Muffy, on the other hand, had no reservations about being a girl or shopping. "This conversation is boring," she complained. "Let's put these credit chips they gave us to good use."
"This is important," Mrs. Nordgren told her. "We're at the center of an interplanetary incident. We could be stuck in this witness protection thing for a long, long time."
"Not only that," said George, "but for all we know, aliens are conducting diabolical experiments on Earth people, and they killed Heath to keep it a secret."
"I knew reality shows had a sinister purpose," his father quipped. Behind him, Sal was investigating the mystery of a black cord that emerged from the wall, went on for six feet, and just ended.
"Leave the conspiracy theories to the research scientists," said Muffy, leafing through a directory of alien clothing stores. "We could be here for years, or we could go home tomorrow—I want to make the best of our time."
George glanced at the page she was reading, which featured an array of four-sleeved coats and lines of alien text. "How can you understand that stuff?" he asked her.
"A picture's worth a thousand words," said Muffy without turning her head. "For example, I don't need to speak Tribble to know that this skirt would look really cute on me, once I patched up the tail hole."
"I think Muffy's right," said Mrs. Crosswire to the other adults. "We'll obviously never get home unless we play along, so we may as well explore this new world."
"Hungy," babbled little Tyson as he waddled around. "Hungy, hungy."
"Did someone say hungry?" said the blue-skinned chef, suddenly leaping up from behind the bar.
"Don't you ever leave?" Mr. Crosswire snapped at him.
"I can't," replied the alien. "I'm a hologram. As soon as you're ready to eat, I'll summon the real chef."
"Summon Jenny, please," Mrs. Crosswire requested. "We want to do some touring, and we need a guide who knows the language and culture."
Within minutes, the artichoke-headed alien girl arrived and led them back to the glass elevator. An hour had passed, and the blue sun had sunk closer to the horizon.
"I can't be sure," said Mr. Nordgren, "but it looks like the sun is setting. You do have only that one sun, right?"
"Yes," replied Jenny, "but Orelob has twenty-four moons. We like to call it the Planet that Never Sleeps."
Because all the inhabitants have insomnia, thought the moose man.
"Most of the shops and restaurants never close," said Jenny as she led the two families into the hotel lobby. "Elci Kahaf has a sizeable population of nocturnal aliens." As she spoke, Muffy watched a boy with fangs and batlike wings stroll by.
"In other words," Mr. Crosswire observed, "the night life is out of this world."
As soon as they reached the bronze-like sidewalk in front of the hotel, the light of the partly-obscured sun cast a blue pallor on their skin. "Vomitrocious!" groused Muffy, vainly trying to rub the tint from her arm.
Mr. Nordgren looked at his hands. "I look like one-third of the Blue Man Group," he remarked.
"Your eyes will adjust to the new light spectrum," Jenny told them. "Now, what would you like to do? Shopping? Dinner? A concert?"
"Is it possible to do all three at once?" Muffy inquired.
"Possible," answered Jenny, "but not recommended."
They followed the alien girl to a crowded plaza, where a variety of familiar and not-so-familiar scents hovered in the air. "Smells like pizza," said George, sniffing. "No, now it smells like chocolate. Now…now I don't know what it smells like."
Muffy, meanwhile, was taken aback by the sight of an attractive humanoid woman wearing a remarkable gown. The garment seemed to reflect objects like a warped mirror; at once point Muffy saw her own image in it, bent and twisted like putty.
"Omigosh," she marveled. "I'd heard of optical fabric, but I never thought I'd see it."
In an instant, she was running toward the strange woman. "Muffy, wait!" her mother called out.
The alien female appeared mildly surprised to see a small, wide-eyed girl in her path. "Migipulu troz?" she uttered.
"I must know where you got that dress," said Muffy eagerly, but the woman only blinked her yellow, diamond-shaped eyes in confusion. "Uh…do you speak English? Parlez-vous francais? Cu vi parolas Esperanton?"
"Migipulu kibkib," grumbled the woman. Her mane of towy hair shook as she turned aside.
"Muffy, you just insulted her dress," said Jenny, running to the girl's aid. "Cu vi parolas Esperanton is similar to the Mipata phrase Kivi barolas esperando, which means, 'I hope your clothing is intended as a joke.'"
"I'm sorry," said Muffy, blushing from embarrassment. The alien grunted and walked away.
"You just called her a slave trader," said Jenny. "From now on, let me do the talking."
They heard a faint whine as a monorail train flew past over their heads. "A city without cars," Mr. Crosswire mused. "It's almost inconceivable. What would a man like me do for a living here?"
"There's a major shortage of actors and rock musicians," Jenny told him. "If you have skills in either of those areas…"
"Omigosh, look at that!" cried Muffy, pointing at an ornate structure resembling a small cathedral.
"That's the Inn of the Seventh Happiness," said Jenny. "It's a restaurant operated by the Yum-Yum Sisterhood."
"The what-what?" George replied stupidly.
"They're a monastic order," Jenny continued. "The aim of their religion is to create a dish so divinely delicious, that anyone who eats it will be raptured into heaven. They're still here, so they apparently haven't succeeded yet."
"I want to taste their failures," said Muffy, bolting forward. "Let's go!"
Robed nuns with shaven green heads welcomed the two families as they filed into the temple-restaurant. "Destudi, destudi," they could be heard to chant.
"Destudi is a Yum-Yum blessing," Jenny explained. "It's not Mipata, but comes from a native language. Literally translated, it means, 'May God bless your stomachs and prepare them for what they are about to receive.'"
"What's this Mipata you mentioned?" asked Mrs. Crosswire as she lowered Tyson onto the bare wooden floor.
"It's the universal language of the Alliance," Jenny answered. "Nearly everybody speaks it, and it's very easy to learn."
Enchanting smells greeted their noses as a smiling nun led them to a table. As they sat down, Jenny picked up a menu filled with cryptic characters and said, "I highly recommend the saag paneer."
"Which is the Mipata word for…?" said Muffy.
While George nibbled on something that resembled a breadstick, a faint, droning voice from above his head uttered a startlingly familiar name: "Heath Holcombe."
Dropping his breadstick, he looked upward at the buttressed ceiling to locate the source of the voice. All he could see was some religious frescoes…and a suspended, large-screen TV. The split display resembled a CNN newscast, with a scaly, tentacle-nosed alien on the left and a floppy-eared cyclops on the right. "Zagu kibina Heath Holcombe orvorvo," spoke the scaly one as a line of alien characters scrolled along the bottom of the screen.
"Jenny!" the moose boy blurted out. "How do you switch the TV to English?"
Before the alien girl could respond, the TV audio blinked out momentarily, and was replaced by the voice of a translator: "As the official spokesman for the Black Veil, I deny any connection between my organization and the Earthling called Heath Holcombe."
The cyclops opened its mouth, the translator speaking in its place. "Your denial means nothing, as the Black Veil has a policy of denying all knowledge of the activities of its agents."
"The TV is operated by voice commands," Jenny told George, "but I see you've figured that out."
"Quiet," said George, waving a hand at her.
The exchange between the two alien talking heads continued, as the Crosswires and Nordgrens listened intently. "I have introduced a resolution in the Valiku Planetary Council to condemn the actions of the Thrag Star Police and demand an investigation into Alliance dealings with the planet Earth," said the one-eyed alien.
"Such an action would be wasteful and unnecessary," insisted the tentacle-nosed alien. "The actions of the Alliance in regard to Earth have been exemplary in their moderation, especially considering that Dark Augusta is widely believed to have come from that world."
"My resolution is moderate as well," insisted the cyclops. "Many of my comrades from other planetary councils favor cutting off all Alliance contact with Earth."
The news broadcast abruptly cut to a commercial. "Did you hear that?" George whispered to Muffy. "Heath's murder is in the interplanetary news."
"I always wanted to be a celebrity," said Muffy warily, "but this is a little too much fame."
to be continued