Chapter Two
The Antares Z-class sedan's angular, aerodynamic chassis and its radiation-shield tinted windows gave the sports car/spacecraft hybrid a swift look, even though it sat impotently in the doorway of the garage of the Neutrons' suburban home, panels and down-sloped nose opened, fluid settled in small puddles around the parts, tools and small prone body of the mechanic who was hard at work in the car's now unsealed undercarriage.
Carl and Sheen strolled from up the small street, watching from their distance, a sneakered foot just barely extended from the under the large vehicle, moving to the beat to a rock song coming from the sound system in the car's spacious interior.
"Hey, guys!" came the familiar high voice from below the car. "I'll be with you in a minute. Just working on some after market modifications to my baby. What's up?"
"Oh, nothing much, Jimmy," Carl demurred. "But how did you know it was us?"
"Well, one of the components I was reattaching was a relay to one of the car's sensor suites," Jimmy explained. "With my diagnostic/calibration unit patched in, I ran a cursory scan and detected you two."
"Oh..." Carl and Sheen intoned in mindless faux-understanding. Sheen was the first to break through the spell of supposed techno-babble.
"Anyway, that was the absolute coolness, you and Jet Fusion crashing Professor Calamitous' super weapon this morning," he gushed in his usually grating voice. "Ha! Adventure, truly the most important meal of the day!"
"Well, it almost became my last meal, Sheen. I think Calamitous is getting a little better at the Mad Scientist Game." Jimmy muttered aloud with a sigh. "Wanna cruise Saturn for awhile, guys? I don't feel like being cooped up here. I wanna just take off for awhile."
"Sure, Jimmy," Sheen perked up. "Just so long as we don't come back too late. My pop's making Sloppy Joes tonight."
"No problem. Could one of you hand me the magneto-spanner?"
"What's it look like?" Carl asked, bending down to pick among the strange tools lying on the driveway.
"It look like a small monkey wrench with a power source built into its handle."
Carl began to look harder, wracking his mind to match shape recognition to the mystery device and flustering all the way. Jimmy could hear him hyperventilate from under the car.
"Carl...Carl, relax. I'll get it. Don't worry."
Jimmy was about to orient his body to the side to reach out and fish for the tool, when the device was suddenly extended to him, stopping just short of his face.
From his position, he couldn't see past the middle of the spanner's shaft.
"Thanks, Carl," he said while taking the tool proffered him. "I should be done in a few minutes."
"Uh, I didn't find it, Jimmy," came Carl's nervous reply.
"Sheen?"
"Dude, I couldn't find it even if I knew what you were talking about," Sheen confessed.
Jimmy was at a loss. If they didn't hand him the tool, who else was out there? He twisted his body to grab his diagnostic device and then peered into its small screen. The basic, low-res wire frames of Sheen and Carl stood to the side of the Antares. This wasn't right.
He scooted bodily from the undercarriage and took a look at the two men dressed in non-descript black suits, ties, and matching sunglasses standing stiffly over his pensive friends.
"Let me guess," Jimmy said as he deduced the reason he couldn't detect the newcomers. "Stealth suits?"
The closest man from the boy offered him his hand and helped Jimmy to his feet.
"James Isaac Neutron," the man in black intoned, "Your country needs you."
"I know, but I can't run for president until after college. I told you guys this," Jimmy quipped, looking for a reaction in his stoic audience and finding none. "Hmm. No sense of humor present," he mock-analyzed. "You're both either real ambitious undertakers, or you both work for the BTSO."
Upon hearing Jimmy mention the organization, the lead's companion said, "Commander Baker requests your presence for a ultra high level meeting being held now."
"Your expertise is crucial to this matter," the lead man in black added.
Sheen, heedless of the weight of the conversation, twitched in manic glee at the thought of another adventure. "Did someone say...ultra?"
The flanking man in black picked up on the Latino boy's mood in a heartbeat. "Negative. Orders are to bring Jimmy Neutron to the meeting. No civilians."
"But the two of them are honorary agents of the BTSO," Jimmy appealed to the two men, "Couldn't they come with me?"
"Negative, Agent Neutron," the lead said, not noticing or choosing not to notice the slight, prideful smirk and straightened posture that being called "Agent" produced in the boy. "Only authorized personnel are requested. That means you."
Jimmy's heart went out to his buddies, who wilted, crestfallen. "Sorry, fellas. Don't worry, I'll tell you all about it when I get back. It's probably the commander telling me that they've found Calamitous," he said, trying to cheer them up with a wan smile. He then turned to his escorts.
"Let me finish putting my things away and then I'll go with you," he told them.
The two agents nodded and stood ramrod still as Jimmy collected his tools, rags and disconnected car parts and put them in the garage. Then he wiped his greasy hands on his rag, tossed it into the garage, as well, and then walked with the agents to their waiting black sedan, leaving his friends feeling put out and more than a little apprehensive.
They could be seen cresting over the eerily green planet's terminator as iron-gray dots.
As they came over to the brighter side of Yolkus, its sun brought the objects' details in to sharp clarity. They flew in a loose formation; gigantic semi-aerodynamic vessels sporting as few ports and windows as necessary, their engines massive and hearty, their radiation-scarred, armored hulls resolute, their guns, belligerent and ready.
From below, a fleet of Yolkian warships were spiraling up through the atmosphere on an intercept course, looking, for all the world, like a flock of gleaming, steel rubber chickens.
Despite their comical appearance, the Yolkian task force of three Cock-a-doodle-Doom Class destroyers, two Capon Class corvettes, one Hatchery Class starfighter carrier and a Henn Class hospital frigate following at a safe distance, gave a curious air of menace as the beaks of their flat, vertical "heads" opened wide, exposing a main weapons port that began to glow as green and energetic as the shield projectors that ringed the ships' upper "bodies" and "necks", and the Bussard Collectors that ran across the length of their thruster "legs".
As the Yolkian vessels reached orbital space, their heads, which were angled down both in a default position and as a ready position for planetary bombardment, slowly rose up to the invaders, as though the ships had just began to notice their opposing number.
The invading fleet slowed to orbital station-keeping, maintaining their position over the planet, yet keeping a distance from the defenders, as if watching what they would do next.
For a moment, both fleets hung in the stars, ponderous and unmoving. Then, all at once, the invaders fired on the Yolkians.
The forward-most destroyer took the brunt of the barrage, its energy shields dissipating and absorbing as much as they were able before they collapsed and the front and right side of its head crumpled, the kinetic energy of the blasts threatening to rip the head off of its neck structure.
Attacking the lead ship in the fleet, however, gave the Yolkian commanders in the other destroyers time to pull ahead quickly into wide flanking positions, taking fire from the lead invading fleet's large escort vessels. They swung into graceful, near-bootlegger turns and slowed into perpendicular angles from the lead opposing ships, then fired their pulsing, emerald disruptors into their broadsides.
As the destroyers engaged the enemy, the Yolkian corvettes eased back into escort positions around the Hatchery Class carrier. Once they were settled protectively near the carrier, the Hatchery began to open the two topside hatches that ran the length of its broad back, hatches that revealed hangar elevators that were now raising their fighters into launch positions.
Scores of diminutive starfighters that looked like gold and green metallic chicks, rested row upon row along the now exposed deck of the mother ship. On the chick-fighters' backs sported a single high canopy which was simply the familiar dome of a Yolkian travel pod, plugged in, each one crewed with a amorphous blob of a pilot.
When they were ready, the Fledgling Attack Starfighters exploded off the larger ship like pollen in a strong breeze, a breeze that took them on a course to down the enemy escort ships.
The wing of fighters closed rapidly with the enemy frigates who were harassing the destroyers, and divided themselves into squadrons, then four fighter elements that were given tasks of either shooting down or bombing their targets.
Two flights of Fledgling bombers made tight, fast runs at one of the lead corvettes. Their compatriots, another flight flying close to escort them, disabled a prime target, an aft shield generator.
From the bellies of the bombers, a hatch split in two and rocketed egg-shaped projectiles surged out of their bays. All along the surface of the now vulnerable corvette, Bad Egg bomb explosions blossomed, tearing hull and vital engineering decks into depressurized scrap yards, and irradiating everything else near them.
The corvette's engines began to vibrate hard enough to be seen from the fighters' cockpits, internal detonations doomed the power cores and the surrounding magnetic containment fields. Then the explosion came, buckling the craft amidships and tearing the aft section free.
The Yolkian fighters broke away from the stricken ship and gurgled in triumph when they saw the forward and rear sections of the ship, propelled by the momentum of its detonation and trailing flames, detritus and corpses, drive into the command elevations of a nearby destroyer and the side of another corvette, respectively.
The fighters were grouping together to make a run for one of the battlecruisers that was pounding a Cock-a-doodle-Doom destroyer, the Royal Aeronavy Ship Cluck of War, to a flaming standstill, when another ship from the enemy fleet, coming from its rear, moved up with grim speed.
It was longer and leaner in construction that the heavier ships of the line and made a straight course towards the largest concentration of Yolkian fighters in the engagement, the ones who were presently hounding a wounded battlecruiser that broke formation to get out of the fight.
The fighters, detecting the new ship, split their forces into two units, one to continue the attack on the battlecruiser and the other to disable the incoming craft.
When Group Two reached the lengthy ship, the pilots noticed that it had more sensor equipment bristling from its hull than the others, and that its gun turrets, while much smaller, were also more numerous, covering at least seventy percent of the ship's surface.
Group Two divided tasks between bombing and disabling, and were diving closer to began their runs, when the entire group was shredded by a thorn bush of deadly anti-starfighter fire.
Group One broke engagement immediately upon seeing the victorious ship, a fast frigate designed specifically to act as an enemy starfighter screen, close in on them, powerful, compact turrets dispatching panicked Yolkian pilots with their touch of death.
Those pilots whose fighters were too badly damaged to fly on, detached themselves from them to make it to the hospital frigate or their carrier on their own power. Most were vaporized by enemy fire, but some were drawn screaming into the battlecruisers by tractor beam, prisoners of this sudden war.
By all accounts, the battle seemed evenly matched, with warships on both sides burning with wounds or destroyed outright. Then, the enemy fleet inexplicably began to pull away from the engagement, slowly chugging away from Yolkus' gravity well, its stragglers trying to keep up mightily.
Just as fast, the Yolkian fleet regrouped as surviving Fledglings and lone pilots finally reached the safety of the carrier and hospital vessel, and then gave chase hotly.
Although all three Yolkian destroyers were heavily damaged, they opened fire with everything they had, severely crippling the anti-starfighter frigate and a battlecruiser's engines. Both ship were now listing out of formation and getting left behind.
As the Yolkians closed in for the kill, a shimmering distortion appeared off to the side of the battle. A distortion that suddenly yielded another fleet.
A battle group of combat vessels that resembled armored, weapon-arrayed worms or serpents, surged ahead in thruster-powered undulation, sidling up into the rear of the Yolkian fleet and proceeding to hammer the rearguard with long-range missiles.
The Henn Class hospital frigate, desperately trying to evade the salvo, was the first to go up, splitting itself into fatal quarters. Escape pods launched seconds from the explosion, couldn't distance themselves far enough and fast enough, and were crushed against the onrushing wreckage.
A missile barrage corkscrewed and maneuvered through and around the wreck of the hospital ship and slammed with titanic force against the side of the carrier, breaching the silvery, armored hull and releasing the vast stockpiles of starfighter fuel and touching off energy cores. The resultant spill and spark created a killing blast, a kinetic beast that violently ate its way out of the center of the ship as though ripping from its mother's womb.
The remnants of the first invading fleet, ignoring the battered hulks of their number that couldn't fight, turned hard and attacked the remaining Yolkian ships.
The two Capon Class corvettes were easily dealt with concentrated meson cannonade from the new fleet's two destroyers, which then moved into striking distance of the last Yolkian destroyers, RAS Cluck of War, Battle Rooster, and The Grim Gullet
Now caught in a classic Pincer move between both invading fleets, the beaten Yolkian warships used their remaining engine power to position themselves into a maneuver Yolkian commanders called the Scratching Star. By having their ships' backs to each other and all of their weapons pointed wide at a surrounding enemy, they could create a sphere of outgoing fire that would keep the foe back, if not outright destroy them.
The Yolkians showered blasts into the forward shields of the battlecruisers and enemy destroyers, exacerbating damage on the already scarred ships of the first fleet, and merely hammering futilely on the deflectors of the second.
At once, both fleets opened up their fiercest barrage of the fight. The Cluck of War was decapitated, its headless hulk listing dangerously close to the Grim Gullet, its "head" on fire and tumbling into Yolkus' atmosphere.
The Grim Gullet, accelerating away from a possible collision with the ruins of Cluck of War, flew into the few working forward guns of a first fleet destroyer, ripping the port thruster "leg" apart and causing the vessel to ponderously spin in tight turns out towards the edge of the star system like a flaming pinwheel.
The Battle Rooster, instead of fighting, put all its thrust into ramming speed and managed to clip a second fleet battlecruiser, crippling it, before collateral damage and a main power core breach, finished the proud avian ship at last.
The two fleets, wading through the floating, irradiated wrecks that now littered Planet Yolkus' orbit, began their mighty descent into the atmosphere, the first fleet, like spiked anvils, the second, like iron dragons.
It was only after they reached a respectable distance from the surface, that the bombardment began, and cities that once resembled vast, glittering Faberge Egg displays, soon became cratered, hellish wastelands.
As the sun of Yolkus was getting choked from the smoke of burning buildings and frying residents, a final glint reached the sides of the two fleets' command ships that lead the attack, illuminating the battle-scarred insignias of the Needleheads and the Gorloks...
Commander Baker sat back and stared thoughtfully at the screen, his mind blank so as not to expect anything. Apart from observing the fall of a planet, a government, and perhaps, a species, he wondered why situations like these continued to happen to his planet. Regardless, he held no love for the Yolkians, of that, he was certain.
In the dark of one of the conference rooms in the hidden headquarters of one of the United States' most covert intelligence agencies, the BTSO, the Big Top Secret Organization, Baker looked to either side, trying to gauge the reactions of the other audience members in attendance. Scientific advisors from NASA, SETI, and the European Space Union, a liaison to the President, and, looking imperious and stony in the gloom across a seated Jimmy Neutron, three-star Army General Ernest Abercrombie.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Baker intoned. "What you were seeing was a recording taken from a surviving Yolkian research satellite four days ago. It appears that we've reached a moment of crisis."
No, Commander Baker," Abercrombie said with mocking civility, "What we have here is a moment of truth. The truth being that we can't trust none of those darn aliens."
Baker didn't reply, but instead turned his head in a glance to the figure displayed on the large, teleconference monitor that had descended from the ceiling over on the other side of the table earlier.
The figure was female, swathed in a ghostly white gown that made the silvery skin of her face glow. Her soft, violet eyes coolly gazed at the general and then back at the commander, who looked thoroughly embarrassed at the officer's tactlessness.
"Please," Baker placated diplomatically. "Forgive him for his rudeness, Your Majesty. He was not referring to you directly. The situation has unnerved him, as it has unnerved all of us."
The princess raised a slender argent hand in peace. "Be not troubled, good Human. Your compatriot is correct in feeling the way he does. This is indeed a grave threat, made all the graver, since your people lack the technology to counter such a force."
"People, may I introduce Her Highness Yorai'ness Jurma'chesty, Princess of Rhonacor. She is an alien. Her people came to Earth with that recording and addressed the U.N. on what we just saw. The invaders will arrive in our solar system in a month's time, but she has something that may give us an edge when they show up on our doorstep."
"Rhonacor, the seat of government for the entire Tiara Star Cluster," Jimmy thought to himself aloud. "Some 958 light-years southwest of here."
The princess turned to look Jimmy. "Correct, young Human. How did you come to know this?"
"We've got the Galactic Cable Network at home and I saw a documentary on your people on Planetary Discovery."
"Yes, that was a good episode on us," Yorai'ness mused conversationally. "But I feel that they should have focused more on today's reign as opposed to earlier ones."
"Yes, but what about their mention of the fourtieth dynasty under Cheynebush'con the Devious? That was most factual in relating to the early political intrigue of that region of space."
"Is this gonna be some egghead quilting bee?" Abercrombie cut in. "Or are we gonna get some work done?" He looked unapologetic as he opened a dossier near him and disdainfully slid the files out across the table to stop just short of Baker.
"What about Jimmy Neutron," the general groused, saying the boy's name as though tasting something bitter. "He had contact with both of those species and those Brains when he and his friends ran into that Meldar fella." Then added, "After they broke into my base and turned on that stone...thing."
"Yes, I understand what he did, General," Baker said. "And if it weren't for he and his friends' quick thinking and handling of the situation, Earth would have been destroyed."
"Oh, yeah? So why didn't he tell any of us about them after he returned home? If these Gorlons-"
"Gorloks," Jimmy corrected.
"Er, and these Needlenoses-"
"Needleheads," Jimmy corrected again smugly.
"Whatever they are," snapped the general. "Why didn't he warn us about them? We might have developed a defense against them when the time was right."
"Uh, you don't have to speak as though I'm not here. I'm right across from you, General," Jimmy said, long weary of the man's condescension and dangerous close-mindedness in times past. "Besides, there was nothing to warn about."
Baker scanned through the files that related to Neutron, James Isaac, placing his thin glasses on his nose for effect.
"According to the information he gave us concerning alien races he's had contacted with, the Gorloks decided to go into television programming to protect the galaxy from Meldar Prime, and they presently have him incarcerated, forced to do shows and commercials of their choosing. The other aliens who participated in the TV show, Intergalactic Showdown, the Brains and the Needleheads, just went back to their worlds."
"That's right, Commander Baker," Jimmy said. "I can't believe that they would turn bad like this. They assured me that they all just wanted to go home and live peacefully. That's all"
General Abercrombie gestured to the monitor, now frozen on the image of another continental bombardment. "They sure look peaceful now, don't they?"
"Whatever their motivations, we will prepare for them," the commander said with grim confidence. "Neutron has been called in and will be brought up to speed on this. His-"
"Are we having a tea party, too?" General Abercrombie railed, then turned to Jimmy. "You're a kid. You're a civilian. Worst, you're a kid civilian!"
"Wha-what...What does that have to do with..." the boy sputtered in shocked indignation. "As many times as I've risked my life to save Earth, you've got nothing better to do than split hairs about age and competence? If that was the issue, old man, then I daresay this town would have been a FEMA footnote thanks to your startling leadership."
Abercrombie stood up in an instant, leaning across the table to glare into Neutron's eyes with menace. "You got something to say to me. Dippity-doo Head?"
To his credit, Jimmy stood up to the general, as well. "As a matter of fact, I do, General Malaise!"
Baker stood next and raised his large arms in a peacekeeping gesture. "Gentlemen!"
"Well, he started it," Abercrombie muttered.
"Did not!" Jimmy defended.
"Did, too," the general shot back.
The commander felt less like the commander of an intelligence agency and more like a day-care worker. An apologetic glance to the monitor displaying the princess's dismayed face set the seal for his professional shame. "We're not usually like this during a crisis," he told her while the yelling over the table continued. He turned his attention back to the bickering duo gravely.
"Gentlemen," the commander said sternly, his fingers drumming very close to a phone built into the table before him. "Don't make me call your mothers."
With a look as though someone had poured ice water down their pants, both adversaries gave sobering thought to having to deal with parents cruelly disapproving of their fight, and back off into their seats again.
"Look, we need professionals in on this," said Abercrombie. "Soldiers, not some uppity egghead telling us which way the wind blows. Men that'll bust heads, not think with 'em! Wait...that didn't, that didn't sound right..."
Baker just sighed. "General, despite how you may feel about those who don't put on a uniform, Neutron is the most qualified person alive when it comes to alien species that he encountered. He is an honorary member of this agency and, as I'm sure you've read from the report, risks his life to help our country's agents like Jet Fusion whenever he can. I personally vouch for him, and he and his friends have my respect."
The general rolled his eyes, mumbled and then dismissively turned his attention to the otherworldly guest on the monitor.
"How about it?" he asked brusquely. "What do you have that'll get our bacon out of the fire when the time comes?"
"Commander Baker, would you be so kind as to take out the device I had sent to your people?" The princess quietly bade, as the commander took a thick metal disk from his jacket pocket and placed it on the table. From its center, a lens projected a blue beam that expanded into an slowly rotating image half a yard square. A large, silvery-white, domed building of atypical architecture was prominent, alongside its information, schematics, and stats, that were etched in flowing, illuminated alien script.
"This will be the means of delivering your world from the menace of the invaders," she told them. "These are the plans for a new type of technology."
Gesturing to the image, she explained. "This structure is called an Omnifactory, an advanced manufacturing facility capable of building just about anything one might need, provided there is enough raw material for it to work with. My royal vessel has the only working prototype and I am willing to share it with your people. As I told the dignitaries of your United Nations this morning, once the Omnifactory is placed on your planet, I will order it to construct more Omnifactories and these will then be distributed to countries across the globe to work in concert with one another to produce these..."
She waited until the hologram shifted images, and then the three-dimensional appearance of large, sleek warships and starfighters in clean white hull paint, emblazoned and emboldened with the stylized image of a blue Earth, spun from top to bottom, displaying weapon features, hull metallurgy, optimum shield strength, crew compliment and engine rating.
"These will be the backbone of a new planetary fleet, a fleet that will serve Earth. The height of my people's technology will be the key that will open the door to a new era for your people, ladies and gentlemen."
"Very generous, Princess," said Myrna Proton, the President's liaison. "But why would you bother to help us anyway? Your world and ours has never met before. We've not had any diplomatic dealings with you before now."
The alien shown a look both understanding and full of fathomless sadness. "This gesture, I make, because my people didn't live long enough to enjoy a dialogue with you, Miss Proton. Yolkus was not the first world to fall into the hands of the evil ones. My planet, the seat of my kingdom, was caught off guard by the invaders' spies and saboteurs. What they didn't incorporate into their own technology, they burned, along with my kin and countrymen."
The woman mirrored the alien's expression, shame creeping into her features for sounding like such a hard case so soon after meeting her. She wondered if Abercrombie's influence was contagious, since she swore that it had to be the reason for her logical skepticism to be colored with callousness. "I'm sorry."
"Thank you for your understanding. When it was learned from our spies that Earth would be next, I had to act. I simply don't want your planet to suffer the same fate as mine and others. Plus, keep in mind that the Gorloks have possession of Meldar Prime's two Matrix Generators."
Jimmy jerked back in somber memory of the two small, crystalline devices that the evil show host wore as cufflinks, but, through what could only be considered some of the highest of alien super-science, gave Meldar godlike powers of energy manipulation, teleportation, matter transmutation and probably any other effects he could have had access to before he was defeated.
"Leaping leptons!" he swore. "The Gorloks are a warlike species, but have no spacefaring technology. I don't want to believe that they would do this, but if their war machine is powered by the energy of the Matrix Generators..."
"Yes, Jimmy Neutron," the princess said. "The Gorloks would follow their instincts and give birth to a stellar empire of blood and brutality that hasn't been seen in ages. We have to stop that nightmare from happening."
"Then on behalf of our nation, we would be honored to accept your technology," Jimmy boldly told her. The other scientists also began voicing their support, and it wasn't long until Ms. Proton told the alien noblewoman that the president would have a decision very soon.
Only General Abercrombie remained stoically silent, his eyes glinting in the dim room in thought. A look that Commander Baker noticed easily. If the President agreed to this, Ernest would have to go along with it, despite his apprehensions, founded or otherwise.
"What about it, General?" the commander said. "Do you have anything to say on this?
The general's flinty eyes moved quick and harsh across every face in the room. "Yeah, I've got one thing and only one thing to ask the good princess there." His gaze settled hard on the monitor that shone the princess's fair, metallic face.
"And what would that be, General Ernest Abercrombie?" she asked formally, straightening her bearing as though getting ready to repel a personal attack, but keeping her face diplomatically passive.
"This," he growled, then suddenly brightened into a sheepishly questioning look as he asked, "Could you have one of those doohickeys make me a chair with good lumbar support? I get the worst kind of back pain if I don't get the right kind of support, y'know?"
Among the audience that sat bewildered at that, Commander Baker and Jimmy Neutron looked honestly exasperated, and the alien princess, whose name and bloodline once commanded a stellar nation at its height, looked absolutely flabbergasted.