My Gym Teacher Is an Alien Overlord

by David Solomons

  I reached for my backpack and drew out my trusty Martian Manhunter clipboard. “There is only one point of business on our agenda today.” I turned the clipboard around to show them the headline, “Thwarting the Imminent Alien Invasion.” The others listened intently. “To recap, even though they have put Star Guy out of action, for some reason the aliens have not yet launched their main assault on Earth.”

  “Well, it’s obvious why they’re holding back, isn’t it?” said Lara. “They fear me.”

  Serge choked on a mouthful of Snickers.

  Was she kidding? She had to be kidding. I lifted my eye-patch and searched her face for an indication.

  She wasn’t kidding.

  “In a manner of speaking,” I said, “you’re absolutely correct.”

  “She is?” said Serge. Lara glared at him.

  “It took me ages before I understood what Zorbon the Decider was thinking when he gave you your particular power,” I began. “Zack’s were built specifically to take on a planet-killing asteroid. Yours seemed more suited to battling an evil dog trainer. But Zorbon knew what he was doing when he gave you such a lame superpower. It’s the very lameness that’s going to help defeat the aliens.”

  “OK, OK, I get it,” she said. “But can you please stop calling my superpower lame?”

  I agreed that I would. “We dismissed you, just as the aliens have. They don’t consider you a threat, when in fact you’re the proton torpedo headed right down their unshielded thermal exhaust port.”

  “I’m the what going where?”

  “Never mind,” I said. “It’ll all make sense when we go through the plan.”

  “So how do we stop the invasion?” asked Lara.

  “We don’t,” I said. “Hold off a massive aerial assault? Repel thousands of alien warriors in hand-to-hand combat? No way. We’re just a bunch of kids. And even though one of us has a superpower, S.C.A.R.F. doesn’t have the resources to fight off a cold, let alone defend the earth against a full-scale alien invasion.” I could see that Lara and Serge were confused. Hadn’t I invited them to the tree house expressly to hear my alien-defeating plan?

  “We can’t stop an invasion.” I smiled. “But we can stop a TV show.”

  The Show Must Go Off

  The tree house door banged open, and curling brown and gold leaves skittered across the wooden floor, pushed by the eager wind. In its cold fingers I could feel the first chill of winter.

  “Just the wind,” I said, catching sight of my friends’ troubled expressions. Darkness was falling, so I switched on the tree house’s lights, which consisted of three battery-powered LEDs, each modeled on a different member of the Avengers. We huddled around the glowing figures of Iron Man, Thor, and the Hulk as I explained my strategy.

  “When I was aboard the mother ship, the Overlord told me that the aliens’ whole society is based on a reality TV show. They’re only invading Earth so that they can transmit live pictures of it back to their home world. Which means if we can stop the sue-dunham from being able to broadcast the show . . .”

  “Then they will have no reason to invade,” finished Serge, his eyes wide as flying saucers.

  “You want to turn off the aliens’ TV?” said Lara dubiously. “That’s your plan?”

  I held up the alien remote control. “End the transmission, stop the invasion.”

  I looked around at my friends. In our hands lay the fate of humanity, while in my brother’s hand was a snot-filled tissue.

  I made a space on the floor, put down the alien remote, and unrolled a map of the school that I’d drawn myself.

  “Does the alien ship really look like our school?” asked Lara.

  “The sue-dunham wanted to make it as scary as possible,” I explained.

  “You don’t like school, do you, Luke?”

  I shrugged. “It’s OK,” I said.

  “I’m scared too,” said Lara.

  That came as a surprise. “But what about all that stuff you told me about growing up? Being a superhero vet? You can’t wait, you said.”

  “Sometimes I feel like that. But a lot of the time I’m apprehenful.”

  I think she meant apprehensive or possibly fearful. Usually when she tripped over a word, I wanted to correct her, but at that moment it just made me feel closer to her than I had for ages.

  “I too have the fear,” said Serge. “I believe Josh Khan may be on to me.”

  “On to you?” said Lara.

  “Each time he visits my house, I wait until he is napping post-déjeuner in my armchair, and then with my maman’s tweezers I pluck out one of his nose hairs, causing him to leap up in acute but fleeting pain. It is a small victory, but it makes me feel better about myself. Thus far I have successfully passed blame for each assault on our cat.”

  “I didn’t know you had a cat,” I said.

  “I do not,” said Serge. “And I fear Josh Khan may also be coming to this realization.”

  This wasn’t the time to concern ourselves with imaginary cats. I turned back to the map. “Our primary mission objective is the ICT department, here.” I stabbed a finger at a section on the uppermost deck of the mother ship. “The Overlord showed me when she was explaining her plans for world domination. The invasion will be broadcast from this classroom.”

  Lara pored over the layout. “So, let’s say somehow we manage to get aboard the mother ship, make it past all the guards, dodge the inevitable booby traps, and reach the heavily defended classroom without being caught. How do we knock out the transmission?”

  “We need a mole aboard the mother ship,” I said.

  “You mean a deep-cover double agent?” said Serge.

  “No,” said Lara. “He means a small garden mammal with velvety fur.” She paused. “I think I see where you’re going with this.” She picked up the plans to study them in closer detail.

  “I am less clear on the role of the mole,” said Serge.

  I explained my thinking. “Moles are some of the best diggers in nature. A well-briefed mole, dropped in the right place, with instructions to burrow into the central control panel, would be able to use its powerful forelimbs to sever wires, demolish circuits, and generally wreck the aliens’ capability to broadcast.”

  Lara lowered the plans. “And I think I know just the mole. They call him”—she narrowed her eyes—“the Wraith.”

  Serge and I looked at her.

  “What?” she said. “So I know a mole with a nickname. Get over it.”

  “That is all very well,” said Serge. “But how do we get aboard the mother ship in order to, as you say, insert the mole?”

  “With this,” I said, reaching into my backpack for the Puny Earthlings! game disc. “Just as soon as we figure out how to make it work. Or, I should say, as soon as Christopher Talbot figures it out.”

  “No way,” Lara objected. “He can’t be on our side. He’s a villain.”

  “We need him,” I said. “If anyone can work out how to use this disc to reverse the teleporter, it’s the man who built the Tal-bots and the Mark Fourteen Sub-Orbital Super Suit.”

  “What about Zack?” said Lara. “Is he feeling any better? I’ve tried calling him on the telepathic line, but all I get is a squelchy sound.”

  “That would be his head cold,” I said. “He’s completely stuffed up. And his phlegm is currently mustard colored.”

  “Did you see that?” said Serge. “The alien remote control. It moved.” He pointed. “There! It is doing it once again.”

  He was right. The buttons moved as if pressed by invisible fingers. Someone was operating the remote . . . remotely.

  The infrared bulb pulsed, and a holographic screen appeared in the air. The ultrahigh-definition image displayed the back of a high black leather chair. It was so realistic that it appeared as if the chair was in the tree house.

 
“Quick,” I whispered to Lara, “put on your mask.”

  Lara lowered the mask over her eyes just in time. From the screen came a creak of leather and a rapid sidestepping of feet, and then the chair spun around to reveal its occupant.

  “Greetings, Luke Parker of Earth,” said the Overlord, steepling her fingers. Her cold eyes surveyed the three of us. “So this is the mighty army you have assembled to foil my invasion. Impressive. Perhaps I should give up right now.” From offscreen came a broadside of amused whistles.

  “You don’t scare us,” I said, standing shoulder to shoulder with my friends. “We’re S.C.A.R.F., a secret superhero organization dedicated to fighting evil wherever we find it. Serge, show her the logo.”

  “Ah, I would prefer not to,” said Serge. “I am unhappy with the latest version.”

  The Overlord ignored us and beckoned with a hand. “Bring in the prisoner.” Two more sue-dunham scurried into view. Held between them was the struggling figure of Cara.

  “Let go of me, you monsters,” she said, wriggling and kicking.

  “Cara!” Lara called out. “Are you OK, sis?” She winced at her mistake. “Sis-picious. This looks highly suspicious.”

  Cara squinted at us out of the holographic projection. “Dark Flutter?”

  “Uh, yeah,” said Lara. “Hi.” Thankfully, even after Lara’s slip of the tongue, her sister hadn’t recognized her with her mask on. “Just want to make sure they’re treating you according to the Amnesia Convention, citizen.”

  “Uh, I think it’s called the Geneva Convention,” said Cara. “And yeah, I’m OK. Thanks for asking, Dark Flutter.” She spotted me. “Kid! You made it. So where’s the cavalry? Star Guy’s on his way. Right?”

  “Well, Luke Parker,” interrupted the Overlord, gleefully. “Do you want to tell her—or shall I?”

  Cara gazed out hopefully. How was I going to break it to her? “About that. Yeah. The cavalry.” I coughed. “You’re looking at it.”

  Her face crumpled with disappointment.

  “But I’m here,” chirped Lara. “I’m part of the cavalry.”

  “Great,” said Cara mournfully.

  “It doesn’t sound like you think it’s great,” grumbled Lara.

  At a command from the Overlord, the guards dragged Cara off, still struggling and yelling some very rude words, two of which I hadn’t heard before.

  “We’ll rescue you, Cara,” I shouted after her. “I promise.”

  The Overlord laughed. “You can’t win, Luke Parker of Earth. Someone always tries to outwit us, but it never works,” gloated the Overlord. “Whatever you’re planning, we’ve seen it before.” She counted off on her fingers. “Building giant robots to defend your planet? Season ninety-two. Battleships? Season two hundred. Moving speech about love in the face of existential annihilation? Too many seasons to mention. Small nuclear device concealed in a stuffed toy animal? Season four hundred and six.”

  “Ah, zut,” said Serge quietly.

  “And see this?” She held up a thick paper file and riffled the pages. “Shielding maintenance schedule for the thermal exhaust ports.” She dropped it with a thud. “Oh, and before you go trying to infect us with your sneaky Earth bacteria,” she said, rolling up one sleeve of her tracksuit to present a fresh red lump on her bare upper arm, “we’ve all had our shots.”

  She leaned back in her chair, looking as relaxed as I felt panicked. “I think that about covers everything. Now, as per standard invasion procedure, the main assault will commence on a date resonant with the invadee’s history. We find it adds to the drama. Thus we will take over your world on October twelfth.” She paused for effect. “Independence Day!”

  From offscreen the rest of the sue-dunham whistled their approval. I raised a finger of objection, and the Overlord silenced the horde.

  “What?” she snapped.

  “Uh, that’s not Independence Day,” I said. “Independence Day is July fourth.”

  “No, it’s not.” Irritated, she clicked her remote several times. A list of dates with brief encyclopedia entries scrolled through the air. “See. October twelfth. Equatorial Guinea’s independence day. What do they teach you in Earth schools? If you ask me, it’s a good thing you’re being invaded.”

  October 12 was tomorrow. The same day as my cousin Jenny’s wedding. She was going to be really annoyed.

  “Keep watching the skies, Luke Parker.” The Overlord smirked. “At prime time on the twelfth, tune in for the exciting conclusion of . . . your world.” She shuffled her feet, and the chair began to turn away again. She paused. “One more thing. Almost forgot.” She glanced out of the holographic screen. I followed her eyeline to the remote control. The infrared bulb blinked steadily. In the quiet of the tree house, I could hear a faint bleep bleep bleep. “As you earthlings say . . .” She raised her eyebrows. “Snap.”

  “Snap?” I said.

  She frowned. “No, wait. Not snap. What was it again? Ah, yes.” She smiled thinly. “Checkmate.”

  “Out!” I cried, pushing Lara and Serge ahead of me to the door. “It’s a countdown! Get out!”

  The three of us scrambled to the edge of the deck. There wasn’t time for Lara to call for her birds. She threw herself onto the rope ladder and lowered herself in a couple of athletic moves. Serge went next, and I brought up the rear. A boom shattered the stillness of the afternoon, and a pulse of heat threw me down to the ground. Lifting my head out of the dirt, I craned my neck to look back.

  The tree house was in flames.

  • • •

  The fire department arrived in time to prevent the fire from spreading, but the tree house was gone. When Mom and Dad saw the damage, they did that parent thing of being simultaneously relieved and utterly furious. In the end they accepted it wasn’t my fault—I hadn’t been playing with matches, or flamethrowers. The firemen put it down to a catastrophic failure of my Avengers lamp set. No one considered the possibility of an alien booby trap.

  The remains of the tree house smoldered in the last of the evening’s light. The sun dipped below the horizon, and the oak was a dark shape against the cold sky. Standing in the yard, I pulled my coat tightly around me. Never again would I set foot in my tree house. Even if we decided to rebuild, it wouldn’t be the same. All the hours I’d spent there were already turning into memories. All the arguments with my brother, the homework I’d ignored, the plans I’d hatched—gone. Helpless, I’d watched the fire consume my favorite spot in the whole world.

  “Now I know how Captain Kirk must have felt when the Enterprise self-destructed over the Genesis planet,” I said.

  Serge stood at my shoulder. “And when the Enterprise crashed in the Battle of Veridian Three.”

  I nodded. “And when the Enterprise was destroyed defending Narendra Three from the Romulans.”

  “And when the Enterprise was destroyed by the Tholians,” said Serge.

  We stood in silence, our breath white streamers in the cold air.

  “The Enterprise gets blown up a lot, does it not?” said Serge.

  There was no time to mourn our loss—we had an alien invasion to foil. “Come on,” I said. “It’s only a tree house.” We turned for the house and made our way back into the warmth.

  Independence Day

  “There. So handsome,” said Mom, adjusting my collar for the billionth time. “So grown up.”

  “Mommm,” I complained. I was in a suit. Not a space suit, which would have been much more useful, but a two-piece tuxedo from JCPenney.

  It was the day of the wedding, Equatorial Guinea’s independence—and the invasion of Earth. While the people of a small Central African republic prepared to celebrate the anniversary of their independence from Spain in 1968, and my cousin Jenny did whatever brides do before they walk down the aisle, they had no idea that hidden in orbit above us, alien invaders were making their own p
reparations.

  There was a knock at the door, and Dad strolled into my bedroom. He took one look at me and began to stroke an invisible cat in his arms. I knew exactly what he wanted, but I wasn’t in the mood.

  “I’m not saying it,” I said, folding my arms.

  “Oh, come on,” he said.

  I gave in. “All right, all right.” I cleared my throat and said, “Do you expect me to talk?”

  Dad gave his invisible cat another stroke and tented one eyebrow. “No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to die.”

  “Happy now?” I said.

  Dad beamed. “Look at you. Your first tux. I have to take a picture.” He put down the invisible cat, pulled out his compact super-zoom, and began to snap away. “Act natural,” he said, shoving the lens in my face. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

  My grumpiness resulted in part from being forced into the suit (not to mention the bow tie and pinchy new shoes), but mostly from my frustrating phone call with Christopher Talbot that morning. He’d given me a cell phone so that we could keep in close communication. I’d been asking my parents for one for ages, but as ever when I asked for anything cool, they ended up giving me shoes. I’d called Christopher Talbot shortly after dawn.

  “Do you have any idea what time it is?” he’d said groggily.

  “It’s shortly after dawn,” I’d replied. “Have you figured out how to make the teleporter work yet?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “But you’ve had ages!”

  “Listen, matey, we’re talking about reverse-engineering some pretty wild alien technology.”

  “But we’re running out of time, Christopher Talbot!” I’d worked out precisely how long we had. According to the Overlord, the invasion would commence at prime time. Prime time was when TV networks could expect their biggest audiences, and so that’s when they broadcast their best shows. Which obviously meant Doctor Who. So that meant the invasion would start at 7:30 p.m.