I had to think of a way to let him run around a little without giving him a chance to escape. The front yard was no good; anyone who happened to walk by would be able to see him, and he could easily jump over the white picket fence and scurry into town. The backyard was private but entirely surrounded by forest. If he got loose in there it would be impossible to find him. Frustrated, I was tempted to throw him into the nearest transporter, say good-bye, and push some random buttons on the input console, when Tate walked in the front door.
Tate nodded once at me. “’Mornin’, boy.” He was holding a handmade sign and a hammer.
“’Morning. What’s that?”
He turned the sign around. HAPPY 50TH ANNIVERSARY, MR. AND MRS. OLSON. THANKS FOR CHOOSING THE INTERGALACTIC BED & BREAKFAST FOR YOUR PARTY!
“Grandma hosted a party for someone named Olson? A human party?”
Tate scoffed. “No, no. It’s all part of the evasive tactics.” He raised one eyebrow and pointed at me with a thick finger. “Something you never figured out last summer, by the way.”
One more thing I did wrong? Big surprise. “What are you talking about?”
“Evasive tactics, boy. Keeping up appearances, making it look like actual humans stay here. You follow me?” Tate lifted up the sign. “I got dozens of these—Welcome, Seattle Hiking Club and Enjoy Your Stay, Northwest Fly Fishermen, that sort of thing. I put ’em out front for a day or two, and the stray passerby citizen-type from Forest Grove figures we’re hosting some get-together or another. A normal get-together. Puts his mind at ease, you know? Even if it’s only subconsciously.”
“Oh. Got it.” That was actually a pretty good idea.
“Yep, I spend lots of time on evasive tactics these days. Got a friend who runs a used-car lot down in Bellingham. For a few bucks he lets me borrow a different two, three cars a week to park out front. Make it look like people are actually showing up. Humans don’t usually travel too much by transporter, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Tate opened a storage room door and placed the sign and hammer inside. “I got all sorts of little tricks like that. We don’t want a repeat of last summer’s unpleasant incident.”
Did everyone have to keep mentioning that? I sighed and nodded, but didn’t say anything.
Tate closed the storage room door and glanced at the quilt bundle in my arms. “You’re a little old to still be carrying a blankie around, aren’t you?”
“It’s not a blankie. I’m just making sure this guy doesn’t escape.” I drew back a corner of the quilt so Tate could get a look at him.
Tate studied the alien with a sour look on his face. “Now, I know how you’re feeling, boy. Some of these things look pretty shifty. Dangerous, even. But I’m afraid you can’t just go wrapping ’em up and taking ’em hostage, much as I’d like to sometimes.”
“Oh, no. This guy’s different. He—”
Tate grunted. “They’re all of ’em different, trust me.”
“No, this one is different even for an alien. He doesn’t talk, and he scampers around like a little pet or something.”
Tate took the toothpick out of his mouth and rolled it carefully between his fingers, clearly thinking things over. He bent down to get a better look at the purple alien. As soon as he got close, that long tongue shot out and slurped Tate’s face from his second chin all the way up to his eyebrows.
“Yeechhh!”
I’ve never seen a big man move so fast. He shot upright and lunged for a hand sanitizer dispenser on a nearby end table. I had noticed two or three of those in every room; now I saw why. Tate furiously pumped a lump of gel onto his meaty palm and then scrubbed it all over his face. He repeated the process two more times, spluttering away and swearing under his breath.
“What are you grinning about?” he said when he was finished. “You think your immune system can handle germs and microbes and who-knows-whatnot from a million miles away? You won’t be smiling when you come down with some crazy strain of space flu, I’ll tell you that. They won’t have any medicine for it at the Forest Grove Pharmacy.”
“Sorry.” I hid my smile behind a fake cough. Why does trying not to laugh at something make it ten times funnier?
“I know your grandma thinks it’s all peace and love and commingling in perfect harmony around here, but we still need to keep our guard up, you follow me?”
I nodded. I actually was following him for once. And I suddenly realized that maybe Tate would be the perfect person to talk to about my concerns regarding Scratchull. Grandma could be tolerant to a fault with her customers, and Amy was easily impressed by all things alien, but Tate could be counted on to be a skeptic. He would listen to me, for sure.
“Mr. Tate, would you mind if we had a talk for a minute? A private talk?”
He studied my face for a moment, then slowly nodded. “All right. But see that you keep that thing covered up while we do.”
“Okay.” I stuck my head under the quilt for a minute and tried to talk soothingly to the purple alien, told him to just wait for a minute and then I would find him a place to run around. I was rewarded with a big lick across my forehead and a couple of happy whistles. I bundled him up, and Tate and I moved to some chairs in the corner of the sitting room.
Tate crossed his arms over his chest, resting his elbows on his belly, and looked at me without expression. It felt very strange to be confiding in him, but it seemed like the only way to get some help.
I glanced toward the kitchen door, then up at the empty staircase. I finally looked back at Tate and lowered my voice. “I’m a little worried about one of the aliens.”
Tate looked much more interested at that. He leaned forward and whispered back, “Me too. Is it that squishy bluish-green fella up in Three-C? I’ve had my eye on him the last couple days. Don’t like the way he looks at your grandma.”
Okay…that was a little weird. “No. It’s the one who just started working here, actually.”
Tate straightened back up and gave me a funny look. “Scratchull? Why would you be worried about him? He’s the only one of these aliens that’s ever been useful. The others just sit around and lollygag all day long.”
“Well…they are on vacation….”
Tate harrumphed. “Oh, they lollygag at home, too. I can tell. But that Scratchull’s okay. He’s been right helpful.”
“Really?”
“Yep.” Tate scratched at his jowls and studied my face. “But why are you so worried about him? You seemed right chummy with all of these creatures last summer, if memory serves.”
“When I first got here, I was sneaking in the back way and I saw him messing around in one of the sheds. So I went over to check things out.” I lowered my voice even more. “And he was building something pretty strange. It looked like a weapon of some kind. And when he saw me standing there and watching him, he totally freaked out.”
Tate frowned and scratched some more. “Totally freaked out? That doesn’t sound like Scratchull. I’ve found him to be a pretty cool customer.”
“Well, he did. And then he—”
“What did this so-called weapon look like?”
I remembered the alien’s grating laughter as that thing flew around and spat out nails. I shuddered. “It was like a cross between a mini-helicopter and a machine gun. It could float in the air and—”
Tate held up a hand for me to stop, then shook his head slowly and pushed himself out of the chair with a grunt. “Come with me, boy.”
I followed Tate down the hall and through the back door. He led me around to the far side of the house.
Whoa. There was a huge wooden structure being built back there. It was a tower attached to the side of the house, constructed of a series of ten-by-ten-foot platforms held up by four stout wooden pillars and connected by a short flight of stairs between each one. The highest platform was level with the roof of the bed-and-breakfast, and a couple of pillars were in place on top. Looked like it was going to be built up even taller.
“What’s
that?” I asked.
Tate cleared his throat. “I guess that all depends on who’s doing the asking.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, if it’s your grandma asking, then that thing is a fire escape. For the safety and well-being of her valued customers.” Tate took the soggy toothpick out of his mouth and pointed up at the structure with it. “See how each platform is flush with one of the windows? In case of a fire, or some other emergency requiring immediate evacuation”—Tate gave me a meaningful look at that one, and I knew he was thinking about the debacle last summer—“each guest can funnel right out one of them centrally located windows on their floor, step onto the platform, and then file down safely to the ground.”
“Okay…” I looked up. It appeared to be well built, and the whole thing was actually a pretty good idea. “But what if I’m asking?”
Tate slid the toothpick back between his lips and chewed on it while he studied me. “You see, that depends, too. Can I trust you? On a man-to-man basis?”
I nodded. “Sure.”
“Then that, boy, is my own personal watchtower.”
“Watchtower?”
“Follow me.”
Tate led me up the steps of the tower until we reached the top. I got a tighter grip on my quilted bundle and stayed near the middle of the platform. It made me a little dizzy to be up that high without any walls around me.
“We’re gonna build it up another level or two, and then I’ll be able to see almost everything.” He pointed off in the direction of town. “Look there. I got a clear sight line all the way down the road, and I’ll be able to see over the tops of all these trees right into downtown. Be able to tell if anyone is coming, or if there might be any problems with the guests.” He turned and pointed in different directions. “And I’ll be able to see right into the park…and down along the river there…and up the logging road there…and farther up the mountain a spell to that clearing by the lake.” He stuck the toothpick back in his mouth and surveyed the scene before him.
“I guess this’ll be pretty useful,” I said.
“You bet it will. Running security for an operation like this, you need to eliminate as many surprises as possible. Have to be able to keep an eye on friend and foe alike, both comin’ and goin’.”
When he said “foe” I remembered why we came out here in the first place. “It looks good, Mr. Tate. But what does it have to do with Scratchull? And the weapon he was building?”
“Did someone call my name?” I flinched at hearing that deep voice unexpectedly. I looked over and there was Scratchull, walking along the sloped roof, holding a toolbox. His feet were only an inch or two from the gutter. But he looked straight at us instead of watching his step, seemingly unaware or unconcerned that one slightly misplaced foot could send him over the edge to splatter on the ground below.
He leaped off the roof a little too soon, sailing over open space before landing on the wooden floor. I instinctively took a step backward; it seemed like a tight fit on that platform with three people, especially with Tate being so big and Scratchull so creepy. “Whatever were you two discussing?”
Tate pointed at me. “This is a good one, Scratchull. The kid here thought you were building yourself a weapon.”
My whole body flushed with anger. How could he just go and say something like that? I should have known better than to trust him.
“Is that right?” Scratchull said. “It would seem earthling children have such active imaginations that it’s hard for them to distinguish between fantasy and reality. But I wonder what could have put the notion into his head in the first place.”
“Says he saw you putting together your little flying contraption. Thought it was some kind of dangerous weapon.” Tate rolled his eyes and made a Can-you-believe-it? face.
“Is that so?” Scratchull took a quick glance in my direction and sneered.
“Yeah.” Tate chuckled. “I guess he thought you were planning to take over the Earth with just a tricked-out nail gun.” His chuckle turned into a guffaw at his own joke.
Scratchull turned away from Tate and looked right at me with those dark eyes. “My, my. Take over the Earth?” A tiny pinprick of red light appeared in the center of each eye. “Whatever would I do with it?”
Scratchull moved toward me, and I took another step backward.
“Whoa, there,” Tate said. The big man grabbed me by the elbow. “Watch your step, boy.”
I looked behind me and saw that my heels were only a few inches away from the edge of the platform. My stomach went funny and I almost threw up. I lurched forward but also sideways, trying to get clear of the edge and stay away from Scratchull at the same time.
Tate motioned to Scratchull. “Let’s show him how your new toy works, so he doesn’t have any nightmares. Give the kid a demonstration.”
“Gladly.” Scratchull stepped right off the edge of the platform and dropped out of sight.
My heart skipped a couple of beats and I got the throw-up feeling again. The shock must have been pretty plain on my face because Tate looked at me and grinned. “Spooked me, too, first time I saw him do that. Doesn’t hurt him or nothing, though. It’s like he’s got bones made of rubber.”
Tate stepped to the ledge and looked over. I carefully did the same. Scratchull was kneeling far below, hooking up his contraption to a generator. Suddenly the flying nail gun was zipping through the air. It whirled around the entire wooden structure, circling upward, and when it reached the joints between platform and pillar, it fired off a quick burst of nails. It only took a few minutes to get to every joint, hovering for a moment to spit out nails before it moved to the next one.
“Pretty slick, huh?” said Tate. “It would have taken a four-man crew a couple of weeks to build something like this. With Scratchull and his homemade toys, it’s taken the both of us just two days to get this thing up. And we’re nearly finished.” Tate clapped me on the shoulder. “I told you he was all right. A real straight shooter. No pun intended.”
Tate chuckled to himself as the nail gun rose higher into the air. It nailed the joints below the platform we were standing on, and then it popped up into view just in front of us. Just in front of me, actually. It hovered there, the barrel of the gun pointed straight at me. I had seen how hard the nails slammed into the wood, and I got chills imagining one of them shooting out and hitting me in the forehead.
I stepped to the side, and the thing followed. I ducked down, and it lowered. “Tell him to get that thing away from me,” I said.
“You can tell me yourself.” Scratchull walked up the stairs to stand beside us. He flicked lightly at the remote control, and the flying nail gun floated right over into his hands, where the blades stopped whirring and fell silent. “In fact, the next time you have any kind of problem with me whatsoever, I suggest you come to me directly before prattling on to someone else. I’m sure we can settle any misunderstandings ourselves.”
I looked at Tate for support, but he just cleared his throat and said, “Good advice, kid. Part of growing up.”
I took a few deep breaths, trying to get my anger under control. Clearly, no one was on my side right now.
I forced myself to look right at Scratchull. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll do that. Just the two of us.”
I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that. But if it did, I wanted him to be sorry that he had ever suggested it.
Snarffle woke me up the next morning (that creepy white alien said he was called a snarffle, so I guessed that was as good a name as any). He was balanced on his hind legs, that purple beach ball of a body pressed against the door, while his other four paws scrabbled at the wood.
Despite being groggy from the too-early wake-up call, I had to smile a little. As crazy as the circumstances always were at Grandma’s house, some things remained comfortably familiar all over the universe: pets had to go to the bathroom in the morning.
But I couldn’t let him run around outside and risk him tearing off towa
rd town. “Just give me a minute, buddy.” I pulled on some sweats and squeezed out the door.
When I returned from Grandma’s storage sheds, Snarffle was whistle-whining and hopping up and down. “Okay, this shouldn’t take too long,” I told him, dumping an armload of materials on the bed: a couple of old dog leashes, a Johnny Jump Up baby bouncer, and a bunch of bungee cords.
Even though he was anxious to get out, the little guy was actually a pretty good sport about sitting still and letting me try things on him for size. I managed to rig up a harness that fit over him, snug but not suffocating. I slipped the bungee cords around his two front legs, and then attached the whole thing to the leashes, which I tied together to give him some room to run. It wasn’t pretty, but now I could take him outside without worrying about him escaping. So we left the room and trotted down the hall, just a boy and his loyal companion from space.
Most of the Tourists were early risers, and there was already a lot of activity around the Intergalactic Bed & Breakfast. I had to stifle a laugh as we walked down the back-porch steps and encountered an alien family having a picnic breakfast on the lawn.
Now, I’m sure Amy did a great job with the new Welcome to Earth! tutorial…but that didn’t mean aliens had any grasp of earthling fashions. The mom looked straight out of Little House on the Prairie, wearing a plain pioneer dress and an old-fashioned bonnet; the kid seemed like he had stepped out of a silent movie with his knickers, sweater-vest, and flat tam-o’-shanter cap; and the dad was impersonating a disco king with tight bell-bottom jeans, a puffy Afro wig, and a yellow polyester shirt with lapels big enough to serve as auxiliary wings. Sure, they could pass for human, but it looked like they had all gotten dressed in a short-circuiting time machine. Might be time for Grandma to update her trunks full of thrift-store clothes.
I was so focused on trying not to crack up that I didn’t notice Snarffle had stopped moving until his leash grew taut and yanked me to a halt a few yards from the family’s picnic blanket. I looked back at the purple alien and saw him staring intently at the food. That little cave opened underneath his eyes, and a few wispy tendrils snaked out to sniff at the air.
Alien on a Rampage Page 5
