Lunch Swap Disaster

by Bruce Coville

  “How much later?” I asked nervously.

  “That depends. Right now we are gathering to greet the ambassador’s new assistant. He is due to arrive at any moment.”

  “Beezle Whompis is actually coming?” I cried. “I had begun to think he would never get here!”

  “We received word just a little while ago.” She sniffed and added, “Really, I don’t think your communication systems are quite as spectacular as you would like us to believe.”

  I wondered if saying that was politically correct or not.

  “Anyway, your Fatherly One was fussing about getting you home from school to be part of the welcome, so it’s good that you are here. I haven’t yet told him the reason why you happened to come home right now. Time enough for that later.” She drew in a deep breath and shook her head. “Really, Pleskit, I am surprised at you—though I guess I shouldn’t be.”

  “That’s all right, Ms. Buttsman,” said McNally. “I’m continually surprised at you as well, even though I really ought to be over it by this time.”

  Ms. Buttsman shot him a sharp look and said, “Walk this way.”

  I could hardly keep from laughing out loud when McNally followed the woman, doing a perfect imitation of her walk.

  * * *

  The embassy staff had gathered around the shift-stone table in the main meeting room. Shhh-foop, the queen of the kitchen, was singing to herself and waving her orange tentacles in time to her song. Barvgis, round as a beach ball and shining with slime, sat at the end of the table, munching a gnaw stick, which he did whenever he had to go too long without actually eating. The Fatherly One, standing in his usual place, nodded when he saw McNally and me enter. Even the brain of the Grandfatherly One had been put in its transport device and brought into the room.

  “When will Beezle Whompis’s ship arrive?” I asked, once I had taken my place beside the Fatherly One.

  “He’s not coming by ship,” said Barvgis.

  “Then how is he getting here?”

  “Electronic transfer,” said the Fatherly One, pointing to a metallic device suspended from the ceiling. Dozens of curving purple and blue pipes wound and twisted and looped around one another, finally merging into a trio of tubes that bulged into perfect spheres. Each sphere had a crown-like nozzle at the end. All three nozzles were aimed at the same spot in the center of the table.

  Suddenly the device began to glow. Shimmering sparks surged through the tubes, then gathered in the globes, where they swirled frantically around one another.

  “Ah, good,” said the Fatherly One. “It has begun.”

  A low hum filled the room. The glow of the pipes grew more intense. The “crowns” pulsed with light. Suddenly the hum changed to a crackling sound. The air seemed charged with power.

  “Oh my, my, my, my, my,” sang Shhh-foop, pressing three tentacles to her face.

  ZZZZZAAAAAAP!

  Streams of light flowed from the crowns, merging in the center of the table. A hazy cloud began to develop. Soon it was filled with dancing points of light. It swirled around itself, the points of light moving faster and faster.

  A tall, lean form began to take shape. Next came a hissing, sizzling sound from the transfer device, followed by a final burst of energy.

  The device went silent and dark.

  “E.T. phone home,” whispered McNally in awe.

  The haze continued to swirl, the form in the center of it slowly becoming more clear and specific until, with a sudden sucking sound, the mist and the light collapsed inward.

  Beezle Whompis had arrived.

  CHAPTER 6 [TIM]

  CRAZY TALK

  Linnsy looked at her mother angrily. “Mom!” she said between clenched teeth.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Linnsy,” said Mrs. Vanderhof. “There is no reason for Tim not to know about what happened.”

  “Yes, there is,” said Linnsy.

  Mrs. Vanderhof shook her head slightly and said, “I refuse to take part in my own repression.” Her voice was calm, but very serious. “If more people would be open about this kind of thing, there wouldn’t be so much shame and fear attached to it—which would mean that more people would get help when they needed it.”

  Linnsy sighed, rolled her eyes, and crossed her arms over her chest. “I suppose you’re going to talk about this whether I want you to or not.”

  “It makes a good test, dear,” said Mrs. Vanderhof cheerfully. “You’ll find that people who can’t handle it aren’t worth hanging around with.” She turned to me. “Do you remember a night about two years ago when your mom got a sudden call to come up here?”

  “Not really,” I said. Then I blinked. “Oh, wait—was that the time you went away for a couple of weeks? Whoa! Don’t tell me you were in the loony bin all that time!”

  “See what I mean?” cried Linnsy.

  My eyes widened in horror as I realized what I had just blurted out. “Ack! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to say that! It just… I mean… Omigosh, I am so sorry.”

  I glanced down at the floor, vaguely hoping a giant hole would open and swallow me into another dimension.

  Mrs. Vanderhof sighed and shook her head wearily. “I’d be angrier if I weren’t so used to it.”

  “So why can’t you just keep quiet about it?” asked Linnsy savagely.

  “I can handle it,” I said. “Really, I can. I was just startled. Honest.”

  “Besides, when you get right down to it, I was loony at the time,” said Mrs. Vanderhof. “Someone listening to me might have found my ramblings pretty hilarious, or pretty scary. Or both, I suppose. For me, it was exciting and scary all at once. I felt I knew things that no one else knew, understood the world in a way that no one else ever had.”

  “She left messages all over the house, explaining the secret meaning of things,” said Linnsy.

  “If I remember correctly, I told you the toaster held the answer to world peace,” said Mrs. Vanderhof with a laugh. “Yet for all that I felt I had secret knowledge, at the same time I was terrified. I knew I was out of control, but I didn’t know what to do about it.” She turned and looked out the window for a moment. “I imagine it was pretty scary for those around me as well.”

  “You’re not kidding,” said Linnsy. She turned to me. “When I got home from school that day, Mom was sitting in the middle of the living room floor. She had her suitcase next to her, her camera around her neck, and a flashlight in her hand. When I asked what was going on, she said she was waiting for the aliens to come and take her back where she came from.”

  “But that was two years before the aliens had even made contact,” I said. Then I blinked. “Oh. I see.”

  Mrs. Vanderhof smiled ruefully. “I had found a card inviting Linnsy to a birthday party with an alien theme. In my condition, I took it to mean some aliens were inviting me to be their queen.”

  Linnsy rolled her eyes. “When I walked in, she was singing the theme song from Tarbox Moon Warriors. She told me she had made a week’s worth of cookies, but after that I would be on my own because she had to return to her true home in the stars.”

  “Actually, dear, I think I told you that you could come along.”

  Linnsy laughed. “Yeah, but only if I ate a dozen of your secret rocket cookies first.” She turned to me. “I was terrified. Dad was out of town on a business trip. And Mom seemed so convinced of what she was saying that I almost believed her—though I got over that when she started having a conversation with my teddy bear.”

  “I thought he was Captain Norf-Norf,” explained Mrs. Vanderhof. “I think that was when Linnsy called your mom and asked for help.”

  “But you seem so…” I searched for a word. “So normal,” I finally said, somewhat lamely.

  “I am normal! At least, I am when my blood chemistry is working properly. When my chemistry is off, I can leave reality so far behind it looks as if I’ll never see it again. But as soon as they get my meds properly adjusted, I start coming back in for a landing.”


  “So, are all crazy people like that?” I closed my eyes in embarrassment. “Sorry. But you know what I mean.”

  Mrs. Vanderhof shook her head. “Mental illness comes in a lot of different flavors, Tim. Some of the people in what you called ‘the loony bin’ are in for the long haul—or at least, they are until some breakthrough in treatment occurs. Others are folk who have had their cup of sorrow filled way beyond the brim; they’ve made a temporary retreat from sanity because it’s more than they can cope with. And some are like me, people with a short-term problem that can be fixed fairly simply by getting their chemistry straightened out. The thing is, despite all we’ve learned, most of the world still reacts to mental problems as if there is some deep shame about them. But what I deal with is no more shameful than diabetes or a heart problem.”

  “In your opinion,” said Linnsy.

  “In reality,” her mother replied firmly. “The problem is, people haven’t had time to get used to that idea. A hundred years ago, odds are good I would have spent my life in an institution—just for lack of the right medicine!”

  A new question, a somewhat frightening one, occurred to me. Trying not to sound too nervous, I asked, “This condition, isn’t, uh… catching, is it?”

  Mrs. Vanderhof laughed. “You can’t catch it just by being near me, if that’s what you’re worried about. Can’t catch it at all, actually. It’s something you’re born with, though it sometimes takes a long time to show up.”

  “Okay, I’ve got the picture. But what does this all have to do with Pleskit?”

  Mrs. Vanderhof shrugged and reached for a brownie. “I’m not sure. It’s just that, from your description, he moved in and out of this strange condition so fast that it sounded like a speeded-up version of what I sometimes go through.” She glanced at me and laughed. “Oh, stop looking so worried! I went seven years between my first ‘episode’ and the one I told you about. I’m not going to wack out on you in the next thirty seconds. The good news is, we’re understanding more about mental illness all the time. I know your dream is to explore the vast reaches of outer space. But the truth is, there’s a whole universe inside our heads that we’ve barely begun to discover.” She tapped me on the forehead. “Between your ears lies a vast, uncharted wilderness.”

  “That’s definitely true for Tim,” Linnsy said with a laugh. “Who knows what weirdness lurks between those ears?”

  My search for a withering response was interrupted by the phone.

  “It’s for you, Mr. Timothy,” Mrs. Vanderhof said a moment later.

  I took the receiver.

  It was my mother. “Tim, I think you’d better get down here,” she said. “Pronto!”

  CHAPTER 7 [PLESKIT]

  ALIEN ARRIVAL

  We burst into applause—each of us showing approval in the way specific to his, her, or its planet. The Fatherly One belched heartily. Barvgis slapped his hands against his own shoulders, shouting, “Pooong! Pooong! Poong!” Shhh-foop swirled her tentacles, causing them to emit a hissing sound. I burped. But at the same time I felt a small twist of fear, which caused me to feel angry with myself. I had already lived on three previous worlds (four, if you count Geembol Seven, which I prefer not to). I knew enough not to fear someone merely because of appearance.

  Even so, keeping fear at bay is not always easy. So I studied the newcomer, because I know that for beings of goodwill, knowledge usually displaces fear.

  Beezle Whompis was at least seven feet tall and completely bald. His enormous, deep-set eyes were the most prominent feature of his thin, almost cadaverous, face. His skin, which looked like dry, yellowed flegstik, was stretched tightly over sunken cheeks. Three rounded nostrils in the otherwise flat center of his face gave the tiniest hint of a nose. An elegant robe hung from his bony shoulders, reaching nearly to his feet.

  He gazed at our little group, then shook himself from head to foot, as if he had just experienced a chill.

  “Well, that was an interesting trip,” he said, seeming to speak mostly to himself. Turning to the Fatherly One, he bowed slightly and added, “Beezle Whompis, reporting for service.”

  “Welcome, Beezle Whompis,” said the Fatherly One. “We have been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”

  “I am pleased to be here,” said Beezle Whompis, inclining his head slightly. “My apologies for the delay. Things at my last assignment became unexpectedly complicated. Just one problem after another, if you know what I mean.” He waved his skeletal fingers in front of his face in a complicated gesture.

  “Well, if that’s what you’re used to, you’re going to feel right at home here,” muttered McNally.

  Ms. Buttsman shot him an icy glare.

  “I have never seen one of those transfers done before,” said Barvgis. “It was very impressive.”

  Beezle Whompis bowed his head in acknowledgment. Then he shimmered and disappeared. A moment later he was standing on the floor next to Ms. Buttsman. She uttered a tiny shriek, then clapped her hand to her mouth and began to blush.

  “Forgive me, Ms. Buttsman,” said the Fatherly One. “I should have given you more information regarding our new staff member. Beezle Whompis is a…” He paused, as if searching for a word.

  “Allow me,” said Beezle Whompis. Turning to Ms. Buttsman, he said, “I am a—”

  The last “word” of his sentence was a harsh, grinding sound, like static on a radio. He smiled, or made something like a smile, since though his mouth curved up, it still drooped at the corners. “Think of me as a discorporate entity. My people do not have bodies—at least, not as you use the term. I take on this form merely as a matter of… politeness. I have found it is easier for the flesh-bound to relate to me if they can see me like this.”

  “How… interesting,” said Ms. Buttsman, edging away from him.

  “I would shake your hand in standard Earth greeting,” continued Beezle Whompis, “but doing so would cause all your hair to stand on end, which my studies have indicated you would not appreciate.”

  “Sounds like fun to me,” said McNally as Ms. Buttsman patted her hair nervously.

  “I am most eager to experience all of you,” said Beezle Whompis, turning to face the others at the table. “But first, Ambassador, I beg a moment in private. I must deliver an urgent message.”

  I watched in dismay as the Fatherly One and Beezle Whompis left the meeting room to head for the Fatherly One’s private office.

  “What do you suppose the message is?” I asked once the door had closed behind them.

  Ms. Buttsman—who seemed to be recovering from her shock at meeting Beezle Whompis—said primly, “I’m sure it’s adult business and no concern of yours, Pleskit.”

  “You are a source of unending joy, Ms. Buttsman,” said McNally.

  Ms. Buttsman gave him a tight smile. “Don’t forget that when Meenom is done with Beezle Whompis, he will want to speak to Pleskit about what happened at school today. I expect he will want to discuss it with you, too, Mr. McNally.” She looked around the room. “Well! That’s settled, I think. Mr. Whompis has made it here safely, so why don’t we all just get back to our jobs?”

  And with that she left the room.

  “Someone must be feeding that lady bad food,” sang Shhh-foop, whirling several of her tentacles. She turned to Pleskit. “Singing of food—would you like a snackie-doodle, my little Pleskit-pie?”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” I said glumly.

  “I don’t suppose you have anything for me?” asked Barvgis hopefully.

  “Of course,” sang Shhh-foop. “Always lots to eat for the pleasingly plump. And perhaps a cup of coffee for the handsome guarder of Pleskit’s body?”

  “Uh, sure,” said McNally nervously. He liked Shhh-foop, but her attempts at coffee had all been hideous failures.

  Our little group had no sooner gathered in the kitchen than a red light flashed above the door. We heard a slight hissing sound. Then a sharp smell drifted through the room.

  Barvgis sighed. “I
guess my snack will have to wait, Shhh-foop. I have been summoned.”

  “Come back soon!” sang Shhh-foop, waving her tentacles in farewell. Then she slapped two of them against the counter to summon the coffeepot.

  Barvgis left the room, mournfully patting his very round midsection as he went. Shhh-foop slid across the floor with a cup of coffee. She placed it delicately in front of McNally, then slid back a few feet and watched him anxiously, several of her tentacles twitching just a bit.

  McNally sniffed it, then raised it to his lips and took a cautious sip. His eyes widened, and he looked slightly terrified. “Not quite, Shhh-foop,” he said hoarsely. Staring at the steaming coffee as if it might bite him, he returned the cup to the table.

  “Woe, woe is she who cannot coax true joy from the bean of caffeine for Just McNally,” crooned Shhh-foop sadly as she slid back to the counter. She returned a moment later with a tray of squeaking purple cubes, which she placed in front of me. “Pak-skwardles,” she sang proudly.

  “Great!” I cried, scooping one into my mouth. I turned to my bodyguard. “Want some, McNally? They’re delicious.”

  “Uh—I think I’ll go to my room now,” said McNally. “I’ll catch you later, Pleskit. Good luck with your Fatherly One.”

  “Oy,” I said, using a word I had learned from my Grandfatherly One’s brain.

  * * *

  It did not take long for the summons to come. When it did, I popped a last pak-skwardle into my mouth for comfort, then trudged out of the kitchen. My pet Veeblax joined me in the corridor. It took on a four-legged shape, then walked beside me, cooing sympathetically.

  To reach the Fatherly One’s office, I first had to pass through an outer office, where his assistant held guard. When I reached this room, I was startled to see Beezle Whompis already sitting in the chair that had been occupied by Mikta-makta-mookta, until her villainous plans to sabotage the mission had been revealed.