Bruce Coville - 6th Grade Alien 05 - Zombies Of The Science Fair

VIP免费

2024-12-24 0 0 3.81MB 75 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

ZOMBIES OF

THE SCIENCE FAIR

Illustrated by Tony Sansevero

Minstrel

book

Published by POCKET BOOKS

New YorkLondonTorontoSydney Singapore

CHAPTER

[PLESKIT]

A Letter Home

(Translation)

FROM: Pleskit Meenom, on the continually puzzling Planet Earth

TO: Maktel Geebrit, on the too distant and deeply longed for Planet Hevi-Hevi

Dear Maktel:

Well, I have caused another uproar here on Earth.

I suspect that this will come as no surprise to you. I guess I'm not surprised myself. But I can't

understand it. It's not as if I'mtrying to cause trouble. It just seems to follow me around.

I ask you—who could have guessed that asimple project like trying to enhance Tim's brain power could

have turned into the kind of catastrophe I'm about to explain to you?

I'm still not sure how I feel about letting someone else write down my stories, as I did with the

peanut-butter disaster I told you about last time. Therefore, I have decided to go back to the old way

and write downthis series of events myself. Well, not entirely by myself. As usual, Tim

helped. I am also including some transmissions written by the being who was one of

the reasons so much went wrong with my science fair project. These were retrieved

by members of the Trading Patrol after the unfortunate events I am about to describe

were all over. If we had been able to get them earlier, it might have saved a great deal

of trouble.

There's even a chapter from Linnsy, for reasons you will understand later.

I hope your life is calmer and more quiet than mine.

Are youever going to come to visit?

The Fatherly One sends his regards.

I send this story.

Fremmix Bleeblom!

Your pal,

Pleskit

CHAPTER

[TIM]

Science Fair Blues

My head felt as if someone had been hitting it with a sledgehammer. My eyes were burning. My body

ached from exhaustion.

"I can't do it!" I cried. "I just can't do it!" My mother sighed. "Can I assume that it's science fair time

again?"

I nodded numbly. It was no surprise that my mother was able to figure out my symptoms. This happened

to me every year when it came time for the science fair. I longed, ached, yearned to produce the greatest

science fair project the school (the school? Heck, theworld!) had ever seen. I planned and I

schemed. I came up with great ideas, projects that would make every kid in the

school writhe in envy.

Then reality would set in. The stuff I needed cost too much money. I couldn't find the right books. My

idea wasn't realistic anyway. (As my mother is fond of saying, "If they can't solve cold fusion in a

multibillion-dollar lab, what makes you think you can do it in my kitchen?")

Most of all, I just didn't have time to pull it all together.

My upstairs neighbor, Linnsy, liked to point out that the main reason I didn't have time to do what I

wanted was that I never actually started my project until the night before it was due.

"I don't think a real friend would grind that in," I grumbled.

"If I wasn't your friend I wouldn't take the emotional risk of pointing out your shortcomings," she replied

calmly.

"What risk?"

She shrugged. "You might take it badly. You might get angry with me."

"Hah!"

The reason I said "Hah!" is that Linnsy mostly seems to find it amusing when I get mad—which only

makes me madder, which only makes her more amused. So it seemed to me the emotional risk was all

on my side.

But back to my mother. "What, exactly, is it that you're trying to do?" she asked gently, gazing at the

jumble of small metal parts scattered across the kitchen table.

"Robotic squirrel," I muttered.

"Oh, Tim," she sighed. She picked up the remote control for the television, which I had been about to

disassemble, and slipped it into her pocket. Obviously, she didn't trust me to return it in working

condition. "Why can't you choose a reasonable project for once?"

"Because I'm not a reasonable person!" I cried. "You always tell me I should think big, follow my

dreams, believe in myself! Then when I do, you tell me to be reasonable! Ack! Gack! P-tooie!"

Mom sighed again. "My sister warned me about having children. But did I listen? Nooooo. Like an idiot,

I went right ahead and had one anyway."

"Ha very ha."

She knelt beside my chair. "Okay, Tim. Let's see what we can do about this. When is the project due?"

"Thursday."

She closed her eyes, and her face looked pained. "Thursday of what week?"

"This one."

She made an obvious effort not to scream. "But that's only two days away!"

"I hope you don't consider that a news flash, Mom."

She groaned. "Tim, how could you possibly have waited this long to start? Especially after what

happened last year? And the year before, now that I think of it."

"Hey, those other times I didn't start until the night before the project was due. This time I've got two

whole days. Don't I get credit for improvement?"

Ignoring the question, she said, "How did I not know this was happening? How did I not know you

were supposed to be getting ready for this?"

"Been working too hard?" I suggested, hoping to distract her with guilt.

"Been not getting messages that were sent home from school because unreliable son failed to deliver

them?" she countered.

"They're around," I said, but even I knew that sounded lame.

After that, neither of us said anything for a minute. I could tell she was trying not to get too mad. I was

struggling not to do any ofseveral stupid things I felt like doing, including (a) screaming, (b)

sweeping the entire miserable mess onto the floor, and (c) bursting into tears.

Managing to avoid all those, I did something worse instead. My voice dripping

bitterness, I said, "I wish Dad was here."

My mother sucked in her breath, and I cursed my fat mouth. "Sorry," I whispered.

She shook her head, and I could see that she didn't trust herself to speak. She stood up, walked to the

door, stopped, turned back, turned away, turned back again. "We'll talk later," she said, her voice soft.

"I'm sorry, Tim."

Great. Tim Tompkins, emotional genius, strikes again.

I stared at the mess on the table for a while. Finally I decided there was only one thing to do.

I went to my room and sat down at my desk. In front of me was a weird device. Its circular base was

about an inch high and maybe eight or nine inches across. Rising from this base was a round screen,

about ten inches across and no thicker than a penny. On the base was a single rounded button, purple.

I pushed the button. The screen began to glow. A pair of small boxes folded out from the base. A

metallic tentacle stretched up from each of the boxes.

"With whom do you wish to be connected?" asked a pleasant voice.

"Pleskit."

"Noted and logged. I will let you know when contact is established."

I stared at the screen, which was showing a swirling design. After less than a minute the design flickered

and was replaced by the familiar purple face of my best friend, Pleskit Meenom, first alien kid to openly

go to school on Earth.

CHAPTER

[PLESKIT]

Science Fair Blues,

Part 2

Barvgis belched contentedly. "That was splendid, Shhh-foop," he said, holding up his bowl. "May I have

some more?"

Shhh-foop slid across the floor, her orange tentacles waving delicately. "Moreyertztikkia for the

pleasingly round Barvgis coming quickly," she sang. Shhh-foop loves feeding

people—I suppose that's why she became a cook to begin with—and I could tell

from the trill in her voice that she was happy.

She turned to my bodyguard, Robert McNally. "And perhaps some more for the handsome Just

McNally?" she warbled, using the name that she had become convinced he preferred.

His eyes unreadable behind his sunglasses, McNally shook his head. "No, thanks, Shhh-foop. I've had

enough."

I suspected that what he really meant was he had had all he could handle, and would soon be sneaking

off to his room for a little snack of Earthling food—possibly some peanut butter, the strange substance

that had caused so much trouble when it turned out to make me wildly, passionately romantic.

"I wishI could have someyertztikkia," the Grandfatherly One sighed mournfully.

He couldn't, of course, because he died years ago and has no way to digest food. All we have left of him

is his brain, which the Fatherly One kept so that we can have the benefit of his advice and wisdom.

("Not that your Fatherly One ever actually bothersto talk to me," the Grandfatherly One

complains every time I see him.)

Normally the Grandfatherly One stays in a large vat in his own room. But earlier that afternoon I had

shifted him into his portable Brain Transport Device so he could consult with the rest of us while we were

at table.

It would have been nice to have the advice of the Fatherly One as well, of course. But, as usual, he was

off on some important business. I think he was visiting the Queen of England, or someone like that.

Shhh-foop slid back to the counter to fetch theyertztikkia for Barvgis. She had not asked if I

wanted more, probably because she knows I cannot stand the stuff. It looks as if it

were scraped from the bottom of a stagnant pond in the northern wampfields. Smells

that way, too.

"So, what's on your mind, Pleskit?" asked Barvgis, licking someyertztikkia from the corner of his

mouth.

"I am having a terrible time with my project for the science fair," I said, trying not to let my despair sound

in my voice.

"Isn't that due on Thursday?" asked a cold, disapproving voice from the doorway. The voice belonged

to Ms. Buttsman, who had been assigned by the government of our host country to act as protocol

officer for our mission after the disastrous events of our first week on Earth. According to McNally, she

knows everything about how to behave properly, and nothing about how to behave pleasantly. Tim calls

her "The Butt." I personally think of her as "the dreaded Ms. Buttsman."

"Yes, it is," I replied.

She gave me a sharp, cold smile. "Aren't you a little late starting it?"

I smiled right back at her. "I've already completed three projects, Ms. Buttsman. I'm just not satisfied

that any of them is good enough."

Ms. Buttsman's smile faded. "Oh," she said quietly. She turned and walked away from the room.

McNally snorted and gave me that strange Earthling gesture called a high five. "Score one for the

Plesman," he said happily. "Lordy, I do love to see that look on Ms. Buttsman's face."

"I am glad to have been of service, McNally/' I said, quite truthfully. "But it does not solve my current

problem."

"What are the projects you've done already?" asked Barvgis.

"Well, first I did ananalysis of the wave frequencies of Beczle Whompis." Beezle

Whompis is the Fatherly One's new assistant. I like him a great deal, even though he

is an energy creature and has no actual body.

"Sounds good to me," said McNally.

"I thought so, too," I replied. "Only when I showed it to Ms. Weintraub, she said she thought no one

would understand it."

"So what did you do next?" asked the Grand-fatherly One.

"A study of the effect of six different Hevi-Hevian fertilizers on various Earth vegetables."

"So that's where that fifty-pound tomato came from!" cried McNally.

I nodded. "Also the onion the size of my head. Unfortunately, when I showed that project to the Fatherly

One, he informed me the plant foods I used are embargoed technology, and I am not allowed to share

them with the Earthlings."

"Bummer," said McNally.

"I agree. Then I had a real brainstorm. I did a photo essay on the mating habits of the Veeblax.

However, when I showed that project to Ms. Weintraub, she said it was too controversial and was apt

to get the entire science fair closed down."

"You've been censored!" cried McNally indignantly.

"Yes, although I do not understand how simple biological facts can be controversial. I considered

lodging a formal protest, but the Fatherly One talked me out of it."

McNally nodded. "Probably just as well. You weren't going far with that one."

"But all these dead ends leave me with nothing!" I said unhappily. "I have done three complete projects

but still have nothing to take to the science fair. I wish—"

I was interrupted by one of the overhead speakers, which made a belching sound to attract our

attention. A mellow voice said, "Pleskit, incoming call on your comm device."

"Who is it?" I asked.

"Your friend, Timothy."

"Better take it," said McNally. "Knowing the Timster, he's probably got his butt in trouble again."

In this McNally was correct. When I entered my room and turned on the comm device, I saw that Tim's

face looked deeply troubled. His voice sounding as desperate as the expression on his face, he said,

"Pleskit, I need your help!"

"What's wrong?" I cried. "Has some evil being kidnapped your mother? Have you accidentally picked

up an alien parasite that is slowly gnawing your innards?"

Tim stared at me in horror. "Is that possible?"

"I don't know. I'm just trying to figure out what could have you so upset."

He glanced from side to side, as if embarrassed, thenmuttered, "I haven't started my project

for the science fair yet."

"You mean, you don't like any of the projects you've already finished?" I asked, seeking clarification.

Tim looked at me in puzzlement. "I mean I don'thave anything. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Bupkis."

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

ZOMBIESOFTHESCIENCEFAIR IllustratedbyTonySansevero AMinstrelbookPublishedbyPOCKETBOOKSNewYorkLondonTorontoSydneySingapore CHAPTER1[PLESKIT]ALetterHome(Translation)FROM:PleskitMeenom,onthecontinuallypuzzlingPlanetEarthTO:MaktelGeebrit,onthetoodistantanddeeplylongedforPlanetHevi-HeviDearM...

展开>> 收起<<

Bruce Coville - 6th Grade Alien 05 - Zombies Of The Science Fair.pdf

共75页,预览15页

还剩页未读，继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

Bruce Coville - 6th Grade Alien 05 - Zombies Of The Science Fair

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: