“Zeem!” cried Mr. Beeba.

  Zeem? Poog's great-uncle?

  But he was supposed to be dead!

  “Well, well, well,” a creaky, crackly voice said, “if it isn't Poog. My very favorite … distant blood relation …”

  It took a second to make out where the voice was coming from. Then I saw it: a gray-black slimy growth attached to the back of Zeem's head. It had jointed legs like a tarantula, a bulbous body, and, at the end of its long spindly neck, a tiny toothless mouth.

  “A tongue-leech,” said Mr. Beeba. “It allows its host to speak in any language he desires.”

  “Poog, my boy,” the voice continued, its words coming out in slurred clusters, “you really should have told me you were … coming to visit. Especially if you planned to bring … so many friends.”

  Listening carefully, I realized that Zeem's tongue-leech was speaking in a multitude of languages all at once, Toogolian included. I was somehow able to hear only the language I understood best.

  Poog was silent. His earlier look of dismay had twisted itself into a furious scowl.

  “What's Poog going to do?” I asked.

  “What, indeed. A brainpierce would be useless,” Mr. Beeba whispered. “Toogolians are immune to it.”

  Poog floated forward until he was just a foot or two from his great-uncle. He said something in Toogolian: He was quiet, but smoldering with anger.

  I noticed, for the first time, Zeem's mouth. It was sealed shut from disuse, like a scar that had never really healed.

  It was revolting.

  When he smiled, it was even worse.

  “I don't need to justify my actions to you, Poog. Don't act like you're … any more dedicated to this planet than I am.” The tongue-leech's lips moved up and down, up and down. “How are your meditations going, by the way?” An ugly little smile.

  Poog flinched. He was still angry, but a bit of fear had crept into his face.

  “Now, I have some … advice for you, little one,” Zeem's tongue-leech said to Poog. “Take your friends … and leave this place at once.”

  Poog stayed exactly where he was.

  Zeem moved forward until his eyes and Poog's eyes were just inches apart. “Don't cross me, Poog. I have powers you can't begin to imagine. Powers the other elders … haven't even scratched the surface of.”

  If Poog was frightened, he didn't show it.

  He closed his eyes.

  Said a few words.

  And slowly …

  … out of thin air …

  … a cage began to form around Zeem.

  It was transparent at first; then bit by bit it gathered substance. Zeem watched without emotion as the cage completed itself. It glowed pale blue, sometimes shimmering with electricity, as if it were made from frozen bolts of lightning.

  When it was finished, Poog opened his eyes.

  “A mind-snare,” Mr. Beeba whispered. “Perfect. Virtually indestructible.”

  Zeem's mouth smiled.

  “Is that the best you can do? How disappointing.”

  SPAAASH!

  The cage disintegrated into shards of blue light, then vanished altogether.

  “Let's not play children's games, Poog.” The tongue-leech's voice was shrill with impatience. “If you wish to do battle with me properly … then do so. If not, go. Go. Be gone. Before someone … gets …”

  A long, long pause.

  “… damaged.”

  I wanted to believe Poog would defeat his great-uncle. Wanted to. Really wanted to.

  Poog closed his eyes again. He tensed up, quivered, as if he was summoning up every last scrap of energy he had.

  He said a word or two in Toogolian.

  Gradually the room filled with light.

  Poog had conjured a ghostly green whirlpool of clouds. It appeared in the air just behind Zeem and quickly grew until it filled more than half the room.

  Zeem began to be sucked into the whirlpool. A look of panic overtook his face as he was drawn inch by inch into the glowing green hole.

  “This will do it!” Mr. Beeba cried. “It's a Toogolian detention vortex. It'll take Zeem in and hold him for as long as—”

  But Zeem was already laughing through his tongue-leech lips.

  The look of panic had been a fake.

  The whirlpool was having no effect on him whatsoever.

  ZOOOOOOSSSH!

  All at once the green clouds evaporated, leaving Zeem just as he was and Poog panting for air, utterly exhausted.

  “Enough of this mucking about.” Zeem closed his eyes— briefly, little more than a blink—and his tongue-leech spat out a few short words, this time in Toogolian only.

  Instantly an enormous block of yellowish ice formed around Poog, trapping him like a fly in amber. He was locked up, motionless, a confused expression frozen on his face.

  Zeem chuckled and turned to the rest of us.

  “Well, he tried, didn't he? I'll give him that much.”

  I stared in horror at Poog. I stared for as long as I could take it. Then I turned away and tried not to start bawling.

  Zeem's face settled into an angry glare.

  “Anyone else?”

  I looked at Ragstubble. He seemed to have a very clear idea of what we were up against. He must have known that any move he made would be pointless. So he made no move.

  Spuckler, on the other hand …

  “All right, Zeemy!” Spuckler had stepped forward with clenched fists, as if he intended to challenge Zeem to a round of boxing. “Enough of this flim-flamalakazaam business. I'm gonna duke it out with ya the old-fashioned way.”

  Ragstubble shook his head. “Stand back, Spuck. You don't know what you're messin' with here.”

  “I reckon you're right about that, Fluggs,” said Spuckler. “But I ain't goin' down without a fight.”

  Zeem chuckled. “Humanoids.” Even as he spoke, Spuckler's hand began to quiver. “Silly little things.”

  One of Spuckler's arms began to move through the air: away from Zeem, down, over, down, over.

  “Very silly. And yet … they do have their uses.”

  Spuckler was now on his knees, one hand reaching up behind Gax's head.

  “PLEASE, SIR …”

  “It's …” Spuckler's eyes were wide with disbelief. “… It's not me, Gax! It's movin' by itself!”

  Before anyone could do anything …

  B'CHAK!

  Gax's neck shuddered, then fell limp, sending his robot head and helmet crashing to the floor. Now Gax was as motionless as Poog.

  “My word,” Mr. Beeba said. “He … shut Gax down.”

  Spuckler had a strangely blank expression on his face. Like he refused to believe he'd done what he'd done. Mr. Beeba was quivering behind me like a frightened dog. I was hardly any more composed than he was. Only Ragstubble remained strong and defiant.

  He said something to Zeem in Toogolian: The tone of his voice was angry, but there was a hint of pleading in it.

  “Very valiant of you, Tri-Yarm,” replied Zeem. “But no. What good would it do me to brainmelt you and let everyone else go?”

  I swallowed hard.

  “The truth is I'm not very fond of brainmelting,” said Zeem. “So messy. And a waste of warm bodies. We Toogolians … need all the arms and legs we can get, you know. I think I'll just brainpierce you for the moment. Then later on we can see about turning you all into my slaves.”

  Ragstubble started to say something.

  Zeem didn't let him finish. “Enough!” He closed his eyes and opened his tongue-leech mouth. Toogolian words came gurgling out.

  Ragstubble. Spuckler. Mr. Beeba. They all dropped to the floor, still breathing but as motionless as rag dolls. Their eyes stayed open but turned glassy and expressionless, like the eyes of fish.

  I was the only one left standing.

  Zeem stared at me in astonishment.

  “Impressive” was all he said at first. He floated forward and circled me. “Resistant to brainpiercing. Most unexpected.” He circled me again. “You do have a brain, little girl, don't you?”

  I was too scared to speak. Too horrified that there was no one left to defend me but me.

  Zeem stopped circling.

  “Well, now. Let's try brainmelting, then.”

  He closed his eyes. Gurgled some words. Opened his eyes again.

  I stood there. I had no idea what was going on. But one thing was sure: My brain was as unmelted as it had always been.

  Zeem was stunned.

  He closed his eyes and uttered a few more words.

  Nothing.

  He closed his eyes again and again, gurgled one set of words, then another, and another.

  Nothing happened to me. Nothing at all.

  Zeem was now gazing at me with a look of deep admiration.

  “Astonishing. I can't freeze you. I can't burn you. I can't turn you to stone. I can't make your skin fall off or your head turn inside out. I can't even give you a mild temperature. You … are immune to Toogolian brain warfare.”

  Let's face it. Whatever was protecting me from Zeem was a real miracle. I should have been dancing for joy. But something—I think it was the way Zeem was looking at me—made me feel more frightened than ever.

  “This is a welcome development,” he said. “A stroke of good luck.” He began circling again. “Look at you. A harmless little girl. And yet impervious to the destructive powers of a Toogolian master. You'll be handy to have around … when it comes to dealing with other would-be Toogolian heroes.”

  He began to circle faster.

  “Perfect, perfect. We'll be a team, you and I. And to think you were delivered to me by my enemies. That … that's really a delicious bit of irony, isn't it?”

  He kept talking, circling, talking. I felt like a bug in a web.

  Think, I told myself. Think.

  There had to be something I could do. Something I could at least try.

  Zeem circled, circled, spinning plans for me, talking about things I would do for him, uses I could be put to.

  If only I had something to defend myself with. Some sort of weapon. But I had nothing. Well, okay, not nothing. I had a nickel in my pocket. That and the package of bubble gum I'd bought at Chuck's way back before this whole mess got started.

  Bubble gum! Ha! Some weapon.

  But wait.

  Bubble gum …

  An idea came to me.

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out the package of Dr. Yubble's Ooey-Gooey Double-Trouble Bubble Gum.

  Zeem circled. By this point he was too wrapped up in his crazy schemes to pay me any mind.

  There were seven pieces of gum left. One by one I unwrapped them and popped them into my mouth.

  One, two, three …

  The sugar! Man, that stuff was sweet. … four, five, six …

  And gooey. Very gooey. Much gooier than it had been on Earth. Maybe there was some sort of extra goo factor that came from passing through Toog's atmosphere. Or else just from having been skwunched up in my pocket for so long.

  … seven.

  My mouth was now so packed with bubble gum I could barely breathe. Which made me happy. That was exactly what I wanted from that gum.

  Zeem circled.

  I chewed.

  Zeem circled.

  I had to face facts: There'd be only one chance to do what I wanted to do. One chance. If I blew it, Zeem would just call in some of his Tri-Yarm goons and have them cart me away.

  Zeem circled.

  I chewed.

  I was waiting for the perfect time to make my move. The problem with waiting for a perfect time is that you always end up telling yourself you should wait a little longer, for a time that's a little more perfect.

  Zeem circled.

  I chewed.

  Unfortunately, I had been so busy thinking about my plan that I'd stopped listening to what Zeem was saying. Otherwise, I'd have noticed that he'd gradually convinced himself he didn't really want me around after all.

  “Yes, yes, sad but true,” the tongue-leech was saying when I finally focused again. “I can't work with a creature of such immunities. Who knows what other powers she has? It's simply not worth the risk.” He stopped circling and looked at me. “Yes. I'll call in some Tri-Yarms and have them get rid of her.”

  This was it. The time—perfect or not—was now.

  I quietly spat the bubble gum into my left hand.

  It was the size of a large plum. Heavy. Sticky.

  “Sorry, child,” Zeem said to me, not looking sorry at all. “You'll have to be dealt with in a somewhat more brutal fashion than your friends were. Don't worry, though. I'll tell them to execute you quickly, so as to minimize the pai—”

  I lunged forward and grabbed Zeem's tongue-leech by its neck.

  It took no more than a second.

  Gum in hand …

  … I shoved my arm …

  … down the leech's throat …

  … down, down, deep down …

  … as far as I possibly could.

  For an awful half-second my entire left arm was trapped inside the tongue-leech's warm, slimy throat. I let go of the gum and yanked my arm out.

  ZZLLLUUUURRRP!

  Ugh! I dropped to the floor and watched as Zeem's tongue-leech wriggled and writhed, trying frantically to dislodge the sticky gob of gum from its throat. But it was stuck down there, and stuck good: The Double-Trouble gum was living up to its name.

  Zeem's eyes bugged out. His eyelids fluttered, then drooped. The tongue-leech began to move more slowly. The two of them descended to the floor. As they touched bottom, I saw the tongue-leech detach itself from Zeem and shrivel up like a dying spider; it grew utterly still, dead still, and Zeem … well, he looked like he was in serious pain. Like he'd just had a vital organ removed. He rolled on the floor, quietly moaning to himself.

  That was when I heard a gurgling noise behind me.

  Please, no. Not another Toogolian.

  I whirled around. It was another Toogolian.

  My own personal favorite Toogolian, that is.

  Poog.

  The yellow ice trap had vanished. Poog was alive and well. Not only that, but all the others—Spuckler, Mr. Beeba, and Ragstubble—had snapped out of Zeem's brainpiercing spell. I guess as Zeem got weaker, the effects of his Toogolian mind tricks wore off.

  “Lordy, 'Kiko!” said Spuckler, inspecting the limp, lifeless body of the tongue-leech. “What'd ya do to it?”

  I explained exactly what I'd done. I even told them a little about Chuck's, just to make sure they got the big picture.

  “Very clever, Akiko,” said Mr. Beeba. “How did you know Zeem had become dependent on his tongue-leech? That hurting one would hurt the other?”

  “I didn't. I just figured it was worth a shot, that's all.”

  Mr. Beeba examined the huge lump in the tongue-leech's throat. The rest of the creature had shriveled up so much, the lump looked very big by comparison. “Remarkable,” said Mr. Beeba. “I'd always suspected chewing gum wasn't good for you, but good heavens!”

  Ragstubble was already working the control panels of the core eater, switching things off, killing power generators, shutting down the whole monstrous operation. As he did, I could hear the sound of the pumps— faint, but always there in the background—die down and come to a complete halt.

  “Gimme a couple minutes here,” said Ragstubble. “I think there's a way of reversing the glagma flow. Might as well get it all back down there where it belongs.”

  Poog smiled. If he'd ever had doubts about Ragstubble's motives, they were completely gone now. So were mine.

  Spuckler turned his attention to Gax. It took a minute or two—and a lot of popping and sputtering— but soon he had Gax up and running again. It was such a relief to see him moving his head around and scooting back and forth!

  Mr. Beeba and Poog were huddled around Zeem. Poog had coated him in some sort of healing orange glow. Mr. Beeba said it would keep Zeem alive but never allow him to cause anyone harm again.

  I sat and listened as Poog spoke to Mr. Beeba in spirited gurgles, trying to piece together the puzzle of how Toog's greatest hero had turned into such a greedy glagma thief.

  “An excellent theory, Poog,” Mr. Beeba said. “I'll bet that's precisely how it happened.”

  “How what happened?” I asked.

  “Well, Poog suspects it all started years and years ago when Zeem first proposed his mission to negotiate with the Tri-Yarms. He must have had his eyes on the glagma even then. So he went to some of the more unscrupulous Tri-Yarm leaders and converted them to his way of thinking. Then he enlisted their help in faking his own death.”

  “But why go to so much trouble to make people think he was dead? Why not just go straight for the glagma?”

  “His main interest at that stage was in starting a war between the Toogolians and the Tri-Yarms. He knew that word of his being senselessly murdered would be just the thing to set the Toogolians off. He wanted all the Tri-Yarms driven off the planet. That way when he returned, core eater in tow, he'd have all the glagma to himself and not have to share it with anyone. Well, no one but his small core of Tri-Yarm followers.”

  “Wow, he must have really wanted that glagma.”

  Mr. Beeba shook his head slowly. “He wanted more than just glagma, Akiko. He wanted to become an entirely different sort of life-form.”

  “He what?”

  “I know. It's very odd. But you see, simply put, Zeem hated being a Toogolian. It was a part of his character that very few people knew about. Poog had observed it on occasion but never imagined it would drive him to such lengths.”

  Mr. Beeba now turned to Zeem, regarding him with an expression of both pity and mystification.

  “He wanted to be bigger, stronger, to have capabilities that had always been denied him as a Toogolian. The tongue-leech was just the first part of the process. It gave him the sophisticated vocal cords that Toogolians lack. It also gave him deadly powers, powers beyond those of ordinary Toogolians.”

  I thought about this.

  “That tongue-leech gave me something too.”