You Can't Have My Planet

by James Mihaley

  Cable, the princess’s goon with the plasma TV skin, was in charge of this operation. He sat in a leather recliner off to the side, surrounded by droid cops, leering at our helpless vendors.

  Even on the brink of death, one of the vendors still chanted, “Lemonade for sale. Lemonade for sale.”

  “Will you please hurry up and crush those things,” Cable told the cop in the crane. “They’re really getting on my nerves.”

  Toshi and I perched on a windowsill in our flyplanes.

  “We need to move fast, Toshi. You take out the droid cop driving the crane. I’ll go after Cable.”

  “Got it.”

  “What’s my job?” whispered Stanley, sitting alongside me.

  “Um … Stanley, you spit quarters at the other cops.”

  “I will be unmerciful,” said the parking meter.

  “You do that, Stanley,” I said.

  The thrill of battle made my miniature body hum and tingle. By rescuing the vendors, I could make up for blabbing to the old man.

  “OK, guys,” I said. “On three. One … two…”

  Just as we were about to launch our attack, Tula showed up with two dozen armored SWAT creatures, each one the size of a Cyclops. They immediately disarmed the droid cops and yanked the crane operator out of his little cabin.

  Tula marched over to the groupie. “Cable,” Tula said, “these are marshals from the Halls of Universal Justice. You’re under arrest. Anything you say can and will be used against you.”

  “I’m not saying a word,” Cable grunted.

  A black-and-white image of Jimmy Cagney flashed across Cable’s television body. Cagney was a famous bad guy movie star from long ago. My dad has a bunch of his DVDs. Now he appeared on Cable’s forehead, snarling at Tula. “You can’t arrest me, copper.”

  I had to admit. It was pretty clever. Cable kept his mouth shut while a character from an old gangster movie spoke on his behalf. These weren’t words from a movie. Cable was somehow putting lines in Cagney’s mouth.

  Jimmy Cagney shrugged at the lemonade vendors, who were being helped out of the scooper along with their carts. “I know the law, copper. These Eco-droids are made from recycled materials. I’m allowed to keep them at a recycling center.” He snickered in black-and-white. “I’m doing my civic duty, copper. I’m an environmentally responsible gangster.”

  “We’re not arresting you for droid abduction,” Tula said.

  “Then why are you arresting me?”

  “You forgot to pay your cable bill.”

  “You’re arresting me for that, copper?”

  “It’s six months overdue. That’s an intergalactic misdemeanor.” Tula grinned. “By the time the princess bails you out, the humans will already have passed the test.”

  Three lobster cloudfish poured through an air vent and etched a message above the groupie: YOU’RE GOING TO JAIL, DUDE!

  Cable ignored it. His eyes were fixed on me. Now he did the talking, not Jimmy Cagney. “You couldn’t take me down on your own. Could you, Giles? You needed the help of a girl.”

  “Get this loser out of here,” Tula told the marshals.

  “Look, Giles,” Cable said, pointing at his arm.

  There I was, on his TV skin, standing in the elevator with Toshi and Buck.

  “In this week’s episoded of Giles, The Coward,” Cable said, “Giles won’t even attempt to defend himself from the super’s son.”

  “Don’t look, Giles,” warned Tula. “That arm has the power to reveal your darkest fears.”

  The cloudfish tried to block the screen from view but for some reason I could see through the mist. I saw Buck grab me by the throat. I handed over sixty dollars without a fight. I was watching a television show of my own cowardice.

  “That’s why your lawyer came to save the day, Giles,” Cable said. “She thinks you’re a wimp, dude. Your own girlfriend thinks you’re a wimp.”

  The police droids chuckled.

  I had a sick feeling that the Bridgelings were watching. They could see all the way across the universe. That’s how good their vision was. Tears slid down one hundred eyes as they watched me act like a wimp.

  Pulling me away from Cable, Tula led me into a back office and squeezed my hand. “I don’t think you’re a wimp, Giles.”

  “Then why didn’t you let me rescue the vendors?” I asked.

  “I thought you wanted my help.”

  “Who says I need your help?”

  “You yelled at me in the elevator for not helping you with Buck.”

  “That was different. Now I’ve got a flyplane. I’ve got Toshi. I’m a…”

  “You’re a what, Giles?”

  I knew she’d nail me if I said superhero.

  “Nevermind,” I said. “Let’s just get one thing straight. I don’t need you stepping in and saving the day.”

  “You can handle any situation on your own?”

  “You’re darn right I can.”

  “Giles, you have a serious attitude problem.”

  I gagged. “You sound like my math teacher.”

  “Giles, you sound like someone who is spiraling out of control. You have one chance to save this planet.” She jabbed a blue finger into my chest. “Don’t screw it up.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ERASING GRAFFITI in the grimy gloom of a subway tunnel, my flyplane wouldn’t shut up.

  Giles, your lawyer possesses a wisdom beyond her years.

  Are you saying she’s right and I’m wrong, DubDub?

  No, Giles.

  That’s good. ’Cuz you’re my flyplane. I hope we don’t have any loyalty issues.

  Giles, it would be an act of betrayal if I failed to point out that you may be getting a little carried away by thinking of yourself as a super …

  I hate the way you can read my mind. Just shut up and get rid of the graffiti.

  As you say, Giles.

  I fantasized about having dinner at the White House after the president found out I saved the human race. As a show of gratitude, he gave me fifty millions dollars, a private jet and a lifetime supply of s’mores. I shook his hand, told him what a swell guy he was and flew off to the Halls of Universal Justice to walk across the Bridgeling.

  I couldn’t wait for that to happen in real life. Where would the Bridgeling take me once I crossed it? What new worlds would I explore?

  If I recited a poem while walking across it, what would happen? Would I end up in a galaxy where everyone rhymes? I wouldn’t mind going there.

  Although DubDub annoyed me with his lecturing, he did do an awesome job cleaning subways. I loved my flyplane. By six p.m.—with Toshi’s help, of course—the entire subway system was almost immaculate.

  The word Death was the last bit of graffiti on the island of Manhattan. The bloodred letters ran down a pillar on a subway platform at Union Square.

  I erased it.

  The graffiti was gone, but not the muggers. They were still around, like the guy on the Number 4 train up ahead. He snuck up on a yawning woman in a nurse’s outfit. She looked so tired, not even the roar of the train could keep her from dozing off. She was the only one in the subway car, except for the pickpocket. When she fell fast asleep, he silently grabbed her purse. Big mistake. Don’t try to pull that on my patrol.

  He crept through the connecting doors into an empty car. I followed him, darted up ahead, spun around and flew right at his chest, ramming him at full speed. He gasped and wheezed and crumpled to the floor. He slowly got up and looked around wildly to see who hit him. I nailed him again, a crushing blow that hurled him halfway across the car. DubDub sure packed a big wallop for being miniature. When the thief fell, he spilled the nurse’s purse all over the floor.

  I picked up a five-dollar bill with a pair of ultra-strong robot pincers disguised as the spindly legs of a housefly. I activated DubDub’s loudspeaker and yelled into it, my voice distorted by some really cool special effects. The pickpocket thought the five-dollar bill was talking to him. You s
hould’ve seen the look on his face.

  “I BELONG TO HER! I BELONG TO HER!” I howled in the creepiest voice you ever heard, a cross between Darth Vader and Freddy Krueger. “DO YOU HEAR ME, PUNK?”

  “Yeah, I hear you,” he whimpered.

  “DUDE, WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU? YOU’RE TALKING TO A FIVE-DOLLAR BILL.”

  He couldn’t take his eyes off the floating fiver. It freaked him out.

  “GO GIVE THE LADY BACK HER PURSE. AND GIVE HER ALL YOUR MONEY TOO.”

  “I’m not givin’ her my money. Man, are you crazy?”

  I slammed him against the wall.

  “DUDE, YOU JUST GOT YOUR BUTT KICKED BY A HOUSEFLY. THAT’S EMBARRASSING.”

  He pulled out his wallet, dumped all his cash into her purse, tiptoed back into the adjacent car and placed the purse in her lap. She kept sleeping the whole time.

  I flew into the mugger’s ear and whispered, “All right. Now get outta here, punk. And don’t let me catch you stealing again.”

  When the sliding doors opened at the next stop, he ran for his life.

  I shot down the subway tunnel, just to check it out. Superheroes have to go exploring every now and then. Right?

  Using night vision, I found an abandoned station full of bats, thousands of them, hanging upside down, fast asleep.

  I bet bats sleep right side up on the Upside Downers planet. Don’t they, DubDub?

  That’s correct, Giles.

  We floated through the vast cave, careful not to make a sound. After all, bats eat flies.

  Hey DubDub, this is like a cheeseburger sneaking through a house full of fat people.

  Giles, I don’t think there’s another imagination like yours in the entire universe.

  Bats in clusters clung to the moldy ceiling. They draped from rusty pipes.

  Let’s wake them up, DubDub.

  Please no, Giles. You’re on a quest.

  I know. But we got rid of all the graffiti, didn’t we?

  That’s just the beginning, Giles. The trees have not been created yet.

  We’ll only let them chase us for a minute or two.

  I flicked on the loudspeaker, impersonating a guy at a drive-thru. “Hello. Can I take your order?”

  Bats stirred. Ears twitched. Wings unfurled. Soft squeaks pierced the silence. I saw a pair of beady bat eyes bulging from a crumpled bat face.

  “Hey, dude,” I said, “I’d hide in a cave too if I was that ugly.”

  The chase was on. One hundred bats swarmed down the tunnel behind me, billowing like a black tornado.

  Of course, none of them could catch me. All except for one.

  That bat sure is fast, DubDub.

  That’s not a real bat, Giles. It’s a star cruiser disguised as a bat.

  I was afraid you might say that.

  DubDub activated a surveillance camera on his thorax, and an image flashed across my monitor. It was Heads-or-Tails, the worshipper of Princess Petulance, closing in out of the blackness, firing a laser from his curlicue tail.

  “A bat-shaped spaceship driven by a pig with no body,” I moaned. “Only in New York.”

  We dodged the laser and the falling debris that came showering down when the boar blasted the ceiling.

  “Bobby, I’m under attack,” I screamed over the intercom.

  My brother didn’t respond. Was he paying me back for the book title?

  “I’ll change the title, Bobby. I swear. Just talk to me.”

  Nothing.

  “Toshi, can you hear me?”

  Again nothing. My communication system had been sabotaged. DubDub and I were all alone deep beneath the earth.

  Ducking through a crack in the floor, we descended for what felt like miles into a maze-like sewer system, a dark, dripping labyrinth of drains and pipes.

  Were my brother and sister wondering where I was? Or did they expect this from me? They’d seen me wander off, get distracted and mess up countless times before. If I was a failure then, why wouldn’t I be one now?

  The flying pig was nowhere in sight. But of all people to bump into, Jerry, the sleazy alien realtor, was taking a leisurely stroll through the sewer. He knew exactly where I was, despite my tiny size. “Hey, Giles, aren’t you supposed to be cleaning Manhattan?”

  “Hey, Jerry,” I said over my loudspeaker, “you’re in a sewer. Right where you belong.”

  “Precious time is ticking away, Giles.”

  He didn’t need to remind me. I was well aware. It was already seven o’clock. Only five hours left.

  “Why don’t you just give up, Giles? Face the inevitable. You’re outta here!”

  “I’m never giving up, Jerry.”

  My communication system was down but Jerry’s wasn’t. He got a phone call.

  “It’s not my fault there’s acid rain falling on your new condo,” he said to the alien on the other end of the line. “I don’t make the weather on Pluto, sir.” He turned irate. “Don’t report me to the Better Business Bureau. I’ll be right there.” He hung up and fixed his beady eyes on me. “I have to go, Giles. I wanted to watch you die. Oh well. You can’t have everything.”

  As soon as he left, Heads-or-Tails came in for the kill, firing his laser at some drain pipes overhead. They crashed down on DubDub. We righted ourselves and spun around, wobbling, speeding off through the gloom.

  All this because I had to go off searching for bats. I was like a big chocolate eyeball on the face of Dr. Sprinkles. While Bobby and the rest of my team went in one direction, like the doctor’s nose and mouth and other eye, I took off somewhere else.

  That’s me. Giles, the big chocolate eyeball.

  (Hey, reader, can a big chocolate eyeball be a superhero? Wait, don’t answer that.)

  There was a bend up ahead. Rounding the corner, DubDub came to a jarring halt. I smashed my head against the console.

  I lifted my head groggily, peered out the window and rubbed my eyes in disbelief. My flyplane was caught in a humongous spider web. It was made out of barbed wire. What kind of spider spun a barbed-wire web? Not the kind of spider I had any desire to come in contact with.

  The pig hung merrily from the ceiling in his bat-cruiser while DubDub tried in vain to free himself from the web.

  “Hey, Giles,” the boar squealed over his own loudspeaker, “look on the bright side. At least you won’t get sent to Desoleen.”

  “Only an idiot would have his body removed to lose weight,” I yelled back. “Why didn’t you join a health club, you bozo?”

  Have you ever been punched by a smell? Well, I have. Just then I got punched in the nose by a stench. I gagged. Was I smelling my own death? Was I smelling my failure to pull off this quest? Was I smelling the end of the world? Why did I have tragic thoughts like that? Why couldn’t I have a normal brain? Why did I have to have the weird brain of a poet? Poets think about death all the time. Look at Shakespeare. That’s all the dude ever talks about. If you take death out of Shakespeare, all you’ve got is a couple of where-for-art-thous.

  I glanced down at a puddle that rippled like a little swamp. Two bright yellow eyes drifted on the surface of the puddle, staring up at me. Slowly the monster rose up out of the water. The word bizarre seemed insufficient. This creature had the head and tail of an alligator and the body of a colossal spider.

  What is it, DubDub?

  A munyateeka.

  I’d call it a gatorantula, DubDub. I heard there were alligators living in the sewers but this is going overboard.

  Munyateekas aren’t native to your planet, Giles. They come from the Bek Star System.

  A hologram of Princess Petulance flickered above the web.

  “How do you like my munyateeka, Giles?” she said.

  “It’s better looking than you are,” I yelled back.

  “Just think,” she said, “you could’ve been a prince. You could’ve had your own kingdom. Every kangaroo on this planet would’ve belonged to you. Every koala bear would’ve been your loyal subject. The Great Barrier R
eef would’ve been your swimming pool. But you had to go and blow it.”

  The munyateeka climbed onto the web, crawling in my direction. DubDub cut a hole in the web with his laser. The monster patched the hole before we could escape, shooting strands of barbed wire out of its long green tail.

  Although unable to free himself entirely, DubDub was able to squirm around the web, avoiding the gaping jaws of the alien predator.

  Unfortunately we came to a dead stop in the center of the web.

  What’s wrong, DubDub?

  I’m out of fuel.

  Not now, DubDub.

  I’m sorry, Giles.

  OK. What’s the riddle?

  Who got sticky at the picnic?

  Why can’t you be solar powered like Superfly?

  Who got sticky at the picnic, Giles?

  I don’t care about a stupid picnic. I’m about to get chomped on by a gatorantula. Let me tell you something, DubDub. When you’re about to get chomped on by a gatorantula it’s really hard to rhyme.

  The monster inched closer.

  Giles, who got sticky at the picnic?

  My rhymer isn’t working, DubDub. I’ve got a broken rhymer.

  Who got sticky at the picnic?

  I did.

  Incorrect, Giles.

  Grandma. She was putting relish on the hot dogs and her hands got sticky.

  Incorrect. Who got sticky at the picnic?

  The munyateeka was upon us.

  I got! I got it, DubDub! Nikki got sticky at the picnic!

  We had a full tank of gas.

  DubDub blasted the monster with his laser. The creature doubled in size, as if the laser was gatorantula food.

  That wasn’t the outcome I was hoping for, Giles.

  Me either, DubDub.

  I’m going to eject you, Giles.

  But what about you?

  Don’t worry about me.

  I am worried about you, DubDub.

  Good-bye, Giles.

  You’re the best star cruiser ever.

  Thank you, Giles.

  I got catapulted out of the cockpit just as the monster took a big bite.

  “Great,” I cried, “my flyplane got eaten by a gatorantula.”