Against All Odds

by Natale Ghent

“It can’t be that bad,” Sam said.

  “Oh, it is,” Mobius assured her.

  Servil nodded sadly. “My father’s going to be angry when he discovers we ditched the ship and lost Our Flatulous.”

  “Well, what does he expect?” Mobius bristled. “He should have given us something nicer than this heap of junk. We’re the laughingstock of the entire universe.” He kicked feebly at the side of the ship.

  Sam looked at Squeak, who raised his eyebrows and nodded.

  “We can show you how to reroute your impulsion system,” she offered. “That way you won’t get into trouble—and you’ll never have to use dirty fuel ever again.”

  Servil jumped up from his chair. “Could you?”

  “Just direct us to your engine room,” Squeak said. “If you have the parts we need, it shouldn’t be too difficult to set it up.”

  “Oh hurrah!” Mobius cheered. He clapped his hands, then grabbed Servil and began dancing him around behind the console.

  “Of course … we only understand how these propulsion techniques work in theory,” Squeak confessed. “We’ve never really done them before.”

  Sam turned to Squeak. “It’s not as if we’re at risk of blowing them up or anything.”

  “No,” Squeak agreed. “There’s no fear of that. The worst that could happen is a total system failure.”

  “Would we go down with the ship?” Mobius asked.

  “No,” Squeak said. “You may just be stranded here for life.”

  The alien shrugged. “I’m willing to take that chance. Then we won’t have to rely on slimy blobs to fuel our ship.” He wrenched Servil by the arm and spun him around and around until the alien’s pale blue skin took on a sickly tinge of green.

  Itchy interrupted the celebration. “Just a minute. We’re not going anywhere to do anything until I’ve had something to eat. I’m starving.”

  “Of course, you have to eat,” Mobius said sympathetically. He reached under the console and produced a white box, handing it to Itchy. It was filled with chocolate-glazed doughnuts. “We took them from one of your clones,” he explained. “The chocolate ones are our favourite.”

  Itchy eyed the doughnuts, sniffed one, and began shovelling them in, one after the other, swallowing in big gulps. The aliens watched with fascination as Itchy finished the entire box and licked his fingers before letting out a big, satisfied burp. Boney leaned toward Squeak. “Maybe we could just leave Itchy in place of the Flatulous.”

  “I heard that!” Itchy said, as Mobius reached under the console and produced another box of doughnuts.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  THE ENGINE ROOM

  Mobius raised a little silver remote and pushed a button, opening the door. The hordes of Itchys were still bumping and meeping like confused zombies in the corridor. Henry squawked the second he saw the clones. The kittens hissed and growled.

  Mobius cussed, and a long series of bleeps blared from the translator. “Servil … could you make a call for a clean-up in corridor four?”

  Servil leaned into the microphone and pressed a switch. He began talking in a series of clicks and blips. Within seconds, a dozen grey aliens in blue overalls scuttled up and began herding the clones like cattle down the hall.

  “What’s going to happen to them?” Itchy asked between doughnut bites.

  “We’ll just send them back where they came from,” Mobius said.

  “What do you mean?”

  Servil made a pressing motion in the air with his finger. “There’s a delete key on the clone machine. All you have to do is press it.”

  Itchy’s eyes grew wide with horror.

  “It’s all very painless,” Mobius assured him.

  “Completely painless,” Servil said.

  Itchy licked the chocolate from his lips. “But … where do they go?”

  Mobius gave a quick whistle. “Back into the machine. Clones are completely recyclable.”

  “Hmmm. Good to know.” Itchy pulled another doughnut from the box.

  Once the clones were sent on their way, Mobius ushered the four friends into the hall. “Shall we?”

  Boney, Itchy, Squeak, and Sam followed the two aliens through the stark white corridors of the spaceship to the engine room. They seemed to have been walking around and around the same hallway when Mobius finally stopped and held up the remote. He pointed to a spot on the wall and pushed the button. The door whizzed open to reveal a dirty, steam-filled room, machines pumping and banging, little grey men scurrying here and there, their faces smeared with grease, their noses pinched with clothes pegs against the smell. They looked up in surprise when they saw the humans gazing with curiosity into the room. Mobius stepped aside and gestured for the friends to enter.

  “The heart of the ship,” he said, with a hint of sarcasm. He handed out clothes pegs to the four friends, gave one to Servil, and kept one for himself. “It’s the best we can do on our budget.”

  Clipping the clothes pegs on their noses, Boney, Squeak, Itchy, and Sam began to explore the room. There were valves opening and closing from giant canisters of green gas. Long glass pipes criss-crossed the room, carrying gas from the canisters to huge compressor chambers where the fuel was condensed. Several bellows heaved in and out, creating a strange rasping sound, like a dinosaur with asthma.

  “It’s amazing any of this works, it’s so old,” Squeak said.

  There was a loud pop as one of the machines blew a valve, sending hot steam hissing into the air. The little men scurried faster, desperate to fix the valve and cap the steam before it filled the entire room.

  Mobius sighed with exasperation. “See what we have to work with?”

  “Do you think you can help us?” Servil asked.

  Squeak pushed on the bridge of his goggles. “These machines are quite worn … but I think we should be able to find what we need. We’re going to have to cannibalize parts from your existing operation.” He turned to Sam for her opinion.

  She stood, wrinkling her nose against the smell. “I think we should be okay.”

  Squeak and Sam continued to inspect the machines, pointing and nodding and making notes while Boney and Itchy loitered on the periphery, watching the little grey men scuttle and scurry about. After several minutes, Squeak and Sam returned with a list of parts they would need.

  “It won’t take long,” Squeak said. “You’ve got all the right technology here, and your ship can easily be retrofitted to support the newer system. All we need is a carbon-dioxide laser, a parabolic mirror, and an absorption chamber. Your ship is already made of silicon carbide so we’re ahead of the game there.”

  “What a relief,” Servil said.

  “We’ll use a superconducting magnet in conjunction with the magnetic meridians of the earth to help propel the craft into the air,” Sam added. “The only drawback to this system is the potential non-lethal genetic modification of plant material on the ground as well as telltale patterns at the point of takeoff and landing.”

  “Crop circles!” Mobius shrieked, clapping his thin blue hand to his face. “I’ve always wanted to lay a patch like that. When can we get started?”

  Squeak handed him his list of parts. “Right away.”

  “Well, what are we waiting for?” Mobius chimed.

  The two aliens inspected the list, then called several little grey men over. They spoke in clicks and beeps, writing a column of strange symbols down one side of Squeak’s notebook and handing it to the workers. There was a flurry of activity, with Squeak and Sam giving orders and Mobius and Servil translating. Boney helped gather the necessary parts while Itchy languished on a small, mushroom-shaped seat, snacking on chocolate-glazed doughnuts and repeating Squeak’s orders as though he was the one in charge.

  When the work was finished, Sam, Boney, and Squeak sat back, wiping the sweat from their faces.

  “Is it ready?” Mobius asked.

  Sam handed him several pages torn from her notebook. “Yes. I’ve made notes in case you have
any problems or need to make repairs. It’s pretty straightforward.”

  “Good thinking.” Mobius handed the pages to Servil.

  “We also wired your remote so you can start the craft from anywhere on the ship,” Squeak said. He gave Mobius the remote. “But we should perform a test run to be sure everything is in order.”

  Itchy stepped forward. “Before we do that, I need to ask about the clones again.”

  The aliens gaped at him.

  “I’d like to see what happens to them.”

  “Sure,” Mobius said. “We don’t mind, do we, Servil?”

  “No, not at all,” Servil pleasantly agreed.

  Mobius walked over to a monitor on the wall and touched the screen. Multiple images of the ship appeared, and he shuffled through them until he found the one he was looking for. He enlarged the image so that it filled the entire screen. “There they are,” he said, pointing to a room filled with Itchys, Boneys, and Squeaks.

  “And there they go,” Servil said, pressing a code into the keypad on the side of the screen.

  A blue light flashed. The room where hundreds of clones once stood was now empty.

  Itchy stared at the screen. “They’re gone.”

  Mobius snapped his fingers. “Just like that.”

  “What about the clone the police put in jail?” Itchy asked.

  Mobius smiled. “History.”

  “What about the warehouse in the woods?” Squeak said. “Where did it go?”

  Mobius snapped his fingers again. “Folded like a circus tent.”

  “An entire building?”

  “It was really more of an illusion than a building,” Servil explained. “Think of it as … an extraterrestrial sleight of hand.”

  “And the DNA for creating the clones?” Sam asked. “Is it still in your data bank?”

  Mobius called up a folder on the screen and hit delete. “Done.”

  The four friends exchanged looks.

  “You don’t have anything to worry about,” Servil said. “Clones are only good on the planet they originate from. They’re no use to us anywhere else.” He turned to Sam. “By the way, that Disruptor device is a little piece of genius. We could have really used it around here.”

  Sam beamed. “Thank you. Except that it only works the first couple times you deploy the rays. Subsequent use seems to have less effect on the clones.”

  “Maybe you just need to reconfigure the signal so that it’s slightly different each time,” Squeak suggested. “That way the clones can’t assimilate the frequency—”

  “Yeah, anyway, we thought it was brilliant,” Mobius interjected. “Where did you get the idea?”

  Sam pulled a small beige hardcover book from her bag and held it up. “I used the basic premise in this dissertation and simply modified the application. I met the author at a trade show.”

  Mobius read the title and let out a grunt. “Satellite Technology! Ugh! That was one of our textbooks back on Zoilus.”

  Boney narrowed his eyes. “How could it be one of your textbooks on Zoilus?”

  “Yes, how could it be?” Sam asked. “I met the author.”

  Servil coughed nervously. Mobius flopped his hands around. “I must be confusing it with something else.” He gave an apprehensive laugh.

  Sam put her hands on her hips. “Unless you’re implying that the author is an alien …?”

  The Odds eyed each other. Squeak raised his notebook and pencil. “If you don’t mind, we have a number of questions we’d like to ask.”

  Mobius’s eyes twitched. “Of course … ask whatever you want …”

  He looked at Servil, who forced a smile, then shot out his hand, hitting a button on the wall.

  A hatch fell open in the floor and the troop of friends and their animal companions were sucked from the room in a blast of cold air. They dropped, yelling and hollering and squawking and mewing through a long tube to be spit out with a heavy thud onto the ground. There was a blinding flash, and the spaceship launched into the sky, punching through the clouds. Itchy and Boney and Squeak and Sam coughed and gasped for air, struggling to breathe in the heavier atmosphere outside the spaceship. Henry clucked and the kittens mewed.

  “How rude!” Sam blurted out the minute she caught her breath.

  Boney spit dirt from his mouth. “After everything we did for them.”

  “At least we know the light propulsion system works,” Squeak said, rubbing his shoulder.

  Itchy lay splayed across the ground like a discarded plate of spaghetti. He groaned feebly. “I’m hungry.”

  Boney stood up and helped Itchy to his feet. Sam and Squeak bumped heads as they tried to stand, blushing instantly. The four friends brushed the leaves and dirt from their clothes, then adjusted their slings, making sure the kittens and Henry were all right.

  “I’m hungry,” Itchy said again, scratching Henry on the neck.

  Squeak consulted his watch. “I’m not surprised. It’s nearly four o’clock.”

  Boney gazed at the ragged hole left in the clouds by the spaceship. The sunlight shone through its tattered edges, dancing through the leaves as it reached for the forest floor. He breathed in deeply. “Come on, guys. Let’s go home.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  A NEW ORDER

  Boney, Itchy, Squeak, and Sam sat around the table at the clubhouse, happily eating saltine crackers with peanut butter and honey and slurping on cans of ginger ale. Sam used the overturned mop bucket as a seat because there were only three chairs. Toques and combat boots littered the clubhouse floor. Henry and the kittens were enjoying their own snack, eating from bowls of chow.

  “Where’d you learn to fight like that?” Boney asked Sam. “You were really doing a number on those clones.”

  “Please don’t say ‘clones,’” Itchy sputtered through a mouthful of crackers.

  Sam leaned back against the wall. “My dad’s a black belt. I’ve been studying with him since I was a child.”

  “Your dad sounds so cool,” Squeak said. “I really want to meet him.”

  Sam thought about this for a second. “I think you’d like him. He’s actually rather … odd … by most people’s standards.”

  The boys nodded with approval over their cans of pop.

  “Well, I for one am happy you have such mad skills,” Boney confessed.

  “Me too,” Squeak said. “Me three,” Itchy agreed.

  The four friends munched quietly for a while, processing the events of the day.

  “Do you think there really are aliens living among us?” Sam finally broke the silence. She pulled the Satellite Technology book from her bag.

  Squeak studied the pale beige cover. “It’s highly probable. Statistically speaking, it’s more likely that aliens are living among us than not.”

  “We could contact the author of the book,” Boney suggested.

  Itchy shook his head. “No way. I’ve had enough of aliens for the rest of my life.”

  “It was pretty exciting to see the ship from the inside,” Sam said. “I think I’m going to write a paper for Space Exploration magazine. I thought you might like to help me.” She looked at Squeak.

  Squeak giggled involuntarily, covering his mouth with his hand as he blushed. Itchy rolled his eyes. Sam continued.

  “And I have another proposition—for all of you.” The Odds waited expectantly.

  “I’d like to propose a joint project for the NASA Revolutionary Vehicles and Concepts Competition. I’d like you to help me reproduce the light technology we created for Mobius and Servil.”

  Itchy moaned. “Don’t say their names. We don’t want to encourage them to come back.”

  “I doubt they’ll be back anytime soon,” Boney said.

  Squeak beamed at Sam, trying not to smile too brightly. “That’s really kind of you to include us in the competition. I’d be delighted to help.”

  “Me too,” Boney said. “That’s really generous of you.”

  All three turned to
Itchy. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  “I guess it’d be okay,” he finally conceded.

  “Great!” Sam cheered. “It’s going to be really exciting!”

  Squeak stood up at the table and cleared his throat. “I’d like to forward my own proposal. After careful consideration of the events over the last week, I’d like to recommend Sam as a candidate for the Order of Odd Fellows.”

  Sam glowed. “Really?” She looked around at the boys’ faces.

  Boney nodded enthusiastically. “I’d like to second that motion.”

  Itchy sprawled in his chair, scratching like a distracted monkey at his bramble-bush hair. “I have a problem with that.”

  The smile slipped from Sam’s face.

  Itchy sat up and stared soberly at his friends. “Sam can’t be an Odd Fellow.”

  “Why not?” Squeak demanded. “She’s just as good as any of us here—better even!”

  “That’s right,” Boney jumped in. “What issue could you possibly have with allowing Sam to be a member of our club?”

  Itchy waved in Sam’s direction. “Look at her. Anyone can see she’s not an Odd Fellow.” He stood up importantly, placing both hands on top of the table. “I propose we form a new organization. I propose we establish the Odd Squad.”

  “The Odd Squad!” Boney and Squeak exclaimed, staring at each other in surprise.

  “I like it,” Boney said.

  “Me too,” Squeak agreed.

  Itchy grinned, obviously proud of himself. “It’s all-inclusive.”

  Squeak raised a finger. “I think the correct term is ‘gender-neutral.’”

  “Sure, whatever.” Itchy hitched up his pants. “And there’s one more thing … We’re going to need a new method of late-night communication. I don’t think there’s a tube long enough to reach Sam’s house from here.”

  All eyes turned to Squeak.

  Squeak raised an eyebrow. “I have some things in mind. But nothing I care to divulge at this time.”

  “Good enough!” Itchy decreed, pounding his skinny fist on the table. He lifted his ginger ale to his lips and emptied the contents in one giant, noisy swig before releasing a gigantic burp.