Mansch struggled valiantly to speak. "The sphere," he said urgently. "Did you find it? Did you destroy it?"
"I don't know what sphere you're talking about," said Alan sharply. "What's more, I don't believe for a moment that you're really the Professor."
"Whether you…believe me or not…is irrelevant," said the cat man between painful breaths. "The unicorns are plotting a monumental power grab, and the sphere is central to it somehow. I was able to rip that much out of their minds…before they killed me."
"Killed you?" said Tegan, startled.
Mansch did his best to nod. "I always suspected that I had the power to transport my consciousness into another host," he related. "Mansch was a body without a soul, so I saw him as a likely candidate, in the event I should meet with a violent end."
Still dubious, Alan decided to put the injured man to a test. "Jean Greyhound is dead," he stated.
An almost visible wave of grief spread through Mansch's body. His eyes teared up, his torso quivered, and the quivering prompted him to whimper with pain. "Jean," he moaned. "My Jean…"
"I'm sorry," said Alan sincerely.
Tegan began to retreat from the bedside. "I'm sorry too," she told her brother and Mansch. "I can't watch someone cry…I just can't."
Once he was alone in the hospital room with Alan, Mansch went on with his tale: "Even in human form, I offered what assistance I could to my comrades, the X-Pets. I tried to take the sphere from your young alien friend, but I was stopped by what I can only describe as a hypnotic influence. The X-Pets managed to pry it from her hands, but the Sentinels were waiting, and a battle ensued. Without the benefit of my telepathic coordination, my friends were hopelessly overmatched—in the end, those who could stand were forced to flee for their lives. I entrusted the sphere to Nightgrowler, asking him to teleport somewhere and either hide it, or leave it with an animal who was sympathetic to us. Shortly after he disappeared I was hit, and now here I am."
Alan marveled at the account he had heard. "This is a lot to take in," said the bear boy. "There are two main things I'm curious about—what are the unicorns planning, and what's it like to be human after all those years of being a dog?"
"I'll tell you everything I know," Mansch offered, "but before I do…would you please scratch my neck? It itches terribly."
Despite feelings of unease, Alan bent over, inserted his fingers into the hollow spot below Mansch's head, and began to fondle the skin with his nails. I can't believe what I'm doing, he thought.
"Aaaah," said the cat man elatedly. "That feels good, though not quite as good as it did when I was a dog."
"Okay, I'm scratching your neck," Alan pointed out. "Now, what do you know about the unicorns' plan?"
Mansch sighed blissfully. "Nothing I haven't already told you, Alan."
"If I Were a Rabbit Girl, by Fern Walters. If I were a rabbit girl, not a poodle girl, nobody would call me Fifi. I hate being called Fifi, especially because that's not my name. On the other hand, if I were a rabbit girl, everybody would make fun of my ears. There's really nothing wrong with having long ears. Not only can you hear better, but you can semaphore your neighbor with a minimum of labor."
She had jotted down two full pages in this style by the time she received Muffy's call. "Fern, you gotta help me!" was the monkey girl's plea.
"Calm down, Muffy," said Fern. "I'll tell you the same thing I told Francine—being a poodle girl isn't anything special, except you can use your ears as a mop."
"That's not what I'm talking about," said Muffy anxiously. "Mr. Gelt called me. He called me. He wants to meet with me at five o'clock at the Muffin Man, to haggle over the price of the dress."
"Gelt called you?" said Fern, surprised. "How'd he get your cell number?"
"I don't know," replied Muffy. "Maybe my dad gave it to him."
"I guess it doesn't matter," said Fern. "The important thing is, you've got him making concessions."
Muffy paused for a section, imagining Gelt in a plastic apron, dispensing hamburgers and curly fries from a booth at the state fair.
"Muffy?"
"Huh?" said the distracted girl. "Oh, right. So, how about it, Fern? Can you be there at five o'clock?"
Fern's tone became serious. "I think you'll do fine without me, Muffy. After all, you're the one who understands money, and bargaining, and the finer points thereof."
"True," said Muffy hesitantly, "but I'll feel a lot safer if you're there with me."
After a bit of deliberation Fern replied, "I'll do you one better, Muffy. I'll be there, and I'll be invisible."
"Invisible?" said Muffy, her curiosity piqued.
"I still have April's stone of invisibility," the poodle girl told her. "Gelt won't know I'm there, so I can snoop on him if I get the chance. I won't try to talk to you or contact you in any way—I'll just be there, at the café, invisible, at five o'clock."
The silence on the line seemed to last half a minute. Finally Muffy spoke up, her voice filled with gratitude. "You're the best friend I've ever had, Fern. You're such a good friend, you make all my other friends look like enemies."
"It's what I do," said Fern unassumingly.
I lost a dog, but I gained a man, thought Alan as he marched, hands in pockets, in the direction of Arthur's house. It's too weird to believe. What will this mean to our relationship? Mansch had better not ask me to give him a bath every day…
The scene he saw at the Read home was typical—Arthur doing homework in his room, D.W. enjoying an episode of New Moo Revue, and their father preparing crudités in the kitchen. He announced his presence with a glib "Hey, everybody."
Arthur left his desk and looked down from the second floor. "What's up, Alan?" he inquired.
"I just wanted to know," Alan addressed him and D.W., "if either of you has seen a weird sphere floating around."
"A sphere that floats around would be weird," remarked Mr. Read.
"Oh, you mean the zombie sphere," said D.W.
"Zombie sphere?" said Alan with alarm. "You mean the sphere was responsible for what happened at the school yesterday?"
The little aardvark girl nodded. "Sue Ellen's got it," she informed Alan. "She yoinked it away from me."
Alan's next stop was Sue's house. "What do you know about the sphere?" he inquired of the curly-haired girl.
"It's some kind of scary magical weapon," she replied. "When I had it, I could make anyone do anything I commanded. Remember this morning, when you all thought school was cancelled? It was the sphere that made you think that."
"Interesting," mused Alan.
"Why do you care about the sphere?" Sue asked him.
"I have it from a friend," the boy replied, "that the sphere was created for some evil purpose, and has to be destroyed."
"Hmm," said Sue, intrigued. "Well, I'd love to help you destroy it, Alan, but I don't have it anymore. Professor Frink and his robot yoinked it away from me."
Predictably, Alan's next step was to call up Springfield Tech. "You've reached the laboratory of Professor John Frink," he heard the professor's recorded voice say. "I am either on the phone, away from my desk, convulsing on the floor with intense spasms of PAIN IN THE GLAVIN!, or simply waiting for you to start talking so I'll know whether you're someone I like. Please leave a message at the beep. Frink out."
Alan heard a tone and began to speak: "Dr. Frink, it's me, Alan Powers. I need to talk to you about…"
"Hello, Alan," an apparently living voice said to him. "How are you this fine day, gloyven?"
"Oh, it's you," said the boy.
"No, it's not me," the voice responded. "I'm merely his answering service, with the voice recognition and the artificial intelligence and the programmed responses, ga-hoyven."
"You're an answering service?" said Alan, impressed yet skeptical. "But you say 'gloyven' and 'ga-hoyven' and all that, just like Dr. Frink does."
"I do not," the voice insisted.
"Whoever, or whatever, you are," said Alan, "I need to talk to you about the sphere. I believe it's a key element in an evil plot."
"Oh, there's no question about it," said the Frink voice. "Unfortunately, the sphere is no longer in my possession—the unicorns yoinked it away from me."
To be continued