Can two hapless aliens, a boy, and his dog prevail against the forces of nasty creatures from outer space—and an even nastier fruitcake? The worlds collide in this hilarious sequel to Lunchbox and the Aliens.
Frazz and Grunfloz are a pair of bumbling aliens who are happy to have escaped Earth with their lives and plenty of delicious froonga. Then an evil commander seizes control of their ship. Suddenly Earth is in danger, and only Lunchbox, the super-intelligent basset hound, and his boy, Nate, can help them save the planet.
Can two hapless aliens, a boy, and his dog prevail against the forces of nasty creatures from outer space—and an even nastier fruitcake? The worlds collide in this hilarious sequel to Lunchbox and the Aliens.
Frazz and Grunfloz are a pair of bumbling aliens who are happy to have escaped Earth with their lives and plenty of delicious froonga. Then an evil commander seizes control of their ship. Suddenly Earth is in danger, and only Lunchbox, the super-intelligent basset hound, and his boy, Nate, can help them save the planet.
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Overview
Can two hapless aliens, a boy, and his dog prevail against the forces of nasty creatures from outer space—and an even nastier fruitcake? The worlds collide in this hilarious sequel to Lunchbox and the Aliens.
Frazz and Grunfloz are a pair of bumbling aliens who are happy to have escaped Earth with their lives and plenty of delicious froonga. Then an evil commander seizes control of their ship. Suddenly Earth is in danger, and only Lunchbox, the super-intelligent basset hound, and his boy, Nate, can help them save the planet.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781429997683 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Henry Holt and Co. (BYR) |
| Publication date: | 09/02/2008 |
| Series: | Froonga , #2 |
| Sold by: | Macmillan |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 176 |
| File size: | 1 MB |
| Age Range: | 9 - 12 Years |
About the Author
BRYAN W. FIELDS grew up with basset hounds and saw a UFO when he was ten. He lives in Denton, Texas, with his extremely patient wife and five genius children.
KEVAN ATTEBERRY has been illustrating since he was knee-high to a crayon. He lives in the Pacific Northwest.
Bryan W. Fields grew up with basset hounds and saw a UFO when he was ten. He is the author of Froonga Planet and Lunchbox and the Aliens. He lives in Denton, Texas, with his extremely patient wife and five genius children.
Kevan Atteberry has been illustrating since he was knee-high to a crayon. He is the illustrator of Froonga Planet and Lunchbox and the Aliens, both by Bryan W. Fields. He lives in the Pacific Northwest.
Read an Excerpt
Froonga Planet
By Bryan W. Fields, Kevan Atteberry
Henry Holt and Company
Copyright © 2008 Bryan W. FieldsAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4299-9768-3
CHAPTER 1
"Arroooo!" Lunchbox the basset hound howled angrily from the den. Nate Parker ignored him and turned up the volume on his new CD, Top Twenty Annoying Christmas Songs. The dog howled again. Nate stopped untangling the tree lights and leaned inside the doorway. "Come on, Lunchbox! Show a little holiday cheer!"
"Hrrrrmmmmm," growled Lunchbox, not taking his eyes off the computer screen. He moved his fat paw slowly across the custom-made oversize keyboard designed by Nate's father.
Noyzee, he slowly typed.
"You're going to have to spell better than that if you ever want to explain how that machine works," said Nate.
"But I guess it's pretty good for a dog." He shrugged. The novelty of having a dog made intelligent by space aliens had been replaced by nonstop work. Just six months earlier, he'd helped Lunchbox build the mysterious machine that turned ordinary garbage into the world's most nutritious dog food, and narrowly avoided blowing up the planet in the process. After the Fourth of July, however, the aliens had apparently left. Aside from having the weirdest dog in the world, nothing unusual had happened — no more things disappeared in flashes of light, no more Dumpsters fell from the sky, no more garbage trucks tipped over in the parking lot.
Nate flipped through the stack of schematic drawings on the table by the computer. "Dad's figured out most of the wiring and stuff, but we really need to know what that glowing Frisbee-thing is."
Wrld eksplod, typed Lunchbox. No tuch.
"I know it could make the world explode." Nate sighed. "But why?"
Lunchbox let the loose skin on his forehead fold over his eyes as he tried to think. How do I explain plookie radiation? I have the whole Scwozzwort engineering library in my head, but in people talk I have the vocabulary of a baby.
Above the noise of dogs barking "Jingle Bells" on his stereo, Nate heard the front door close. He hurried into the living room to turn down the volume and greet his parents.
"Sorry we're late, sweetie," said Mrs. Parker. "Daddy was training the new employees."
"That and answering a zillion phone calls from people wanting their orders of Parker's Power Pooch Pellets," grumbled Mr. Parker. "We're selling the stuff faster than we can make it." He finished putting their coats and scarves in the hall closet. "If we can't figure out how to build more machines, we'll never catch up."
"Which means we'll never get paid." Mrs. Parker sighed as she sifted through the mail, sorting the Christmas cards from the bills. "Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't have kept my teaching job for one more year."
"But you love this company, Connie," said Mr. Parker. "We'll manage — Mayor Carson and the other investors understand it will take a while to turn a profit. Still, we really need more of those machines." He tousled Nate's hair. "Any progress with Lunchbox?"
"Not much." Nate groaned. "I gave him a spelling test today and he got one word right."
Mr. Parker smiled. "How many bassets do you know that spell better?"
"This would be easier if the aliens would come back."
"Nate, let's not bring up the aliens again, okay?"
"But they were here! How else can you explain Lunchbox being so smart?"
"I can't, son. But I just can't believe in aliens. There has to be some other explanation — something rational — maybe a rare gene that gives him extraordinary abilities to learn."
"But you always said he was nothing but bone between the ears. Something had to have changed him."
"Well ..." Mr. Parker hesitated, fishing for a logical statement. "Maybe I was wrong. You know, ummm ... Albert Einstein! He flunked math when he was a kid. It took a long time for his inner genius to come out."
"Maybe he met aliens, too. Have you ever seen his picture?"
"Look, Nate, I really don't want to discuss this alien nonsense right now. There has to be a more practical answer for this. We just have to keep working on it."
"At least you'll have some time off for the holidays," said Nate. He saw his parents look at each other hesitantly. "You are taking time off, right?"
"Connie, have you told him?" said Mr. Parker.
"No, not yet." Mrs. Parker looked uncomfortable.
"Told me what?" said Nate.
Mr. Parker took a deep breath. "Your mother and I have to take a trip to a pet food convention in Chicago. If we're going to make this business work, we have to learn all we can and make as many contacts as possible."
"When? How long?"
"Tomorrow morning. We'll be back Christmas Eve."
"Three days?"
Mr. Parker counted silently on his fingers, mouthing the days of the week. "Yep. Three days."
"Can I come with you?" pleaded Nate.
"I wish you could, son, but we can't afford it. Until we find a way to boost production, we're as poor as we ever were. If we manage to fill the orders we've already got, we'll just about break even."
"You're just going to leave us here alone?" said Nate, briefly thinking of all-night TV and popcorn.
"Of course not," said his mother. "Aunt Nelly is coming to stay while we're gone."
"Aunt Nelly? But she's nuts!"
"Nate, your great-aunt is not nuts." Mrs. Parker glared briefly at her husband, who was nodding his head in agreement with Nate. "She's ... she's a little different, but she's very sweet and she'll take good care of you."
"What's she going to think about Lunchbox?"
"You'll have to keep Lunchbox under control," said Mr. Parker. "Aunt Nelly doesn't need to know anything about his ... um ... you know ..."
"Weirdness?"
Mrs. Parker finished her husband's sentence for him. "Special abilities. And don't eat too much of Aunt Nelly's fruitcake."
Nate made a sour face. "Do I have to eat any?"
"Only enough to be polite," said his mother. "You don't want to hurt her feelings."
"I don't wanna barf, either," said Nate.
CHAPTER 2"re you sure we're in the right place?" said Frazz for the oopty-grillionth time, nervously twiddling his tentacles.
"Absolutely, sir," snapped Grunfloz. It hadn't taken long for him to return to his habit of making sir sound like an insult. "These are the exact coordinates Narzargle gave us."
Frazz looked fretfully at the scanners, which still made absolutely no sense no matter how many times Grunfloz had explained them. "Is anything out there?"
"Well, let's see, microscopic gas particles, cosmic dust, a whole lot of nothing, a couple of big asteroids, and — wait —"
"What?" Frazz fumbled to undo the knot he'd accidentally tied in his tentacles.
"One of the asteroids is moving," said Grunfloz, speaking as if this were an everyday occurrence.
"It's what? Ow!" Frazz had yanked his tentacles free, accidentally popping himself in the eye.
The asteroid was indeed moving, changing its course to intercept the Urplung Greebly. A yellow sliver of light spilled from the object, growing wider as a large section of it opened up.
"Grunfloz, I think we need to get out of here," said Frazz.
"I think it's too late," said Grunfloz. The Greebly shuddered and groaned as the light beam yanked it from its position and pulled it toward the opening. "And I don't think that's an asteroid, sir."
"What is it?" cried Frazz, his eyestalks and head tendrils turning orange.
"Hoofonoggles," muttered Grunfloz.
Frazz hurried to his quarters and returned wearing a shiny medal under his lips. "We'll be fine," he said, though the squeak in his voice said otherwise. "I'm a hero on their world."
"You don't know much about Hoofonoggles, obviously," said Grunfloz flatly. He quickly locked down all of the ship's nonessential systems. "They're just about the most obnoxious creatures in the galaxy."
"I thought that was your title," said Frazz, trying to calm himself.
"I said 'just about.' I can think of one more."
"Who?"
"Oogash," mumbled Grunfloz, gesturing toward the view screen. A huge Scwozzwort appeared on the screen, looking annoyed. He was even bigger and uglier than Grunfloz. In spite of the static of the comlink, his voice was intimidating, a low growl that sounded more like a sustained belch.
"Urplung Greebly, prepare for automatic docking. Oogash out."
Grunfloz leaned back in his couch and bobbed his eyestalks toward Frazz. "I still can't believe you sent that report to Narzargle."
"Commander Narzargle is the one who sent us out here on this stupid voyage in the first place," said Frazz. "I thought maybe this would be a chance for redemption."
"I'm not the one who needed redemption," said Grunfloz. "You're the one with the eebeedee hanging over his head!"
Frazz shuddered at the mention of the official embarrassment ceremony. There was no greater punishment on Scwozzwortia than being draped in the yakayaka, the Robe of Stupidity, placed on a cart at the head of a long and raucous procession, pelted with rotten garbage, and then being forced to live in the streets, singing the malfurbum gwealfee song, begging for froonga crumbs the rest of his life. It was the only thing he could think of that was worse than what he had already been through.
"If it weren't for the Hoofonoggles, I'd be doing the Dance of Stupidity door-to-door," said Frazz.
Grunfloz smiled slightly. "Whatever the reason, we've had some great adventures as a result."
"If you call totally trashing the ship and putting our lives and an entire planet in danger a great adventure." Frazz reverently touched the medal. "The Hoofonoggle Medal of Generosity ... awarded to me because I totally messed up the sales transaction when they bought the Urplung fleet from Central Command. The Hoofonoggles got an incredible bargain, and I got banished. There was one Urplung ship left." Frazz frowned at the battered, grimy walls surrounding them. "Just my luck."
"And you didn't get the eebeedee. Sounds lucky to me."
"I have more rights as an honorary citizen of Hoofonogglia than I do on our own world," said Frazz sadly. "And I don't know anything about how to be a Hoofonoggle."
"I've dealt with the Hoofonoggles in my time," said Grunfloz. "Believe me, even your presence elevates them."
"You never told me you'd met the Hoofonoggles," said Frazz. "I thought you'd always been a hazardous garbage sorter at the central froonga plant."
"I also played lob-lock for a while." Grunfloz wiped froonga crumbs from his belly while picking bits from his yellow teeth. "Interplanetary league." He frowned slightly. "I don't want to talk about it right now."
The asteroid opened wider as the beam drew the Greebly in. Huge mechanical arms unfolded from the opening and clamped onto the sides of the ship with a bang that resonated through the hull.
Frazz yelped at the sound. Grunfloz remained silent until the docking bay pressurized, then exhaled sharply.
"Well, let's get this over with."
"We'll — we'll be fine," stammered Frazz as he adjusted his medal. Grunfloz activated the ship's main hatch. It hissed open, squeaking occasionally as the battered hinges protested.
"After you, sir," said Grunfloz, waving his tentacle in mock sincerity.
"Um ..." said Frazz.
"After you, sir!" Grunfloz gave him a shove through the open hatch. Frazz landed face-first on the deck of the docking bay. Pulling himself up painfully, he extracted the Medal of Generosity from his mouth and readjusted it.
Grunfloz sauntered down the gangway and looked around. "I thought there'd at least be a welcoming committee."
They surveyed the vast chamber; it seemed like any ordinary hostile alien docking bay. Their eyestalks stopped moving as they gazed at the Urplung Greebly — the first time in fifteen years they'd seen the ship from the outside. Its hull was pitted and scarred from micrometeor impacts. Burn marks streaked from the shattered capture beam port.
Along the walls of the bay were several rows of ships, nearly identical to the Greebly but with strange characters painted on their hulls.
Grunfloz squinted at the writing. "I can read a little Hoofonogglian," he said. "That one there is named the Inflamed Nostril. And that one next to it, let's see ... the Festering Eyeball Rash ... and that one says Intestinal Distress, and that one ..."
Frazz rolled his eyestalks. "They name their ships after annoying medical conditions?"
Grunfloz shrugged. "Obviously loses something in the translation."
snorted Frazz.
A pneumatic whooshing sound made them turn around quickly. Several large yellow creatures streamed from the outer doors of the bay. Each was tall, with a many-finned, fanged head resting on broad shoulders. Muscular arms, longer than their legs, ended in webbed claws; their feet were webbed as well, slapping on the deck as the creatures hurried to surround them. Each one clutched what appeared to be a weapon.
Trying not to let his fear make him turn orange, Frazz fumbled for his medal and lifted it high for them to see. "Greetings, fellow citizens," he squeaked. The creatures stared menacingly. Tilting an eyestalk toward Grunfloz, he muttered, "I don't remember the Hoofonoggle ambassador looking like this."
"These are Hoofonoggle shock troops," said Grunfloz.
The line of creatures parted as an enormous, ugly Scwozzwort lumbered through.
"Welcome aboard," rumbled Oogash. "Commander Narzargle will see you immediately."
Grunfloz glanced at the wall of snarling guards around them. "I see your taste in friends hasn't changed much, Oogash."
Oogash looked disdainfully at Frazz, then at Grunfloz. "I see yours has gotten worse."
"Grunfloz is a loyal and efficient crew member," said Frazz. "I've referred him for several commendations."
"Of course," said Oogash with a scornful smile. "Follow me."
The Hoofonoggle guards closed ranks behind them and followed in a loose march, the uneven smacking of their feet on the deck making an unpleasant rhythm that sent chills through Frazz. They muttered unintelligible things to one another, occasionally snorting and chortling. Frazz tried to cover his nervousness by pointing to his medal and speaking to the sergeant of the guard, who marched uncomfortably close to his side.
"See this? I'm an honorary Hoofonoggle. Greetings, brother."
The Hoofonoggle scrunched his fanged mouth tight and glared sideways with his bulging eyes. "Ssshcwozzwort, pfleah!" He spat a gob of something-or-other on the deck in front of Frazz.
"N-nice to meet you, too," stammered Frazz.
CHAPTER 3One by one, Nate blasted the alien ships until the TV screen was clear. He'd played this game a bazillion times, until he could almost do it with his eyes closed. As the mother ship came into view, Nate sighed and paused the game. He glanced toward the den, where his dad had closed the door to try and get some more work done at the computer.
"This is boring," he said. Lunchbox flopped on the floor next to him, yawning in agreement. Nate scratched him behind the ears. "We've already saved the world for real once. Too bad there isn't a game to help Dad's company."
Lunchbox sat up and moved to the TV screen.
"Hrrrrmmmmm," he moaned, putting a nose print in the middle of the mother ship.
"Yeah, that would be great if the aliens came back," said Nate, resuming the game and blasting the mother ship to smithereens. "But I don't think they have any reason to."
Commander Narzargle leaned across his console, which contained a mixture of Scwozzwort and Hoofonoggle technology. He moved slowly, and it was apparent that the years had not been kind to him. "I'm not going to waste time giving you a lot of details. An engineering team is repairing your ship. The Hoofonoggle fleet has a large supply of salvaged Urplung parts, which, thanks to your captain, they managed to get at a sizable discount." Narzargle rolled an eyestalk toward Frazz.
Frazz squirmed slightly. Sitting in Narzargle's presence made the eebeedee seem all the more likely. He fumbled for something to say in his own defense.
"Sir, about my report ..."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Froonga Planet by Bryan W. Fields, Kevan Atteberry. Copyright © 2008 Bryan W. Fields. Excerpted by permission of Henry Holt and Company.
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