B.U.R.P. Strikes Back Read online

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One:

  Pockets Gets Big News

  Chapter Two:

  Off to Akbar’s

  Chapter Three:

  Hotel in the Air

  Chapter Four:

  Archie Makes a Friend

  Chapter Five:

  Slog-Eating Contest

  Chapter Six:

  What, No Tuna?!?!

  Chapter Seven:

  The New Guy

  Chapter Eight:

  Roller Rink Revenge

  Three Science Facts to Impress Your Friends and Teachers

  About the Authors

  Copyright

  For our parents.

  —WM and MB

  For Mom and Dad. Love you both to the moon and back.

  —KF

  Chapter One:

  Pockets Gets Big News

  When you live with a talking alien cat, life gets pretty weird. Pockets—whose real name is Pilarbing Fangorious Catapolitus—is a very important agent of the International Security Force, or the ISF for short. It’s been two weeks since my dad’s space taxi brought us back home after capturing the Galactic, the huge spaceship owned by the universe’s most dangerous criminal organization, B.U.R.P. In this time, my little sister, Penny, has forced Pockets to participate in many embarrassing situations:

  1. She invited him to a tea party with her stuffed dragon, a bear, and an old doll missing both arms. Pockets didn’t want to be rude, so he lapped at the tea, but it turned out the tea was not actually tea at all, but rather brown Play-Doh mixed with warm water. This led to many hurried trips to the litter box.

  2. Then she held a make-believe wedding between Pockets and Penny’s armless doll. Penny put the doll in a dress and tied Dad’s best bow tie around Pockets’ neck. She made me act as the ring bearer, and I had to walk down the hallway carrying two gold rings (crafted out of yellow Play-Doh, which Pockets now knew better than to eat) on a pillow. Later, when I jokingly referred to the doll as “Pockets’ wife,” he took a swipe at me with one sharp claw and left a scratch that required a Band-Aid and a formal apology, which he only gave grudgingly.

  3. When Penny saw the wound, she immediately decided Pockets must be too riled up and needed a spa treatment to relax. So she gave him a body massage, which I think he actually enjoyed, because he fell asleep in the middle of it. When I pointed that out to him later, he claimed that he hadn’t fallen asleep at all, but rather had passed out from the embarrassment of getting a massage from a little girl while a clay mask dried on his face and warm booties heated his paws. I’m not so sure.

  Tonight I have been instructed to tell Penny that Pockets is taking a post-dinner nap so that she can’t test out her new purple hair powder on him. Instead of sleeping, though, he’s currently in my closet getting the latest report from the ISF on what they’ve discovered by searching B.U.R.P.’s spaceship.

  Even though Sebastian—the head of B.U.R.P.—escaped with plenty of secrets, the ship has been turning up lots of great information. Unfortunately, Pockets said it’s “classified,” which means it’s top secret and “better for my safety if I don’t know.”

  “Wait, what?” Pockets suddenly shouts, flying out of the closet. He skids on four paws across my room, coming to a halt at my feet. He lifts one paw to his mouth and speaks into his watch. “I have to make a speech? Are you sure? Can’t I just say thank you and then we eat tuna sandwiches?”

  The voice coming through the watch sounds both breathless and excited. “No, my excellent leader. Your fans will have come from near and far to bask in your wondrous presence. They will want to hear from you.”

  Pockets must have hung up with the ISF already, because that voice could only belong to Feemus, the head (and I’m pretty sure the founder and maybe the only member) of Pockets’ fan club. Sure, my family and I think Pockets is awesome, and are super-impressed with his bravery, intelligence, and skill, but Feemus takes his adoration to a whole other level. Pockets can barely stand to be around the little red one-eyed alien, which might seem mean, but I think he’s embarrassed by all the attention.

  A few months ago, I wouldn’t have thought it was possible for a cat to get embarrassed. But a few months ago I didn’t know there were such things as aliens or flying taxis that could take you to any planet in the universe. I certainly never guessed I’d meet a talking cat who worked for the ISF and helped keep the universe safe! Or that this cat would invite me and Dad to work with him, or that he’d come to live in my house! It’s been a crazy time, but I love it, and so does Dad. I’m not sure how Mom feels having half her family flying around in outer space all the time, but she’s a good sport about it, usually.

  At only four years old, Penny still thinks Dad drives a regular taxi and that Pockets is a regular cat. Until she learns how to keep secrets, that’s the way it has to be, especially now that’s she’s finally started talking!

  “Let’s see what my father has to say about this,” Pockets says, then angrily hits his watch with his opposite paw to disconnect the call.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “Feemus said I’m getting a big award on Akbar’s Floating Rest Stop this weekend and I’m supposed to give a speech. Ugh!” Pockets begins pacing in circles. I glance down at the rug. His claws are cutting a perfect circle into the cloth. I’ve never seen him this worked up, so I feel it’s best not to mention that Mom is very fond of this rug and he’ll have to answer to her when she discovers it’s been ripped to shreds.

  “An award sounds like a good thing,” I point out. “You told me you’ve gotten plenty of medals before. Why are you so upset about this one?”

  Instead of answering, he whips out his tablet and calls his father. “Hello, son!” the ISF chief shouts. “How’s life on Earth?”

  “We need to talk,” Pockets declares.

  I lean over to wave at the screen. “Hi, Chief, how ya doing?”

  He gives me a salute. “Fine, Archie boy. It’s a lovely day here on Friskopolus!”

  Pockets stops pacing and glares at the screen. “You’re in a particularly good mood,” he says, clearly suspicious. “What gives?”

  His father grins, which makes his long white whiskers quiver. “It’s not every day one learns his son is going to be awarded the ISF’s highest prize for bravery.”

  “So they’re giving it to me for capturing B.U.R.P.’s most important spaceship and finally identifying its leader, something no other agent had been able to do?” Pockets asks.

  “Well, no,” his father says, shifting in his chair, “not exactly. Actually, the award is for being the only cat willing to go to the planet Canis.”

  “But I didn’t even go on the ground,” Pockets argues. “You know that.”

  The chief leans back. “This award is quite the honor for us both, don’t you think?” he asks, as though he didn’t hear Pockets at all. “And it’s a big deal for all the agents stationed on Friskopolus who assisted you at the end of the mission.”

  Pockets opens his mouth to argue, but his anger must have deflated in the face of his dad’s enthusiasm. “I guess it was brave. But is it really necessary to make such a big deal about it?”

  “The ceremony is excellent publicity for the entire ISF,” his father says. “For such a famous place as Akbar’s Floating Rest Stop to be hosting it in their brand-new ballroom, well, that will remind all the criminals out there that we are a force to be reckoned with, yes indeed.”

  Pockets’ shoulders slump. “But do I really need to give a speech?”

  “You’ll do great,” his father assures him. “Just pretend only your closest friends and family will be listening instead of a few hundred import
ant guests and anyone tuning in on a remote device. So really, no more than a few million listeners. I’d say ten mil, tops.”

  Pockets drops the tablet and makes no move to pick it up. I bend down for it. “Pockets seems a bit shocked right now,” I tell the chief. “Anything I can do to help him prepare?”

  “That is a kind offer,” he replies. “The ISF is well aware of the roles you and your father played in the mission. You will both be our honored guests at the ceremony on Sunday. We will put you up in Akbar’s finest hotel room, and all your food for the weekend will be on us. Bring your nicest outfit. It will be a very fancy affair.”

  “Wow, thanks! I’m, um, not sure I have the right clothes, though. And I’ve never seen my dad in a suit.”

  “Never mind that, then,” he says. “Akbar’s personal tailor has been hired to fit Pockets for a suit. I will have him tend to you and your father as well.”

  At the mention of a suit, Pockets scampers under the bed.

  “I’d better go,” I tell the chief. “I might need to find some cat treats to get Pockets into the taxi.”

  “Make sure you check in to the hotel tomorrow by nine to get your itinerary. This will tell Pockets what time he is expected to be at each activity. It will be a very busy day, with fittings, tours, rehearsals, and more, so make sure you get plenty of rest. The award ceremony will be held the following day at a special lunch.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And please remind my son that his speech should thank all the agents he’s ever worked with, and—”

  At the word speech, Pockets began to whimper. It is very distracting.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” I say, reluctantly cutting him off. “I’d really better go.”

  “Remember, the first suit fitting is at ten sharp,” the chief says. “Don’t be late.” The screen goes blank.

  I kneel down and peer under the bed. “You coming out?”

  Pockets shakes his head.

  “Come on, it won’t be that bad. It’s always fun going to Akbar’s. Your favorite Barney’s Bagels and Schmear is there. And we’ll get to see our friends Graff and Bloppy again!”

  Pockets doesn’t answer.

  “Fine.” I sigh. “I’ll go get you some cat treats, but after that you’ll have to start working on your speech.”

  Getting him to come out takes a full bag of treats and the reminder that if he doesn’t want to write his speech, I could always have Penny give him a bubble bath. The fact that he actually pauses to consider that option tells me how much he REALLY doesn’t want to give a big speech. I’m already in pajamas by the time he finally pulls out a notebook and pencil.

  With Mom’s help, it doesn’t take long to pack my suitcase. I’m really excited about the trip. Since the capture of the B.U.R.P. ship, all the criminals in the universe must be lying low, because we haven’t been called on any missions recently. I’ve gone to work with Dad, shuttling aliens between planets as usual, which is awesome, but not always very exciting.

  I climb into bed and watch as Pockets rips page after page out of his notebook and crumples them up. “Um, feel free to do that in the closet,” I suggest, yawning. “Or, you know, anywhere else at all.” But Pockets ignores me. He continues scratching on the paper, grunting, ripping, and crumpling ALL NIGHT LONG. Didn’t he hear his dad say we should get a good night’s sleep?

  I finally wind up carrying my blanket into Penny’s room. When I curl up at the foot of her bed, she murmurs, “That’s a good Pockets,” and scratches me behind the ear before flopping back down to sleep.

  Pockets owes me big-time for this.

  Chapter Two:

  Off to Akbar’s

  I wake up to find that Penny has tucked her stuffed dragon under my arm and stuck four different butterfly-shaped hair clips in my hair. This is one of those moments when I wish I had a little brother instead of a little sister. I pull the clips out, taking chunks of hair with them, and stumble across the hall to my room. It feels like I only slept an hour.

  “That’s a good look for you,” Dad says from behind me. I turn to see him coming from the kitchen with an egg burrito in his hand. He gestures to my hair, which I know is sticking up in many different directions. I try to smooth it down but doubt it does much good.

  “I wish you could come,” I say to Mom as she piles pancakes onto my plate. “You wouldn’t believe all the different aliens that come and go at Akbar’s.”

  “I think I’m better off with both feet on Earth,” Mom says. “And you don’t think Bubba—the guy who lived under the sink for a while—was the only alien your father ever brought home, do you? Remind me to tell you about the others someday.”

  “I will!” I say, my mouth full of pancake.

  “Make sure you mind your manners at the fancy lunch,” Mom warns. “That means no talking with your mouth full. Put your napkin on your lap and use it—no wiping your mouth on your sleeve. Say please and thank you. And if you don’t like something you’re served, just say no thank you instead of pushing it away and saying gross.”

  I nod, although honestly, I’m so drowsy I know I’m going to forget all that before I even finish breakfast. I’m sure I’ll find some way to embarrass myself when I get there. At least we don’t have to leave before dawn anymore. Pockets gave the airfield a lifetime supply of Camo-It-Now, and all the space taxis get sprayed to look like regular planes as we pull in.

  Mom and Penny watch from the porch as Dad and I climb into the taxi. Pockets is already in the backseat, checking his messages. He puts his tablet on the seat when Penny runs down the steps and up to his window. I’m wondering if she’s going to ask why the cat needs to come with us—which really is a valid question. Instead, she sticks her little arm in and places a small item on Pockets’ head. “For luck,” she explains.

  Pockets tilts his head forward in a very I’m just a regular cat–like gesture, and the object falls to the seat. I reach over the back of my seat for it and hold it up so Dad and Pockets can see. It’s a green plastic four-leaf clover.

  “From my cereal box!” Penny says proudly.

  “That’s a lovely gift,” Mom says, swooping her up. They wave as we drive away. As soon as we get down the street, Pockets snatches the clover from my hand. “Mine,” he says, and slips it into one of his pockets so quickly I don’t even see it leave his paw.

  “Sheesh,” I say, turning back around. “Someone’s crabby this morning.”

  “Sorry,” he grumbles. “I didn’t get much sleep.”

  “Join the club!” I reply.

  “Why didn’t you sleep?” he asks.

  He truly seems not to know that he kept me up! Before I can tell him, he says, “Never mind. Too tired to chitchat. Wake me when we get there.”

  “Wait—did you finish your speech, Pockets?” my dad asks as the taxi turns in to the airfield.

  I’m pretty sure Pockets is still awake, because I don’t hear snoring yet, but he ignores Dad’s question. Dad sighs. “I’ll take that as a no.”

  “Off for a little vacation, Morningstar?” Minerva’s squeaky voice comes through the com line. She’s usually the one to coordinate Dad’s flights for his regular taxi job. Somehow she keeps track of where every alien is going and when they need to be there. Her job is very stressful, apparently.

  “As a matter of fact, yes, we are going on vacation,” Dad says cheerfully.

  “Saving the universe all the time must be tiring,” she says. I can almost see her eyes rolling from here. If a mouse’s eyes CAN roll, that is! Minerva isn’t a big fan of Pockets, so she isn’t very impressed with my dad’s other job, using the space taxi to help solve crimes.

  “Actually,” I pipe up, “Pockets is getting a big award tomorrow. We’re all going to cheer him on. Maybe you can come.”

  Silence. “Yeah, that wouldn’t really work for me,” she says. Then she snaps back to business mode and says, “You are third in line for takeoff. Await my orders.”

  Dad mutes our end of the com line
and chuckles. “Can you imagine Minerva at a lunch full of hungry cats?”

  I shake my head. “Guess it wouldn’t be the best place for a mouse. I’d like to meet her one day, though.”

  “Me, too,” Dad says.

  “You’ve never met her?” I ask in surprise.

  He shakes his head. “She and your grandfather were close, but I’ve never met her. She’s stationed on a satellite in Earth’s orbit. Maybe one day we’ll drop by.”

  “Pull onto the runway, Morningstar,” Minerva squeaks.

  Dad un-mutes the com line. “Yes, ma’am. Over and out.”

  It’s rare that I get to see other space taxis as they lift off, so even though my eyes keep trying to close, I watch until they are swallowed up by the clouds. When it’s our turn, the rumbling and vibration of the engine are enough to keep my attention, but once we’re up off the ground, it’s a struggle to stay awake. My arms and legs just feel so heavy. Dad doesn’t need my guidance until we’re out of the solar system, so I leave my map open on my lap and lean my head back for just a second.

  “Archie!” Dad shouts. “I need directions!”

  My eyes fly open. Heart pounding, I look up at the darkness of space and then quickly down at the map. “To Akbar’s!” I scream at it. Planets and star systems between our current location and Akbar’s pop up into the air. Is that still Earth? I must have the map upside down!

  Dad swerves to avoid something and Pockets flies up to the roof and back down. I frantically look at the map to see what we almost hit. Oh, no! I was wrong about him not needing guidance in our own solar system. That was the International Space Station! There are people LIVING there! What if they saw us?

  Also, Pockets should really tighten his seat belt!

  My map readjusts as Dad turns and steps on the gas, hard. “Turn left at the triple star system,” I tell him, gripping the arms of my seat as he corrects his path.

  When we’re back on track, I gulp and say, “I’m really sorry about that, Dad.” I feel awful for letting him down. My mistake could have caused a serious accident.