Creatch Battler

by Mark Crilley

  The orf obediently bared its teeth.

  “Oh, boy. Someone gave you a nasty little cut here.” Twain turned back to Billy. “And I think I know who that someone is.”

  “I was trying to knock him out. That's… that's what Affys do, right?”

  Twain chuckled and shook his head, as if Billy had just made a very public display of his own ignorance. “You've got a lot to learn, Billy. Indian orfs don't suddenly keel over when you stab them in the gums. That's an old wives' tale.”

  Billy remained silent.

  What's going on down here? Why is Twain so chummy with the monster?

  Twain folded his arms and squinted at Billy. “You have a knack for getting yourself into trouble, little man. This midnight excursion of yours is going to… complicate things.”

  “So why are you down here, Mr. Twain? I thought my parents were handling this.”

  Twain paused for two full seconds. “I'm here to help, Billy. Mr. Vriffnee called me in as backup in case something went wrong.”

  If that were true, I'd have heard Mom and Dad talking about it. If I can keep him talking, maybe he'll slip up.

  “Well, you sure know how to handle this orf. My parents were totally stumped. How did you manage to turn it into a trained monkey?”

  Another pause. “I hate to break it to you, Billy, but a lot of things stump your mom and dad.”

  “Then why didn't Mr. Vriffnee put you in charge of this mission?”

  “Enough questions. You're not even supposed to be down here, much less interrogating me about AFMEC decision making.”

  Twain turned to the orf. “Stay here.”

  Billy noticed that Twain's right hand was resting on a device attached to his belt: a little gray box with a single black button.

  “Alert me if you detect any further intruders.” The orf grunted obediently.

  Twain must have planted this orf here, thought Billy. But why would he want to cause damage to the Taj? It's got to be part of a bigger plan.

  Twain motioned to Billy: “Follow me.”

  Billy didn't want to cooperate, but he had to find out what was going on. Twain was shady, that much was obvious.

  Twain led Billy through a tunnel to another cave, this one much larger than the first. There were crates and canisters and a table covered with papers. Twain tossed a towel to Billy and told him to sit on one of the crates.

  Billy tried to wipe off some of the green goo. He was beginning to feel really drained: the slime was doing its thing.

  “You're going to have to stay here,” said Twain, “while I… figure out what to do with you.”

  Billy cleaned himself off as best he could while struggling to keep his eyes open. His brain was beginning to feel sluggish.

  Maybe he's trying to loot the Taj. That doesn't … make sense, though. The Taj Mahal isn't filled with…valuable objects. The value is in the building itself. Even if you removed some of the ornamentation from the walls…you'd never…be able to get away with selling it.

  Billy could see that Twain wasn't letting him go anywhere. He decided to risk another question. It was dangerous, but it would be worth it if Twain gave up some valuable information.

  “So, Mr. Twain, why's the orf really here? You got some sort of grudge against the Taj Mahal?”

  “Oh, I've got nothing against the Taj. My problem is strictly with AFMEC.” Twain's eyes were filled with hatred, as if the very name of the organization made his blood boil.

  In a flash, Twain lunged forward, grabbed Billy's forearm, and snapped a thick white bracelet around his wrist. The bracelet was heavy, as if packed with steel.

  “Just in case you get any funny ideas.”

  Billy examined the bracelet. A feeling of dread overtook him. What is this thing?

  He swallowed hard. Twain was going to keep him prisoner down here indefinitely.

  Something really bad is about to go down. I was better off inside the orf's mouth….

  “So what happens next, Mr. Twain? Sounds like you've got big plans.” Billy was getting angry. If Twain had a problem with AFMEC, he had a problem with Billy's parents. And though his parents weren't perfect, Billy wasn't about to let anyone mess with them.

  Twain turned to Billy and smiled. “Let's put it this way, Billy. I've got a score to settle with dear old AFMEC. And tonight that score gets settled.”

  Billy just glared. He had a really bad taste in his mouth and was no longer the least bit sleepy.

  Twain paused and thought his words over.

  “Well, begins to get settled, anyway. Look, why don't you just sit back and rest a little, Billy. You've seen enough action for one night, don't you think?”

  Billy was shaking. He wasn't sure what Twain was up to, but he would not let him get away with it.

  “Look, I'm not going anywhere, Mr. Twain. You might as well tell me what the scam is. What are you going to do with that orf?”

  Twain leaned over until his face was directly in front of Billy's. He smiled. “I told you, no more questions. Now shut up and stay put.”

  Billy tried to jump to his feet.

  FZZZIIIIIITCH!

  An intense electrical shock crackled through him. Every nerve in his body exploded with pain. He collapsed to the floor, all elbows and knees.

  “See what happens when you don't follow orders?” Twain said. “It's called a detention cuff, Billy. And as you've just discovered, this one is in good working order.”

  “You won't get away with this, Twain,” croaked Billy. His throat burned from the electric shock. “My parents will find me, and when they do—”

  “I'm sure they will, Billy,” Twain interrupted, unconcerned with Billy's half-finished threat. “Don't worry, though. I'll be ready for them.”

  Twain regarded Billy for a moment longer, then turned and left.

  Billy lay flat on his back, head turned to one side. He was completely alone in the vast, shadowy cave. He became aware of how quiet it was: no insect noises, no footsteps, nothing. He didn't like it.

  Billy considered trying to sit up but didn't want to risk another shock. He knew that Twain was some kind of double agent, pretending to be a good Affy while he was betraying the whole organization. What was he after? The world was turning out to be a whole lot more complicated than Billy had ever imagined. First AFMEC, and now something even darker, more secretive.

  Billy's eyes swept the room until they fell upon the table and the papers stacked on top of it.

  If I can just get a look at one of those pieces of paper…

  He tried to get to his feet but got an even worse shock than the first time, though that hardly seemed possible. Again he collapsed to the floor. He lay there for several minutes, trying to think of a way to get to the table without frying himself in the process.

  He tried moving his arms: FZZZIIIIIITCH! “Ouch.”

  He tried moving his legs: FZZZIIIIIITCH! “Ooooh.”

  Through sheer force of will, Billy eventually found that he was able to scoot himself across the floor on his back, one inch at a time. It hurt, sure, but incremental movements were the only option: crawling was way too painful, and walking was completely out of the question.

  After about ten minutes he was close enough to grasp one of the table legs with his hand. He closed his eyes and shook it as hard as he could.

  FZZZIIIIIITCH! “Yoooowwwwch!”

  He opened his eyes. Just as he'd hoped, the corner of one piece of paper was now hanging over the edge of the table. Not by much, though. It was going to take a lot of electric shocks to get that thing to drop to the floor.

  If only I could just jump up and grab it. Grab every sheet of paper on the whole desk!

  Fat chance. I can't even get up on my knees with this stupid cuff on. A few more shocks and I'll be a dead man.

  He closed his eyes and dug his nails into the table leg, preparing himself for another dose of pain as he gave it another shake.

  FZZZIIIIITCH! “Nnnnngghh!”

  He opened h
is eyes. Not bad: the piece of paper had slid a good half inch farther off the table. Billy's body was really aching now, but with any luck it would only take three or four more attempts. Okay, probably more like five.

  “Gotta be tough. I can do this.”

  Billy had imagined his first creatch op as being more along the lines of a really excellent video game: snowboarding through the Himalayas, nailing mountain creatches right and left with a semiautomatic laser pistol. Getting barbecued by Twain's electrotherapy was not what he'd had in mind.

  He closed his eyes again. Gritted his teeth. Gripped the table leg with all his might.

  FZZZIIIIIITCH! “Aarrrrrnnggh!”

  He opened his eyes. Disaster: the piece of paper had actually moved back up onto the table, leaving an agonizingly small corner visible from where Billy lay.

  Billy was in so much pain he couldn't even manage his usual mouth fart. For a good minute or so he just lay there staring into space.

  Forget this. I'm going to electrocute myself before I get hold of that stupid thing. Why did I ever think I could complete the mission by myself anyway? I must have been totally out of my mind.

  But then Billy thought of Twain and his grudge against AFMEC. He didn't need to know all the details of Twain's scheme to realize it was a serious wack-job of a plan.

  If he pulls this off, people are going to get hurt—maybe even killed—and I'll bet Mom and Dad are going to be among the casualties. Somebody's gotta stop this guy, and it's gonna have to be me.

  Swallowing hard, he gripped the table leg as hard as he could and shook it with all his might.

  FZZZIIIIIITCH! “Aaaaaannnnngghhfff !” fshup Billy opened his eyes just in time to see the sheet of paper tilt like a seesaw and slip off the tabletop.

  “Yes! Yes!”

  He let out a long sigh of relief as the piece of paper floated to the floor of the cave. It landed just a foot or two from his right

  hand. Gritting his teeth to bear one last blast of electricity, he grabbed the paper and held it tight in his fist. A feeling of triumph swept over him, and he dropped his head to the floor in exhaustion.

  As soon as he regained his energy, he opened his eyes and examined the piece of paper. It was a detailed drawing of a cluster of buildings. There were minarets, archways, and an onionshaped dome, all rendered in scratchy white lines on flimsy blue paper: It was a blueprint of the Taj Mahal. There were notes about pressure points and structural support systems.

  Twain's trying to find weaknesses in the buildings. He must want to destroy the Taj Mahal. But how? He said the score was being settled tonight. What if the orf is just providing cover?

  Billy had another look at the blueprint.

  This is all about the structure of the Taj Mahal. What's holding it together. How the minarets were designed to fall away from the building rather than toward it. How much of the walls needs to come down before the dome collapses.

  Billy noticed one word repeated over and over again: kirradril.

  Floxodril. Gremadril. Borradril. Mom mentioned those when she was talking about their first shift. What were they used for?

  He racked his brain for a moment before coming up with the answer.

  Tranquilizers. They were all tranquilizers. So kirradril must be another type of tranquilizer. Mom didn't mention it, though. Like it wasn't one she planned on using for this creatch op. Why not? Must be dangerous.

  Then, from just a few yards away:

  KRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrr Billy stared in horror as a hairy black arm nudged its way through the entrance to the cave.

  The orf was back.

  A second arm followed. Then a third, a fourth, a fifth.

  Please tell me I'm not going to get eaten again.

  The orf slid through the doorway and crept slowly across the floor.

  Oh, I'm definitely going to get eaten again. With this stupid detention cuff on I'm a sitting duck….

  But the orf crept past him and found a spot to rest against one of the walls. It seemed to have lost its appetite. Its eyes were half closed, and there was something sluggish about the way it was moving.

  Billy watched as the orf shut its eyes and groaned.

  It's…in pain.

  The orf opened its mouth and belched, long and loud: a great cloud of greenish brown smoke blasted Billy in the face. It was truly the most horrible stench imaginable.

  Ah, jeez. It's got indigestion, for crying out loud.

  The orf belched again. This time a wet, gurgling noise accompanied the belch. The orf's eyes bugged out. Its arms made desperate circles in the air.

  Oh no, this is worse than indigestion. It's going to throw up! The orf whined loudly before grumbling, gagging, and coughing up a spectacularly large glob of green goo. The glob splapped onto the ground just inches from where Billy lay, big as a sack of potatoes. Bigger.

  “Oh, I can not believe this,” Billy said. “This is too gross for words.”

  Then, just when he thought it couldn't get worse, the glob of goo began to quiver and shake. It was moving under its own power.

  Impossible. Living puke!

  It shook spastically, then began to break apart like an enormous gooey egg. Out sprang a tail, followed by legs, horns, and finally a head.

  Billy blinked. His jaw dropped. As the goo continued to ooze off the creature, he finally recognized what he was looking at.

  “Orzamo!”

  She shook the rest of the goo off and panted loudly: distressed, but not badly hurt.

  “No way! The orf swallowed you?”

  Orzamo nodded woefully. She had clearly not enjoyed her stay at the Hotel Orf. Her movements were sluggish from the effects of the orf saliva, but she obviously had a stronger natural resistance to the stuff than Billy did.

  “Well, consider yourself lucky, Orzy. At least the orf didn't chew you up first.”

  Orzamo didn't look as if she considered herself lucky. On the contrary, her accusing stare told Billy that she was pretty ticked off about the mess he'd gotten them both into.

  “Hey, I'm sorry, Orzy,” said Billy. “Really. Last thing I wanted was for you to get swallowed like that. But listen: the orf is the least of our troubles. It's Twain.”

  Orzamo's expression turned to one of grave concern. She growled quietly.

  “I'll bet you've always had your doubts about the guy.” Orzamo nodded and squinted.

  Billy shot a glance at the orf. It was leaning against one of the walls, watching them with every one of its eyes. It seemed somehow less hostile, though, as if it no longer viewed Billy and Orzamo as enemies or even intruders.

  Billy turned back to Orzamo. “So here's the deal: Twain's trying to wreck the Taj Mahal. I don't know exactly why yet, but it's something to do with a beef he's got against AFMEC.”

  Orzamo had heard enough. She set her teeth upon Billy's detention cuff.

  “Be careful now, Orzy. This thing is like…I don't know, nuclear-powered or something.”

  Orzamo ignored him. She rocked her jaws gently back and forth, manipulating the cuff with all the precision of a safecracker.

  Billy watched the orf. It remained motionless, as if it had no intention of obstructing their escape.

  After a few seconds there was a piercing mechanical squeak from the detention cuff and…

  P'CHAK … it popped open.

  Billy waved his arm, tentatively at first, then with increasing confidence as he realized he was no longer in any danger of being electrocuted. He sat up, stretched his legs, and stroked Orzamo on the neck. “Nice work, Orzy. I liked you as a dog, but I really like you as a lizard.”

  Orzamo bleated an unenthusiastic note of thanks, as if she resented one version of herself being preferred over another.

  Billy crossed over to the orf. He was still frightened of it, but he wanted to understand how Twain was controlling the thing. He suspected that there was more to it than just training or the threat of Twain cracking the whip.

  Keeping a respectful distance, Bill
y examined an area just below the eyes where the fur appeared to have been cropped short. He leaned in as far as he dared and saw that there was a blinking red light there: a tiny mechanical instrument had been plunged into the orf's body like a splinter under its skin.

  “Get a load of this, Orzy.” Orzamo, already standing nearby, drew closer still.

  “I'll bet this blinking light thingy is some kind of a torture device. Twain controls it with the button he's got attached to his belt. He can probably inflict serious pain on this orf any time he wants.”

  The orf blinked at Billy. For the first time Billy sensed intelligence behind the eyes, some kind of a soul lurking back there.

  Billy turned back to Orzamo. “Okay. It's time for you and me to find the nearest exit.” Billy cast his eyes around the cave. From what he could see, there was only one way in or out: the opening Twain had brought them through to begin with. “Let's have a look around. Maybe there's another entrance. A secret passage or something.”

  They spent the next ten minutes combing the walls of the cave for an alternate exit with no luck. The best they could find was a crack in one of the walls, just wide enough to squeeze through if Billy turned sideways. Orzamo jumped in and returned seconds later, shaking her head: a dead end.

  “That settles it, then. We'll go out the way we came in. We might wind up bumping into Twain again, but we've gotta get back to Mom and Dad and tell them what he's up to.”

  Just then a noise came from somewhere in the next cave: footsteps.

  Twain!

  Orzamo dashed across the room and hid inside the crack in the wall. Billy froze. He wanted nothing more than to jump Twain and wrestle him to the ground, but any fool could see who'd win the fight: Twain had all the weapons—not to mention his own personal orf—and Billy had nothing. He'd be better off waiting and seeing if he got a better chance.

  Billy's eyes fell on the opened detention cuff, resting on the floor.

  Don't want Twain using this thing on me again.

  He stuffed it in his pocket, ran to the crack in the wall, and slid into the darkness just in time. He kept an eye on the orf and prayed it wouldn't blow their cover.