Alex climbed off the motionless monster, stepped back, and joined Herbert, who was staring at Mr. Nibbles.

“Whoa,” Alex said.

“Try being his roommate,” said Herbert.

Sammi climbed off and said nothing. She stepped up and hugged her friends—very tightly, and for quite a long time. She only stopped when she felt a fourth pair of arms join the embrace.

She pulled back and looked at the large, doughy man in the moon dust–soiled Mexican wrestling mask.

“Um…sorry. Who are you?”

Old Man Alex pulled off his mask and gave them a big, goofy grin. A grin they recognized even beneath a century of wrinkles.

“No way.”

Old Man Alex studied Sammi’s face. “You look really familiar,” he said. “Have we met?”

Sammi looked up at Alex. “You did it! You found yourself!”

Alex shrugged and began walking away.

“Hey, where are you going?” Herbert asked.

Alex slipped his mask on. “I’m going solo,” he said, and headed for the smashed hole in the door.

FWAP! A much older, grimier, stinkier mask tagged him in the back of the head. He spun around. Old Man Alex shrugged and pointed at Sammi. She looked madder than he’d ever seen her.

“You’re being such a—a doofus!” She hollered at him. “Who do you think you are?”

“El Solo Libre. The greatest AlienSlayer in the galaxy.”

“Give me a break! You’re Alex Filby! You live next door to me on Sherwood Circle, you only took the training wheels off your bike last summer, and you still sometimes wake up crying for your mommy in the middle of the night whenever you have that nightmare about space clowns who try to step on you with their giant red shoes!”

“Hey, that hasn’t happened since I stopped drinking soda before bedtime—Wait, you hear that?”

“Look, I don’t care if we’re AlienSlayers, solo libres, or normal, boring kids. So long as we’re still friends.”

“Well, sorry, but in my book, friends don’t lie to each other. You guys lied.” Alex looked at Herbert. “Both of you.”

“I know,” Sammi continued. “Then we came clean and apologized.” Sammi pointed to Herbert. “And you know what he did when the Klapthorians wanted your head? He lied again. He said he was you—and let them take him.”

Alex looked at Herbert.

Herbert shrugged. “You were late, as usual.”

Sniffle.

Everyone turned around. Old Man Alex was standing behind them, trying to hold back his tears. When he noticed them looking at him, he burst out blubbering like a giant, pear-shaped baby. He could barely get his words out past his streaming eyes and snotty nose.

“Alex (sniffle!), I know they didn’t act like very good friends in the past (snort!). But they apologized! And Herbert risked his life, because that’s what friends do! (SKRONK!) But friends also forgive each other! You walk away from friends like that and you’ll end up all alone in a cave on the dark side of the moon!”

SPPPLLLLORF!

The bigger, older Alex blew his nose into his sleeve and took a deep, calming breath.

“Take it from me—going solo isn’t all that great.”

 

Outside, neither the human Merwinsvillians in the stands nor the G’Dalien Merwinsvillians on the ground dared go near the building where the AlienSlayers and that horrible creature had disappeared. It was quiet, and they feared the worst.

The entire Flee-a-seum was silent. All eyes were fixed upon the bashed-in entrance to the warehouse.

But not for long.

A dark shadow fell over the oblong-shaped building at the end of the Flee-a-seum. It spread like black ink across the entire field, spilling over the G’Daliens’ heads, darkening the stands where the human Merwinsvillians stood, and covering the Mayor and his TransPodium. Everyone slowly looked up.

The Klapthorian Death Cruiser was larger than the stadium it hovered over. In fact, it practically blocked out the sun.

“CITIZENS OF MERWINSVILLE!” the Klapthorian captain’s voice suddenly echoed off the steep bleachers of the Flee-a-seum. “ONE OF YOUR OWN HAS FOOLISHLY INSULTED, DISRESPECTED, AND JUST REALLY, REALLY UPSET ME FOR THE LAST TIME! PREPARE TO HAVE YOUR STADIUM, YOUR CITY, AND YOUR PLANET ANNIHILATED—ROUGHLY IN THAT ORDER.”

All eyes looked from the ominous Death Cruiser to Mayor CROM-WELL standing on the tiny TransPodium for some sign of what to do. The great mayor suddenly jumped behind Special Agent Illinois and attempted to hide beneath his long trench coat.

To the crowd, that was as good a sign as any.

The entire population of Merwinsville, humans and G’Daliens alike, burst into total chaos. They screamed, ran in circles, and bumped into one another—until they heard the booming voice again.

“YOUR ONLY HOPE TO AVOID DESTRUCTION IS TO GIVE ME THE ONE YOU CALL…EL SOLO LIBRE.”

The mixed population of Merwinsville traded looks of confusion. Some muttered to themselves. Others shrugged. The booming voice boomed again, startling them.

“THE REAL ONE THIS TIME! HAND HIM OVER AND YOU SHALL BE SPARED. YOU HAVE SEVENTEEN MILLION, THREE THOUSAND, FOUR HUNDRED EIGHTY-SIX KLAPTHORIAN SNARB-TICKS TO PRESENT HIM TO ME. THIS ROUGHLY TRANSLATES TO ABOUT FIVE EARTH MINUTES. STARTING…NOW.”

A small G’Dalien toddler sitting on his father’s shoulders pointed to the oblong-shaped building at the end of the field.

“Hey, look!”

A lone, pear-shaped figure stepped out of the warehouse wearing a flour sack cape, Mexican wrestling mask, and, over his sweatpants, a pair of tighty-whities.

Very tight tighty-whities.