Dinosaur Boy Saves Mars Read Online Free PDF Page A

over at the bears, who were licking chocolate off their paws.
    â€œI didn’t mean to take it,” Venetio said sadly as his stomach growled. “But I ran out of food, and when you left the ship, it was just sitting there on your chair…” He trailed off, looking vaguely ashamed, then drew himself up straight. “But I am not a BURPSer!”
    â€œWhat is a ‘burpser’?” I finally asked. And in spite of the tension of the room, I distinctively heard Elliot stifle a giggle. “I mean, it’s not what it sounds like, is it?”
    â€œâ€˜BURPS’ stands for ‘Brotherhood United for the Restoration of Planetary Status,’” my grandfather explained. “Its members are called BURPSers. They are a radical Plutonian organization that formed after Pluto was reclassified as a dwarf planet.”
    â€œOh, B-U-R-P-S.” Elliot puzzled out, then guffawed. “Ha! That’s funny!”
    Nobody else laughed.
    â€œActually, after they figured out what their name spelled, they changed it to ‘the Plutonian Restoration Society.’ The ‘PRS,’” Venetio put in. “The old name kind of stuck though. But I am not one of them.”
    â€œYou are quite obviously a Plutonian,” my grandfather pointed out. “What are you doing so far from home?”
    â€œI was bound for Mars, sir. But like I said, I had some trouble with my ship, so I attached to yours and climbed in through one of your service panels. I was only going to stay long enough to maybe, er, borrow a bit of fuel. But then I heard you tell one of the polar bears you were headed to Mars, so I thought I might just stay—”
    â€œIn the cupboard?” my grandfather cut in.
    Venetio shrugged.
    â€œIt’s a good deal more comfortable than my ship, sir.”
    He smiled affably at each of us in turn, and I found it hard not to smile back.
    â€œUm, can I put my hands down now?” he asked.
    â€œIf you’re not a BURPSer,” my grandfather pressed him, ignoring his request, “then why are you trying to get to Mars?”
    â€œWhy? Why else? For the game!”
    â€œWhat game?” my grandfather asked.
    Moving very slowly, the Plutonian lowered one hand, reached into the breast pocket of his bodysuit, and pulled out a folded piece of paper the size of an index card.
    â€œSawyer,” my grandfather said. “Check it out.”
    I took a deep breath and approached the Plutonian, trying to act like I assisted my grandfather in holding aliens at gunpoint every day. When I got close enough to take the ticket out of his hand, I saw beads of sweat collected on his blueish forehead.
    â€œCan I please put my hands down?” Venetio repeated and looked quite relieved when my grandfather nodded.
    The ticket said:
ADMIT 1
    Section 8,
Row 95,
Seat 34C
THE 2016 SUMMIT FRIENDSHIP AND GOODWILL GAME
    MARS’S RED RAZERS
    vs.
    PLUTO’S KUIPER KICKERS
    The term “Red Razer” seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
    â€œThe rematch!” Venetio exclaimed, looking very excited. “You know, Pluto versus Mars? It’s the first time we’ve played the Razers since the ’14 Finals!”
    I heard Sylvie draw in a breath. She stepped up behind me and peered over my shoulder at the ticket.
    â€œHow did you get this?” she asked, and I was surprised at the coldness in her voice. And the very particular way that she said the word “you.”
    â€œI won it!” Venetio said proudly, narrowing his eyes at Sylvie. They were almost exactly the same height. “From a radio station. I correctly named all of the Kuiper Kicker strikers who have ever scored goals in intergalactic tournaments.”
    â€œAll of them?” Elliot asked.
    â€œWell, there aren’t really that many,” Venetio admitted. “We don’t score that often. But I really think this could be our year!