Judging by the corpses dotting the landscape, Ginny surmised that the only remaining member of Arthur the Putrid’s Death Cavalry was Arthur the Putrid himself, who floated in the air with his green hands aflame. He raised them above his head, jerking his fingers in odd directions, and a nearby flaming generator lifted from its foundation. Arthur the Putrid swung his hands toward the tyrannosaur, and the generator launched toward the monster. The ankylosaur on its back pulled the triggers on the rocket launchers, firing them up to explode against the incoming building. It was not enough to stop the mass of metal and mortar and flame, but the cursed robot was. It leapt up into the generator as it flew past and drilled a hole through it in such a speedy blur that the tyrannosaur had but to jump, and it passed unharmed through the hole that had been carved by the robot through the flaming metal generator.
The dinosaur licked the robot upside its head, and both regained their bearings to face Arthur the Putrid. The small ankylosaur scrambled from its saddle on the tyrannosaur’s back, crawling up to reload the rocket launchers, cursing and chomping on his cigar the entire time. The surrounding flames danced across Arthur the Putrid’s jeweled eyepatch, and it twinkled.
Arthur the Putrid never turned to look at Regular-Ginny, but he spoke to her nonetheless. “Ginny, I thank you for joining us. Let me make quick work of these fools, and we shall take down the B.I.T. once and for all.”
The robot spoke up. “[whir] Your – CLACK – Your – CLACK – Your weaponized Arts and Ginnys were no match for us. You will not – CLACK – will not be, either.”
Arthur the Putrid launched a ball of green flame at the robot, the point of the green flame shaped like a skull. The flaming ball seemed to scream in agony as it traversed the battlefield, only falling silent when it crashed into the ground as the robot dodged from its path. Arthur the Putrid released a cackling laugh. “You only bested my Death Cavalry because you chose the route of cowardice, picking them off one at a time from the shadows. Had you shown fortitude and waited for them to gather back to me for a proper battle, then it would be your corpses littering the ground.”
Regular-Ginny crept forward, raising up a tentacle to swipe down upon the enemy. However, without looking, the robot pointed one of its drills toward her and launched it like a rocket. She cursed, and instead of going on the offensive, she concentrated on dodging the incoming drill.
Meanwhile, the robot leapt at Arthur the Putrid, its remaining drill raised above its head to deliver the deathblow. Arthur the Putrid deflected the drill with one of his green-flame-encrusted hands, cursing as it was severed from his arm in the process. As the mangled appendage fell toward the ground, Arthur the Putrid cackled maniacally and kicked it. It flew straight into the barrel of one of the dinosaurs’ rocket launchers.
“Die, you fools!” he screamed. Regular-Ginny finished dodging the drill in time to watch the scene unfold below her. Arthur the Putrid kickflipped higher into the air, dodging the robot’s next drill strike. He brought his remaining green fist down upon the robot’s head, smashing the robot into the ground and leaving a gigantic crater below the metal monstrosity.
Meanwhile, the ankylosaur bit down on his cigar and peered down at the left rocket launcher. The green hand glowed with flame inside its barrel. He frowned and muttered, “Ma’am, it’s been an honor,” and before the tyrannosaur could respond, he crawled across the larger dinosaur’s torso, unstrapped the harness that held the rocket-launcher-saddle in place, and dove with it away from the tyrannosaur. The ankylosaur landed atop the affected rocket launcher just in time for it to explode. The ankylosaur’s body shielded his friends from the blast, but the beast’s hard shell was no match for the mix of exploding rocket and green sorcerer appendage. Gore flew into the air and rained down upon the combatants. The ankylosaur’s head rolled to a stop in front of Regular-Ginny’s pink blob. She inanely decided that she should put out the beast’s cigar before it could start an even bigger fire, so she stomped on it with a tentacle. In the process, she crushed what remained of the head into a bloody pulp.
The tyrannosaur raised its head and roared in rage, which sounded as though someone had recorded a whale’s mating call and amplified it using speakers the size of a city block. Regular-Ginny covered her ears despite the protective bubble of her pink blob, watching with a frown as the beast’s fanged crown fell from its blond mullet to crash to the ground. The beast launched into a sprint toward Arthur the Putrid. The ground shook with each of its mighty steps.
Arthur the Putrid looked up at the charging dinosaur, ceasing to pummel the robot with his remaining green hand. He faced the dinosaur and began twisting his fingers behind his palm and muttering some ancient words for a spell that was sure to be devastating.
But before he had the chance to launch it, the robot’s rocket-drill returned, flying back to reattach itself to the robot’s arm. The movement of the drill must have caught the sorcerer’s attention from his peripheral at the most inopportune time, because as he jumped into the air to dodge the returning weapon, the dinosaur leapt forward and bit him in half at the waist. The dinosaur held his torso in its mouth, chomping down upon it and shaking it back and forth like a dog with a freshly killed rodent. The flames covering Arthur the Putrid’s remaining hand died, leaving a lifeless hand scorched black.
The dinosaur swallowed Arthur the Putrid, and then looked over at Ginny. The behemoth burped, and the sorcerer’s dead, black hand tumbled from between its fangs to thud onto the ground. It roared once more. The robot pulled itself up out of the crater in which Arthur the Putrid had left it, both its drills back in place at the ends of its arms. It, too, turned to face Ginny.
“[whir] It – CLACK – It – CLACK – It is time for this to end.”
Ginny raised herself up onto her tentacles and launched herself at them.
Chapter 18
A HAIL MARY ON ANY REALITY REEKS JUST AS DESPERATE
“AGENT 29333, GIVE me a status update on the fleet,” ordered Agent 27142 through clenched teeth as he watched yet another carrier-class shift-ship explode into flames, this one the B.S.S.C. Bearded Lizard-Frog. It was overwhelmed when it ventured too close to airspace occupied by a ferocious brawl between hordes of flying pink and blue combatants. Agent 27142 silently cursed the ship’s captain and her stupidity.
Agent 29333 replied, “We are now down to eight carrier-class vessels, not including us.”
Agent 27142 cursed the B.S.S.C. Bearded Lizard-Frog’s captain and her stupidity once more, this time aloud. Then he muttered, “Dammit. The shield’s down, and we’re taking too many losses. We can’t hold off the incursion forces much longer.”
Agent 29333 merely stared at him and blinked.
“Raise the High Commander. I need to know if he has completed his work at his forge.”
Agent 29333’s fingers danced across her keyboard. “It’s no good, sir. The High Commander is not answering. He’s got an away message up saying he’s deep in thought, creating a weapon to save the Multiverse.”
“Damn! Then leave him a message. Request for him to launch his forge into the barrier between realities. Use override code 333456908234. That’ll push the message past his machine to play over the speakers in his smithy.”
Agent 29333’s mouth fell agape. “Sir, are you sure that’s wise? You know how the High Commander responds to distraction.”
“I will deal with his wrath if we survive. It is vital that he escape at all costs. He can occupy a new reality and forge it into a new home-earth for the B.I.T., but he and his workshop cannot be replaced.”
Agent 29333 nodded. “Sent,” she said.
Agent 27142 nodded in response. He then redirected a wave of fighters to attack a particularly vicious set of pink combatants in Ground Zone 4, these having ravaged a large marine unit in their area.
Agent 27142 stared out at the battlefield, shaking his head and feeling shame in how it had all gone wrong. The B.I.T. had the ultimate weapons against the incursion forces—the Scatter Gu
ns—but like so many other battles in the history of the Multiverse, the side with the larger numbers would ultimately win the day. And right now, the larger numbers belonged to the cosmic bears.
Agent 27142 sighed. He would need to grovel, but if he could just bring more B.I.T. forces here, he might be able to turn the tide. “Agent 29333, raise Admiral 11404. You should be able to find his signal somewhere in the Inner Realities.”
The view screen morphed to reveal a B.I.T. agent with an orange beard that flowed all the way down to his waist, from behind which a plethora of medallions and honors poked. He had three green eyes, two in the same spot as a human’s and a third in the center of his forehead. A Grand Admiral’s hat covered the top of his head rather than a checkered officer’s cap, and beneath his hat, stubbly little orange hairs grew, a sign that he had not shaved his head in a few days. Agent 27142 noticed this unkemptness, which he did not interpret as a good sign.
“Admiral 11404, we need your help. Return to home base at once. We are desperate, and the High Commander is at risk.”
Admiral 11404 frowned, a gesture that in his culture looked like a smile, and sharp purple teeth poked out from between his lips. “I knew the High Commander put too much faith in ye, ye li’l whelp. If ‘e put me in charge of yer li’l war, I’d’a ‘ad it over and done years ago.”
Agent 27142 frowned back. “Maybe, but he didn’t. And maybe he’ll give you what you want soon enough, but right now, we need you and your fleet to get to Earth 55,777 to protect the High Commander. These invaders have won the day, and my fleet likely won’t last more than another few minutes.”
Admiral 11404 sighed, a gesture that in his culture sounded like a chuckle. His ship shook around him, multiple members of his crew in the background fell to the ground, and alarm lights flashed behind him. The lights went black, but then turned back on. These new lights shone with a red hue, indicating backup power. “Ye think ye’re the only one in desperate straits, boyo? I couldnae help ye even if I wanted ta. I’m in me own cosmic war to save the Multiverse from a couple o’ cosmic birds that wanna chew it up and feed it to their babies. If me and m’fleet leave, the Multiverse is doomed.”
When Agent 27142 did not respond, the admiral continued, “Ye ain’t gettin’ no help from me. Ye’re a commander of a B.I.T. flagship, and the High Commander saw somethin’ in ye for some reason I donnae quite understan’. So, do what all o’ us commanders been doin’ fer generations uncountable: shut the hell up and find a way to win, no matter what. Ye donnae wanna be the first of us to let the Multiverse fall inta nonexistence.”
And with that, the scene aboard Admiral 11404’s bridge shook once more and then winked out. Agent 27142 frowned. “Agent 29333, raise Captain 59590. His signal should be somewhere near the Eighth Quadrant.”
Unfortunately, Agent 27142 received a similar denial from Captain 59590, who was fighting a cosmic threat to the Multiverse in the form of universe-snatching, sentient business suits. He received a similar denial from Agent 668777, Admiral 1232, Governor 55680, and a number of others, all of whom were entrenched in their own cosmic wars to save the Multiverse and surrounded by equally dire straits. None were moved by Agent 27142’s pleas that his cosmic event had breached the B.I.T. home reality, and thus should be the cosmic event to take priority over all others.
Finally, Agent 27142 gave up on finding help. He had Agent 29333 set a distress beacon as was protocol, even though he knew nobody would answer the call, for there were too many cosmic events overlapping this day. He frowned and looked out his view screen, once more surveying the desperate battle before him.
Across the warzone, twenty-eight carrier-class ships lay as smoking hulls, their lifeless husks crashed amongst the toppled skyscrapers and corpses of citizens. Blue incursion forces and pink incursion forces continued their endless dance of death and life around the husks. Agent 27142 frowned even harder as the enemy hordes neared the Olympus building, their rampaging now far inside where the shield wall had stood.
Agent 29333 spoke up, “Sir, bad news. Just received word from inside Olympus. There’s an invasion force within the building, and the High Commander still has not responded to our message.”
“Damn! Teleport a brigade of marines t-”
“Sir, I was not finished. There is also worse news. An incursion force managed to teleport inside our engine room. Onboard security has removed them, but not before they armed their weapons. The engineers are working to disarm the bombs, but it’s not looking good, sir. Likelihood that the B.S.S.C. Mimessiah falls in the next seven minutes is at over eighty-six percent.”
Agent 27142 cursed once more. His mind raced. He glanced down at the battlefield again and thought back to what Admiral 11404 had said. Every commander must find a way to win, no matter the cost. There was always some sort of cosmic threat on the horizon, and the B.I.T. had not succumbed to one yet. Agent 27142 would be damned before he would let such a disaster occur on his watch. He swallowed hard and stifled a sigh. He knew what he must do, and it would cost him everything.
He turned to Prisoner-Art. “Prisoner, what is it called on your reality when you make one final attempt at winning and put all your efforts behind one final gamble, even though it is so desperate that it will likely fail?”
Prisoner-Art frowned. “You mean like a Hail Mary?”
Agent 27142 nodded. “A Hail Mary it shall be, then.”
Agent 27142 turned to Agent 29333. “Agent 29333, come with me, and bring the prisoner. Send word to marine squadrons Zero, Twelve, Pi, Ampersand, and Umbrella that they are to meet us in the third hangar at once.”
Agent 29333 nodded, relayed the order over the communications transmitter, and stood. She unbound Prisoner-Art from his restraints, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and followed her commander. Their eagles swooped down from their perches and landed on their shoulders.
“Agent 90909, you have command. If I do not return before the ship goes down, make sure you do your duty as interim-captain and go down with it,” ordered Agent 27142 as he strode toward the transport tube that lay just outside the exit of the bridge.
“Isn’t going down with the ship your job?” muttered Prisoner-Art. “You’re robbing us of the best part of this ship being destroyed.”
Agent 27142 did not listen as Agent 90909 called out confirmation, instead turning to beat Prisoner-Art about the face until the prisoner crumpled into a flabby mess and curled into a fetal position on the floor. When Agent 27142 finished with the beating, he continued striding toward the transport tube. Such a small display of violence really helped to hold at bay the gnawing desperation that threatened to overwhelm him. He listened as Agent 29333 yanked Prisoner-Art off the ground and pushed him forward to keep pace with Agent 27142. “Where are we going?” Agent 29333 called from behind.
Agent 27142 stepped into the transport tube, waited for Agent 29333 to enter, pressed the button for the third hangar, and waited for the door to shut and the transport to begin moving. Only then did he reply, “I have one last idea for how we can save the Multiverse. Unfortunately, once we are finished doing so, it means I will certainly end my days in a penal reality. But I will make that sacrifice if I must to ensure that I am not the commander responsible for dooming the Multiverse.”
Agent 29333 nodded. “I’ll join you in that penal reality, if that’s what you command.”
Agent 27142 shook his head, though he longed to say yes so that she would spend forever beside him in his inevitable work camp. “I’ll take the blame for this one all on my own.”
The doors opened and five squadrons of twenty marines stood at attention, the commanders of which Agent 27142 could easily recognize because of the eagles that perched on their shoulders, these versions given only to officers. Agent 27142 gave quick orders to the men, as well as coordinates to which they must jump with him. When Agent 29333 heard the coordinates, she gasped. She must understand what I intend, thought Agent 27142. Nobody else would have, and that’s not just because
nobody else in our present company other than myself has access to the same level of classified documents as her. She’s brilliant, and that’s one of the many reasons why I love her.
Agent 27142 split the group onto three shift-shuttle class ships—two marine carriers and his own personal ship, the appropriately named ‘Death in the Night, Thy Name is This Ship.’ It was a black vessel ninety-feet long and shaped roughly like a banana with the wings of an eagle. An ornately wrought eagle’s face extended from the hull at the front of the ship, with the bridge a fortified glass bubble that poked out of the eagle’s mouth.
Agent 27142 and his crew boarded his shuttle at a sprint, and as soon as the hatch was shut, Agent 27142 engaged thrusters. The ship blasted from the hanger into the air above the carnage on the ground. Agent 27142 typed in his coordinates and tapped his eagle on the head, not entirely ungingerly. The beast squawked and fired a bolt of lightning into a short metal pole that stood erect from the command console. The ship and its two companion vessels jumped into the barrier between realities just as an explosion rocked the B.S.S.C. Mimessiah behind them.
Agent 27142 stared ahead and waited to meet his destiny.
Chapter 19
A TIMELY RAID
Normal-Art sat strapped to his chair and stared silently through the forward window. In front of him in the pilot and co-pilot seats sat Officers Art and Ginny, respectively. Outside the view screen of the bridge, the barrier between realities flew past at such speed that the colorlessness and the colorfulness of it swirled into a miasma that made Normal-Art’s head hurt when he looked at it, so he instead stared down at his feet. His shoes were old and worn, and the soles had separated from the tops of the shoes near both of his big toes so that the toes poked out like little lumpy sausages. His skin was so wrinkled and dry that the aforementioned metaphorical toe-sausages looked like they must have sat too long on one of those rotating grills in the most rundown, rodent-infested, unclean convenience store in the entire Multiverse.
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