Holly Farb and the Princess of the Galaxy

by Gareth Wronski

  After the King and Queen of the planet were killed, their daughter, Jalya, became leader of Quartle, and thus, a representative at F.O.U.P.S.P.O. for one of its most powerful planets. On her first day as ruler of the Quartle Galaxy, there were celebrations. On her second day, she disappeared.

  * * *

  Holly, Mr. Mendez, and Chester stood in line in the middle of the cool, cavernous Travel Port 73. They waited patiently for the ship that would take them to Earth. Or, Holly and Mr. Mendez did—Chester tapped his foot, glanced around, and muttered to himself. Holly ignored him. She stuck her head out and looked at the front of the line. She wondered who all these humans were and how they’d gotten here. Had they also been mistaken for princesses? Had they been kidnapped by space pirates? She focused on their smiling faces and cheerful chatter. Probably not, she thought. They certainly didn’t look like they had just been kidnapped.

  “How did these people get into space?” said Holly, staring at one tanned man wearing a cardigan, a blue scarf, and sunglasses. He flashed a brilliant white smile and adjusted the straps of his backpack. “Or are those not humans?”

  “Hmm, let me see.” Mr. Mendez eyed the man like he was a specimen in a glass jar. “He’s probably a tourist, Ms. Farb. Most humans you encounter in space are tourists. The existence of intergalactic travel and other alien species is highly classified on Earth, shared only among the powerful and their family, friends, and accountants.”

  Holly pursed her lips. “Well, that doesn’t seem fair.”

  Mr. Mendez shrugged and returned his attention to the line. “If you think that’s unfair,” he muttered, “wait until you find out where they’ve been hiding all the animals that go ‘extinct.’ ”

  Holly wasn’t sure if he was joking so she ignored this, not wanting to seem like she didn’t understand jokes, something she had once been accused of. “What about the aliens? Why do they want to go to Earth?”

  “Let’s ask one,” said Mr. Mendez. He tapped a tall blue alien on one of its six shoulders. “Excuse me, fellow traveler, but my young associate here would—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” said the alien. “Heard you both talking. I’m something of an eavesdropper, due to my nine ears. Me? I’m going to Earth on business. Great planet, great people there. I’m a sales representative with Galactic Harvest Inc. Great company, great people there. Maybe you’ve tried some of our products?”

  Holly shook her head. “What sort of things do you harvest? Vegetables?”

  “Mostly human brains.”

  Holly stared at him.

  The alien burst out laughing and slapped her on the back. “Just kidding. That’s a big joke around the office. Don’t worry about it. We legally can’t harvest any organs above the neck.”

  “Oh.” Holly glanced at Mr. Mendez, who motioned for them to step away. She put her hands in her pockets and tried not to draw any attention to her organs.

  The line moved ahead. Humans at the front stepped through a large metal rectangle and waited as a green laser scanned them. Tall security personnel in white suits and white masks stood nearby, eying everyone who went through the scanner. As they got closer, Holly realized the white masks actually had smiling faces painted on them, no doubt to look friendly. But she thought it made them look incredibly creepy. Like dolls. Creepy dolls. She wondered what they would do if someone tried smuggling anything through.

  Probably nothing good.

  The line moved again. Chester shifted his weight from foot to foot. He glanced around. The line moved a few more steps and he muttered something. Turning to Mr. Mendez, he said, “Professor, why don’t we take a different ship and go somewhere else? The pirates aren’t after us anymore. I bet there are tons of planets we could go to. Like Jupiter! What’s Jupiter like?”

  Mr. Mendez shook his head. “I already have tickets. And I’m not getting in another line to get new tickets. Lines are a waste of productivity. They were invented by idle minds to give idle bodies something to do.”

  Chester grumbled.

  Holly grinned and patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t be so sad. Soon we’ll be home.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Great. I’m sure that’s more fun than Jupiter. . . .”

  “Why don’t you want to go home?”

  “Some homes aren’t worth going home to.”

  The line shuffled along and soon they had reached the end. “Please go through the scanner,” said one of the guards, her smiling mask unmoving and unnerving. Mr. Mendez stepped through the rectangle. A faint green light scanned his entire body from wild hair to scuffed leather shoes. The nearby computer chimed. “You’re clear,” said the guard.

  Another guard waved Holly on and she stepped through the scanner, keeping her head high and shoulders back. The proper posture for dealing with proper officials. Warm, tingly light ran up and down her body. The computer chimed and she joined Mr. Mendez.

  The guard motioned to Chester. “Please go through the scanner.” Chester hesitated. His eyes darted from the scanner to the guards and back to the line. “Please go through the scanner,” repeated the guard.

  Chester turned and tried to shove his way back through the line, but the huge red blob behind him muttered a deep, incomprehensible string of moans and shoved Chester through the rectangle.

  The green light scanned him and instantly a siren blared. “UNLAWFUL ENTRY. ERRONEOUS INTERIOR. DETAIN IMMEDIATELY.”

  The guards grabbed Chester and shook him. “Empty out your pockets,” said one. The other held up a glowing baton and pressed it against Chester’s arm.

  “Leave him alone!” said Holly. She darted forward but Mr. Mendez held her back, whispering, “You don’t want to tussle with them, Ms. Farb. They have very little civilian oversight. . . .”

  The guard pointed the glowing baton at Holly. Heat radiated off it like an open oven. “The three of you are coming with us.”

  Chester shoved the guard back and ran toward the shuttle bay. Another guard appeared in the entrance up ahead, causing Chester to turn and run through a door marked MAINTENANCE. Hesitating, Holly and Mr. Mendez glanced at each other, then raced after him. Sirens echoed overhead. The guards thundered after them.

  Holly followed Chester down the hall and into the hangar, where dozens of small ships were docked. “Over here!” he said, darting into a crummy little spaceship that resembled a bunch of refrigerators stuck together. Holly glanced over her shoulder at the guards, and Mr. Mendez grabbed her arm and pulled her into the ship.

  The door closed with a loud thunk. “Hang on!” said Chester, hitting a button as the engines revved up. The ship jolted forward and Holly stumbled into a seat. She grabbed the seat belt, fumbled with it, and strapped herself in.

  “What did you do?” said Holly, glaring at the back of Chester’s head.

  “I’ll tell you later!”

  “Did you smuggle some of those Zapero fruits through customs?” said Mr. Mendez. “I was thinking about doing that myself, to be perfectly honest, but I already have two strikes on my record—”

  “I’ll tell you later!”

  Holly frowned. “How do you even know how to fly this . . . vessel?”

  “I’ll tell you la—”

  The engine roared and the ship shot forward, flying through the shimmering energy field at the entrance to the hangar and blasting out of Travel Port 73. Holly dug her fingernails into the seat. Chester turned the wheel and the ship banked away from the station.

  The ship’s console chimed. The speaker crackled and the monotone voice of TECH-87 declared, “Attention: You are leaving Travel Port 73 without proper clearance. Turn your vessel around or be disintegrated. If you think I’m joking, I promise I’m not. I have no morality core. With help from my programmers, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I have no soul, and therefore cannot soul-search, an activity I very much want to do and think is important, but— Oh, drat, now you’re out of range of our lasers. Drat. Okay. Attention: Please either return to the station o
r return just a little bit so you’re within range of our lasers and— Okay, I see you’re just going to ignore me. Fine. Just keep flying. I get it. No one likes TECH-87. First my owner banishes me, then my programmers sell me to Travel Port 73, now you’re not even listening to me and—” The radio cut off.

  As the ship left the space port safely behind it, Chester leaned back in his chair and exhaled. “We made it.”

  Holly glared at him. “What is going on? We could’ve been halfway to Earth by now if it wasn’t for you! If you hadn’t smuggled some—some Zippy fruit, none of this would’ve happened!”

  “Um, Ms. Farb,” said Mr. Mendez, tapping her on the shoulder. He pointed at Chester’s right arm. “I don’t think it was fruit he was smuggling. . . .”

  Holly’s eyes went to where he was pointing. The guard’s glowing baton had left a nasty cut on Chester’s arm, and it was starting to bleed. Except the blood wasn’t red.

  It was blue.

  7

  PICKING UP CLUES

  The cramped, musty ship rumbled as it soared through space. The seat cushions stank of lemon-scented cleaning product, and Holly could taste it on the back of her throat. Through the ship’s main window, a massive orange planet loomed in the distance like a prizewinning pumpkin waiting to be carved.

  Holly stared at the blue blood oozing out of Chester’s arm. “You’re . . . an alien?”

  He let go of the controls and they rattled against the console. “Don’t be absurd,” he said, standing up and brushing past her.

  A deep crease formed in Mr. Mendez’s forehead as he watched Chester. “Um. If you don’t mind me asking . . . if you are human, why is your arm currently secreting a blue liquid?”

  Chester hesitated, thinking about this. He waved his hand. “Maybe I’m sick. I have the, uh . . .” He mumbled something. “I should probably go lie down.”

  Mr. Mendez narrowed his eyes. “What was the name of that illness again? I couldn’t quite make it out.”

  “Oh, you know.”

  Holly crossed her arms. “Name any human illness.”

  Chester shifted his weight from foot to foot. “The . . . puggle pox?”

  Holly stared at him. “And what are the symptoms of puggle pox?”

  “Rashes,” said Chester reasonably. “Coughing, fevers. Boils. Pretty standard stuff.”

  “Boils?” said Mr. Mendez.

  Holly jumped out of her seat and pointed at him. “You aren’t human! That’s why you’d never heard of Einstein! That’s why you answered all those questions—not because you’re smarter than me. You’re an alien. You know about space because . . . you’re from space!”

  “Nope.”

  “It’s okay,” said Mr. Mendez. “You can tell us. We won’t judge you. Many of my closest associates are aliens.”

  Chester’s eyes flicked between Mr. Mendez and Holly. His shoulders slumped. Taking a deep breath, he said, “All right. But you have to promise you won’t tell anyone. And you have to promise not to get mad.”

  They both nodded. “Promise,” said Holly, not entirely sure if she could keep that promise.

  Chester sighed. Slowly, he dug his hand into the cut on his arm and began pulling back the skin. Holly gasped and lunged forward to stop him—but then realized it wasn’t hurting him at all. He was pulling off the skin like she would pull off a sweater. As Chester removed the loose, rubbery layer of human skin, it revealed a second, dark-blue layer of skin underneath. Eventually the human Chester lay in a heap on the floor like dirty laundry, and standing before them was a thin blue alien flecked with pink patches, with a wide mouth and large round eyes.

  “My name is Jalya,” said the alien, trembling slightly. “But you may know of me as the Princess of the Galaxy.”

  * * *

  Holly, Mr. Mendez, and Chester—or Jalya—gathered in the cramped room of the little spaceship, nestled between lockers, mops, and cleaning supplies. Jalya sipped from a cup of steaming orange liquid. A crisp yellow jacket, previously folded on a chair in the ship, was draped around her shoulders. She took a deep breath, exhaled, and began telling her story.

  “I was born on the planet Quartle. If there is a bright center to the universe, Quartle is it. You can trace my genealogy back sixteen generations of royalty to King Quartle himself, the founder of F.O.U.P.S.P.O. and a man so egotistical he had to name a planet after himself, then an entire galaxy. My parents were great people, builders of impressive technology and rulers of this empire . . . and they expected me to be the same. But I didn’t want to follow in their footsteps. Sixteen generations of footsteps. Their footsteps only led to boring places I’d already been—the palace, the gardens, the secondary palace. They said you were lucky to be born on Quartle, but I never felt it.” She gazed out the window at the stars. “I wanted to see the galaxy, not rule it. I wanted an adventure. So when my parents were killed, I ran away. There was nothing left for me on Quartle. I headed for the only person I knew who didn’t live on Quartle—my childhood tutor, Professor Mendez of the planet Earth. That is the journey I have been on, and it has taken me many years.”

  Mr. Mendez leaned forward, blinking. “I’m amazed you even remembered me. That was ages ago, during the Star Academy teachers’ strike, when I needed money for alimony.”

  Jalya smiled sadly. “I remembered. That was a wonderful time in my life, full of infinite possibilities. When I thought I could be something other than a ruler.”

  “Why did you pretend to be human?” said Holly. She suddenly wasn’t sure if she could trust Chester . . . or Jalya. Her head spun. She wondered how many other people she knew were secret aliens.

  “I wanted to blend in on your planet. When we were taken by the pirates, it wasn’t in my interest to tell anyone I was the Princess. I wanted to tell you, but I was also having a good time.” She bowed her head. “For the first time in my life, I was on a real adventure. I didn’t want it to end. I’m sorry.”

  Mr. Mendez peered at her. “How did you end up looking like a human?”

  “I purchased a synthetic body from a skin vendor. To be perfectly honest, I quite liked being Chester. It was comfortable. Like I could be myself . . . by being someone else.” She flexed her blue hands, then placed them in her lap. “But now it’s ruined.”

  Holly frowned. “So . . . Chester isn’t a real person, right? He’s just someone you made up. You didn’t kill him and assume his form, right?”

  “He’s a real person. He’s me. What do you mean?”

  “I mean, he was a disguise.”

  Jalya thought about this. “He was a shell, yes. But he was as real as I am. Is a Clapthorian Sponge Beast not real because it lives in your stomach?”

  Holly glanced at Mr. Mendez, who was staring at the pile of Chester on the floor. She turned back to Jalya. “How did the pirates follow you to Earth?”

  “I don’t know.” Jalya shook her head. A dark expression crossed her face. “The subspace journey to Earth was longer than I thought it would be, and I was in hibernation during the trip. To me it only felt like a short journey, while years passed outside my ship. Many things have changed during that time. The pirates are hunting me. They’ve followed me across the universe. If they find me, I don’t know what they’ll do. Kill me, maybe. Or ransom me. They’re going to hear about us at customs. . . .” She leaned forward and took Holly’s hand. “I don’t know what to do. Please. You two are the only people I can trust. My only friends in the entire universe.”

  Holly swallowed. Her throat was dry and scratchy. She knew what it was like to have no one in the entire universe. “What do we do?” she said in a small voice.

  “Unfortunately,” said Mr. Mendez, “I don’t think we can rely on the pirates just leaving us alone anymore. They will almost certainly come after you again. Fortunately, there is one thing you can do to stop them. Funnily enough, it’s something that could help us, too.”

  “What?”

  “Ask the President of the Universe to destroy their fleet.
I’m sure he’ll be willing to sort it out. If they have no ships, they can’t bother you anymore. And the Galactic Armada should be more than enough to take out the pirates. The President will never tolerate a pirate menace, and will certainly listen to the Princess of Quartle. And I’m sure once the misunderstanding at customs is explained, he will happily send us to Earth.”

  “What sort of person is this President?” said Holly. “Did he run on a good platform? How much support does he have?”

  “Wonderful leader,” said Mr. Mendez. “Exactly what you’d want from a president. He actually cares about the universe, unlike that traitorous cyborg he took over from.”

  Holly ran this idea through her head. “So if we go to the President, he can help Jalya and help us get to Earth!”

  Jalya smiled, her eyes lighting up. “That sounds like a plan.”

  “I do have some concerns, though,” said Mr. Mendez slowly, drawing out each word. “Which, in fairness, could be soothed when I have all the facts.” Something in the room beeped, but Mr. Mendez ignored it. Holly glanced around, trying to figure out where it had come from. “Do you know,” he continued, “why the pirates are so obsessed with finding you?”

  “No,” said Jalya, shoulders slumping. “No one knows where the pirates came from or what they want. They showed up during my journey to Earth.”

  “All right, put that aside. How will you convince the President to destroy the pirates?” Something beeped again. Holly glanced up at the ceiling. Mr. Mendez went on: “Come to think of it, how will we get to the President? This is a short-range maintenance ship, not powerful enough to get us across the galaxy through subspace. And I don’t think we’ll be welcome at any more travel ports.”