have been banished if she hadn’t tried to help us.
When she saw me enter, she extended the humanoid arms that grow from her shoulders. It was a graceful gesture of greeting, and her beautiful four-eyed face showed true pleasure in my arrival.
“Greetings, Pleskit,” she said, speaking in Standard Ga
lactic.
“Greetings, Eargon Fooz. How are you today?”
“How do you think she is?” snapped the Grandfatherly One, speaking through one of the tubes that extend from the tank where we have kept his brain since he died. “She misses her kids and her home. By the way, greetings, whippersnapper.”
“Greetings, O Venerated One.”
As I spoke, I placed a friendly hand on Eargon Fooz’s shoulder. The smooth skin had grown dark to match the room but quickly turned purple around my hand.
“We were discussing whether I should go somewhere else on your planet to live until it is time for my return to Billa Kindikan,” said Eargon Fooz. “I am missing the feel of sun on my back, the smell and buzz of the jungle.” She turned her head away. “But mostly I am missing my younglings.”
I felt terrible. Eargon Fooz would still have been home on Billa Kindikan if she hadn’t done so much to help us.
“We should discuss this with the Fatherly One,” I said.
“Hah!” snorted the Grandfatherly One. “Try to find time to discuss anything with Mr. Hotshot Ambassador now that he’s ready to build the biggest fortune in the galaxy.”
“I just had a discussion with him,” I said defensively.
“Let me guess,” said the Grandfatherly One. “Was it about how he wants you not to cause any trouble now that we’re under such intense scrutiny? Did you discuss anything you wanted to talk about?”
My Venerated Ancestor can be uncomfortably perceptive on occasion. “You are correct,” I said reluctantly. “In fact, the Fatherly One has suggested that perhaps I should leave my school and pursue my studies here in the embassy.”
“Brilliant!” said the Grandfatherly One. “Then you can be as lonely and isolated as I am.”
“And I,” said Eargon Fooz mournfully.
“Look,” said the Grandfatherly One. “Your Fatherly One has a lot on his mind, and a lot at stake. It’s reasonable for him to ask you to be careful. It’s not reasonable for him to expect you to curl up and hibernate. And it’s not good for him to set aside his own ideas and beliefs merely for the sake of a vast and enormous fortune.”
* * *
The words of the Grandfatherly One were still ringing in my ears when I returned to my room and found that the comm-device I use to communicate with Tim was missing.
I ran to Ms. Buttsman’s desk. She was busy adjusting her hair.
“If you’re wondering what happened to your comm-device,” she said, not even looking at me, “I took it out of your room.”
“WHY?”
“Your Fatherly One suggested it might be better if you and that Tompkins boy were not in such constant communication. He fears you make a bad combination.”
I farted in disgust and stalked away. I could not believe the Fatherly One was trying to cut me off from my best friend in this way. So perhaps I was not in the most rational state of mind when I went to one of the embassy’s Earth-style phones to call Tim. If I had been, I might have been more cautious when he picked up the receiver at his end and cried, “Pleskit! Thank goodness it’s you! I need you to get over here, quick! We’ve got a… situation.”
“What kind of situation?” I asked nervously.
“I can’t explain. I just need to see you. Quick!”
CHAPTER 5 [PLESKIT]
ETHICAL CONFUSION
I was torn by my call with Tim. I did not want to get into a situation that would cost us the chance to become the richest family in the galaxy. But when a friend calls for help, what kind of friend are you if you don’t go?
Confused and troubled, I went to seek McNally, whom I needed to find before I could go to Tim’s anyway.
My bodyguard was not in his room, and I was worried that he had not yet returned from getting his coffee. Since there had been no plans for going out that afternoon, he was technically off duty. Had he gone to see one of his lady friends? I wondered if he might be visiting Ms. Weintraub. He had brought her to the big embassy party that had ended up with Tim, Maktel, Linnsy, and me getting accidentally snatched from Earth.
I burped an information request into the box mounted next to McNally’s door.
After a brief humming sound the box said, “Mr. McNally is currently in the presence of your Venerated Ancestor, Ventraah Komquist.”
I hurried back to the Grandfatherly One’s chambers. Eargon Fooz had left. McNally was sitting at a small table, a cardboard cup filled with coffee on the floor next to him. He and my Venerated Ancestor were playing an Earthling game called checkers.
“Back so soon, sproutling?” said the Grandfatherly One.
“I need to speak to my bodyguard.”
“Well, speak,” said the Grandfatherly One. “You shouldn’t be saying anything to him that I shouldn’t be able to hear.”
I was beginning to feel a distinct lack of privacy.
“I have had an emergency message from Tim,” I said. “He urgently requests our presence at his apartment.”
“Aw, geez, Pleskit,” said McNally. “Your Fatherly One just got done asking us to stay out of trouble!”
“I did not go looking for trouble,” I replied. “It seems to have found me on its own. Actually, I am not even certain we should go.”
“Abandon a friend in time of need, and you can stop coming to visit me,” said the Grandfatherly One sharply.
“But you know the Fatherly One’s wishes,” I said, feeling confused.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Well, we don’t always get what we wish for, do we? I already told you, your Fatherly One is getting a little out of control. Now, pack me up and let’s get going.”
“Pack you up?” asked McNally nervously.
“You heard me,” snapped the Grandfatherly One. “I’m going with you. Come on, let’s get a move on.”
McNally still hesitated.
“Tim did sound most perturbed,” I said.
McNally sighed. “I may be risking my job here.”
“That’s why I want you to bring me along,” said the Grandfatherly One. “My presence will give you a degree of coverage for your actions. Think of me as a living insurance policy.”
“But you’re dead,” I pointed out.
“Don’t be such a seekl-fingus,” snapped the Grandfatherly One. “You understand the point.”
“I guess so,” said McNally, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced.
It took us a few minutes to transfer the Grandfatherly One’s brain into the Brain Transport Device. A few minutes after that we were heading down the tube to the garage where the limousine was parked.
Ralph-the-Driver looked slightly startled when he saw McNally carrying the Grandfatherly One. But he didn’t say anything. He never does.
We piled into the limousine, and Ralph drove us to Tim’s apartment building.
* * *
“Thank goodness you’re here!” said Tim when we showed up at his door. “Hey, you brought the Grandfatherly One! Cool!”
The Grandfatherly One extended the speaking tubes from his BTD. “Greetings, Earthling whippersnapper,” he said. “Nice to see you again. Now, what’s this little emergency you’ve got on your hands?”
Tim pointed to a nice-looking boy standing in the kitchen doorway. He seemed to be about our age, though he was a little taller than either of us.
“What’s his problem?” asked McNally suspiciously.
Tim leaned closer and said softly, “He’s not an Earthling.”
“Uh-oh,” said the Grandfatherly One. He turned his viewing devices directly toward the boy. “That’s a pretty big claim, youngster. You ready to prove it?”
The boy bit his lip, then said, “I think it’s time I showed you my true face.”
“Dang it!” cried Tim. “When I said something about taking your face off, you accused me of being overly dramatic!”
“It’s not my face I’m going to take off,” said the boy. He walked over to the dining room table and stopped in front of it, standing with his back to it. Then he stri
pped off his shirt.
“What’s he going to do?” muttered Tim nervously. “Show us some weird alien body part?”
Before I could answer, the boy stopped cold, freezing as if he had turned into one of those dummies the Earthlings use to display clothing in their department stores.
“Has he gone into kleptra?” Tim asked nervously.
“Wait a second,” I said, holding up a hand and farting the fart of nervousness. “Keep watching.”
We heard a hissing from the boy’s body.
McNally stepped up next to me and moved into a protective stance. “The kid’s not going to explode or anything, is he?” McNally asked tensely.
“Admirable to be on your guard, McNally,” said the Grandfatherly One. “But it’s nothing like that. Even so, you’d better be the first one to go around back.”
“Around back?” asked McNally.
“Back of the kid,” said the Grandfatherly One, sounding exasperated.
Moving cautiously, McNally walked around to the other side of the table, so he was standing behind the strange boy.
Tim and I followed him.
“Great galloping galaxies,” I whispered as a small door swung down from the boy’s bare back. “He was wearing a body suit!”
The door stretched down until it touched the table, forming a kind of ramp. The surface—the part that had been inside the boy—was covered with what looked like circuits.
A cloud of steam, or smoke, or something puffed out from the opening. Then a small orange face appeared in the doorway.
CHAPTER 6 [TIM]
THE STRANDING OF BEEBO
Ducking, but only a little, because he was no more than two feet tall, the alien climbed out of the now frozen body. He had a huge grin and oversize eyes that made him look like a toy alien you’d give a little kid. He was so darn cute, I had to work to stop myself from saying “Awwww” when I saw him.
“Greetings!” he said. “My name is Beebo. Beebo Frimbat, Prince of Roogbat!”
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