“Yes. Ask me.”

“Turtlebear…” Mom said, sounding exasperated. “Look, don’t tell anyone else, because it’s really supposed to be a surprise, but the Gorg are bringing us the cure for cancer.”

“What?” I said.

“What?” said J.Lo.

“I know! Isn’t it amazing? They really want to earn our trust.”

I crossed my arms.

“Sounds like they already have our trust,” I said.

J.Lo gasped. When I looked to see why, he had one hand to his mouth and the other pointing at me.

“You…” he squealed, wagging his finger, “…your hand!”

I raised my hand to my face, turning it over and back again.

“What? What’s wrong with it?”

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“You are bearing the mark! The mark that has been foretold! You are The One…The One who will bring peace onto the galaxy!”

“What, this? This is taco sauce,” I said, wiping it clean.

J.Lo stared at my palm for a moment, then turned back to the wall.

“Never mind,” he said.

There came a knock at the door, just two short raps, very functional. We scrambled around for a few seconds. Soon the Boov was in the ghost suit and Pig was in the car, which would be a good lyric for a bluegrass song, now that I think of it. I went to answer the door. J.Lo had rigged up some strange hinges and a lock, and I slid the bolt back and peered through the crack.

“It’s the Chief!” I shouted. His red cap was in his hand and his peppery hair was combed. He looked better.

“Hey, Chief,” I said. “Come on in.”

“Much obliged, Stupidlegs.”

Mom frowned at this, but took his hat all the same. She looked confused as J.Lo removed his costume and I retrieved Pig.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “who—?”

I hadn’t mentioned the Chief. It seemed whenever Mom heard any details about our trip she’d go pale and start crossing herself, so there was a lot I hadn’t mentioned.

“His real name is Frank,” I said. “He’s a junkman.”

Mom winced. “That’s not very nice.”

“Oh, no. I meant—”

“I used to trade and sell junk,” the Chief said.

I rattled off a bit of the Chief’s history. Without specifically mentioning the teleclone booth, I still managed to work in the part where the Chief got walloped by a Gorg.

“My God,” Mom breathed, and crossed herself. She looked shaken. “Thank you for protecting my daughter.”

“Don’t mention it.” He sniffed the air. “You have real food.”

“Just a little,” Mom said. “We’re still having milk shakes, mostly. But I have some potatoes and onions, and it’s no trouble cloning olive oil. Will you stay?”

“Be honored,” he said, then caught sight of the telecloner. “How’s my booth?”

“Your Boovish shower booth?” I said quickly. “It’s fine.”

The Chief stared at me.

“Good to know,” he said, and sat down with a chorus of pops and creaks at our dinette.

After dinner J.Lo helped Mom wash up, and I walked with the Chief out to his truck.

“Got some friends and cousins comin’ down from the res,” he said. “Should be here in a couple days. And I’m gonna leave tomorrow morning to round up some more. Friends of friends, and air force types. People we can trust.”

“Do you know some of the Papago Indians around here?” I asked.

“Tohono O’Odham,” said the Chief. “The Tohono O’Odham Nation. Papago is derogatory. Means ‘bean eaters.’ And yeah, I know a few. What’s the story ’bout the ‘Boovish shower’?”

“Oh, yeah. My mom’s been working with that Dan Landry guy, and he seems pretty pro-Gorg. So I’m worried maybe Mom is, too.”

“Heard a lot about him. Seems like a snake.”

“I think she likes him,” I said. “I guess he’s nice looking, in a cornflakes kind of way. He probably likes her, too. He sure wants her around a lot. I mean, we’re a hundred miles from the Mexican border and she’s still the best Spanish speaker he can find?”

“Be careful of him. He’s got some skeletons in his closet.”

“No,” I said, “just brooms.”

“Huh?”

“He has a broom closet attached to his office. I almost walked into it.”

“That’s weird.”

I caught some movement out of the corner of my eye.

“Hey, Lincoln!” I shouted, and ran up to where he strained against his leash, nearly pulling the truck in two. I patted him down, and he made sure my face was good and slimy.

“Do you two need a place to stay?” I asked.

“You don’t have the space. We’re fine sleeping in the camper bed. You could store a couple boxes for me, though, so we got a little more room.”

I walked back to the casino with two boxes of the Chief’s war souvenirs to put in Slushious. He’d promised to be back in two or three days.

The next morning, word started to spread: the Nothing to Worry About Festival had been rescheduled. Excellent Day was no longer Labor Day. Excellent Day was tomorrow.

“That can’t be true,” said Mom. “Why would they do that?”

I ran outside to look for the Chief’s truck, but he’d already left. As I walked back I saw a great swarm of Boov ships to the east. They flew slowly, close together, not on the attack. They were going to formally surrender to the Gorg.

Six times that morning I saw J.Lo stare at our old cell phone.

“Chief’s gone,” I said as I reentered our place.

“Old people get up really early,” said Mom. “He probably left hours ago. Don’t worry…this place is always full of rumors.”

But by early afternoon the Gorg’s crab robots were clacking around, delivering the news.

“DUE TO UNFORESEEN EXCELLENCE,” Gorg faces announced through the robots’ jittery screens, “THE EXCELLENT DAY FESTIVITIES WILL BE HELD TOMORROW MORNING AT SUNRISE. HUMANS OF THE AIRPORT DISTRICT WILL MEET ON THE AIRPORT TARMAC TO WATCH THE BOOV RETREAT. ATTENDANCE IS MANDATORY! MANDATORY! MESSAGE ENDS.”

“This is ridiculous!” said Mom. “It must be a mistake. I’m going to talk to Daniel. Don’t go anywhere this time. For real.”

She ran out of our apartment still holding one shoe.




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