by Mark Crilley
As the sound of the footsteps grew louder, it became clear that Twain was no longer alone. Billy peered from his hiding place and waited.
“Keep walking. And keep those hands where I can see them.” Twain's voice echoed through the passageway. “Go in and sit on the floor. Both of you.”
Both of you? Billy's heart sank as he realized who Twain was talking to.
Jim and Linda Clikk entered the room, hands in the air. Twain was right behind them, his pear-shaped pistol held firmly in front of him.
Jim and Linda sat down on the floor, both wearing expressions of shock and barely contained fury. Billy could see that Twain's betrayal had caught them totally off guard. They didn't look as if they were going to put up a fight, though: they'd been stripped of their weapons.
Billy desperately wanted to come out of hiding and face Twain with them.
No. Gotta stay hidden. I can't help them until Twain's gone. Twain looked around the room for Billy, clearly baffled. Then his eyes fell on the orf and the green goo all over the floor.
“Oh, I see.” Twain walked over to the orf and wagged a disapproving finger in its face. “You ate him again, didn't you?”
Billy's parents gasped. “Billy!” Linda cried, jumping to her feet.
Twain whirled around. “On the floor!” he shouted, aiming his pear pistol straight at Linda's head. “Now!”
Linda sat back down. She had a glassy look in her eyes and her face was pale and expressionless. Jim put an arm around her shoulder. “Don't worry, honey. This isn't over yet. I'll… think of something….”
“You're right, Jim,” Twain said. “This isn't over. But it will be soon. Very soon.” He drew a deep breath, then added: “Wrists out. Both of you.”
Jim and Linda reluctantly did as they were told. Twain snapped detention cuffs on both of them.
“I don't know what you're trying to pull here, Twain,” Jim said, “but you're kidding yourself if you think AFMEC won't figure it out eventually.”
“Never underestimate the stupidity of AFMEC high command, Jim. I've been doing this sort of thing for years. Nothing so prominent as the Taj Mahal, of course. But you have to start small, don't you?”
Twain pulled out a small black box and attached it to a canister near the door. He then produced a mechanical device about the size and shape of a cell phone.
“A detonator,” whispered Linda.
Twain smiled. “That's right, Linda. It's a good one too, I designed it myself. This button here”—he pointed to it with pride— “sends out a pulse that overpowers and disables imperm barricades. That'll come in handy when it's time to make my escape.”
“Escape,” said Linda, “so you can detonate the canister from a safe distance.”
“That's right. Extra points if you guess what's in the canister.” “Kirradril.”
Twain pursed his lips and whistled. “Very impressive. But then you always were the brains of the operation, weren't you, Linda? So you must be familiar with kirradril's effectiveness as a tranquilizer…”
“… as well as the dangers it poses,” Linda said, “due to the volatile nature of its molecular composition. Its explosive properties have resulted in AFMEC banning its use in all but the most extreme situations.”
Linda paused and added: “Looks like you've got hold of an awful lot of it.”
“Leftovers. From creatch ops I've handled over the years.” “And just what exactly do you think you'll achieve,” Linda said, “by destroying the Taj Mahal?”
“Oh, but it's not me destroying the Taj Mahal, Linda. It's you and your thickheaded husband here. At least, that's how it's going to look, isn't it?”
“Don't be ridiculous. No one's going to believe that we used kirradril in a simple de-creatching operation.”
“But this operation turned out to be far from simple, didn't it?” Twain was pressing buttons, making sure the device in his hand could communicate with the little black box on the canister. “It's all written up in your logbook, Linda. The one they'll find in your van after this is all over. You started with floxodril. You moved up to gremadril and borradril. But none of them worked. Kirradril is the logical next step.”
Twain stepped to the side of the orf and stroked its fur. “Of course, I didn't leave things to chance, Linda. I've been attending to this orf personally for the last five months. Teaching it to obey my commands. Injecting it with serum that has enhanced its natural resistance to tranquilizers of all kinds.”
“But we wouldn't resort to kirradril!” cried Linda. “We wouldn't run the risk!”
“I know that. You know that. But Vriffnee doesn't know that. He's seen you take chances in the past. And Ravi …his men… and countries with AFMEC contracts all over the world… they'll be only too quick to blame the destruction of the Taj Mahal on the Clikks. And—by extension—on AFMEC itself.”
“What's this all about, Twain?” Jim Clikk spoke calmly, almost in a whisper. “Your father?”
Twain squinted at Jim Clikk and jabbed a finger in his direction. “Don't … bring him into this.”
“It's his own fault he got expelled from AFMEC, Twain. Not Vriffnee's fault. Not your fault.”
Twain exploded. “My father should have been prime magistrate! And if it wasn't for Vriffnee, he would be!”
“Your old man was buying votes, Twain. Vriffnee blew the whistle, that's all.”
“Shut up!” Twain's pear pistol was quivering in the air, just a foot or two from Jim Clikk's face.
There was an awful half minute of silence during which it seemed no one in the room knew what was going to happen next—not Billy, not Jim, not Linda, not even Twain. Then Twain exhaled, long and slow, and drew the pear pistol back.
“That's it. A few more canisters in the right spots and my work will be done. Goodbye, Jim. Goodbye, Linda.” He chuckled. “You two were so well regarded at AFMEC. It's a shame this final mission of yours is going to go so… tragically astray.”
Twain whistled to the orf and the two of them left the cave.
Billy jumped out of hiding as soon as they were gone. “Billy!” His parents were ecstatic. Billy wanted to hug them both but feared they'd get fried from the electrical shocks.
Orzamo set to work undoing the detention cuffs while Billy apologized to his parents.
“I…I'm sorry, Mom and Dad. This is all my fault. If I hadn't snuck down here, you wouldn't have come after me and gotten caught by Twain.”
“We would have been captured one way or another, Billy,” said Jim. “Twain was well armed and waiting for us. Even if you had stayed in the tent, he would have nabbed us during our morning shift. But if you're apologizing for sneaking down here in the middle of the night after we repeatedly warned you how dangerous it was…well, your apology is accepted.”
“I thought I could knock out the orf and be a hero,” said Billy. “I was all about turning myself into a big-time creatch battler overnight.”
Billy's parents wore stern expressions, but there was no disguising their relief at seeing Billy alive. “What you did was dangerous, Billy,” said his father. “I think you understand that now…”
“I do.” “… but it bears repeating. What you did was reckless, foolhardy, and deceitful.” Jim Clikk's face softened a bit. “But I guess your mother and I have no business criticizing you for being deceitful. We kind of wrote the book on that subject, didn't we?”
Billy smiled and ran his hand through his hair. He and his parents were even now. Or near enough.
Linda, who was free from her detention cuff, gave Billy a long, warm hug. “I'm just glad you're okay, honey. Promise me…promise me you won't do anything like this ever again.”
“I won't, Mom. I swear. Well, not until I'm an Affy-intraining, anyway.”
K'CHUK
Orzamo had finished with the second cuff. They were free to go.
Jim, Linda, Billy, and Orzamo all ran from the cave and dashed through the tunnels leading back to the surface.
Everywhere
they turned they came across more canisters of kirradril, each with its own black box attached, a tiny glowing orange light mounted on top, signaling that Twain could set them off at a moment's notice.
“Twain's going to blow this place sky-high!” cried Linda. “Our only chance is to get hold of him before he escapes. He won't risk activating the detonator until he's a safe distance from the Taj.”
They made their way through the network of tunnels as fast as they could: sprinting through caves, scrambling up steep inclines, squeezing through narrow passageways. Their progress was agonizingly slow. Loose stones and green slime tripped them up at every turn.
We're never going to make it at this speed, Billy thought. There's gotta be a way of covering ground faster.
They turned one final corner and ran smack into a wall: a big, black, hairy wall.
KRRRRRRrrrrrrr “Hoh, boy,” said Jim.
The orf's eyes glinted in the darkness. It bared its teeth. Green saliva oozed to the floor. Black-furred arms rose into the air like monstrous serpents.
Linda grabbed a jagged bone from the floor of the cave and held it like a dagger. Jim did the same.
“No!” cried Billy. “I tried that. It just makes the orf angrier.” “Well, of course it makes the thing angrier!” shouted Jim. “But we've got to get out of here. We have no choice!”
“Let me try talking to it.” “Billy,” Linda said, “orfs don't understand English.” “This one does,” said Billy. “I've seen the way it follows Twain's orders. It listens to him. We might be able to get it on our side.”
Jim and Linda frowned but said nothing. “Now drop the bones. I can't talk to it if it thinks we're going to attack.”
Jim turned his bone-dagger over in his hands. Then he shrugged and tossed it to the floor. Linda hesitated, then did the same. Orzamo stepped forward and placed herself just behind Billy, a look of caution and vigilance on her face.
Billy turned to the orf and placed his hand on one of its arms, sensing that his words would carry more weight if he was in physical contact with the orf. Two of the orf's other arms crept forward and snaked around Billy's waist. If it wanted to eat him, it would have him inside its mouth in a matter of seconds.
I sure hope I'm right about this.
Billy swallowed hard and peered into the orf's face. There was intelligence behind its black shiny eyes. Billy saw it clearly now.
Billy cleared his throat and spoke. “Listen. I know what your deal is. I know what Twain has been doing to you. He's been torturing you. With this.”
Billy pointed at the red light protruding from just below the orf's eyes.
Then he reached forward and touched it. “He's able to hurt you with this thing, isn't he?”
The orf made its usual growling sound, only this time Billy heard it as a sympathetic sound, a sort of purring.
“You're not on Twain's side. You hate the guy just as much as I do. You only do what he says out of fear. Fear that he'll kill you.”
The orf growled and hissed. Yes, yes, it seemed to be saying. “When I first came down here… when you stuffed me into your mouth…you weren't even trying to eat me, were you?”
The orf continued making its noise. Billy's parents might have heard it as a growl, but for Billy it was now a purr. The sound hadn't changed. The way Billy was hearing it had.
“You were trying to protect me. From Twain. Hide me from him. Just like you did Orzamo.”
Orzamo made an unhappy bleating noise. No doubt she wished the orf had thought up a more pleasant way of hiding her.
“All right. Twain ordered you to stay here and stop us from leaving, right? Well, think it through. If we stay here, we're all going to die, you included. The whole building's gonna be blown to bits.”
The orf opened its mouth and its big black tongue lunged forward. Billy flinched, then relaxed when the orf began licking him gently on the cheek.
Jim and Linda looked on in amazement. “See?” Billy said to his parents, letting out a big breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. “It does understand English.”
GAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaarrrrr
Suddenly the orf roared and jerked Billy into the air. Its arms lashed out and snatched up Jim, Linda, and Orzamo in the blink of an eye.
All was a whirl as the orf spun around, drew all of them deep into its fur, and sped off into the blackness. They all rose up and down and rocked from side to side as the orf rocketed over bumps and around tight corners. It was like riding on a tremendously fast furry roller coaster. Billy closed his eyes and held on to the orf as tightly as he could.
They barreled through the remaining tunnels in a matter of seconds. All at once they burst into the shadowy interior of the Taj Mahal, shot through one of its great stone arches, and skidded out into the gardens beyond. The sun was just beginning to peek over the trees, bathing the sky in a bright reddish orange.
Panting loudly, the orf released its grip. Jim, Linda, Orzamo, and Billy all flopped onto the ground. By the time Billy had gotten his bearings, he saw his parents and Orzamo sprinting away toward a little motorbike parked just a hundred yards from the Taj Mahal. Twain had deactivated the imperm barricade and was climbing onto the driver's seat, preparing to make his escape.
Billy immediately recognized the bike as a single-cylinder Royal Enfield Bullet 350; he'd read about them in magazines but
had never seen one up close. This one was a beat-up old thing with Hindi lettering on the side and an oversized crate in the back. Billy knew its motor had originally been designed for military use, not for racing.
He won't get far. We might even catch up to him before he's reached maximum speed.
Billy jumped to his feet and rushed to join the chase. He tried to leap over a hedge, snagged his foot on a branch, and came crashing down onto the pavement. When he got back up, he was limping. Still, he did his best to run after Twain.
“Get him, Mom and Dad! Bite him on the leg, Orzy!” Twain revved the engine and tore across one of the garden paths leading out of the Taj Mahal complex. Jim and Linda tried to run after him, but it was no use. He was several yards ahead of them and gaining ground.
It was up to Orzamo now. She charged after Twain at top speed. Within seconds she was just a few feet from the rear of the motorcycle. One good jump and she would have him.
“Come on, Orzy. You can do it….”
That was when Twain kicked the motorcycle into a higher gear.
More than just a higher gear, actually.
This was a gear that most bikers can only dream about: the wheels left the ground and Twain rose gracefully into the air.
No!
Twain's beat-up motorbike was tricked out with AFMEC transgravitational propulsion. With each passing second it climbed higher into the air. Orzamo slowed to a trot and barked at the top of her lungs.
There's got to be some way of stopping him, thought Billy.
Twain banked the motorbike to one side and soared back over their heads, flaunting his freedom.
“Sayonara, folks!” he cried, holding the detonator above his head like a trophy. “And buh-bye, Taj Mahal!”
Twain's mocking farewell made Billy even angrier than he had been.
I've gotta get up there and stop him. Somehow…
Twain hovered above them for a moment, then revved the motorcycle's engine and began to speed away into the earlymorning clouds.
I've got it: the orf !
Billy ran to the orf's side and grabbed one of its tentacles. “Throw me!” he cried. “Come on, it's our only chance!” The orf snapped one of its black furry arms around Billy's waist and drew him back like a pitcher winding up for a fastball.
You better be as accurate as the book said, thought Billy, or I'm dead meat.
Billy caught a brief glimpse of the orf's glimmering eyes before he was hurled into the sky. If he had been fired from a cannon, he couldn't have flown any faster. Even on his best days of snowboarding he'd never experienced anything like this.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion as Billy tumbled through the air, the Taj Mahal spiraling away below him, the wind whipping his hair all over the place. It was like his best dream and his worst nightmare all in one. He was having visions of his body crashing through the roof of some Indian family's living room when…
FOOOMPF “Nnnnggggghh!”
He blinked and looked around. He was right behind Twain's back, seated sideways in the motorbike's crate, soaring over the rooftops of Agra.
The cool morning wind stung Billy's skin as he peered down at the buildings rushing by beneath him. Red-tiled rooftops and leafy trees, Hindu temples and traffic-packed boulevards, backstreet gardens and empty marketplaces…It was a dizzying sight: spectacular and horrifying at the same time. Billy thanked his lucky stars he wasn't scared of heights.
Twain was speechless. He was also angry. His face was burning red with rage and his teeth were bared like the fangs of a rabid dog.
He jammed the detonator into his breast pocket and tried to dislodge Billy with his free hand. “Get off this bike, you little punk!” The bike lurched to one side. Though Twain had only one free arm to fight, he was using the motorbike to full advantage:
every time Billy moved to attack, Twain spun the bike sideways, leaving Billy scrambling to avoid a fall.
Billy held on for dear life. Twain elbowed him. Kicked him. He probably would have bitten him if he could have managed it. The merciless wind and the unpredictable movements of the bike only compounded the difficulty of staying in the crate. Still Billy held on.
When Twain grabbed him by the hair, Billy thrust his hand out and tried to grab the detonator. He nearly got hold of it before Twain turned away and drew a zipper shut over the pocket.
“Oh no you don't!”
Twain then began trying to dislodge Billy by other means. Billy kept a close eye on him as Twain gripped the handlebars with both hands.
Throwing his body weight to one side, Twain flipped the motorbike completely upside down.
Billy's whole body jerked off the bike and he nearly lost his grip. Without a second to spare, he latched on to the exhaust pipe and held on with all his might. The pipe was warm but not yet scalding hot. Billy gazed down in horror as the city of Agra raced by hundreds of feet below him.
