Einstein's Underpants--And How They Saved the World by Anthony McGowan
‘I think I’ll go the long way round,’ said Felicity. She didn’t much like the graveyard, which was actually quite spooky, especially at night.
‘I’ll walk you home,’ volunteered Alexander. He didn’t much like the graveyard either, which his imagination filled with ghosts and ghouls, to go with the stinging nettles and fox poo that were the real hazards of the place.
‘But it’s a bit out of your way . . .’
‘Not really,’ said Alexander, even though it was.
Felicity looked at him but didn’t say anything, and they waved to the others and set off together towards Felicity’s house.
Alexander wasn’t quite sure why he’d offered to walk Felicity home. There was definitely part of him that thought it was the right thing to do, probably because she was a girl, and girls needed protecting, didn’t they? But then he probably wouldn’t have asked Really Annoying Girl. Although of course Really Annoying Girl didn’t need his or anyone else’s protection. In fact the world needed to be protected from her. No, it wasn’t so much a protecting thing, even with Felicity, who probably did need a bit of protecting, but more a just-wanting-to-be-with thing.
Alexander had never had those sorts of feelings about girls before, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. He certainly didn’t know what to talk about with girls, apart from The Mission. And this didn’t seem to be the right time to talk about The Mission.
No, this situation called for something different. Some kind of light-hearted banter. A joke. Not a rude joke. Something clever. He tried to think of one. What do you call a . . . ? No, what do you get if you cross a . . . a what with a what? He couldn’t remember.
Then he noticed something. Something big and round and silvery. In the sky. He was so befuddled that for a second or two he couldn’t remember the name of the big round silvery thing in the sky. The loon . . . the moom . . .
‘Moon!’ he yelled, making Felicity jump.
‘What?’
‘Look. There’s a big moon. In the sky. Isn’t it, er, nice?’
‘Yes, very.’
Felicity didn’t seem very interested in the moon. In fact she appeared rather distracted. It was probably the excitement caused by all the momentous events of the evening. She was probably awestruck by his brilliance, the way he’d answered every question . . .
He wondered if perhaps he ought to put his arm around her shoulders. In fact, suddenly that was exactly what he wanted to do. He could already imagine the pleasant sensation of her shoulders under his arm. Almost of its own volition, his arm began to rise out horizontally. It had just begun to brush Felicity’s cardigan – with hardly any more weight than a butterfly alighting on a dandelion – when she let out an ear-piercing scream. It was the sort of scream you’d expect from an American college kid about to be dismembered with a power saw in a cheap zombie movie, which Alexander thought was frankly a little excessive, given that he’d barely even touched her.
‘S-sorry,’ he began, but then he saw Felicity’s face and he realized that it was something a bit more shocking than his arm on her shoulder that had scared her.
‘There,’ she said, pointing to a gap between two houses. ‘I saw . . . there was a . . . a shape.’
Alexander stared at the gap. There were two wheelie bins, some cardboard boxes, a mattress and a roll of carpet – i.e. typical urban rubbish.
‘It’s just junk.’
‘Something moved.’
‘Probably a fox. Or rats.’
Alexander silently cursed himself for mentioning rats. Girls were notoriously afraid of rats. And so was he. Not particularly afraid, but more than he was of rolled-up carpet or wheelie bins. Although, now he thought about it, there was something a bit creepy about the junk in the space between the houses. He had the definite feeling that the bin was staring at him. It was probably just paranoia. And yet . . .
‘Let’s get going,’ he said.
Now, as they hurried down the dark street, it was Felicity who seemed to want to be close to him.
‘There’s definitely something weird going on,’ she said nervously. ‘I thought we were just having fun, but now I’m not so sure.’
‘What do you mean you thought we were just having fun?’
‘You know, the aliens and all that. It was like being in a drama group.’
‘Drama group . . . ?’ Alexander found that he was annoyed.
‘I’m not saying . . . I mean, I thought . . . But now I think . . . Oh, please, can we hurry?’
And as she said it, Alexander felt a peculiar tickling sensation at the back of his neck. He spun round, almost expecting to see one of the gang there, but the street was empty and silent.
‘Let’s run,’ he said, forgetting about Felicity’s lack of faith. They began to jog, but soon they gathered pace, sharing a growing sense of near-panic. Felicity was fast, and Alexander had to strain to keep up with her. Every few metres he twisted to look backwards as he ran. Still there was nothing to see. No pursuers, no passers-by, not even any traffic on the roads.
Finally Felicity stopped. ‘This is my street. I’ll be OK from here.’
‘Oh,’ said Alexander, wondering a little if he’d be. And then he began to feel a bit silly, and giggled. Felicity looked at him for a moment, and then joined in.
‘That was kind of fun,’ she said. ‘I mean, running like that.’
‘Yeah,’ said Alexander. ‘And what exactly were we running from?’
‘Monsters,’ she replied, and they both spluttered into laughter again. Then Felicity said, ‘I’d better go.’
‘I’ll walk you to your door.’
‘No, it’s best not to. My dad . . .’
‘Oh, sure, fine. I’ll see you at school tomorrow.’
‘Bye.’
Alexander felt lonely as soon as Felicity skipped away down the street. Lonely and, once again, spooked. He didn’t relish the long walk home, but luckily a bus trundled by and, by some miracle, the driver stopped for him, even though he wasn’t at the bus stop.
Thank heavens Melvyn isn’t here, he thought to himself, imagining the bus accelerating past, spraying a plume of filthy puddle water over them as it went.
CHAPTER 27
THE BORGIA RESPONSE
ADMIRAL THLUGG WAS going over the final invasion plans. He was surrounded by a group of his senior officers, who were careful not to get in his way. This was the part of the job Thlugg enjoyed the most. Except, of course, for eating the defeated foes of the Borgia Empire. He pointed at a map, using what was left of the cosmonaut’s fingers, and vented: Blue cheese, public lavatory, goat spit, angel cake, fish slime, smoky bacon flavour crisps, aubergine purée, Earl Grey tea.
Or: ‘This insignificant offshore land mass here – known, I believe, as Big Britain. That shall be designated a barbecue area.’
He was interrupted by Lieutenant Unguent, a small, nervous officer from the Intelligence Division.
‘As you know, O G-G-Great Leader with the aroma of r-r-rotting Quagg c-c-carcasses—’
Thlugg gave an exasperated burp. ‘Enough of your flattery. What is it you want?’
‘Yes, O f-f—’
‘Spit it out, man!’
‘F-f-flatulent one. We have been uploading data from our spysats in orbit around Earth. Following our analysis of the preliminary data, we also sent down a reconnaissance operative to make direct observations. It seems that there may be more of a p-problem with the harvesting than we anticipated.’
‘Problem? I understood that Earth military defences were feeble. That they were limited to archaic projectile weapons and primitive thermonuclear devices with no more power than a Clumtach’s fart.’
‘This is true, O Mighty and Effulgent War Leader, but there have been reports of special – how shall I say? – g-g-guardians, who watch over the human race as a nipherd g-guards his nips.’
‘Ah yes, I have heard of these guardians. They are depicted in certain sacred Earth texts, are they not? Strange figures
‘Yes, my lord, so we thought,’ said the young Borgia, losing some of his natural (and sensible) fear of the admiral as he was carried away with enthusiasm for his subject. ‘But now it seems we have p-proof of their existence.’
‘Proof?’
‘Yes, Admiral. We p-picked up a series of transmissions from an Earth scientist, who appears to be guiding a group of these guardians – or superheroes, as they are sometimes known. He has somehow obtained evidence of our plans—’
‘IMPOSSIBLE!’
‘So we thought. But this scientist really appears to have developed a scanning technology powerful enough to detect our presence.’
‘Interesting,’ said Thlugg.
‘And it now appears that this scientist has brought the Earth’s finest champions together and is training them so that they might mount a resistance to our invasion. They may also have developed new weapons. But even without new weapons, they possess powers which may impede our progress. For instance, there is one whose name would appear to be Boy Tortoise.’
‘Tortoise?’
‘A heavily armoured reptilian species. And if this Boy Tortoise can replicate the powers of the fearsome tortoise in the way the Man-Spider can assume the powers of the arachnids, then . . . well, sire, I think preemptive action is called for.’
‘Of what nature? Remember that we are here to harvest the Earthlings, not to incinerate them – I like my flesh rare.’
‘Quite so. Therefore I recommend that we send in a combat team to link up with our surveillance operative. The scientist should be eliminated, and the other individuals returned to the ship for interrogation, study and ultimately—’
‘Consumption. Ha! I like your style, Mr Unguent.’
‘Thank you, my admiral!’
‘Just one more thing, Lieutenant.’
‘Sire?’
And that was the last aroma ever emitted by Lieutenant Unguent, as at that moment he became part of Admiral Thlugg in precisely the same way that your morning boiled egg becomes part of you.
‘I take it you got all that,’ Thlugg said to the new vice-admiral, who was called Xchx (hard to pronounce, I know, but imagine the sound of a mule scratching its rear on the rough bark of an oak tree, or perhaps a hiker’s walking boot crunching down on a dry thistle in late August – except in the form of a smell).
‘Of course, highness,’ said Xchx, without emotion.
‘Good. Prepare an assault squad. Send your best troops. Utilize our reality distortion field technology. Make a landing by fast shuttle. Apprehend the Earthlings. We shall ascertain of what substance they are made.’
CHAPTER 28
SOME NEW WEAPONS (AND A WEDGIE)
ZING! ZING ZING!
One after the other, the ace of spades, the ace of hearts and the ace of diamonds flew through the air and stuck into the old dartboard on the wall of Melvyn’s garage.
‘Cooooooooooool!’ said Tortoise Boy, and the others all clapped as Titch took a bow.
‘Isn’t that rather dangerous?’ said Felicity.
‘Duh,’ replied Titch.
‘I think what he meant,’ said Melvyn, ‘was that they’re actually supposed to be dangerous. You know, to the bad guys.’
‘Oh.’
It had been a good day for Alexander. At school Big Mac had seen him walking down the corridor. Usually that would mean Big Mac barging into him, knocking him to the floor, stealing his money, and then probably throwing his bag out of the window. But today, a look of panic crossed his face, and he wobbled off in the other direction. Alexander felt like cheering, but settled for a satisfied smile.
At lunch time the FREAKs all hung out together. They joked and messed about and it was all really good fun. Alexander didn’t want to spoil things by hammering home the point that, unless they got their act together, the world was doomed. He thought it could wait until the evening. But he did tell them that they all had to come up with some good new ideas for fighting their enemies by the time of the evening meeting.
Hence Titch’s Death Cards. These were thin metal rectangles painted to look like ordinary playing cards.
Next, Really Annoying Girl demonstrated a new move with her jewel-armoured bag.
It went:
‘I-bash-knew-bash-you-bash-was-bashgonna-bash-say-bash-that-bash.’
(It was only a cushion that got bashed in the demonstration, but it still made them all wince.)
Then Alexander got them to learn some elaborate flanking manoeuvres and attack formations he had devised, although it was all rather difficult in the cluttered confines of the garage. One move was called The Wedge, which was intended to cut through closely ranked enemy formations. Unfortunately, when Alexander called out, ‘Wedge attack!’ Jamie misunderstood, and gave him the mother of all wedgies, which left him whimpering on the floor like a kicked puppy.
It was as he was writhing on the floor that Alexander saw the face pressed against the window. He tried to speak, but could only emit a strangulated choking sound.
‘What is it?’ asked Felicity, alarmed.
Jamie grinned. ‘Good wedgie!’
But then the gang saw what Alexander was staring at. Felicity screamed. Melvyn screamed. The others were frozen in various attitudes indicating shock, horror, outrage.
The face was indeed terrible to behold. Its skin was the rancid pale grey of a reanimated corpse. The eyes were red, surrounded by black circles. The hair stood up in clumps and spikes.
The face disappeared from the window, and the garage door screeched open. The children cowered back. Even Really Annoying Girl looked frightened. Felicity clung to Alexander’s hand. Alexander was up off the floor by now, and Felicity tried to hold him back as he advanced towards the gruesome intruder.
‘Uncle Otto, what on earth are you doing here?’ he said. ‘Did they let you out of . . . er, you know.’
‘That’s Otto – the great scientist?’ said Titch. ‘He looks like an insane scarecrow.’
Titch was right. Otto was wearing what appeared to be pyjamas (although they were so begrimed and bedraggled and bespattered that it was hard to be sure), and a pair of mud-caked slippers. A long, horny toenail had bored a hole in one of the slippers, and a dirty big toe stuck out, in just the way Cedric popped his head out of his shell. He was carrying a shiny metal case, which didn’t at all go with the rest of his outfit.
Otto ignored the others and focused on Alexander. He spoke at a dizzying speed. Frothy white triangles of saliva gathered at the corners of his mouth.
‘Boy, we have no time. I’ve escaped. Pretended to sleep. Window. Jumped. That’s why pyjamas. Ran like the wind. But they are on my trail. They tracked me somehow, despite all my counter-surveillance measures. Things have gone further than even I feared.’
Alexander struggled to take it all in. ‘How did you find us?’
‘Your parents. I popped in there. They offered me tea. It was probably drugged. I spat it out.’
‘But why did you come? You should have stayed in the . . . where you were safe.’
‘I told you, it was not safe. Not safe at all. Besides,’ he added with a dramatic flourish, holding out the case, ‘I had to bring you these.’
‘What are they?’
‘Weapons.’
‘Excellent,’ said Tortoise Boy.
Alexander took the case reverently.
Now they knew who the intruder was, the other FREAKs had lost their fear and begun to gather round to see what was in the case.
‘You have in your hands,’ Otto said gravely, his voice echoing in the garage, ‘the weapons with which you will save humanity.’
Suddenly there was silence. Every face was turned to Alexander. Without another word he pressed the polished chromium buttons, releasing the catches on the case.
Click.
Click
He opened the lid, and then slowly turned the case towards the watchers.
Inside there were three brightly coloured plastic toy ray guns.
The silence lasted another two seconds. Titch was the first to start laughing. The others soon joined in. Jamie snatched up one of the toys and started firing it. It made a terrible electronic racket, a blaring, ever-changing weearrpingpingzwimming sort of noise, like a migraine come to life.
‘SILENCE!’
That was Otto, and he was still just about scary enough to be obeyed.
‘Frankly,’ he said to Alexander in a deafening whisper, ‘I am not particularly impressed by your team.’
‘I knew you was gonna say that,’ said Really Annoying Girl. ‘And the feeling’s mutual, you scabby old monkey.’
Otto looked a little taken aback: Really Annoying Girl could have that effect on you. ‘You don’t understand,’ he said, trying to make himself heard over the laughter. ‘These guns are special. Our enemies – the alien invaders – are acutely sensitive to certain oscillating sound frequencies. Exactly those frequencies, in fact, emitted by this particular make of ray gun, widely available from all good toyshops. My research shows . . .’
But it was no good. The FREAKs weren’t listening.
‘This whole thing is a joke,’ sneered Titch.
Melvyn and Felicity just looked embarrassed.
Really Annoying Girl delved into her bag and pulled out a lipstick. Alexander thought for a second that she might use it to stab Uncle Otto, but she just used it in the conventional way, on her lips.
The Hurricane farted Chopin’s Funeral March.
Alexander opened his mouth, hoping that something clever would come out, some way of explaining everything, of making the others believe in him and his uncle Otto. But there was nothing.
And at that moment the garage door screeched again. Everyone looked round. There were two policemen, a fat one and a thin one, whom Alexander recognized from the morning they’d taken poor Otto away.