B.U.R.P. Strikes Back Read online

  “Just try to stay awake from this point on,” he says.

  “You don’t have to worry about that,” I promise. “That sure woke me up! Do you think anyone on the International Space Station spotted us?”

  He shook his head. “Our speed is much too fast to be picked up by their technology.”

  Relieved that I didn’t just blow our cover, I focus carefully on the map the rest of the way. The flashing neon signs that reach high above Akbar’s welcome us as we make our final approach. The lights are so festive, like a nonstop party in the otherwise dark sky. Not for the first time, I wish Penny could see this. She’d love it.

  Dad steers the taxi around toward the far side of the huge floating building, a part of the rest stop I’ve never seen. Giant floating letters announce: HOTEL GUESTS ONLY! IF YOU DON’T HAVE A RESERVATION, KEEP ON DRIVING! THIS MEANS YOU! Each letter is bigger than our taxi!

  Dad drives right through the center of the o in Hotel and I realize we’re now inside a tunnel. It’s so dark that I can’t even tell where the sides are. “It’s as dark as a wormhole in here!” I say.

  “That won’t last long,” Dad assures me. He’s right. A few seconds later light explodes all around us and the taxi fills with loud rock music! Pockets screeches and hits the ceiling again. He covers his ears. The music abruptly cuts off and a deep yet pleasant voice says, “Greetings, honored guests! A transport bot will meet your car shortly to escort you and your luggage to your rooms. Have a lovely visit, and do let us know if we can do anything to make your stay more pleasant!”

  “You can have better taste in music,” Pockets mumbles.

  The taxi comes to a halt in front of a pair of huge glass doors. A woman with her hair braided in an elaborate design on the top of her head opens my door. “Welcome, young Morningstar. I am your bellwoman. I shall be showing you, your father, and Pilarbing Fangorious to your rooms. I am certain you will find them to your liking.”

  Trying to remember my manners, I reply, “Thank you, I’m sure it will be—” But when I look up, the words get caught in my throat. I’ve seen some strange things in my role as an ISF deputy—creatures of all shapes, sizes, and colors, with varying amounts of limbs, eyes, and even heads. But never before have I seen anything like the woman—I mean transport bot—holding my car door open.

  Chapter Three:

  Hotel in the Air

  The transport bot looks like a normal person from the waist up, but from the waist down she is a golf cart. Yes, a GOLF CART. Like a little electric cart that you’d drive around in, with space in the back for golf clubs, or in this case, our suitcases.

  The transport bot doesn’t seem to notice my reaction. Her arms extend superlong, and she cheerfully lifts our suitcases out of the trunk and places them in the cart. SO WEIRD. Pockets barely gives the bot a second look, but Dad raises one eyebrow as he shakes her hand.

  We follow her into the hotel lobby, where she instructs us to take seats in the cart. Dad and I exchange a look, but we climb in after Pockets. The lobby is very fancy, with black-and-white-tiled floors and artwork on every wall. Plush couches are full of aliens from all over, everyone dressed in their finest. Dad and I are definitely underdressed in our jeans and T-shirts!

  We drive toward the glass elevator and pull in beside a male transport bot with stacks of pillows and towels in his cart. The two bots nod pleasantly at each other. The elevator only stops once, to let on a tall man with bumpy blue skin carrying two huge buckets of ice. At first I think he’s going to bonk his head on the ceiling, but then the ceiling raises up a few inches, like our taxi does when it turns into a plane. He fits! Very cool. I enjoy looking out the glass walls at the bustling lobby as the elevator slowly rises.

  When the door opens at our floor I spot Feemus, pacing up and down the hall, checking his watch. Feemus is so small that at first the bot doesn’t even notice him and almost runs him down. Feemus scoots out of the way just in time.

  “Finally!” he shouts with joy. Then he hops right into the cart! His one eye beams happily at us.

  Pockets groans and slaps his head. “Guess I should have known you’d be here.” The tall blue guy gives Feemus a long look as the elevator door closes. Bet he’s never seen a little red alien with one eye so excited to see a giant cat!

  “I will take it from here,” Feemus tells the bot, tossing out the suitcases like they weigh nothing at all. The transport bot hands Feemus a large brown envelope before nodding at us and gliding back to the elevator.

  Feemus keeps up a running one-sided conversation as he leads us down a long carpeted hallway that smells like fruit, for some reason. Pockets hurries ahead toward the room.

  “Wait,” Feemus calls after him. “Don’t you want this?” He pulls a typewritten sheet of paper out of the envelope, but Pockets keeps walking. Dad leans over and takes it. “Sorry about Pockets. It’s nothing personal.”

  “Oh no,” Feemus says, “Pockets can act any way he likes. He’s earned it!”

  I’m sure my mom would scold Pockets for his lack of manners, but it doesn’t look like Feemus ever will.

  “That is your itinerary,” Feemus explains to Dad. He hands me my own copy, which makes me feel grown-up. We catch up to Pockets at the end of the hall.

  “Please look it over and let me know if you have any questions.” He glances at Pockets. “As always, your comfort is my highest priority.”

  I scan the page of text. Wow, Feemus wasn’t kidding—we have somewhere to be every second, starting in ten minutes!

  10:00 a.m. Pockets and the Morningstars will meet with the tailor, who will be taking their measurements.

  11:30 a.m. Pockets will present a golden wrench to Kurf (Graff’s son), honoring him as the newest mechanic at Graff’s Garage.

  12:30 p.m. Lunch with important leaders from other planets.

  2:00 p.m. Back to the tailor to try on the clothes.

  3:00 p.m. A two-hour guided tour of the Akbar Gardens, voted one of the top ten best gardens across ten galaxies.

  5:00 p.m. Pockets will judge the slog-eating contest.

  6:00 p.m. Dress rehearsal for Sunday’s luncheon, followed by a private dinner with Pockets, his fan club, the Morningstars, Pockets’ father, and Akbar.

  “Akbar himself?” I ask, looking up from the page.

  Feemus nods, jumping from foot to foot. “A big honor, yes, indeed!” He finally stops in front of a door and I can’t help thinking that the transport bot could have gotten us here a lot quicker. The metal plate on the door tells us we’re in the Presidential Suite. Sounds fancy already!

  “You will all be sharing these rooms,” he tells us. “But Pockets gets the biggest bedroom.” He holds the card key up to the metal plate and the door swings open. Well, the fruit smell is no longer a mystery. Every surface is covered with gift baskets and bowls of exotic fruits from all over the universe! The room itself is huge, reminding me a little of the head of B.U.R.P.’s private rooms on the Galactic, but without the criminal mastermind sleeping in one of the beds. I run inside and duck my head into the three bedrooms that branch off from the main living room. Yup, beds are all clear!

  “You will find a coupon book on the desk with discounts for various shops and restaurants, even Barney’s!” Feemus beams.

  Pockets’ ears twitch at the name of his favorite restaurant.

  “But you won’t even need to go there,” Feemus says excitedly, “because I made sure the main course for lunch tomorrow is Barney’s tuna sandwiches!”

  Even though this news must make Pockets very happy, he doesn’t show it. I notice he has a hard time thanking Feemus for anything. Dad elbows Pockets, who finally mutters, “Thank you.” Feemus beams at the small gesture of appreciation.

  “If you are ready,” Feemus says from the hall, “I will now escort you to the tailor for your fittings.”

  Dad and I are too busy shoveling what looks like a combination of blueberry and watermelon into our mouths to answer.

  “And I can’