Venus's Vanishing Vase

MAN, I LOVE being an Ippy!” Tommy Lutsinger flashed a badge he’d made from cardboard and tin foil. “Freeze!”

- Kristin O'Donnell Tubb

“It’s I.P.P.I.,” Jonathon Jones said, pronouncing each letter. “As in InterPlanetary Private Investigators. I refuse to be an ‘Ippy.’” He flicked a fuzzball off his sweater.

Miranda Knox, the computer whiz, giggled. “Ippy sounds cute!”

Tommy flashed his badge again. “Stop in the name of the Ippies!” His dog, Comet, barked.

Chloe Minn, the math expert, grinned. “So what’s up, boss?”

Jonathon flipped open his organizer. “A vase has gone missing on the planet Venus.” He said vase like “voz.”

“A vase? We’re flying to Venus for a pot?” Tommy asked.

“Not a pot, and not vayse—a voz,” Jonathon said.

“What’s the difference?” Tommy asked.

“About $10,000.”

After school, Miranda used the supercomputer to teleport the crew, plus Comet, to Venus.

“Look what I brought,” Tommy said. He whipped out a brand-new eCompass 3000 and flipped it on.

“You are facing east,” it reported. “East.”

“A compass?” Chloe asked. “Why?” Tommy spun toward her. “You are facing west. West.” “I thought it might come in handy.”

Tommy flipped off the eCompass 3000 and crammed it into his pocket.

When the I.P.P.I.s stepped onto the soil of Venus, Chloe turned green.

“Are you OK?” Miranda asked.

“I forgot to take my motion sick ness medicine.” Chloe clutched Miranda’s arm. “Venus spins in . . . retrograde.” She slapped her hand over her mouth.

“Retro?” Tommy asked. “Like music from silver discs?”