There's an Alien in My Backpack

by Bruce Coville

Three antennae grew in a triangular formation on Beebo’s head—one front and center, the other two about halfway back.

  Beebo’s ears were oversize too, and slightly pointy. His feet were somewhat birdlike, with two toes in front and one in back—something you could see because his soft leather “boots” were open front and back to let the toes stick out.

  He walked slowly down the ramp. Once he was standing on the table, he made a sweeping bow.

  “Are you really a prince?” asked Pleskit.

  “I most certainly am!” said Beebo, drawing himself up to his full height—which still wouldn’t have brought him anywhere near my waist if he had been standing on the floor.

  “You look sort of like an elf,” I said. “Or maybe an elf from outer space.”

  Part of the reason for this was his costume, a two-piece outfit that looked like it belonged to some fantasy forest creature.

  “Cuteness is a virtue,” Beebo replied, stretching so hard that his joints made little popping sounds. “Wowza-yoicks! It feels good to get out of that suit. I was really cramped in there!”

  “What are you doing here?” asked the Grandfatherly One.

  “Here with you or here on Earth?” he asked.

  “Both!”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Better start talking,” growled McNally.

  Since it seemed easier to let Beebo stay where he was, the rest of us sat down at the table, which made sort of a stage for him. Putting his hands behind his back, he began to pace, stepping over the salt and pepper shakers, walking around the napkin holder. Finally he sat down on a stack of my textbooks.

  “It started as a school project,” he said.

  “What kind of school do you go to?” I asked in surprise.

  “Oh, it’s a lovely school! We have a lot of laughter. That’s our school motto: ‘Life is a joke, and then you die.’ Anyway, one of the things we have to do to graduate is study humor on other planets. Well, that and figure out how to survive while we’re visiting that planet. Our elders believe that learning to survive in a primitive and hostile environment furthers our journey to maturity.”

  “Maturity’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” muttered the Grandfatherly One.

  “Sharp, but only moderately funny,” said Beebo. “I give it a three.”

  “On a scale of what?” demanded the Grandfatherly One.

  Beebo grinned, which was so cute that just seeing it made you want to smile. “One to fifty. One is about equal to a small twitch at the corner of the mouth. Fifty is when you laugh so hard, you die and return to the arms of the Great Jester who made us all.”

  “Whippersnapper,” muttered the Grandfatherly One.

  “Why don’t you just get on with the story?” said McNally.

  Beebo looked uncomfortable. “When the supervisors drop us off, they are supposed to monitor our survival. They want us to be tested, but they prefer that we not die, an event that tends to distress a parental unit. However, my supervisors have disappeared! I went to the pickup site, and they did not show up. That was nearly two weeks ago. I have tried all the normal methods of contacting them, with no success. During that time I have been making my way to Syracuse in hopes that I might contact Pleskit. I had read about him, and I hoped he might be willing to help me. But the embassy is very securely guarded. It was not easy to get to you, Pleskit. That was why I accosted Tim in the park today.”

  “Well, I’m glad you finally reached me,” said Pleskit soothingly. “We’ll take you straight back to the embassy. The Fatherly One will have this solved in less than a day.”

  Beebo looked alarmed, and a complicated series of expressions flitted across his face. I could identify guilt, fear, shame, and sorrow. It is likely there were other feelings being expressed as well, ones I was not aware of, since Pleskit has told me that many species have emotions unique to themselves.

  “Please don’t!” he cried in horror. “I can’t go to the embassy. Please, please don’t make me do that!”

  With those big eyes and that charming face, when Beebo looked so distraught, you wanted to do everything you could to make things better. He looked like a kitten that had just lost its mother.

  “What is the problem?” asked Pleskit, looking baffled.

  Beebo glanced around nervously, then whispered, “Roogbat is a non-trading planet.”

  “Uh-oh,” said the Grandfatherly One.

  “What does that have to do with anything?” I asked.

  “Beebo’s planet is not recognized by the Trading Federation,” said the Grandfatherly One. “Therefore, the embassy is prohibited from helping him. In fact, if Pleskit’s Fatherly One were to become aware that Beebo is here on Earth, he would be honor bound to turn the boy over to the Trading Federation for disciplinary action.”

  McNally looked at the Grandfatherly One curiously. “Don’t you have the same obligation, sir?”

  The Grandfatherly One just laughed. “One of the few benefits of being dead is that I am no longer bound by foolish restrictions. Neither are you, McNally, in case you were wondering, since Earth is not yet a member of the Federation.” He swung his viewing tubes and speaking extensions toward Beebo. “But you have something to explain, sproutling—namely, what in the name of the Seven Moons of Skatwag possessed your advisers to bring you to Earth if your own world is not part of the Trading Federation?”

  “They didn’t realize this planet was a Federation franchise when the assignment was made,” said Beebo. “Remember, you haven’t been here all that long yourselves.”

  “I suppose that makes sense,” grumbled the Grandfatherly One. “But it doesn’t change the problem.”

  “Just what is the problem?” asked Pleskit.

  The Grandfatherly One made a noise like clearing his throat—sort of an odd thing to do, since he doesn’t have a throat. I think he just does it to gain time while he’s thinking.

  “All right,” he said at last. “Here’s what you need to know. The dominant legal body in the galaxy is the Interplanetary Trading Federation. You’re well aware of that. What you may not be aware of is that not all eligible planets choose to join the Federation.”

  “Why not?” asked Pleskit, who was clearly startled by this information.

  “They don’t want to accept the restrictions that come with membership. The Federation is relatively fierce about this, and such planets are cut off from contact with the larger galaxy. They are not allowed to trade with member planets—not allowed to have any contact with them at all, in fact.”

  “Whoa,” I said. “That’s harsh!”

  “Galaxywide civilizations aren’t built by sissies,” said the Grandfatherly One. “Besides, the fact that something is prohibited doesn’t mean it’s not going to happen. In fact, the restriction on trading between Federation members and non-Trader planets virtually guarantees a black market.”

  “A what?” I asked.

  “ ‘Black market’ refers to any trading that occurs outside legal structures. One reason why power—and by ‘power’ I mean the ruling structure in a society—likes to make things illegal is that it provides a tool for controlling people.”

  “Now you’ve got me puzzled,” said McNally.

  “It’s like this. If you make something that is popular and not really harmful illegal, then you can be sure some beings are going to do it anyway. Since it’s not really harmful, the authorities can ignore it if they want. But the unlawful behavior often gives them a handy way to take action against a being or group they find troublesome.” He shook his speaking tubes in disgust. “It’s all a vast and nasty game. Anyway, the point is, planets that have decided not to join the Federation are diplomatically and socially cut off from the main body of the galaxy. We don’t have physical battles with them—we’ve all grown beyond that, thank the stars. But the Federation has some pretty harsh policies for Traders who deal with non-Federation planets.” He turned his speaking tubes directly toward Beebo. “And for non-Federation travelers w
ho intrude on Federation planets!”

  “So what, specifically, does that all mean for us?” asked McNally.

  “It means two things. First, Beebo doesn’t belong here, because Earth is now linked to the Trading Federation through Meenom’s franchise. Second, if Meenom were found to be sheltering Beebo, Meenom could have his franchise stripped from him.”

  Pleskit groaned. “This is exactly the kind of thing the Fatherly One feared!”

  “What about Beebo?” I asked.

  “He can be arrested for his intrusion,” said the Grandfatherly One grimly.

  Beebo gave a squawk of terror.

  CHAPTER 7 [PLESKIT]

  A DESPERATE PLEA FOR SHELTER

  I was startled by the things the Grandfatherly One told us. Startled and troubled. The powers running the galaxy were not as benevolent as I had been led to believe in the early stages of my education.

  Obviously I was faced with a difficult moral dilemma: Should I turn Beebo in or try to help him get back to his own people?

  My instinct was to try to help him get home. But it hadn’t even been two hours since the Fatherly One had asked me not to cause any more trouble. And I was in no hurry to endanger our chances of becoming the richest family unit in the galaxy.

  But I knew what it was like to be stranded on a planet far from home. Had not Tim, Maktel, Linnsy, and I been in exactly that situation only a few weeks ago ourselves? We never would have survived if Eargon Fooz had not helped us. She had acted without concern for what it might cost her. And look what the cost had been: exile from her home and family.

  Could I do less for another traveler in need?

  Beebo must have seen me hesitating, because he flung himself onto my chest, wrapped his legs around me, put his little hands on my cheeks and his little orange face close to mine, and cried, “Don’t turn me in, Mr. Pleskit! Oh, please, please, please, please, please don’t turn me in. Who knows what they’ll do to me? Who knows what will become of me? Just help me find my way home. That’s all I ask, all I want, all I long for. Help me find my way home!”

  Tim, McNally, and the Grandfatherly One burst out laughing.

  “Let go of me, Beebo!” I said, struggling to disentangle myself from his grasp.

  “Sorry,” he said, jumping back to the table. “Didn’t mean to distress you. But will you help me?”

  Common sense said, “You’ve got to be kidding.” Wisdom said, “This is a bad idea.” Basic intelligence said, “Run away, run away!”

  But the memory of my own recent troubles, plus the desperate look in Beebo’s enormous and appealing eyes, urged me to set those things aside and help.

  “What do you think, McNally?” I asked.

  My bodyguard looked distressed. “I don’t know, Pleskit. The whole reason I went into this business was to protect people. But your Fatherly One is going to toast my butt if I let you get in trouble over this. And, frankly, my main job is to watch out for you. I’m not sure what to do.” He turned to the Grandfatherly One. “What do you think, Ventraah?”

  The Grandfatherly One snorted. “I think if you help him, odds are good you’re going to get into big trouble. I think you’re probably going to do it anyway. I also think that’s probably just as well, since I wouldn’t give two wizzikki for you or the sproutling if you didn’t help him.”

  I took a deep breath. “All right, we will help you, Beebo. But since you don’t want to go to the embassy, how exactly do you want us to help?”

  “I need shelter. And I would like you to try to contact my people for me.”

  “Can’t do it from the embassy,” said the Grandfatherly One. “A message sent to someplace like Roogbat would show up on the records. Actually, it would be hard to get such a message through the urpelli system by standard means. You’re going to have to get someone outside the system to carry it for you.”

  “Is there a black market for communications?” I asked.

  “I’m sure there is,” said the Grandfatherly One. “Unfortunately, I have no idea right now how to get in touch with it.”

  I turned to Tim. “Obviously we cannot take Beebo back to the embassy. Can he stay with you for the time being?”

  “How am I supposed to explain him to my mother?”

  I smiled. “You’ve explained weirder stuff.”

  He smiled back. “Yeah, I guess I have. Okay, I think I can handle it.”

  “Feezle dee-goopus!” cried Beebo. “Thank you, thank both of you. Thank all of you! I will be no problem, you won’t regret this, you’ll be extraordinarily happy you chose to help me.”

  I was not entirely sure that was true. And I could see that Tim was starting to wonder about it already.

  “I should probably return to my body suit before your mother arrives,” said Beebo. “It will be easier to explain things if she sees me in human form first.”

  He climbed the ramp into the artificial body and pulled the door up behind him.

  We all stood there, watching.

  The suit didn’t move.

  Tim looked at me nervously.

  “Beebo?” I called. “Are you all right?”

  Before I could say anything else, the door in the body suit opened again. Beebo came hurtling down the ramp, back onto the table.

  “It’s broken!” he cried, his huge eyes wide with horror. “It’s broken!”

  CHAPTER 8 [TIM]

  THE WHIRLWIND

  Beebo stood for a second, quivering with terror. Then he clapped his hands to the sides of his head and began to spin around, making a high, wailing sound.

  “Quiet!” I said sharply. “Next thing you know, the neighbors will be at the door, wanting to know what’s going on!”

  Beebo stopped squalling. Instead he stood in place and started to vibrate.

  Soon he was moving so fast, he nearly disappeared.

  Suddenly the mug on the table next to him floated into the air. It began to move faster, heading on a collision course with the wall behind him. McNally lunged across the floor and snatched it just before it hit. But other things were starting to float too—books, the jacket I had dropped on the floor the day before and never picked up, pencils, the telephone, potted plants, my backpack. The faster Beebo vibrated, the more things went into the air. They began swirling around him, as if he were the center of a small tornado.

  “Hey!” cried the Grandfatherly One, as his BTD floated into the air. “Cut that out, Beebo!”

  A moment later the Veeblax flew into the air, eeping desperately.

  McNally dove across the table and wrapped his hands around Beebo’s waist. That slowed Beebo down a little—partly because some of his energy was being transferred to McNally, who also started to shake.

  “W-w-w-ill you c-c-c-c-cut tha-t-t-t out-t-t-t-!” cried the bodyguard.

  He wasn’t stammering because he was afraid. He was just having a hard time getting the words out because he was shaking so hard.

  Suddenly a blast of energy shot out of Pleskit’s sphen-gnut-ksher and zapped into Beebo. He sighed and collapsed into McNally’s arms with a blissful smile on his little orange face.

  Everything that had been swirling around him clattered to the floor—including the Veeblax and Grandfatherly One’s BTD.

  I scooped up the Veeblax, which squawked and wrapped itself around my neck. Then I raced to the BTD.

  “Are you all right?” I cried.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” said the Grandfatherly One. “This thing is designed to withstand a lot of impact. How’s McNally?”

  “I’m okay,” growled the bodyguard, setting Beebo gently onto the table. “Just a little shaken up.”

  “I’m fine too,” said Beebo dreamily.

  Pleskit was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall. Using his sphen-gnut-ksher to send someone into kling-kphut is a huge energy drain and always exhausts him.

  Then, just to make things perfect, my mother walked through the door.

  McNally moved fast when he heard her coming. S
natching up Beebo, he tucked him behind his back. “Quiet!” I heard him hiss.

  He had time to do this without my mother noticing because she was stunned by the mess Beebo’s whirlwind had made out of the living room—not surprising, since the mess was pretty spectacular, even by my standards.

  “Tim,” she said, using her best don’t-give-me-any-nonsense voice. “Just what is going on here?”

  Before I could answer, she spotted Beebo’s body suit, standing empty-eyed and motionless but otherwise looking totally human.

  “What is that?” she shrieked.

  Then she saw Pleskit slumped against the wall.

  “And what’s wrong with him?”

  She was starting to sound really panicky.

  “Mom, Mom, it’s nothing serious,” I said, trying to sound soothing. “Why don’t you sit down? You must be tired from work. I’ll make you a cup of tea, and then we can explain everything.”

  “Skip the tea,” said Mom, staying right where she was. “And skip the baloney, too. Just tell me what’s going on here.”

  If I had been missing Linnsy before, I really missed her right then. No one could handle Mom in a situation like this the way Linnsy could. But Linnsy wasn’t here, so it was up to me.

  “I still think you’d better sit down,” I said. “Here, let me get you a chair.”

  While I was fiddling with the chair, I noticed McNally step back toward the hall. He must have dropped off Beebo, because when he stepped forward again, he had his hands free.

  “All right,” said Mom firmly, once she was sitting. “Talk!”

  We started to tell her the story of what had happened that afternoon, all talking at once.

  “Wait!” she said, holding up her hands. “Wait! One at a time. You first, buster.”

  She was pointing at me.

  When I was about halfway through my story, she said, “Before you go any further, I want to meet this kid.”

  Beebo must have been listening, because he instantly came scooting out of the hall, crying, “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Tompkins!”