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Mrs. Caldecott wiped the cornflower blue Formica countertop in her kitchen, then poured a cup of fresh coffee from the percolator. She took a moment to inhale the aroma and enjoy the brief, quiet moments before—
Too late. A crash came from the hallway and little Monte, still in pajamas, raced into the room with a plastic Jupiter rocket clamped in his somehow already dirty fist. He wore a cardboard space helmet, which Mrs. Caldecott had clipped and pasted together from the backs of several Halston's Wheat Flakes boxes.
Spotting his mother, Monte ceased the loud rumbling noise he was making and barked out, "Planetoid located!" He hurled the rocket, catching her square in the apron. "Kablam! Planetoid destroyed!" he announced and ran back into the hallway.
"Monte, would you like some breakfast?" asked Mrs. Caldecott, patiently retrieving Monte's discarded toy.
"Space pills!" shouted the boy.
"We don't have those," said Mrs. Caldecott. "How about some nice toast and jam?"
"Astronauts don't eat toast. They eat space pills!"
Mrs. Caldecott considered pulling raisins from the cupboard and christening them space pills but doubted her son would play along.
"Darling, isn't it time for your television show?” she asked instead.
"Space transmission!" yelled Monte and sprinted to the family's beloved RCA Victor with “genuine” maple veneer. Waiting for the tubes to warm up, he circumnavigated the den, frog-hopping couches and armchairs, before tumbling onto the Oriental rug to stare transfixed at the fishbowl-shaped screen.
The image of a ringed planet fluoresced to life. "Halston's Wheat Flakes presents The Adventures of Johnny Rocket," intoned the announcer.
Back in the kitchen, Mrs. Caldecott breathed a sigh of relief. She had at least 20 minutes of peace now.
* * *
Mr. Caldecott returned home from the bank for lunch. He reached for the screen door on his front porch, but little Monte beat him to it, bursting out the doorway and banging the screen loudly against the siding. Mr. Caldecott jumped aside to avoid a collision.
"Be home for dinner," instructed Mr. Caldecott after catching his breath. But his son was already streaking across the yard, waving a tin raygun. "… Or not," he added as the boisterous lad disappeared into a nearby cornfield.
* * *
The light in Pearson's Wood was growing dim, and Monte figured he should return to home base. But his gaze settled on some faint lights filtering down through the dusky treetops. Monte watched the lights weave between the branches to the forest floor, creeping closer and shifting from red to yellow to green to blue. When they were almost on top of him, they blinked out entirely. A huge round shadow passed overhead.
“Neato,” gasped Monte.
Suddenly, a brilliant white spotlight flared, beaming straight down on the ten-year-old. Monte clamped his eyes shut and felt his feet rising up off the ground.
* * *
Monte blinked away the spots in his vision. He was plopped in the center of a featureless room. The floor felt cool and metallic. Two figures, long of limb and large of head, towered over him.
“Do not be afraid, human,” they said in unison.
Monte raised his official Johnny Rocket raygun and pointed it at his captors. “I am Commander Redd Rocket of the Earth Defense Force, and I will zap you dead!”
“He claims military rank,” said the first alien.
“I was unaware Earth employed creatures of such age in positions of military authority,” said the second.
“Perhaps we should forego the usual probing and take him back to our planet. His precocious knowledge and skill could prove valuable.”
The aliens stared bug-eyed at the boy, considering their options.
“Take me to your leader!” demanded Monte.
* * *
Monte sat in the ship's control room, kicking the underside of the console and ogling a large red button. “What does this do?” he asked.
“It induces magnetic field inversion,” said the pilot.
“What does this do?” repeated Monte, poking a blue doodad.
The ship jerked to a halt and the control room went dark.
“Please do not touch that,” said the pilot.
* * *
Monte ran shrieking through a hatchway of the alien ship. His shoes squeaked to a stop as he caught two more aliens in his sights.
Monte pumped the trigger on his raygun, and a tiny fan of sparks leaped out the barrel. The aliens flinched.
“You’re dead!” announced Monte.
“This weapon seems ineffective,” said one confused alien.
“Perhaps its effects are delayed,” offered the other nervously.
* * *
The expedition leader ducked into a cramped storage pod to hide and was surprised to see his second-in-command. “The small Earthling is demanding something called space pills,” he whispered. “I have informed him we have none. And yet his queries persist at regular intervals.”
“That's nothing. He told me he was tired of playing spaceman and ordered me to 'be an Indian.' What does that mean?”
* * *
Mr. and Mrs. Caldecott sat in their living room. A mantel clock ticked quietly.
“Should we call the police?” asked Mrs. Caldecott finally.
“Why?” asked Mr. Caldecott without lowering his evening paper.
A loud hum suddenly issued from the Caldecott's front porch, and a blinding light seeped in around the door frame.
The front door swept open and the otherworldly light filled the room.
A short silhouette stood in the doorway flanked by two unnaturally tall, skinny figures.
“Is this your offspring?” asked one of the figures.
“He says his name is Commander Redd Rocket,” said the second figure.
“Never heard of him,” said Mr. Caldecott.
“We abducted him and wish to return him. We apologize for the inconvenience and will trouble your planet no more.”
The door slammed shut, the light went out and the tall figures were gone.
Monte blinked at his parents. “That was fun,” he said, removing his cardboard helmet. “What's for dinner?”
Copyright 2023 - SFS Publishing LLC
The Abduction of Redd Rocket
Beware of the short ones