SpaceBook Awakens (Amy Armstrong 3)

by Stephen Colegrove

  Betsy yawned and slumped his furry shoulders. He stared down at the control panel.

  “Hey, Sunnie, what’s an ‘Overshield?’ It sounds like fun.”

  “Don’t touch that!”

  A brilliant blue sphere crackled to life around the giant armored cat, illuminating the dunes like a giant searchlight from heaven. Two hundred meters to the south, a dozen cavalry soldiers in damp brown uniforms saw the flash and kicked their horses toward it.

  “Uh … my bad,” whispered Betsy. “Sorry?”

  “Too late for sorry! Hold onto your butt!”

  Sunflower jammed his paws into the control pits and the giant steel cat leapt into the air, arcing across the night sky like a flaming ball from a Roman candle. The machine slammed its heavy legs into the dunes and sprang into the air again, jump jets flaring white and bullets from the cavalry rifles cracking past like invisible popcorn. The few rounds that hit the shield bounced harmlessly into the night with the red glow of molten lead.

  “Turn that shield off so can hide again,” growled Sunflower.

  “I think it’s stuck,” said Betsy. “Computer, shut off the overshield.”

  “Negative,” said the robotic voice of the flight computer. “Section fourteen point seven of the operating manual says that a protective Overshield (trademark) or comparable defensive screen must be deployed when receiving ballistic fire from an enemy.”

  “I don’t believe it,” growled Sunflower. “This hunk of junk hates me.”

  “Incorrect,” said the flight computer. “I am a machine and cannot hate. I just don’t like you.”

  The giant armored tiger curved across the sky and slammed down into a small evergreen, the explosive crash turning the tree into a shower of pink redwood splinters. The large vehicle immediately leapt into the air again, throwing Sunflower and Betsy against their harnesses.

  Ahead through the narrow window, Sunflower saw a white-painted lighthouse framed against the sea, and to the right, the tree-lined grid of the human village, its gas streetlights glowing pale blue. From the map he’d studied earlier, he knew the chances for hiding or escaping the soldiers were not very good the closer they came to the village.

  “This entire hive of monkeys will know we’re here if we don’t turn around,” said the cat. “But if we do turn around, we won’t get another chance to catch that evil Amy. She could leave us stranded on this monkey planet.”

  Betsy giggled. “You know what dogs say––sticks don’t catch themselves. Whoa, Sunnie! Why are you whacking the side of your helmet and groaning like that?”

  “Because I don’t have a stick to throw at your face,” said the cat. “Tune the radio transmitter to encrypted channel 192. We’re going to send a message.”

  THE GIANT green pickle of the Hare Twist hovered a thousand meters over the dark surface of the Monterey Bay and projected an energy field that allowed light from one side to pass through to the other, turning the large spacecraft into just a smudge against the night sky. A flash of brilliant orange illuminated the side of the smudge and caused the energy field to flicker, as a tiny black dot flew from a launch tube and curved down to the ocean.

  The ball bounced and curved on a wild course down to the ocean, but pulled up from the surface at the last moment as it burst through the crest of a wave. The circular pattern of engines at the rear of the ball flared brightly as it gained altitude.

  “I’m going to be sick,” squeaked a female voice from the back of the cramped cockpit. “Oooh …”

  “Please don’t,” gasped Philip.

  The knees of the teenager were pushed up to his ears. His sock-covered feet were smashed against the clear windscreen of the fighter, and his hands were stretched in front of him with both index fingers stuck inside tubes in the control panel.

  “Sooo … sick.”

  Nick grabbed the back of Philip’s shirt and climbed to his left shoulder. The tiny blonde woman coughed and spewed a stream of deep brown goo onto the front of Philip’s shirt, depositing at least a pint of sweet-smelling liquid over the teenager and the inside of the cockpit.

  “My word!” gasped Philip.

  Nick wiped her mouth. “I’ll never eat … chocolate again.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  The sprite pointed at her belly. “Hey! I’m not fat anymore!”

  “Good show,” said Philip. “Please help … I can’t fly this thing much longer.”

  Nick jumped up to the control panel.

  “How am I supposed to help you? I’m trained in minerals and gems, not cat fighters!”

  “Anything … could … help,” gasped Philip.

  Nick grabbed onto the front of the control panel and stared outside.

  “Pull up, pull up, pull up!”

  The cucumber shape of the Hare Twist flashed by as the fighter barely missed the rear navigational fin of the huge ship.

  “Are you trying to kill us?” asked Nick. “Head the other way. Toward land, toward land!”

  “I can’t see a thing! I’m folded in half, you must have noticed.”

  “I’ll give you directions. Go left. Too much. Pull up! Down a bit. Now right. Go right! There’s a big light straight ahead. Don’t touch anything!”

  The black ball curved and wobbled around in the star-filled sky, at last pointing itself toward a lighthouse on the coast. After all the jiggling and bouncing, every surface that hadn’t previously been coated with the chocolate contents of Nick’s stomach were now splattered with brown.

  “Air,” coughed Philip. “Need air.”

  “What a baby,” said Nick. “You’ll get air when we crash. Okay––what should we crash into? A bunch of big rocks, the mountains, or the beach? That’s all I see.”

  “Something … else?”

  A speaker on the control panel crackled, and Betsy’s voice filled the cockpit.

  “Hey-yo! This is Ensign Betsy Jackson of the transport division––wait, I don’t have that job anymore since I became friends with Amy and left the Dream Tiger. Hey, Sunnie! What’s my job now?”

  Nick jumped up and down on the control panel. “Betsy’s not dead! Betsy’s not dead!”

  “I share your enthusiasm,” coughed Philip, and shifted his knees away from his ears slightly. “Where’s it coming from?”

  The audio popped and crackled.

  “Okay, starting over. Hey-yo! This is Betsy. One, two, three … Am I talking to anyone? Scarface Amy, are you there? I don’t think we should call her that, Sunnie. Maybe she’s nice and wants to be friends and will give us cake and candy and chocolate. Is this even working? Ow! Stop it!”

  Several thumps came from the speaker.

  “I stick my head under the seat for two seconds to try and turn off this stupid overshield,” said Sunflower’s voice. “And you’re yapping away on the transmitter?”

  “Don’t get mad,” said Betsy. “It’s not even on.”

  “Of course it is! I can see a green light!”

  Philip wiggled his bare toes on the filthy, brown-splattered cockpit window, as he tried to keep the tiny fighter flying straight and level.

  “Can you answer them?” he asked. “Are they nearby?”

  “No and yes,” said Nick. “I think they’re somewhere close to the big light. The one rotating around? Don’t know what it is, but Sunnie and Betsy are there.”

  “Probably a lighthouse. Give me directions and I’ll point us that way.”

  The speakers hissed and Sunflower spoke again.

  “Attention, evil scarface Amy, attention,” said the cat. “I should say, copy of Amy, because we all know you’re not the real Amy. She’s the bravest and smartest human in the entire galaxy, and almost as good as a cat. Speaking of that, I know you have the Andy Nakamura on your ship. Surrender her and the real Amy, and you can go free. Refuse and face my wrath. That means anger, if you want to see a very angry cat. My location is thirty-six point six three three four one six by negative one-twenty-one point nine three three seven o
ne six, but you can probably just look for the glowing blue ball near the lighthouse. Hard to miss. Amy Armstrong is my friend, and I’ll be waiting for you there. Commander Sunflower of Red Squadron over and out.”

  “Is he trying to get killed?” asked Nick. “Scarface has a million-billion soldiers!”

  “More worried about myself at the moment, actually,” sniffed Philip.

  Red lights flashed on the control panel and a loud, rapid beeping filled the cockpit.

  “Missile lock, missile lock,” said a computerized voice.

  “Get us out of here!” yelled Nick.

  “How?!!”

  “I don’t know! Move faster! Left, left! Go toward the light!”

  A ferocious shockwave knocked the tiny sprite back onto Philip. Shards of red-hot metal ripped across the sky and into the cat fighter, and filled the cockpit with flame and smoke. The tiny ball fell dark and powerless toward the rotating beam of light and the black rocks of the coast.

  Chapter Ten

  The lights in the command room had been dimmed for night duty, and the normally busy and packed control stations were empty apart from three crew members. A handful of screens blinked with slow streams of data, but the majority around the walls were dead black rectangles.

  One slumped in the large captain’s chair in the center of the room, her scarlet high heels kicked off and lying on the floor in front of her. Steam curled from a plastic cup on the armrest, and a warm blanket covered her from chin to ankle. At the lowest edge of the blanket, her stockinged feet were spread apart lazily, the toes wiggling slowly as if she were a tired secretary at the end of the day, instead of the commander of three starships and a thousand pirates.

  Her attention was split between a pair of displays on the wall. To the left flickered a subtitled video with the volume turned down. The long-haired Asian actors wore colorful silk robes and rode horses through a lush forest. The screen on the right showed an image of Four, wearing a bright yellow blouse instead of a black turtleneck, even though One kept telling her that yellow wasn’t the best color for a pale complexion. Four kept her hair dyed black and cut in a short bob––a leftover of her personal life from before she had met One.

  “After that, I’ll tell him about my father being really mean to me,” murmured Four. “About the beatings, too. Do you think that’s enough? To have him fall in love with me, I mean. Boys always want to play the savior.”

  One frowned. Her eyes were on the Asian drama, not Four.

  “We’re going to throw him in the quantum transfuser, so why does it matter? Why do you have to play these little love games when it’s your turn?”

  Four pouted. “For that look on his face inside the transfuser, when he realizes he’s going to die. When everything he feels is upside down and inside out.”

  One took a sip of her steaming drink. “It’s not going to work on this Philip. He’s different.”

  “They’re all different. It’s all about finding the angle.”

  “No. I don’t think there’s anything you can say, an outfit you can wear, an eyelash you can flutter that will change him. He loved that young copy of us totally and completely. You have about the same chance as changing his feelings for her as you do standing in front of a prairie fire and waving your arms.”

  “Maybe if I had more time …”

  “WE don’t have the time. There’s too much work to do.” One held out her thumb and index finger, a tiny gap between the two. “I’m this close to triangulation on SpaceBook.”

  Four shook her head. “You know what they say about all work and no play. Wait––are you watching that stupid three-dee drama? You’re not even listening to me.”

  One shrugged. “I can pay attention to more than one thing at a time.”

  Wilson galloped into the command room, tripped over the doorway, and sprawled on his furry face. The black cat scrambled to his feet and tip-toed behind the captain’s chair.

  “What is it?” asked One, without looking away from the two screens on the forward wall.

  Wilson stood on his hind legs and bowed. “Apologies, my Lady. We’ve tracked the flying pest to your quarters, and I would like permission to enter and search your rooms.”

  Four yawned. “Too boring for me.” The screen with her image snapped to black.

  One sighed and took a sip from her cup. “Just do it. You don’t need my permission.”

  Wilson rubbed his front paws nervously. “Um … may I remind my Lady about that time with the space weevil? You said no crew member could enter your rooms after that.”

  Leather squeaked as One shifted in her chair. “For good reason. A platoon of cat soldiers with plasma rifles is not how you catch anything, especially a space weevil. I’m still finding burned bits of cat hair in the carpet.”

  Wilson smiled and flattened his ears. “Indeed, my Lady. The most recent news is that the space weevil hitched a ride to Phobos. He sent me a postcard and is doing quite well. His brother-in-law apparently found him a job in the department of agriculture.”

  One closed her eyes. “Please leave immediately, or you’ll also be taking a dirt nap on Phobos with your new friend the space weevil.”

  Wilson bowed. “Yes, my Lady.”

  A red light flashed at one of the active stations. The beagle sitting behind it yelped and tapped rapidly on the keyboard.

  “My Lady, we have a problem!”

  “Keep talking.”

  “Someone has opened the door for Launch Tube One,” said the beagle. “Alpha Scout has begun engine check and automatic startup procedures!”

  One yawned without bothering to cover her mouth. “Why is this a problem? Probably just going on a scout mission. That’s what scout fighters do.”

  “Yes, my Lady, but there’s no mission scheduled. I double-checked with the flight deck!”

  “Probably a bug in the system,” said One. “Cancel it. Do a command override.”

  The beagle tapped furiously on the keyboard.

  “I can’t! It’s a red-priority request, which means it came from you, my Lady!”

  “That’s not possible,” said One. “I’m sitting right here. Nobody else could have––” She threw off the blanket and stood from her chair. “Yellow Alert! Lock down the ship!”

  Wilson jumped to a nearby console and tapped the keys. He grabbed a nearby microphone.

  “All stations yellow alert! Repeat––all stations general quarters, all stations general quarters!”

  The lights in the command center changed to red and a square panel above the door flashed yellow. A low klaxon like a rapidly pealing fog horn vibrated the entire ship. After a short moment, a stream of cats and dogs galloped through the open hatch and jumped behind consoles. Displays snapped to life around the walls.

  “Show me the guards outside my room,” said One.

  Wilson tapped the keyboard with his paws, and one of the screens switched to a camera feed of the hallway outside One’s quarters. A pair of guards lay crumpled and senseless in front of the open hatch.

  “Idiots!” One stomped a stockinged foot on the metal deck and immediately winced. “Ouch, ouch, ouch. Wilson––make a note to buy me a rug on your next planetfall.”

  “Yes, my Lady.” Wilson grabbed a thin microphone nearby. “Medic to captain’s quarters. Repeat, medic to captain’s quarters. Two crew members unconscious with unknown injuries.”

  “Send a squad of soldiers to the launch tube,” said One. “Do we have a feed? Show me!”

  A fuzzy video appeared in the center display, showing an open hatch and Philip squeezed inside the tiny round cockpit of a cat fighter. The circular hatch slammed shut and the camera vibrated.

  “Tube One is live, Tube One is live!” barked the beagle. “We have an unauthorized launch!”

  The display switched to a camera outside the ship. A tiny black ball curved down to the ocean, the engines glowing orange and leaving a faint trail of vapor across the night sky.

  One sat down slowly in
her command chair, her shoulders slumped and mouth drawn into a tight line.

  “Orders, my Lady?” asked Wilson.

  “Launch Beta Scout,” whispered One. “Shoot him down.”

  “Yes, my Lady.”

  A white Persian cat wearing a headset over his ears and microphone boom in front of his mouth stood from his station and saluted.

  “Receiving a transmission, my Lady! Encrypted channel 192, but we have the key.”

  “Sounds familiar,” murmured One. “Is that the channel the traitor Andy Nakamura was using?”

  “Yes, my Lady.”

  “Let me hear it.”

  Static-filled audio played through a pair of speakers in One’s chair.

  “Okay, starting over. Hey-yo! This is Betsy. One, two, three … Am I talking to anyone? Scarface Amy, are you there? I don’t think we should call her that, Sunnie. Maybe she’s nice and wants to be friends and will give us cake and candy and chocolate. Is this even working? Ow! Stop it!”

  One turned and stared at the communications cat. “What in the name of Crom? Where’s this signal coming from?”

  “From the coast near the human village, my Lady,” said the white cat. “Several kilometers from our current position.”

  Sunflower’s voice came through the speakers.

  “Attention, evil scarface Amy, attention. I should say, copy of Amy, because we all know you’re not the real Amy. She’s the bravest and smartest human in the entire galaxy, and almost as good as a cat. Speaking of that, I know you have the Andy Nakamura on your ship. Surrender her and the real Amy, and you can go free. Refuse and face my wrath. That means anger, if you want to see a very angry cat. My location is thirty-six point six three three four one six by negative one-twenty-one point nine three three seven one six, but you can probably just look for the glowing blue ball near the lighthouse. Hard to miss. Amy Armstrong is my friend, and I’ll be waiting for you there. Commander Sunflower of Red Squadron over and out.”

  “I’ve got the location, my Lady!” said Wilson, and jabbed a black paw at his screen.

  One frowned. “How many inspectors do we have left in the fleet?”