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

  “Where’s the tuna now?” one of the guests shouts.

  “Feemus’ ship is no longer docked at Akbar’s,” the guard says. “Therefore, we were unable to recover the sandwiches.” The crowd begins to boo. Dad pulls me close.

  The guard holds up his hand and the room quiets down. “We are sorry to interrupt your lunch. We will escort the criminal to the security office and take care of it from there.”

  “I’m coming, too,” Pockets says.

  “Wait!” the chief shouts.

  Pockets stops. His father walks up to him and lays a medal around his neck. “For your courage on planet Canis, honesty, intelligence, and the capture of the Galactic. I’m proud of you, son.”

  Pockets lifts the medal with one paw, then lets it fall back against his chest. “Thank you, Father,” he says. “Now I’ve got to go do my job.”

  Using one sharp claw, he slices through the front of his suit. It drops to the floor at his feet. With a forward double somersault that I’m not sure is entirely necessary, he rolls off the stage and joins the guards leading Feemus down the aisle.

  The crowd parts to let them through. When Feemus reaches me and Dad, he looks up, eye shiny. I think he’s about to start crying, and I don’t blame him. He’s gotten himself in a real pickle. But then he smiles and says, “Pockets is going to investigate me! Me! How exciting is that?”

  Chapter Seven:

  The New Guy

  Dad and I get to the security office in time to hear Pockets say, “I know why you did it. I’m flattered and all, but this is a serious crime.”

  “I didn’t do it,” Feemus insists, but he can’t seem to wipe the smile from his face, so his argument isn’t very convincing.

  “You knew how much I wanted that tuna,” Pockets says, whipping out a recording device, “so you tried to take it all for me. In the end, it wasn’t the best idea. Let’s just admit that, bring back your odd little round spaceship, and return the tuna to the kitchen. I’m sure all those tuna-starved ISF cats will forgive you if you feed them.”

  “I would if I could,” Feemus says. “But I didn’t take it. And I don’t know where my ship is.”

  Pockets throws up his paws. “Then why are you smiling?”

  “I’m sorry!” Feemus says. “It’s just that the great Pilarbing Fangorious is interrogating me. It’s exciting!”

  “Trust me,” one of Akbar’s security guards says, “you won’t find jail all that exciting, and that’s where you’re headed.”

  “Look, Feemus,” Pockets says, and I can tell he feels a little sorry for him. “This isn’t a game. I saw that video. We all saw it.”

  “But that wasn’t me,” Feemus insists. “I was with you guys all the time. Well, I guess not all the time, since sometimes you ditched me, but most of the time!”

  Dad and I exchange a guilty look. It probably wasn’t nice to ditch him, but he can be a little exhausting. “Are you denying that was you on the video?” Dad asks.

  “Yes,” Feemus says firmly. The Akbar security guards shake their heads at that. They aren’t buying it.

  “Could you have done it in your sleep?” I ask. “Have you ever sleepwalked before?”

  “I don’t think so,” Feemus says. His smile wobbles. “The worst part of this? I could lose my position as president of the fan club! The other members will argue that I’m not fit to stand by your side.”

  “That’s the worst part?” Pockets asks. “That someone else might be the president of my…” He can’t make himself say the words fan club.

  Feemus nods, his thin shoulders sagging. “Someone else will become your right-hand man. The person you rely on most, the one who knows your fears, your dreams, who can figure out your needs before you even have them.” He wipes away a tear.

  Pockets stares at Feemus and shakes his head. “You’ve really got to get another hobby.”

  One of the guards comes in. “Feemus has a visitor.”

  Thoster pushes his way through. “I came as soon as I could.”

  “I guess you’re here on official president business,” Feemus says glumly.

  Thoster nods. “It’s only a temporary position, don’t worry. Pockets needs someone by his side in this time of crisis.”

  “No, I don’t,” Pockets says, shaking his head emphatically.

  “No,” Feemus says sadly. “Thoster’s right. You definitely need a sidekick.”

  “Ahem,” I say. “I’m pretty sure my dad and I are his sidekicks?”

  Feemus and Thoster roll their eyes. Well, Feemus only rolls the one. Still, I don’t appreciate it. We make excellent sidekicks!

  “There you guys are!” a voice says from behind us. I turn around to find Kurf. “Been looking all over for you.”

  “You found us!” I say, happy to see him.

  “Feemus’ ship showed up!” he says, turning to Pockets. “My dad found it hidden under a blanket behind a broken transport bot.”

  “Good!” Pockets declares, heading toward the door. “The tuna has been found and we can put this whole unfortunate affair behind us.” Then he glares at Feemus and says, “After a written apology.”

  Feemus begins to follow Pockets out the door, but the security guards block him. “You’ll need to stay here until this is sorted out.”

  With a longing glance at Pockets, Feemus allows himself to be led back in. “Don’t worry,” Thoster says. “I will keep Pockets company and make sure his needs are taken care of.”

  Feemus sinks down onto the bench. I feel sorry for him, even though he brought this upon himself. Or did he?

  Apparently the transport bots are only allowed to be in the hotel, so we’ll have to walk nearly the whole length of the rest stop to get to Graff’s Garage. As I do my best to keep up, I run the facts of the case through my head like Pockets taught me. Since Feemus ALWAYS wants Pockets to be happy, it’s logical that he would have stolen the tuna. But if he did, then why not give it to Pockets sooner? Why wait until the lunch? Did he steal it just to gain Pockets’ attention? If so, then why bother to deny that he stole it in the first place? Nothing adds up.

  I would go over it with Pockets, but Thoster is busy asking him lots of questions, like any good fan club member would do if they got the chance to walk alongside their idol. How did you stand it, being so close to all those wild dogs? What did it feel like to capture the Galactic? Has the ISF found any good information on board? What’s your favorite pizza topping? Do you think B.U.R.P. will be a threat again anytime soon?

  Pockets only gives one-word answers. Mostly he just grunts. He’s a cat on a mission, and right now that mission includes retrieving a tray of tuna fish sandwiches. No one can compete with that.

  “Careful,” Kurf says, pointing to a puddle of water that I never would have noticed. “When your body squirts oil, you learn to avoid water,” he explains. “Oil and water don’t mix!”

  I look past the puddle and see a trail of water leading down an alley between shops. I’m surprised, because Akbar’s is always very clean. Someone could slip on that. Thoster must be thinking the same thing, because he stops and stares down at it. “Pockets always has towels in one of his pockets,” I tell him. “I’ll go get one.”

  “No need to slow him down,” Thoster says. He points to a closet nearby marked JANITORIAL SUPPLIES. “I’ll take care of it.” A few seconds later the spill has a plastic orange cone next to it, warning, CAUTION, WET FLOOR.

  “Smart!” I say.

  Pockets is so focused on the tuna that he keeps bumping into people. At one point he almost bumps into a guy carrying two huge buckets of ice—I think it’s that same blue guy I’ve seen twice now! He’s either a really big fan of ice or it’s his job to deliver it. Thoster quickly jumps between Pockets and the ice guy. Thoster makes sure to shield Pockets with his body until the guy heads off, an ice cube flying out from his buckets now and then. “Phew!” he says, mopping his brow. “That was a close one. Pockets might have gotten hurt. Or very wet!” He is clearly taking