"Hey, I think somebody's coming," Willy announced, pointing at a set of headlights.
And there it was: the vehicle of death. From here on out, things would be easier without having to worry about my friends--or explaining how I knew exactly what was going to happen next.
Chapter 7
I CUPPED my hands out in front of me and concentrated. I'm no chemistry major, but I've read some textbooks. A few hundred, actually. I quickly visualized the chemical compound I wanted. Two parts nitrogen, oxygen, and hydrogen, and one part carbon. A dash of dioctyl sebacate, a bit of polyisobutylene. There.
In my hands, I held a fist-sized lump of explosive.
Even my friends looked a little concerned.
"Uh, Danny Boy? What are you doing there, buddy?" asked Willy.
"I'll tell you guys later. Trust me, it'll be a real blast."
"Huh?" said Willy.
"Daniel--" Dana tried to protest as I made all four of them disappear. (I'll have to explain that trick to yo u l ater.) It was all I could do not to conjure up a bazooka and simply wait for the van to get within range.
As soon as the explosive was secure, I walked back to where we'd been standing before. The van slowed, and the window rolled down.
"Here I am! Come and get me!" I taunted in my most maniacal voice. "Dinner's ready!" I hooted as I tore down the road toward the tree.
The old hag must have floored it because the vehicle lurched forward and roared toward me. And right toward my trap.
Using my lightning-fast reflexes, I was able to slip out of the way right before the van smashed into the tree.
And then I half leapt, half fell backward, just out of range of the expanding fireball. '
For a moment, vivid geysers of oranges, reds, and yellows hung in the air--and at the center was the van, burning, vaporizing into atoms. There was a grating, scraping sound under the roar of the shock wave--the alien screaming. And then there was only smoke, and silence, like in a cemetery at three in the morning.
Leaves and ash rained down through the haze. All that was left of the tree was a charred stump a foot or two high. Of the van, nada. Well, almost nada. A hubcap rolled toward me, dissolving into a puddle of mush before it reached my feet.
Thanks, Dad, I thought to myself. You saved my life. And we got Number 43.
Chapter 8
AFTER the carpooling disaster, we got smart and took the train to London. I know it sounds anticlimactic, but when we finally arrived there, the big city looked pretty much how I expected.
Of course, before I left the States I'd speed-read through about twenty travel guides as well as a couple of history textbooks, plus the complete works of Shakespeare for good measure. Frankly, at this point I probably knew more about London than the prime minister or, certainly, the mayor.
But it was thrilling to see in person all the things I'd only read about, like the Tower of London (not technically a tower, but, even better, it's more like a castle). Let me debunk a few other common misconceptions for you. Big Ben --actually the name of the clock's bell, not th e c lock itself. Hyde Park --London's version of Central Park (or, actually, vice versa) -- is not named after Dr. Jekyll's alter ego. Piccadilly Circus --not nearly as fun as it sounds. Turns out it's just a big intersection. Which was where all five of us were currently cruising around on a double-decker bus.
Emma was kneeling on the seat behind me. "The driver says we'll be at Oxford Circus in a couple of minutes."
"And you've pretty much missed all of the sights since your nose is still buried in that laptop," Dana noted.
"So who's next on our hit list?" Willy asked.
"Not a Lapillajade, I hope," Emma commented, referring to the most intelligent species in the universe. "They're pretty tricky."
"Absolutely not. Most of them are good guys," I said. In fact, Lapillajades are often disguised on Earth as astronomers and scientists, including dudes like Copernicus, Galileo, and Sir Isaac Newton. Humankind would pretty much be in the Dark Ages without them.
I looked back down at the open laptop I had balanced on my knees. If you didn't stare too closely, you might think it was the newest, slimmest iBook. It wasn't much thicker than a sheet of paper, but its technology housed information on every known extraterrestrial outlaw on the planet. Just for the heck of it, I'd even run a search on the van-emone and found out its real name: Ziquechyx Philbin. With a name like that, no wonder the beastiewas so angry.
But the reason I'd come to London in the first place was to hunt a sinister alien force who was the polar opposite of a Lapillajade. Primitive, fierce, uncontrollable--and with no intellect whatsoever. And he was the number three most-wanted alien on Earth.
Name: Phosphorius Beta
Human Aliases: Bayswater Burnie, The Fleet Street Flamer, Jack the Zippo
Area of Infestation: London and surrounds, United Kingdom, Terra Firma
Arrived on Terra Firma: Unknown. At least half a century ago, but some speculate earlier. Without a witness to verify the presence of the "Dark Heart,'7 as its "soul" is legendarily known, it is often impossible to distinguish Phosphorius Beta from natural fire sources.
Illegal Activities: Arson, Smuggling, Vandalism, Homicide
Planet of Origin: Cyndaris
Alien Species: Phosphorian
Special Abilities: Possession of Human Bodies/Minds, Manipulation of Flame (see Phosphorians) The file photo that was up on the screen was indistinct, to say the least. In fact, it looked like a distant shot of a field, ablaze with red-tinged flames.
I guess that was to be expected; according to my notes, no human had ever come into close contact with Number 3 and survived--at least in human form.
But that was also to be expected, wasn't it? The List described Phosphorians as follows:
The Phosphorians are the dominant sentient life-form on the volcanic planet of Cyndaris, which orbits the red dwarf star Gliese 876. Not much is known about them, as Cyndaris is utterly inhospitable to organic life. Average surface temperature on the planet is approximately 2000 degrees Kelvin, hot enough to melt titanium.
Phosphorians who venture off-world invariably destroy nearly everything they come into contact with through the process of combustion. Current intelligence indicates that this is due to their physical makeup, which is suspected to consist solely of an exothermic and self-sustaining chemical reaction.
Translation? By The List's account, the Phosphorians were made out of pure flame.
The data went on to describe Beta's rap sheet here on Earth. Most of it, predictably, involved burning things: buildings, crops, vehicles, even people, even pets. The London newspapers had attributed his crimes to three or four different arsonists, but according to the information in front of me, Number 3 was Earth's worst firebug.
I was nervous about facing him, and not just because of my recent encounter with the Death Van. The last time I had a seriously close encounter with fire was when I was three, when the alien named The Prayer killed my parents and burned down our home.
Trust me, that tends to leave an impression that lasts.
Chapter 9
ON ACCOUNT of our house being burned to the ground, the only thing my mom and dad left me--besides The List of Alien Outlaws on Terra Firma--was my new day job: I am the Alien Hunter. Or, as Dana playfully refers to me, "Space Cop Numero Uno."
I guess that deserves an explanation.
Before their murders, my mother and father were Alien Hunters here on Earth, where alien outlaws have lived and created havoc for millions of years. The aliens have been responsible for a few minor mishaps--like one of the ice ages, the extinction of several animal species, and, more recently, the Great Chicago Fire, the fire that destroyed most of the Coney Island amusement park in the early 1900s, countless kidnappings and missing persons-- especially kids and, for some reason, dogs. I guess thes e c reeps never read Marley and Me or watched any Lassie reruns or movies.
There are a couple of other things you need to know about me, t
oo.
First, my four best friends: Willy, Joe, Emma, and Dana (who I'm kind of crazy about). Tragically, my friends died years ago on our home planet Alpar Nok as a result of a ruthless planetary annihilator known as Number 6.
Rewind, you're saying. Didn't they just star in the whole beginning of this story here in the present day?
Okay, brace yourself for this one: I can re-create them pretty much at will--for companionship, fun, safety, to help pry open sticky jars, and so on and so forth. And Mom and Dad show up sometimes too--along with a little sister (Brenda, affectionately known as Pork Chop) that I never truly had but always wanted.
You see, I happen to have the greatest superpower of them all: the power to create.
And no, I'm not God, or a god, or the son of a god.
At least I don't think so.
Chapter 10
"I'M TIRED of driving to all these circuses that aren't really circuses," complained Joe as we disembarked at Oxford Circus. "Let's find somewhere to crash and have a snack. I could eat a horse! Oh, I mean, 'Scuse me, guvnor; but Oi declare Oi could eat a 'orse!'"
"Don't be disgusting, Joe," said Emma, giving him a look. Emma was fanatical about animals of all kinds, unless they were deadly alien life-forms.
"Yeah," I added. "And your cockney accent could use some work. Try watching Mary Poppins again."
At Oxford Circus we were near the center of town, and the heart of the action: just a few blocks from the West End, where the theaters are, and Soho, which is full of restaurants and nightclubs. I figured even an alien and his imaginary friends wouldn't seem too weird in the middl e o f a bunch of ravers, actors, and dancing fools. This, I had decided, was where we should set up our home base.
We split up in order to find our perfect abode. I told my buds to look for something empty but not derelict. Over the past couple of years we'd done this many times, so they knew what to look for.
The best part about doing things this way was that, even though we were scattered all over the area, we could talk to one another telepathically. It's like a chat room in your head, and everybody's invited.
Twenty minutes passed, and then I heard Willy's voice coming over my mental intercom. "How would you feel about staying in a youth hostel, Daniel? I hear they're supercheap."
"Stay with a bunch of grungy backpackers? No, thanks," Emma jumped in. "Those folks don't ever shower. Sorry. I'm a prude about cleanliness. You know me."
"Hey, I found a little office building that's condemned," said Joe. "Looks cozy."
Dana chimed in. "Yeah, Joseph, if you like floors that have more holes than Swiss cheese. Listen, guys, meet me at the corner of D'Arblay and Berwick. I think I found something really interesting."
It took me a couple of minutes to get to the building Dana had found. It was a two-story town house covered top to bottom with tarps and scaffolding. One look at the place and I could tell that construction had been halted for quite some time.
"And this is better than my condemned office building because... ?" Joe scoffed.
"Because, let's face it, girls have a better sense of interior design," Dana shot back. "I'm not game to sleep in icky gray office cubicles if I don't have to. You'll see what I mean."
refurbished 2-bedroom! contact owner for details! screamed a faded sign in the window. Underneath it were the words ready for move-in on ... and a series of dates that had been crossed out. The last one was over three months ago.
I shut my eyes for a moment, concentrating, visualizing. Iron and carbon, beaten thin. When I opened them, I was holding two of my favorite tools, a lock pick and a tension wrench.
"Guys," I said, as I leaned under a tarp and popped the lock, "welcome to our humble abode."
Chapter 11
AS A SIDE DOOR swung open silently, I was hit with a blast of stale air. I've been in a lot of abandoned buildings, and with the help of my eight alien senses I can tell a lot by taking one whiff of a place.
"Hmm... atmosphere's dry. I guess we're mold-free," I said. "Overtones of wood polish. Slight bouquet of musty cotton stuffing. Can anyone tell me what that means?"
"Yeah, baby! We've got furniture!" cried Joe delightedly, running across the room and throwing himself sideways onto a richly upholstered couch that had gold claws for feet. "So, do I look like Rose from Titanic ? 'Oh, paint me, Jack, paint me--"'
Joe broke off into a laughing and coughing fit so violent that he rolled off the couch and onto the floor.
"I still don't see why we can't just rent a normal place, Daniel," said Willy, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "That's what we did in LA, remember?"
I hesitated. I had told them about the van-enome and my discovery of time travel, but I hadn't mentioned just how close we'd all been to becoming alien hash.
"I just want to make sure we're off Number 3's radar. Totally off the radar," I replied with a little too much emphasis on the dangerous aspects of this gig.
"But--"
"Look," I continued, "call me paranoid if you want, but I'm talking complete stealth, okay? You guys gotta promise me," I added. "Seriously."
There was an awkward silence, finally broken by Dana. "Daniel, do you want to talk about it? Maybe you should..."
I didn't really, but I gave a nod anyway. I ignored the slight feeling of guilt creeping up on me as I made Emma, Joe, and Willy vanish from the scene. Where exactly do they go? I don't know; they won't tell me.
Then I followed Dana upstairs into one of the bedrooms.
Wow, I thought, we hit the jackpot, didn't we? In the center of the room was a gigantic four-poster bed, complete with lush red curtains. A wardrobe roomy enough to hold the clothes of a total shopaholic stood off to one side; next to it hung a luxuriously tall and wide mirror. On the other walls, a series of large sun-bleached tapestries depicted knights endlessly hunting a white stag.
The two of us sat down on the bed. Dana looked at me expectantly.
"Well?" she said.
"Well, what?" I said stupidly.
"Tell me what's going on."
"Um... how about alien hunting?" I offered. "Same old, same old?"
"It's different this time," Dana insisted. "I remember what happened in the van, Daniel. The walls were crushing us; I couldn't breathe. I was in pain, the worst I've ever felt. All I could do was stare at you, knowing we were going to die. We were all going to die. And then you saved us."
She lowered her voice a little, as if the rest of our friends were in the next room, listening. "I don't think the others know about the time travel. Or why you're a little shaky right now."
"Well, frankly I'd rather they didn't."
Her voice was gentle. "Daniel, it's all right. It's all part of what you have to do. What you were born to do, I suppose. We're just along for the ride. Right?"
"Dana, there's something else... something else that's been getting to me." I was definitely in spilling-your-guts mode. I knew I would have to watch myself, or I might just get all gooey on her about how crazy I really was about her.
"You..." I swallowed nervously, unable to speak for a moment. Then I regained my voice. "You were real. Back on my--our--homeworld, Alpar Nok. You, Joe, Willy, Emma. You were all real."
Her expression went from surprised to baffled to horrified.
I went on. "When I visited there I saw images, like telepathic snapshots. My relatives showed me. We were all kids who hung out together, before I left for Earth. Then the Vermgypians came, invaded. They called it FirstStrike. You were all... killed at your school..
The silence seemed to fill up the room, till I thought we would both drown in it. Then Dana's voice, shaking a little, pulled me back to the surface. She spoke slowly, like she was trying to solve a tough math problem.
"So we were real, then we died. I don't remember any of it. What does that make us? Ghosts?"
"I don't know, Dana. All I do know is, I'll never, ever let any of you die again." I had to fight to keep my eyes from tearing up. "I swear, on the Bible
, on The List, on the house where I grew up--except I can't because it's burned down. But never, never again will my friends be hurt." Then I looked up into her perfect blue eyes. "Especially not you, Dana."
She stared right back at me with the softest smile in the history of this planet.
"Thank you, Daniel. I'll try to do the same for you. I would die for you. Again"
Chapter 12
I LAY BY MYSELF on the bed for a while, staring like a zombie at the wood-beamed ceiling. A million thoughts raced through my head, way too fast for me to comprehend. I'd dropped a little bit of a bomb on Dana, and she'd needed some alone time, so I made her disappear.
But after that convo, I still needed someone to talk to, worse than ever.
Then I felt a reassuringly familiar hand on my shoulder. "Daniel?"
"Mom?"
I hadn't intentionally created her, but there she was. She was wearing a purple knit cardigan with yellow puppies on it, one of her favorites. Sometimes, when I needed her most, she would just appear. I'd created her and my father so many times that it had become reflexive.
"Feeling down? You shouldn't be. You know that you have friends and family who love you very much. Even if they are imaginary."
I couldn't help smiling. For people who had been killed almost thirteen years ago, my parents had a lighthearted view of the world.
"Thanks, Mom. Hey, did you know I can time-travel?"
"You were the last one to figure that one out, sweetie. It's okay. I always told your father you were a late bloomer." She gave a little giggle, and then suddenly got serious. "But that's not the reason I'm here, is it?"
She was my mother, all right. Her mind-reading abilities weren't really fair play, though--she was my creation, after all. I could never really know for sure, but I suspected she might have access to parts of my brain, my memory, my subconscious, that even I didn't know about.
"It's just... When Dana, and the others, almost died back there, things changed somehow. I'd never felt like that about my friends before. Losing them would be... almost as bad as losing you and Dad all over again."