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- Words: 7,530
- Pages: 116
- Publisher: HarperCollins UK
- Released Date: 2014-11-30
- Author: Jeff Brown
For Sidney Urquhart, the godmother to whom Stanley owes so much.
First published in Great Britain 1990 by Methuen Children’s Books Ltd Reissued 2012 by Egmont UK Limited The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London, W11 4AN
Text copyright © 1990 Jeff Brown Illustrations copyright © 2012 by the Trust u/w/o Richard C. Brown a/k/a/Jeff Brown f/b/o Duncan Brown
First e-book edition 2014
ISBN 978 1 4052 0419 4 eISBN 978 1 7803 1220 0
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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CONTENTS
Cover
Title page
Dedication and Copyright
1 The Call
2 Washington
3 Taking Off
4 In Space
5 The Tyrrans
6 TyrraVille
7 President Ot’s Story
8 Stanley’s Good Idea
9 The Weighing
10 Heading Home
11 Earth Again
Back Series Promotional Page
‘Will you meet with us? Does anyone hear?’ From the great farness of space, from farther than any planet or star that has ever been mentioned in books, the questions came. Again and again. ‘Will you meet with us? Does anyone hear?’
The Call
It was Saturday morning, and Mr and Mrs Lambchop were putting up wallpaper in the kitchen. ‘Isn’t this nice, George?’ said Mrs Lambchop, stirring paste. ‘No excitement. A perfectly usual day.’ Mr Lambchop knew just what she meant. Excitement was often troublesome. The flatness of their son Stanley, for example, after his big bulletin board settled on him overnight. Exciting, but worrying too, till Stanley got round again. And that genie visiting, granting wishes. Oh, very exciting! But all the wishes had to be unwished before the genie returned to the lamp from which he sprung. ‘Yes, dear.’ Mr Lambchop smoothed down wallpaper. ‘Ordinary. The very best sort of day.’ In the living-room, Stanley Lambchop and his younger brother Arthur were watching a Tom Toad cartoon on TV. The sporty Toad was water-skiing and fell off, making a great splash. Arthur laughed so hard he didn’t hear the telephone, but Stanley answered it. ‘Lambchop residence?’ said the caller. ‘The President of the United States speaking. Who’s this?’ Stanley smiled. ‘The King of .’ ‘They don’t have kings in . Not any more.’ ‘Excuse me, but I’m too busy for jokes.’ Stanley kept his eyes on the TV. ‘My brother and I are watching the Tom Toad Show.’ ‘Well, you keep watching, young fellow!’ The caller hung up, just as Mr and Mrs Lambchop came in to watch the rest of the show. ‘Hey, guess what?’ Stanley said.
‘Hay is for horses,’ said Mrs Lambchop, mindful always of careful speech. ‘Who called, dear?’ Stanley laughed. ‘The President of the United States!’ Arthur laughed too. ‘Stanley said he was the King of !’ Tom Toad vanished suddenly from the TV screen, and an American flag appeared. ‘We bring you a special message from the White House in Washington, DC,’ said the deep voice of an announcer. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States!’
The screen showed the President, looking very serious, behind his desk. ‘My fellow Americans,’ the President said. ‘I am sorry to interrupt this programme, but someone out there doesn’t realise that I am a very busy man who can’t waste time joking on the telephone. I hope the particular person I am talking to – and I do not mean the King of ! – will that. Thank you. Now here’s The Toad Show again.’ Tom Toad, still water-skiing, came back on the TV. ‘Stanley!’ exclaimed Mrs Lambchop. ‘The King of indeed!’ ‘Gosh!’ Arthur said. ‘Will Stanley get put in jail?’ ‘There is no law against being a telephone smarty,’ Mr Lambchop said. ‘Perhaps there should be.’ The telephone rang, and he answered it. ‘George Lambchop here.’ ‘Good!’ It was the President. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you!’
‘Oh, my!’ Mr Lambchop said. ‘Please excuse –’ ‘Hold on. You’re the fellow has the boy who was flat once, got his picture in the newspaper?’ ‘My son Stanley, Mr President,’ Mr Lambchop said, to let the others know who was calling. ‘I had to be sure,’ said the President. ‘We have to get together, Lambchop! I’ll send my private plane right now, fetch you all here to Washington, DC.’ Mr Lambchop gasped. ‘Private plane? Washington? All of us?’ ‘The whole family.’ The President chuckled. ‘Including the King of .’
Washington
At the White House, in his famous Oval Office, the President shook hands with all the Lambchops.
‘Thanks for coming.’ He chuckled. ‘Bet you never thought when you woke up this morning that you’d get to meet me.’ ‘Indeed not,’ Mr Lambchop said. ‘This is quite a surprise.’ ‘Well, here’s another one,’ said the President. ‘The reason I asked you to come.’ He sat down behind his desk, serious now. ‘Tyrra! Never heard of it, right?’ The Lambchops all shook their heads. ‘Nobody ever heard of it. It’s a planet, up there somewhere. They sent a message, the first ever from outer space!’
The Lambchops were greatly interested. ‘Imagine!’ Mrs Lambchop exclaimed. ‘What did it say?’ ‘Very friendly tone,’ the President said. ‘Peaceful, just checking around. Asked us to visit. Now, my plan –’ A side door of the Oval Office had opened suddenly to reveal a nicely-dressed lady wearing a crown. Mrs Lambchop recognised her at once as the Queen of England. ‘About the banquet, also the –’ the Queen began, and saw that the President was busy. ‘Ooops! We beg your pardon.’ She closed the door. ‘This place is a madhouse,’ the President said. ‘Visitors, fancy dinners, no end to it. Now, where –? Ah, yes! The Star Scout !’ He leaned forward. ‘That’s our new top-secret spaceship, just ready now! Send somebody up in the Star Scout, I thought, to meet with these Tyrrans. But who? Wouldn’t look peaceful to send soldiers, or even scientists. Then I thought: What could be more peaceful than just an ordinary American boy?’ The President smiled. ‘Why not Stanley Lambchop?’ ‘Stanley?’ Mrs Lambchop gasped. ‘In a spaceship? To meet with an alien race?’ ‘Oh, boy!’ said Stanley. ‘I would love to go!’ ‘Me, too,’ said Arthur. ‘It’s not fair if –’ ‘Arthur!’ Mr Lambchop drew in a deep breath. ‘Mr President, why Stanley ?’ ‘It has to be someone that’s already had adventure experience,’ the President said. ‘Well, my Secret Service showed me a newspaper story about when Stanley was flat and caught two robbers. Robbers! That’s adventure!’ ‘I’ve had them too!’ Arthur said. ‘A genie taught me to fly, and we had a
Liophant, and –’ ‘A what ?’ ‘A Liophant,’ Arthur said. ‘Half lion, half elephant. They’re nice.’ ‘Is that right? The Secret Service never –’ ‘Mr President?’ Mrs Lambchop did not like to interrupt, but her concern was great. ‘Mr President?’ she said. ‘This mission: is it safe?’ ‘My goodness, of course it’s safe!’ the President said. ‘We have taken great care, Mrs Lambchop. The Star Scout has all the latest scientific equipment. And it has been very carefully tested. First, we tried it on automatic pilot, with no engers. It worked perfectly! Even then, ma’am, we were not satisfied. We sent the Star Scout up again, this time with our cleverest trained bird aboard. But hear for yourself.’ The President spoke into a little box on his desk. ‘Send in Dr Schwartz, please.’ A bearded man entered, wearing a white coat and carrying a birdcage with a cloth over it. Bowing, he removed the cloth to reveal a large, brightly-coloured parrot. ‘Thank you, Herman,’ the President said. ‘Dr Schwartz is our top space scientist,’ he told the Lambchops, ‘and this is Polly, the bird I spoke of. Polly, tell the folks here about your adventure into space.’
‘Piece of cake,’ said the parrot. ‘Terrific! Loved every minute of it!’ ‘Thank you, Herman,’ the President said, and Dr Schwartz carried Polly away. ‘That was very reassuring, but it is out of the question for Stanley to go alone,’ Mrs Lambchop said. ‘However, we were planning a family vacation. Would it be possible, Mr President, for us all to go?’ ‘Well, if you didn’t mind the crowding,’ the President said. ‘And skimped on baggage.’ ‘Actually, we had in mind the seaside,’ Mr Lambchop said. ‘Or a tennis camp. But –’ The Queen of England looked in again. ‘May we ask if –’ ‘Just a minute, for heaven’s sake!’ said the President. ‘We shall return anon.’ Looking peeved, the Queen went away. Mr Lambchop had decided. ‘Mr President, the seaside will keep. We will go to Tyrra, sir.’ ‘Wonderful!’ The President jumped up. ‘To the stars, Lambchops! Some training at the Space Centre, and you’re on your way!’
Taking Off
‘Ten!’ said the voice of Mission Control. The count-down had begun. When it reached ‘Zero’ Chief Pilot Stanley Lambchop would press the ‘Start’ button, and the Star Scout would blast off for Tyrra. ‘Nine!’ Strapped into their seats, the Lambchops held their breaths, each thinking very different thoughts.
Stanley was wondering if the Tyrrans would mind that Earth had sent just an ordinary family. Suppose they were big stuck-ups and expected a general or a TV star, or even the President? Suppose – ‘Eight!’ said Control, and Stanley fixed his eyes on the before him. Mr Lambchop was thinking that serving one’s country was noble, but this was a bit much. How did these things happen? Off to an unknown planet, the entire family! Other families didn’t have a son become flat. Other families didn’t find genies in the house. Other – Oh, well! Mr Lambchop sighed. ‘Seven!’ said Control. Mrs Lambchop thought that Mr Lambchop seemed fretful. But why, now the Star Scout looked so nice ? Thanks to her, in fact. ‘They may call it a spaceship,’ she had said when she first saw it, ‘but where’s the space ? Just one room! And all grey . . .? Drab, I say!’ Much of the training at the Space Centre, however, was physical, and Mrs Lambchop, who jogged and exercised regularly, quickly ed the tests required. In the days that followed, while the others were being made fit, she used her free time to make the Star Scout more like home. Only so much weight was permitted, but she managed a bathroom scale for the shower alcove and a plastic curtain, pretty shades for the portholes, a Venetian blind for the Magnifying Exploration Window, and posters of Mexico and . ‘Six! . . . Five! . . . Four! . . . Three! . . .’ Mrs Lambchop made sure her purse was snug beneath her seat. Arthur, by nature lazy, was thinking that he was glad to be done with all the jogging, jumping, climbing ladders, and scaling walls. When he was superstrong, thanks to the genie, it would have been easy. But for just plain Arthur Lambchop, he thought, it was tiring. ‘Two!’ said Control. ‘Good luck, everybody! One!’ ‘Pay attention, dear,’ Mrs Lambchop told Stanley. ‘Zero!’ said Control, and Stanley pressed the ‘Start’ button.
Whrooom ! Rockets roaring, the Star Scout rose from its launching pad. Whroooooom ! Whroooooom ! Gaining speed, it soared higher and higher, carrying the Lambchops towards the farness where Tyrra lay.
In Space
‘I’ll just flip this omelette,’ said Mrs Lambchop, making breakfast in the Star Scout, ‘and then – Oh, dear!’ The omelette hovered like a Frisbee in the air above her.
Mostly, however, after weeks in space, the Lambchops ed that gravity, the force that held things down, did not exist beyond Earth’s atmosphere. Mr Lambchop often read now with his hands clasped behind his head, allowing his book to float before him, and Stanley and Arthur greatly enjoyed pushing from their chairs to drift like feathers across the room. Raising her pan, Mrs Lambchop brought down the omelette. ‘After breakfast, what?’ she said. ‘A game of Monopoly ?’ ‘Please, not again.’ Arthur sighed. ‘If I’d known this adventure would be so boring, I’d never have come.’ ‘The worst part,’ Stanley said, ‘is not knowing how long it will last.’ ‘The beginning wasn’t boring,’ Arthur said as they began their breakfast. ‘The beginning was fun.’
The first days had in fact been tremendously exciting. They had spent many hours at the Star Scout ’s Magnifying Window, watching the bright globe of Earth grow steadily smaller, until it seemed at last only a pale marble in the black of space. And there had been many special sights to see: the starry beauty of the Milky Way, the planets – red Mars, giant Jupiter, cloudy Venus, Saturn with its shining rings.
The third evening they appeared on TV news broadcasts on Earth. Word of their voyage had been released to the press, and all over the world people were eager to learn how this extraordinary adventure was proceeding. Standing before the spaceship’s camera, the Lambchops said they felt fine, looked forward to meeting the Tyrrans, and would report nightly while they remained in TV range. The fourth evening they floated before the camera, demonstrating weightlessness. This was greatly appreciated on Earth, and they floated again the following day.
By the sixth evening, however, they were hard-pressed to liven their appearances. Mr Lambchop recited a baseball poem, ‘Casey At The Bat’. Stanley juggled tennis balls, but the Earth audience, knowing now about weightlessness, saw the balls float when he tossed them up. Arthur did imitations of a rooster, a dog, and a man stuck in a phone booth. After this, while Mrs Lambchop was singing her college song, he went behind the plastic curtain to undress for a shower and accidentally pulled the curtain down. He was mortified, and she tried later to comfort him. ‘We will be ed, Arthur, for our time in space,’ she said. ‘Nobody will care about a curtain.’ ‘I will be ed forever,’ Arthur said. ‘A hundred million people saw me in my underwear.’ The next day was Stanley’s birthday, and just after dinner the screen lit up. There was the President in his shirtsleeves, behind his desk in Washington, DC. ‘Well, here I am working late again,’ the President said. ‘It’s a tough job, believe me. Happy birthday, Stanley Lambchop! I’ve arranged a surprise. First, your friends from school.’ There was silence for a moment, broken only by the clearing of throats, and then, from all the millions of miles away, came the voices of Stanley’s classmates singing, ‘Happy Birthday, dear Stanley! Happy Birthday to you!’ Stanley was tremendously pleased. ‘Thanks, everybody!’ he said. ‘You too, Mr President.’
‘That was just the USA part,’ said the President. ‘Ready over there in London, Queen?’ ‘We are indeed,’ the Queen’s voice said cheerfully. ‘And now, Master Lambchop, our famous Westminster Boys’ Choir!’ From England, the beautiful voices of the famous choir sang ‘Happy Birthday, Stanley!’ all over again, and then other children sang it from , Spain, and . All this attention to Stanley made Arthur jealous, and when the President said, ‘By the way, Arthur, you entertained us wonderfully the other night,’ he was sure this was a tease about his appearance in underwear. But he was wrong. ‘Those imitations!’ the President said. ‘Especially the fellow in the phone booth. Darn good!’ ‘Indeed!’ the Queen added from England. ‘We were greatly amused.’ ‘Oh, thank you!’ said Arthur, cheered. ‘I –’ The screen had gone blank. They had travelled too far. There would be no more voices from Earth, no voices but their own until they heard what the Tyrrans had to say.
‘Suppose the Tyrrans have forgotten we’re coming?’ Stanley said. ‘We might just sail around in space forever.’ They had finished the breakfast omelette, and were now setting out the Monopoly board because there was nothing more interesting to do. ‘They don’t even know our names,’ Arthur said. ‘What will they call us?’ ‘Earth people!’ said a deep voice. ‘Very probably,’ said Mr Lambchop. ‘“Earth people” seems – Who said that?’
‘Not me,’ said both Stanley and Arthur. ‘Not I,’ said Mrs Lambchop, correcting. ‘But who –’ ‘Earth people!’ The voice, louder now, came from the Star Scout ’s radio. ‘Greetings from the great planet Tyrra and its mighty people! Do you hear?’ ‘Oh, my!’ Mr Lambchop turned up the volume. ‘It’s them!’ ‘They,’ said Mrs Lambchop. ‘For heaven’s sake, Harriet!’ Mr Lambchop said, and spoke loudly into the microphone. ‘Hello, Tyrra. Earth people here. Party of four. Peace-loving family.’ ‘Peace-loving?’ said the voice. ‘Good! So is mighty Tyrra! Where are you, Earth people?’ Stanley checked his star maps. ‘We’re just where the tail of Ralph’s Comet meets star number three million and forty-seven. Now what?’ ‘Right,’ said the Tyrran voice. ‘Keep going till you a star formation that looks like a foot. You can’t miss it. Then, just past a lopsided little white moon, start down. You’ll see a pointy mountain, then a big field. Land there. See you soon, Earth people!’ ‘You bet!’ Mr Lambchop said, and turned to his family. ‘The first with another planet! We are making history!’
They ed the foot-shaped star formation, then the lopsided moon, and Stanley piloted the Star Scout down. The darkness of space vanished as it descended, and at last the Lambchops saw clearly the planet it had taken so long to reach. Tyrra was smallish as planets go, but nicely round and quite pretty, all in shades of brown with markings not unlike the oceans and continents of Earth. A pointy mountain came into sight, and beyond it a big field. ‘There!’ Stanley pressed the ‘Landing’ button. Whrooom ! went the Star Scout ’s rockets. The spaceship hovered, then touched down. Peering out, the Lambchops saw only a brown field, with tan trees at the far side and brownish hills beyond. ‘Curious,’ said Mr Lambchop. ‘Where are –’ Suddenly a message came, but not the sort they expected. ‘Surrender, Earth people!’ said the radio. ‘Your spaceship is trapped by our unbreakable trapping cable! You are prisoners of Tyrra! Surrender!’
The Tyrrans
Unbreakable trapping cable? Prisoners? Surrender? The Lambchops could scarcely believe their ears. ‘I don’t call that peaceful,’ said Mrs Lambchop. ‘Our President has been misled.’ ‘I wish we had gone to the seaside.’ Mr Lambchop shook his head. ‘But how are we trapped? I don’t –’ He pointed to the Magnifying Window. ‘What’s that?’ A thin blue line, like a thread, had been ed over the Star Scout. Stanley switched on the wiper above the big window and the first flick of its blade parted the blue line. ‘Drat!’ said the radio. Other voices rose, startled, and then the deep voice spoke again. ‘Earth people! We’re sending a messenger! A regular, ordinary Tyrran, just to show what we’re like.’ For long moments, the Lambchops kept their eyes on the tan trees across the field. ‘There!’ Arthur said suddenly. ‘Coming toward – Oh! Oh, my . . .’ His voice trailed away. The Tyrran messenger came slowly forward to stand before the big window, a muscular, scowling young man with a curling moustache, wearing shorts and carrying a club.
The moustache was very large. The messenger was not. ‘That man,’ Mrs Lambchop said slowly, ‘is only three inches tall.’ ‘At most,’ Mr Lambchop said. ‘It is a magnifying window.’
The Tyrran seemed to be calling something. Arthur opened the door a crack, and the words came clearly now. ‘– afraid to let us see you, Earth people? Because I’m so enormous? Hah! All Tyrrans are this big!’ Flinging the door wide, Arthur showed himself. ‘Well, I’m a small Earth person!’ he shouted. ‘The rest are even bigger than me!’ ‘I, not me,’ Mrs Lambchop said. ‘And don’t tease, Arth– Oh! He’s fainted!’ Wetting her handkerchief with cold water, she jumped down from the Star Scout and ran to dab the Tyrran’s tiny brow. Cries rose again from the spaceship’s radio. ‘A giant kill Ik! . . . There’s another, even bigger! . . . Oh, gross! . . . Look! Ik’s all right!’
The Tyrran, by grasping Mrs Lambchop’s handkerchief, had indeed pulled himself up. Furious, he swung his club, but managed only to tap the top of her shoe. ‘Ouch! Scat!’ she said, and he darted back across the field. ‘Oh, my!’ said the radio. ‘Never mind about surrendering, Earth people! A truce committee is on the way!’
At first they saw only a tiny flag, fluttering like a white butterfly far across the brown field, but at last the Tyrran committee drew close, and the Lambchops, waiting now outside the Star Scout, could make each little person out. The flag was carried by the scowling young man with the moustache and the club. The other of the committee, a bit smaller even than he, were a red-faced man wearing a uniform with medals across the chest, a stout lady in a yellow dress and a hat with flowers on it, and two older men in blue suits, one with wavy white hair, the other thin and bald. The committee halted, staring bravely up. ‘I am General Ap!’ shouted the uniformed man. ‘Commander of all Tyrran forces!’ Stanley stepped forward. ‘Chief Pilot Stanley Lambchop,’ he said. ‘From Earth. These are my parents, Mr and Mrs George Lambchop. And my brother Arthur.’ ‘President Ot of Tyrra, and Mrs Ot,’ said General Ap, indicating the wavy-haired man and the lady. ‘The bald chap is Dr Ep, our Chief Scientist. The grouchy one with the flag is my aide, Captain Ik.’ No one seemed sure what to say next. A few polite remarks were exchanged – ‘Nice meeting you, Earth people!’ . . . ‘Such a pretty planet, Tyrra!’ . . . ‘Thank you. Were you very long in space?’ – and Mr Lambchop realised suddenly that the Tyrrans were uncomfortable talking almost straight up. He got down on his knees, the other Lambchops following his example, and the Tyrrans at once lowered their heads in relief.
‘Right!’ said General Ap. ‘All reasonable people here! A truce, eh?’ ‘I’m for war, frankly,’ growled Captain Ik, but Stanley pretended not to hear. ‘A truce? Good idea,’ he said. ‘We come in peace.’ Mrs Ot sniffed. ‘Not very peaceful, frightening poor Captain Ik.’ She pointed at Arthur. ‘That giant shouted at him!’ ‘My son is not a giant,’ Mrs Lambchop said. ‘It’s just that you Tyrrans are – how to put it? – unusually petite.’ ‘Ik’s the biggest we’ve got, actually,’ said General Ap. ‘We hoped he’d scare you.’ President Ot raised his hand. ‘No harm done! Come! TyrraVille, our capital, is but a stroll away.’ The Lambchops, equipped now with handy magnifying lenses from the Star Scout ’s science kit, followed the committee. TyrraVille lay just across the brown field, behind the tan trees, no larger than an Earth-size tennis court.
TyrraVille
‘Gosh!’ Stanley said. ‘It makes me homesick, in a way.’ Except for its size, and the lack of greenness, the Tyrran capital was indeed much like a small village on Earth. A Main Street bustled with Tyrrans shopping and running errands; there were handsome school and public buildings, two churches with spires as high as Mr Lambchop’s waist, and side streets of pretty houses with lawns like neat brown postage stamps.
Captain Ik, still angry, marched on ahead, but the rest of the committee halted at the head of Main Street. ‘We’ll just show you around, eh?’ said President Ot. ‘Safer, I think.’ The Lambchops saw at once the risk of walking streets scarcely wider than their feet. Escorted by the committee, they circled the little capital, bending often to make use of their magnifying lenses. Mrs Ot took care to indicate points of particular interest, among them Ux Field, a sports centre, iral Ux Square, Ux Park, and the Ux Science Centre Building. (‘Mrs Ot’s grandfather,’ whispered General Ap. ‘Very rich!’) The tour caused a great stir. Everywhere the tiny citizens of TyrraVille waved from windows and rooftops. At the Science Centre, the last stop, journalists took photographs, and the Lambchops were treated to Grape Fizzola, the Tyrran national drink, hundreds of bottles of which were emptied into four tubs to make Earth-size portions.
Refreshed by his Fizzola, Arthur took a little run and hurdled a large part of TyrraVille, landing in Ux Square. ‘Arthur!’ Mrs Lambchop scolded, and he hurdled back. ‘Aren’t kids the dickens?’ said a Tyrran mother, looking on. ‘Mine – Stop tugging, Herbert!’ These last words seemed addressed to the ground beside her. ‘My youngest,’ she explained. Stanley squinted. ‘I can hardly – He’s just a dot.’ ‘Dot yourself !’ said an angry voice. ‘Big-a-rooney! You’re the funny-looking one!’ ‘Herbert!’ his mother said. ‘It is rude to make fun of people for their shape or size!’ ‘As I said myself, often, when Stanley was flat!’ Mrs Lambchop exclaimed. ‘If only –’ ‘Surrender, Earth people!’ The cry had come from Captain Ik, who appeared now from behind the Science Centre, staggering beneath the weight of a box-like machine almost as big as he was, with a tube sticking out of it. ‘Surrender!’ he shouted. ‘You cannot resist our Magno-Titanic Paralyser Ray! Tyrra will yet be saved!’ ‘There’s a truce, Ik!’ barked General Ap. ‘You can’t –’ ‘Yes, I can! First – Ooops!’ Captain Ik’s knees had buckled, but he recovered himself. ‘First I’ll paralyse the one who scared me back there in the field!’ Yellow light flickered up at Arthur from the Magno-Titanic Paralyser. ‘Yikes!’ said Arthur, as shrieks rose from the crowd. But it was not on Arthur that the Magno-Titanic beam landed. Stanley had sprung forward to protect his brother, and the light shone now on his chest and
shoulders. Mrs Lambchop almost fainted. Suddenly her fright was gone. Stanley was smiling. The yellow rays still flickering upon him, he rolled his head and wiggled his hands to show that he was fine. ‘It’s nice, actually,’ he said. ‘Like a massage.’
The crowd hooted. ‘It only works on people Tyrran size!’ someone called. ‘You’re a ninny, Ik!’ Then Captain Ik was marched off by a Tyrran policeman, and the crowd, still laughing, drifted away. Mrs Lambchop spoke sternly to the committee. ‘“Tyrra will yet be saved?” What did Captain Ik mean? And why, pray tell, did he attempt to paralyse my son?’ The Ots and General Ap exchanged glances. Dr Ep stared at the ground. ‘Ah!’ said President Ot. ‘Well . . . The fact is, we’re having a . . . a crisis, actually. Yes. And Ik, well, he, ah –’ ‘Oh, tell them!’ Mrs Ot burst suddenly into tears. ‘About the Super-Gro! Tell, for heaven’s sake!’ Puzzled, the Lambchops stared at her. The sky had darkened, and now a light rain began to fall. ‘Wettish, eh?’ said General Ap. ‘Can’t offer shelter, I’m afraid. No place large enough.’ ‘The Star Scout will do nicely,’ said Mrs Lambchop. ‘Let us return to it for tea.’
President Ot’s Story
‘Tea does help. I am quite myself again.’ Mrs Ot nodded to her husband. ‘Go on, dear. Tell.’ Rain drummed faintly on the Star Scout, making even cosier the scene within. About the dining-table, the Lambchops occupied their usual places. The Tyrrans sat atop the table on thumbtacks pushed down to serve as stools, sipping from tiny cups Mrs Lambchop had fashioned from aluminium foil, and nibbling crumbs of her home-made ginger snaps.
Now, sighing, President Ot set down his cup. ‘You will have observed, Lambchops,’ he said, ‘how greatly we have enjoyed these tasty refreshments. The fact is, Tyrra has for some time been totally without fresh food or water fit to drink. We live now only by what tins and bottles we had in store.’ Mrs Ot made a face. ‘Pink meat spreads, and spinach. And that dreadful Fizzola.’ ‘A bit sweet, yes,’ said General Ap. ‘Gives one gas, too. But –’ ‘Never mind!’ cried Mrs Ot. President Ot continued. ‘The cause of our tragedy, Lambchops, was Super-Gro. An invention of Dr Ep’s. Super-Gro, Ep promised, would double our crops, make them double size, double delicious as well. A great concept, he said.’ ‘We scientists,’ said Dr Ep, ‘dream larger than other men.’ ‘For three days, at the Science Centre,’ President Ot went on, ‘Ep brewed his Super-Gro. Great smelly vats of it, enough for the whole planet. But then . . . Oh, no Tyrran will ever forget that fourth day! I myself was strolling through Ux Park. How beautiful it was! The trees and grass so green, the sky –’ ‘Green?’ said Arthur. ‘But everything’s brown here, not green!’ ‘A mishap,’ murmured Dr Ep. ‘With the Super-Gro.’ ‘Mishap?’ barked General Ap. ‘The stuff exploded, Ep! All over the place!’ ‘Well, nobody’s perfect.’ Dr Ep hung his head. ‘All those huge vats, Lambchops!’ President Ot continued. ‘Boom! One after another! Shattered windows, blew the roof off the Science Centre! No one hurt, thank goodness, but great clouds of smoke, darkening the sky! And then – such dreadful luck – it began to rain. A tremendous rain, mixing with the smoke, falling all over Tyrra, into the rivers, on to every field and garden, every bit of greenery.’
Rising from his thumbtack, he paced back and forth across the table.
‘When the rain stopped, there was no green. None. Just brown. Worse, Ep’s tests proved that our water was undrinkable, and that nowhere on Tyrra would anything grow. I broadcast at once to the nation. “Do not despair,” I said, “Tyrra will soon recover.”’ ‘Oh, good!’ Mr Lambchop said. President Ot shook his head. ‘I lied. I couldn’t tell the truth, for fear of causing panic, you see. The tests showed that it would be a year at least before Tyrra was green again. And long before that we will have emptied our last tin, our last bottle of Fizzola.’ He sat down again, covering his face with his hands. ‘So then we . . . We sent a message, into space. Lure some other planet’s spaceship, we thought. Hold it for ransom, you see, make them send food and water. Oh, shameful! Underhanded. You will never forgive us, I know . . .’ His voice trailed away, and there was only the patter of the rain. Close to tears, the Lambchops looked at each other, then at the little people on the table top. The Tyrrans seemed particularly tiny now, and brave, and nice. ‘You poor dears!’ Mrs Lambchop said. ‘There was no need to conquer us. We would help you willingly, if we could.’ The Tyrrans seemed at first unable to believe their ears. Then, suddenly, their faces shone with joy. ‘Bless you!’ cried General Ap. ‘Saved!’ Mrs Ot clapped her hands. ‘We are saved!’ ‘Saved . . .?’ said Mrs Lambchop. ‘Of course!’ said President Ot. ‘Don’t you see? Earth’s spaceships can bring food and water till – Oh! What’s wrong?’ It was Arthur who explained.
‘I’m very sorry,’ he said. ‘But there’s just the Star Scout. Earth hasn’t got any other spaceships. And it would take years to build them.’ The Tyrrans gasped. ‘Years . . .?’ said Dr Ep. Stanley felt so sad he could hardly speak. ‘And it’s no use going for food in the Star Scout,’ he said. ‘By the time we returned from Earth, you’d all be – Well, you know.’ ‘Dead,’ said Mrs Ot. In the Star Scout, a terrible silence fell. The facts were clear. The cupboards of Tyrra would soon be empty. And then all its tiny people would starve to death.
Stanley’s Good Idea
The teapot was cold now, and a last cookie crumb lay unwanted on a plate. Gloom hung like a dark cloud within the Star Scout. ‘It’s not fair,’ Arthur said for the third time. ‘It just not.’
‘Stop saying that,’ Stanley told him. ‘That’s four times now.’ ‘Five,’ said Dr Ep. General Ap tried to be cheerful. ‘Ah well . . . Still some tinned meat, eh? And plenty of Grape Fizzola. Much to be thankful for.’ ‘I will never be thankful for Grape Fizzola,’ said Mrs Ot. ‘It’s just that . . .’ Arthur sighed. ‘I mean, Earth has so much food. Millions of people, and there’s mostly still enough.’ The Tyrrans seemed amazed. ‘Millions? You’re joking?’ said President Ot. ‘Hah!’ said General Ap. ‘Dreadful crush, I should think. Millions?’ Mrs Lambchop smiled. ‘With all our great nations, many millions. And still the numbers grow.’ ‘Well, here too.’ President Ot shook his head. ‘Youthful marriages, babies one after another. But millions ? Our population – there’s just TyrraVille, of course – is six hundred and eighty-three.’ ‘Eighty-four,’ said Mrs Ot. ‘Mrs Ix had a baby last night.’ Now it was the Lambchops who were amazed. ‘Just TyrraVille?’ Arthur cried. ‘But TyrraVille’s your capital, you said!’ ‘Well, it would have to be, wouldn’t it, dear?’ said Mrs Ot. Stanley shook his head. ‘On the whole planet, only six hundred and eighty-four Tyrrans! Gosh, I’ll bet – Wait!’ And idea had come to him. Stanley had had exciting ideas before, but none that excited him as this one did. ‘Mrs Ot!’ he shouted. ‘How much do you weigh?’ ‘Stanley!’ said Mrs Lambchop.
Mrs Ot was not offended. ‘Actually, I’ve slimmed a bit. Though not, sadly, in the hips. I’m six ounces, young man. Why do you ask?’ The words rushed out of Stanley. ‘Because if you’re average only children would be even lighter, then all the Tyrrans put together would weigh – Let me figure this out!’ ‘Less than three hundred pounds,’ said Mr Lambchop, who was good at maths. ‘Though I don’t see –’ Then he did see. ‘Oh! Good for you, Stanley!’ ‘The lad’s bright, we know,’ said General Ap. ‘But what –’ ‘General!’ said Mr Lambchop. ‘Summon all Tyrrans here to the Star Scout ! Fetch what remains of your tinned food and Grape Fizzola! Perhaps Earth can be your home till Tyrra is green again!’
The Weighing
From each little house on each little street, the Tyrrans came, every man, woman, and child, even Captain Ik with a guard from the jail. The rain had stopped, and the evening light shone gold on the brown field in which the tiny people stood assembled. President Ot addressed them. ‘Fellow Tyrrans! I must confess that your government has deceived you! The truth is: It will be at least a year before our fields and streams are fit again.’
Cries rose from the crowd. ‘We were lied to! . . . Lordy, talk about bad news! . . . We’ll starve! . . . Shoot the scientists!’ ‘Wait!’ shouted President Ot. ‘We are offered refuge on Earth, if the voyage is possible! Pay attention, please!’ Stepping forward, Mr Lambchop read aloud from the booklet that had come with the Star Scout. ‘“Your spacecraft has been designed for safety as well as comfort. Use only as directed.”’ He raised his voice. ‘“Do not add weight by bringing souvenirs aboard or by inviting friends to ride with you.”’ Cries rose again. ‘That did it! . . . We’re not souvenirs ! . . . He said no friends either, stupid! . . . We’ve had it, looks like!’ Mr Lambchop raised his hand. ‘There is still hope! But you must all be weighed! Also the supplies you would require for the trip!’ The Star Scout ’s bathroom scales, set down in the field, proved too high for the Tyrrans, and the weighing was briefly delayed until Arthur, using the Monopoly board, made a ramp by which they could easily mount. General Ap barked orders. ‘Right, then! Groups of twenty to twenty-five, families together! And don’t jiggle!’ The Ots and six other families marched up on to the scales, beside which Mrs Lambchop stood with pad and pencil. ‘Seven and one-quarter pounds!’ she said, writing it down. ‘Next!’ shouted General Ap, but the Ot group was already starting down, and another marching up. Group after group mounted the scales. There was jiggling, due to excited children, but Mrs Lambchop took care to wait until the needle was still. Within an hour the entire population of Tyrra had been weighed, along with its supplies of tinned food and Fizzola, and she added up. ‘Tyrrans, two hundred and thirty-nine,’ she announced. ‘Food and Fizzola, one
hundred and forty. Total: Three hundred and seventy-nine pounds!’
‘Are we saved? Or are we too fat?’ came a cry. ‘Too soon to tell!’ Mr Lambchop called back. ‘We must see how we can lighten our ship!’ A good start was made by discarding the Star Scout ’s dining-table and one steel bunk, since Stanley and Arthur could easily share. Then out went Stanley’s tennis balls, extra sweater, and his Chief Pilot zip jacket with the American flag; out went Arthur’s knee socks, raincoat, and a plastic gorilla he had smuggled aboard. Mr and Mrs Lambchop added their extra clothing, lamps, kitchenware, the Monopoly game, and at last, the posters of Mexico and . The crowd stood hushed as the pile was weighed. Somewhere a baby cried, and its parents scolded it.
‘Three hundred and seventy-seven pounds!’ Mrs Lambchop announced. ‘Oh, dear!’ she whispered to President Ot. ‘Two less than we need.’ ‘I see.’ President Ot, after a moment’s thought, climbed up on to the scale. ‘Good news, Tyrrans!’ he called. ‘Almost all of us are saved!’ Cheers went up, and then someone shouted, ‘What do you mean, almost all?’ ‘We weigh, as a nation, a bit too much,’ President Ot explained. ‘But only four, if largish, need stay behind. I shall be one. Will three more volunteer?’ Murmurs rose from the crowd. ‘That’s my kind of President! . . . Leave Ik behind! . . . How about you, Ralph? . . . Ask somebody else, darn you!’ The matter was quickly resolved. ‘I won’t go without you, dear,’ Mrs Ot told her husband, and Captain Ik, hoping to regain popularity, announced that he too would remain. General Ap was the fourth volunteer. ‘Just an old soldier, ma’am,’ he told Mrs Lambchop. ‘Lived a full life, time now to just fade away, to –’ ‘Hey! Wait!’ Arthur was pointing to the scales. ‘We forgot that,’ he said. ‘We can leave the scales behind. Now nobody has to stay!’
Heading Home
‘Mr and Mrs Ix, and the new baby?’ said President Ot, beside his wife on a ledge above the Magnifying Window. ‘Ah, yes, on the fridge!’
The people of Tyrra were being made as comfortable as possible in the various nooks and crannies of the Star Scout. Stanley and Arthur had cleared a cupboard where Tyrra High School students could study during the trip, and Mrs Lambchop had cut up sheets to make hundreds of little blankets, and put out bits of cotton for pillows. ‘Makeshift, Mrs Ix,’ she said now, settling the Ixes on the fridge. ‘But such short notice. Back a bit from the edge, yes?’ ‘Short notice indeed,’ said Mrs Ix. ‘So many –’ ‘Not to worry.’ Mrs Lambchop smiled proudly. ‘My son, the Chief Pilot, will call ahead.’ From a nearby shelf, Captain Ik whispered an apology for attempting to paralyse Arthur. ‘Between you and I, I didn’t really think it would work,’ he said. ‘Between you and me,’ said Mrs Lambchop. ‘But thank you, Captain Ik.’ She turned to Stanley. ‘We’re all ready, dear!’ Stanley checked his controls. ‘Let’s go!’ ‘Tyrrans!’ President Ot called for attention. ‘Our national anthem!’ Everywhere in the Star Scout, Tyrrans rose, their right hands over their hearts. ‘Hmmmm . . .’ hummed Mrs Ot, setting a key, and they began to sing.
Tyrra, the lovely! Tyrra, the free! Hear, dear planet, our promise to thee! Where e’er we may go, where e’er we may roam, We’ll come back to Tyrra, Tyrra our home!
The words echoed in the softly-lit cabin. Many Tyrrans were weeping, and the
eyes of the Lambchops, as they took their seats, glistened too.
Be it ever so humble, there’s no planet so dear, We’ll always love Tyrra, from far or from –
Stanley pressed the ‘Start’ button, and – Whroooom ! – the Star Scout ’s rockets roared to life. The singing stopped suddenly, and Mrs Ix cried out from the fridge. ‘Oh, my! Is this thing safe?’ ‘Yes indeed,’ Mrs Lambchop called back. ‘Perhaps,’ said Mrs Ix. ‘But it is my belief that if Tyrrans were meant to fly, we’d have wings.’ Whroooom ! Whroooom ! The Star Scout lifted now, gaining speed as it rose. Its mission was done. The strangers who had called from a distant planet were no longer strangers, but friends. It was all very satisfactory, Stanley thought. The other Lambchops thought so too.
Earth Again
‘. . . real pleasure to welcome you, Tyrrans,’ said the President, almost done with his speech. ‘I wish you a fine year on Earth!’ Before him on the White House lawn, with newspaper and TV reporters all about, sat the Lambchops and, in a tiny grandstand built especially for the occasion, the people of Tyrra.
The Tyrrans were now applauding politely, but they looked nervous, and Mrs Lambchop guessed why. That crowd at the Space Centre for the Star Scout ’s landing, that drive through crowded streets into Washington, DC! Poor Tyrrans! Everywhere they looked, giant buildings, giant people. How could they feel comfortable here? But a surprise was in store. Across the lawn, a great white sheet had been spread. Now, at the President’s signal, workmen pulled the sheet away. ‘Welcome,’ said the President, ‘to TyrraVille Two!’ Gasps rose from the Tyrrans, then shouts of joy. Before them, on what had been the White House tennis court, lay an entire village of tiny houses, one for each Tyrran family, with shops and schools and churches, and a miniature railway serving all principal streets. Begun when Stanley called ahead from space, TyrraVille Two had been completed well before the Star Scout ’s arrival, thanks to rush deliveries from leading toy stores in Washington and New York. The excited Tyrrans ran from the grandstand to explore their new homes, and soon happy voices rose from every window and doorway of TyrraVille Two. ‘Nice furniture! . . . Hooray! Fresh lemonade! No more Fizzola! . . . In the cupboards, see? Shirts, dresses, suits, shoes! . . . Underwear, even!’ The Ots, General Ap, Dr Ep, and Captain Ik came back to say goodbye, and the Lambchops knelt to touch fingertips in farewell. The TV men filmed this, and Arthur made everyone laugh, pretending to be paralysed by the touch of Captain Ik. Then the newsmen left, the Tyrrans returned to TyrraVille Two, and only the President remained with the Lambchops on the White House lawn. ‘Well, back to work.’ The President sighed. ‘Goodbye, Lambchops. You’re all heroes, you know. Saved the nation.’ ‘Not really,’ Stanley said. ‘They couldn’t have conquered us.’ ‘Well, you know what I mean,’ the President said. ‘You folks care to stay for supper?’
‘Thank you, no,’ Mrs Lambchop said. ‘It is quite late, and this has been an exciting but very tiring day.’
It was bedtime when they got home. Stanley and Arthur had a light supper, with hot chocolate to help them sleep, after which Mr and Mrs Lambchop tucked them in and said goodnight. The brothers lay quietly in the darkness for a moment. Then Arthur chuckled. ‘The Magno-Titanic Paralyser was sort of scary,’ he said. ‘You were brave, Stanley, protecting me.’ ‘That’s okay,’ Stanley said. ‘You’re my brother, right?’ ‘I know . . .’ Arthur was sleepy now. ‘Stanley? When the Tyrrans go back, will their land and water be okay? Will they let us know?’ ‘I guess so.’ Stanley was drowsy too. ‘Goodnight, Arthur.’ ‘Goodnight,’ said Arthur, and soon they were both asleep.
And in time, from the great farness of space, but a farness no longer strange or unknown, another message came.
‘We are home. All is well.’ And again. ‘We are home! Thank you, Earth! All is well!’
To celebrate 50 years of Flat Stanley
make sure you’ve read all of his adventures!
The original stories by Jeff Brown:
Flat Stanley Stanley and the Magic Lamp Invisible Stanley Stanley in Space Stanley’s Christmas Adventure Stanley, Flat Again!
New adventures by Sara Pennypacker & Josh Greenhut:
Flat Stanley: The Japanese Ninja Surprise Flat Stanley: The Big Mountain Adventure Flat Stanley: The Great Egyptian Grave Robbery Flat Stanley: The Epic Canadian Expedition
Flat Stanley: The Amazing Mexican Secret Flat Stanley: The African Safari Discovery
And look out for even more stories, coming in 2015:
Flat Stanley: The Flying Chinese Wonders Flat Stanley: The Australian Boomerang Bonanza Flat Stanley: The U. S. Capital Commotion
First published in Great Britain 1990 by Methuen Children’s Books Ltd Reissued 2012 by Egmont UK Limited The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London, W11 4AN
Text copyright © 1990 Jeff Brown Illustrations copyright © 2012 by the Trust u/w/o Richard C. Brown a/k/a/Jeff Brown f/b/o Duncan Brown
First e-book edition 2014
ISBN 978 1 4052 0419 4 eISBN 978 1 7803 1220 0
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Stay safe online. Any website addresses listed in this book are correct at the time of going to print. However, Egmont is not responsible for content hosted by third parties. Please be aware that online content can be subject to change and websites can contain content that is unsuitable for children. We advise that all children are supervised when using the internet.
CONTENTS
Cover
Title page
Dedication and Copyright
1 The Call
2 Washington
3 Taking Off
4 In Space
5 The Tyrrans
6 TyrraVille
7 President Ot’s Story
8 Stanley’s Good Idea
9 The Weighing
10 Heading Home
11 Earth Again
Back Series Promotional Page
‘Will you meet with us? Does anyone hear?’ From the great farness of space, from farther than any planet or star that has ever been mentioned in books, the questions came. Again and again. ‘Will you meet with us? Does anyone hear?’
The Call
It was Saturday morning, and Mr and Mrs Lambchop were putting up wallpaper in the kitchen. ‘Isn’t this nice, George?’ said Mrs Lambchop, stirring paste. ‘No excitement. A perfectly usual day.’ Mr Lambchop knew just what she meant. Excitement was often troublesome. The flatness of their son Stanley, for example, after his big bulletin board settled on him overnight. Exciting, but worrying too, till Stanley got round again. And that genie visiting, granting wishes. Oh, very exciting! But all the wishes had to be unwished before the genie returned to the lamp from which he sprung. ‘Yes, dear.’ Mr Lambchop smoothed down wallpaper. ‘Ordinary. The very best sort of day.’ In the living-room, Stanley Lambchop and his younger brother Arthur were watching a Tom Toad cartoon on TV. The sporty Toad was water-skiing and fell off, making a great splash. Arthur laughed so hard he didn’t hear the telephone, but Stanley answered it. ‘Lambchop residence?’ said the caller. ‘The President of the United States speaking. Who’s this?’ Stanley smiled. ‘The King of .’ ‘They don’t have kings in . Not any more.’ ‘Excuse me, but I’m too busy for jokes.’ Stanley kept his eyes on the TV. ‘My brother and I are watching the Tom Toad Show.’ ‘Well, you keep watching, young fellow!’ The caller hung up, just as Mr and Mrs Lambchop came in to watch the rest of the show. ‘Hey, guess what?’ Stanley said.
‘Hay is for horses,’ said Mrs Lambchop, mindful always of careful speech. ‘Who called, dear?’ Stanley laughed. ‘The President of the United States!’ Arthur laughed too. ‘Stanley said he was the King of !’ Tom Toad vanished suddenly from the TV screen, and an American flag appeared. ‘We bring you a special message from the White House in Washington, DC,’ said the deep voice of an announcer. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States!’
The screen showed the President, looking very serious, behind his desk. ‘My fellow Americans,’ the President said. ‘I am sorry to interrupt this programme, but someone out there doesn’t realise that I am a very busy man who can’t waste time joking on the telephone. I hope the particular person I am talking to – and I do not mean the King of ! – will that. Thank you. Now here’s The Toad Show again.’ Tom Toad, still water-skiing, came back on the TV. ‘Stanley!’ exclaimed Mrs Lambchop. ‘The King of indeed!’ ‘Gosh!’ Arthur said. ‘Will Stanley get put in jail?’ ‘There is no law against being a telephone smarty,’ Mr Lambchop said. ‘Perhaps there should be.’ The telephone rang, and he answered it. ‘George Lambchop here.’ ‘Good!’ It was the President. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you!’
‘Oh, my!’ Mr Lambchop said. ‘Please excuse –’ ‘Hold on. You’re the fellow has the boy who was flat once, got his picture in the newspaper?’ ‘My son Stanley, Mr President,’ Mr Lambchop said, to let the others know who was calling. ‘I had to be sure,’ said the President. ‘We have to get together, Lambchop! I’ll send my private plane right now, fetch you all here to Washington, DC.’ Mr Lambchop gasped. ‘Private plane? Washington? All of us?’ ‘The whole family.’ The President chuckled. ‘Including the King of .’
Washington
At the White House, in his famous Oval Office, the President shook hands with all the Lambchops.
‘Thanks for coming.’ He chuckled. ‘Bet you never thought when you woke up this morning that you’d get to meet me.’ ‘Indeed not,’ Mr Lambchop said. ‘This is quite a surprise.’ ‘Well, here’s another one,’ said the President. ‘The reason I asked you to come.’ He sat down behind his desk, serious now. ‘Tyrra! Never heard of it, right?’ The Lambchops all shook their heads. ‘Nobody ever heard of it. It’s a planet, up there somewhere. They sent a message, the first ever from outer space!’
The Lambchops were greatly interested. ‘Imagine!’ Mrs Lambchop exclaimed. ‘What did it say?’ ‘Very friendly tone,’ the President said. ‘Peaceful, just checking around. Asked us to visit. Now, my plan –’ A side door of the Oval Office had opened suddenly to reveal a nicely-dressed lady wearing a crown. Mrs Lambchop recognised her at once as the Queen of England. ‘About the banquet, also the –’ the Queen began, and saw that the President was busy. ‘Ooops! We beg your pardon.’ She closed the door. ‘This place is a madhouse,’ the President said. ‘Visitors, fancy dinners, no end to it. Now, where –? Ah, yes! The Star Scout !’ He leaned forward. ‘That’s our new top-secret spaceship, just ready now! Send somebody up in the Star Scout, I thought, to meet with these Tyrrans. But who? Wouldn’t look peaceful to send soldiers, or even scientists. Then I thought: What could be more peaceful than just an ordinary American boy?’ The President smiled. ‘Why not Stanley Lambchop?’ ‘Stanley?’ Mrs Lambchop gasped. ‘In a spaceship? To meet with an alien race?’ ‘Oh, boy!’ said Stanley. ‘I would love to go!’ ‘Me, too,’ said Arthur. ‘It’s not fair if –’ ‘Arthur!’ Mr Lambchop drew in a deep breath. ‘Mr President, why Stanley ?’ ‘It has to be someone that’s already had adventure experience,’ the President said. ‘Well, my Secret Service showed me a newspaper story about when Stanley was flat and caught two robbers. Robbers! That’s adventure!’ ‘I’ve had them too!’ Arthur said. ‘A genie taught me to fly, and we had a
Liophant, and –’ ‘A what ?’ ‘A Liophant,’ Arthur said. ‘Half lion, half elephant. They’re nice.’ ‘Is that right? The Secret Service never –’ ‘Mr President?’ Mrs Lambchop did not like to interrupt, but her concern was great. ‘Mr President?’ she said. ‘This mission: is it safe?’ ‘My goodness, of course it’s safe!’ the President said. ‘We have taken great care, Mrs Lambchop. The Star Scout has all the latest scientific equipment. And it has been very carefully tested. First, we tried it on automatic pilot, with no engers. It worked perfectly! Even then, ma’am, we were not satisfied. We sent the Star Scout up again, this time with our cleverest trained bird aboard. But hear for yourself.’ The President spoke into a little box on his desk. ‘Send in Dr Schwartz, please.’ A bearded man entered, wearing a white coat and carrying a birdcage with a cloth over it. Bowing, he removed the cloth to reveal a large, brightly-coloured parrot. ‘Thank you, Herman,’ the President said. ‘Dr Schwartz is our top space scientist,’ he told the Lambchops, ‘and this is Polly, the bird I spoke of. Polly, tell the folks here about your adventure into space.’
‘Piece of cake,’ said the parrot. ‘Terrific! Loved every minute of it!’ ‘Thank you, Herman,’ the President said, and Dr Schwartz carried Polly away. ‘That was very reassuring, but it is out of the question for Stanley to go alone,’ Mrs Lambchop said. ‘However, we were planning a family vacation. Would it be possible, Mr President, for us all to go?’ ‘Well, if you didn’t mind the crowding,’ the President said. ‘And skimped on baggage.’ ‘Actually, we had in mind the seaside,’ Mr Lambchop said. ‘Or a tennis camp. But –’ The Queen of England looked in again. ‘May we ask if –’ ‘Just a minute, for heaven’s sake!’ said the President. ‘We shall return anon.’ Looking peeved, the Queen went away. Mr Lambchop had decided. ‘Mr President, the seaside will keep. We will go to Tyrra, sir.’ ‘Wonderful!’ The President jumped up. ‘To the stars, Lambchops! Some training at the Space Centre, and you’re on your way!’
Taking Off
‘Ten!’ said the voice of Mission Control. The count-down had begun. When it reached ‘Zero’ Chief Pilot Stanley Lambchop would press the ‘Start’ button, and the Star Scout would blast off for Tyrra. ‘Nine!’ Strapped into their seats, the Lambchops held their breaths, each thinking very different thoughts.
Stanley was wondering if the Tyrrans would mind that Earth had sent just an ordinary family. Suppose they were big stuck-ups and expected a general or a TV star, or even the President? Suppose – ‘Eight!’ said Control, and Stanley fixed his eyes on the before him. Mr Lambchop was thinking that serving one’s country was noble, but this was a bit much. How did these things happen? Off to an unknown planet, the entire family! Other families didn’t have a son become flat. Other families didn’t find genies in the house. Other – Oh, well! Mr Lambchop sighed. ‘Seven!’ said Control. Mrs Lambchop thought that Mr Lambchop seemed fretful. But why, now the Star Scout looked so nice ? Thanks to her, in fact. ‘They may call it a spaceship,’ she had said when she first saw it, ‘but where’s the space ? Just one room! And all grey . . .? Drab, I say!’ Much of the training at the Space Centre, however, was physical, and Mrs Lambchop, who jogged and exercised regularly, quickly ed the tests required. In the days that followed, while the others were being made fit, she used her free time to make the Star Scout more like home. Only so much weight was permitted, but she managed a bathroom scale for the shower alcove and a plastic curtain, pretty shades for the portholes, a Venetian blind for the Magnifying Exploration Window, and posters of Mexico and . ‘Six! . . . Five! . . . Four! . . . Three! . . .’ Mrs Lambchop made sure her purse was snug beneath her seat. Arthur, by nature lazy, was thinking that he was glad to be done with all the jogging, jumping, climbing ladders, and scaling walls. When he was superstrong, thanks to the genie, it would have been easy. But for just plain Arthur Lambchop, he thought, it was tiring. ‘Two!’ said Control. ‘Good luck, everybody! One!’ ‘Pay attention, dear,’ Mrs Lambchop told Stanley. ‘Zero!’ said Control, and Stanley pressed the ‘Start’ button.
Whrooom ! Rockets roaring, the Star Scout rose from its launching pad. Whroooooom ! Whroooooom ! Gaining speed, it soared higher and higher, carrying the Lambchops towards the farness where Tyrra lay.
In Space
‘I’ll just flip this omelette,’ said Mrs Lambchop, making breakfast in the Star Scout, ‘and then – Oh, dear!’ The omelette hovered like a Frisbee in the air above her.
Mostly, however, after weeks in space, the Lambchops ed that gravity, the force that held things down, did not exist beyond Earth’s atmosphere. Mr Lambchop often read now with his hands clasped behind his head, allowing his book to float before him, and Stanley and Arthur greatly enjoyed pushing from their chairs to drift like feathers across the room. Raising her pan, Mrs Lambchop brought down the omelette. ‘After breakfast, what?’ she said. ‘A game of Monopoly ?’ ‘Please, not again.’ Arthur sighed. ‘If I’d known this adventure would be so boring, I’d never have come.’ ‘The worst part,’ Stanley said, ‘is not knowing how long it will last.’ ‘The beginning wasn’t boring,’ Arthur said as they began their breakfast. ‘The beginning was fun.’
The first days had in fact been tremendously exciting. They had spent many hours at the Star Scout ’s Magnifying Window, watching the bright globe of Earth grow steadily smaller, until it seemed at last only a pale marble in the black of space. And there had been many special sights to see: the starry beauty of the Milky Way, the planets – red Mars, giant Jupiter, cloudy Venus, Saturn with its shining rings.
The third evening they appeared on TV news broadcasts on Earth. Word of their voyage had been released to the press, and all over the world people were eager to learn how this extraordinary adventure was proceeding. Standing before the spaceship’s camera, the Lambchops said they felt fine, looked forward to meeting the Tyrrans, and would report nightly while they remained in TV range. The fourth evening they floated before the camera, demonstrating weightlessness. This was greatly appreciated on Earth, and they floated again the following day.
By the sixth evening, however, they were hard-pressed to liven their appearances. Mr Lambchop recited a baseball poem, ‘Casey At The Bat’. Stanley juggled tennis balls, but the Earth audience, knowing now about weightlessness, saw the balls float when he tossed them up. Arthur did imitations of a rooster, a dog, and a man stuck in a phone booth. After this, while Mrs Lambchop was singing her college song, he went behind the plastic curtain to undress for a shower and accidentally pulled the curtain down. He was mortified, and she tried later to comfort him. ‘We will be ed, Arthur, for our time in space,’ she said. ‘Nobody will care about a curtain.’ ‘I will be ed forever,’ Arthur said. ‘A hundred million people saw me in my underwear.’ The next day was Stanley’s birthday, and just after dinner the screen lit up. There was the President in his shirtsleeves, behind his desk in Washington, DC. ‘Well, here I am working late again,’ the President said. ‘It’s a tough job, believe me. Happy birthday, Stanley Lambchop! I’ve arranged a surprise. First, your friends from school.’ There was silence for a moment, broken only by the clearing of throats, and then, from all the millions of miles away, came the voices of Stanley’s classmates singing, ‘Happy Birthday, dear Stanley! Happy Birthday to you!’ Stanley was tremendously pleased. ‘Thanks, everybody!’ he said. ‘You too, Mr President.’
‘That was just the USA part,’ said the President. ‘Ready over there in London, Queen?’ ‘We are indeed,’ the Queen’s voice said cheerfully. ‘And now, Master Lambchop, our famous Westminster Boys’ Choir!’ From England, the beautiful voices of the famous choir sang ‘Happy Birthday, Stanley!’ all over again, and then other children sang it from , Spain, and . All this attention to Stanley made Arthur jealous, and when the President said, ‘By the way, Arthur, you entertained us wonderfully the other night,’ he was sure this was a tease about his appearance in underwear. But he was wrong. ‘Those imitations!’ the President said. ‘Especially the fellow in the phone booth. Darn good!’ ‘Indeed!’ the Queen added from England. ‘We were greatly amused.’ ‘Oh, thank you!’ said Arthur, cheered. ‘I –’ The screen had gone blank. They had travelled too far. There would be no more voices from Earth, no voices but their own until they heard what the Tyrrans had to say.
‘Suppose the Tyrrans have forgotten we’re coming?’ Stanley said. ‘We might just sail around in space forever.’ They had finished the breakfast omelette, and were now setting out the Monopoly board because there was nothing more interesting to do. ‘They don’t even know our names,’ Arthur said. ‘What will they call us?’ ‘Earth people!’ said a deep voice. ‘Very probably,’ said Mr Lambchop. ‘“Earth people” seems – Who said that?’
‘Not me,’ said both Stanley and Arthur. ‘Not I,’ said Mrs Lambchop, correcting. ‘But who –’ ‘Earth people!’ The voice, louder now, came from the Star Scout ’s radio. ‘Greetings from the great planet Tyrra and its mighty people! Do you hear?’ ‘Oh, my!’ Mr Lambchop turned up the volume. ‘It’s them!’ ‘They,’ said Mrs Lambchop. ‘For heaven’s sake, Harriet!’ Mr Lambchop said, and spoke loudly into the microphone. ‘Hello, Tyrra. Earth people here. Party of four. Peace-loving family.’ ‘Peace-loving?’ said the voice. ‘Good! So is mighty Tyrra! Where are you, Earth people?’ Stanley checked his star maps. ‘We’re just where the tail of Ralph’s Comet meets star number three million and forty-seven. Now what?’ ‘Right,’ said the Tyrran voice. ‘Keep going till you a star formation that looks like a foot. You can’t miss it. Then, just past a lopsided little white moon, start down. You’ll see a pointy mountain, then a big field. Land there. See you soon, Earth people!’ ‘You bet!’ Mr Lambchop said, and turned to his family. ‘The first with another planet! We are making history!’
They ed the foot-shaped star formation, then the lopsided moon, and Stanley piloted the Star Scout down. The darkness of space vanished as it descended, and at last the Lambchops saw clearly the planet it had taken so long to reach. Tyrra was smallish as planets go, but nicely round and quite pretty, all in shades of brown with markings not unlike the oceans and continents of Earth. A pointy mountain came into sight, and beyond it a big field. ‘There!’ Stanley pressed the ‘Landing’ button. Whrooom ! went the Star Scout ’s rockets. The spaceship hovered, then touched down. Peering out, the Lambchops saw only a brown field, with tan trees at the far side and brownish hills beyond. ‘Curious,’ said Mr Lambchop. ‘Where are –’ Suddenly a message came, but not the sort they expected. ‘Surrender, Earth people!’ said the radio. ‘Your spaceship is trapped by our unbreakable trapping cable! You are prisoners of Tyrra! Surrender!’
The Tyrrans
Unbreakable trapping cable? Prisoners? Surrender? The Lambchops could scarcely believe their ears. ‘I don’t call that peaceful,’ said Mrs Lambchop. ‘Our President has been misled.’ ‘I wish we had gone to the seaside.’ Mr Lambchop shook his head. ‘But how are we trapped? I don’t –’ He pointed to the Magnifying Window. ‘What’s that?’ A thin blue line, like a thread, had been ed over the Star Scout. Stanley switched on the wiper above the big window and the first flick of its blade parted the blue line. ‘Drat!’ said the radio. Other voices rose, startled, and then the deep voice spoke again. ‘Earth people! We’re sending a messenger! A regular, ordinary Tyrran, just to show what we’re like.’ For long moments, the Lambchops kept their eyes on the tan trees across the field. ‘There!’ Arthur said suddenly. ‘Coming toward – Oh! Oh, my . . .’ His voice trailed away. The Tyrran messenger came slowly forward to stand before the big window, a muscular, scowling young man with a curling moustache, wearing shorts and carrying a club.
The moustache was very large. The messenger was not. ‘That man,’ Mrs Lambchop said slowly, ‘is only three inches tall.’ ‘At most,’ Mr Lambchop said. ‘It is a magnifying window.’
The Tyrran seemed to be calling something. Arthur opened the door a crack, and the words came clearly now. ‘– afraid to let us see you, Earth people? Because I’m so enormous? Hah! All Tyrrans are this big!’ Flinging the door wide, Arthur showed himself. ‘Well, I’m a small Earth person!’ he shouted. ‘The rest are even bigger than me!’ ‘I, not me,’ Mrs Lambchop said. ‘And don’t tease, Arth– Oh! He’s fainted!’ Wetting her handkerchief with cold water, she jumped down from the Star Scout and ran to dab the Tyrran’s tiny brow. Cries rose again from the spaceship’s radio. ‘A giant kill Ik! . . . There’s another, even bigger! . . . Oh, gross! . . . Look! Ik’s all right!’
The Tyrran, by grasping Mrs Lambchop’s handkerchief, had indeed pulled himself up. Furious, he swung his club, but managed only to tap the top of her shoe. ‘Ouch! Scat!’ she said, and he darted back across the field. ‘Oh, my!’ said the radio. ‘Never mind about surrendering, Earth people! A truce committee is on the way!’
At first they saw only a tiny flag, fluttering like a white butterfly far across the brown field, but at last the Tyrran committee drew close, and the Lambchops, waiting now outside the Star Scout, could make each little person out. The flag was carried by the scowling young man with the moustache and the club. The other of the committee, a bit smaller even than he, were a red-faced man wearing a uniform with medals across the chest, a stout lady in a yellow dress and a hat with flowers on it, and two older men in blue suits, one with wavy white hair, the other thin and bald. The committee halted, staring bravely up. ‘I am General Ap!’ shouted the uniformed man. ‘Commander of all Tyrran forces!’ Stanley stepped forward. ‘Chief Pilot Stanley Lambchop,’ he said. ‘From Earth. These are my parents, Mr and Mrs George Lambchop. And my brother Arthur.’ ‘President Ot of Tyrra, and Mrs Ot,’ said General Ap, indicating the wavy-haired man and the lady. ‘The bald chap is Dr Ep, our Chief Scientist. The grouchy one with the flag is my aide, Captain Ik.’ No one seemed sure what to say next. A few polite remarks were exchanged – ‘Nice meeting you, Earth people!’ . . . ‘Such a pretty planet, Tyrra!’ . . . ‘Thank you. Were you very long in space?’ – and Mr Lambchop realised suddenly that the Tyrrans were uncomfortable talking almost straight up. He got down on his knees, the other Lambchops following his example, and the Tyrrans at once lowered their heads in relief.
‘Right!’ said General Ap. ‘All reasonable people here! A truce, eh?’ ‘I’m for war, frankly,’ growled Captain Ik, but Stanley pretended not to hear. ‘A truce? Good idea,’ he said. ‘We come in peace.’ Mrs Ot sniffed. ‘Not very peaceful, frightening poor Captain Ik.’ She pointed at Arthur. ‘That giant shouted at him!’ ‘My son is not a giant,’ Mrs Lambchop said. ‘It’s just that you Tyrrans are – how to put it? – unusually petite.’ ‘Ik’s the biggest we’ve got, actually,’ said General Ap. ‘We hoped he’d scare you.’ President Ot raised his hand. ‘No harm done! Come! TyrraVille, our capital, is but a stroll away.’ The Lambchops, equipped now with handy magnifying lenses from the Star Scout ’s science kit, followed the committee. TyrraVille lay just across the brown field, behind the tan trees, no larger than an Earth-size tennis court.
TyrraVille
‘Gosh!’ Stanley said. ‘It makes me homesick, in a way.’ Except for its size, and the lack of greenness, the Tyrran capital was indeed much like a small village on Earth. A Main Street bustled with Tyrrans shopping and running errands; there were handsome school and public buildings, two churches with spires as high as Mr Lambchop’s waist, and side streets of pretty houses with lawns like neat brown postage stamps.
Captain Ik, still angry, marched on ahead, but the rest of the committee halted at the head of Main Street. ‘We’ll just show you around, eh?’ said President Ot. ‘Safer, I think.’ The Lambchops saw at once the risk of walking streets scarcely wider than their feet. Escorted by the committee, they circled the little capital, bending often to make use of their magnifying lenses. Mrs Ot took care to indicate points of particular interest, among them Ux Field, a sports centre, iral Ux Square, Ux Park, and the Ux Science Centre Building. (‘Mrs Ot’s grandfather,’ whispered General Ap. ‘Very rich!’) The tour caused a great stir. Everywhere the tiny citizens of TyrraVille waved from windows and rooftops. At the Science Centre, the last stop, journalists took photographs, and the Lambchops were treated to Grape Fizzola, the Tyrran national drink, hundreds of bottles of which were emptied into four tubs to make Earth-size portions.
Refreshed by his Fizzola, Arthur took a little run and hurdled a large part of TyrraVille, landing in Ux Square. ‘Arthur!’ Mrs Lambchop scolded, and he hurdled back. ‘Aren’t kids the dickens?’ said a Tyrran mother, looking on. ‘Mine – Stop tugging, Herbert!’ These last words seemed addressed to the ground beside her. ‘My youngest,’ she explained. Stanley squinted. ‘I can hardly – He’s just a dot.’ ‘Dot yourself !’ said an angry voice. ‘Big-a-rooney! You’re the funny-looking one!’ ‘Herbert!’ his mother said. ‘It is rude to make fun of people for their shape or size!’ ‘As I said myself, often, when Stanley was flat!’ Mrs Lambchop exclaimed. ‘If only –’ ‘Surrender, Earth people!’ The cry had come from Captain Ik, who appeared now from behind the Science Centre, staggering beneath the weight of a box-like machine almost as big as he was, with a tube sticking out of it. ‘Surrender!’ he shouted. ‘You cannot resist our Magno-Titanic Paralyser Ray! Tyrra will yet be saved!’ ‘There’s a truce, Ik!’ barked General Ap. ‘You can’t –’ ‘Yes, I can! First – Ooops!’ Captain Ik’s knees had buckled, but he recovered himself. ‘First I’ll paralyse the one who scared me back there in the field!’ Yellow light flickered up at Arthur from the Magno-Titanic Paralyser. ‘Yikes!’ said Arthur, as shrieks rose from the crowd. But it was not on Arthur that the Magno-Titanic beam landed. Stanley had sprung forward to protect his brother, and the light shone now on his chest and
shoulders. Mrs Lambchop almost fainted. Suddenly her fright was gone. Stanley was smiling. The yellow rays still flickering upon him, he rolled his head and wiggled his hands to show that he was fine. ‘It’s nice, actually,’ he said. ‘Like a massage.’
The crowd hooted. ‘It only works on people Tyrran size!’ someone called. ‘You’re a ninny, Ik!’ Then Captain Ik was marched off by a Tyrran policeman, and the crowd, still laughing, drifted away. Mrs Lambchop spoke sternly to the committee. ‘“Tyrra will yet be saved?” What did Captain Ik mean? And why, pray tell, did he attempt to paralyse my son?’ The Ots and General Ap exchanged glances. Dr Ep stared at the ground. ‘Ah!’ said President Ot. ‘Well . . . The fact is, we’re having a . . . a crisis, actually. Yes. And Ik, well, he, ah –’ ‘Oh, tell them!’ Mrs Ot burst suddenly into tears. ‘About the Super-Gro! Tell, for heaven’s sake!’ Puzzled, the Lambchops stared at her. The sky had darkened, and now a light rain began to fall. ‘Wettish, eh?’ said General Ap. ‘Can’t offer shelter, I’m afraid. No place large enough.’ ‘The Star Scout will do nicely,’ said Mrs Lambchop. ‘Let us return to it for tea.’
President Ot’s Story
‘Tea does help. I am quite myself again.’ Mrs Ot nodded to her husband. ‘Go on, dear. Tell.’ Rain drummed faintly on the Star Scout, making even cosier the scene within. About the dining-table, the Lambchops occupied their usual places. The Tyrrans sat atop the table on thumbtacks pushed down to serve as stools, sipping from tiny cups Mrs Lambchop had fashioned from aluminium foil, and nibbling crumbs of her home-made ginger snaps.
Now, sighing, President Ot set down his cup. ‘You will have observed, Lambchops,’ he said, ‘how greatly we have enjoyed these tasty refreshments. The fact is, Tyrra has for some time been totally without fresh food or water fit to drink. We live now only by what tins and bottles we had in store.’ Mrs Ot made a face. ‘Pink meat spreads, and spinach. And that dreadful Fizzola.’ ‘A bit sweet, yes,’ said General Ap. ‘Gives one gas, too. But –’ ‘Never mind!’ cried Mrs Ot. President Ot continued. ‘The cause of our tragedy, Lambchops, was Super-Gro. An invention of Dr Ep’s. Super-Gro, Ep promised, would double our crops, make them double size, double delicious as well. A great concept, he said.’ ‘We scientists,’ said Dr Ep, ‘dream larger than other men.’ ‘For three days, at the Science Centre,’ President Ot went on, ‘Ep brewed his Super-Gro. Great smelly vats of it, enough for the whole planet. But then . . . Oh, no Tyrran will ever forget that fourth day! I myself was strolling through Ux Park. How beautiful it was! The trees and grass so green, the sky –’ ‘Green?’ said Arthur. ‘But everything’s brown here, not green!’ ‘A mishap,’ murmured Dr Ep. ‘With the Super-Gro.’ ‘Mishap?’ barked General Ap. ‘The stuff exploded, Ep! All over the place!’ ‘Well, nobody’s perfect.’ Dr Ep hung his head. ‘All those huge vats, Lambchops!’ President Ot continued. ‘Boom! One after another! Shattered windows, blew the roof off the Science Centre! No one hurt, thank goodness, but great clouds of smoke, darkening the sky! And then – such dreadful luck – it began to rain. A tremendous rain, mixing with the smoke, falling all over Tyrra, into the rivers, on to every field and garden, every bit of greenery.’
Rising from his thumbtack, he paced back and forth across the table.
‘When the rain stopped, there was no green. None. Just brown. Worse, Ep’s tests proved that our water was undrinkable, and that nowhere on Tyrra would anything grow. I broadcast at once to the nation. “Do not despair,” I said, “Tyrra will soon recover.”’ ‘Oh, good!’ Mr Lambchop said. President Ot shook his head. ‘I lied. I couldn’t tell the truth, for fear of causing panic, you see. The tests showed that it would be a year at least before Tyrra was green again. And long before that we will have emptied our last tin, our last bottle of Fizzola.’ He sat down again, covering his face with his hands. ‘So then we . . . We sent a message, into space. Lure some other planet’s spaceship, we thought. Hold it for ransom, you see, make them send food and water. Oh, shameful! Underhanded. You will never forgive us, I know . . .’ His voice trailed away, and there was only the patter of the rain. Close to tears, the Lambchops looked at each other, then at the little people on the table top. The Tyrrans seemed particularly tiny now, and brave, and nice. ‘You poor dears!’ Mrs Lambchop said. ‘There was no need to conquer us. We would help you willingly, if we could.’ The Tyrrans seemed at first unable to believe their ears. Then, suddenly, their faces shone with joy. ‘Bless you!’ cried General Ap. ‘Saved!’ Mrs Ot clapped her hands. ‘We are saved!’ ‘Saved . . .?’ said Mrs Lambchop. ‘Of course!’ said President Ot. ‘Don’t you see? Earth’s spaceships can bring food and water till – Oh! What’s wrong?’ It was Arthur who explained.
‘I’m very sorry,’ he said. ‘But there’s just the Star Scout. Earth hasn’t got any other spaceships. And it would take years to build them.’ The Tyrrans gasped. ‘Years . . .?’ said Dr Ep. Stanley felt so sad he could hardly speak. ‘And it’s no use going for food in the Star Scout,’ he said. ‘By the time we returned from Earth, you’d all be – Well, you know.’ ‘Dead,’ said Mrs Ot. In the Star Scout, a terrible silence fell. The facts were clear. The cupboards of Tyrra would soon be empty. And then all its tiny people would starve to death.
Stanley’s Good Idea
The teapot was cold now, and a last cookie crumb lay unwanted on a plate. Gloom hung like a dark cloud within the Star Scout. ‘It’s not fair,’ Arthur said for the third time. ‘It just not.’
‘Stop saying that,’ Stanley told him. ‘That’s four times now.’ ‘Five,’ said Dr Ep. General Ap tried to be cheerful. ‘Ah well . . . Still some tinned meat, eh? And plenty of Grape Fizzola. Much to be thankful for.’ ‘I will never be thankful for Grape Fizzola,’ said Mrs Ot. ‘It’s just that . . .’ Arthur sighed. ‘I mean, Earth has so much food. Millions of people, and there’s mostly still enough.’ The Tyrrans seemed amazed. ‘Millions? You’re joking?’ said President Ot. ‘Hah!’ said General Ap. ‘Dreadful crush, I should think. Millions?’ Mrs Lambchop smiled. ‘With all our great nations, many millions. And still the numbers grow.’ ‘Well, here too.’ President Ot shook his head. ‘Youthful marriages, babies one after another. But millions ? Our population – there’s just TyrraVille, of course – is six hundred and eighty-three.’ ‘Eighty-four,’ said Mrs Ot. ‘Mrs Ix had a baby last night.’ Now it was the Lambchops who were amazed. ‘Just TyrraVille?’ Arthur cried. ‘But TyrraVille’s your capital, you said!’ ‘Well, it would have to be, wouldn’t it, dear?’ said Mrs Ot. Stanley shook his head. ‘On the whole planet, only six hundred and eighty-four Tyrrans! Gosh, I’ll bet – Wait!’ And idea had come to him. Stanley had had exciting ideas before, but none that excited him as this one did. ‘Mrs Ot!’ he shouted. ‘How much do you weigh?’ ‘Stanley!’ said Mrs Lambchop.
Mrs Ot was not offended. ‘Actually, I’ve slimmed a bit. Though not, sadly, in the hips. I’m six ounces, young man. Why do you ask?’ The words rushed out of Stanley. ‘Because if you’re average only children would be even lighter, then all the Tyrrans put together would weigh – Let me figure this out!’ ‘Less than three hundred pounds,’ said Mr Lambchop, who was good at maths. ‘Though I don’t see –’ Then he did see. ‘Oh! Good for you, Stanley!’ ‘The lad’s bright, we know,’ said General Ap. ‘But what –’ ‘General!’ said Mr Lambchop. ‘Summon all Tyrrans here to the Star Scout ! Fetch what remains of your tinned food and Grape Fizzola! Perhaps Earth can be your home till Tyrra is green again!’
The Weighing
From each little house on each little street, the Tyrrans came, every man, woman, and child, even Captain Ik with a guard from the jail. The rain had stopped, and the evening light shone gold on the brown field in which the tiny people stood assembled. President Ot addressed them. ‘Fellow Tyrrans! I must confess that your government has deceived you! The truth is: It will be at least a year before our fields and streams are fit again.’
Cries rose from the crowd. ‘We were lied to! . . . Lordy, talk about bad news! . . . We’ll starve! . . . Shoot the scientists!’ ‘Wait!’ shouted President Ot. ‘We are offered refuge on Earth, if the voyage is possible! Pay attention, please!’ Stepping forward, Mr Lambchop read aloud from the booklet that had come with the Star Scout. ‘“Your spacecraft has been designed for safety as well as comfort. Use only as directed.”’ He raised his voice. ‘“Do not add weight by bringing souvenirs aboard or by inviting friends to ride with you.”’ Cries rose again. ‘That did it! . . . We’re not souvenirs ! . . . He said no friends either, stupid! . . . We’ve had it, looks like!’ Mr Lambchop raised his hand. ‘There is still hope! But you must all be weighed! Also the supplies you would require for the trip!’ The Star Scout ’s bathroom scales, set down in the field, proved too high for the Tyrrans, and the weighing was briefly delayed until Arthur, using the Monopoly board, made a ramp by which they could easily mount. General Ap barked orders. ‘Right, then! Groups of twenty to twenty-five, families together! And don’t jiggle!’ The Ots and six other families marched up on to the scales, beside which Mrs Lambchop stood with pad and pencil. ‘Seven and one-quarter pounds!’ she said, writing it down. ‘Next!’ shouted General Ap, but the Ot group was already starting down, and another marching up. Group after group mounted the scales. There was jiggling, due to excited children, but Mrs Lambchop took care to wait until the needle was still. Within an hour the entire population of Tyrra had been weighed, along with its supplies of tinned food and Fizzola, and she added up. ‘Tyrrans, two hundred and thirty-nine,’ she announced. ‘Food and Fizzola, one
hundred and forty. Total: Three hundred and seventy-nine pounds!’
‘Are we saved? Or are we too fat?’ came a cry. ‘Too soon to tell!’ Mr Lambchop called back. ‘We must see how we can lighten our ship!’ A good start was made by discarding the Star Scout ’s dining-table and one steel bunk, since Stanley and Arthur could easily share. Then out went Stanley’s tennis balls, extra sweater, and his Chief Pilot zip jacket with the American flag; out went Arthur’s knee socks, raincoat, and a plastic gorilla he had smuggled aboard. Mr and Mrs Lambchop added their extra clothing, lamps, kitchenware, the Monopoly game, and at last, the posters of Mexico and . The crowd stood hushed as the pile was weighed. Somewhere a baby cried, and its parents scolded it.
‘Three hundred and seventy-seven pounds!’ Mrs Lambchop announced. ‘Oh, dear!’ she whispered to President Ot. ‘Two less than we need.’ ‘I see.’ President Ot, after a moment’s thought, climbed up on to the scale. ‘Good news, Tyrrans!’ he called. ‘Almost all of us are saved!’ Cheers went up, and then someone shouted, ‘What do you mean, almost all?’ ‘We weigh, as a nation, a bit too much,’ President Ot explained. ‘But only four, if largish, need stay behind. I shall be one. Will three more volunteer?’ Murmurs rose from the crowd. ‘That’s my kind of President! . . . Leave Ik behind! . . . How about you, Ralph? . . . Ask somebody else, darn you!’ The matter was quickly resolved. ‘I won’t go without you, dear,’ Mrs Ot told her husband, and Captain Ik, hoping to regain popularity, announced that he too would remain. General Ap was the fourth volunteer. ‘Just an old soldier, ma’am,’ he told Mrs Lambchop. ‘Lived a full life, time now to just fade away, to –’ ‘Hey! Wait!’ Arthur was pointing to the scales. ‘We forgot that,’ he said. ‘We can leave the scales behind. Now nobody has to stay!’
Heading Home
‘Mr and Mrs Ix, and the new baby?’ said President Ot, beside his wife on a ledge above the Magnifying Window. ‘Ah, yes, on the fridge!’
The people of Tyrra were being made as comfortable as possible in the various nooks and crannies of the Star Scout. Stanley and Arthur had cleared a cupboard where Tyrra High School students could study during the trip, and Mrs Lambchop had cut up sheets to make hundreds of little blankets, and put out bits of cotton for pillows. ‘Makeshift, Mrs Ix,’ she said now, settling the Ixes on the fridge. ‘But such short notice. Back a bit from the edge, yes?’ ‘Short notice indeed,’ said Mrs Ix. ‘So many –’ ‘Not to worry.’ Mrs Lambchop smiled proudly. ‘My son, the Chief Pilot, will call ahead.’ From a nearby shelf, Captain Ik whispered an apology for attempting to paralyse Arthur. ‘Between you and I, I didn’t really think it would work,’ he said. ‘Between you and me,’ said Mrs Lambchop. ‘But thank you, Captain Ik.’ She turned to Stanley. ‘We’re all ready, dear!’ Stanley checked his controls. ‘Let’s go!’ ‘Tyrrans!’ President Ot called for attention. ‘Our national anthem!’ Everywhere in the Star Scout, Tyrrans rose, their right hands over their hearts. ‘Hmmmm . . .’ hummed Mrs Ot, setting a key, and they began to sing.
Tyrra, the lovely! Tyrra, the free! Hear, dear planet, our promise to thee! Where e’er we may go, where e’er we may roam, We’ll come back to Tyrra, Tyrra our home!
The words echoed in the softly-lit cabin. Many Tyrrans were weeping, and the
eyes of the Lambchops, as they took their seats, glistened too.
Be it ever so humble, there’s no planet so dear, We’ll always love Tyrra, from far or from –
Stanley pressed the ‘Start’ button, and – Whroooom ! – the Star Scout ’s rockets roared to life. The singing stopped suddenly, and Mrs Ix cried out from the fridge. ‘Oh, my! Is this thing safe?’ ‘Yes indeed,’ Mrs Lambchop called back. ‘Perhaps,’ said Mrs Ix. ‘But it is my belief that if Tyrrans were meant to fly, we’d have wings.’ Whroooom ! Whroooom ! The Star Scout lifted now, gaining speed as it rose. Its mission was done. The strangers who had called from a distant planet were no longer strangers, but friends. It was all very satisfactory, Stanley thought. The other Lambchops thought so too.
Earth Again
‘. . . real pleasure to welcome you, Tyrrans,’ said the President, almost done with his speech. ‘I wish you a fine year on Earth!’ Before him on the White House lawn, with newspaper and TV reporters all about, sat the Lambchops and, in a tiny grandstand built especially for the occasion, the people of Tyrra.
The Tyrrans were now applauding politely, but they looked nervous, and Mrs Lambchop guessed why. That crowd at the Space Centre for the Star Scout ’s landing, that drive through crowded streets into Washington, DC! Poor Tyrrans! Everywhere they looked, giant buildings, giant people. How could they feel comfortable here? But a surprise was in store. Across the lawn, a great white sheet had been spread. Now, at the President’s signal, workmen pulled the sheet away. ‘Welcome,’ said the President, ‘to TyrraVille Two!’ Gasps rose from the Tyrrans, then shouts of joy. Before them, on what had been the White House tennis court, lay an entire village of tiny houses, one for each Tyrran family, with shops and schools and churches, and a miniature railway serving all principal streets. Begun when Stanley called ahead from space, TyrraVille Two had been completed well before the Star Scout ’s arrival, thanks to rush deliveries from leading toy stores in Washington and New York. The excited Tyrrans ran from the grandstand to explore their new homes, and soon happy voices rose from every window and doorway of TyrraVille Two. ‘Nice furniture! . . . Hooray! Fresh lemonade! No more Fizzola! . . . In the cupboards, see? Shirts, dresses, suits, shoes! . . . Underwear, even!’ The Ots, General Ap, Dr Ep, and Captain Ik came back to say goodbye, and the Lambchops knelt to touch fingertips in farewell. The TV men filmed this, and Arthur made everyone laugh, pretending to be paralysed by the touch of Captain Ik. Then the newsmen left, the Tyrrans returned to TyrraVille Two, and only the President remained with the Lambchops on the White House lawn. ‘Well, back to work.’ The President sighed. ‘Goodbye, Lambchops. You’re all heroes, you know. Saved the nation.’ ‘Not really,’ Stanley said. ‘They couldn’t have conquered us.’ ‘Well, you know what I mean,’ the President said. ‘You folks care to stay for supper?’
‘Thank you, no,’ Mrs Lambchop said. ‘It is quite late, and this has been an exciting but very tiring day.’
It was bedtime when they got home. Stanley and Arthur had a light supper, with hot chocolate to help them sleep, after which Mr and Mrs Lambchop tucked them in and said goodnight. The brothers lay quietly in the darkness for a moment. Then Arthur chuckled. ‘The Magno-Titanic Paralyser was sort of scary,’ he said. ‘You were brave, Stanley, protecting me.’ ‘That’s okay,’ Stanley said. ‘You’re my brother, right?’ ‘I know . . .’ Arthur was sleepy now. ‘Stanley? When the Tyrrans go back, will their land and water be okay? Will they let us know?’ ‘I guess so.’ Stanley was drowsy too. ‘Goodnight, Arthur.’ ‘Goodnight,’ said Arthur, and soon they were both asleep.
And in time, from the great farness of space, but a farness no longer strange or unknown, another message came.
‘We are home. All is well.’ And again. ‘We are home! Thank you, Earth! All is well!’
To celebrate 50 years of Flat Stanley
make sure you’ve read all of his adventures!
The original stories by Jeff Brown:
Flat Stanley Stanley and the Magic Lamp Invisible Stanley Stanley in Space Stanley’s Christmas Adventure Stanley, Flat Again!
New adventures by Sara Pennypacker & Josh Greenhut:
Flat Stanley: The Japanese Ninja Surprise Flat Stanley: The Big Mountain Adventure Flat Stanley: The Great Egyptian Grave Robbery Flat Stanley: The Epic Canadian Expedition
Flat Stanley: The Amazing Mexican Secret Flat Stanley: The African Safari Discovery
And look out for even more stories, coming in 2015:
Flat Stanley: The Flying Chinese Wonders Flat Stanley: The Australian Boomerang Bonanza Flat Stanley: The U. S. Capital Commotion
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