Dinosaur Boy Saves Mars by Cory Putman Oakes Page B

with that!” Venetio sneered. He shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth and turned his attention back to the enormous flat screen on the wall. On TV, a Martian with an enormous amount of gel in his hair was grinning broadly from behind a desk.
    â€œWelcome to MBC-E, the Martian Broadcast Company’s English-language affiliate! Mars’s only all-English, all-the-time channel! In a moment, we’ll continue with our Big Bang Theory marathon, catching you up just in time for the big finale later this week. But first, the news.”
    â€œOhhh!” Venetio enthused, pumping a fist and nearly dumping his eggs onto the floor. “I love that show! We get it on Pluto too. Do you think they get Dancing with the Stars here? We’re like three seasons behind on that one.”
    â€œThey get it,” my grandfather informed him. “It came on right after American Idol this morning.”
    â€œWeird,” I muttered, trying not to step on Venetio as I went to take a seat at the empty table. “Just weird.”
    â€œWith two days until the summit, security is at an all-time high here in Mars Central,” continued the Martian newscaster as a picture of a rotund, half-bald Martian appeared on the screen, “Chancellor Gio has assured all of us here at MBC-E that every safety precaution is being taken.”
    â€œChancellor Gio…is that the Martian leader?” I asked.
    â€œActually, Mars is run by an elected council,” my grandfather answered from behind the stove. “But they appoint chancellors to be in charge of certain areas, as well as special events. Chancellor Gio is the one in charge of the summit. Omelet?”
    â€œEr, OK,” I said politely. My stomach had started growling again. Even though it didn’t really want an omelet.
    â€œI know eggs aren’t usually on the herbivore menu,” my grandfather said apologetically. “Greens are pretty scarce in Mars. Hard to grow them here, you know? But I did find some mushrooms in the freezer,” he said, tipping one of the pans in my direction so I could see a pile of button mushrooms swimming around in butter and garlic. “And there was a box of these on the counter,” he added, tossing me something wrapped in plastic.
    The package was small, no larger than my palm. But it was surprisingly heavy in my hand. I turned it over so I could see the label.
    â€œNutri Nugget,” I read. “One-third of your daily nutritional needs. Cocoa flavored.”
    â€œThey’re all the rage here,” my grandfather informed me.
    Inside the package was a soft, brown, vaguely rectangular object that looked disturbingly like—
    â€œA turd,” Venetio said through a mouthful of eggs. Swallowing, he nodded confidently to himself. “That’s what they look like. Turds. Taste like ’em too.”
    I set the unopened nugget on the table in front of me.
    â€œMaybe I’ll try the eggs.”
    The Plutonian and I sat in silence, watching Martian TV, while my grandfather poured a bowl full of beaten eggs into the mushroom pan. The newscaster finished the news-news and moved on to entertainment-news. I nearly fell off my chair when a picture of Sylvie, my grandfather, Elliot, Venetio, and I standing on the gangplank of the Lost Beagle appeared on-screen.
    â€œOn the heels of the announcement that Tycho Brawn will be coming out of retirement to play in the summit’s Friendship and Goodwill Game, another famous Martian striker has returned home! That’s right, folks! Everybody’s favorite big-haired, sharp-tongued Razer is back in planet! Is she here to play? So far, all parties involved are staying tight-lipped. But check out her entourage, why don’t you? Two Earthlings, a Plutonian, and a dinosaur-Earthling hybrid! Leave it to Sylvia Juarez to arrive in style!”
    My grandfather set a plate down in front of me. It was an omelet dotted with mushrooms and some sort