Emerson & Pete in None So Blind

(Okay, I totally lied. Here's another one of the short pieces I generated for this project the Crew Elders are working on. Based on an idea I had in my late teens, which was based on an idea I had as a child:

EMERSON & PETE in: None So Blind

          Pete is my friend. Pete is my only friend. Let me explain. Before I met Pete, I was the social pariah of the fifth grade. Mostly because I am the only kid in the fifth grade who knows what “social pariah” means. Then I met Pete. Now, I’m still the social pariah of the fifth grade, but I don’t really care anymore.
          See, Pete and I have been on dozens of adventures of exactly the sort you read about in boys’ magazines. Hidden pirate treasure, lost dinosaur islands, intergalactic intrigue. That was the fun stuff. Mad scientists, with their convoluted schemes and inescapable death traps, not so fun.
          Guess which we were doing today?
          “I think this is the end, little buddy,” I said to Pete. The two of us were hanging from thick steel chains, suspended above an ominous chemical concoction. Gears ratcheted, and with every click we were lowered closer and closer to the vat. “I don’t see any way out of this.”
          Pete nodded in agreement. “Sheesh,” he said. It was all he ever said.
          I almost forgot to mention – Pete is a four-foot tall bird-looking alien with blue feathers and a green beak. His kind mostly only communicate through a complex scheme of body language. The best he can manage in human vocals is “sheesh.”
          We make do.

          I first met Pete when his spaceship crashed into the woods next to my house. At least I think it was a spaceship – it was pretty smashed up by the time I saw it and all I’ve ever been able to get out of Pete by way of explanation is “Sheesh.” He was a stranger to this world and he needed a friend. I was, as I said, the social pariah of the fifth grade. In no time at all we were inseparable. Eventually I learned to understand his sheeshes, to interpret their subtle nuances into English – though occasionally he made simple errors like confusing “causal” with “casual.”
          Pete was a misfit, like me, and neither of us really had a place in this human world. So we became freelance adventurers, journeying to the last street at the edge of my development or to the last star system at the edge of the galaxy. Once, the two of us defeated Sid Viscous, the Not-Nice Goo, a nasty mucusy little bully that fancied himself Emperor Of All Creation. We found a miniature scale model of an A-bomb (capable of throwing fallout in a six-inch radius) and dropped it on him. Princess Arlissa of the Vandaloo gave us medals for that. And we got back in time for supper.
          My parents? Clueless. They know Pete is my best friend, and I swear they can see him and everything but somehow they never notice how he is a four-foot tall bird-looking alien with blue feathers and a green beak. Or, even worse, maybe they do know – and they are just so glad that their only son finally has a companion that they ignore the fact that he is an alien that can only say “sheesh.” Did I mention that I am the social pariah of the fifth grade?
     The death-trap we found ourselves in today began the way most of our adventures do – me and Pete had been in the woods near my house, digging for old Indian arrowheads. Occasionally Pete would pluck up a centipede with his pudgy feathered fingers and pop it in his mouth like a piece of popcorn. With legs. Suddenly there was a roaring sound all around me, like the sound of the ocean played through giant subwoofers. I think I heard Pete say “Sheesh,” and then I blacked out. We came to chained up in a broken-down warehouse, dangling over a cauldron of bubbling liquid, slowly being lowered in.
          “I think this is the end, little buddy,” I said, and that’s about where you came in.

          An old man with a bald spot, a lab coat, an eye-patch and a mechanical hand entered the room. “I assume,” he said in a thick mad scientist accent, “that I have the pleasure of addressing Emerson and Pete, fabled adventurers?”
          I tried to put a brave face on. “That’s right, you old meanie. I’m Emerson, he’s Pete. What’s the big idea?”
          “The Emerson and Pete? The ones that vanquished Sid Viscous? Defeated the Sky-Pirates of Mystery Island? Uncovered the smuggling ring disguised as a circus?”
          “Same, same, and same. Why are you doing this to us? If I don’t get back before sundown, I’ll be grounded!”
          “That is the least of your concerns now, my boy. My name is Dr. Infamy. Perhaps you have heard of me.”
          I had. “Sure. Some big-shot mad scientist villain for a few decades. Retired before I was born. They say you were one of the finest minds of the Third Reich.”
          Dr. Infamy scoffed. “That’s like being one of the tallest Munchkins in Munchkinland. Those fools, with their half-baked theories on race and a hollow earth… don’t get me started.”
          This whole time Pete and I were still ratcheting closer and closer to our doom. I decided to mention this. “Look, Doc... can I call you Doc? What are we doing here? And why? And, um, so forth.”
          The old man smiled. “The chemicals below you are a peculiar invention of mine. You are familiar with the principle of petrified forests, yes? Over time water brings in minerals which slowly replace the organic structure of the tree, down to the individual cells. It takes centuries. This silica solution I am lowering you into will do the same thing in minutes.”
          “What? Why?”
          “I can explain it to you and I think you’ll understand. You are like me, you live outside of society. We are not bound by its conventions and customs. We are free to choose our own path.” Well, I was free to choose my own path until Dr. Infamy chained me up, but I let that one pass. “Not so my brother. Yes, my brother. Bob Infamy. While I was born with a twisted genius and a hunger to build lasers on the moon, Bob is the very picture of normality. And next week, he is getting married. She’s a lovely girl, a hair stylist from Ithaca, and I really want them to be happy together.”
          “Um, I don’t mean to be rude.” Click. “But I don’t see how that has anything to do with me or Pete.” Click. “And it’s not exactly like we’ve got all day for the story.” Click. “So how about cutting to the chase?” With each click we were nearer to becoming instant fossils.
          “Yes, very well. I need a gift for the wedding. But nothing that I have will do. What would they want with the steam-powered robot that once fought the Golden Paladin to a standstill in the ‘50s? What use could they have for an anti-gravity gun? Or rocket-powered boots? So instead I decided, get them something for their house. A nice tasteful decoration. But what?”
          “Wait. I think I understand. Lifelike statues of Emerson and Pete.”
          “Indeed! And none more lifelike than the originals, petrified and preserved for the ages!”
          At this moment Pete, who had stayed silent through Dr. Infamy’s monologue, spoke up with urgency. “Sheesh,” he said.
          He had a point.
          “But Dr. Infamy,” I said, explaining Pete’s objection, “if Bob and his wife are normal people, won’t they be mad that you killed an innocent ten-year-old boy?”
          “Sheesh!”
          “And an innocent bird-looking alien?”
          Dr. Infamy looked real thoughtful. Then he reached over and turned a crank. The ratcheting stopped. We were a few inches from petrifaction but it was still a relief. “You know, I never thought about that. I have lived outside society for so long that I no longer even consider their hypocritical and cowardly values.” He paused, rubbing his chin with his mechanical hand. It sounded like tinfoil crumpling. “That completely ruins my gift idea! Say, do either of you have any other suggestions?”
          “A fondue kit?” It came to mind quickly because it was so obvious.
          “That’s too obvious, no?”
          “Sheesh!”
          “Say, Pete, that’s a good idea!”
          “What did he say?”
          “He said, how about some nice ice cube trays? That’s something any new home needs!”
          “Why… that’s brilliant!”

          So Dr. Infamy let us down and untied us. He was real apologetic about the death trap thing. He even gave me a lollipop. I guess he really was a doctor. Then he drove us home. As he dropped me off he asked where he could get ice cube trays. I suggested the mall. Then me and Pete played a couple rounds of kickball.
          That night we had tacos for dinner.