“Yes, you can!”
“I… can’t! I’m going to fall! I’m going to—”
The wind dropped.
“Wait. No. I’m fine,” said Floora. “But that was a close one.”
“Get in the bag,” Cal instructed. “You’ll be safer in there.”
Floora only hesitated for a moment before Cal felt her clamber around on his back, and heard the bag being opened.
And then, with the briefest of screams, she fell. Cal felt her weight leave him as she lost her grip, then return with a vengeance when she caught a trailing strap of the bag and jerked to a stop beneath him, almost wrenching him off the wall.
“Fonk, fonk, shizzing fonk-fonk!” he cursed, clinging on with everything he had.
A pterodactyl squawked a few feet above him, the sudden sound almost making him lose his grip all over again.
“Jesus! Fonking things.”
Whispering some words of encouragement to himself, Cal stole a look down.
Oooh, shizz.
Oooh, shizz, they were high.
The layer of cloud was eighty or ninety feet below. It didn’t look as thick from up here, and Cal caught glimpses of the ground beneath it. At least, he thought it was the ground, but it was too far away for him to be able to see it clearly, so he couldn’t be entirely sure.
Floora hung from the bag’s strap, clinging to it with both pudgy hands. Her eyes, which had already been taking up most of the real estate on her face, were now threatening a full hostile takeover of her entire head.
The nearest Hovercam drifted closer, capturing the moment in glorious close-up.
“Help. Help me. Cal, help me,” she whimpered.
“I can’t,” Cal told her. “You have to fly up.”
“I can’t fly! We’re hundreds of feet in the air!” Floora sobbed. “I shouldn’t be this high!”
“You don’t have to fly far,” Cal said. “Just up onto my back.”
Floora shook her head. “I can’t. I can’t. I’m too high. It’s too far.”
“Come on, kid,” Cal said, doing an admirable job of sounding positive. “You said you liked science, right? Then science the shizz out of this. Figure out the distance, calculate all the whatnot, and then go for it.”
“I can’t fly this high!”
“You’re not flying high, you’re only flying a short distance,” Cal told her. “I’ve seen you do that before. I know you can do it.
“I can’t!”
“Yes, you can. You’re Point A, Point B is my back. How far is that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do,” Cal said. He adjusted his grip, trying to ease the pain that burned along the lengths of all ten fingers. “Point A to Point B. Figure it out. Science it.”
“Did you just use ‘science’ as a verb?” Floora asked.
“I don’t know what a verb is, so I have no idea,” Cal told her. “Just think a fonking happy thought and fly, already.”
Another pterodactyl screamed past in a rustling of leather wings.
“OK. OK, I can do this,” Floora whispered.
“Great! Can you do it in the next five seconds?” Cal hissed, facing the wall and shifting the weight on his feet. “Seriously can’t hold on here much longer.”
“Here I go. I’m doing it. I’m doing it.”
The weight on his back lessened, just a fraction. Cal listened to the frantic flapping and whimpering as Floora fluttered higher, then gasped as a high-pitched whistle rippled through the gaps in the rock-face.
“Shizz! Floora!”
She landed on his shoulder and dropped down into the bag just as the wind hit them. The fingers of Cal’s left hand gave up. They just gave up, clearly having had enough of this climbing lark, and choosing to condemn themselves and the rest of his body to death rather than hold on a moment longer.
He swung away from the wall, the fingers on his right hand still determined to cling to life and, by extension, the cliff. Both feet sided with their corresponding hands, the right toes remaining wedged into a foothold, the left wrenching free as the wind hammered him again.
Floora screamed. Cal felt a dizzying rush of panic as he came to the conclusion that two limbs were not nearly enough to climb a mountain with.
He also came to the realization that it would take too long to convince his left side to rejoin the climb, and that he was going to fall to his death in the next three seconds.
These two things combined helped him come to a decision. Quite a reckless decision, he thought, midway through the process of carrying it out, but a decision all the same.
He jumped.
Specifically, he jumped toward the Hovercam, which had moved in for a close-up on the dangling Floora, and hadn’t moved since. This meant it was right behind him and a little below, and so perfectly placed for him to land on.
Assuming, of course, it could take his weight.
He hit it, stomach-first, then scrabbled to wrap his arms around it. It dropped like a stone, and Cal had that same insides-on-the-outside sensation he experienced whenever the Currently Untitled went to warp speed.
The Hovercam continued to plunge until they were all swallowed by the clouds. Once in there, it stopped abruptly, almost throwing its unwelcome passengers off.
“What do you think you are doing?” asked a voice from inside the floating ball. It wasn’t the host, but the voice of the Controller himself.
“I’m giving you what you want. A damn show,” Cal hissed. “And I don’t think you want it to end yet.”
“You’ve made it to Sector Three,” the Controller replied. “That’s farther than most get.”
“But you don’t want it to end like this,” Cal said. “Reduk Topa can’t die jumping off a cliff. That’s not good TV.”
The Controller said nothing.
“So, here’s what’s going to happen,” Cal said. “You’re going to fly us up to the top, drop us off, and we’re going to continue on our way. Then, I’m going to win this fonking thing, gather up my friends, cut off every one of your arms, and stick them up your ass. Sideways. All at the same time.”
The Controller continued to say nothing.
“Or, I can let go right now and the show’s over,” Cal said.
He gave that a moment to sink in.
“So,” he asked, his voice muffled inside the cloud. “What’s it going to be?”
King Floomf of the Floomfles stood in the Emergency Situation Room, his eyes fixed on the screen. It was currently showing the bank of cloud Topa had tumbled into on the Hovercam, and not much seemed to be happening.
Technically, the Emergency Situation Room was the same living room he’d been watching Puppetopia in earlier, but after seeing the Floomfle wandering around on The Hunt, he’d felt the urge to give it a more serious sounding title that better reflected the enormity of what was happening.
“How has this happened?” he asked for the fifth or sixth time. “I don’t understand. How can this have happened?”
“We don’t know, sire,” admitted the footman, who had discreetly cleared away King Floomf’s food tray, mopped some of the soup from the old man’s beard, and given the room a light vacuuming in case anyone else popped round.
King Floomf tore his eyes from the screen for as long as he could bear. “But, I mean… It’s unheard of. It’s impossible.”
“Oh, I know, sir. I know,” said the footman.
He finished dusting the coffee table, and plumped up the cushion on the Royal Armchair. “Perhaps you should sit down, Your Majesty?”
“I don’t want to sit down!” the king barked. He jabbed a stubby finger at the screen. “I want to find out what the floom is going on!”
“As I say, sire—”
“You don’t know. Yes, I heard you the first six times,” the old man barked. He motioned angrily to the door. “Then I suggest you go out there and find me someone who does!”
His eyes were drawn back to the bank of cloud on screen. His voice
quietened, the tone losing some of its edge.
“For all our sakes.”
Thirty-Six
The Hovercam twisted and bucked as it rocketed up the side of the mountain, forcing Cal to cling to it for all he was worth, and throwing Floora around inside the backpack.
The Controller had argued that people might get suspicious if a Hovercam deposited the current most hated man in the solar system safely at his desired destination, and so the flying sphere was now trying to sell the idea that it had been badly damaged and was zipping around out of control.
Cal was successfully conveying the air of a man who was in fear for his life. This required no acting whatsoever on his part. He howled as the Hovercam shot up, screamed as it zig-zagged, and almost lost his stomach contents when it flipped him upside down, then slammed him onto the rocky ground close to the edge of the cliff.
Very close, in fact.
Gravity dragged him over the steep drop, forcing him to grasp frantically for something to hold onto.
His fingers dug like claws into loose shale, the stuff coming away in handfuls. His feet, which had already slipped over the edge, kicked out in a desperate hunt for purchase, but the cliff wall was wet and slippery, and the grip on the bodysuit’s boots was next to fonking useless.
It was no good. There was nothing to hold onto, nothing to grab, nothing to stop him plunging all the way back down to the ground far, far below.
“I’ve got you!” cheeped Floora, flying out of the backpack and catching him by the only available anchor point. Unfortunately, this was his hair. Cal hissed in pain as the Floomfle flapped her wings for all they were worth, her tiny hands dragging him up by the scalp.
“Ow, ow, ow!” he protested, but the Floomfle’s tugs helped him stretch forward just an inch or two further, until his fingers found the edge of a more solid rock.
Floora kept pulling as he heaved himself up onto the ledge, and they both tumbled onto solid ground, panting and wheezing, but—miraculously—alive.
“Holy fonk, that hurt,” Cal said, rubbing his stinging scalp. “But thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” gasped Floora, flopping onto her back and drawing in big deep gulps of air. “You saved me. Figured that makes us even.”
“Well, I think I technically saved you a whole bunch of times,” Cal said. “So, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, we’re not quite there yet.”
He struggled up into a sitting position and smiled at her. “But it’s a start.”
A howl rose up from below. Cal crept to the edge on his hands and knees and peered down the side of the cliff. Five Sloorgs were climbing up, their claws easily finding purchase in the rock.
“Seriously? Then can climb?” Cal groaned. He stood up and shot the closest Hovercam a dirty look. “This is total bullshizz. You hear that? Total bull—”
A blaster bolt struck the ground between his legs from behind. He watched it ricochet off into the stormy sky, and felt the thwack of a chunk of rock smacking him lightly on the scrotum.
Clutching his stomach with one hand and cupping his groin with the other, Cal turned to find a figure standing silhouetted atop a boulder. He recognized her immediately, and the flash of lightning that illuminated both her and the myriad of weapons she had strapped about her person was an unnecessary, if impressively dramatic, touch.
Her name appeared as a futuristic neon emblem above her, as the host’s voice rang out.
“Blaster-Mama!” he cried, and Loren struck a pose with the blaster pistol she’d fired her warning shot with. “Will our Futuristic Femme Fatale finally be the one to stop Reduk Topa? Stay tuned to find out!”
Cal held a hand out to her. “Loren. It’s—”
“Hold up, hold up,” said a voice Cal didn’t recognize. It was gruff and of indeterminate gender. Or species, for that matter. “We’re on an ad break.”
Cal blinked. “Oh. So… What? We just stand here?”
“What do you think, genius?” the voice spat. “Can I get some make-up on Topa. He looks like shizz. But not in the right way.”
A blue door appeared in the air beside Cal. He tried to back away, but discovered he was frozen in place from the neck down. “What the fonk?” he demanded. “I can’t move.”
“Of course you can’t move, genius. Continuity, ain’t it? Can’t have you moving right before a big Hunter face-off. Sheesh. What an idiot.”
A tall, elegant-looking woman who was perhaps trying a teensy bit hard with her own hair and make-up, emerged from the doorway, gave Cal an appraising look that evidently found him lacking, then began applying foundation to his cheeks.
“You’re so shiny,” she said, absent-mindedly.
“Uh, thanks.”
The woman finished applying the make-up, stepped back to look him over, then made a face that suggested it was the best she could do with what she had.
“It wasn’t a compliment,” she said, then she stepped back through the doorway, and it retracted into the ground until there was no evidence it had ever been there in the first place.
“Where the fonk did she come from?” asked Cal.
“Make-up department?” Floora guessed. She was still on the spot where Cal had left her, but halfway to her feet. From the impossible position she was stuck in, Cal guessed she must be frozen, too.
“Loren. Can you hear me? It’s me,” Cal said.
Loren said nothing.
“I mean, not Loren. Teela. It’s me. Cal.”
Still nothing.
“They’ve done something to you. They’ve done something to everyone. You, Miz, Mech. I’m guessing Splurt. You have to snap out of it, you hear me? You don’t want to kill me.”
Loren’s brow furrowed, just a fraction.
“OK, sometimes you might want to kill me. But not really. Not deep down.”
Loren’s face changed again. It was a subtle softening, so subtle in fact that no one but Cal would ever have been able to spot it.
“I… I…”
The gruff voice returned. “Aaaand, we’re back in two, one…”
All softness left Loren’s face. She raised her gun and opened fire. The shot screamed past Cal’s ear, the heat of it blistering his skin and singeing off some unsightly rogue hairs.
Cal ducked and ran, grabbing Floora by the arm and yanking her to safety just as a volley of shots peppered the ground behind them.
There was a rock ahead, flat and wide like an overturned table. Cal tossed Floora over it, then threw himself after her. A staccato of gunshots hammered the stone, punching holes in the thin area at the top, and hammering chunks out of the thicker base.
Cal and Floora covered their heads, shielding themselves from the flying debris.
“She’s got a gun!” Floora yelped.
“I noticed.”
“She’s trying to shoot us!”
“Not yet she isn’t,” Cal said. “This is just good TV. If she was trying to shoot us, we’d already be Swiss cheese.”
Floora had no idea what Swiss cheese was, or how it was in any way relevant, but she felt this wasn’t the time to get into a discussion about it.
“Can you stop her?” Floora asked.
“Don’t think so,” Cal admitted. “Why, can you?”
“Me? No! What am I supposed to do?”
Cal shrugged. “We could try ‘Fetch’ again, but I’m not convinced she’d fall for it.”
He shook his head. “Besides, I’ve seen her play Duck Hunt. You wouldn’t get six feet.”
The hail of gunfire stopped. The silence that it left behind felt hot and oppressive, although that may have been the molten rock that glowed red just a few inches from Cal’s face.
“Teela? Honey? It’s me. OK? I’m going to come out. I know you won’t shoot me. I know it.”
Raising his hands, Cal stood up. A blaster bolt tore through his side and he immediately dropped again.
“She shot me! She fonking shot me!” he howled, clutching at the burn wound just above his right hi
p. It had just grazed him, and the heat had sealed the wound, but still. She’d shot him. She’d fonking shot him!
“I don’t think you’re getting through to her,” Floora said.
“Oh, you think?” Cal grimaced. “Jesus, I called her by her first name and everything. What more does she want?”
“What do you mean?” Floora asked.
“I mean…” Cal sighed. “So, we’re in a relationship. In the past, I’ve always called her by her last name, but it turns out she’d rather I call her by her first name. Or something. I mean, I think. I’m not really sure. She’s being really cryptic about it.”
“Does she think you’re scared of commitment?” Floora asked.
Cal blinked. “Huh?”
Floora shrugged. “I mean, it just sort of sounds like that could be the issue. I’m no expert, but that sounds likely.”
Cal clicked his tongue against his teeth. “I mean, she did overhear me saying that I didn’t think we were serious serious…”
Floora flicked him on the nose.
“Ow!”
“You idiot!” the Floomfle said.
“I didn’t meant it. I am serious serious about her,” Cal said.
Floora flicked him again.
“That’s even worse!” she said. “Get up there and tell her!”
“She’s trying to shoot me,” Cal reminder her.
“I don’t blame her. Go!”
“I mean… I guess I probably—”
Floora flicked his nose for a third time.
“Jesus! OK, OK, I’ll do it!”
Cal held his breath for a moment, then tentatively raised his head out of cover. He saw Loren discard her blaster pistol and then swing something not unlike a mini bazooka down from her shoulder.
“Fonk, change of plan. Run!” he hollered, grabbing Floora again and diving clear just as the rock they were taking cover behind exploded, and the air was filled with fire and noise and flying fragments of stone.
“I’m being whimsy, miss,” said Kevin. “Do you see? The very concept of whimsy.”
Tyrra ignored him. She had stopped playing the voice’s stupid game a while ago. She now sat in Loren’s chair, idly jabbing at buttons that made the channels on screen change.
Space Team- The Collected Adventures 4 Page 86
