Too Many Aliens

  FOR TONY SANSEVERO, EXCELLENT FRIEND AND BRINGER OF LIGHT

  CHAPTER 1 [TIM]

  WAITING FOR MAKTEL

  I am so scared. When Pleskit came to Earth, I never imagined I would end up being held in custody by an alien court on a planet hundreds of light-years from home.

  Home. Boy, it seems so far away. Heck, it is so far away.

  I wonder if I’ll ever see it again.

  Our law-speaker—the one helping Pleskit, Linnsy, Maktel, and me—says we should not be too worried. She says if we just write our statements, Judge Wingler will probably let us go. The Interplanetary Trading Federation just needs the information.

  All the information.

  The judge is letting us work together. And he wants us to start at the beginning, which means I should mention the oog-slama, and waiting for Maktel. He also wants us to be totally honest, even about our emotions, which is a little like being totally naked, if you ask me. But if that’s what I have to do to get home—well, here goes…

  * * *

  “Mom!” I cried, running into the kitchen. “It moved! It moved!”

  My mother turned off the blender and looked at me nervously. “What moved, Tim?”

  “The oog-slama!”

  An oog-slama is something like a cross between an egg and a cocoon, and it’s one way shape-shifters on Hevi-Hevi reproduce. When Pleskit’s Veeblax had created an oog-slama, Pleskit passed it on to me. If I could actually get the oog-slama to turn into a Veeblax, not only would I finally have a pet of my own, I’d be the only kid on Earth (besides Pleskit, of course) whose pet came from another planet!

  What made this particularly nerve-racking was the fact that an oog-slama can take anywhere from five days to fifteen years to turn into a Veeblax! It’s hard enough to wait for something when you know how long it’s going to take. It’s even worse when you have no idea when—or if—what you’re waiting for will happen.

  My mother followed me back to my room. We picked our way across the mess on the floor to my desk, where I was keeping the oog-slama in a padded bowl. Next to it was the spray bottle I was using to mist it several times a day.

  The oog-slama looked like a three-inch-long purple pickle. Pleskit had told me that as a Veeblax-to-be matures, the skin of an oog-slama will sometimes become transparent. But as of right now the skin was still opaque, so I couldn’t tell what (if anything) was happening inside it. That was one reason I had been so excited to see it move.

  Mom and I stared at it for a long time.

  Nothing happened.

  “It did move,” I said forlornly. “Honest. It twitched.”

  “That’s all right, Tim,” she said, putting her hand on my shoulder. “When I was pregnant with you, sometimes I would feel you move. But when I tried to let your father feel it, you would stop, and might go a whole day before you did it again.” She smiled. “You were stubborn even before you were born.”

  I shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

  She looked at me suspiciously. “All right, Timbo, what’s going on? You’ve been acting pretty glum for the last couple of days.”

  “Nothing’s wrong!” I said, a little too hastily.

  She bent over so we were face-to-face. “Look me straight in the eyes and say that.”

  I couldn’t do it, of course, and I was annoyed at her for trapping me like this. On the other hand, something inside me felt like it was going to explode, so maybe it would be just as well to let it out. Trying to sound casual, I shrugged and said, “I’m just a little worried about what will happen when Maktel gets here.”

  She looked surprised. “Why would you be worried about that? I thought when it came to aliens, your theory was ‘the more the better.’ ”

  Working to keep my voice from quavering, I said, “Mom, back on Hevi-Hevi, Maktel was Pleskit’s best friend.”

  I hoped I wouldn’t have to explain more, so I was relieved when I saw the light go on in her eyes. “Ah,” she said softly. “And now Pleskit is your best friend, and you don’t know where you’ll stand when his old best friend shows up for a visit.”

  I nodded, which was easier than trying to get any more words past the lump growing in my throat.

  Mom took a deep breath. “Well, I can see why you would be wondering about that, honey. But I’m sure it will be fine.”

  “That’s what mothers always say.”

  She made a face at me. “Have you talked to Pleskit about this?”

  I looked at her as if she had lost her mind.

  She pinched the top of her nose and sighed. “Tim, have you ever considered how weird it is for someone who thinks communication technology is the most interesting thing in the world to be so terrified by the idea of actually communicating?”

  “You don’t understand,” I said.

  “I never did,” she replied, in a voice that let me know she was thinking of my father.

  Words aren’t the only way you can communicate.

  She went back to her blender.

  I sat down and stared at the oog-slama, trying not to think any more about Maktel’s upcoming visit.

  Actually, part of me really was excited about Maktel coming. After all, I had been wanting to meet him. But another part of me—a part that just wouldn’t shut up—kept asking, Am I truly Pleskit’s best friend, or have I just been a temporary stand-in for the position?

  The question gnawed at my guts for the next two days. Friday afternoon, about an hour before Maktel was scheduled to arrive, I decided desperate measures were called for.

  So I went upstairs to discuss the matter with Linnsy.

  Linnsy used to be my best friend. But then she outgrew me, both socially and physically. We still get along okay, even if she does seem to think of me mostly as the doofus two floors down. Oddly enough, we’ve been getting along better since Pleskit arrived. I think it’s because we’ve had to cooperate in order to survive a couple of times.

  Anyway, Linnsy is very smart about social stuff, which is useful. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have much patience for my lack of smartness in that regard, so getting advice from her usually means suffering through some nasty comments first—not to mention an occasional “punchie-wunchie,” which is what she calls it when she socks me on the biceps to let me know I’ve said or done something particularly dorky.

  I was prepared for all that.

  What I wasn’t prepared for was what I saw on her desk, which filled me with cold horror.

  CHAPTER 2 [MAKTEL]

  DEPARTURE FOR EARTH

  Well I, for one, am glad that Judge Wingler has asked the four of us to write down everything that led to the mess the galactic media are now calling “The Earth-Based Catastrophe That Nearly Ended Life as We Know It.” For one thing, it will prove that I was right to be suspicious.

  Of course, it means I will also have to admit to some of the foolish things I did. But if that is what it takes to get out of here and back to Hevi-Hevi, I am willing to do so.

  Actually, for me the story starts on Hevi-Hevi—or just above it, in a little shuttle craft.

  * * *

  “Well, there it is, Maktel,” said the Motherly One happily. “The ship that will carry you to Earth.”

  I stared through the window of our shuttle craft at the battered old freighter hanging in orbit above Hevi-Hevi. “But it’s so… so worn out!” I said in dismay.

  The Motherly One laughed, which I thought a rather cruel response. “The look of a ship will not necessarily tell you how well it works, Maktel. And the truth is, we didn’t have many ships to choose from. After all, the Earth sector is hardly the kind of place major shippers find all that enticing—though if Meenom’s mission is successful, that may change.”

  (For anyone not familiar with the
details of the Earth mission, Meenom Ventrah is the Trader/Diplomat who currently holds the franchise on the planet. He is also Fatherly One to my friend Pleskit.)

  I gazed at the freighter again. I was tremendously excited about the fact that I would be traveling to another planet on my own for the first time. I was also tremendously nervous. A somewhat less-well-worn vessel would have made me feel better about the trip, or at least my chances of surviving it.

  “We were doubly lucky in finding this one,” continued the Motherly One cheerfully, “as there is another passenger on board who is actually traveling right to Earth—a fact that reduces the fare considerably.”

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “The captain doesn’t pass out that kind of information for free,” said the Motherly One tartly. “However, as yeeble is traveling openly, I assume it is a friend or business partner of Pleskit’s Fatherly One.”

  We had just docked at the side of the freighter. My feeling that the Motherly One was taking all this very lightly changed when we got inside. Suddenly she began to demonstrate uncharacteristic nervousness.

  “Oh dear, Maktel,” she said, looking around at the shabby corridors. “I hope this vessel is safe. I don’t know if I can bear to let you go!”

  I would have been startled, were I not so used to the Motherly One making sudden shifts of emotion for tactical advantage. I only wished I knew who the tactic was intended for. And tactical or not, I felt that the purple tears streaming out of her nose were inappropriate for a ranking member of the Hevi-Hevian Trading Council.

  She knelt to embrace me. “It is hard for me to let you go, my little bliddki,” she sobbed, her sphen-gnut-ksher drooping so severely that the knob almost touched her head.

  I saw one of the crew members—a tall brown-and-orange being with four legs and more eyes than I could count—staring at us. I felt a surge of shame. I did not want to be the laughingstock of the entire crew for the duration of the trip—something I already feared because of my above-regulation level of pudginess.

  “I will be fine, Motherly One,” I said, trying to squirm free of her embrace and hoping desperately that she would not spend too much time weeping and wailing over my departure. Her carrying-on was stimulating my own fears, and I began to feel a surge of panic. So I was somewhat astonished when we entered my cabin and her demeanor suddenly changed again. Wiping the tears from her nose, she sat on the edge of my bunk, stared me straight in the face, and said calmly, “I have a task for you, Maktel.”

  “What is it, O Motherly One?” I asked, trying not to show my surprise. These sudden shifts were a way she had of preparing me for life as a diplomat.

  “I need you to deliver a message to Pleskit’s Fatherly One.”

  “Why don’t you just send it by Galactanet?” I asked. “It would be faster.”

  She glanced around suspiciously, as if she feared we were being spied on. “Any message sent by electronic means can be captured and decoded. I want this to remain private.”

  My sphen-gnut-ksher emitted the spicy smell of shock. “Motherly One! I hope you are not contemplating a romance with Meenom Ventrah!”

  It is hard to surprise the Motherly One. In this case I managed it. “Certainly not!” she cried. “This is strictly business. Honestly, Maktel, you are the most suspicious childling I have ever met.”

  “I’ve been well trained,” I replied.

  The Motherly One could not say much in response, as she knew this to be true. She is an extremely suspicious being. As if to change the subject, she reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out a packet of feebo beezbuds.

  “Yum!” I cried, reaching for it.

  She snatched the packet away from my eager fingers. “You will ignore the sweetness inside here, Maktel,” she said severely. “It is merely camouflage. The inside of this wrapper holds the message I want you to deliver to Meenom. I felt it was safer to wait until we were in your cabin to pass it on to you. Fewer spying eyes that way. I want you to pass it to Meenom the same way—in complete privacy. Is that clear?”

  “Perfectly,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment. The Motherly One does not like me to think about food too much.

  She handed me the package, then leaned to embrace me, her sphen-gnut-ksher tapping mine in a Motherly One show of affection. “I shall miss you, my childling,” she murmured gently. “I hope you will have a good trip. When you distribute our gifts to Meenom’s staff, please also convey my best wishes to them.”

  Then she stood and strode from the room, leaving me as dazed, baffled, and amazed as I often am after a serious talk with the Motherly One. I thought about running after her, but did not want to give the crew anything further to tease me about. Besides, I knew her well enough to know that she was not going to give me any additional information. So I just sat there, trying to make sense of our conversation.

  From the window of my little cabin I could see the shuttle leave the ship, carrying the Motherly One back toward the surface of Hevi-Hevi, which hung in its purple perfection against the black sky. I pressed my fingers to the window, wondering what I had been thinking of when I’d asked to be allowed to visit Earth on my own.

  A short time later the bloop-bloop sounded, alerting everyone to prepare for leaving orbit. I lay on my bunk until the brief surge of acceleration was over. According to our schedule, we would reach the first urpelli in about half a ship’s day. The trip through would be brief, of course, even though it would catapult us more than a hundred light-years from Hevi-Hevi. It would take eight ship’s days, and six urpelli leaps, for us to reach Earth.

  I thought about how good it would be to see Pleskit again. We share the bond common to all hatching mates, and I had mourned deeply when his Fatherly One had achieved diplomat status and begun the travels that took my friend from my side.

  These thoughts slipped swiftly into nervousness about meeting his new friends, and concern about how I would fit in during my brief visit. My greatest worry, of course, had to do with Pleskit’s friendship with the Earthboy Tim Tompkins. I had read with both excitement and jealousy the files Pleskit had sent me detailing their adventures. But now I wondered: Am I still Pleskit’s best friend, or is that now Tim’s role? And how will I get along with this Earthling that Pleskit has grown so close to?

  All this thinking made me hungry, so I decided to go to the galley for a snack. Before I left my cabin, I opened one of my travel cases and carefully hid the Motherly One’s secret message inside some underwear.

  When I reached the galley, I found another passenger already sitting there—an elegant-looking being with blue skin and a beard of thick, writhing tentacles. He wore an ornate golden breastplate, a flowing crimson cape, and a ring that marked him as a full member of the Interplanetary Trading Federation. His headgear, which looked as if it were made of bronze, had a strange insignia on the front. A pair of extensions attached just behind the insignia angled backward, then made a sharp joint so that they thrust directly into his ears.

  “Ah,” he said when he saw me. “You must be the other passenger heading for Earth!”

  Before I could respond, his headgear opened its eyes and said in a high, scratchy voice, “His name is Maktel, as you would know if you had been paying attention when we spoke to the captain.”

  CHAPTER 3 [MAKTEL]

  ELLICO VEC BUR

  The tall, elegant Trader laughed when he saw how startled I was by the fact that his headgear was alive. “Let us introduce ourselves,” he said, rising to his feet. Making a sweeping bow, he said proudly, “We are Ellico vec Bur.”

  I tried not to look too surprised. I had heard of the vecciri before, of course. But this was the first time I had actually met one of these symbiotic duads.

  The blue being extended his—their—hand for me to shake, saying, “I am the Ellico part of our selves.” This meant, of course, that the bronze-shelled creature attached to his head must be Bur.

  Before I could say anything, Ellico put their right hand in fro
nt of my face, wiggled their fingers, then reached behind my ear and pulled out a snergal. As they handed me the shiny coin, Bur said, “We’re glad to find we’re not the only ones going to this sad backwater of a planet. It will be good to have company.”

  “What is taking you to Earth?” I asked.

  “Business,” said the Ellico portion, returning to their seat.

  Before they could say more, we were interrupted by a green waiter-bot rolling in with the Trader(s)’ order. It was served on a plate mounted on long legs that raised it to just beneath their chin. I understood the reason for the legs when one of Ellico vec Bur’s beard-tentacles reached out and grabbed a pod off the plate. Two other tentacles pried the pod open. A fourth pulled out the slimy nugget inside and popped it into Ellico’s mouth. While he was chewing, Bur took up the conversation.

  “The ambassador and we went to school together. We have not seen him in many grinnugs, but he contacted us recently in regard to an exciting business possibility—exporting something called ‘peanut butter,’ which he thinks is going to cause quite a stir in the galaxy. We are looking forward to discussing it with him.”

  “I know about peanut butter,” I said. “My friend Pleskit was the one who discovered its strange properties.”

  I did not mention that this discovery—that peanut butter made Hevi-Hevians wildly, passionately romantic—had nearly gotten Pleskit thrown out of school. It was possible that Ellico vec Bur did not know this, and one does not give out all one’s information too cheaply.

  “Ah, Pleskit,” said the Ellico portion, which had finished chewing the pod. “We fear our arrival will be somewhat disturbing to him. He is not entirely fond of us.”

  I started to ask why Pleskit didn’t like Ellico vec Bur, but the Trader(s) raised a hand to cut off the question. “It is not our story to tell,” said the Ellico part.

  I hate that kind of comment. However, it was about the only annoying thing Ellico vec Bur did during the entire journey. The duad had the charm that is part of virtually every Trader’s personal tool kit, and for most of the trip they entertained me with fanciful stories from their home planets and various bits of hand magic. Their cloak seemed to hold innumerable devices for performing tricks and jokes, some of them slightly naughty. The one they called “The Farting Ambassador” was my favorite, and never failed to send me into gales of laughter.