The Galactic B.U.R.P. Read online

  “Why are you talking like a cowboy?” I mumble as I doze off. I hear him say something about watching movies about the Old West on TV with Dad, but that’s all I remember until I hear a bloodcurdling screeeeech!

  Once again, I bolt upright, my heart pounding this time. More yowling and screeching. I jump out of bed. “Pockets?” I open the closet door, but he’s not in there. “Pockets! Where are you?”

  “Yooowl… eeeekkk… meeeooowww!”

  I drop to the floor next to the bed and press my cheek to the rug. At first I can’t see anything in the dark, but then Pockets’s eyes glint and I spot him. At that moment, Mom, Dad, and Penny run into the room.

  “What’s going on?” Dad asks, flipping on the light switch. “Is everything all right?”

  Penny is wrapped around Mom’s leg, clutching her stuffed dragon and sucking her thumb. She still does that only when she’s really scared.

  “Everything’s fine,” I tell them. “I mean, Pockets is upset about something, but I don’t know what. Maybe he had a bad dream?”

  From beneath the bed, Pockets whimpers. Since Penny’s in the room, he can’t tell us anything. I notice something I wasn’t able to see in the dark—a newly balled-up piece of paper just outside the closet door. The others set about trying to get Pockets to come out while I unfold the paper. It has only one sentence printed on it:

  The last remaining canisantha plant in the universe grows on the highest peak of planet Canis.

  I pull Dad aside and whisper, “I think this is where our next mission will be. But I don’t know why Pockets is so freaked out.”

  Dad looks down at the paper. “I know why,” he says. “Canis is the word scientists give to the group of animals that includes the common dog.”

  “So you’re saying that planet Canis means… dog planet?”

  Dad nods. “’Fraid so.”

  “Oy vey!” I exclaim.

  Dad looks at the shaking Pockets and says, “You can say that again!”

  Chapter Four:

  No Way, No How

  “Good morning, Minerva,” Dad says into the com system as he adjusts his rearview mirror. “Morningstar and son checking in.”

  “Always nice to hear from you,” Minerva says cheerily, “but I don’t have you on the schedule for today.”

  “The ISF is sending us out on a mission,” Dad replies. “I will plug in our destination now.” He presses a button on the dash, and the keyboard pops out. But instead of typing in the data, he turns the keyboard in my direction.

  “Here’s the information, Archie,” he says, handing me a slip of paper. “You should learn how to do this.” Dad hasn’t let me touch anything on the dashboard yet! I eagerly begin inputting the information.

  Destination: planet Canis in the Canis Major dwarf galaxy

  Takeoff: 8:00 a.m.

  Arrival: approx. 1:00 p.m.

  Time and date of return: unknown

  Passengers: Salazar Morningstar, Archie Morningstar, Agent Pilarbing Fangorious Catapolitus, aka Pockets the cat

  Systems: checked and ready

  Weather: partly cloudy

  I’m not the world’s best typist, so it takes me a lot longer than it would have taken him.

  “Good job,” Dad says, pushing the keyboard back in. Pleased, I slide my space map out of its case so I’ll be ready as soon as we get the all clear from Minerva. But when she does come back on the com line, she’s laughing so hard she can’t speak. And let me tell you, the sound of a mouse laughing isn’t all that pleasant. It’s high-pitched and whiny and hurts my ears. “There is no way you’re telling me that cat is going to planet Canis,” she finally says. “No way, no how.”

  I almost tell her that’s exactly what Pockets said last night when Dad told him we would be leaving early in the morning, but I feel like I have to defend him. “He is going,” I insist.

  “Then where is he?” she asks.

  “He’s coming,” I reply, glancing out the taxi’s back window.

  “You expect me to believe,” she says, “that a cat is going to willingly travel to a planet inhabited by nothing but dogs? And I don’t mean civilized dogs that walk and talk and have cities and play ball games. I mean wild dogs whose first thought when they see a cat is to chase it.”

  That news about the dogs being wild surprises me. I figured they were talking dogs, like Pockets is a talking cat and Minerva is a talking mouse. “Well… maybe not exactly willingly,” I admit.

  “Here he comes now!” Dad says. He and I jump out of the car. Mom and Penny are pushing Pockets in the crate that Dad rigged together in the middle of the night. It’s like the world’s largest cat carrier, but on wheels. A regular-size cat could easily squeeze between the wooden slats, but Pockets can only stick his paws through.

  Pockets scowls at us when he’s wheeled up to the car. I know he has a lot he’d like to say to my dad and me, but he can’t say anything in front of Penny. We only got him into the crate in the first place because he fell into such a deep sleep after all the yowling and carrying-on. Dad and I were able to slide him right in without waking him. The motion of the crate kept him sleeping, so Mom and Penny have been rolling him up and down the block for the last hour like a baby in a stroller. Looks like he finally woke up!

  “Got a lot of strange glances,” Mom tells us. Penny kneels down beside the crate. Her cheeks get all puffy when she wants to say something but can’t get the words out. We’re used to it. Only this time, once she lets out the air, she breathes in again and says, “Bye-bye, Pockets. Please come home soon.”

  Mom, Dad, and I gasp. Even Pockets stops glaring at us, and his ears perk up. That is the longest sentence Penny has ever said. It may actually be the ONLY full sentence she’s ever said. In fact, it was really TWO sentences! Mom’s eyes fill with tears, and she bends down to pull Penny into her arms. “Oh, sweetie! I’m so proud of you! Talking like the big girl you are! And of course Pockets is coming back. Daddy’s just taking him on a little ride.”

  Penny squirms out of Mom’s arms and reaches through the slats into the crate. Pockets moves closer so she can stroke his neck. “I love you, Pockets!” she says. “You’re the best pet ever!”

  Of course this makes Mom fully start to cry. Dad and I may have wiped away a tear or two—I’m not gonna lie.

  “We’d better get going,” Dad says, patting Penny on the head. “Otherwise we’ll never leave.”

  It takes me, Dad, and Mom to lift the crate into the backseat. It doesn’t help that Penny and Pockets keep reaching for each other. Penny has begun listing all the ways that Pockets is the best pet—he’s cute, he’s cuddly, he sleeps on her bed and keeps her feet warm, his purrs sound like music, and on and on. I guess now that Penny has decided to start talking, she has no plans to ever stop!

  As soon as the car door closes and Mom leads Penny away, Pockets starts yelling at us. “What do you think you’re doing? I outrank you! I order you to release me and deliver me back to the apartment!”

  “I knew it!” Minerva says, her laughter cackling through the com line.

  “Hey,” Pockets shouts at her. “I haven’t seen you book a trip to MY planet!”

  The idea of a mouse vacationing on a planet full of cats quiets her right down.

  “Let’s just focus on the job ahead,” Dad says, heading out of town toward the airfield. “We know you don’t want to go, Pockets. And trust me—your father is beside himself with worry, but he knows you’re the best officer for the job. He made us promise to keep you far away from any dogs. You’ll stay with the taxi while Archie and I retrieve the plant.”

  Pockets finally settles down. “I don’t have to leave the taxi?” he asks.

  “That’s right,” Dad says.

  “We can use those glasses and the earpiece you gave me yesterday,” I suggest to Pockets. “That way it will be like you’re there with us.”

  “Fine,” he grumbles, pulling out his pillow. He curls up on top of it but doesn’t shut his eyes.