Water Planet Rescue Page 2

  “Things will be back to business as usual soon, I’m sure,” Dad says.

  “Are you certain you can trust this… this cat?” she asks, unable to hide her dislike. Turns out cats and mice are sworn enemies everywhere in the universe, not just on Earth.

  “I can hear you, you know,” Pockets calls from the backseat. He has pulled out a towel and is trying to dry his wet, matted fur.

  “I trust him,” Dad assures her.

  “Fine,” she snaps. “You are cleared for takeoff. As usual, be careful up there.”

  “Always am,” Dad says. “Morningstar over and out.”

  The second set of straps pins us to our seats and the taxi speeds up.

  “What are mods?” I have to shout over the noise of the engine.

  “Modifications,” my dad shouts back. “Changes we need to make to the taxi.”

  I grip the seat as the front tires lift off the ground and we begin to zoom toward the blue sky. I forgot how fast we go at takeoff. I swallow hard and wait to catch my breath before shouting over the roar of the rocket boosters. “Why do you need to change anything? What’s wrong with the taxi?”

  “Nothing,” Dad yells, pulling down on the throttle as we pass through the clouds. “Nautilus is a water planet. Our space taxi will need to become a space submarine.”

  Underwater Deputy Archie Morningstar has a nice ring to it! “Do you always have to do this when you go to Nautilus?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “I’ve been to Akbar’s for repairs many times, but I’ve never been to Nautilus.”

  This surprises me. Hasn’t my dad been everywhere? “But I thought your job took you all over the universe.”

  “The universe is a really big place, Archie,” he says as the taxi picks up speed. “Even after all these years of traveling through it, I’ve only seen a tiny slice.”

  I turn to look behind us. The sun is now a small glowing blob as we head out of the solar system.

  “This would be a good time to start guiding us to Akbar’s,” Dad says. “It’s orbiting near the outer arm of the Milky Way.”

  I stowed the tube under the backseat earlier this morning. Pockets hands it to me, and I hurry to unroll the map. Then I stop. What if my being able to read the map was a one-time thing? What if all I see are dots and squiggles again and Dad has to go back to Earth to find a real space taxi copilot?

  I guess I’m about to find out. I lay the map open in my lap and hold my breath. Nothing happens. I focus on the paper, silently begging it to work. A few seconds later the map springs to life, sending stars and planets into the air above my lap.

  PHEW!

  “Akbar’s Floating Rest Stop, please,” I say out loud. The map zooms in on a small object out past a triple star system. I scan the area to see the best route. “Okay, Dad. Left past the third red star, then a quick right.”

  Dad follows my instructions, and we’re on our way.

  “Good job, Archie,” he says.

  “So what’s the big weather emergency, anyway?” I ask Pockets.

  “Nautilus is covered in water,” Pockets tells us. “Half the people live under the ocean, and the other half live on islands they built on the surface. But the water level is going down fast. No one knows why. That’s what we’re going to find out.”

  “How are we going to do that?” Dad asks.

  “Because I’m on the case.”

  Pockets is a very confident cat.

  A few minutes later we approach what looks like a gigantic shopping mall floating in space. A huge flashing billboard sticking out of the top announces: AKBAR’S FLOATING REST STOP, FOR ALL YOUR TRAVEL NEEDS. Then underneath, in smaller (but still huge) letters, it says: IF YOU LIVED HERE, YOU’D BE HOME NOW. Then in even smaller (but still really big) letters it says: JUST KIDDING. YOU CAN’T LIVE HERE. BUT STOP BY FOR A VISIT. WE’RE ALWAYS OPEN.

  My eyes open wider and wider as we soar past flashing neon signs for the bathrooms, the snack bar, the gift shop, the game room, and, most surprising of all, a Barney’s Bagels and Schmear restaurant! All the way out here!

  On every side of the huge floating building are long metal arms with hand-like clamps on the ends. Most of the arms have spaceships of different sizes and shapes attached to them. Dad steers the taxi toward an empty pair of metal arms. The arms reach out toward the taxi and clamp onto our front bumper. The taxi gives a small shudder, and then Dad turns off the engine. He flips on the com line. “Salazar Morningstar,” he announces. Then adds, “And friends.”

  “Greetings, Mr. Morningstar,” a friendly voice replies. “Please state the purpose of your visit to Akbar’s today.”

  “We have an appointment at Graff’s Garage,” Dad says.

  “Please stay seated,” the voice instructs. The taxi begins to glide along the side of the building, and I crane my neck to see out the window. The metal arms are moving us to another spot. One final jolt and we stop. Then two large metal doors slide open and our car is pulled inside the building. When we stop, we’re about twenty feet above the ground. A blinking sign announces: WELCOME TO GRAFF’S GARAGE. IF WE CAN’T FIX IT, IT AIN’T BROKE.

  “Enjoy your visit,” the pleasant voice says. “And don’t forget to get a bagel from Barney’s on your way out.”

  Pockets licks his lips and says, “This Barney’s location has the best tuna fish sandwich this side of the Milky Way. Yuuuumy!” He rubs his still-damp belly. That cat sure does love his tuna.

  “You’ve been here before, too?” I ask.

  “Everyone’s been to Akbar’s Rest Stop,” Pockets replies. “Come, let’s get the taxi fixed up so we can get to the tuna!”

  “And to Nautilus,” I add.

  “Yes, of course,” Pockets says, but doesn’t take his eyes off the sign for Barney’s.

  I peer out the windshield. We’re nowhere near the ground. Before I can warn him, Pockets flings open his door and steps out.

  Chapter Four:

  Graff’s Garage

  “Pockets!” I shout, my heart racing. I throw open my door and look all around. I don’t see him anywhere.

  “Down here,” a voice calls out.

  Pockets! I whip my head around until I find him standing on a movable sidewalk that runs along the opposite side of the car. He waves as the sidewalk glides him toward a door in the middle of the wall marked GARAGE.

  Phew!

  Dad chuckles and I realize he’s holding on to the back of my bathing suit. “At least you didn’t try to climb out your own door,” he says, letting go. “The sidewalk’s only on the driver’s side.”

  I scramble over and follow Dad out onto the moving walkway. I try not to think about what would have happened if I had hopped out my own door with nowhere to go but the floor far below. Penny would take my bedroom, that’s for sure. She would pull down my maps of the city and replace them with pictures of unicorns and fairies and mermaids. I shudder at the thought.

  The sidewalk takes us into a large mechanic’s shop loaded with equipment and vehicles. Whirring, beeping, grinding, and banging sounds bounce off the high ceiling. It would look just like any big mechanic’s shop at home if it weren’t for the fact that the workers all appear to be giant man-size ants with hard black shells and antennae that wave from their heads as they work.

  I shrink back. I still have nightmares from dropping an ant farm when I was in kindergarten. It totally wasn’t my fault, by the way. The floor was wet from spilled juice, and anyone would have slipped on it. (Although, now that I think of it, the juice may have been my fault.) The tiny ants flew everywhere. Mom was picking them out of my hair for days.

  The tallest of the ant guys spots us and waves one long arm. He hops off a ladder and slides a wrench into a pocket hanging off his belt. “Sal Morningstar!” he says in exactly the kind of chirpy voice you would think an ant would have, only deeper. “How you doin’, man?”

  Dad smiles and reaches for one of the guy’s four hands. A stream of oozy grease slides onto Dad’s hand as the
y shake. It came right out of the guy’s wrist! Up close I can see they aren’t really giant ants, only ant-like. Turns out the antennae on their heads are tools attached to a hat. They have regular ears on the sides of their heads. Still, I’m sticking close to Dad.

  “Good to see you, Graff,” Dad says, wiping his grease-smeared hand on his pants. “Been a long time.” He puts his other hand on my shoulder. “This is my son, Archie. He’s my copilot now.”

  Graff’s large round eyes shine down at me. “Congratulations, young Morningstar. That’s a big responsibility.”

  I force myself to smile, but it comes out kind of shaky. “I know,” I say. And then I blurt out, “We save the universe now, too.”

  Dad stares at me.

  I put my hand over my mouth. Oops! Maybe Dad should worry about me giving our secrets away, not Penny.

  “Anyway,” Dad says, quickly changing the subject, “you got the message we were coming?”

  “Sure did,” Graff says. “We’re all ready for you.”

  At that moment Pockets jumps out from behind me, where I didn’t even realize he had been crouching. Is he going to yell at me for saying that thing about saving the universe? Or worse yet, fire us? I was really hoping to get a chance to foil some more crimes.

  But he runs right past me, leaps onto Graff’s shoulders, and tackles him to the ground! Graff yelps in surprise. Clumps of wet fur and sticky grease fly in all directions as they wrestle. I feel like I should probably do something, but I’m so surprised that I can’t seem to move.

  The two roll around on the ground meowing (Pockets) and chirping (Graff). Dad rushes over, shouting at Pockets to stop. But before he reaches them, they stand up, dust themselves off, and start laughing.

  Graff clasps Pockets on the shoulder. “You looked a lot better the last time I saw you, young Pilarbing Fangorious!” Graff says, grinning. “What happened to you?”

  Pockets tries to smooth himself down, but it doesn’t do any good. He really is a mess. Besides his clumpy wet fur, he now has black grease all over him.

  Pockets points one paw at Dad. “He thought I needed a bath.”

  “I would definitely agree with that,” Graff says, laughing again.

  “So,” Dad says, scratching his head. “I’m guessing you two know each other?”

  Graff nods. A glob of grease squirts out of the joint in his neck. I try not to stare. “I’ve known Pilarbing since he was a tiny kitten,” he explains. “His father is an old friend. Looks like he’s got some new friends now.”

  I feel kind of silly for being scared of Graff just because of how he looks. I clear my throat and say, “We call him Pockets. You know, because of all his pockets?”

  Graff grins again. “Makes sense to me. C’mon, Pockets, let’s get you cleaned up.” He leads a complaining Pockets over to the other end of the room and pushes him through some curtains. We hear the whoosh of water, and then some bubbles spill out from under the curtain. A minute later the whirr of a dryer drowns out the sound of the mechanics working. Then out runs Pockets, clean and mostly dry. His fur doesn’t look any shorter, though.

  Dad looks Pockets up and down. “Couldn’t you have given him a haircut while you were at it?”

  Graff laughs. “I wouldn’t put pointy scissors anywhere near that cat. He’s quicker than he looks.”

  Pockets twists his head around to admire himself. “Better,” he admits. “Now we really need to get the taxi aqua-fitted. Nautilus will surely have lost more water since we left Earth.”

  “Already taken care of.” Graff steps aside to reveal our taxi, parked right behind us. While we were waiting for Pockets to get clean, the other guys must have been working on the car. Can’t say that it looks any different, though.

  “Wonderful,” Dad says, circling the taxi. He must see something I don’t.

  “You are now able to go underwater,” Graff says proudly.

  “How deep?” Pockets asks.

  Graff rubs his chin. More grease squirts out. “We’re not sure. At some point the pressure of the water will begin to crush the taxi.”

  “When is that?” Dad asks. “At fifty yards down? Five hundred?”

  Graff shrugs. “Somewhere between those two?”

  Pockets sighs. “Okay. So what else can it do?”

  “Push the blue button on the dashboard. Skis will pop out of the bottom for a water landing,” Graff says.

  “Nice,” Dad says, nodding.

  Graff reaches into the backseat of the taxi and hands Pockets a brown bag. “The ISF also requested you stock up on a few things. We packed you a heat sensor and a few other tools.”

  Pockets peeks into the bag. “A Flirbin Blaster. Excellent.”

  “What’s a Flirbin Blaster?” I ask, leaning over to look.

  Pockets closes the bag. “Sorry, that’s on a need-to-know basis only.”

  “Hmph,” I reply.

  Graff puts his hand on my shoulder, depositing three circles of grease. “Don’t feel too bad, young Morningstar. Here, you can have a gadget of your own.” He reaches into his tool belt and hands me what looks like a flashlight with a suction cup at the end. I turn it over in my hands. “What is it?”

  “It’s called an air dryer.”

  “A hair dryer?” I say, trying to hide my disappointment. I have one of those at home. Mom usually has to chase me around the apartment before I let her use it on me after a shower.

  He laughs. “No, an air dryer. We use it to make repairs underwater. It allows us to pull out objects that get stuck in a drain line. Seeing as you’re already in your swimsuit, I figured this is something you might like.”

  “Are you sure he should take this?” Dad asks. “It looks expensive.”

  “No worries,” Graff says. “We’ve got plenty of ’em.”

  “Thanks!” I tell him, gripping it tight. A gadget of my very own! And it won’t dry my hair!

  Graff gives Pockets a little scratch on the top of his head and says, “Be well, my friend.”

  If anyone had told me a week ago that it would seem normal that a giant ant-like creature would be lovingly petting an oversize talking cat, I’d have told them they were nuts. Welcome to life in outer space!

  Pockets is in a hurry to get to the water planet, but not in enough of a hurry to miss out on tuna at Barney’s Bagels and Schmear. Dad tries to convince him we should get moving, but he pretends not to hear. We have no choice but to go with him. Truth be told, a bagel really does sound good.

  Pockets plunks his money on the counter. “Three tuna bagel sandwiches,” he says. “Heavy on the tuna.”

  “I was actually going to get cream cheese on mine,” I tell Pockets.

  “Oh, I wasn’t ordering for you,” he replies, licking his lips. “These are all for me.”

  Dad orders for the two of us and I follow Pockets to a table. He digs into his lunch while I look around, trying to find the differences between this Barney’s and the one not too far from our apartment on Earth.

  For one thing, ours doesn’t have a view of the Milky Way outside its window. And the guy behind the counter at home doesn’t have six tentacles or three eyes. Or if he does, he did a really great job hiding it that one time I saw him. This Barney’s is packed, just like the bagel shop at home. Only this one is full of aliens of all shapes and sizes and colors. Dad joins us and catches me staring. He gives me a disapproving look. I turn my attention to my food. Who could blame me if I peek every few seconds at a square-shaped alien at the next table? His mouth opens so wide he can (and does) stuff his whole sandwich in it.

  “Is this seat taken?” a small voice asks.

  I turn around to see a tiny red alien with one large eye in the center of his round face. Two long tentacles sway back and forth on the top of his head, like windshield wipers. He’s holding a tray of food, and for some reason he looks kind of familiar. He clears his throat and asks again if the seat is taken.

  “No,” Dad and I say, quickly scooting down on the bench to mak
e room.

  “Yes,” Pockets says, barely glancing up from his sandwich. “Sorry.”

  The alien’s little tentacles droop and he hurries away, bent over his tray.

  “That was rude, Pockets,” Dad says. “There’s plenty of room.”

  “And he was so cute,” I add. “Like a little stuffed animal, but real.”

  Pockets licks the last bits of tuna off his paws and stands up. “Trust me, looks can be deceiving out here.”

  I try to see where the little red guy went, but I don’t spot him anywhere in the restaurant. I could stay here all day just alien watching, but now that Pockets has eaten his tuna, he hurries us out.

  Graff gassed up the taxi earlier, so we are soon zooming away from Akbar’s Floating Rest Stop. According to my map, the only tricky part of the rest of the journey should be avoiding an asteroid that is very close to Nautilus. The big chunk of floating rock is only fifty miles across, which isn’t big enough to give it much gravitational pull. So it shouldn’t pull us toward it, but it can definitely crush us if we hit it. Or it hits us. Either way, it would be bad.

  It doesn’t take long until we enter the water planet’s solar system. Just like the map warned, the asteroid is here. We are all silent as the huge chunk of space rock zooms by the taxi’s rear window a little too close for comfort. The taxi bumps and jumps for a minute in the wake of the asteroid, then settles back down.

  Soon we’ve reached the planet’s atmosphere. “Deploy reverse thrusters,” I tell Dad.

  “Roger that,” he says. But before he gets a chance, a huge, gushing wall of water appears out of nowhere and blocks our way.

  That was definitely NOT on my map!

  Chapter Five:

  The Underwater Planet

  “It’s the water leaving Nautilus,” Pockets shouts above the roar. “You will have to go above it.”

  “I can’t,” Dad shouts back, swerving left, then right. “The gravity from the planet is too strong at this point. It’s pulling us toward it.”