“Cool!” Pedro said. “How far is your planet?”
“I’m not an alien, Pedro,” Rustom told him. “I’m a rhino that was born in Africa.”
“So assuming you’re saying these wing-people are dangerous,” said Stu Pot, “how do we avoid them? How do we get down back to Earth?”
“We don’t.”
“And who put you in charge?”
“Who put you in charge, Stuart?” Rustom said back. Then he looked at his T.M.D. “According to this, Lukeson is in their Sky Capitol.”
“Did you say Lukeson?”
“Are your dyslexic glasses blue?”
“But what is he doing there?”
“And does he know about these wing-people?” asked Pedro.
“Well, there’s only one way to find out. Let’s go there and search.” Rustom led the way.
Stu Pot surrendered and followed him. He couldn’t stop thinking about Rustom. He was abrasive and ruthless, but then Stu Pot’s memory reminded him of the rhino died saving him and his squad mates so many times.
He also began to think where Rustom might have come from. He just told Pedro that he was no alien, but a rhino from Africa. He thought of so many places, such as a secret unknown factory that took animals and turned them into fighting machines. Or, remembering Rustom was immortal, he might have come from a secret island that was very ancient or very magical that created creatures like him. Or the worst Stu Pot considered was the tough rhino might have even come from a hell. He was a Scottish Christian and the thought of him coming from Satan’s Kingdom or any underworld made him tingled.
“Question, Mr. Rustom,” said Pedro. “Are these special clouds that we’re walking on?”
“These unknown clouds to everyone down below are called Fortitudo clouds,” Rustom explained. “‘Fortitudo’ is Latin for ‘Strength’. After all, they are pretty strong for fluffy clouds.”
“Latin?” said Pedro. “Are you saying there were wingpeople since the Romans?”
“Since the same time humans popped out of the sea and evolved.”
“Then why is it that nobody on earth sees these wingmen when they take a plane or any flying vehicle?”
“That I do not know,” Rustom said. “But my best guess would be that they have create some sort of invisible shield that would –”
“How far is this city?” Stu Pot yawned.
“You were only unconscious about an hour and a half ago,” said Rustom. “You’re not getting sleepy already, are you?”
“It’s so boring walking and seeing nothing except clouds.”
“Why don’t you pretend these clouds are sheep and you count them?” suggested Pedro.
“That’s for trying to get to sleep, Pedro,” said Stu Pot, “which is the opposite of what I’m trying to do.”
“Well, the good news is that the Capital is only a few more miles away,” said Rustom.
“And the bad news?”
The rhino pointed upwards. Stu Pot and Pedro looked up to see that the Capital was not only about two miles away from them but also two miles above them. But seeing the beauty of the Capital made them forget about the frustration of the journey to it. Just like a G.C.A. city, the place looked to be more like a forest on a hill than a city. All they could see from where they were was trees and the sun rising behind them. It was as beautiful as Christmas trees without decorations, tinsel or electric lights.
Everything looked so amazing that Pedro felt like he had discovered a long-lost sunken chest filled with shiny treasure. “If that’s the Capital, how do the wingpeople live in it?”
Rustom gave him and Stu Pot a pair of binoculars each and told them to look at the branches. They could see not just wingpeople, but birds, flying insects and even fire-breathing dragons among every flying creature of all shapes and sizes landing and taking off from them.
“Until I’m proved wrong, they must live in those trees,” Rustom said. “And I believe their trees survive by the sunlight over there and they must harvest the water from Nimbus clouds.”
Pedro kept on looking through the clouds. “They don’t look very funny. And the wingpeople don’t look like clowns.”
Rustom grinded his teeth. “Not circus clouds! Nimbus clouds!”
“Do you mean they’re nimble?” the young penguin asked.
Seeing the rhino groan made Stu Pot see that not handling Pedro’s foolishness was one of his few weaknesses. He sniggered quietly as he found it very funny. “Just how do we get up there at all?”
“Guys, check this out,” said Rustom, as he looked down.
Stu Pot and Pedro saw an old bald wingman using a pitchfork to pick up some clouds and putting them into a giant wooden crate. He was singing to himself, but not in English.
“Why would anyone pick and store clouds?” asked Pedro.
“Well, those clouds are all cumulonimbus,” said Rustom. “And I’m assuming that’s what they use for energy.”
“Renewable or non-renewable?” asked Stu Pot.
“I know very little about these creatures,” said Rustom, “but I’m assuming, unlike most humans, they’re more eco-friendly and are renewing the clouds.”
Then the wingman put the crate along with the wooden crates full of clouds on the vast wooden carrier that was entirely covered by a blue-green tarpaulin cover and strapped onto the back of a giant fire-breathing dragon.
Stu Pot thought the wing-people must have been using the dragons the same way humans used a camel or a horse on the land before the Great Mutation Storm for storage and delivery. He also thought judging by the big holes on the cover it must had been a very old one and had been doing its job for at least eight years.
“And that’s our ticket for getting into the city,” Rustom said.
“But how do you know we are getting into the city?” asked Stu Pot. But the only answer he got was the rhino’s right arm around his mouth.
With his left arm holding Pedro, Rustom jumped down and landed behind the carrier. After checking that the wingman was clear from it and the dragon was looking away, the G.C.A. soldiers immediately boarded it. They quickly went into the darkest corner and Rustom told everyone to hide behind the wooden crates. Everyone was quiet with the exception of the wingman still singing all to himself.
“Are we above Denmark?” asked Pedro. “I don’t know what language that wingman was singing in, but he sounds –”
“Shh!” ordered Rustom. “He’ll be coming here soon. We must hide and be quiet. And, yeah, he is singing in Danish.”
Then they could hear footsteps getting louder.
“Let’s play statues,” Stu Pot suggested. Through their frozen structures, he and Pedro saw Rustom froze like a statue but with a gun still sticking out.
I don’t know what he’s doing, the zebra thought, but whatever he is doing, I hope we don’t get caught for it.
A lit blue candle in a shiny glass lantern shone through the boxes in front of the three soldiers. The wingman pushed the boxes in front of them away and shone his lantern on them. He went in for a closer look. He stroked Stu Pot’s furry face, found out his fur was real and pulled on it, but the zebra was quickly relived when the wingman thought he was just a giant stuffed toy.
Wondering how a giant toy would get into the carrier magically and why he would need one, the wingman turned to face Rustom. He noticed the rhino had a gun in his hand.
“I didn’t know the Capital was supplying me with defences,” he said in Danish. “Oh, well, better to be safe than sorry, I suppose.”
Then he turned around and started to head back out when he felt that he had trodden on something. He looked down to see a small penguin. He picked him up.
Sweating to break free to save Pedro, Stu Pot wondered how he didn’t make a noise when the wingman stepped on him.
“I think you’d make a good birthday present for my daughter today,” the wingman said in Danish. He looked at Stu Pot. “You’re too big for her.” Smiling, he vanished with Pedro.
“Pedro!” cried Stu Pot. He started to run out, but Rustom held him back.
“There’s nothing we can do for him, Stuart.”
“But he’s just a wee lad!”
“Keep your voice down,” snapped Rustom. “And don’t worry. That old man’s not going to lose his birthday present for his daughter, is he? We’ll get him when the girl’s party is over.”
When the carrier started to lean back, so did they. They stood up and held the falling pile of boxes up for as long as they could.
“How long is this going to take?” Stu Pot asked.
“Hey, less moaning, more sightseeing,” said Rustom.
Stu Pot looked through the holes of the carrier cover and saw the beautiful, peaceful, naturist city of Sky Capital. The trees on Fortitudo clouds were massive and beautiful. He also discovered that they were not just for accommodation; they were also used for businesses such as banks, hospitals, shops, cafes and charities for flying creatures with flying inabilities. He saw that the city was very busy with people with wings flying around or flying on giant birds or dragons and landing on massive wooden platforms at each branch. The platforms were big enough to support anyone from the tiniest fly to the largest dragon.
Stu Pot and Rustom noticed the wingpeople wore the same clothing the humans wore on the land such as jumpers, t-shirt, trousers, shorts, dresses and skirts of different shapes and colours. Whatever they wore on their chests, their massive wings on their backs were always out in the fresh air.
Then suddenly Stu Pot and Rustom felt like they had come to a stop.
“Phew, I’m glad that’s over,” said Stu Pot.
“Don’t you take pleasure in sight-seeing?” Rustom asked.
“Like you said, I’m just a weak, unconfident, smelly, fear-off-flying zebra who can’t hold boxes as well as you.” Stu Pot said that to hopefully make the rhino feel guilty, but all he got was a ‘So what?’ stare. He gave up, starting to accept he couldn’t win with him. “But this city is beautiful, I’ll give you that.”
Rustom got out a knife out of the elbow of his metal arm. He went over to the little corner and started cutting a hole in the corner.
“Why not check if the wingman has flown off?” Stu Pot suggested.
But Rustom didn’t answer because he had finished cutting and jumped out. Stu Pot sighed and followed him. He found himself and Rustom on a wooden round platform on a big tree branch.
“This place is so similar to Blackpool Underground,” Stu Pot said. “If Lukeson has been here before, I don’t know if either he inspired these people to live in wood or they inspired him and G.C.A. to live in wood.”
“Well, either way, he must be a very smart person to able to live and adapt with different creatures, not just his own species,” Rustom said. “These wingpeople must have a very good reason to capture him.”
“Maybe he’s not been captured. Maybe he’s come up here for a secret reason. Speaking of which, where did you say Lukeson was?”
“He is…” Rustom looked at his T.M.D. “… in the prison.”
“Prison?” cried Stu Pot. “What for?”
“Well, the sooner we get there, the sooner we’ll find out.”
“And what about Pedro?”
“Wheeee!”
Rustom drew his rifle and aimed at something coming in towards them very fast. Whatever it was, it was also releasing fire. Then he decided to put his gun away.
“What are you doing?” asked Stu Pot. The answer he got was being pushed to the ground.
The flying thing past them and crashed into the tree behind them, but it did not explode.
“Oh,” Pedro groaned, as he slipped out of the small pink jet pack. He rubbed his forehead.
“Pedro! You’re okay!” Stu Pot was pleased to see the little penguin. Then he noticed the jet pack. “Where did you get that jet pack from, Pedro?”
“You know that carrier driver who took me for his daughter’s birthday?” said Pedro. He explained, when it was cake time for the birthday girl and her friends, they left him alone with the other presents – just dresses, makeup, dolls with paper wings and her very first jet pack. He strapped it on, used it to escape the birthday girl’s home and went to find his teammates, which he did.
“Well done, little dude,” said Rustom, patting him on the head.
“Don’t say ‘well done’ if there’s going to be a war between land and the skies started by stealing a little girl’s jet pack,” said Stu Pot.
“Well, how else would you get to Lukeson? Besides, after we rescue him, we’ll return the jet pack and create a Pedro look-alike doll for the little girl.”
“Then let’s get a move on.” The zebra was trying to not lose his cool, but the more surprises and mishaps happened made it harder for him to do so.
Pedro took the pink jet pack off and offered it to Rustom, but he refused.
“How is that tiny jetpack going to fit around these logs?”
“Your arms don’t look like they’re made out of wood to me,” said Pedro.
“No, I meant my arms are too big and strong to put that jetpack on,” explained Rustom.
Pedro decided to give it to Stu Pot. As he took it, the zebra knew it was a very small jetpack, but it fitted him just fine when he put it on. But he was still uncomfortable. Once again, his fear of flying and heights were getting the better of him and he didn’t have Mengy to put him under a spell of confidence. He just didn’t seem to have the stripes to ride the jetpack.
Suddenly, his feet were slowly lifting off the ground.
“Rustom, what the hell are you doing?” Stu Pot demanded.
“Well, we’re never going to get anywhere if it’d been left up to you and your uncertainty, are we?” replied Rustom.
Then Stu Pot was given Pedro to hold in his arms and he saw the rhino wrapping a rope around his leg.
“Oh, no, please,” said Stu Pot. “I really don’t want to.”
But his begging did nothing to stop Rustom pushing him of the platform. Pedro cheered as if he was on a massive rollercoaster, while poor Stu Pot was screaming his head off even though the jetpack was falling down very slowly and smoothly. The fact that he had an immortal rhino on a rope hanging on his leg didn’t help him much to reduce stress.
“The dungeon is fifteen feet up,” said Rustom from down below. “Want to speed the jet pack up?”
“Hell, no!” cried Stu Pot.
“Pedro, care to do the honours?” asked Rustom.
“Sure, Rustom.”
“Pedro, wait!” said Stu Pot, but the little penguin was already on the jet pack.
Pedro could see so many different buttons, but only one dial with numbers and a black lever. He pulled the lever up and the jet pack went up, ignoring Stu Pot’s cries of fear. Pedro turned the dial around and the jet pack soared up like a rocket.
“Ten feet,” said Rustom. “Nine feet. Eight feet. Seven feet. Start to slow down, Pedro. Six feet. Five feet!”
Pedro tried turning the dial back as quickly as he could, but the jet pack didn’t decrease speed. It eventually stopped with a big bump on the tough oak-wooden ceiling.
Stu Pot yelled in pain as he rubbed his massively bruised forehead. As Pedro pulled the lever down, the soldiers started to float down from the ceiling that the zebra had bumped his head on. They landed on another wooden platform.
“Do you think you could scream any louder?” Rustom took Stu Pot’s jetpack off for him.
“Look, Rustom,” said Stu Pot, rubbing his forehead. “You and Pedro made me bump my head on something really hard. I’m not in the mood to be made fun of.”
“I’m just saying that now we’re at the prison,” said Rustom, “you might want to keep your voice down.”
Stu Pot walked back a little to see that they have arrived that a place that looked like a massive mess of fallen down giant redwood trees but with metal wired fence around it. There was also a wingman in a tiny wooden building that represented a security booth.
&n
bsp; “This is the prison?” Stu Pot said.
“According to my T.M.D., it is,” Rustom said.
“Just how are we going to break in?” asked Pedro.
“I’m thinking,” said Stu Pot. As he tried to think, he looked at the prison entrance. There was no way to get past the three security guards. They had no uniforms for the G.C.A. soldiers to steal and sneak into the prison in disguise.
“Come on,” said Rustom, as he grabbed Stu Pot and Pedro. They sneaked under the security booth window. Then the rhino threw something on the platform. Neither Stu Pot nor Pedro could see on the ground what it was that he had thrown.
“What are you doing?” asked the zebra.
“Making a hole,” replied Rustom.
The security wingman in the booth saw the explosion that was three metres away from him. He grabbed his radio. “Calling all units, there has been an explosion outside, over,” he reported. Three more bright blasts and loud booms made him jump. “There are more explosions!” he went on. “Could be under attack! Need every available wingman, over!”
“Why did you need to blow up four holes?” asked Stu Pot. “We only needed one!”
“Shut up,” whispered Rustom. “Two millenniums old means I know best.”
Stu Pot found that very hard to believe. If you know best, why don’t you know some manners?
Then they watched every wingman flying towards the hole, including the one from the booth joining then. Every hole had three wingmen investigating it.
Rustom told his squad mates to enter the prison entrance. After checking the wingmen were still occupied with the blown up holes, he followed them inside.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
After the van stopped moving, Rachael opened the door and addressed Kathy and Larissa. “We’ve reached out destination. Let’s go.”
Kathy unbuckled herself and Larissa. They ran out of the van’s back doors. They were, however, bemused when they saw where they were.
“Is this one of those Cape Canaveral Air Force Station launch complexes?” Larissa asked.
The Cult of Kishpu Page 18
