Floora did her best not to scream as she sailed up through the air, flipped clumsily at the apex, then frantically beat her wings to slow her descent. Her wings, which were capable of only minimal lift at the best of times, failed to pull it out of the hat when she needed them most.
Cal caught her just before she crunched against the ground in a landing that would otherwise have been almost Loren-esque.
“What did you see?” Cal asked her, turning her right way up and setting her down.
“What, besides my life flashing before my eyes?” Floora panted. “Not much.”
Cal picked her up again. “OK, this time keep your eyes open.”
“Wait! Stop!” Floora pleaded. “I think we take the second exit up ahead, then go right.”
“You think? Or you know?” asked Cal. “How sure are you?”
Floora sighed. “Fifty percent?”
Cal launched her upward, throwing her with both hands the way a doting parent might throw a toddler into the air, only much faster and higher, and with fewer funny faces.
Floora gritted her teeth and forced herself to pay attention as she rose up above the top of the walls. She fluttered her wings as fast as she could, buying herself almost a whole half-second before gravity took hold and dragged her down again.
“Anything?” Cal asked, as she landed in his arms.
Floora nodded breathlessly. “I was right. There’s an open area in the middle. Second exit ahead, then left, two rights, straight on, and we’re there.”
“Are you sure?” asked Cal, adjusting his grip on her again. “Should we double-check?”
“No!” Floora yelped. “I’m sure. Second exit, left, two rights, straight on. That’s the way.”
Cal looked dubious, but slowly lowered her to the ground. “OK. But if we get lost, this is on you. I’m putting my faith in you here. So, that’s a big responsibility. You know how I feel about mazes.”
“It’s the way. I promise,” Floora told him.
“Well, OK, then,” said Cal. He jabbed a thumb at his back. “Want to hop on?”
Floora shook her head. “I think I’ll walk,” she wheezed. “It’ll be nice to be near the ground for a while.”
“Fair enough,” said Cal, and they set off to follow Floora’s directions.
A turn, a left, and two rights later, Cal found himself standing at the end of a passageway that seemed narrower than the others.
At the far end, it opened to reveal a much wider area where the amber glow of flames flickered across the bones, making them appear alive.
“Looks like this is it,” Cal said.
“Told you,” said Floora. “That’s the center.”
“You did tell me, you’re absolutely right,” Cal agreed. He nodded at the walls ahead of them. “But you didn’t tell me about those.”
This passageway was a forest of grasping arms, protruding heads, and a few bony tentacle things that may well have belonged to the Death of Octopuses. They stretched across the gap between the narrow walls, as if trying to shake hands with those across from them. A few of them came dangerously close, their fingertips brushing together as they flailed around.
As if all that wasn’t enough, twenty to thirty buzzerflies pootled around in amongst it all. Sure, they were currently minding their own business, but Cal knew it would only be a matter of time before the little bamstons started electrocuting his face.
“Maybe there’s another way,” Floora said.
She dusted herself down, straightened herself up, then raised her arms to Cal. “Do it. Throw me. I’ll find another route.”
Cal picked her up. “You sure?”
“What other choice do we have?”
Cal looked back in the direction they’d come, up at the top of the wall, then ahead at the sea anemone of limbs, heads, and assorted other bits and pieces.
“I hate fonking mazes,” Cal said.
And then, he tucked Floora under one arm, threw the other out in front of him like a charging quarterback, and ran.
Half a dozen paces in, he concluded that this was probably a mistake, but there was no turning back now. The fingers were everywhere, snatching at his hair, hauling at his arms, grasping for his ankles as he barged on through. He punched, slapped, and karate-chopped as many as he could, shrugged off all those he couldn’t, swatting buzzerflies and dodging teeth as he ran and ran and ran.
Floora was screaming, but the sound was broken by the jarring impact of Cal’s footsteps, turning her solid “Eeeeeeeek!” into a car-alarm style vibrato.
EeeeEEEEeeeeEEEEeeeeEEEEK!
But, despite it all, they were almost there. Almost to the end. Almost made it.
Almost.
But not quite.
One of the hands caught Cal’s arm high up, the fingers snagging on the torn bodysuit. Cal’s momentum pulled him free, but he spun wildly, tripped on a flailing tentacle, then fell. As he did, he tossed Floora ahead of him, launching her through the forest of limbs in a desperate attempt to get her clear.
Cal hit the ground hard. He tried to kick himself on, but hands had him by the ankle, by the wrist, by the hair. He hissed in pain as they clawed at him through the bodysuit. He struggled on a few inches until it became impossible to go any further.
The things in the walls babbled and groaned, their teeth gnashing as they all pulled him in opposite directions.
Up ahead, he could just make out Floora. She had landed beyond the end of the corridor. She was safe. He’d managed that much, at least. He’d saved her, even if he wasn’t able to save himself.
Of course, she’d probably be eaten alive by Sloorgs in the next two-to-three minutes, but he’d be dead by then, so wouldn’t know anything about it.
And then, from somewhere a little beyond the Floomfle, he heard it. A sound. One of the greatest sounds he’d ever heard, he thought. It was a sound he’d never appreciated fully in the past, but which he vowed to make a point of treasuring from this moment on.
It was the single clank of a metal footstep.
“Y’all better let him go,” Mech warned.
Cal sobbed with relief as the hands released him and retreated into the bones. “Oh, thank God!” he croaked, pushing himself up onto his knees. “Mech, am I glad to see…”
“This son-of-a-bedge is mine,” Mech said. His face contorted in rage as he raised both fists above his head and struck a pose.
The voice of the host came blaring from nowhere. As Cal watched, a rusted metal logo appeared in the air in front of the cyborg—a hologram, projected from God-knew-where.
“Meet Pulverizor!” the host announced, really dragging out the ‘L’ sound. “The first of our all new Hunters!”
Cal swallowed, his eyes growing almost as wide as Floora’s.
“Oh, shizzbiscuits,” he groaned. “You have got to be fonking kidding me…”
Thirty
“Hey, Mech. Buddy. It’s me. What are you doing? What’s with Mr Angry Face?” said Cal.
Or, that was his intention, at least. He made is as far as the, “Hey M—” before the cyborg’s fists swung down, forcing him to roll sideways out of their path.
They struck the ground with a bone-shaking thoom. Literally bone-shaking. The walls on either side of them trembled, and a selection of skulls and femurs clattered down like the first few rocks in a landslide.
“Mech? Come on, man, stop messing around!” Cal cried. Again, partly. This time, he made it all they way to the, “Come on, man,” part before Mech swung with a hammer-strike, forcing Cal to scramble out of his way.
“Stay still, you little fonk,” Mech grunted, twisting his upper half and gearing up for another attack.
Springing to his feet, Cal made a run for the mouth of the passageway, grabbed Floora, and dashed madly into the wider clearing at the heart of the maze.
He wasn’t sure what he’d been hoping to find there. A weapon, maybe. A couple of chairs and a reasonable conversation, perhaps.
Instead, he found bone
s. Lots more bones, scattered in piles, and forming the walls of a vaguely hexagonal space.
No, not a space, Cal realized.
An arena.
There were four exits, including the one they’d just entered through. Cal started for one of the others at full-speed, zigging and zagging in case Mech opened fire.
“You know this guy?” Floora asked, her voice an urgent hiss in Cal’s ear.
“Yeah, we’re friends.”
“You don’t look like friends.”
“It’s a love-hate thing,” Cal explained, then he staggered to a stop as a metal doorway rose from the floor, blocking the exit ahead.
“Shizz,” he spat, turning toward one of the other doors. He was halfway to it when another door shot up and slammed into place.
There was a clang from the third exit as it, too, was blocked. Cal turned back to the way he’d come in, just in time to see Mech stepping into the arena. A fourth barrier locked in position at the cyborg’s back, trapping everyone in together.
The clearing was maybe fifty feet from any one side to the one directly across from it. Wide enough to dodge for a while, but not enough to avoid fighting forever.
Aside from Cal, Floora, and Mech, the only occupants of the arena were six Hovercams, a few dozen buzzerflies, and enough bones to rebuild all the dinosaurs at twice their original scale.
“You’re going down, Topa!” Mech barked. “You’re gonna pay for your crimes.”
Floora let out a little gasp of shock. “Wait. He called you Topa! You told me you weren’t Topa!”
“I’m not Topa!” Cal assured her. “He must be under some kind of, I don’t know, mind control. The tour guide guy said that’s what they did to the Hunters.”
Mech clanked toward them, slowly at first, but rapidly picking up speed. He powered ahead like a locomotive, his leg-pistons hissing as they propelled him along. Cal had never seen him move so fast, and barely had time to leap clear.
The process of slowing and stopping didn’t take Mech nearly as long as Cal would have liked. For a semi-indestructible walking tank, he was more agile than he looked.
“Look, Mech, I don’t know exactly what they’ve done to you, but you need to listen to me,” Cal told him, backing away with his hands raised. “I’m not who you think I am. I’m your friend. I’m Cal. Ring any bells?”
Whirring, Mech grabbed a bone from a pile and tossed it at Cal. It clonked off the edge of his forehead, staggering him back a few paces.
“Ow! Jesus! You almost had my eye out with that—”
A metal fist came scything toward him. Cal dived clear, but it was messy and awkward. He hit the ground badly, sending Floora flapping into the air.
Cal barely had a moment to pull himself together before a foot came down, forcing him to fumble into a roll again.
Breathless, he somehow made it back to his feet, shrugging off his backpack as he put some distance between himself and Mech.
“Open that up,” he ordered, tossing the bag so it landed near Floora. “He wants a fight? I’ll give him a fight.” He spat out a wad of mushed-up bone dust and pointed to the bag. “Find me that fonking spoon.”
While Floora unfastened the bag and rummaged inside, Mech advanced. It was a slower, more controlled advance than last time, but no less frightening. Cal had never really noticed quite how big Mech was before. Sure, he’d known he was well-built—literally, in fact—but he hadn’t quite appreciated just how colossal the cyborg was.
This might require both spoons.
Mech launched himself forward, his rocket boosters launching him six feet into the air, and scattering a little rabble of buzzerflies that had been dancing around overhead.
Cal ducked and rolled beneath him, avoiding being crushed, but opening himself up to a light toasting from Mech’s fiery rocket feet.
Bouncing up, Cal grabbed the bone Mech had tossed and swished it experimentally. It was the length of a broadsword, and several times as thick. It ended in a grizzled knot of black sinew at the end, and whummed menacingly as Cal swung it around.
“OK, you metal fonk. You really want to do this? Fine, let’s do—”
Mech didn’t wait around to be told. He broke into a clanking run, arms raised, fingers splayed at Cal’s head height.
At the very last moment, Cal ducked, turned, and hammered the bone against Mech’s back. The end that made contact shattered on impact, spraying thousands of jagged calcium-enriched fragments out in an arc, and sending vibrations of pain racing up Cal’s arms and through his own skeleton.
He briefly regarded the now foot-long sliver of pointed bone he held, muttered a solitary, “Fonk,” and then a metal foot slammed into his stomach, lifted him off the ground, and deposited him unceremoniously some fifteen feet away.
Meanwhile, Floora was half-buried in the bag. She wasn’t sure Cal had been serious about the spoon, but she was determined to find it, just in case. As she rummaged, she tossed out all the rest of the stuff. The rope. The straw. The yogurt. She disregarded it all as she searched for—
Aha!
“Got it!” she cried, thrusting the Swiss Army Spoon above her head. “Catch!”
She threw it to Cal. He sat up in time for it to hit him on the forehead, knocking him over again.
“Oops. Sorry!” Floora called.
“Is the whole fonking world against me?” Cal grumbled, rolling onto his front and stretching to retrieve the—for want of a better word—weapon.
He stood as Mech launched into another charge, and fiddled frantically with the tool.
BOING! A set of tweezers popped out.
No good.
BDING! Some kind of bottle opener.
Nope.
SPROING! A can opener.
Still not the spoon.
Wait.
Even better.
Cal brandished the can opener like a sword, holding it at arm’s length in front of him, his weight resting on his front foot.
“Come on, you fonking robot. Let’s see what you’ve got!”
Mech’s features twisted in rage.
“I ain’t…”
His fists clenched.
“…a fonking…”
His foot found the yogurt pouch, exploding the contents onto the ground.
Mech’s expression became one of panic as he lost his footing, skidded on for a few feet, then crashed down onto the arena floor. A sound like a high-speed car impact reverberated around the arena walls, shaking the bones and agitating the creatures living inside them.
Even the buzzerflies seemed disturbed by the sound. They flapped around more vigorously, the air crackling around them. A few of them dive-bombed Cal, but he swatted them away with the back of his glove.
Mech had landed on his front. Cal was quietly hoping that he’d somehow knocked himself unconscious, but no such luck. The cyborg rolled over onto his back immediately.
That was the bad news.
The good news was that part of him stayed behind when he moved. Wires hung loosely from his open arm socket, and from the shoulder of the detached arm that lay on the ground beside him.
Cal raised his eyes to the heavens. “Way to go, Loren.”
He approached Mech, passing the can opener from hand to hand. “Well, well, well. It looks like the big guy is down,” Cal said.
With a foot, he turned the dial on Mech’s chest to divert all his power to his processors, rendering him immobile.
“I guess you aren’t so tough, after all.”
To Cal’s surprise, Mech’s intact arm caught him by the ankle.
“But… but the dial!” Cal protested, and then he went from a standing position to a moving one at quite high speed.
He was swung up above Mech, then slammed down onto the ground. The force of the impact sent the can opener tumbling out of his hand, knocked the wind out of him and, worse…
“You made me bithe my thonking thongue!”
Mech swung again. Cal wailed as he was propelled backward in a nea
t parabolic curve. He grabbed at the air, trying to find purchase. Unsurprisingly, he failed, and was stopped by the ground, instead.
The one hurt.
Granted, the first one had hurt, too. In hindsight, though, that had just been a taster for what was about to come. A chance to warm-up before the main, bone crunching event. The second impact doubled-down on his suffering, making his head swim, his insides throb, and his hands tingle with electricity.
“Wait, what?” he slurred.
His hands.
A banshee-like screech cut through the ringing in his ears. Cal blinked away the checkerboard of colors to see Floora flying at Mech, gouging at his face with the can opener.
“Leave him alone!”
Mech released his grip on Cal’s ankle and swung a punch at the Floomfle. It clipped her on the legs, spinning her out of the air.
His hands.
Cal looked down at the palms of his gloves. Five buzzerflies, three in one hand, two in the other.
Long shot, he thought, but as no other shots from closer distances seemed about to present themselves, he went for it.
Clambering forward, he belly-flopped on top of the fallen Mech. “This is for my tongue!” he said, then he jammed both handfuls of buzzerflies into Mech’s exposed wiring.
For a moment, nothing happened. Cal was juuuust beginning to feel like an idiot for believing the plan might actually work when Mech’s body flopped violently beneath him, bucking him off.
Cal landed beside Floora, slid a few inches on his face, then struggled onto his knees. He checked the palms of his gloves.
Empty.
Sparks flew from Mech’s arm socket. He thrashed around, his metal torso crackling, his eyes rolling back in his head.
“Jesus. OK, that’s enough,” he called to the buzzerflies. Smoke poured from the thin gap around Mech’s chest dial.
“Stop. That’s enough,” Cal yelped, diving and shoving a hand up inside the arm socket.
Mech’s other arm reached across and clamped down on Cal’s wrist. His eyes swam in their sockets, before finally finding their focus.
“Cal?” he wheezed. Something inside him went pop. “The fonk are you dooooinggg…?”
His voice became an electronic hum.
Space Team- The Collected Adventures 4 Page 83
