9

Okay, picture a football stadium. Now double the size. Actually, scratch that. Picture a space ten times the size of a football stadium. Replace the seats with a million overlapping pieces of dark glass like the stands are made of mountains of truck-sized black diamonds. Replace the green turf of the playing field with—just go with me here—a bottomless pit. And replace the cheerleaders and the hot dogs and the foam fingers with an uncomfortable tingling on the back of your neck.

Fine, so maybe the nightmare bowl we’re now standing at the edge of isn’t exactly like a football stadium. But I don’t know how else to describe it. There is a smooth glass dome high above us, stretching over the whole place. Two years ago, over winter break, my mom took me to a game at the new Patriots stadium they built on Mars. This kind of reminds me of that. Except, you know, more terrifying.

Far out ahead of us, sticking up from the center of the pit, is a giant pillar topped with a flat surface. We’re still too far away to see anything clearly. But it looks like there are two people up there, one sitting in a chair behind a desk and the other standing to the side, like a guard on duty.

“Move along,” the disembodied voice tells us as we all shuffle in from the hallway. The sound echoes around this giant chamber, bouncing across the pit—back and forth, back and forth—until it dies out. Move along. Move along. Move along. Move along.

“What is this place?” Becka asks.

I shrug and look over at Ari, his jaw wide open, his eyes huge. I know that look. He’s not scared or confused. Ari’s excited.

“Like, maybe we’re on some secret government base or something?” Becka continues. “Or maybe—is this Peru? It could be, I guess. I did okay in Spanish last year.”

Ari rolls his eyes. “This is definitely not Peru,” he says.

And I don’t know whether to give him a high five for talking back to Becka or laugh in his face because of what he’s about to say.

“Look around.” Ari gazes up at the dome and down into the pit. “None of this is, well, human.”

I snort. There it is.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m usually willing to tolerate Ari’s fantasies. But this just doesn’t seem like the time. How many years have people lived on Mars now? Literally hundreds? Humans have dug up every inch of that dusty planet—and all the others in our solar system too—without finding any evidence of intelligent life that isn’t us. And still, every fall, Ari comes back to school believing in another Martian conspiracy theory. He’s a sucker for that kind of stuff. The Martians are invisible. The Martians live in the sewers. The Vice President is a secret Martian. Once, I came back from summer vacation with a really short haircut and Ari quizzed me on “things only the real Jack would know.”

“What’re you saying?” I ask him. “That the lady making announcements over the loudspeaker is an alien? That we’re on some—some alien planet?”

In the span of two seconds, Ari’s face rides an emotional rollercoaster: First, he half-smirks—because, yeah, that’s exactly what he thinks. But then he looks over at Becka and wipes the smile off his face—because, you know, maybe she’s not totally into his supreme dorkiness. And then he does another 180, crosses his arms, and glares at me.

“Come on,” he says. “What else could this place be?”

The voice booms all around us in its bored monotone. Weirdly, it sounds British.

“You have been charged with violating criminal ordinance number 7634, section three, part one, sub-paragraph eleven. On the record before us, you have been found guilty. Please come forward to pay your fine or receive your sentence.” Sentence. Sentence. Sentence. Sentence.

A platform materializes in front of Principal Lochner, where the edge of the floor drops off like a cliff. It’s wide enough that all of us could easily stand on it, but it’s barely a centimeter thick and completely see-through, like a large pane of glass turned on its side.

“Please come forward to pay your fine or receive your sentence,” the lady says again. Sentence. Sentence. Sentence. Sentence.

In any of our normal lives, we probably wouldn’t have stepped onto a paper-thin rectangle floating over a bottomless pit in the center of a rocky diamond canyon because a strange angry voice was telling us to. But nothing about this says “normal lives.” So—after Principal Lochner tests it with a tiptoe, and then his full weight—on we step. And as soon as the last of us leaves the ledge behind, the platform begins to inch across the chasm, floating toward the center of the stadium.

Ari is giving me an “I told you so!” stare and Becka is nodding over at Ari with newfound respect. But I still don’t buy it. I may not understand what’s going on, but aliens? Come on.

“So,” Becka says to Ari, with an absolutely straight face, “you think this lady is, like, the alien queen?”

Ari’s eyes brighten up. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I think so.”

Ugh. Maybe she’s perfect for him after all.

“But why would the alien queen speak English, Ari?” I ask. “And why would she speak it like that? Is the alien queen British?”

“She could be using some kind of translator,” Ari says, digging in.

“Shhh,” Principal Lochner snaps at us.

And now I notice that the teachers and crew have formed a protective circle all around the kids, Principal Lochner up front. And every five or ten feet, someone else: Mr. Cardegna; Harriet, the ship captain; even Mrs. Watts (although she doesn’t look all that enthusiastic about the job). The sight of them makes me feel a little better—until I remember that the biggest problems these adults usually face are broken dorm toilets and plagiarism. I’m not sure they’re any match for this place, whatever it is.

The floating platform moves slowly across the canyon and, as we approach, the two people on the center column come into focus. The one in the middle is wearing a long, grey cloak with a hood draped over her face. Snow-white hair falls past her knees. She is sitting at a desk, like I thought. Only the “chair” is more like an angled wall that she’s leaning against, and the “desk” is just one of those dark diamonds from the edges of the stadium, sawed off and turned on its side. The one standing next to her is armored and masked, holding a gun. Maybe one of the soldiers Ms. Needle saw onboard the 118. Maybe the same one who shot at me, Ari, and Becka. The soldier’s outfit is silver plated from head to toe, but splotched with dozens of randomly placed copper circles, like a medieval knight rolled around in glue and ancient pennies.

The platform stops right in front of them, about two feet lower than the top of the column. Immediately, the one sitting down raises her hands. Hands that don’t look normal. Don’t look human. Her skin is milky white. And her fingers are pointy, almost claw-like. She pulls back her hood and—there isn’t any question now. My chin drops so far down that it practically hits the bottom of the bottomless pit. Ari was right.

Aliens.

Is it weird that my first thought is Dad would have loved this?

Her skin and fingers are the most non-human things about her, aside from her deep red eyes, which don’t just look like they’re covered by red contact lenses. The eyes are entirely red. There’s no white part. Just two ovals the color of blood dotting a powder-white alien face. She’s terrifying. And also she’s chewing gum.

“Okay,” she says, smacking her lips and blowing a bubble. Yep. The alien queen is chewing gum. Obviously. “We’re just going to need a little preliminary information first. So, where are you all from?”

No response from the crowd. We’re too busy looking at an alien.

“Well?” she asks, our faces blank and mouths wide open. “Come on. There’s a long line behind you and I’m off the clock in an hour.” We crane our necks to glance backward. But there’s no one else here. “Don’t make this worse for yourselves,” she adds. “Where are you from?”

The idea that this could somehow get “worse” is enough to jolt Principal Lochner out of his daze. “Um.” He clears his throat. “We’re from the PSS 118. A school in orbit around Ganymede.”

She blows another bubble. “Is Gannermeep supposed to mean something to me?”

“Ganymede.”

“Right,” she says impatiently, fidgeting with a bracelet on one of her wrists. “That’s what I said. I’m going to need a bit more to go on than that.”

“Oh,” he says. “Okay. Well, Ganymede is one of Jupiter’s moons?”

She taps a bunch of her fingers against the surface of her “desk,” as if the giant rock—with no screens, no buttons, no holograms—is some kind of computer.

“No record of it. I need coordinates. Quadrants. Numerical planetary designations. Something.”

“Um,” Principal Lochner stutters. “I . . . I don’t know any of that information. We’re near Jupiter? Orbiting at about six million miles, I think.”

“The Milky Way,” Ari offers.

“The Milky Way,” Principal Lochner repeats.

“Milk?” She leans forward and squints at us, confused. “No thank you. I’m not thirsty.”

Principal Lochner shakes his head. “Never mind,” he tells her. “Earth. We’re from Earth.”

“Hun,” the alien queen says, plucking the chewed-up gum out of her mouth and flicking it into the abyss. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“Of course.” Principal Lochner nods. “Sorry. Maybe if we can get back to our ship, I could try to give you some of the information you’re looking for.”

“Nice try,” she says, poking different spots on her rock desk. “Make this more complicated. Fine, I can scan you myself.”

A beam of pink light shines down from the glass dome, washing over us. Back and forth. Back and forth.

“That’s odd,” she says, pressing down again and scanning us for a second time, then a third.

Slowly, something dawns on her.

“Wait. Is this an awakening?” she asks, looking up from the rock. Before anyone can figure out how to respond, she shouts, “Of course! An awakening! Can you believe it?”

She poses that last question to the guard standing stiffly to her left, slapping one of the armored legs. Her nails clank against the metal and he sways back and forth like a bowling pin hit by a slow ball.

“He can’t believe it,” she tells us, lowering her voice to a whisper for a moment. “Lois is a little shy.” Lois? “Anyway, there hasn’t been an awakening around here in a long time. This is so exiting. To be honest, I assumed that the galaxy was entirely awakened by now. Didn’t think there was anyone left out there still stuck in their own star systems. I wonder if I’ll get a raise.” She looks at the guard again. “Do you think I’ll get a raise?”

Again, Lois says nothing, but the alien lady doesn’t seem to care. “Of course not,” she laughs, rolling her eyes (a gesture that’s somehow TERRIFYING when she does it). “You’re right as always.”

She turns back to face us. “Well,” she says. “What now? Think, think.” She’s swiping and smacking and scrolling all over the rock in front of her. “Just elephant with me for a moment.”

I think she means “bear with me.” Which means that Ari’s theory about a (less than perfect) translation device is probably right.

“I’ve never presided over an awakening before. Ceremony, you understand. It’s in the manual and all government employees get a short training when we’re hired. But no one expects . . . Come on . . . Where is it? Ah, yes! Found it! Okay, okay.”

Flattening her robe with her branchy fingers, she stands up straight for the first time. She’s at least seven feet tall and towers over the much shorter guard.

“Ahem,” she begins, staring down at the “desk” and awkwardly reading from some script. “New arrivals! It has come to my/our—er, no, sorry, just my—it has come to my attention that this is the first time members of your species have encountered an alien race. It is a great milestone in your history and you, as representatives of your civilization, will no doubt be remembered for years to come. I/we—ah, no—I hereby welcome you, the insert name of species here into—er . . . ” She looks at Principal Lochner. “Sorry. What are you called?”

In a dazed voice, he says, “Um, Jerry Lochner.”

“Good, good.” She goes back to reading. “I hereby welcome you, the umjerrylochners, into the galaxy. It is diverse and peaceful, bound together by the League of Independent Systems. This is the Great and Wonderful Elvid System, which is presided over by our Benevolent and Perfect Minister. We trust that you will be productive and respectful members of the larger community.” She looks up, like she’s waiting for something.

“So . . . are we free to go?” Principal Lochner asks.

“Oh no,” she chuckles, looking over at the guard like he’s in on the joke. “No special treatment, even for the newly arrived umjerrylochners. Rules are rules. Your ship was found in restricted Elvidian space in violation of Criminal Ordinance Number 7634, section three, part one, sub-paragraph eleven. You tripped the alarm when your ship dropped out of light speed into an area off-limits to civilian vehicles.”

Light speed?

Ari, Becka, and I look at each other.

What did we do?

“But how are we supposed to get home?” Principal Lochner asks. A desperate note has crept into his voice.

“Not my responsibility. You are welcome to pay the parking ticket and be on your way.”

Principal Lochner scrunches up his face in confusion. “Parking ticket.”

“That’s right. The sentencing guidelines call for a fine ranging from 75 to 150 Elvidian credits. But given the special circumstances”—she smiles a jagged, toothy smile that makes me wish she’d just frown—“I’m willing to impose the minimum.”

“So,” Principal Lochner clarifies, “you said that’s seventy-five, um, what did you call them?”

She leers down at us. “Do you not have any Elvidian credits?” she asks.

“Well, no. I don’t think so. But I’m sure we can get you money. Our kind of money. Or, whatever kind of money you want. If we can just go back to our ship for even a few—”

She leans forward all the way over, staring straight down into Principal Lochner’s eyes. “Do you or do you not have an Elvidian currency wallet from which you can immediately deposit seventy-five credits into the ministry account?”

His shoulders droop. He closes his eyes. “No.”

She takes a fresh stick of gum out of the folds of her robe.

“Shame. I wish I had time to sort this out. But I don’t. They keep us on a tight schedule here. Quotas and such. You understand. In any event, having refused monetary punishment—”

“We didn’t refuse!” Principal Lochner cries. “We just can’t! We don’t know how!”

She glares down at him and pops the gum into her mouth. “Having refused monetary punishment, you are hereby indefinitely sentenced to prison until such time as your penalty can be paid.” She blows a giant bubble. “Next!”