SpaceBook Awakens (Amy Armstrong 3)

by Stephen Colegrove

  She took a deep breath, turned, and the water gushed over her face.

  “Off.”

  Amy slid open the tiny shower door. The sight of a dog and orange cat in red uniforms standing in her bedroom caused her to scream and rip a towel from the wall to cover her dripping body.

  “Did we scare her?” asked Betsy.

  Sunflower shook his furry head. “I think she saw herself in a mirror. You’d scream too if you looked like that.”

  Betsy nodded. “I get it! That’s why they wear clothes.”

  Amy tightened the towel under her arms and smiled grimly.

  “Thank you for breaking into my room and watching me take a shower.”

  “You’re welcome!” said Betsy.

  Sunflower shook his head. “You said not to bother you no matter what. That’s what we were doing––not bothering you. We’ve been here five minutes doing nothing but not bothering you.”

  Amy sighed. She grabbed another towel and began to dry her blonde hair in front of the bathroom mirror.

  “Speak, my good and helpful friends. What’s the problem now? Run out of Meow Mix? Someone knock over your water bowl?”

  “No need to be patronizing,” said Sunflower.

  Betsy stared at the cat. “What’s that mean?”

  “It means, she’s treating us like we’re stupid. That’s true for only one of us.”

  “Me, right? You’re always calling me that, Sunnie.”

  Amy waved a hand. “Hello? Can one of you tell me what’s so important that you waited outside my shower door?”

  “The ship has picked up some kind of emergency signal,” said Sunflower.

  Amy shrugged. She leaned close to the bathroom mirror and touched the circular pink burn in the middle of her chest. “Worse things have happened at sea.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like cats getting thrown into the airlock, falling into the ocean, and eaten by sharks. The signal’s probably coming from a ship in trouble. Lots of wrecks along the coast in the old days.”

  Sunflower shook his head. “That’s a nice theory, but the radio signal is coming from the hills to the east, and it’s in Cat French.”

  AMY FELT GUILTY about changing clothes that were supposed to be “self-cleaning,” but she also felt that the nanites in the damaged white blouse or their descendants needed a break. She chose a long-sleeved button-up in pale pink cotton, a lined, knee-length skirt made from god-knows-what but which felt like soft corduroy, and white tennis shoes.

  “Are these made from the same material? With tiny robots and crap?”

  “Indeed, my Lady,” said the ship’s voice. “A nanite division of the ‘Fighting Fifth’ are at your command. How is your injury progressing?”

  “Feels better. Thanks for the lotion.” Amy paused. “You didn’t put any nanites in it, did you?”

  “Very few, my Lady.”

  As Amy entered the navigation room, Philip, the tiny sprite Nick, and the sauropod Nistra looked up from the black cylinder of the command console. A dark panorama of the coastal mountains was projected around the walls, ceiling, and floors. In the light of the moon the dry earth and the tumbleweeds appeared in pale shades of gray, but the stars above were as bright as those in orbit.

  “Captain on deck!” yelled Nistra. He touched a scaly claw to his forehead in salute, then immediately looked sheepish. “Sorry. Bad habit.”

  Philip stepped one foot back and bowed. “As pretty as a painting, my dear.”

  Amy rolled her eyes. “I just changed my clothes. What’s wrong with that? People change their clothes all the time.”

  Philip kissed her on the cheek. “Thank goodness all people are not you, my love.”

  “Stop it or I’m going to be sick everywhere,” said Sunflower. The cat followed Betsy into the room. “Her hair looks awful, all dangly and wet like that. No female cat would be caught dead with damp fur.”

  Amy shrugged. “Sue me. I couldn’t find the blow dryer.”

  “I volunteered to lick it dry but she wouldn’t let me,” said Betsy.

  Philip spread his hands. “How the devil would that even work?”

  The terrier blinked for a second. “I don’t know.”

  Amy walked up to the central console. “Show me this radio signal that’s got everyone’s panties in a bunch.”

  “As you wish, my Lady,” said the ship. “Approximately twelve minutes ago, a supersonic object passed through the lower atmosphere, and I detected this signal.”

  A waveform appeared on the top of the console. A white line wriggled up and down as a robotic voice spoke through pops of static and distorted noise.

  “Ijans … tanpree ede … peelot en danjay …”

  The voice repeated the phrases several times, until Philip swiped his hand over the screen, turning it off.

  “Apart from a series of numbers, that’s the entirety of the broadcast.”

  “What’s it saying?” asked Amy. “Somebody translate.”

  “Emergency, help me, pilot in danger,” said Sunflower.

  “The numbers in the message are galactic coordinates for a SpaceBook repeater,” said the warm voice of the ship. “Not the closest repeater, nor one of any significance that I can determine.”

  Nistra snarled, baring rows of sharp teeth. “We’ve been followed!”

  Amy nodded. “For once I have to agree with space––I mean, with Officer Nistra. I know they had radios back in the olden days of Earth, but I don’t think they’d randomly broadcast Cat French and a SpaceBook location. Those didn’t exist.”

  “You’re right about Cat French, but not SpaceBook,” said Sunflower. “It’s always been around.”

  “Whatever. I’m still right.”

  “Curiouser still,” said Philip, brushing his fingers across the control screen. “Is how close we are to the source of the signal. It’s a mere three miles away.”

  All eyes turned to the eastern horizon, where a column flashed bright crimson.

  “That makes it easy,” said Amy, and rubbed her damp hair with both hands. “Lift off, Blanche, and we’ll check it out.”

  Nistra’s eyes bulged. “What?!! It’s a trap!”

  “The statement of the crew member is within reason, my Lady,” said the ship. “Statistically speaking, this object has a higher chance of being a golden coconut full of toys and candy than a random encounter. The originator of the signal has either followed our transmat, or has detected our presence in this dimension. In either case, it is likely they wish either to capture myself, the crew, or an unknown cargo I am carrying.”

  Betsy jumped high in the air and barked. “Did you say candy? I love candy!”

  Amy adjusted the cuffs of her pink blouse. “So it’s a trap. Who cares? You’re the fastest spaceship in the galaxy, Blanche. We’ll just run away.”

  “Some traps close around the mind,” said Sunflower quietly. “And take the form of a job offer you can’t refuse, when all you wanted to do is sell catnip from the back of a van.”

  “Way to bring the mood down,” said Amy. “Head for the signal, Blanche.”

  “As you wish, my Lady.”

  The long ship rose on a column of dust and cruised through the mountains like a hundred-meter arrowhead, the moon gleaming on her silver skin.

  After a few seconds of flight, a thin stream of smoke appeared over the mountains. The column boiled straight up and flattened to the east as it hit an inversion layer.

  Nistra jabbed a sharp claw. “Down there––a craft!”

  Something had carved a kilometer-long path over a ridge and across the flank of a hill, plowing a deep channel through the loam and shallow brush. The scar ended in a pile of smoking dirt and broken trees at the bottom of a draw, and there rested the ship.

  It was shaped like an egg, but an irregular, blocky egg designed by a committee of robots who had never seen one in person. The nose was covered in black streaks of carbon, and the white skin of the egg was marred with scratches, dents, an
d cracked panels. Three small exhaust nozzles were set on the rounded back in a triangle. A trail of thin white ropes lay in the channel and led to the ripped fragments of a yellow parachute. A red light flashed at the top of the egg.

  “Skippy dippy,” whispered Betsy. “A golden coconut!”

  “Looks like an escape pod,” said Sunflower. “The big question is, from what ship?”

  “According to the bit code on the identifier beacon, it is from an interstellar, Gliese-flagged craft called Hare Twist,” said the ship. “I have no records of this craft, but that is not uncommon with Gliese.”

  Sunflower shivered. “Cats from Gliese––a planet of scum and scoundrels to the last kitten.”

  Amy smiled. “But I thought you were a scoundrel, too.”

  “No, I’m a rebel,” said the orange tabby, twitching his tail. “A confused, hippie rebel.”

  “More like a confused hippie lover.”

  “Yeah!” squealed Nick, buzzing above the cat. “I saw what you did when you were emperor!”

  Sunflower flattened his ears. “Back off, butterfly.”

  “You guys keep fighting,” said Betsy, and scrambled toward the exit. “I’m getting that candy!”

  “Betsy, stop!”

  Amy ran and grabbed the terrier, but he wriggled out of her arms and darted into the corridor.

  Sunflower shook his furry head. “If it’s a bomb and explodes Betsy, at least there won’t be any loss of life. Intelligent life, that is.”

  Amy brushed dog hair from the front of her blouse. “Blanche, can you see if anyone is inside the pod?”

  “Negative, my Lady. Significant thermal energy is radiating from the craft as a result of recent atmospheric entry.”

  Amy walked toward the exit. “All right. I’m going outside.”

  Philip rushed up and blocked the hatch opening. “Amy, no! It’s too dangerous.”

  “At least wait to see if Betsy keels over and dies,” said Sunflower.

  “Very funny, especially after you tried to save him at the spaceport.” Amy pulled Philip’s hand away from her arm away gently. “I’ll be fine. Have Blanche land near the crash site.”

  “Let me go with you.”

  Amy stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him. “If anything happens, I promise to let you come and save me.”

  Philip shook his head. “Amy, if anything happens to you …”

  “I know,” she whispered, and left through the open hatch.

  Sunflower turned away and made a retching sound.

  “Hairball?” asked Nick.

  “I wish it was only a hairball. Humans are so squishy and dramatic.”

  Nistra bowed and walked rapidly toward the exit. “Allow me to excuse myself. I have to visit the little sauro’s room.”

  Sunflower blinked. “If you need to use the bathroom, just say it. We’ll just be happy you’re gone.”

  Nistra grimaced. “Thank you for that consideration.”

  AMY GRABBED a handhold inside the starboard airlock and waited. She realized she didn’t have a weapon, not even a thimble, and looked down at the wagging tail of the brown-and-white terrier at her feet.

  “You’ll protect me if there’s anything bad out there, won’t you Betsy?”

  The dog looked up at her and blinked. “Protect you from candy?”

  “No, but maybe there’s something in the dark that wants to steal all the candy.”

  “That’s no problem,” said Betsy happily. “I’ll rip his face off!”

  Amy sighed. “Right.”

  The floor of the airlock shivered and thumped, and the red light above the hatch leading outside turned green.

  “Planetfall complete,” said the calm voice of the ship. “Safe egress is now possible, my Lady.”

  “Thank you, Blanche. One question––is there a way for me to talk with you when I’m outside? Apart from screaming and waving my arms like a crazy person.”

  “Indeed, my Lady.”

  The wall clacked and a tray slid out to display a dozen key chains, each with a white rabbit’s foot and a large pink crystal.

  “Are you kidding? That’s a space walkie-talkie?”

  “The communicator does not work in a vacuum. Power is generated from bio-electric contact and routes through the human cerebrum.”

  “We’re going to ‘think’ to each other?”

  “Unfortunately, my Lady, your mental flexibility has not developed to the point at which you may transmit without the physical act of vocalizing. You will, however, be able to receive messages from me, or any others who are within a kilometer of the ship.”

  Amy scooped a keychain from the tray.

  “Awesome! I have to give Philip one. Wait—he won’t be able to read my thoughts, will he?”

  “Only if you concentrate on sending a message, will any message be sent, my Lady. Contact must also be maintained with the crystal.”

  Betsy scrabbled his front paws on the round exterior hatch. “Candy!”

  “Yeah, Betsy, I get the message.”

  Amy pushed on the center of the metal hatch. It popped out with a sudden hiss, a gust blowing Amy’s hair and skirt from behind as the air equalized with the outside atmosphere.

  The cold air smelled of dust and charred plastic as Amy held Betsy with one arm and descended the ladder. She stepped onto dry yellow grass but kept one hand on the rung of the ladder, as she scanned the arid hills and scrubby brown bushes for trouble.

  “Grizzly bears used to eat people in the old days,” she said. “Too late to turn around now.”

  Betsy squirmed free and darted toward the huge battered egg at the end of the ditch carved along the top of the ridge, the little dog tumbling through the dry brush and sliding wildly through the lightweight, soft loam. Amy took a more cautious approach, walking slowly and watching the darkness for hidden dangers. Blanche had turned on her landing lights, illuminating the area with a hazy white glow, but every few seconds, the beacon on the escape pod flashed and turned the surrounding hills bright red. With each step of Amy’s leather shoes, tendrils of white smoke curled up from the plowed-up mess of earth and roots and yellow grass.

  A phrase floated through her mind, as subtle as a billboard floating two inches from her forehead.

  —[Are you receiving, my Lady?]—

  “Whoa!” Amy laughed and held up the keychain. “That is … strange. I hear you, Blanche, but I’m not sure if I like it. It’s painful, like I’m having a brain freeze from eating ice cream too fast.”

  —[Understood.]—

  She caught up to Betsy, who had climbed on top of the pod and was barking at something. The small dog activated the manos bracelet around a front paw and used the artificial fingers to tug at a small handle.

  “Quiet, Betsy! Everybody’s going to come running if you keep barking.”

  The terrier stared at her with wide eyes. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t think about that.”

  “Looking for a way to open the hatch?” asked Amy, scanning the dented side of the egg. “What’s ‘emergency’ in Cat French?”

  ––[Louvri Ijans.]––

  “Thanks, Blanche. Here it is––a red lever with that stuff written on it. Are you ready? Hold on to your butt!”

  Betsy blinked at her. “How?”

  Amy shrugged. “It’s just a thing people say.”

  She fiddled with the circular handle, at last twisting it ninety degrees and pushing it down. Betsy jumped off the top of the pod as a curved section hissed and swung up to the night sky. The tiny cluttered space inside the egg contained a pair of very narrow reclined chairs and a figure in an orange pressure suit, its head and features obscured by a bubble helmet with a reflective face shield. The human-sized figure had wrapped its arms around its knees and held them to its chest with thick gloves. The cramped interior of the escape pod had obviously been designed for a much smaller creature.

  Betsy sniffed the air. “Where’s all the candy?”

  “That’s
your theory, Betsy, not mine. Just don’t start barking again.”

  Amy grabbed a splintered branch from the ground and poked the figure in the pressure suit.

  “Aw, this is boring,” said Betsy. “I don’t smell any candy at all and that thing is dead.”

  “Don’t run away! What if it’s still alive?”

  Amy leaned over the folded-up creature and examined the neck of the pressure suit. She used both hands to press a pair of buttons on either side of a metal ring at the neck, and then twisted the silver helmet ninety degrees to the left.

  “I saw that in a documentary about the space program,” she said, and pulled up on the helmet. “Lucky guess …”

  The helmet dropped from her hands and rolled away through the dirt as Amy stared at her own face, only a year or two older, framed by blonde hair identical to her own.

  The girl blinked slowly and her blue eyes wandered lazily around the inside of the egg. When they came to rest on Amy, the girl smiled with perfectly white teeth.

  “Hello, Amy Armstrong.”

  Chapter Two

  Amy stepped back from the escape pod.

  “You’re … me? How’s that possible?”

  Her twin slapped the harness release at her chest and climbed out of the pod.

  “No time to explain!”

  She grabbed a small black case from behind the seat and jogged up the hill toward the lights of the White Star, her pressure suit making loud, rubbery squeaks with each step. Betsy scrambled after her along the trail of scorched earth, barking up a storm.

  Amy grabbed the pressure helmet at her feet. “Wait!”

  She quickly caught up to her doppelganger, who had slowed due to a combination of the heavy suit and the terrier dangling from her back, his teeth clamped onto a loose strap.

  “Please call off the little monster,” said the twin. “It’s going to rip my suit. I’m not even going to ask about that little red outfit you made it wear.”

  “Betsy, stop!”

  The terrier let go and tumbled to the ground. He shook his coat and flung gritty brown dirt everywhere.

  “But she’s a stranger! I’m supposed to bark at strangers––it’s dog law.”