Granny Miriel to the Rescue

By Delene Oosthuizen

“Boy!”

I groan and pull my sleeping bag over my head. Something pokes me in the back.

“Boy! Why are you sleeping on my porch?”

The raspy voice and insistent poking finally force me back to reality. I sit up and collide with a fluffy, slobbery lump of dog. A wrinkled face gazes at me over his shoulder, framed with wispy white curls.

Oh no! Of all the porches in town, I had to pick Granny Miriel’s. Mind you, she’s not my real grandmother. She’s one of those nosy elderly ladies who knows everything about everyone in town and is always doing good deeds. It’s not that I don’t like her; I do. It’s just that I am desperately trying to avoid getting killed by angry aliens, and I don’t have time for tea and gossip. Perhaps hiding out in my childhood hometown wasn’t the best idea after all.

“Sorry,” I mumble, scrambling to my feet and bundling my things into my backpack. “I’ll get going.” Hopefully she won’t recognize me as the chubby, bespectacled boy who ate cookies in her kitchen. Military academy and contact lenses had changed my appearance quite a bit.

“Some breakfast before you go, boy? You won’t get that device far on an empty stomach.” She leans on her stick, eyeing me knowingly.

A cold lump forms in my stomach. How does she know about that? Probably looked through my pack. Should I play dumb or make a run for it? That monster dog will be on me before I can get to the street, and I would hate to upset her by hurting it.

Time to play dumb, then. “Huh? Do you mean this?” I hold up my flashy smartphone. There’s always a chance Granny Miriel is as technologically impaired as most other elderly folks.

She rolls her eyes at me in a way that puts my little sister to shame. No such luck.

“Now, Andy,” she says firmly. “Let’s not play games. I know alien tech when I see it. You’re obviously in trouble. I can make a few educated guesses, but I think you’d best tell me yourself.”

I sigh. So much for hoping she wouldn’t recognize me. Did I mention she never forgets a face? Besides, once she sniffs out trouble, she’s unstoppable. Oh, well. The world’s ending anyway.

“The Council has been compromised, and the emissary from Zorg was killed.” I look her in the eye. “We had to get certain, uh, items to safety. We’re not sure who is behind the attack, but we suspect they want to start a war with Zorg.”

Half an hour and a tall stack of pancakes later, I wipe my mouth and lean back, wondering why talking to Granny Miriel is so comforting. She wrinkles her brow and rubs her giant St. Bernard’s ears. I think his name is Matteo.

“It’s all happened very suddenly, hasn’t it?” She doesn’t sound as worried as I expected her to be. She absently starts bustling around the kitchen, washing dishes and feeding the leftovers to Matteo.

Watching her quietly process it all, I suddenly wonder about her. Few octogenarians would be this calm in the face of an impending intergalactic war. But then, Granny Miriel is not like most other old ladies. I’ve never seen her intimidated by anything, and apparently that includes angry off-planet visitors. She showed up here years ago with only the vaguest explanations about her past. And yet, she quickly became the person everyone turned to for help.

Come to think of it, she does have an impressive skillset aside from the usual granny hobbies like knitting and baking. Things like advanced first aid, foraging, speaking ten different languages—not all from Earth—and fighting off bullies. I even remember her fixing someone’s hovercraft. She also seems to know a lot about the Intergalactic Council’s business, which I did not expect. I can’t shake the nagging feeling that I’m missing something.

Could she be… but no, surely not. Miriel Takkenridge? Commander Takkenridge is a legend at the Academy. Years ago, she single-handedly saved Zorg from annihilation. No one knew the details or what had happened to her after the war, but she was considered a hero. What if she had quietly retired? I laugh to myself. This is ridiculous, I’m just desperate for help.

I glance at the wiry figure in front of me again. It’s hard to imagine the Miriel Takkenridge baking pancakes and knitting dog sweaters. Still, something about her doesn’t add up. Could she be a spy?

As if reading my thoughts, she looks up with a wild grin. “Well, my boy, it seems the world needs saving again! Come along.” She marches into the pantry.

My jaw drops.

“Hurry up, Andy!”

I stumble into the pantry after her and knock over a jar of something sticky. Probably jam. I hurriedly wipe the mess under the rug with my foot. Time for apologies later.

Behind a shelf of various homemade canned goodies, I spot a gleaming, half-open metal door. I peek in and feel my mouth hanging open again. Granny Miriel is rummaging around in what looks like Tony Stark’s secret lab. I see blinking computer screens, a wild assortment of weapons and… Is that a motorcycle?

The great Miriel Takkenridge—because I now have no doubt this is her—is busy filling two large backpacks with all kinds of tech and weaponry, humming and nodding happily to herself. “Andy, dear, staring is rude. Why don’t you grab us some helmets from that cupboard over there and see if the bike needs fuel? Also, how sure are you that no one tracked you?”

An awestruck “Wow!” slips out as I rush to help.

She looks up and grins at me. “Finally figured it out, huh? Well, I’m glad someone still thinks Miriel Takkenridge can do something for the galaxy.” Her smile grows wistful. “Besides, I do so want to see Zorg again before I die.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Delene Oosthuizen has always loved reading and telling stories, both other people’s and her own. Her love of writing started with a story about a pink fairy living in a rose that became a series of bedtime stories for her little sister. Delene lives near the majestic Drakensberg mountains in South Africa with her husband and son. Her stories are often inspired by real people, places and events.

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