by Wendy Mass
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To the amazing young readers of Sparta, New Jersey:
Thank you all for coming along for the ride.
Chapter One:
Training Day
“Faster, Archie, faster!” Pockets shouts as I get closer. “Pretend a hippoctopus from Omega 9 is chasing you. He thinks you’re dinner!”
Sneakers pounding on the sidewalk, I finally turn the corner and reach the courtyard behind our apartment building. I lean against the brick wall, panting. Pockets steps out from behind the large tree he was using as cover. Even though it’s rare to find anyone back here besides me and my sister, Penny, it’s best to be careful. No one can know that Pockets is actually a super intergalactic crime fighter and not just our giant, fluffy pet cat who sheds a lot and sleeps even more. He clicks his stopwatch and shakes his head in disapproval.
“What… pant pant… is a hippoctopus?” I ask. “Is that like a cross between a hippo… pant… and an octopus?”
Pockets’s eyes dart left and right. When he’s completely sure we’re alone, he says, “Exactly. Only bigger, smellier, and with more arms. Now, let’s go twice more around the building, this time backward.”
I shake my head. “I need a break. I’ve been running for an hour straight while alternating between bouncing a tennis ball and jumping rope. I don’t know if you’ve tried it, but it’s pretty much impossible to do without looking totally ridiculous.” In fact, my downstairs neighbor, Mr. Goldblatt, shouted Oy vey! when I ran/jumped/bounced by for the fifth time while he was walking his dog. He says that to me and my sister, Penny, a lot, usually while shaking his head in disbelief at the same time. He’s cranky, but he’s really nice, too. After I told him that Dad had taken me to Barney’s Bagels and Schmear, Mr. Goldblatt was the one who explained that schmear can actually mean two things—the act of coating the bagel with a spread, such as cream cheese, or the cream cheese itself. Like THAT’S not confusing! I know he’d love to hear that aliens are real and that I’ve actually been on other planets, but Dad and I have to keep the space taxi thing—and especially our jobs as Intergalactic Security Force deputies—a secret.
“Part of your training is to improve your hand-eye coordination and balance,” Pockets says. “As an ISF deputy, you have to be quick on your feet and ready to react in the blink of an eye.” He tucks his stopwatch into one of the endlessly deep pockets hidden in his fur and then pulls out two pairs of sunglasses. He tosses me a pair and sticks the other on his face. For a cat, he can rock a pair of sunglasses like no one else I know.
“All right, you’ve earned a rest,” he says. “You’re actually pretty fast for a human boy.”
I gratefully drop the rope and ball at my feet and take a long sip from my water bottle. “Are humans known for being slow?” I ask. “I mean, compared to people on other planets?”
“They are slower than approximately 9,356,110 other species.”
“Wow, that’s pretty slow.”
Pockets shrugs. “Like everything, it’s all in the way you look at it. You’re also faster than at least sixteen billion species, if that makes you feel any better.”
“It does, a little,” I admit. “Let’s hope I’m on one of those planets when something big and smelly with more than eight arms wants to eat me for dinner.” I slip on my glasses. “So, what are these for? It’s not very sunny out.” The glasses make the courtyard look only a tiny bit darker.
“Slide your hand around the frame on the left until you feel a little switch,” he instructs. “Then push it toward you.”
I follow his instructions, and the lenses flicker. I blink in surprise. Instead of seeing Pockets next to the tree, which is what I’d been looking at, all I see is myself, standing in front of the wall. I turn my head from side to side, but the view doesn’t change. It’s like I’m frozen in place. That’s weird! Then Pockets says, “I’m going to turn my head now,” and suddenly I can see not only myself but also the sides of the building, the small laundry room window above my head, and the jump rope in a heap on the ground. “I get it!” I say excitedly. “I’m seeing what you’re seeing!”
“Correct. Now push the switch in the opposite direction and I will see what you see.”
I push the switch. My view returns to normal. I walk in a circle around Pockets and ask, “Do you see yourself now?”
He grins and puts a paw on his hip. “I’m one handsome cat, aren’t I? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen my own rump before.”
I giggle at the word rump. “Not sure you’ll win any beauty contests, but you’re all right as far as giant talking cats go.” We both switch our glasses back to the regular setting.
Pockets reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wireless earpiece. I’ve seen him use one to talk long-distance with his dad, but I’ve never seen it up close. He holds out the tiny device and I grab it. “My own earpiece?” I ask, sticking it in my ear before he can change his mind. “Oooohh!” It instantly molds to the shape of my earlobe and is so small I doubt anyone could see it unless they were peering into my ear from an inch away, which would be weird. “It tickles! Do I get to keep it?”
“For now,” he says, sticking one in his own ear. “We will practice using them so we’ll be able to communicate if we get separated on a mission. Hopefully, we won’t have to worry about that, of course.”
“Hey, I did okay on my own on our last mission, right? I rescued the princess by myself.”
Pockets clears his throat. “Well, you may have had a little help.”
Before I can argue, Mr. Goldblatt’s tiny black pug, Luna, slowly trots into the courtyard, her leash trailing behind her. Luna is old and half-blind, so I guess Mr. Goldblatt isn’t worried about her running away before he catches up. She’s still sharp enough to spot the yellow tennis ball at my feet, though, and pounces on it.
I bend down to pet her. “Hey there, Luna, old girl. How are you doing?” In response, she slobbers all over the ball. A little drool gets on my ankle and drips into my sock, but I don’t mind.
“Don’t make any sudden moves,” a low, deep voice hisses in my ear.
Chapter Two:
The Beast
I spin around but don’t see anyone. And hey, where did Pockets go? The voice comes again. “What did I say about sudden moves! She’s going to see me!”
“Who is this?” I say, straightening up. “Where are you?”
“It’s me, obviously!” Pockets says in his normal voice.
I laugh and my hand goes up to my earpiece. I’d forgotten about it already! “It really feels like you’re inside my head,” I shout. “So you can hear me, too?”
“Of course I can hear you! Wouldn’t be much of a communication device if it only went one way. And no need to shout.”
“Okay, okay, I get it.” I look behind the tree where he’d been hiding earlier, but I only find a squirrel picking apart an acorn. “Where are you?”
“Look up!”
The glasses help shade my eyes from the setting sun as I peer up into the branches. I spot Pockets’s white tail swishing through the leaves about halfway up. “What are you doing up there?” I ask.
“Hiding from that beast,” he replies.
I
laugh. “Old Luna? She wouldn’t hurt a fly. Or a cat, as the case may be.” On hearing her name, Luna barks and rolls over, the ball tucked under one paw.
A few leaves flutter to the ground next to us. Then more leaves. Pockets is climbing higher.
“C’mon, Pockets, don’t be scared,” I tell him. “You’re ten times the size of this dog. If you’re really scared, you can put up a force field like you did when you didn’t want to go to the groomer to get a haircut.”
“Dogs are tricky,” he insists. “It would get through somehow, I’m certain.”
I start to tell him that Luna can barely finish lunch without falling asleep, much less summon the strength to break through a force field, but he’s not listening. “You should climb up here, too, Archie,” he says. “Scaling trees is good practice. In fact, it’s on our list for tomorrow.”
I shake my head. “The last time I was in a tree, I met you! That turned out to be a pretty good tree. I’m sure this one would just be a disappointment after that one.”
He starts to reply, but another, deeper, voice cuts into my earpiece. “Pilarbing? Can you hear me?”
“I can hear you, Father,” Pockets says after settling himself directly on top of the tree. He looks like the world’s largest Christmas tree ornament!
“Hi, Mr. Catapolitus!” I shout. “It’s Archie.”
“Young Morningstar?” the chief of the ISF asks. “What are you doing on this communication channel? And why are you shouting?”
Pockets replies for me. “We are testing out the earpieces, Father. I can switch to a private line if you prefer.”
“No, this call concerns Archie, too.”
“A new mission?” I ask. I start to jump up and down but catch myself. I am almost nine, after all.
“Maybe,” he says. “But right now we have a mystery on our hands. We are tracking a very unusual break-in. The thieves are known agents of B.U.R.P. We cannot think of why the sneakiest criminal organization in the universe would take the risk, though. Pilarbing, you’re the best officer we have when it comes to figuring out B.U.R.P.’s motives. I’m sending the information to your handheld right now. Let me know when the data arrives.”
“Er… I can’t do that right now, sir. I’m a bit busy gripping a tree trunk.”
“Well, climb down, then.”
Pockets shifts his weight to balance better. A leaf lands on Luna’s nose, and she cranes her neck to see where it came from. She sniffs at the air, then loses interest and stops to scratch an itch with her hind leg.
“That might be a while,” Pockets says, sending more leaves fluttering down as his tail twitches crazily.
“Why?” his father asks. Then his words speed up. “Are you in danger?”
“Yes,” Pockets replies.
“No,” I reply at the same time.
“Explain,” the chief demands.
“There is a huge dog at the base of the tree,” Pockets says.
“It is a tiny dog,” I argue. “Barely the size of a loaf of bread.”
Pockets’s dad is silent. All I hear is heavy breathing.
“Sir?” I ask. “Are you still there?”
Then, his voice quivering, Pockets’s dad asks, “Does the beast have long, pointy teeth?”
“Yes,” Pockets says hurriedly.
I glance down at Luna, who is currently licking my calf. “No, sir,” I reply. “Her teeth are small and stubby, like kernels of corn. Trust me, Pockets has stood up to the biggest, baddest criminals in the universe and won. This little dog wouldn’t hurt any—”
But the chief ignores me. “Pilarbing!” he shouts. “I want you to remain calm and don’t let go of that tree! Archie, I need you to use all your ISF deputy skills to protect my firstborn, my only son, my pride and joy. Do I need to fly out there? I can be there by morning.”
I sigh. “I got this, Chief. No worries.” I bend down and scoop Luna under one arm. She licks my face. As I head out of the courtyard, I hear Pockets say, “Stay with me, Daddy.”
“Always, son.”
As Mr. Goldblatt would say, “Oy vey!”
Chapter Three:
Plants Versus Pockets
It took nearly an hour to convince Pockets to come down from the tree. I wound up missing baseball practice, which I think Pockets was actually glad about. He had promised to come with me, even though he said watching humans play baseball is worse than watching Aniwerps play roly-poly-poppy, whatever THAT is! Instead, I spent the afternoon yelling up into a tree. It was Penny’s idea to leave a can of tuna fish open on the ground. She’s pretty smart for a three-year-old. Pockets climbed right down, gobbled it up, and announced (once Penny left to play on the swings) that he was ready to get to work on solving the mystery. He would need privacy and access to plenty of food and water, and some soft music would be nice.
He has been shut inside my bedroom closet ever since, having turned it into his own mini ISF headquarters. He tossed all my stuff out of the closet and shoved in three different computers and two printers, one of which makes 3-D objects instead of just printing out paper! Once he solves his mystery, I plan on asking if I can use the 3-D printer to make a LEGO piece to replace the foot missing from my LEGO dinosaur. Penny took the foot last month because it was purple. Personally, I think she ate it. But if it ever comes out the other end, I definitely don’t want it back.
Every few hours Pockets pops his head out, rubs his eyes with the back of his paw, and ducks back in. Dad and I keep offering to help, but he turns us down. I think he’s a little embarrassed about his freak-out over tiny, harmless Luna and wants to prove he can do this on his own. Finally, I tell him I’m going to bed.
The click-clack of paws pounding on a keyboard (not to mention the paper crumpling and the muttering) makes sleeping impossible.
“Any chance of stopping for the night?” I call out. “Running around the block a million times tires a kid out.”
The closet door creaks open and Pockets appears. His eyes are red and his ears are droopy. “This isn’t any fun for me, either,” he says. “Between this case and that horrid beast, I’ve missed seven naps today.”
I sit up in bed. “Can you just tell me what you’re looking for in there?”
He leaps onto the bed. “Fine. An attempted robbery was reported at a greenhouse on Alpha 43. This greenhouse contains a collection of the rarest plants in the universe and is very well guarded. The thieves toppled all the plants and mixed them up, so no one knows exactly what they were after. The only good news is that one of the guards grabbed the plant from the thieves before their daring escape through the sewer system. So now the ISF knows what the plant looks like, but not its name.”
“Why would someone want to steal a plant?” Honestly, I’d hoped the mission would have been more exciting. A stolen plant that wasn’t even really stolen? BORING!
Pockets yawns. “Many reasons, I suppose. You can make medicines out of some plants. Or maybe it has pretty flowers and they simply want it for their own garden. Perhaps they want to collect or sell it because it is rare. When an object is the only one of its kind, its value grows.”
I think for a minute. “If they knew chances were good that they’d get caught, they must have wanted that one plant pretty bad.”
“Exactly,” Pockets says. “That’s why the ISF is worried. If a group like B.U.R.P. is willing to take a big risk for something that seems to offer a very small reward, we must not be seeing the whole picture. I’ve been trying to find some information about the plant, but no luck so far. I’m also monitoring all the local police reports to see if any other plants have been reported stolen recently.” Pockets yawns. “Maybe just a short nap.” He curls his tail around his body, and before I can even lie down again, he’s purring loudly, probably dreaming of mice swimming in a bowl of tuna fish.
Beep! Beep! Beep! Pockets and I bolt upright. The room is still dark, and Dad is not working tonight. So why is my alarm going off?
Pockets springs off the bed and
into the closet. It takes me a few seconds to realize it’s not my alarm going off at all. It’s his computer.
He returns with a sheet of paper and holds it up, triumphant. “Got it! And we can cross off the idea that someone is after the plant because it’s pretty.”
He flicks his paw, but instead of his claws coming out, a little beam of light shines onto the page. That’s a neat trick! The picture shows a small patch of yellow-brown weeds, like straw almost, but thicker, and droopy. Under the picture are these words:
Canisantha, NE, C-NP, D-TBD
“What do all those letters mean?” I ask.
“NE stands for nearly extinct,” he says. “Extinct means when a type of plant or animal is no longer around anymore.”
I roll my eyes. “I know what extinct means.”
“How do I know what they teach in third grade on your planet?”
“Just go on.”
“C-NP means contact not poisonous,” he says. “There are no oils on the leaves that would harm your skin, the way poison ivy and poison oak can. D-TBD means that the effects of digesting the plant are to be determined. Which really means tests haven’t been done on it.”
I glance down at the picture again. I sure wouldn’t want to eat that. “All right, then,” I say, snuggling under my blanket. “Case closed. See ya tomorrow.”
“Not so fast. This morning we worked on some physical drills; now let’s do some brain training. If we want to catch the people trying to steal canisantha, what should we do?”
I’m tempted to say Just let them have it—it’s only a plant, but I’m pretty sure that’s not the correct answer. “I don’t know,” I tell him instead, which isn’t much better. “It’s extinct anyway, right?”
“It’s only nearly extinct,” he reminds me. “That means it exists somewhere, only in very tiny amounts. I’m going to research where to find canisantha in the wild. Then in the morning we’ll saddle up the space taxi and wrangle us a couple of plant thieves.”
