License to Thrill (4 page)

“Pep, I've had a crush on you for a long time,” Archie Clone shouted. “Now, finally, I have the opportunity to express my feelings toward you.”

With that, he stuck his foot out to the side and pushed both twins out of the helicopter.

“Hellllllllp!”
they shouted as they landed in the dirt inside a four-walled enclosure that looked like it was made from iron. When the helicopter flew away and the dust had cleared, they could see a familiar figure standing at the top of one of the iron walls.

“Evil Elvis!” Coke shouted.

Yes, it was Evil Elvis, the Presley impersonator also known as their aunt Judy. He—that is, she—had terrorized them all the way from North Carolina to Tennessee.

“We thought you died in the RV explosion!” Pep said.

“Elvis
never
dies,” said Evil Elvis.

Suddenly, a grinding noise could be heard. The twins could see that the walls of the iron enclosure were moving together. The space was getting smaller.

“What's happening?” Coke yelled.

“Oh, don't worry your little head about it,” said Evil Elvis. “This is just a machine they use to crush old cars.”

“So
that's
what Archie Clone meant when he said he had a crush on you,” Coke told his sister.

Coke took a running leap at the iron wall, but it was
too high to climb over. He fell to the ground and had to scramble to back away.

The iron walls continued closing in on all sides. The enclosure had shrunk from the size of a large living room to the size of a bathroom.

“Ha-ha!” shouted Evil Elvis. “Finally, I'll be finished with you twerps! When these walls come together, you will be crushed to death. Your bones will break like twigs and your internal organs will burst like water balloons!”

“Why are you doing this?” Pep screamed frantically. “You're our mother's sister!”

“I'm doing it for Dr. Warsaw,” Aunt Judy/Evil Elvis said solemnly. “The man I love.”

Speak of the devil! Guess who suddenly appeared standing on the other moving wall?

“Dr. Warsaw!” shouted Coke.

“No, it's
me
, Doominator!”

It's true. It was Doominator, the robot clone Dr. Warsaw had created to duplicate himself. He looked and sounded identical to the
real
Dr. Warsaw.

The walls continued closing in on the twins. The sides were less than ten feet apart now. Pep screamed.

“I thought you drowned in the log flume pool!” Coke shouted. “I saw it with my own eyes!”

“That robot
did
drown,” Doominator replied. “I'm
an exact copy of him. I am . . . Doominator 2.”

“You're a clone of a clone?” Coke asked.

“That's right,” Doominator 2 said. “The beauty of digital information is that copies can be made at the touch of a button.”

“I don't care if you're a clone!” shouted Aunt Judy/Evil Elvis. “I love you anyway.”

“Yeah, well I don't love
you
,” Doominator 2 said. “Leave those kids alone!”

He ran over and the next thing anyone knew, the two of them were fighting at the top of the iron wall.

“Don't be cruel!” Aunt Judy/Evil Elvis shouted just before Doominator 2 caught her with a forearm to the face. She fell backward and out of sight.

“Elvis has left the building!” said Doominator 2.

With Aunt Judy/Evil Elvis dispatched, Doominator 2 jumped into the pit with the twins. They recoiled in horror, imagining the next unspeakable thing that was going to happen to them. But instead of raising an arm against them, Doominator 2 got down on the ground in the middle of the moving walls.

“I'm made of iron,” Doominator 2 said. “These walls will not be able to crush me. It's impossible.”

Sure enough, when the walls reached his head and feet, they pressed against him with a huge amount of
force, but the robot clone didn't collapse. The moving walls abruptly stopped. The noisy gears ground to a halt.

“You saved our lives!” Pep shouted.

“Don't mention it,” Doominator 2 grunted. “Run! Get away from here, as far as you can go. Climb on top of me to get out!”

The twins were about to use Doominator 2 as a stepstool, but at that moment somebody climbed in and grabbed them roughly from behind.

“Going somewhere?”

“Dr. Warsaw!” Coke and Pep yelled simultaneously.

Yes, it was Dr. Herman Warsaw. The
real
,
human
Dr. Herman Warsaw, who had created The Genius Files program and become psychotic as a result of 9/11. He had been trying to kill off the twins ever since they were home in California. As always, a cigarette dangled from his lips.

“That just goes to show that if you want something done right, do it yourself,” Dr. Warsaw spat. “Enough incompetence! Why must I be surrounded by idiots?”

“Coke! Do something!”

But there was nothing anyone could do. Dr. Warsaw reached into his jacket and pulled out a pistol.

“No more gimmicks,” he said. “From now on we do things the old-fashioned way.”

“Please! Please!” Coke said. “We'll do anything you ask.”

“Stop begging,” Dr. Warsaw said. “You're pathetic.”

“No! Don't!”

He pulled the trigger.

“C
oke, wake up!” Pep shouted in her brother's ear.

“Huh? What?”

Her brother bolted up and shook his head, as if that would erase the bad thoughts from his brain.

“I was having a dream,” he said, still fuzzy. “A nightmare.”

“About what?”

“We were floating on rafts in a lake,” Coke recalled, “and then the bowler dudes tried to run us down with Jet Skis . . . but we were rescued by Mrs. Higgins . . .
and then she tried to kill us with chloroform . . . but we were saved by Archie Clone . . . and then
he
tried to kill us in a giant car-crushing machine . . . and then Evil Elvis and Doominator showed up. And then Dr. Warsaw. They were
all
trying to do horrible things to us!”

Pep motioned for her brother to look to the left, where the three aliens were staring at them intently. It didn't take a genius to realize that the situation he was currently in was not a whole lot better than his nightmare. Coke flinched.

“Flog slab,” said the alien across the room.

“Stop saying that!” Coke shouted, getting up off the table he had been lying on. “Is that all you know how to say?”

“Flog slab,” said the alien in the middle.

The twins both had slight headaches, but didn't realize it was because their brains had been probed. They glanced quickly around the room. All the screens and unusual equipment made it look like a hospital, or perhaps some kind of a laboratory.

“Do you think they performed bizarre medical experiments on us while we were sleeping?” Pep asked. She examined her arms and legs for cuts, scars, or bruises, but found nothing.

“I don't know,” Coke replied. “Why don't you ask
Moe, Larry, and Curly over there?”

“Flog slab,” said the alien on the right.

“You know what?” Coke said. “I've had enough of you three.”

“What did you
do
to us?” Pep begged the aliens. “Why are we here? When will you let us go? We want to go back to our parents.”

“You're wasting your breath,” her brother told her. “They're not going to answer. All they know how to say is
flog slab
.”

“Boolay,” said the one he'd called Moe. “Boolay wow boolay.”

Coke and Pep looked at each other, then back at the three aliens. Pep's jaw dropped open.

“What did you say?” she asked.

“Boolay wow boolay,” said Larry, nodding its head.

“Boolay wow boolay,” said Curly.

“Gurk quizzlibub,” said Moe. “Gurk quizzlibub good evening gurk quizzlibub.”

“They're
talking
!” Coke exclaimed. “They're using words that sound something like our words. What do they mean?”

“I don't know,” Pep said, “but I'm going to figure it out.”

Pep loved word games and she was excellent at solving puzzles of all kinds. To a large extent, her verbal
skill was the reason why she and Coke were still alive. If she hadn't been able to figure out all those ciphers along the road, there was no telling what would have happened to them.

Pep faced the aliens and slowly asked, “What does
boolay
mean?”

“Boolay wow boolay,” said Moe, who appeared to be the “spokesman” for the group. “Boolay wow boolay wow.”

“Wait a minute. Does
boolay
mean ‘wow'?” Pep asked.

“Boolay wow boolay wow,” all three aliens responded, nodding their heads vigorously. “Gurk quizzlibub good evening gurk quizzlibub.”

“
Boolay
means ‘wow' in their language!” Pep said, jumping up and down. “Boolay!”

“Boolay wow boolay,” said Curly.

“You don't know that for sure,” Coke told his sister. “Maybe they're just making random vocalizations, or imitating you. Like a parrot or something.”

“Boolay boolay boolay,” said the aliens.

“Gurk quizzlibub good evening gurk quizzlibub,” said the one the twins had dubbed Larry.

“Do you think
gurk quizzlibub
means ‘good evening'?” Pep asked. “Maybe
gurk
means ‘good' and
quizzlibub
means ‘evening.'”

“Don't look at
me
,” Coke said, “I don't speak alien.”

“Gurk quizzlibub good evening,” said Curly. “Good evening gurk quizzlibub.”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Pep shouted, clapping her hands.

“Yerp yes yerp yes yerp yes,” said Moe.

“And
yerp
must mean ‘yes'!” Pep said. “Can you believe this? We're communicating with them!”

“It sounds as if we can say any English word and they'll translate it,” Coke said.

“Hand,” Pep said, holding up her hand for the aliens to see.

“Blisky,” said the aliens. “Blisky hand. Hand blisky.”

“Eyes,” Pep said, pointing to her eyes.

“Klimps,” said the aliens. “Klimps eyes. Eyes klimps.”

“Nose,” Pep said, touching her nose.

“Snorfle,” said the aliens. “Snorfle nose. Nose snorfle.”

“Spy,” said Coke, wanting to get in on the conversation.

“Snarg,” said the aliens. “Snarg spy. Spy snarg.”

“Love,” Pep said, cradling her arms as if she was hugging herself.

“Zurk,” said the aliens. “Zurk love. Love zurk.”

Coke and Pep, excited at this breakthrough, moved closer to the three aliens. It was still a frightening
situation, but the joy of communicating with beings from another planet had more than made up for any apprehension the twins had.

After translating all the major body parts, they advanced to more difficult words and concepts. Up/Down. Bad/Good. In/Out. Take. Make. Went. Give. Like. Go. Be. Have. Do. Say. And so on. Soon full sentences and quotations were shooting back and forth.

“To be or not to be, that is the question,” said Pep.

“To zweek or blop to zweek, that is the snazzle wogger,” Moe replied.

“Give me liberty or give me death,” said Coke.

“Give me rendium or give me gogwatsfu,” Larry replied.

“The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain,” said Coke.

“The okletoxx in Purzly derps mortrab on the flamplant,” replied Moe.

“I think they've got it!” exclaimed Coke.

“I chukah fliff snix barble!” exclaimed Curly.

In a short period of time, the aliens were able to understand simple English and the twins had a working knowledge of the alien language. Suddenly, they looked like they were all old friends.

“Wait a minute,” Coke said. “What about flog slab? What does
that
mean?”

“Flog slab golf balls flog slab golf balls flog slab golf balls,”
chanted the aliens.

“Wait a minute,” Pep said. “Flog slab means golf balls? None of your
other
words were spelled backward. That doesn't make sense.”

“English makes sense?” asked Moe. “Aren't you the ones who drive on the parkway and park on the driveway?”

“So, you understand English?” Pep finally asked the aliens.

“Yerp,” replied Moe. “We do now. While the two of you were murkling—I mean sleeping—we examined your brains.”

“You looked inside my sister's brain?” Coke asked. “Did you find anything?”

“Very funny, Coke,” Pep said. “On our planet, we would call it an invasion of privacy. They could have done
anything
to us while we were asleep. Did you do bizarre medical experiments on us?”

“That depends on what you mean by bizarre,” said Moe. “We learned how your skrats, I mean brains, generate thoughts, dreams, memories, perceptions, and other mental images. And we learned your language.”

“Golf balls golf balls golf balls!” chanted Larry and Curly.

“Why do they keep saying golf balls?” Coke asked.

“Oh, you'll find out,” said Moe.

“How long were we asleep?” Pep asked.

“About five splinks, I mean minutes,” Moe said.

“You mean to say that in just five minutes you analyzed our brains and learned the entire English language?”

“No,” said Moe. “We also had some wergle. I mean, lunch.”

Pep was flabbergasted. She had taken a full year of French at school during the fourth grade, and she barely remembered anything beyond
bonjour
and
Où est la bibliothèque?
(“Where is the library?”)

Coke was equally impressed, and a little intimidated. He had never met anyone who came
close
to his level of intelligence, much less surpassed it. Coke's IQ score, he knew, was in the mid-150 range, which qualified him as a genius.
The Guinness Book of World Records
, which he had memorized cover to cover, once listed a woman named Marilyn vos Savant with an IQ of 190, one of the highest ever recorded.