Sunflower’s father gave her a fanged grin. “Not these plants, baby, not these.”
“Do you know how long we’ve been locked inside this mountain?” asked Bocephus. “Lots of time spent hybridizing. Breeding and re-breeding. These are the best catnip strains in the galaxy!”
“Right on, right on,” nodded Sunflower’s father. “The seeds are worth hundreds of woolongs each!”
Amy sighed and leaned against the wall. “Hippies.”
“Not to alarm anyone, but we’ve less than two minutes,” said Philip.
Amy smiled and pinched his cheek. “It’s a good thing I can run faster than you. Last one to the ship is breakfast!”
Philip kissed her cheek. “Anything for you, my love,” he said in a mock-romantic tone. “If I have to give my life as breakfast so that you might live, then so be it.”
“Yuck! Gag me with a spoon,” said Amy, and slapped the wall. “Is this elevator on the super-slow setting? Come on!”
Sunflower’s dad shook his head. “Violence never solved anything, human dudette. Chill out and relax. Stress is way bad for your heart.”
“Inspectors ripping your heart out of your chest is also ‘way bad’ for it!”
“Do you mind if we hitch a ride on your ship?” asked Bocephus. “The doc is kind of a clean freak and he’d probably yell at us for tracking in dust or something.”
“No problem. Dust is the last thing on my mind.”
The elevator doors swished open. The cats and human teenagers ran pell-mell through the red-lit corridors to the open hangar, where the hundred-meter silver barracuda of the White Star and MacGuffin’s purple cockroach stood waiting. The airlocks were open, ladders extended, and the engines hummed loud enough to vibrate the stone floor of the hangar. Steam rose from the rear exhaust ports of both ships.
Betsy jogged across the landing area and met them halfway, wagging his brown-and-white tail happily.
“Hello, guys! Need any help?” He noticed the two cats. “Hey––new friends!”
“No time to talk!” Amy sprinted at full speed past the dog and toward the White Star. “Run!”
“Cool,” said Betsy. “I like games!”
Eerie clangs and loud scrapes from the blast doors echoed far down the hangar as Amy and Philip helped Sunflower’s parents lift their bags and plants up the ship’s ladder.
Amy waited until both the cats, Philip, and Betsy had climbed inside. “Seal us up, Blanche!” she yelled to the ceiling of the airlock. “We’re launching now.”
“I am aware of the situation,” said the ship. “I have detected the damage to the hangar door.”
“Is that your pilot?” asked Bocephus. “She sounds smart.”
The outer hatch clicked shut and hissed, and Amy pulled the lever to open the inner door.
“Yes, she’s very smart.”
Betsy jumped in front of Sunflower’s parents. “Hi, I’m Betsy!”
“Why are you wearing that stretchy red get-up?” asked Sunflower’s father. “That’s totally not a dog thing.”
“It’s a ship thing,” said Amy. The door to the interior of the ship opened and she jumped through. “Make them wear a uniform, Betsy!”
She ran to the navigation room with Philip on her heels. Inside the navigation room, a mental projection of the hangar’s rock walls and runway surrounded the central console.
Philip pointed. “There’s MacGuffin!”
The Siamese cat stood below his giant purple cockroach of a spaceship, frantically tossing boxes and bags into an open hatch.
“All systems are ready for immediate launch,” said the ship. “Waiting for hangar doors to clear. Hangar doors are clearing.”
A staccato of blinding lights flashed around the hangar bay, causing MacGuffin to stop and stare at the blast doors as they crept upward. Outside, the whirling dust storm had turned the night as muddy and brown as a spring river.
“We’re not going to make it,” whispered Amy.
Sparks flew from the horizontal line of the opening blast door. A pair of silver spheres flew down the kilometer-long hangar bay, metal tentacles trailing behind like strands of deadly steel hair.
“He’s still loading crap into his ship!” shouted Amy, and punched Philip in the shoulder. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Ow! What’ s wrong with you?”
“Blanche, do something! Stop those things!”
“Affirmative, my Lady. Activating electronic countermeasures.”
Twin beams of bright yellow energy flew from the White Star and struck both inspectors in a huge shower of sparks. The deadly robots dipped for a moment, but did not slow their frightening approach.
“My Lady, the inspectors are shielded against EMP bolts. I will attempt to hack their control systems. From the design and radiation signatures, these are former battlefield units from Herodotus. I am not likely to succeed.”
“We can’t just stand here and watch!”
“The inspectors cannot breach the hull, my Lady. You are safe.”
“That’s not the point. We need that stupid space cat scientist!”
“In that case, I recommend that you turn away, my Lady.”
The Siamese cat hurled the last of his bags into the open hatch and frantically climbed the boarding ladder.
“Too late,” whispered Philip.
The invisible deck below their feet vibrated as the White Star rose half a meter and glided sideways across the hangar bay.
“She’s trying to block them,” said Amy. “Good girl, Blanche!”
Two more inspectors joined the first pair, ignoring the steady barrage of yellow EMP bolts from the White Star. All four of the robotic monstrosities shot by as if nothing mattered but the cat desperately scrambling into the airlock of his purple ship.
Amy turned her head. “Now I really can’t watch.”
“I think you should,” said Philip. “My word––look at that!”
Nistra shuffled across the the runway toward them, still gripping the belt of his spandex trousers with a claw. Oblivious to the robotic danger flying toward him, the giant lizard held his jaws open in a numb expression of shock, and no realization of his impending doom showed in his beady eyes or scaly green face.
“Hangar door fifty percent open,” said the ship.
“I hope it’s painless,” said Philip.
Amy sniffed. “You weren’t his prisoner like I was. I hope he suffers.”
An inspector slowed and hovered above Nistra. A pair of silver tentacles as wide as a human fist wrapped around the arms of the sauropod.
Nistra stared down at the titanium coiled around his biceps and blinked rapidly.
“Space pig,” he growled, raising his voice to a scream. “Space pig! SPACE PIG!”
His scaly face transformed into a mask of rage and razor-sharp teeth. The sauro braced his powerful legs and tail, and then jerked his muscular arms down, smashing the inspector against the hangar deck with a deafening crack. Metal shards flew across the hangar and black smoke poured from the cracked shell of the inspector.
“SPACE PIG!”
The sauro grabbed the slack tentacles and spun the dead machine around his head in a huge circle, smashing two of the inspectors and sending them flying lifeless against the hangar walls.
“My word …” said Philip.
“Gravy on toast,” Amy whispered.
The remaining inspector had reached MacGuffin’s ship, but the sudden destruction of its colleagues forced it to loop back around. The horrific chrome octopus hurtled through the air toward Nistra, all six tentacles reaching for him. The sauropod dropped the arms of the dead inspector, braced his legs, and charged across the runway. A second later, he roared ferociously and leapt at the titanium sphere, both claws out in front like a flying Godzilla–Superman hybrid.
“SPACE PIG!”
He ripped through the inspector with an explosion of sparks and inky black smoke, the huge chrome pieces bouncing off the walls of the hangar and s
cattering over the runway. Nistra knelt on the stone floor, his chest heaving.
Amy grabbed Philip’s hand and squeezed. “Remind me not to call him that anymore.”
“Good show, but I don’t think he can do that to three dozen of the blighters.”
“Hangar door is eighty percent clear,” said the calm voice of the ship. “My Lady, I recommend an immediate departure. Local atmospheric conditions are deteriorating rapidly.”
Brown dust whipped through the blast door and down the runway like a hurricane of coffee grounds. In the midst flew a large swarm of silver inspectors.
“Clear a path for MacGuffin’s ship,” said Amy. “We’ll act as a shield on the way out!”
“I have a powerful exhaust stream, my Lady, and it is likely that my thrusters will damage the trailing craft.”
“He’s going to be a puddle of goo if he stays here! Call the ship’s computer and tell him.”
The combative Nistra had recovered some of his senses or self-preservation. As MacGuffin’s purple cockroach rose on micro-thrusters and rotated to face the rear of the White Star, the sauro made a gigantic leap to the side of the craft, opened the airlock, and squeezed inside.
“Craft has replied in the affirmative,” said the ship.
Coffee-colored winds swirled across the runway with increasing strength, causing a few of the inspectors to bounce out of control and smash into the blinking navigational lights on each side. Rocks pinged on the sharp nose of the White Star. Outside the rectangle of the hangar door, columns of lightning flashed and the sky turned in circles like a swimming pool of Rocky Road ice cream going down the drain.
Amy smacked her fist with her other hand. “Hit it, Blanche!”
The stone walls of the hangar flashed by and the storm became everything. A roar vibrated the silver skin of the ship like the galaxy’s largest washing machine on super-spin cycle. Amy and Philip grabbed the console and held on as the ship rocked back and forth. Yellow lights flashed on the control panel and everything around them turned a furious gray-brown. The projection disappeared, replaced by black walls and a scattering of crimson lights. The shaking and unbelievable roar continued for a few seconds and then stopped. The ceiling changed to a black sky full of stars as the exterior projection came back on-line, and in the desert below Amy’s feet swirled the wide arms of a gigantic hurricane of sand and dirt and stone.
“Reducing velocity,” said the ship. “Minor damage to forward compartments, the navigation array, and offensive systems four, seven, and nine.”
“What about MacGuffin?”
“Cleopatra is increasing altitude and exiting the local atmospheric disturbance at bearing one-seven-two.”
“Just say they’re clear of the storm, okay? I don’t need a book report.”
Behind and below them, the purple cockroach rose above the buffeting winds of the hurricane, black smoke pouring from her nose and streaming behind her.
“She’s got riders,” said Philip.
Three inspectors clung to the curved hull on top of the ship. Even from high above, Amy and Philip could see their silver tentacles pulling and ripping at the purple skin like dogs on a fallen antelope.
“This is the worst!” said Amy.
Philip squeezed her hand. “Steady on, old stick. Those nasty devils will fall off when he speeds up.”
The port side of the Cleopatra flashed and more smoke gushed into the night air, adding another black trail. The purple ship rocked and began to lose altitude, dipping her nose toward the earth-colored maelstrom.
Amy stamped a foot. “Do something, Blanche! They’ve got the recombinator thingy.”
“What do you suggest, my Lady?”
“I don’t know! Shoot it with your tractor beam, or teleport MacGuffin and the thingy over here.”
“Neither a ‘tractor beam’ nor any sort of ‘teleport’ are part of my installed equipment, my Lady.”
“I’ve got an idea,” said Philip. “Reduce speed and bring us closer to the other vessel.”
“Blanche, do what he says.”
“Of course, my Lady.”
The storm filled everything below as they descended. The hunched purple cockroach of the Cleopatra swerved and banked, trying to dislodge the parasitic inspectors even as it struggled to keep a steady altitude. Through the glass of the tiny cockpit, they saw MacGuffin with both paws tightly gripping the ship’s control wheel.
“Closer,” said Philip. “Lower the undercarriage.”
Amy squinted at the teenager. “You mean the landing gear?”
“Yes!”
“Advisory note,” said the calm voice of the ship. “Extending struts at this velocity has an eighty-four percent chance of critical damage, five percent chance––”
“Just do it,” said Amy. “What’s the plan, Phil?”
The teenager pointed down at the stricken Cleopatra. “Knock the blighters off with the undercarriage––I mean, landing gear.”
“I get it. We’ll scrape them off!”
“Reducing velocity,” said the ship. “Closing to one hundred meters. Fifty meters.”
Plumes of oily smoke trailed from the purple craft and sparks burst within long gashes in the fuselage. The inspectors continued to plunge their razor-sharp tentacles down and rip ferociously at the ship.
“Extending struts.”
Amy and Philip held on to each other as the navigation room rocked and vibrated. Both ships skimmed above the surface of the deadly storm at hundreds of meters per second, the twice-as-large mass of the White Star only meters above the purple Cleopatra.
Designed to support an interstellar craft over a hundred meters in length and twenty in diameter, the five titanium alloy landing struts of the White Star were quite suited to the task of knocking the inspectors into the swirling void. The ship banked left and right, loosening the death-grip of the silver monstrosities and sending them flying into the hurricane, but also denting and gashing the damaged upper hull of MacGuffin’s ship even further.
“That’s the last one,” said Amy, pointing at a tentacled sphere disappearing into the brown hurricane. “Pull up!”
As the White Star climbed away from the storm, Amy heard a bang from the nose of the ship. A three-meter section of metal and rubber tumbled by and dropped into the storm.
“I hope that wasn’t important,” said Philip.
“Strut Number One critically damaged,” said the calm voice of the ship. “Exterior supports are now retracted.”
“Critically damaged?” asked Amy. “Does that mean we can’t land?”
“Landing would not be advisable until the damage is repaired.”
Philip watched the purple cockroach struggling below. “Are they going to make it?”
“Unknown,” said the ship. “If I had direct access to the Cleopatra, an accurate analysis could be performed. This would require a brute-force takedown of the ship’s security system and infiltration of the navigation control code.”
“Whatever works,” said Amy. “Do it!”
“Done,” said the ship. “Code replaced. Control switching to my command. Efficiency of thrust increased thirty-eight percent. Damage control re-routed. Dumping fuel. Dumping cargo––”
“Don’t dump the cargo!” yelled Amy and Philip together.
“As you wish,” said the calm voice of the ship. “Increasing altitude. What is our destination, my Lady?”
“Cheezburger.”
“The Cleopatra has an eighty-one percent chance of landing safely at Cheezburger Central, which has a larger number of emergency apparatus than South.”
Beside them, the hunched purple cockroach rose into the night sky and matched the speed of the White Star. The trails of black smoke changed to white, and then faded away.
A Siamese cat wearing green pilot goggles flashed to life on a holographic screen.
“White Star! Hailing White Star,” said MacGuffin. “The controls of my ship are dead, but somehow I’m still alive. Praise Mitten
s; it’s a miracle!”
“It wasn’t a miracle––it was us,” said Amy. “Our ship had to hack into your systems and take control, or you’d be rice pudding right about now.”
MacGuffin shook his head. “Pudding? What do you mean?”
“I’ll tell you after we land. We’ll escort you to Cheezburger. Sit back and enjoy the ride.”
“How long?”
“Even with damage control working, the Cleopatra has lowered velocity and limited non-atmospheric capability,” said the calm voice of the ship. “This will increase our estimated travel time. Expected planetfall is four hours, thirty-eight minutes.”
A circle of light appeared against the night sky on Amy’s left. Sunflower’s parents jumped inside the navigation room, both wearing red spandex uniforms and skull cap.
“Yo, human dude and dudette,” said Sunflower’s father. “We miss anything?”
“The ship was flopping around like a fish out of water,” said the calico cat, Bocephus. “We thought we were going to crash. Wait—don’t freak me out. Did we crash?”
“It’s all fine now,” said Amy. “We’ll be in Cheezburger in a few hours.”
“Right on!”
Sunflower’s father nodded his furry orange head. “Awesome.”
A scrape of paws came from the corridor. Betsy galloped through the open door and plowed into the two cats, sending them flying. The brown-and-white terrier slid on his back across the invisible floor, stopping only when he bumped against Amy’s leather shoes.
“Welcome to the real world,” said Amy. “Can I help you?”
The spandex cap on Betsy’s head had come free, blinding the terrier and forcing him to speak through one of the eye-holes. He looked up at the sound of Amy’s voice.
“Um, yeah! Did I miss anything?”
Chapter Thirteen
Amy strode through the corridor with Philip, a redwood forest from her memories projected on the walls and ceiling. Even the air felt cold and smelled like morning dew.
“Take a look at the damaged landing gear, would you? Also, make a list of everything on we need to fix after we land.”
“As you wish.”
“I prefer to repair the damage myself,” said the ship. “I’d rather not have a gang of cat mechanics shedding hair and squirming inside me.”
Empire of the Space Cats (Amy Armstrong Book 2) Page 21
