Missing—One Brain! Page 4

  Anyway, I’m not sure why, but I turned to Brianna and said, “Can I walk you home?”

  “Oh, Tim, I’m sorry, I can’t today. But maybe sometime soon. I think I’d like that!”

  Then she smiled and walked away.

  Now, here’s the horrifying part: That was four hours ago, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.

  Just when I thought life couldn’t get any worse, the unthinkable has happened.

  I’m in love!

  I could just puke.

  CHAPTER 10 [PLESKIT]

  SQUAMBUL

  The next day another big headline screamed from the front of The National News:

  CLOUD OF SECRECY DESCENDS OVER SCHOOL

  There was no photo of me this time. There was, however, a subheading, also in big letters:

  “Innocent Boy Terrorized by Security Guards”

  Next to it was a picture of Tim.

  The paper was all over the school, of course. Some of the kids were slightly amused. Most of the adults were cranky. And everyone seemed to think that Tim was the source, which was no surprise, given the fact that the story was so sympathetic to him.

  “Looks like I assigned the code name ‘Captain Weasel’ to the wrong kid,” muttered McNally when he saw the paper.

  I looked at him in puzzlement. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “Forget it.”

  But how could I forget it? The person who had most befriended me on my arrival seemed to have turned out to have a hidden side of sneakiness that I had not suspected.

  This was very disturbing. “Sneaky” is different from “tricky.” People who are tricky have a certain set of rules for themselves, and they work within those rules. “Sneaky” does not imply the same code of ethics. Tricky people fool you honorably, right in front of your face. Sneaky people do it behind your back. The Fatherly One has high regard for those who are tricky, but no respect at all for those who are merely sneaky.

  I was so disturbed by all this that I could not bring myself to talk to Tim that day. This did not mean I was alone or lonely. The class seemed to be getting more comfortable with me. And Jordan was still acting extremely friendly, which I was enjoying.

  “You know what you really need to do, Pleskit?” he said, when we were sitting at lunch that day.

  “Achieve good grades, excel in all subjects, avoid trouble, and make the Fatherly One proud?”

  Jordan snorted. “On your planet, maybe. No, what you need to do is bring something extremely cool to school.”

  “This will not be easy, mostly because I still do not entirely understand this concept of ‘cool.’ ”

  I flattened the squambul pod I had brought for lunch. It released a sharp aroma.

  “Whoo!” said Jordan, waving a hand in front of his face. “That is one nasty-smelling lunch, Plesk-o.”

  “Squambul is considered a great delicacy on many planets,” I said, spreading the purple-and-green contents of the pod on the palm of my hand.

  Jordan sighed, and I could tell he was trying to be patient. “Bring in something no one around here has ever seen before—and not something to shrink me with!” he added, referring to the unfortunate events of the previous week.

  “I have already apologized for that error in judgment.”

  “Well, you still owe me a favor for it.”

  “But I did not shrink you,” I pointed out. “I shrank Tim and Ms. Weintraub.”

  “Yeah, but that was only because you screwed up. I was the one you planned to shrink.”

  In this, Jordan had a point. It was a point that he continued to make over the next several days. He was very good at this, very persuasive. When I mentioned this to McNally he said, “Doesn’t surprise me. Jordan will probably be a lawyer when he grows up. Or maybe a used car salesman.”

  Three days went by without another article in The National News. Then true disaster struck. The cover of The National Scoop (the “skeezy” supermarket paper) featured a full-page photograph of me licking squambul off my palm. Jordan’s face was also visible, twisted in an expression of horror. The headline read:

  ALIEN BOYS BIZARRE EATING HABITS DISGUST CLASSMATES!

  Ms. Weintraub used the occasion for a quick lesson on how to use apostrophes, and pointed out that we shouldn’t necessarily trust a paper that can’t even punctuate its headlines correctly.

  Tim was hauled away for questioning again. To our surprise, so was every other member of the class—except for Jordan, since it was pretty clear he had not taken the photograph.

  No one was happy. Even worse, some of my classmates seemed to blame me for their being questioned, which struck me as being especially unfair.

  * * *

  When I got back to the embassy that afternoon, I went to consult with the Grandfatherly One. It was not an entirely satisfactory conversation, as he spent most of the time I was with him complaining about being bored.

  “I’ve got to get out into the world, Pleskit,” he said. “My circuits are shriveling!”

  * * *

  That evening the Fatherly One convened an embassy-wide meeting to discuss the situation.

  Of course, since Earth is a scarcely civilized and relatively unimportant planet, we are a small and understaffed embassy. Therefore, such a meeting does not include all that many beings. In this case it was me, the Fatherly One, Barvgis, Shhh-foop, McNally, and the Butt.

  (Normally Shhh-foop would not be asked to a staff meeting, but the Fatherly One wanted everyone present for this one. Yet when I suggested we should include the Grandfatherly One, the Fatherly One vetoed the idea. This caused me to suspect/fear that the Fatherly One and the Grandfatherly One had had a conflict of some sort.)

  We met in the small conference room, seated around a table made of blue shiftstone from the Planet Arbingle. The table is one of the Fatherly One’s proudest possessions, since Arbingle’s shiftstone is known across the galaxy for the beauty of its swirling patterns, which change slowly but steadily, so that the table’s surface is never the same from one hour to the next.

  “Can you explain to me, Ms. Buttsman,” said the Fatherly One, “why the Earth media are doing this to Pleskit?”

  “Because they are run by bloodsucking corporate entities that will do anything to make a dollar,” said Ms. Buttsman.

  The Fatherly One looked puzzled. “That is generally true of successful companies across the galaxy. In fact, in most cases it is considered admirable. However, in all cases that we are aware of this behavior is reserved for adult beings. Young people are shielded from it. Does your culture have no respect for the tenderness of youth, and the need to protect childlings from such things while they are still growing?”

  McNally laughed out loud. Everyone turned to look at him. “Excuse me,” he said. “But the short answer to your question is: No.”

  “Ah,” said the Fatherly One. “I see. Well, your culture is clearly even more troubled than I had realized. Now, since we cannot count on the culture to stop this intrusion on Pleskit’s privacy, we will have to handle it ourselves. Ms. Buttsman, are there any pressures we can bring to bear against this news company to get them to desist in their efforts to report on Pleskit’s life in school?”

  Ms. Buttsman pursed her lips, then said, “Not many. We could appeal to their decency, but as they have none, it is unlikely that would do us any good. For the most part, their behavior is protected by our laws granting freedom of the press.”

  The Fatherly One belched in disgust. “We have similar laws, but they do not apply to youngsters. What a culture! Mr. McNally—I am going to ask you to apply your best efforts to discovering the source of this information.”

  “I will do my best, Meenom,” said McNally. “However, my primary concern must remain Pleskit’s physical safety.”

  An unpleasant smell drifted from the sphen-gnut-ksher of the Fatherly One.

  Suddenly I had what Tim calls a “brainstorm.” It seemed like a brilliant idea, a way to
solve three problems at once.

  CHAPTER 11 [TIM]

  ADVICE (STILL FROM THE JOURNAL OF TIM TOMPKINS)

  The days since the newspaper articles started have been very painful. I had been dreaming about meeting an alien all my life. Then, when I did, we had actually become friends. It was the best thing that ever happened to me.

  And now it’s over.

  This afternoon I finally decided to ask Linnsy for her advice. She has this amazing ability to move between social groups, so she can talk to the popular kids and the sports kids and the nerdy kids, and they all seem to like her. It’s like being able to swim with the fishes and fly with the birds.

  (Sometimes I wonder if Linnsy is an alien, too.)

  Anyway, I asked if I could walk home with her after school today, and she said yes—which was unusual in itself, since she mostly doesn’t walk with me anymore.

  Actually, what she said was “Wouldn’t you rather be walking home with Brianna?”

  Well, the answer to that was yes. But I hadn’t been able to pull a walk with Brianna off yet, mostly because she was usually busy with dance lessons or something. However, I was also smart enough to know that this was not a case that called for absolute honesty. So I just said, “Come on, Linns—for old times’ sake.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re such a doof, Tim. But yeah, I’ll walk home with you.”

  We didn’t talk much most of the way. But when we got to the bridge, we stopped so we could look at the embassy. That was when I told her about what was bothering me. Well, I told her about how upset I was over the Pleskit situation. I didn’t talk about Brianna. I wasn’t ready to say anything like that out loud.

  “I was wondering when you were going to ask me about Pleskit,” she said.

  “You were?” I asked in astonishment.

  Linnsy rolled her eyes. “Why do you think I agreed to walk home with you? I figured unless I gave you a chance, you were never going to open your mouth.”

  I wasn’t sure whether to be insulted, angry, or grateful. This happens a lot when I talk to Linnsy.

  I decided to just go for the info.

  “So what should I do?” I asked. “My best friend is hanging around with my worst enemy because he thinks I’ve been passing information about him to the newspapers.”

  “Well, the first question is: Have you?”

  “Linnsy!”

  She shook her head. “Nice try, Tim. But shock and outrage do not constitute an answer. In fact, they’re as apt to mean you’re guilty as not guilty. I use that tactic on my mother all the time when I want to avoid a question. But don’t try it on me. I’m too smart for it.”

  This was even more outrageous as far as I was concerned. But then I remembered that I had also used this tactic on my own mother a couple of times, so I decided not to get too offended.

  “Okay, the straight answer is: No. Absolutely, positively not. It never occurred to me. Even if it had occurred to me, I wouldn’t have done it. In fact, we had reporters calling the house before this started, and Mom and I told them to go bite blue monkeys—even when they offered us big bucks.”

  “Okay, that’s what I figured. I just wanted to be sure.”

  “Well, it wasn’t me.”

  “I believe you, Tim. I just had to check.”

  “All right,” I said, still feeling huffy. “I just wanted to get that clear.”

  “Good. Now go do the same thing for Pleskit.”

  “Do what?”

  “Get things clear with him. Talk to him. Tell him what you just told me.”

  This was good advice.

  I did not follow it.

  Why?

  This is hard to explain, since I’m not entirely sure I understand it myself. I guess it had to do with pride. I was hurt that Pleskit had believed the worst of me without more proof. I wanted him to come to me.

  There’s a word for people who wait around for their friends to make the first move to patch things up after they’ve had a quarrel.

  The word is “lonely.”

  CHAPTER 12 [PLESKIT]

  MY BRAINSTORM

  Jordan had been hounding me to bring something “cool” to school.

  The Grandfatherly One had been pleading with me to get him out of the embassy so he could experience Earthly culture.

  The Fatherly One felt we had to take matters regarding the discovery of the leak to the newspapers into our own hands.

  And I had a plan that would solve all three of these issues at once: I would take the Grandfatherly One to school with me!

  The first question was whether I would clear this with the Fatherly One before doing it. I decided to discuss that matter with the being who would be most affected by the decision—namely, the Grandfatherly One.

  He was not in a good mood when I entered his chamber. “Ah, come to pay your last respects to a once venerated ancestor who is soon to leave this world?” he muttered.

  “How can you leave this world?” I asked.

  “By dying!”

  “But you already did that!” I cried in alarm.

  “Hah! That was mere death of the body. I am facing a far more serious challenge now, Pleskit. I am about to die the ultimate death, the death of the mind, a death brought on by… boredom!” He paused to let that sink in, then said, “So, what did you come to talk about?”

  He seemed ripe for my idea. Still, I knew I had to approach this carefully. So I said, “I have some problems at school that I would like to discuss. Perhaps they will help relieve your boredom.”

  “Oy! Your Fatherly One used to consult me on matters of interplanetary importance. Now I am to resolve schoolyard disputes.”

  “Oy?”

  “It’s sort of an all-purpose expression of despair. One of the most useful Earthling words I have discovered so far.”

  The Grandfatherly One is much better at absorbing new languages than I am—partly because he has little else to do while sitting in his vat.

  “However,” he continued, “I’m certain you didn’t come here to discuss language. What’s your problem at school?”

  “Two problems, actually,” I said. Then I filled him in on both the way Jordan was bugging me to bring something “cool” to school and the matter of the leaked news stories.

  “Sounds like three problems to me,” he said, “given that you’ve had a rift with your previous companion. Do you really think Tim is the one who has been ratting on you? He didn’t seem like the type.”

  “All evidence points in his direction.”

  “Evidence is useful. However, since one almost never has all the evidence, it is easy to be misled by it. I repeat: Your friend Tim did not strike me as the type to do such a thing.”

  “I don’t know,” I said uneasily. “I sometimes fear that the only reason he befriended me to begin with is that he is so interested in aliens.”

  “So he should make friends with someone who bores him?”

  I emitted the tangy smell of frustration, something I am often driven to do when talking with the Grandfatherly One. “If someone is going to be my friend, I want them to like me because I am me, not just because I am from another planet!”

  “Liking has to start somewhere. Do you think this Jordan kid likes you because you are you?”

  The voice of the Grandfatherly One was deeply skeptical.

  “I do not know,” I replied. “When he is being nice to one, it is like a flood of sunshine.”

  “And when he’s not, it’s like a bath of cold mud. I know the type. I’ve already told you he’s dangerous. Now, listen, Pleskit, I think I’ve got the answer to both our problems.”

  “You do?” I asked eagerly.

  “Yes. I think you should take me to school. I’ll at least get out of this place, and you’ll have the benefit of my insight and advice. Also, maybe I can pick up some clues that you’ve missed about who’s dropping info to the newsies. Plus, I like to believe that I would qualify as ‘cool,’ which should shut up this Jordan cre
ature for a while.”

  This, of course, was exactly what I had been hoping the Grandfatherly One would suggest. However, I did not want to seem too eager.

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I asked doubtfully.

  “Do I have any other kind?” he replied indignantly.

  “All right—let’s do it!”

  “Oh, and Pleskit—”

  “Yes, O Venerated One?”

  “No need to tell your parental unit about this, if you know what I mean.”

  “I believe I understand, Grandfatherly One.”

  “And one more thing, Pleskit.”

  “Yes?”

  “Next time you have an idea like this, why not just tell me about it instead of working so hard to get me to suggest it myself? It’ll be easier on both of us.”

  “You are wise beyond your years, Grandfatherly One.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. That’s why Meenom kept me around. For all the good it’s done. See you tomorrow, kid.”

  I belched respectfully and left the room.

  * * *

  The next morning I returned to the chamber of the Grandfatherly One. Using a special mechanism attached to the side of his vat, I transferred him to the Brain Transport Device, a portable unit used for traveling. This BTD is about the size of what Earthlings call a “boombox.” Its central section is filled with the same electrolyte solution that is in the main tank. Attached to the sides are smaller versions of the visual, auditory, and scent-receiving devices, as well as a speaker tube. The primary limitation on the container is that, because of its size, it can only support life for about twelve hours. So I had to be sure to bring the brain back each night after school.

  Once I had the Grandfatherly One inside the BTD, he said, “I’m going to activate the shutdown mode now, Pleskit.”