Aliens!

by R. McGeddon

  “Is this real?” he asked, right on cue. “Or are you winding us up?”

  “I assure you it’s absolutely positively happening!” yelped Stella. “We’re witnessing an actual real-life unidentified flying object!”

  “Uh, guys…” said Arty.

  “Yes, very funny,” sighed Emmie. “Joke’s over now, though. We’re not falling for it.”

  “Guys!”

  “You had us going for a minute, though,” Sam admitted. “So, you know, well done, but—”

  “GUYS!”

  Arty’s voice echoed around the observatory. He pointed at the monitor and everyone turned to look.

  “Am I seeing things,” he began, “or is it getting bigger?”

  The object wasn’t growing larger in the sky; it was getting closer. Quite quickly, in fact. Actually, really very quickly indeed. It seemed to race directly toward the telescope, the silver saucerlike chassis spinning as it closed the gap between the Moon and the Earth.

  There was a bright green flash as the spacecraft punched through the planet’s atmosphere. It was almost filling the view-screen now, all sleek and silver with a big domed window on top.

  It became a blur across the monitor as the telescope struggled to maintain its focus, just like I sometimes have difficulty in … Oooh, a butterfly. How nice.

  And then the spaceship was gone. Darkness filled the screen again, dotted here and there with distant shimmering stars.

  “What happened?” asked Sam. “Where did it go?”

  A screaming noise from overhead made them all duck. It made the room rumble as it swooshed by. Sam was up and racing to the window much more quickly than I would’ve done, because I’m instinctively a coward by nature.

  The others joined him as he gazed out onto the most amazing scene he’d ever seen. The flying saucer was hovering directly above Sitting Duck. It hung there in the air exactly like a brick wouldn’t, lights blinking along its aluminum skin, the streetlamps below reflecting off its patterns of polished chrome.

  Although the UFO wasn’t moving, it spun constantly like a spinning top powered by magic. As it rotated, it emitted a high-pitched whistling noise, which was probably torture for all the dogs in the area, but no one thought to ask them.

  “Well,” said Sam, under his breath. “There’s something you don’t see every day.”

  “No one’s seen it before!” breathed Stella. “Don’t you see? We’re the first people to ever witness this. We’ve just discovered alien life!”

  “Go us!” said Emmie.

  “Are they friendly?” asked Arty.

  “Oh, I should think so,” said Stella, waving a hand. “Bound to be. Yes. Bound to be.”

  With a series of clicks, every monitor in the observatory switched on. Even those not plugged in blinked into life with the rest of them. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen, but then numbers started to shimmy across the screen one after another like a big conga line, but with numbers. And no music.

  Sam squinted at the digits dashing by on the screen. “What’s this?” he wondered. He looked down to see numbers flashing across:

  20.1.11.5 13.5 20.15 25.15.21.18 12.5.1.4.5.18

  “What does it mean?” asked Emmie.

  “It’s a code!” cried Arty.

  Sam and Emmie groaned. “Not another one.”

  “Of course!” cried Stella. “The computer is translating the message from the aliens into numerical code, because numbers are universal! Mathematical constants are mathematical constants regardless of where you are in the Universe!”

  Emmie let out a loud snore. “Sorry, nodded off there,” she said. “What does any of that mean?”

  “It means the numbers represent letters, just like in my code-breaking kit,” Arty said.

  Arty grabbed a pencil and began to scribble. His hand became a blur of speed as he frantically tried to translate the coded message on screen.

  “Got it!” he said, surprisingly quickly, all things considered. “I’ve worked out the message.”

  “Well?” demanded Emmie.

  “Grmg ft ak hrou pedkar,” Arty said.

  Everyone blinked in surprise.

  “Eh?” said Stella.

  “You sure?” asked Sam.

  Arty nodded. “Yeah, think so. Unless…” He turned the page upside down, squinted, then did a bit more scribbling. “Ah no, my mistake,” he said, blushing slightly. “It says, ‘Take me to your leader.’”

  Emmie rolled her eyes. “That’s the single most unoriginal thing any alien could ever say,” she said. “I can’t believe they traveled millions of miles and that was the best they could come up with.”

  Sam pointed to the radio broadcasting equipment they’d only just been looking at in the previous chapter. “Can we use that to send them a message back?”

  “Yes!” yelped Stella, and for a moment Sam thought her head might actually explode with excitement. “We can! We can send them a message!”

  “What will we say?” asked Arty.

  “Tell them we’re not in,” suggested Emmie.

  “No,” said Sam. “Tell them we’ll be happy to bring them to our leader. Tell them to meet us at the Town Hall.”

  He yawned and stretched. “But tell them it’ll have to wait until tomorrow. I don’t know about you guys, but I really need to get some sleep.”

  * * *

  Know Your UFOs

  Something that Stella might have found useful is the very popular book that I’ve just this minute written called The A–Z of UFOs and Stuff by R. McGeddon—available now from me at my house. Here are just a few sample entries for your information and enjoyment.

  A is for Alpha Centauri Shuttle Bus: Large, cumbersome, and a blinding shade of bright yellow, this spacecraft is best known for carrying retirees from their home in the Alpha Centauri galaxy to the bingo hall just along the road.

  F is for Flipping Fast: Most UFOs (with the exception of the Alpha Centauri Shuttle Bus) rattle along at a right old pace. Imagine the fastest fighter jet ever invented on Earth. Then double it. Then double it again. Then take a tiny bit away. That’s the slowest speed they can go! Probably.

  P is for Packed with Stuff: From aliens to star maps to fancy gadgets that go blooop, UFOs are crammed full of stuff. You’d think this would make them heavier, but thanks to amazing outer space technology it actually makes them lighter. No one really knows why.

  T is for Trans-Galactic Express: Need to get from Globblewhitz 9 in the Rohandor system to Pimfizzle Minor on the outer rim in a hurry? The Trans-Galactic Express will get you there in just under thirty Earth minutes. Granted, the crushing g-forces will turn your bones to a soft paste before you’re past Globblewhitz 8, but when time is of the essence, the TGE is the way to travel.

  X is for Xit: Because despite their advanced technologies and vast knowledge, aliens just cannot manage to spell exit correctly.

  * * *

  Chapter five

  What with the alien spaceship being really massive and hovering over the town making a whistling noise, it did not go unnoticed by the good people of Sitting Duck. They weren’t the most observant folks in the world, but even they could spot an enormous silver saucer that more or less blocked out the sky.

  Stella had spread the word about the message the aliens had sent, and bright and early the next morning everyone had gathered at the Town Hall, desperate to be among the first to see what these strangers from outer space looked like.

  Say what you like about the Sitting Duckers, they’re nothing if not polite. Many of them had brought balloons and little flags with them. Some had made cakes and cookies, and little cardboard signs with “We Heart Aliens” on them, only the heart was a drawing of a love-heart done in jumbo crayon with glitter around it.

  Make no mistake about it, they were all on the excited side, and the flashing of cameras and chatter of TV news anchors only made them worse.

  Sam, Emmie, and Arty moved through the packed crowd with ease. Everyone knew not to ge
t in Emmie’s way if they wanted to avoid a boot to the shins, and the throngs seemed to part whenever she approached.

  On a raised platform right outside the Town Hall stood Mayor Sozzle. Actually stood is a bit on the generous side. He sort of slumped there, an arm around one of his officials, looking a bit out of sorts.

  “Issamazin’,” he slurred, raising a hand to the flying saucer as if saluting. “Issamazin’ big shasepip.” He frowned. “Spapeshish.”

  The official slapped him hard across the face.

  “Spaceship,” the mayor managed. He gave his aide a nod. “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure,” said the official, and it was, because he really disliked the mayor, and slapping him hard across the face was the only thing that made his job worthwhile. Which is understandable given the mayor’s last aide was eaten by a zombie.

  * * *

  Dos and Don’ts When Greeting Alien Visitors

  • Do stand up straight.

  • Don’t wear stilts.

  • Do be polite and courteous.

  • Don’t kiss them on the lips.

  • Do extend a welcome on behalf of the planet Earth.

  • Don’t tell them they look like that weird kid from your math class.

  • Do ask how their journey was.

  • Don’t scream “You’ve come to take me home!” at the top of your voice, then run into their spaceship laughing.

  * * *

  Emmie led Sam and Arty to the front of the crowd. Arty groaned when he realized his older brother, Jesse, was already there. Jesse’s nostrils flared when he spotted them, as if he’d just smelled something deeply unpleasant.

  “Well, well, well.” He scowled. “If it isn’t the Three Muskadweebs.”

  “Incredible!” said Arty. “You’ve finally learned to count to three. Mom and Dad are going to be so proud.”

  “Shut it, loser,” Jesse growled. He pointed up to the saucer hovering above them. “Your ride’s here.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Arty.

  “I’ve always said you were some weird alien life-form,” Jesse sneered. “They’ve come to take you home.” He turned to Sam and Emmie. “Enjoy his dorky birthday party, did you?”

  “Yeah, it was brilliant, actually,” said Sam.

  “Loved every minute,” agreed Emmie.

  “Maybe you should go hide somewhere, though,” Sam suggested.

  Jesse frowned. “What? Why?”

  “Well, the aliens have come all this way to find intelligent life. If they see you, they’ll probably turn around and go home again.”

  Jesse wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, and so it took him a full thirty seconds to realize Sam had insulted him, and a good ten seconds more to decide what he was going to do about it.

  Just as he had decided what he was going to do—which involved a hedge, three baseballs, and a glass slipper—he was distracted by an arm slipping around his. They all turned to see a blond-haired girl with a furry pink coat fluttering her false eyelashes Jesse’s way.

  “Hey, boyfriend,” she said. “Hey … you three.”

  “Hi, Phoebe,” said Sam, without much enthusiasm. Arty gave the girl a brief wave. Emmie crammed her fist in her mouth and did her best not to scream.

  Phoebe, it was safe to say, was not one of Emmie’s all-time top ten favorite people. She wasn’t even in her top hundred. In fact, Emmie wasn’t entirely sure she even qualified as a person. She was more like an annoying itch you couldn’t scratch that refused to go away, only with lots of money and designer clothes and a way of talking that made Emmie want to gouge her own ears out with a spoon. Not for the first time, Emmie wished they’d left Phoebe as a zombie when they’d had the chance.

  “Like, this is totes crazy,” said Phoebe. Emmie gnawed on her knuckles and resisted the urge to wring Phoebe’s neck. “How bling is that big spinny dish? Like OMG!”

  “I’m not your boyfriend,” Jesse said. “Why do you keep following me?”

  Phoebe let out a shrill laugh and squeezed Jesse’s arm. “He is such a kidder! You are such a kidder! That’s why we make such a totally perfect couple! He’s so funny, I’m…”

  “Evil in a dress?” Emmie muttered. “The most irritating human being alive?”

  “Well, gorgeous is what I was going to say, if you must know,” Phoebe said. She sniffed and looked down her nose at Emmie and the others. “So, like, this big OUF or whatever they’re calling it. I heard from this guy, who heard from this guy, who heard from these other guys, who read something on like, wherever, that you three spotted it first. Is that true?”

  “It most certainly is,” said Arty proudly.

  “Then I’m, like, totally staying away from it,” Phoebe said. “Anytime I get involved with you three it’s, like, OMG—Disaster City.”

  Sam looked offended. “How can you say that?”

  “Hello?” Phoebe trilled. “Last time we hung out I got turned into a zombie.”

  “Not for long, though,” Sam reminded her. “It can’t have been that bad.”

  “I ate an old lady!”

  “Yeah, I suppose that is pretty bad,” Sam admitted.

  “Anyway, their big saucer thing has full-scale ruined my phone signal. I’ve been in a social media blackout since it arrived.” She held up her phone. “There could be things happening out there in the world right now that I have no idea about, all because of this big chunk of stupid.”

  “Don’t worry, Jesse,” said Sam. “She didn’t mean you.”

  Before Jesse could reply, a gasp went up from the crowd. Sam and the others turned in time to see a bright red beam descend from the bottom of the spaceship. Looking directly into the light made their eyes ache, but there was no way they were going to look away. Not now. Not when three figures were gliding gracefully down inside the beam and alighting on the street outside the Town Hall.

  The light vanished, leaving the three figures behind. The aliens looked at the people of Sitting Duck. The people of Sitting Duck looked at the aliens.

  “They’re smaller than I expected,” whispered Arty, and Sam nodded in agreement.

  The aliens were tiny. Their bodies were short and squat, and their square heads barely came up to knee-height of the surrounding adults. Their teeny-tiny features were scrunched up near the bottom of their heads, like a cute wittle baby’s, and their skin was nearly as lumpy as school cafeteria custard, but not the same color. It was blue. As they turned and cast their gazes across the gathered crowds, their silver space suits rustled faintly.

  Up on stage the mayor grinned happily. He tried to speak, but a sudden fit of the hiccups prevented him from delivering the heartfelt welcome address he’d scribbled on the back of a coaster over breakfast.

  All around Sam and the others, the Sitting Duckers were smiling and waving at the aliens. Many of them had their phones out to record this historic event for future generations to ignore on the Internet, because they’ll all be watching funny videos about cats on skateboards instead. They were acting as if the aliens were old friends returning from a trip abroad, but something about the little blue figures was making Sam uneasy.

  At first he wasn’t sure what it was. It might have been something in their body language as they approached the mayor, their little legs pumping fast like pistons. It might have been the expressions on their little baby faces or the way their eyes darted left and right as they walked.

  But it was probably their ray guns, Sam reckoned. Two of the three aliens carried them—sleek silver weapons about the size of a large zucchini but not nearly as good for your health. Their stubby fingers gripped the triggers as the leader of their little group scampered closer and closer to the mayor.

  “Wahey!” cheered Mayor Sozzle, stumbling down the steps at the front of the Town Hall and almost trampling all three of the ETs to death. “Who’s a little cutie-pie, then?” he slurred. He stooped and snatched up the only unarmed member of the group and patted it affectionately on the top of its
glass helmet.

  “I really don’t think he should be doing that,” mumbled Arty.

  “Oh, chill,” said Phoebe, forcing Sam to physically restrain Emmie. “Look at that thing—it’s too cute. Seriously, what’s the worst that could happen?”

  Zzzzzzap!

  The two aliens not currently being nuzzled in the mayor’s arms opened fire. A crackle of blinding light spat from the barrels. The mayor’s hair stood on end.

  “Heh. That tickles,” he giggled. And then, without any warning whatsoever, he exploded in a glittering shower of sparkles.

  “That, probably,” said Sam, and then the entire crowd began to scream.

  * * *

  Defend Yourself from an Alien Sneak Attack

  So aliens have invaded your planet? Bummer. Don’t worry, I’ve put together this list of techniques you might want to put into use should one of those pesky invaders try to kill you in unpleasant ways. Be aware that some of these techniques will only be effective against specific alien races. While it is possible, for example, to tickle a member of the Fluffpuffle race into submission, this strategy will be somewhat less effective against the captain of a Venusian Death Fleet.

  • Tie up its tentacles when it isn’t looking.

  • Shoot it with a ray gun (note: requires ray gun).

  • Stuff cotton wool in its gills.

  • Tell it a difficult-to-understand joke.

  • Impale it on a massive spike (note: requires massive spike).

  • Bamboozle it with mirrors.

  • Feed it peanuts and hope it’s allergic.

  • Pretend you can’t see it and hope it goes away.

  * * *

  Chapter six

  For all their faults (and there are many), the people of Sitting Duck perform pretty well under pressure. Having come through a zombie apocalypse more or less unscathed—not counting all the ones who died, had legs bitten off, or ate their families—the mayor being vaporized by two tiny men from outer space wasn’t all that big a deal, and they stopped screaming almost immediately.