Space Rocks! by Tom O'Donnell Page A

Perhaps it was unfair of me to ask anything of them, since I had gotten them into this predicament and they were in no position to refuse. But honestly, I didn’t care. I wanted—nay, I needed—to eat more of those delicious pink treats.
    As it turned out, they had two unopened packages in addition to the one I had, er, sampled—and Little Gus had fallen on. I offered to carry all three boxes. To be helpful.
    â€œWe have to let our families know what happened,” said Becky. She attached a handwritten note to the wall of the airlock. It explained the situation—why the humans were leaving the pod and where they were going. It included a crude map—that the young humans had drawn with my guidance—pointing toward the cavern entrance where I planned to take them.
    I felt torn about leaving the human race a map to the Gelo cavern system, but I saw no other way. I realized I would likely face many similar ethical dilemmas if I was going to help these young humans survive.
    â€œAll right. Time to go,” said Hollins. He pushed the glowing orange button, and the inner door of the airlock slowly rolled closed. Then the outer door opened. There was no whoosh this time. The air inside was the same as the air outside. The blue-gray surface of Gelo stretched out beyond us.
    â€œSound doesn’t carry far in this atmosphere,” said Hollins. “So we’ll need to be on communicators once we’re out there. Try not to talk much. Let’s conserve battery power.” I reactivated the tiny Nyrt-Snooper still in my ear.
    Hollins hopped onto one of the four rocket-bikes in the airlock. “I’m the best pilot,” he said, “so I’ll take the lead.”
    â€œWait a second,” said Becky. “You’re not the best pilot. Everyone knows I am.”
    â€œBecky, you remember the emergency flight training course we did in preparation for this mission? I shouldn’t tell you this, but I got rated ninety-four percent.”
    â€œI was rated a ninety-seven percent,” said Becky, smiling.
    â€œYo, I got a twenty-two percent,” said Little Gus quietly. “That’s still pretty good, right?”
    â€œNot really,” said Nicki, but no one seemed to hear her.
    â€œLook, we could debate this all day,” said Hollins to Becky. “Even if we are both equally good pilots—”
    â€œNinety-four and ninety-seven aren’t equal,” she snapped.
    â€œBecky, my mom was the commander—”
    â€œMeaning what, exactly?”
    â€œI’m thirteen. You’re only twelve. I’m nine months and twenty-two days older than you. So that means I’m the leader,” said Hollins petulantly. Maybe he was still sore about losing the rocket-bike race to her?
    â€œThey’re always like this,” said Little Gus, shrugging. “It’s like ‘get married already.’”
    â€œWhat? They are not going to get married!” cried Nicki. It was the most animated I’d ever seen her.
    â€œWe are not going to get married!” said Hollins and Becky in unison. Hollins’s voice crackled high.
    â€œWhat is ‘married’?” I asked. No one had a very good answer for me. Apparently it was a legal and emotional union between two humans who specifically were not originator and offspring—the two adult Hollinses I’d seen earlier were an example. Beyond that, the humans got a little evasive.
    â€œWhy are we wasting time explaining this to it!” said Becky, exasperated.
    â€œIt? It has a name, you know,” said Little Gus. “Wait . . . you do have a name, right?”
    â€œI am Chorkle,” I said.
    â€œWhew!” said Little Gus. “I was worried it was going to be something crazy like ‘Zhalufaxdyn’ or ‘Ranvonmo the Eternal.’ Chorkle. That’s easy enough to say.”
    â€œPleased to meet you, Chorkle,” said Nicki, and she