Jacob was in a bad mood even before Catalina told him about his first campaign assignment. He awoke from a fitful sleep when they arrived on Planet Hermit, which was named in honor of the planet’s only resident: Roy Blankwell, one of the most popular talk show hosts in outer space. Jacob put on the suit that Catalina picked out for him, a black suit lined with small sparkling electronic lights that made him feel like a human disco ball.
“Blankwell is very influential,” Catalina said. “If you impress him we can make serious headway.”
“So what do I have to do?”
Catalina rolled her eyes. “Oh Jakey, don’t go worrying yourself. I know you’ll nail it.”
“He’s really the only person on this planet? Why is his show so popular?”
Catalina found something interesting to stare at on her Telly. “I’m sorry, what did you say? Would you hurry? It’s almost time.”
Praiseworthy had parked on a ledge near the top of a massive mountain. Jacob stepped out of the ship and stared down into the deepest canyon he had ever seen. Jagged brown peaks jutted up in the distance and colorful giant birds soared in between them. Jacob walked with Catalina toward Blankwell’s house, which was perched at the very top of a high mountain, its walls stark white and formidable.
After Blankwell buzzed them in, Catalina pushed Jacob through a giant marble entryway and into a studio that was set up as a living room, with a purple couch and a painting of a spaceship on the wall. An older man with a pleasant face was sitting behind a gleaming white desk, and he beamed when Jacob came into the room. He was wearing an impeccable purple suit that matched the couch, and it shimmered under the lights in the studio. Jacob was suddenly aware that he was being recorded and there were likely millions of Astrals tuned in at that very moment.
“Mr. Wonderbar!” Blankwell said. “Please, have a seat. I should have known you’d be late.”
“Slow brains, I see,” Blankwell chuckled. Jacob tried not to frown at the insult and wondered if Blankwell had just misfired on a joke. Blankwell looked at some note cards and gestured around to an invisible audience. “Mr. Wonderbar, why don’t you start off telling my viewing friends whether your worst quality is your horrible temper or the unfortunate sound of your voice?”
“What?!”
“Horrible temper it is. I had a feeling.”
“I don’t have a horrible—”
“Oh, so you aren’t aware you have a horrible temper?”
Jacob stared at the smiling talk show host and realized what was going on. Blankwell wanted to get a rise out of Jacob so that he would say something stupid. Jacob cleared his throat, gave a faint grin, and said, “We all have our weaknesses.”
“You just happen to have more weaknesses than most, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say—”
“Your campaign started off with what is widely agreed to be the worst speech in the history of the universe. Really dreadful stuff. How do you plan to rescue your campaign so you receive more than one vote? Sources tell me your running mate herself is on the fence about whether to vote for you.”
Jacob wondered for a fleeting moment if that was true about Catalina, but just when he realized Blankwell was lying it was too late and the host pounced. “Hesitating because it’s true? So your campaign manager really isn’t going to vote for you?”
“It’s not true, I—”
“I thought so,” Blankwell purred. “Confirmed by Candidate Wonderbar himself.”
Jacob grabbed the armrest of his chair hard enough that his knuckles were white. He told himself to calm down and look for an opening.
Blankwell looked at his cards and adopted a pained expression. “Your own best friend deserted your campaign. Had to have been a shock. Would you care to comment on reports that Sarah Daisy and Mick Cracken are in love?”
Jacob swallowed against his knotted throat, and said confidently, “What I think the voters want to hear about are the issues in this campaign. For instance, Astral time makes no sense at all. What I want to talk about is—”
“I think they are definitely in love,” Blankwell interrupted.
“—is what I can do to help out the Astral people. I think they might be surprised—”
“Completely in love.”
“—at what I can bring, because I am someone who is honest and well-intentioned—”
“Probably kissing right now.”
“—which is more than I can say about my opponent, whose only qualification is that he’s a pretend pirate who does nothing but lie, wouldn’t you agree with me, Mr. Blankwell?”
Blankwell stared at Jacob in surprise for a moment and Jacob seized on his hesitation. “How long have Astrals had democracy?” Jacob asked.
Blankwell frowned. “I ask the questions on this show, and—”
“The answer is you still don’t have it because you haven’t even voted. We’ve had it on Earth for, um…” Jacob tried to remember what Ms. Rao had said about democracy in World History. “Well, we’ve had it for a long time, and I know how it works. Astrals don’t know everything, believe it or not.”
“Let’s get back to the real issue of this campaign,” Blankwell said, regaining his footing. “You have already admitted that you are an Earther secret agent sent here to undermine—”
“That is so wrong,” Jacob said, but before he could say anything further, Catalina rushed into the studio.
“You’re in danger!” she shouted. “Valkyrians have landed outside.”
Jacob briefly wondered whether this was one of Catalina’s campaign stunts, but Blankwell jumped up in a panic before he seemed to remember he was on camera and made a show of adjusting his tie. “Ha. Guess I shouldn’t have told that joke about how many Valkyrians it takes to turn on a spaceship.” He paused as if waiting for a laugh.
Jacob stared at Blankwell in confusion. “Huh?”
“The answer is minus two, because at least two of them would blow themselves up in the process.”
“No, what’s that word? What are Valkyrians?”
Catalina said, “SEERs, Jake. SEERs with blasters.”
“They want to destroy Earth? What are they doing here?”
Catalina grabbed his hand. “We have to run.”