Chicago flew straight back to the Flee-a-seum and picked up Sammi and Herbert. He couldn’t wait to share the news that he was going to be on Total Universal Inside Access: Merwinsville! As he drove them to Andretti’s Pizzeria, talking about himself the entire way, Sammi grew more and more uncomfortable.
“I mean, I think it went very well,” he blabbed on. “I’m not saying I’ll be more famous than you guys, of course, but if I get on TV and people like me, who knows? Maybe I could be, like, the official on-air spokesperson for, y’know, stuff.”
Herbert and Sammi shared a quick look. Sammi was eager to change the subject. “You sure it’s okay for you to be cruising around in Mayor CROM-WELL’s SkyLimo?”
“I was on official AlienSlayer business, so it’s cool. Hey, do you think I should’ve worn a blue shirt? Red felt like a good call, but you’re a girl. I probably should’ve asked you.”
“What AlienSlayer business?” Herbert cut in. “We were at the event—with the mayor.”
“Not all of you.” Chicago veered the AirCar toward the old brick pizza building below. “I got Alex a solo interview with the top reporter at T.U.I.A:M! She and I are pretty tight now.”
“Ah,” Herbert said. “How perfect.”
Chicago made a soft landing in front of Andretti’s Pizzeria. Herbert jumped out. Sammi waited for Chicago to get out and maybe open her door, but he didn’t even unbuckle himself.
“Aren’t you coming in?” she asked.
“Can’t. The reporter said I might be on TV. I’ve gotta be ready. I’m gonna get a haircut, manicure, maybe buy some new clothes. I’ve gotta be on my game, in case I get the call.”
Herbert rolled his eyes. “I’ll go get a booth—for two.”
Sammi studied Chicago’s grinning face. Then she got an idea. “Hey,” she said carefully. “What would you think if Herbert, Alex, and I decided to tell everyone that we’re not really AlienSlayers?”
Chicago froze. He looked at her, dumbfounded. Then he forced a chuckle. “Heh. Uh, why would you wanna do that?”
“’Cause it’s the truth?”
“I know, but you’d lose the fame, the love of the people—”
“The mayor’s car.”
Chicago glanced at her and squirmed nervously in his seat. “You wouldn’t get any press coverage as normal, boring kids. Who’d want to talk to you?”
Sammi opened the door and stepped out of the SkyLimo. “My friends, that’s who.”
“El Solo Libre. I like the sound of that.” GOR-DONNA stared at a grinning Alex, who was into his fifth Mega-Choco-Bomb Marshmallow Root Beer Smoothie.
He nodded slowly. “I know. Awesome, right?”
“So how would El Solo Libre be any different from AlienSlayer Alex? Or Herbert? Or Sammi?”
“Pfff. Please. Much cooler costume, for one thing. And he wouldn’t show aliens any mercy. He would show them some pretty devastating kung fu/Mexican wrestling combo moves, though. Which would be devastating. If you were an alien, I mean.”
“I see. And what if he came face to face with a Klapthorian DeathSlug?”
“You mean those things that scared away all the G’Daliens all those years ago? Well, first of all, no way would El Solo Libre just run away and give up without a fight. He’d get up in their faces and be all, ‘Yeah?! You want summa this? Huh? HUH?’ That’d probably be enough to scare ’em. Wouldn’t even have to lift a finger.”
SLUUURRRRP!
Alex finished off another smoothie. He was feeling good. He noticed his interviewer smiling at him. An even wider grin came over her enormous face.
“What?”
She leaned in close and spoke in a hushed voice. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but as an intergalactic reporter, I have the contact information of a wide variety of life-forms throughout the universe—both friendly and unfriendly.”
“I’m listening.”
“It might be good for the story to see firsthand how a solo AlienSlayer would talk to a race of notorious space bullies.”
Alex’s eyes grew wide. He began imagining tough-sounding things he might say to some slimy alien a zillion miles away.
“Oh, but what was I thinking? In order to make an intergalactic alien call, we’d need access to some kind of powerful, high-tech, top-of-the-line supercomputer—”
“Hey!” Alex exclaimed. “We’ve got one of those!”
GOR-DONNA suddenly looked over at the massive SarcasmaTron. It nearly ran from one end of the lair to the other.
“What an extraordinary coincidence! So you do!”
Alex was suddenly struck with a pang of sheer wrongness—using the SlayerLair supercomputer to crank call a race of mean and violent space bullies was highly irresponsible, potentially dangerous, and 100 percent guaranteed to make Herbert and Sammi really, really angry.
“Let’s do it,” he said.
Herbert sat waiting at a table near the door of Andretti’s Pizzeria, staring down at his favorite combo: spinach, olives, and mushrooms, with extra anchovies. He took advantage of the fact that his booth was the only one not violently flying around the antigravity restaurant and slowly lifted a fat, greasy slice to his mouth.
CRASH! SPLAT! The slice went flying out of his hand and stuck to the nearby wall as a flying booth slammed into his.
CLICK! A G’Dalien took his picture with a tiny camera. “G’Day!” She giggled, waving excitedly. “Huge fan!”
Herbert tightened his seatbelt and reached for another slice of his smelly pizza.
Sammi suddenly jumped into the seat next to him, causing him to drop the slice in his lap. She looked upset as she buckled up.
As Herbert tried again, Sammi gripped the wheel in the center of the table and spun it around. Their booth veered off into the center of the restaurant, joining the others in a crazy, dangerous dance. As she angrily whirled their booth faster and faster, they bounced around the room, and she started to feel better.
SMASH! SPLORT!
Another slice flew out of Herbert’s hand and landed in the birthday cake of a little girl who was zooming by.
Herbert hated this place.
“I’m officially calling a team meeting.”
“We can’t. Alex isn’t here.”
“Which is fortunate, since he’s the topic of our team meeting. Alex has recently displayed a dangerously independent streak. And I’m beginning to observe signs of behavioral abnormalities in you as well.”
“Behavioral abnormalities?” Sammi spun the wheel. Herbert’s side of the table crashed into a booth full of Anti-Gravi-T-Ball players, dousing him in fruit juice.
“Between you forgetting yourself in front of the mayor and Alex walking away from a huge public event to do a one-on-one interview, I feel it’s time we reviewed The Rules.”
“Or maybe it’s time we just told everyone the truth.” Sammi ducked to avoid a piping-hot slice of pepperoni as it sailed by her head and smacked Herbert in the face.
He peeled it off. “We’ve discussed this already. It doesn’t do anyone any good to tell, and it isn’t doing anyone any harm to not tell. End of discussion.”
“I don’t know about that anymore,” Sammi said. “This whole Flee-Festival nonsense, celebrating how the G’Daliens allowed themselves to be kicked off their home planet by a bunch of bullies. It’s pathetic! They’ve never stood up for themselves, and now that we’ve tricked them into thinking we’ll fight their battles for them, they never will.”
Herbert sighed. “Again, the chances of an alien attack are a tetraquadzillion-to-one. It’s a virtual impossibility that we’ll ever have to do anything even remotely heroic.”
Sammi spun the wheel again, this time slamming the booth to a stop. She unbuckled and turned to Herbert.
“The fact that we don’t have to do anything to get all of this fame and SkyLimos and stuff is exactly what bothers me. And I know if we told Alex the truth, it’d bother him, too. So that makes you and Chicago the only ones who don’t mind being total and complete phonies. It doesn’t take a genius to see who’s behaving abnormally around here.”
Sammi turned and stormed out of Andretti’s. Herbert watched her, then suddenly realized his booth wasn’t moving. He smiled down at his food.
“Finally,” he said, carefully lifting his last slice of spinach, olives, and mushrooms with extra anchovies pizza.
KERRRRASH! A pizza booth carrying a beefy G’Dalien family slammed into him, smushing the smelly slice all over his face.
