Space Taxi--Aliens on Earth Read online

  “Yeah, yeah,” a lizard-like alien says with a dismissive wave. He has a few more legs than I think a lizard is normally allotted. “I’ve got my kid’s birthday party. He’s turning six hundred and twenty-one, and if I miss it, I’ll never forgive myself. You can’t get those early days back.”

  Others begin shouting out all the reasons they have to leave Earth, and Pockets whistles again and holds up his paw. “I understand having to wait is hard for everyone. But it’s better than being stuck in space and having the taxi you were riding in suddenly stall out and drift aimlessly until it bangs into an asteroid. Right?”

  The aliens grunt and shuffle their feet, which I take as a sign of their agreement.

  Pockets continues. “Judging from the scene before me, we clearly cannot keep all of you together in one place. Each driver will be taking home whatever alien was in his or her taxi at the time of the solar flare. Home Base will alert you when the airfield has reopened.”

  At the news of unexpected houseguests, it’s the drivers’ turn to complain. Even Dad starts to protest. After all, we’ve got Penny to consider. She can’t know about aliens until she’s old enough to keep secrets better.

  Pockets holds up his paw again. “Every driver will be paid double his or her salary to help cover the cost of feeding and housing your guests.”

  That quiets them down.

  “Because of the damage to the bus, however, the bus company refuses to bring you to your temporary homes around the city. Normally it would be up to the ISF to decide how to get you there without attracting attention, but I have lost my connection with the chief.”

  “Also known as his father,” I whisper to Toe.

  Pockets motions with his paw for Dad to toss him the sandwich, so he does. “I’m open to suggestions,” he tells the room. “It’s not like we can just march you all down the center of Main Street in bright sunlight!”

  “We can just wait till dark to sneak ’em out,” one of the drivers suggests.

  Pockets shakes his head. “Can’t wait that long. Barney’s is meant to be a short-term waiting area, and we are well over our maximum occupancy. The food supply is dwindling, and we’re way too exposed in the middle of the city like this.”

  “Can you use the Atomic Assembler on them?” I ask. “You could make all the aliens look like humans.” After being turned into an alien on Tri-Dark last month, I still sometimes feel like my arms are extra long!

  Pockets bites into his sandwich and shakes his head. “None of my high-tech gadgets will work.”

  “Oh, right. I forgot.” I think about the problem for a minute, and about what Toe told me about blending in. Then it hits me… maybe there’s a way aliens CAN march down the middle of Main Street in bright sunlight after all!

  Chapter Three:

  Aliens on Parade

  “A parade?” Pockets asks. He reaches for his sandwich and then frowns when he sees only crumbs are left. “How could we hold a parade? Everyone would see us.”

  I shake my head. “Not a regular parade, a costume parade. Or, at least that’s what people will think they’re seeing. We can put up posters around the area advertising a costume parade and a prize for the craziest outfit. If regular people join in, that will be even better.”

  “I think it can work!” Dad says. “The drivers would march alongside their aliens, and then each group can veer off when they reach their homes.”

  “Let’s do it!” Pockets declares.

  Then things happen fast!

  First, Pockets announces the plan to the room, giving me credit for coming up with it, which makes me feel very grown-up. Since all the cell phone signals are knocked out, the drivers line up to use Barney’s landline phone to ask their relatives to bring them old Halloween costumes. Toe whips out some crayons and he and some of the more artistic aliens make posters on the back of Barney’s paper menus. Barney’s staff hurries outside to tape them up on telephone poles along the parade route.

  I’m a bit jealous they get to go outside on such a nice Saturday afternoon. I may not have mentioned the smell in the hot, overpacked restaurant, but ohh, the smell. It’s a cross between festering garbage and wet earwax. It’s totally not the aliens’ faults that their bodies react with our atmosphere this way. Even Toe’s natural chocolate chip cookie odor can’t make a dent in the stench.

  I want to wear my baseball uniform as my costume, but since Mom is out at the park with Penny, we can’t reach her. Pockets suggests Dad and I look in Barney’s back room to see what we can put together, but the aliens have eaten or taken everything in sight, even the coffee beans and sugar packets. They left exactly one paper hat and one bag of flour (which we found toppled over and hidden behind a cabinet). This explains why Dad is now dressed as a chef and I’m a ghost—a ghost who’s going to be picking flour out of his hair and ears for weeks!

  Within an hour, we’re lining up outside Barney’s to march down the middle of the street. Pockets organizes everyone so that the people who live closest are in the front of the parade and can just leave the line when their houses come up. That way it’s nice and orderly. I would never have thought of that, but that’s why he’s the boss!

  Small groups and families begin joining us, dressed as firefighters and witches and baseball players and ducks. It’s awesome! Even more people line up on the sidewalks to watch, never guessing that they’re looking right at aliens from planets across the entire universe. I feel bad that we couldn’t reach Mom. Penny would have loved this.

  Barney himself leads the parade. Someone gave him a pink wig to cover his bald head. The bagpipe he’s playing must be his, though; I don’t think many people have one lying around! Someone brought candy and is now throwing it out to the crowd as the parade passes by.

  We’ve gotten about a block down the street when I hear a voice shout, “Archie!”

  I scan the crowd to see where it came from. “Mom!”

  She waves from the sidewalk. She must have seen one of the signs. When Penny sees me and Dad, she pulls free of Mom’s hand and runs to join us.

  Her eyes are wide with wonder as she takes in all the different aliens, who she no doubt believes are people in costume. “Why are you all white, Archie?” she asks when she reaches us. I’m still getting used to her speaking in full sentences!

  “I’m a ghost.” I hold up my hands and wiggle my fingers. “Boo!”

  She pretends to jump in fright. Then she notices Pockets marching a few rows ahead of us and loses interest in me. “Pockets!” she shouts, and runs over to him.

  “Don’t take it personally,” Dad says with a grin. “I didn’t even get a hello!”

  “She sure loves that cat,” I say.

  “She does indeed.”

  “How are we going to explain Toe coming to stay with us?” I look around for him and see him a few yards behind us, chatting with one of the pink ladies.

  “I was thinking about that,” Dad says as we turn the corner from Main to Elm. “If Toe doesn’t speak, maybe we can pass him off as a large, fluffy stuffed animal?”

  I glance back again. I can hear Toe singing from here. “Pretty sure we can’t keep him quiet for very long.”

  “Yeah, probably not.”

  “He said the kids he taught at school thought he was just a hairy person. Maybe that’s what Penny will think.”

  “As long as she doesn’t see his feet!”

  Small groups are now starting to slip away from the parade and into apartment buildings along the route. I see Simon and Bubble Girl (as I’ve started to call her) break off next. He’s dressed as a farmer, in a straw hat and overalls. I watch in awe as she rolls down the street next to him, like a hamster in a wheel, except she’s not walking on all fours. She has a small duffel bag attached to the side of the bubble with magnets. I don’t see an opening in the bubble, but there must be one or else she wouldn’t be able to get anything out of her bag.

  They turn the corner onto a side street and disappear into one of the houses.
No one even turns to watch. They must think it’s just two regular people in costume. The plan is working!

  We live pretty far from Barney’s, so most of the others are gone by the time our turn comes. Mom has joined Pockets and Penny. As soon as we are in front of our building, she scoops up Penny and we all step to the sidewalk so the rest of the group can continue.

  Our neighbor Mr. Goldblatt is on the stoop watching the parade with his little dog, Luna. Even though she can’t see very well because she’s so old, Luna immediately sniffs at Pockets, who hisses in response and scrambles backward. I’d have thought that going to Canis—the dog planet—would have cured Pockets of his fear of dogs, but nope.

  Luna’s head whirls around as she picks up an unfamiliar scent. But before she can get too close to our new houseguest, Dad ushers Toe into the building and up the stairs to our apartment.

  “Penny,” Dad says once we’re all inside, “this is our new friend, Toe. He’s going to be staying with us for a day or two.”

  Mom leans toward Dad and whispers, “We haven’t had a houseguest since Bubba from Belora Prime lived under the sink. Whatever happened to that little guy?”

  “He’s still there,” Dad whispers back.

  Mom’s eyes widen.

  “Kidding,” Dad says, grinning. “He’s not. At least I don’t think he is.”

  Penny steps a little closer to Mom and looks shyly over at Toe. She makes friends very easily. It’s a gift she has. I start counting backward from ten in my head. Ten… nine… She tilts her head toward him and sniffs. “Chocolate chip cookie?” Eight… seven… She moves closer to him, sniffing him some more. I notice they’re about the same height. Toe smiles and sings, “Penny is a lovely name. Would you like to play a game?”

  Mom looks amused by how Toe sings, but Penny squeals with delight, grabs Toe’s hand, and runs into the living room, where the board games are piled up. I knew I wouldn’t even make it down to one before she found herself a new best friend. The next time we see him, Toe’s fur is braided, his nails are painted purple (guess she wasn’t freaked out by the wonky toes!), and he’s wearing a skirt made out of newspaper.

  Pockets takes one look at him, mutters, “Better him than me,” and races from the room.

  Chapter Four:

  Gone Missing

  Toe sleeps standing up. He must have a very good sense of balance. Earlier this morning Penny and I tried standing up and closing our eyes, but we kept falling into each other and crashing to the floor. Mom made us stop before we smashed our heads together or woke Toe or Mr. Goldblatt below us.

  Toe is still sleeping right now, in the middle of my room, even though the sun is streaming through the window and Dad is playing his music in the kitchen. Penny is sitting at Toe’s feet, waiting impatiently for him to wake up and play with her. I think she tired him out yesterday. By the time night fell, his songs had started to get shorter, like, “Off to bed, or fall on head” and “Long day, must dream away.”

  Pockets has been acting strange. I have a feeling that not being able to talk to his dad or the ISF is starting to really bother him. Since yesterday afternoon, he’s only left my closet to eat, to check on Toe once or twice, and to see if there’s any news on when systems will be up and running again. All night I heard his paws clacking on the keyboard, but I never saw what he was working on.

  Suddenly Penny shouts, “Toe’s waking up!” I happily put down my math homework (I like math and all, but I like aliens in my bedroom better!) and hurry over. Toe’s toes do this weird stretchy thing, then snap back into place. His shoulders lift up, then settle down again. Then his eyes fly open and he smiles.

  “Good morning to you! The sky is so blue and we have so much to do!”

  Penny claps her hands together and she and Toe run off to build a castle out of empty toilet paper rolls. I’m about to go back to tackling the next problem (8 + 4 = 3 × __?) when Dad comes rushing in. He’s holding the house phone. “Where’s Pockets?”

  I point to the closet. Dad pulls open the door.

  “Hey,” Pockets says with a scowl. “Heard of knocking? Common courtesy!”

  Papers are strewn all over the floor around him, but other than that, his office is unusually clean. Most of his gadgets and gizmos are piled in a cardboard box on the floor. Maybe he figures he doesn’t need so much stuff around since the solar flare prevents it from working. I want to ask Pockets if he’s okay or if he wants to talk about anything, but Dad obviously needs him right now.

  “I’ll knock next time,” Dad promises, “but this can’t wait.” He hands Pockets the phone.

  A few seconds later I hear Pockets shout, “Wait, what? Who’s where? When?”

  That’s a lot of W questions!

  A minute later Pockets hangs up, tosses the phone onto the bed, and says, “Get dressed fast. We have a missing alien.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Dad, Pockets, and I are standing on Simon’s front porch. The missing alien is Bubble Girl! Toe asked to come, but Pockets didn’t want to risk anyone seeing him. Just because a four-year-old believes he’s human doesn’t mean adults will.

  Simon explains what happened. “Me and the wife were having our usual breakfast of eggs and salami. We kept calling upstairs for the little gal to roll on down for something to eat. We knew she didn’t sleep too well, because all night long we could hear her rolling around up there. Felt sorry for the kid, stuck in that bubble thing, but what could we do? The air is the air, ya know?”

  “Go on,” Pockets says impatiently.

  “So we went up to check on her and found the window open. She must have pushed herself out and rolled down the roof and taken off. Took her small bag with her.”

  “Why do you think she left?” Pockets asks.

  “No idea,” Simon says. “But if she cracked her bubble on the way down, the air inside from her home planet would start to leak out, and the oxygen would get in.”

  My stomach flip-flops like it does when the taxi goes through a wormhole. “What happens when an anti-ox comes into contact with oxygen?” I ask.

  “It’s different for each species,” Simon replies. “Sometimes the effects can be mild, like an itchy rash. But sometimes, well, let’s just say they don’t recover.”

  Pockets growls. Dad and I exchange a look. We’ve heard that growl before. It’s never a good sign. Pockets begins to pace in circles. “I could use six different devices to find her if this solar storm hadn’t happened.”

  I’m about to point out that she wouldn’t still be on Earth if the solar storm hadn’t happened, but I figure that wouldn’t be too helpful.

  Pockets continues to pace. “I can’t even track her the old-fashioned way because I never got a whiff of her yesterday. If she approaches a human for help, or someone spots her, the results will be disastrous.”

  I clear my throat. “Um, Pockets? Why would it be so bad if people on Earth knew about aliens? I mean, we all know, and it’s not like we freaked out or anything.”

  Dad puts his hand on my shoulder. “Son, it’s more complicated than that. Humans will find out that they’re not alone in the universe one day, but not until we understand how to work together in harmony with the aliens. Certainly there are people who can handle the truth, but those aren’t the ones we’re worried about.”

  I nod. I think I understand.

  “Focus, people,” Pockets says, waving his paws. “Runaways usually go somewhere they’re familiar with. We need to follow the parade route back to Barney’s. Simon, you stay here in case she returns.”

  He digs out four walkie-talkies from one of his many chest pockets and hands one to Simon. “Alert me if you hear anything. A little solar storm won’t keep us quiet!” He tosses them to the rest of us and we set out.

  Confetti and glitter and stray candy still line the parade route, so it’s easy to retrace our steps. As we follow the trail backward, I start to notice tiny movements—a curtain shifting here, a branch rustling there, the flash of a yellow eye in a gar
age window, the smell of something sour that makes me crinkle my nose.

  At first Pockets’ super senses keep making him stop and pivot every few feet, too, his tail low and ears back. It always turns out to be just a bored or lonely alien, though, and never the one we’re looking for. With no sign of Bubble Girl, I admit I’m getting a little worried. Even if she didn’t spring a leak, what if she rolled right into a lake or something? Can the bubble float?

  “Don’t look so worried,” Dad says, putting his hand on my shoulder. “She’s in good hands with Pockets on the case. That cat ALWAYS gets his man. Or in this case, his girl in a bubble.”

  Chapter Five:

  A Clue!

  After checking behind dumpsters and telephone poles and storage sheds, we wind up back at Barney’s. I’m surprised to see that everything looks totally normal. The tables and chairs have all been set back up, and regular people are having nice breakfasts of bagels and steaming plates of eggs. Since no taxis can land, there aren’t any new aliens trying to blend in while they await pickup.

  Pockets heads directly for the self-serve shelf and grabs a plate of tuna. Then he seems to remember that he’s supposed to be a regular cat and gets down on all four paws to lick it off the plate.

  “Hiya, Mr. Morningstar,” the young woman at the counter says. I’ve never seen her here before. She has long, straight yellow hair and earrings up and down both ears.

  “Good morning, Vanya,” Dad replies with a smile. “I haven’t seen you in a few months. Is Barney here?”

  “Nope. Dad is exhausted from all the excitement yesterday, so I’m helping out.” She glances around to make sure no one can hear. “I heard it got pretty wild.”

  Dad leans in. “That it did. Hey, did you see an alien girl about my son’s age in here earlier? She would have been inside a blue bubble.”