The Rise and Fall of El Solo Libre

by Peter Nelson

  “I heard about Alex and Herbert. I’m so sorry—about everything. C’mon. I’m getting you outta here.”

  GOR-DON stood in front of the stunned crowd, his prickly bald head throbbing. Mayor CROM-WELL looked at the schedule for the fifth time in five minutes, then back to the G’Dalien in lipstick and lady clothes standing next to him.

  “I don’t understand. None of this is on the program.”

  GOR-DON slapped the schedule out of his hands. “This is my show now,” he hissed. He turned to the crowd of confused humans in the stands.

  “HUMANS! You now know the truth! The AlienSlayers tricked you all! I am your hero! It is I who stopped an actual alien attack, scheduled between noon and four this very afternoon!”

  As he spoke, the G’Daliens began pouring onto the floor of the Flee-a-seum. They were tired of waiting outside for their signal and wanted to know what all the shouting was about.

  GOR-DON saw them and continued, pointing up at the blue sky.

  “If not for my bravery and superior wisdom, all of you, humans and G’Daliens alike, would have been helpless against a deadly and destructive attack from above!”

  Everyone looked up at the sky. At the same spot in the sky. Some pointed to the spot in the sky. The spot in the sky was getting larger. And closer.

  “And now, thanks to me, your new leader, you’re safe from—”

  The Lunar Shuttle suddenly slammed into the ground of the Flee-a-seum, sending the G’Daliens scrambling for cover. It skidded to a stop along the dirt floor, its nose half buried in the dirt and its rear end tilting up in the air. The screams of the crowd quieted into confused mumblings.

  KUNGK! The back panel of the shuttle popped off.

  The crowd fell silent—until Herbert and Alex popped their heads out. A burst of cheers filled the Flee-a-seum.

  Mayor CROM-WELL picked up his Flee-Festival schedule and studied it again. GOR-DON stared out at the field in disbelief.

  “Alien Slayers?!”

  Sammi couldn’t believe her eyes. She laughed through her tears at the sight of Alex and Herbert—until she noticed they were ignoring the cheering crowd. They were frantically pulling passengers out of the back end of the shuttle. Something was wrong.

  Sammi peered up and spotted it—a huge, winged, brownish blob diving toward them, coming in fast.

  “Oh, no.” In an instant, she backflipped off the TransPodium and raced toward her friends in the center of the Flee-a-seum.

  “Hurry!”

  Inside the shuttle, Old Man Alex helped the last picnicker climb toward Herbert and Alex, who pulled him out to safety.

  Alex and Herbert reached in and struggled to pull Old Man Alex’s heavy, pear-shaped body up and out of the back of the shuttle. Sammi jumped aboard and tugged with them. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the huge blob coming straight for them. It was so close she could see its sinkhole of a mouth, full of teeth, wide open and ready to devour them like a tube of Slayer-Snacks.

  “Time’s up!”

  She stopped tugging and suddenly shoved.

  Sammi, Alex, and Herbert all fell into the shuttle. They slammed into Old Man Alex, and the four of them tumbled toward the grounded front of the small ship.

  “Quick! Out the windows!”

  “RRRRREEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOAAAARRRR!!” The gigantic winged worm bashed into the back of the shuttle like a roll of cookie dough being crammed into a toothpaste box.

  The four of them swung themselves out the windows and onto the roof, just as Mr. Nibbles’ crashing momentum thrust the shuttle across the Flee-a-seum field. Herbert, Sammi, Alex, and Old Man Alex held on tightly as the slug-stuffed shuttle plowed past the stunned crowd. It careened toward the oblong-shaped building at the opposite end of the field. They ducked just in time as it blasted through the warehouse doors and disappeared inside.

  KA-CHUNGK!

  Mr. Nibbles’ head slammed into the heavy InflataTron. Attached to it was the fully inflated Death Slug parade floatie, bouncing gently and light as air.

  Mr. Nibbles, the real Klapthorian Winged Death Slug, lay beneath it, wrapped tightly in the twisted metal Lunar Shuttle cocoon, knocked out cold. Herbert looked from the unconscious beast to his life-size floatie twin.

  “Again, ironic.”

  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.

  “DO NOT MOCK ME, CHUBBY ONE. I AM IN NO MOOD TO BE MOCKED.”

  “I am El Solo Libre,” Old Man Alex declared sternly.

  “WOW. YOU’VE REALLY LET YOURSELF GO IN THE LAST COUPLE OF SNARB-TICKS.”

  Old Man Alex glanced over his shoulder and spotted three silver-dressed humans sneaking from the warehouse building toward the back exit of the Flee-a-seum.

  “Yeah, I guess you could say I have.”

  “SERIOUSLY. GIVE ME THE REAL EL SOLO LIBRE IF YOU WANT TO LIVE. DON’T MAKE ME BE THE BAD GUY HERE.”

  “I told you, I’m El Solo Libre,” Old Man Alex said firmly. “We all are.”

  “I KNEW HUMANS WEREN’T THE MOST LUMINANT BALLS OF RADIANT PLASMA IN ALL THE WEXLARIAN NEBULAE, BUT THIS IS RIDICULOUS. TRY TO WRAP YOUR PUNY BRAIN AROUND THIS, TUBBY—BY DEFINITION, YOU CAN’T ALL BE SOLO. THINK ABOUT IT. I’LL GIVE YOU A FEW MILLENNIA.”

  Cruel laughter from the captain and his officers echoed across the Flee-a-seum. The humans booed. A few hurled oversize collectible Flee-Festival cups at the hovering invaders.

  “OH, THAT’S REAL ADVANCED OF YOU, GUYS. OKAY. YOU NOW HAVE APPROXIMATELY THREE EARTH MINUTES LEFT TO GIVE ME THE REAL SLAYER BEFORE I UNLEASH MY PET DEATH SLUG ON THIS HUNK OF ROCK YOU CALL HOME.”

  “And you have just two earth minutes left to slap that flying shrimp boat into reverse and back on outta our orbital system before we go MoonBat-crazy on you and your little pet—you got that, shrimp-onna-stick?”

  “Ooooooooooooooh…” The crowd taunted and cheered from the stands, but stopped as a small panel suddenly slid open near the nose of the ship. The G’Daliens on the ground clustered together, and all eyes watched as the tiny-but-menacing Klapthorian captain emerged from the Death Cruiser.

  No one noticed three baggy-skinned G’Daliens who waddled into the Flee-a-seum and stood at the back of the crowd.

  The captain buzzed down to Old Man Alex, his officers by his side. His bright yellow, lidless eyes studied the underwear-clad 110-year-old in the Mexican wrestling mask. He burst out into high-pitched, elflike laughter.

  “Heeheeheeheeheeheeheehee!” he cackled. The others joined in, until the captain held up a sticklike arm, stopping them short. He turned to the crowd.

  “This elderly roly-poly human has chosen your entire planet’s destiny. And now you will face the horrifyingly destructive force of Mr. Nibbles.”

  The insect aliens buzzed up and perched themselves on Mayor CROM-WELL’s TransPodium, where Special Agent Illinois stood beside his son, wishing he had an oversize rolled up newspaper. As he considered how to single-handedly tackle the space bugs, he heard a sudden incoming transmission on Chicago’s HoloWatch.

  It was EL-ROY. He spoke in a hushed tone, despite looking very excited. “Gray Blob to Red Leader, reporting in!”

  “Yes, Gray Blob!” Chicago whispered back to the hologram. “I read you! What’ve you got?”

  “I’m at the rendezvous point with Dallas and Sausalito—er, I mean, Meathead and Side of Fries! Operation Slugwalker Switcheroo, ready to move out!”

  “Okay. I have no idea what that is.”

  “Look down the field, at the big slug shed!”

  Chicago peered past the Klapthorians to the opposite end of the field. He spotted EL-ROY leaning out the hole of the warehouse Mr. Nibbles crashed into, wildly waving his tentacles.

  “What are you doing?!”

  “Just get down here! We need your help with this thing!”

  Chicago looked at his dad, and the two of them silently slipped off the back of the platform, revealing Mayor CROM-WELL, rolled up in a ball under his bodyguard’s long trench coat.

  “Excuse me.” GOR-DON stepped over the mayor as he cautiously approached the Klapthorians, who were waiting for the show to begin. “Hi. Big fan. Love your work.”

  “Who are you?” the captain barked. There was something about this G’Dalien that looked familiar. Perhaps his makeup.

  “A friend. You obviously have this well under control, but I have some information you might be interested in. Bit of a speed bump, actually. Just before you made your very impressive entrance, your ‘pet’ crash-landed, disappearing into that warehouse over there. He hasn’t emerged, and I fear you might be in need of a backup plan. Now, I’m quite an evil plan-maker myself, and I’d be happy to offer my assistance, in exchange for absolute control of the planet—once you’re done destroying it, of course.”

  “ROAR! GROWL! SNARL! SNORT!”

  Odd noises from inside the building suddenly grabbed their attention. The captain looked back at GOR-DON.

  “Are all inhabitants of this planet overweight and stupid?”

  “Heeheeheeheeheehee!”

  The tittering aliens turned and stared out at the field as the giant Death Slug came waddling out of the warehouse. It bounced along oddly, growling and snarling as it approached the G’Daliens gathered on the floor of the Flee-a-seum. Old Man Alex saw it and ran in terror, straight into the stands of frightened humans.

  The Klapthorian captain settled onto his perch on the TransPodium. His black beak widened into a twisted grin.

  “Ooh, this is gonna be good.”

  “GROWL! ROAR! ARF! ARF! SNARL!”

  “Sir,” the first officer asked the Klapthorian captain. “Does Mr. Nibbles seem…all right to you?”

  At that moment a slight breeze seemed to push the bouncing Death Slug off balance, and it nearly toppled over for no apparent reason.

  “He’s…just a bit groggy. Poor fellah’s nap was interrupted. He’ll gobble up a few members of this chubby species and be his old horrible self again.”

  “He seems to have sprouted…tiny feet, sir.”

  They both peered at the monster bobbing along unsteadily toward the masses. Each time Mr. Nibbles bounced off the ground, they’d glimpse three pairs of sneakers, a pair of government-issue Special Agent black patent leather shoes, and a dozen or so tentacles, all shuffling madly beneath him.

  “Aww, he’s evolving!” the captain said, sounding like a proud mother. “They grow up so fast, don’t they
?”

  “HYAAAAAAA!!”

  A loud, angry karate cry suddenly rang out from the group of huddling G’Daliens. The captain and his officers looked down.

  “HO! HAAAAA!”

  One of the three baggy-skinned G’Daliens suddenly ran straight at Mr. Nibbles. She leaped into the air and delivered a devastating horizontal roundhouse kick to the belly of the beast. It rippled like a bowl of Jell-O, and the beast wobbled back and forth as his G’Dalien attacker bounced off, backflipping in the air and landing solidly on her feet.

  “HUP! HUP! HUP-HUP! HUP! HUP!”

  The other two baggy-skinned G’Daliens ran around either side of the wobbly Death Slug and jumped him from behind. One bounce-scaled up the back of Mr. Nibbles and delivered a forearm smash to the top of his head before grabbing Mr. Nibbles’ leathery wings and pinning them behind the beast’s back.

  CLICK! Something was quickly clasped to the beast’s wings. As Chicago, his dad, EL-ROY, Dallas, and Sausalito snuck away from beneath the bouncing beastie, the two baggy-skinned G’Daliens hopped off to join the third one on the ground.

  All three turned to face the huddling G’Dalien crowd.

  “My fellow citizens,” the first G’Dalien cried out in a remarkably Sammi-like voice. “Earlier you heard the AlienSlayers admit they were frauds, and that they were never able to protect us!”

  The other two saggy-baggy G’Daliens turned to each other.

  “We did?”

  “But we don’t need anyone’s protection! We can stand up for ourselves! Are we going to flee, or are we going to fight? I say we let these bullies know they picked the wrong planet to push around!”

  The group of G’Daliens stared up at the Klapthorian Winged Death Slug sagging before them. The older ones remembered how this beast (or one just like him) chased them from their home planet fifty years ago. The younger ones thought about the scary stories they’d heard hundreds of times growing up.

  A very old grandpa G’Dalien hobbled out of the still-huddled crowd, right up to Mr. Nibbles. He lifted his cane and poked the belly of the wobbly Death Slug.