My Gym Teacher Is an Alien Overlord (8 page)

The Overlord swung one hand up from her hip, clutching what at first I took to be a weapon. I winced as she leveled the device at me, and then relaxed when I saw that it looked remarkably like a TV remote control. She thumbed a large green button. In any language—even an alien one—it had to be the
ON
switch.

There was a buzz and a shimmer as a giant screen materialized out of nowhere. It floated inches from my face, weightless and glowing. An image of a spinning planet appeared.

“Behold our home world,” she began. “A peaceful planet: a climate in perfect balance, a contented population.” The picture changed to a flyover of rolling green countryside and thick, forested hillsides, giving way to vast deserts, soaring mountain ranges, and deep blue oceans. “For thousands of years we existed with no hunger, no sickness, no need of money, no need to work. To be honest, it was getting kind of boring.”

The picture changed again, this time displaying clips of what I took to be TV shows. From what I could tell of the rapidly changing imagery, there was a sitcom starring a family of robots, another about a talking dog doctor, a drama set in a big country house with squids in gowns, a game show where you could win a fridge with arms, and lots of alien police shows.

“To amuse our people, our TV channels evolved to a level of entertainment unmatched in the history of the universe—except perhaps for five years of the cable channel you call HBO. We created the funniest comedies, the most moving dramas, until finally we reached the acknowledged pinnacle of TV entertainment:
reality shows
. But our audience craved more. More excitement. More teary moments. More explosions. And so there was just one logical development.”

The screen filled with the hulking shape of a spaceship. Its hull bristled with alien gun platforms, missile tubes, and the biggest satellite dish I'd ever set eyes on. The Overlord turned to me. “We weaponized our entertainment.” She smiled. “Thus we created the reality TV show to end all shows. It has everything: drama, comedy, cliff-hangers, guest stars, exotic locations, giant robots, unexpected twists, and lots—
and lots
—of explosions. The concept is simple—all the best ones are. Each season, we travel to a far-off star system and invade a new planet.” She leaned in. “And this year, it's yours.”

My brain tried to process what I had just heard and could only spit out a great big “Huh?” Surely she wasn't saying that the invasion of Earth was a reality show?

“You'll never get away with it,” I squeaked.

“Are you kidding?” sneered the Overlord. “We
always
win.
The Show
has been running continuously for a thousand years. It is more than entertainment; it is our way of life—as it will become yours.”

I felt a bead of sweat roll down my back. “What do you mean?”

The Overlord clicked her remote control again. An image of a classroom appeared, filled with sue-dunham wearing headsets and sitting in front of more of those floating displays. It looked like one of our ICT classrooms. ICT stood for “Information and Communications Technology,” although maybe that should have been renamed “Invasion Command and Transmission.” “Once we conquer your world, you and every other earthling will be hooked up to our interplanetary broadcasting network, allowing us to beam
The Show
directly into your brain, blocking out everything else—
for the rest of your life
. Soon, like billions before you, all you will care about is
The Show
.” She paused. “Think of it not as an invasion but more like a connection fee.” She turned to address the sue-dunham horde, intoning, “The audience must grow.”

They chanted their response. “The audience must grow.”

And as the chilling sound faded, the Overlord commanded in a loud, braying voice, “Activate the Doofsday Machine.”

I was aware of a surge of activity among the crew as they hurried to carry out her order.

“Our finest military minds were tasked with devising a plan to defeat Star Guy,” said the Overlord, with a fierce glance toward a line of aliens at the front of the sue-dunham ranks. “All failed.” The aliens hung their heads. “But where they disappointed me, you, Luke Parker of Earth, have triumphed!”

There was a ripple of movement at the door to the girls' locker room as the alien invaders made way for a new arrival.

“While my generals thought like soldiers, you were not bound by their plodding predictability,” she continued. “Yes, somehow even with just one slow, insufficient brain, you took an imaginative leap. And like all the great solutions—the gravimatic wave refractor, the solar-density ramscoop, the infrared TV remote—yours was so simple. You could not defeat the superhero, so you did not try. No, your evil brilliance was to target the weakling human being behind the mask. Behold!” The Overlord signaled to the crowd, who, with a squeak of sneakers against the metal deck, promptly stood aside to allow a familiar figure to pass.

Cara Lee strolled into the center of the room.

“Hi, kid,” she drawled.

It looked like her. Spoke like her. Except I knew it wasn't her. If the aliens had followed my plan to the letter, then the thing that stood before me was in fact—

“A perfect robot replica.” The Overlord slowly circled the look-alike Cara, admiring her from every angle. “Forged in the nano laboratories of this very mother ship, she is a flawless copy of the young human female known to you as Cara Marjorie Lee.”

Marjorie?
She'd kept that quiet.

The Overlord was right: the robot was uncannily lifelike. If I didn't know better, I'd be fooled, which was the whole point of the plan.
My
plan, I remembered with a gulp.

“What better way to distract a teenage boy superhero than with a teenage girl?” The Overlord pushed her face into the Cara-borg's. “Though for the life of me, I don't see the attraction. Not enough mucus.” She shuddered. “Once she has broken Star Guy's concentration, his dratted force field will drop, making him vulnerable to a precision strike from my long-range viral agitator.” She resumed her steady procession around the Cara-borg. “We have made a study of Earth's teenage girls. And our robot is programmed to behave just like a typical example. She cannot be bargained with. She cannot be reasoned with. And she absolutely will not stop, ever, until she has tracked down Star Guy and completed her mission.” The Overlord circled back in front of the robot. “Cara Marjorie Lee, state your mission objectives.”

The Cara-borg stood to attention. “One, locate the superhero known as Star Guy. Two, gain his affection. Three, achieve mass distraction through the use of my onboard osculatory function.”

“Her what?” I asked.

The Overlord smiled. “A small modification to your plan. It has been determined by our ratings super-computer that in order to fully distract Star Guy, the robot must engage him in what you humans call . . .
canoodling
.”

“You monsters,” I gasped. The sue-dunham were more evil than I could possibly have imagined.

“Yes,” said the Overlord. “We are monsters.” She loomed over me. “And we're coming to get everyone you love.”

I fought rising panic. The sue-dunham had to be stopped, and I was the only one who knew about the invasion. But not for long.

I closed my eyes, and in my head I shouted Zack's name over and over, trusting that he would pick up my distress call telepathically. I pictured my small voice reaching out through the cosmic darkness. For the sake of billions of human beings, Zack
had
to hear me.

And he did.

“What?” said his grudging voice eventually. “This better be important, Luke. I'm studying for my algebra test.”

I took a deep breath and said, “Zack, I'm on board an alien mother ship and they all look like my gym teacher and they're about to launch an invasion using a robot Cara and force us to watch reality shows for the rest of time.”

There was a pause. “I told you,” said Zack in a low voice. “I warned you what would happen if you clogged up our telepathic connection with more nonsense. That's it, Luke—you're
banned
.”

“But, Zack, I'm not—”

Click.

The telepathic link went dead.

He didn't believe me. Typical. Sure, he'd fly to everyone else's rescue at the drop of a cat, but when I needed him? Uh-uh. I was on my own. And now Earth was at the mercy of the sue-dunham.

The Overlord poked the
OFF
switch on her TV remote, and the floating screen vanished. “Now that you know our plans,” she said, “we cannot, of course, permit you to leave the ship and raise the alarm.” Two of the sue-dunham separated themselves from the front rank and took me firmly by each arm. “See that our honored guest is made
most comfortable
. Take him to the math block!”

With that, the Overlord leaped onto the pommel horse, puffed out her chest, and cast a bulgy eye across the alien masses. “Prepare for the invasion. Ready the fighter-bombers. Charge the long-range viral agitator. Launch the teenage girl. Today Luke Parker,” she crowed, “tomorrow the world.”

With the triumphant shriek of alien whistles ringing in my ears, I was escorted from the transporter room/gymnasium, bound for detention in the math block. The sue-dunham had plugged into my deepest fears: not only did every one of them look like my terrifying gym teacher, but this section of the mother ship was also a replica of my loathed school, right down to the inexplicable smell of cabbage forever wafting through the corridors. Oh, if only the aliens
had
appeared to me as slimy, multiheaded, slavering monsters.
That
I could have coped with. But this? This was the true face of horror.

“Hey,” I complained to the guards, “is this any way to treat the Thucwex Gsuphlon?”

Ignoring my protests, they led me deeper into the mother ship. As we passed a row of English classrooms, I was sure I could hear from inside the unmistakable drone of trapped children being forced to recite Shakespeare. I ventured a peek into one, only to see rows of empty chairs. If the torturous sound was a simulation, its purpose to instill dread, then it was working.

The aliens herded me upstairs to the math block. I tried to engage them in conversation, hoping they might let slip something I could use against them.

“You won't win, whatever the Overlord thinks. Invaders never do,” I said, hoping that they hadn't read the limited-series comic crossover
Secret Invasion
, in which the Skrulls nearly succeeded.

The sue-dunham guards ignored me.

“I know you can understand me,” I said. “In comics aliens can all speak perfect English because they have some kind of universal translation device implanted in their heads.” The guards studied me in curious silence. “One thing puzzles me about your plan. If you can turn yourself into my gym teacher, then I'm guessing you could make yourself look like any human being. So why bother building a robot that looks like Cara when one of you could just turn yourself into a copy of her?”

The guards exchanged looks. I got the feeling they were debating whether to answer my question. Finally, the leader turned to me and in a dull voice droned, “The audience loves an evil robot.” It was a fair point. Under different circumstances I could see the appeal.

They didn't utter another word for the remainder of our march to the math block. We came to a halt outside classroom AA-23.

I'd never been in detention before. Josh Khan got one for not doing his geography homework. He didn't seem to care, swaggering about the next day saying, “If you can't do the time, don't do the crime.” Which seemed funny to me, since his detention lasted only fifteen minutes—though he didn't laugh when I pointed that out to him in front of the rest of the class.

The first guard reached into a holster on her belt, drew out another of those TV remotes, and pointed it at the lock. There was the snick of sliding bolts, and then the door swung wide. She bundled me inside, and the door closed automatically behind me. I was a prisoner.

Looking around, I could see that the classroom was identical to the one in my real school except for the view out. Rising above the sports field shone the dizzying band of the Milky Way. I tore myself away—this was no time to be admiring the beauty of the cosmos. The Cara-borg was already heading for Earth to hunt down Star Guy. I needed to figure out a way off this bucket of bolts, and fast.

I scoured the classroom for anything to aid my escape. First I checked the storage cupboard. As I sifted through the items inside, separating any that might prove useful, I was startled by a sound. Someone was humming, faint but clear. I recognized the tune, the chorus to the latest single from the new Billy Dark album. It was coming from behind the teacher's desk at the front of the room. I rounded the desk to find a small grate at the base of the wall; then I dropped to my knees and pressed my ear to listen. I had a strong suspicion about who was at the other end of the duct.

“Cara,” I whispered. “Is that you?”

There was a frantic scraping sound and a thud from the other end, and then a familiar voice said, “Who's there?”

“It's me, Luke Parker.”

“Kid!” It was Cara, all right. “They got you too, huh?”

It made perfect sense that she'd be imprisoned here. The sue-dunham couldn't have the real Cara Lee getting in the way while their robot copy went about her evil mission.

“What happened to you?” she asked. “I was walking through the park, listening to the new Billy Dark album, and the next thing I knew—”

“There was a green flash and you woke up craving grilled cheese.”

“Yeah. And the weirdest thing is, I don't even
like
grilled cheese.”

“It's good that you're a prisoner here too,” I said.

“It is?” said Cara, puzzled. “Good for who?”

“For all humankind,” I said. I had an idea that taking Cara Lee prisoner might prove to be the sue-dunham's undoing. Zack didn't want to hear from
me
, but she was someone he'd
always
take a call from. “Cara, you have to contact Star Guy telepathically.”

“I do? Why would he listen to me?”

“He'll listen, trust me. You have to tell him everything. Reach out with your mind. Are you reaching?”

“OK, OK. Here I go.” There was a delay that seemed to last forever, and then Cara said excitedly, “It's him! I can hear his voice.”

We were saved! Now the aliens would get what was coming to them. My superhero brother would be here in a flash. Oh yeah, the sue-dunham were about to—

“No, wait,” said Cara. “It's a recorded message.” In a halting voice she repeated it for me. “‘Hello, it's Star Guy. I appreciate your call. However, due to the excessive number of mind-to-mind requests I receive, I've had to limit access to my telepathic communication. If you have a PIN, please enter it now. If your request is urgent, or you believe you should be on the approved caller list, then contact the District Council, extension eight six two.' Or it might have been eight six four. It went a bit crackly at the end.” Cara sighed. “He's not coming for us, is he?”

“Nope,” I said. I didn't have a PIN. I didn't even know there was an approved caller list. “If we're getting out of here, we're going to have to do it all by ourselves.”

“OK, Houdini,” she said. “So how exactly do we do that?”

I paced the classroom, deep in thought. Harry Houdini, the famous escapologist, would have freed himself from this place in seconds, with only a smile and a hairpin hidden in his silk underpants. But did I have skills like Houdini? I was about to find out.

“OK, let's review,” I said. “All we have to do is escape from detention, evade the hordes of deadly sue-dunham prowling the corridors, make our way back to the transporter in the gym, figure out how to work the controls, and beam ourselves home.”

“Right. Simple then,” said Cara.

I was glad she agreed. I continued my search for equipment to aid our escape. One of those TV remotes would have been useful. It seemed to be the sue-dunham's version of the Doctor's sonic screwdriver in
Doctor Who
, capable of unlocking doors—and who knew what else. Unfortunately, all I could lay my hands on were a pack of three-ring binders in pastel shades, a handful of thumbtacks, a metal protractor, a triangle, and a dozen plastic rulers. I informed Cara.

“Useful, kid,” she said. “If you want to give the aliens a particularly tricky geometry problem.”

I twirled the triangle around my finger. “Y'know what, that's not a bad idea.”

Five minutes later, everything was in place. Now, for my plan to have any chance of success, I had to attract the attention of the guard outside the door. I could see her outline through the frosted glass.

“Ooooh,” I moaned, loud enough for her to hear. “I don't feel well. I think it was the grilled cheese. The room is spinning. I'm going to blow space chunks.
Bleurgh
.”

I kept up my pretend retching until the door swung open and the guard poked her head inside to check on me.

That was her first mistake.

The dozen rulers I'd tacked to the door frame bent back under the action of the opening door and, with a volley of
boings
, pinged against her face. Wincing at the slaps, she stumbled into the room—and the next part of my trap. I had set the binders in a tight pattern across the floor, their stiff metallic rings pried apart like bear traps, ready to clamp onto unwary feet. The guard lurched into the minefield, letting out whistles of pain as dozens of metal pincers nipped at her toes. In an attempt to avoid further injury, she performed a desperate hopping dance that brought her within range of the storage cupboard where I'd secreted myself. From my hiding place I watched as she teetered on one leg, weakened and off balance. I wouldn't get a better chance.

I sprang from the cupboard. “Hypotenuse
this
,” I quipped, bringing the curved metal edge of the protractor down like a pirate cutlass, severing the holster from her belt and spilling the remote control held inside. Catching the falling device, I leaped nimbly over the snapping binders. Once on the other side of the door, I quickly aimed and fired the remote. The door slammed shut, sealing the guard inside.

Seconds later I freed Cara from the classroom next door. She looked down at me.
“Hypotenuse this
?
”

I shrugged. “Best I could come up with.”

She glanced both ways along the empty corridor. “Come on,” she said. “We're not out of this yet.”