My dear mouse friends,
Have I ever told you how much I love science
fiction? I’ve always wanted to write incredible
adventures set in another dimension, but I’ve never
believed that parallel universes exist . . . until now!
That’s because my good friend Professor Paws
von Volt, the brilliant, secretive scientist, has
just made an incredible discovery. Thanks to some
mousetropic calculations, he determined that there
are many different dimensions in time and space,
where anything could be possible.
The professor’s work inspired me to write this
science fiction adventure in which my family and I
travel through space
in search of new worlds.
We’re a fabumouse crew:
the spacemice!
I hope you enjoy this
intergalactic adventure!
PROFESSOR
Paws von volt
Geronimo Stilton
THE SPACEMICE
GERONIMO
STILTONIX
TRAP
STILTONIX
THEA
STILTONIX
GRANDFATHER
WILLIAM
STILTONIX
ROBOTIX
BENJAMIN
STILTONIX
AND
BUGSY
WUGSY
Geronimo Stilton
SPACEMICE
PIRATE SPACECAT
ATTACK
Scholastic Inc.
Copyright © 2015 by Edizioni Piemme S.p.A., Palazzo Mondadori, Via
Mondadori 1, 20090 Segrate, Italy. International Rights © Atlantyca
S.p.A. English translation © 2017 by Atlantyca S.p.A.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any
responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
GERONIMO STILTON names, characters, and related indicia are copyright,
trademark, and exclusive license of Atlantyca S.p.A. All rights reserved.
The moral right of the author has been asserted. Based on an original
idea by Elisabetta Dami. www.geronimostilton.com
Published by Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920,
557 Broadway, New
York, NY 10012. SCHOLASTIC and associated logos are trademarks
and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
Stilton is the name of a famous English cheese. It is a registered trademark
of the Stilton Cheese Makers’ Association. For more information, go to
www.stiltoncheese.com.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright
Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, trans-
mitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or
introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form
or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or here-
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For information regarding permission, please contact Atlantyca S.p.A.,
Via Leopardi 8, 20123 Milan, Italy; e-mail foreignrights@atlantyca.it,
www.atlantyca.com.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents
are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously,
and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business
establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
e-ISBN 978-1-338-08861-8
Text by Geronimo Stilton
Original title Sfida stellare all’ultimo baffo
Cover by Flavio Ferron
Illustrations by Giuseppe Facciotto (design) and Daniele Verzini (color)
Graphics by Michela Battaglin
Special thanks to AnnMarie Anderson
Translated by Anna Pizzelli
Interior design by Kevin Callahan / BNGO Books
First printing 2017
In the darkness of the farthest galaxy in
time and space is a spaceship inhabited
exclusively by mice.
This fabumouse vessel is called the
MouseStar 1, and I am its captain!
I am Geronimo Stiltonix
, a somewhat
accident-prone mouse who (to tell you
the truth) would rather be writing novels
than steering a spaceship.
But for now, my adventurous
family and I are busy
traveling around the universe
on exciting intergalactic missions.
THIS IS THE
LATEST ADVENTURE
OF THE SPACEMICE!
Super-mega-
cosmically Late!
It all started one quiet morning aboard
the
MouseStar
1
, the most mouserific
spaceship in the universe. I was asleep,
dreaming a wonderful dream: My book, The
Spacemouse’s Guide to the Galaxy, was
receiving the prestigious
Intergalactic
Literature Award!
I stood on the stage as aliens from every
corner of the solar system clapped and
shook
their antennae in my
honor
. . .
Galactic Gorgonzola, my whiskers were
trembling
with happiness!
The head judge was walking toward me
with the award. I extended my paw to accept
it, when —
Zzz
. . .
Zzz
. . .
Zzz
. . .
I woke to the sound of my blaring alarm
clock. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the head
judge standing in front of me. Instead, it
was
Assistatrix, my personal assistant
robot.
“Good morning, Captain!” Assistatrix
e
e
p
!
B
e
e
e
p
!
B
e
e
e
p
!
B
e
e
p
!
B
e
e
e
p
!
B
e
e
e
p
!
B
e
e
p
!
B
e
e
e
p
!
B
e
e
e
p
!
B
e
e
p
!
B
e
e
e
p
!
B
e
e
e
p
!
exclaimed. It is time to get up! “It is ten
twenty-seven
Intergalactic
Time
.”
“You couldn’t have waited five more
minutes?” I mumbled irritably. “I was in the
middle of the
best
dream . . .
Martian
mozzarella!
It’s already ten twenty-
seven ?!”
“Well, it is now ten twenty-eight, to be
Martian
mozzarella!
exact,” Assistatrix replied. “It’s time to—”
“
Get
up!
” I squeaked. “I know! But
you were supposed to wake me at eight!
What happened?”
“Hologramix gave me the order to
reset
your alarm clock,” Assistatrix replied.
“
Hologramix
gave you an order?”
I asked, surprised. “Since when is the ship’s
computer giving you orders?! The last time
I checked, I was the captain.”
Oops, I almost forgot to introduce myself!
My name is Stiltonix,
Geronimo
Stiltonix
,
and I am the captain of the MouseStar 1.
And that morning I was
super-mega-
cosmically
late!
“Assistatrix, get my breakfast, please.”
I
ran
to my closet. I had to get dressed!
Where’s My
Uniform?
My automated
stylist
greeted me when I
opened my closet door.
“Good morning, Trap!”
Mousey meteorites, had I heard that
correctly?
“Um . . .
EXCUSE
ME
,” I said. “What did
you call me?”
“Trap Stiltonix!” the stylist replied.
“But my name isn’t Trap!” I squeaked,
confused
. “Trap is my cousin!”
“
Ha,
ha,
ha!
so funny. You always want to joke around!”
Joke around? What was my stylist
squeaking
about?
“But I’m the captain of this ship,” I
But i'm
not Trap!
Here is your
uniform, Trap!
protested. “My name is Geron —”
Before I could finish, the stylist handed
me a
uniform
.
“Enough
joking
!” my stylist ordered.
“Here is your uniform. Now get dressed!”
I was
super
-
mega
-
cosmically
late, so I
didn’t have time to argue. Instead, I slipped
one paw in one leg of the uniform and
another in the arm . . . but the uniform was
enormouse
!
Holey
craters
, it wasn’t my uniform.
It was my cousin Trap’s!
“This isn’t mine,” I said quickly. “Where’s
my captain’s uniform?”
“You would
love
to be the captain,
wouldn’t you?” my stylist replied, sounding
annoyed.
“
I
am
the
captain!
”
I squeaked in
frustration. What in the name of
space
cheese was going on?
“Ha, ha, ha!” the stylist chuckled. “You’re
such a jokester, Trap. But enough now. It’s
time to get dressed!”
At that moment, Assistatrix returned with
my
breakfast
.
“Here you are, Captain!”
“Finally, good news!” I cheered. But a
M-motor
oil?!
second later I
smelled
a strange odor.
“What is this?” I asked as
I stirred the
STRANGE
greenish liquid in the
bowl Assistatrix had
delivered.
“It’s your
motor
oil
, Captain!” the
robot replied.
“M-motor oil?!” I
exclaimed. “What
are you squeaking
about? I
always
have a cup of hot cheese
in the morning!”
“
Not
today,
Captain!
” Assistatrix said.
“Oh, I get it!” I said with a laugh. “This is
all a big joke. You’re
kidding
me, right?
Is today Furry Fool’s Day?”
“No, this is not a
joke
,” Assistatrix
B-but . . .
I have to
go now!
W
H
I
R
R
replied. “The menu I received today from
Hologramix is quite clear: Your breakfast is
motor
oil
.”
Galactic Gorgonzola!
What was
going on? Since when did Hologramix
choose my breakfast?
“Please excuse me, but I really have to
go
now,” Assistatrix said. Before I could squeak
a word, my
personal
assistant
robot
turned around and left.
What Are You
Doing Here,
Captain?
I decided to head straight to the
control
room
. I had to figure out what was going
on! I hurried to the
liftrix
. Then I stepped
inside and pressed the button for the control
room. But instead of whisking me
up
, a
powerful jet of air pushed me
down
!
From the Encyclopedia Galactica
LIFTRIX
The liftrix is the fastest and most
comfortable way to move around
inside a spaceship. It’s a glass tube
that sucks up the passenger in a
strong blast of air, carrying the
spacemouse to the requested level
of the ship.
Ouch!
Stinky
space
cheese
,
where was the liftrix
taking me? A chill ran
down my tail. Then,
suddenly:
Boom!
I landed in something
soft but stinky. It was a
mountain of
dirty
clothes! I was in the
laundry
room
!
I tried to get up, but instead felt my fur
being
pulled
toward a giant galactic
washing machine.
slurp . . . Blurp . . . Vrooooom!
The machine was
sucking
up
all the
dirty clothes, and I was next!
MARTIAN
MOZZARELLA!
I squeezed my eyes shut,
preparing for the worst . . . when someone
suddenly grabbed me by the
paw
and
dragged me away from the washing machine.
I opened my eyes to see
Robotix
, the
MouseStar 1’s multipurpose robot.
Heeeelp!
“
Captain
, what are you doing here?”
Robotix asked. “Everyone is waiting for you
in the control room! The ship is experiencing
some
technical
problems.”
“Yes, I noticed!” I replied. “My
ALARM
CLOCK
went off late, my stylist handed
me the wrong uniform, I had
motor
oil
for breakfast, and the liftrix tossed me
down here instead of taking me to the
control room!”
“Don’t worry, Captain Stiltonix,”
Robotix replied. “I’ll take care of everything!”
In a
solar
minute
, he had untangled me
from the dirty clothes. Together, we headed
toward the control room.
But as we walked through a pair of
automatic
doors, they closed suddenly.
Robotix was trapped between them!
Solar-smoked Gouda!
What was going on?
Robotix managed to yank himself free and
we continued walking. But the next set of
automatic
doors also closed suddenly
—
right on my tail.
Ouch!
Next we came to a vertical
sliding door. We
pressed the red
button to open
it, but the door
only raised a
tiny
bit. Robotix and I
Help!
Oof!
Ouch!
had no choice: We
slithered under it like
two
astroslugs
from
planet Slothus.
When we saw the door to the
control room, we
breathed
a
sigh of relief: We had finally arrived!
S
W
I
S
H
H
H
Everything’s
Gone Haywire!
Inside the control room, it was complete
mayhem
. The equipment was making
weird sounds,
screens
were turning
on and off on their own, and the crew looked
more stressed than a bunch of elfix on the
Night of the Dancing Stars
*
!
No one even noticed me — well, except