Attack of the Spider Bots (13 page)
More fire balls crossed their bow. Apparently the inhabitants were running a little short on patience. The next thing the Star-Fighters knew, the speakers were jammed with dozens of voices arguing that the Star-Fighters were really spies for a planet that was planning an invasion. Another shot skid across their bow. Two more grazed their tail. The ship bucked and alarms sounded as Commander Ives fired all thrusters. Then, as it happened, they all blinked.
Once more they were rocking in their plywood tree ship high up in their snow-clad tree. Beamer looked down at Weenoh's weapon in his hand. As Beamer's uniform dissolved back into his everyday clothes, the “weapon” transformed into a snowball and began to melt.
That's when Beamer noticed that alarms were still going off. Or were they? They didn't sound like the ship's alarms.
“Where are the sirens coming from?” asked Scilla. They heard a groan and turned to see Solomon Parker lying on the floor facedown. He rolled over and opened his eyes. For a moment he just looked puzzled. Then he tried to stand up and groaned again.
“If y'all wouldn't mind, I could use a little help,” he said.
All three of them rushed over to help him up. Yep, he was once again old Sol Parker. But even with the groans, his face held a smile bright enough to cause sun-burn. “If that was a dream, it's one I never want to forget. If it wasn't a dream then I'm going to have a lot to think about.”
The sirens grew louder. Beamer poked his head out the tree-ship door and saw flashing lights over in Murphy Street. “Hey! What's going on?” Seconds later he heard feet crunching quickly through the snow-covered yard below.
What is that â a SWAT team?
“You, up in the tree,” a voice commanded through a bullhorn, “Come down immediately and bring your captive with you.”
“Captive?” Scilla asked, her eyes wide.
Beamer could tell that the voice wasn't coming from a patient person. “We'll be right down.”
Beamer saw what looked like half the neighborhood on the street as they glided down in their transporter. Paramedics rushed in carrying medical equipment. Beamer's mom and dad were talking with the officer in charge, their faces wearing matching expressions of bewilderment and concern.
“Is there a problem, officer?” Solomon asked as the transporter slowed to a halt.
“Are you Solomon Parker?” the officer asked as he stepped in front of Mr. and Dr. Mac.
“Yes, I am,” Solomon responded.
“We received a report that you'd been kidnapped,” the officer said as he moved toward the transporter. “All right, you kids, stand clear of Mr. Parker.”
“Kidnapped! That's ridiculous!” Solomon said with a huff as the paramedics began checking his vital signs. “I contacted these kids myself and asked them to meet me.”
The officer eyed the elderly man suspiciously, then said, “The report also states that you are suffering from Alzheimer's and may be not remember events accurately.”
“Mrs. Drummond told you that? I am not aware that I have been diagnosed with that ailment. I'm not even sure what it is.”
“Well, that's what it says, and we'll have to investigate the claim.” He then turned to the paramedics and asked, “Is he all right?”
One of them removed his stethoscope and looked toward his partner, who said, “His vitals look fine â incredibly good, in fact, considering his age.”
“Even so, Mr. Parker,” the officer said, “The paramedics will escort you to the hospital where you will receive a full physical.”
Solomon protested, “I will go with you peacefully, but please leave the children alone. They have done nothing wrong. In fact, they've just given me one of the best days of my life.”
Beamer looked like a boy who was losing a puppy as he watched them lead Sol away. He sighed deeply.
It was like losing
Jack all over again. But Sol, at least, could go home.
The following Saturday morning came earlier than usual. Beamer was sitting in an ice cream parlor surrounded by seven varieties of shakes and ice cream sundaes. Sitting at the table with him were the mayor, the president, the secretary of defense, and the Joint Chiefs of Staff. They were holding their own shakes, saluting him for once again saving the world from alien invaders. Just as he was bringing one of his shakes to his mouth, Beamer was violently shaken, spilling the drink all over himself. He blinked and saw Ghoulie standing above his bed, shaking him awake.
“What are you doing here?” Beamer asked. Well, actually, his mouth wasn't working quite right yet and he said, “Whaa-oooo-ngggggg-ear.”
“Get up!” Ghoulie said in a loud whisper. “I just got a message from Sol.”
“A messhhassghh?” Beamer grumbled as he rolled over.
“What wassh it â annossherr valllloooon?” His lips and tongue still weren't in sync.
“No, he's learned how to use a computer,” muttered Ghoulie, “but that's not the point. He says he
can't
get out!”
“Whaddya mean he can't get out? It's his house, not a jail. Of course he can get out,” Beamer drawled with a yawn. He ducked back under a blanket decorated with jumping rabbits. “How did you get in here, anyway,” he mumbled groggily.
“Look, bunny king,” Ghoulie said point blank into his ear. “The attic window, how else?”
It dawned on Beamer that Ghoulie had to be pretty serious or he wouldn't have dared to pass . . . the web. “Whaddya mean â ” Beamer started.
“You already said that,” sputtered Ghoulie. “She's locked him up.”
“Who has?” asked Beamer bolting up in bed.
“Mrs. Drummond has, of course! Man, I hope you never have to determine the fate of the world before nine o'clock in the morning.”
Beamer finally rolled out of bed, literally, hitting the floor with an impressive thump.
About an hour later the kids arrived at the gate of Solomon's house. Beamer pushed the call button. Once again Mrs. Drummond's recorded voice answered, “We are not receiving unsolicited visitors at this time. However, if you have a visitor's pass â ”
“This is Beamer MacIntyre with the Star-Fighters,” Beamer interrupted. “We believe that Mr. Parker would like to see us.”
The previous message started to repeat but was interrupted when Mrs. Drummond's face popped up on the video screen. “I'm afraid you are mistaken, children,” she said stiffly while hurriedly attaching a hat. It was a tall hat, roughly resembling the top half of a rooster â comb, tail, and all. “Mr. Parker has no desire whatsoever to see you after the trouble you caused him.”
“It was not
us
who caused him trouble,” Scilla jumped in to say.
Ghoulie joined in, “We already know he wants to see us! He sent us a message. Put him on the screen . . . please!” he added.
“I most certainly will not!” Mrs. Drummond responded in a huff. “For that matter, he is not here. He is in the hospital!”
The kids gasped, depriving several nearby insects of their air supply.
Mrs. Drummond's voice became harder. “You are to make no further attempts to see him. Do you understand? He is no longer competent to manage his affairs. I am petitioning the court later this afternoon for permission to make all his decisions for him in the future. And rest assured that I will alert the authorities if you try to contact him again.”
The screen went blank, but they felt like a door had just been slammed in their faces.
“No,” Scilla cried with a pained look, “he was just beginning to come back to life! Please tell me she can't do this!”
“I don't know,” Ghoulie said with a lump in his throat. “I'll have to ask my mom.”
They heard a car start up. Moments later, the engine grew louder as the car approached.
“Get out of sight!” Beamer said, pushing them away from the gate. They ran back and huddled against the wall.
The gate opened, and they watched the limousine pull into the street. “Look at the window, y'all,” said Scilla as the car drove away from them.
“Yes, I saw her,” said Beamer glumly.
“No, the back window,” Scilla said with a jab to his shoulder. “There are two of them.” Two identical heads appeared side by side in the back window â rooster tail hats bouncing up and down in unison.
In spite of Beamer's protests about the urgency of saving Mr. Parker, his parents had insisted that they would look into it on Monday. In the meantime, he would have to finish his usual Saturday chores. So it was several hours later, after he'd swept out the basement and cleaned off the front porch, before the three Star-Fighters were all able to gather up in the tree ship. “We can't let Mrs. Drummond take over Solomon's life,” said Beamer between clenched teeth
“You mean Mrs. Drummond and her twin,” Scilla said, correcting him.
“Okay, she or they are using his trip to our tree ship as an excuse. Just because an old man has fun doesn't mean that he's losing his mind.”
“In case you haven't noticed,” said Ghoulie, “we are just kids. There's not a whole lot we can do.”
“No, we're missing something here,” said Beamer. “Those twins know as well as we that he's not out of his mind. They're up to something â ”
“So we gotta find out what,” Scilla finished for him with her face scrunched thoughtfully.
“How are we going to do that?” Ghoulie asked in frustration. “I doubt if it's on the Internet.”
“What we gotta do is get back into that house before the two old ladies get back,” said Beamer as he paced around.
Just then a thump sounded above their heads.
“Now what?” groaned Beamer, “an invasion by Bigfoot?”
Suddenly a face appeared upside down in the cockpit window. They jumped as if they'd seen a ghost. Beamer's first impulse was to make a run for it. After all, the last time they saw Jack, he looked like a shark hungry for three guppies.
But then Beamer noticed something: the tree in which the ship was cradled was perfectly quiet. The last time somebody came up the tree determined to hurt somebody, a whirlwind grew up around the tree, and a huge cloud of insects chased the invaders away. The tree didn't like people with “malice in their hearts,” as Old Lady Parker had put it. Of course, since it was winter, there weren't many insects around, but the tree probably had other weapons. Then Beamer saw Jack's face crease into a smile.
“Hey, Star-Fighters,” he yelled from outside the window, “Got room for a visitor?”
They all cheered and rushed outside to bring him in.
“Where have you been?” Scilla asked. “Beamer called the shelter, and they said you'd run away.”
“Yeah, well, that place was okay,” Jack said with a shrug, “and I know them folks were only tryin' to help out, but it wasn't for me. No, sir, it was way too limitin'. I felt like I was in prison, whether they meant it that way or not. I had to get outta there. But if you think I'm gonna tell you where I am now . . .” he said with a grin at Scilla. “Not a chance.”
“We didn't think you'd ever want to see us again,” said Beamer with a wary look.
“Yeah, I thought y'all were a lower form of life for awhile, but then I learned that ya didn't know y'all were being set up.”
“How did you find us?” asked Ghoulie. “We never told you where we lived.”
“Hey, just because I live on the streets doesn't mean I'm technologically challenged. I know all about phone books. And scanning a few blocks of sidewalks, curbs, and drains can give you enough change for bus fare.”
“Beamer,” Scilla whispered to him, “we've gotta talk to him about his mama. He can't â ”
“Not now,” Beamer whispered back to her.
Jack finally began taking in his surroundings. “So this is your famous spaceship in a tree, huh? You say you can make warp speed in this box,” Jack said as he strolled into the cockpit. “Nice paint job,” he added as he touched the painted dials. “Looks to me like your brains do most of the warping â no offense, of course,” he added quickly before their faces could change color too much. “You folks definitely have healthy imaginations. I'm just wondering if yours is a little too healthy,” he said with a laugh.