Akiko and the Journey to Toog
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“Poog’s in trouble.” Just three simple words, but they’re enough to launch fifth-grade Akiko and the rest of her crew—Spuckler Boach, Mr. Beeba, and Gax—on their next mission. And it just might be their most important mission yet: To save the planet Toog, home of their good friend Poog.
Someone’s out to destroy Toog, and only Akiko and the gang can stop them. But first they have to escape from a Toogolian jail cell, zoom through a barrage of exploding drobe mines, and enlist the help of Spuckler’s old friend Fluggly Ragstubble—who’s anything but helpful. The clock is ticking and every second counts. Will they win the race against time and save Poog’s home planet?
don't suppose you have an … extra gas mask on you?” “Oh yeah. I do, I do,” said Ragstubble. “Here, let me get it for you….” FWUP ZWIT SSSWOOT The sounds of a skirmish. Then: PAAAASSSHH! The portal rattled as something heavy landed right on top of it. Gax retracted his mechanical arm just in time. sssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhh The sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor. Silence. Then the portal was yanked open and there in front of us was Ragstubble's face: smiling,
more unscrupulous Tri-Yarm leaders and converted them to his way of thinking. Then he enlisted their help in faking his own death.” “But why go to so much trouble to make people think he was dead? Why not just go straight for the glagma?” “His main interest at that stage was in starting a war between the Toogolians and the Tri-Yarms. He knew that word of his being senselessly murdered would be just the thing to set the Toogolians off. He wanted all the Tri-Yarms driven off the planet. That way
kind of thick, purplish liquid. As if kids had gone on a rampage with giant purple-yolked eggs. What the heck is that stuff ? Piker barked once loudly. A woman's voice accompanied the video, no doubt providing valuable information, but none of it was in English. A small icon in the lower right-hand corner of the TV screen confirmed what Billy already suspected: this was the International Channel, that weird cable station that went from Middle Eastern movies to Korean soap operas to Mexican
relocated to somewhere down around my knees. “That's whatcha call the death drop. What I call it, anyway. It's the only surefire way of dodgin' a heat seeker.” “You idiot!” Mr. Beeba's legs poked up from the front seat, his head probably not too far from Spuckler's feet. “You're a lunatic! A lunatic, I say!” “Beebs, you got a mighty funny way of showin' your gratitude.” “IT'S COMING BACK FOR ANOTHER GO AT US, SIR,” Gax said. Sure enough, the white-hot fireball was already turning around.
“They still want to know who we work for,” said Mr. Beeba. “Tell 'em we don't work for nobody!” said Spuckler. “We're freelancers.” “No,” I said. “Tell them we work for Poog.” Mr. Beeba's eyes popped a bit in surprise, then settled into an expression of understanding. “Yes. We work for Poog. Perfect.” He turned to the Toogolians, cleared his throat again, and spoke in their language, this time much more confidently. They reacted with skepticism, but after another warbly chat they seemed to