Shock the Monkey, page 3
“Can’t you just go into town and copy someone’s skin for me, like you did before?” Noah asked.
“What, in this weather?” Andi replied.
Noah dropped himself down into a thoroughly drenched sofa. He really couldn’t complain because Andi was doing him a favor. It had been his idea to go back to Arbuckle, and his idea to do so in disguise.
“Is it a good skin?” he asked. “What will I look like?”
“Stop distracting me.”
Noah sighed and felt his butt become porpoise-like in response to the wetness of the cushions. Patience was a virtue that Noah lacked. He supposed he could dredge up a little sloth to make the time appear to move faster, but sloth was so hard to snap out of. So he busied himself with thoughts of meeting up with Sahara and Ogden, and how much fun it would be.
Unfortunately for Noah, none of the creatures woven into his DNA had an ability to predict the future. If one did, then he’d be more prepared for the type of “fun” he and his friends were headed for. Which was no fun at all…
It was always strange getting used to a new skin. It wasn’t like a rubber costume that stretched to fit you—it was more like the skin stretched and shrank the fabric of space itself, so that anything could fit inside it, from a human to a giant multi-tentacled alien. It itched, and it chafed, and it tingled.
“Okay,” Noah said, not even bothering to check in the mirror to see if his face was straight, “I’m ready for the portal.”
“Sit your porpoise-butt down, I’m still calculating.”
“How do you know I have porpoise-butt?”
“I can smell it. It’s not pretty.”
Andi turned, then turned again, facing in different directions. “Hmm… sunspot activity is making a direct portal too difficult to manage. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes,” said Noah. “Whatever it takes.”
“All right, then,” said Andi. “We’re going to have to do a lunar-transfer.”
Andi had mentioned this once before. “You mean a portal that bounces off the moon?”
“The portal doesn’t bounce—we do. We jump to the moon through one portal, then into a second portal that gets us to our destination. Kind of like connecting flights at an airport. But without oxygen.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Andi positioned herself. “Hold on to something nailed down,” she said. “Unless you want to get sucked through the portal, go bouncing across the airless surface of the moon, and die.”
“Point taken.” So Noah employed gorilla strength to hold on to the cabin’s central support beam and took a deep, shuddering breath. He knew Andi was programmed to protect him, so he doubted she’d put him in any real danger. Even so, this didn’t sound good.
“You seem a little worried,” Andi said, looking him over. “Take this.” She handed him a little purple pill. “It’ll help protect you from explosive decompression.”
Noah swallowed it. “Okay, ready,” he said.
“There’ll be a moment of airlessness when you reach the lunar surface and leap to the second portal. Whatever you do, don’t miss the entrance to that second portal.”
“Wait, which direction do I leap?”
“It’ll be obvious when you get there.”
Andi touched her finger to the wall and inscribed a large circle that began to glow. Then the center of the circle disappeared, replaced by the gray and grainy expanse of the lunar surface—and there came a rush of wind so powerful, it nearly ripped Noah free from the beam. Everything—everything in the cabin—was sucked through the hole. The waterlogged sofa, the pots and pans collecting rainwater from the leaky roof, the big pot-bellied stove, which bounced off Andi before careening through the hole. Andi, on the other hand, didn’t seem affected by the wind at all. She just stepped through onto the surface of the moon.
That’s when everything went sideways. Literally. Because the support beam ripped loose, and the entire cottage began to collapse. With nothing stable to grab onto, Noah was sucked out onto the surface of the moon—and in spite of what Andi had said, the second portal was not obvious when he got there.
He could see the earth shining bright blue on the lunar horizon, but he had no time to appreciate the view, because the air had been sucked out of his lungs, and it felt like his lungs were about to be sucked out of his chest. His animal instincts instantly enlarged his lung capacity like a loggerhead turtle, which could hold its breath for nearly ten hours, but that was entirely useless on the moon, where there was no breath to hold.
He realized he probably would have died if Andi hadn’t given him that pill. Then instinct kicked in, and he began to exhibit a trait he later learned was the naked mole rat, which could exist for a time without oxygen—but it was too little, too late. Dizzy and disoriented, he looked around desperately for the transfer portal. He was already feeling consciousness beginning to slip away when he felt a hand tug at his arm. He turned and saw Andi, shaking her head angrily. She was moving her lips, but without air to carry the sound, Noah couldn’t hear her string of insults, which was probably just as well. She pulled him a few steps to the left, and Noah found himself falling into the connecting portal. Before he knew it, he and Andi landed in muddy earth. Which was fine because it was Earth earth.
The portal closed behind them, the roar of escaping air stopped, and Noah rose to his feet. He knew exactly where they were. They were smack in the middle of “Stonehenge-West,” the replica that had replaced their house in Arbuckle, Oregon, three months ago—although it felt more like a hundred years.
After a few deep breaths, and puffs of moon dust, Noah began to feel better.
“Good thing you gave me that pill,” he said. “What was it? Some kind of oxygen infusion?”
“It was a Skittle.” Andi shrugged.
“What?!”
“It’s called the placebo effect. Fake medicine for impressionable minds. It helped, didn’t it?”
“Only slightly,” Noah told her, both relieved and annoyed that it had helped at all.
Before they headed off to find Sahara and Ogden, Noah took a moment to look around. This was the place where he had lived most of his life—and even though the house was gone, the terrain was the way he remembered. The trees, the hills, the little dirt road that once led from their house to the highway that always got his parents’ cars so muddy when it rained.
His parents. The loss of them still ached and he knew it would for a long, long time. Not just the loss of their presence, but the loss of his image of them as fine upstanding people. Because they weren’t people. Not in any human sense. They were Fauxlites. And they certainly weren’t upstanding, considering their mission to end all life on Earth. He wondered where they were now. Was Vecca still wearing them as a pair of pearl earrings? Did he care? Of course he cared. No matter what awful beings they were, he still loved them. And he had to believe that, in spite of their murderous mission, they still loved him. Wherever they were.
“Looks like you’re still on the moon,” Andi commented.
“I was just thinking about Mom and Dad,” he told her.
Andi sighed. “Sorry, bro—I don’t have a Skittle for that.”
Meanwhile, Ogden, having no idea yet that Noah was in Arbuckle, busied himself with his advice from Mr. Ksh.
Talk to her like there’s nothing unusual about you talking to her. Present the best true version of yourself.
To the old Ogden, it would be a terrifying prospect, but he was a new man. He had survived alien captivity and countless threats from various malevolent forces. Talking to a girl was easy. At least that’s what he told himself.
And so, while Noah and Andi were portalling their way to the moon and back, Ogden sought out Claire Jenson during lunch and, finding her in the cafeteria line, paid off the kid behind her to let him slip in. The next person in line complained about giving cuts—but technically it wasn’t cuts, it was a legitimate business transaction, so the complainer had no case.
Then Ogden tapped Claire on the shoulder, and she turned to him, blinking those deep, soulful, if overly outlined, eyes.
“So, Claire,” he said. “It’s lunch!”
“Uh… Yeah, so?”
“Always my favorite meal! Some like breakfast, others dinner, but lunch is the most powerful meal, because it divides the day in two!”
“Do I know you?”
“I’m Ogden Coggin-Criddle. How could you forget, Claire? We’ve known each other for years.”
“Uh… I don’t think so?”
“Well, I have many fond memories,” Ogden told her. “And I look forward to making more.”
“More what?”
“Memories—didn’t I just say that?”
“Sorry, I really wasn’t listening.”
“Oh—and let me be the first to wish you a happy birthday!” Ogden said.
“Uh… you’re not the first.”
“Well, almost the first.”
“Not really.”
“Well, one among the many, then—and I look forward to your party tonight.”
“I… don’t think you’re invited.…”
“I’m sure it was an honest mistake, as we go way back. By the way, I’ve been studying current dance trends, and I think you’ll be impressed.” Then he took her hand, spun her out of the line like a top, and spun her back, leaving her noticeably dizzy.
“Was that really necessary?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” Ogden responded.
“BURGER, PIZZA, OR VEGAN LASAGNA?!”
Both Ogden and Claire were jolted by the voice of the food server, who, for some reason, always yelled out the food choices, even though there was no reason to yell.
“Do you mind? We’re trying to have a conversation,” Ogden snapped.
“I’ll have the vegan lasagna,” said Claire, “but with a burger patty on top.”
“CAN’T DO THAT!”
“Aw, pleeeeeease?”
“OKAY JUST THIS ONCE!” said the server. “NEXT! BURGER, PIZZA, OR VEGAN LASAGNA?!”
“I’ll have what she’s having,” said Ogden.
“CAN’T DO THAT!”
“But you already made an exception.”
“AND I REGRET IT.”
“This is completely unfair! You’re favoring her because she’s pretty and has the perfect smile!”
“AND BECAUSE SHE SAID PLEASE. YOU DIDN’T SAY PLEASE.”
“Okay, please.”
“TOO LATE, THAT SHIP HAS ALREADY SAILED. NEXT!”
Ogden was so infuriated by this clearly preferential treatment that he forgot for a moment why he was there, and by the time he remembered, Claire had already left and was sitting at the popular table with other popular types.
“YOU RUINED MY OPPORTUNITY!” Ogden yelled at the server.
“NOT MY PROBLEM,” he yelled back, then the next kid in line elbowed Ogden out of the way to get his lunch.
Ogden stormed out of the cafeteria, having completely lost his appetite, and skipped school, because his singular focus would make education impossible today. It was becoming increasingly clear that if he was going to win Claire’s heart, he would need to follow Mr. Ksh’s next bit of advice and get her his own version of a yak. The perfect birthday gift. It was only a matter of deducing what the perfect gift would be.
There was only one game store in Arbuckle. Merlin’s Games and Mischief. The guy who ran it, Miles “Merlin” Miller, was dedicated to his clientele.
“I feel it’s my moral responsibility to get gamers out of their mothers’ basements,” he often said—and was very successful in the endeavor. In addition to selling just about every kind of game imaginable, the place was filled with tables of active board-, card-, and role-playing games, all day, every day.
This was Ogden’s domain. These were his people—and also the guinea pigs on whom he tested his own game creations. He considered himself the Mischief of Merlin’s Games and Mischief.
It was here that Ogden went to find a gift for Claire—because it was the only place he could think of in Arbuckle that sold anything remotely interesting.
Merlin himself was a large Hagrid-looking man—basically just eyes and a nose in a big, bearded face. He knew every game, old and new, and was skilled at picking the right one for the right person. But when Ogden explained the situation to him, Merlin shook his big, hairy head, and said, “Sounds to me like this girl isn’t the game-playing type. Or at least the kind of games I sell.”
“I know,” admitted Ogden, “but everything else I can think to get her is ordinary and boring. Flowers, chocolates, gift cards—anyone could get her that. I want to get her something that makes her see stars!”
Merlin tapped a pensive finger to his lips. “Stars, you say.… I think I know just the thing.” Then he pointed to the shop’s bulletin board, where people advertised things like open spots in quest parties and basements for rent. There, slightly off-center, was a gold-edged card that read:
McGuffin Observatory—Star Registry.
Buy your sweetie a Star!
Ogden had to admit he was intrigued. He had heard of star registries before. And while flowers die, chocolates melt, and gift cards magically disappear in junk-drawers, a star will be there forever. Or at least for a few billion years until it goes supernova. Yes… but was it a “yak”?
“I don’t know, Merlin—there are more stars out there than people on Earth, so there’s nothing all that special about it.”
“Ah!” said Merlin, leaning in a bit closer. “That’s where you’re wrong. Most registries have stars you need a telescope to find—but McGuffin Observatory specializes in stars that can be seen by the naked eye. Just glance up into the night sky, and there it is.”
That snagged Ogden’s interest. He imagined himself at Claire’s party, looking up at the stars and pointing out the twinkling ball of burning gas he had purchased for her. It would be a very romantic moment.
“Can I buy it here?”
Merlin shook his head. “Gotta go to the observatory. It’s about twenty miles outside town.”
Ogden was no stranger to ride-share apps. Sometimes self-propelled wheels like a bike or skateboard were too inefficient or labor-intensive—and riding his bike twenty miles up a mountain simply wasn’t going to happen. So he took out his phone and requested an Unter—the ride-share app for drivers that were rejected from Uber. It was cheaper, faster, and occasionally more thrilling. Their motto was “Why take your life into your own hands? Let us do it for you!” And while a surprising number of Uber drivers were aliens, Ogden suspected Unter had an even higher percentage. So when the dented little Kia jumped the curb to pick him up, he asked, “You human?”
To which the driver responded, “As human as I need to be.”
Which was good enough for Ogden.
Noah decided to walk his old path to school from where his home used to be.
“Wouldn’t you much rather swing through the trees?” Andi asked.
And although Noah was excited to be here, he wanted to slow down and savor being home. Besides, school hadn’t let out yet, and he didn’t want to just hang out front, since the overzealous school security guard had a major issue with loitering. Fake skin or not, it would draw unwanted attention. A leisurely walk would get him there by the time school ended.
Neither of them paid much attention to the careening Kia that sped past them, heading out of town, toward the mountains.
Halfway to school, they came to a shop-lined street far enough from the center of town to be spared from the volcanic disaster. With the old town center gone, this spot was bustling with activity. Restaurants and quaint boutiques that never got much traction were suddenly full of people. Even the ever-empty Arbuckle Fashions now appeared ever-full.
“It’s time for me to make myself inconspicuous,” Andi said. “Just in case people recognize me.”
“You should have made a skin for yourself,” Noah pointed out.
She glared at him. “I’m perfectly happy to be a suitcase.” Then she looked toward the crowded street. “Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?” she asked.
“Of course I do,” Noah said. “We’re here, and I’m doing it.”
“Fine,” said Andi, preparing to take suitcase form. “But don’t blame me if everything goes terribly, horribly wrong.”
4
Everything Goes Terribly, Horribly Wrong
THE MCGUFFIN OBSERVATORY WAS PERCHED ON A MOUNTAIN-TOP at the end of a long winding road; it was a simple square brick building with unusually narrow windows and a green dome. Oxidized copper, thought Ogden, like the Statue of Liberty.
There was no parking lot, just a gravel roundabout. Clearly, this was not a tourist-friendly place. It appeared closed, perhaps even deserted, but Merlin was never known to steer anyone wrong.
“Wait for me,” Ogden told his Unter driver, and although the man grumbled, he agreed to wait, because the only fare he would find in this remote spot would be Ogden.
The large door, also weathered copper, had neither bell nor knocker, but that didn’t matter, because as Ogden approached, the heavy door creaked open.
“Come, come,” said a raspy voice, “you’re letting all the good air out,” and a bony finger extended out of the darkness, beckoning.
The moment Ogden stepped inside, he realized there was nothing good about the so-called good air. The place smelled vaguely vinegary with chemical overtones and earthy undertones that tended toward foul.
At the other end of the bony finger was an equally bony old man, who closed the huge door behind him.
Ogden peered into the dim observatory. He could see the cylinder of the telescope positioned at a steep angle, its business-end poking through a gap in the dome. Like the narrow windows, the gap let barely any light in at all.
