SpaceBook Awakens (Amy Armstrong 3)

by Stephen Colegrove

  The group stood on the street and watched the red mansion shiver and crack from the loud battle between Sunflower and the giant lizards. Clouds of dust and broken furniture flew from the already-smashed windows as the sauros and the steel machine moved around the ground floor. One of the brick chimneys tumbled down from the fourth floor, a sight which caused Mr. Woodley to kneel down and pray.

  Hans touched the shoulder of his employer. “I’m certain insurance will cover the damages, sir.”

  Woodley shook his head. “No one will believe me,” he whispered.

  Nick buzzed down and landed on Philip’s shoulder. She pointed at the house.

  “That’s Sunflower! I found him.”

  Amy smiled. “Thank you, Nick. You’re the best.”

  “Of course! Anything for you guys.”

  Inside the house, Plastra rode the armored cat like a horse and clawed at the armor on its back. “Return to the Egg, you fur-covered cat monster!”

  Astra watched the combat between Sunflower and the other two sauros from a not-so safe distance of ten meters.

  “Where did a cat tank come from and who the seven suns is he?”

  “I’m your worst nightmare!” yelled Sunflower through the speakers.

  “Awful,” sneered Plastra. “Worst. Line. Ever.”

  A desperate, claw-and-tooth battle between an armored Tau Ceti tank and three adult sauropods is not something you see every day, so it was natural that neither Amy, Three, Philip, or Nick noticed the approaching starship in the night sky.

  No matter what the sweaty hucksters on late-night holovids say or the recruiters in front of the astrogation schools tell you––flying a spaceship is hard. Rocket science hard.

  One was no spring chicken when it came to navigation, and she had more hours in the pilot’s seat than other captains, but she was also a woman with a ferocious, homicidal jealousy simmering beneath the surface.

  Despite Wilson’s terrified warnings, One brought Hare Twist in too hot for a proper landing. Unlike a hoverski or a Centauran snow sled, an interstellar starship shaped like a knobby green space pickle with a length of two hundred and twelve meters has little wiggle room when it comes to landing. A less impatient pilot would have circled the area, cleared the landing zone visually, and engaged the hoverjets for a slow descent. One was not that pilot, and kept the forward turbines at half-speed while engaging the hoverjets at the last second in order to come in low and fast. She smashed through six houses.

  The first was a house of God, technically. The square white steeple of the First Methodist Church of Pacific Grove exploded in splinters from the impact with the huge green bow of the Hare Twist. The roof of Chester Brown’s stately Queen Anne-style mansion was next, scraped off by the curved keel of the ship, which plowed successively through the upper floor of two houses, completely obliterated the next two dwellings, and plowed straight through the center of E.G. Woodley’s iconic, red-painted mansion, most of which was thrown a kilometer into the fields east of Pacific Grove. The remains of the roof and wood beams tumbled into the back garden of Mrs. Phineas Egglestein’s property next door, quite upsetting her cat and putting it off milk for three days.

  Apart from the aforementioned feline, no villagers were harmed in the reckless landing that One carved through the village. Even though it was far past their bedtime, all of the residents of the crushed houses had scrambled out of their houses and run to E.G. Woodley’s mansion to watch the fight between the gigantic metal tiger and the horrific lizards.

  The slap of air from the starships crash landing had knocked the teenagers off their feet, and Three helped Amy and Philip stand up.

  “Great green-eyed goblins!” she yelled. “That woman’s crazy!”

  Amy rubbed a scraped elbow. “You’re telling me?”

  Nick buzzed up to the group and waved her tiny arms. “Sunflower’s in trouble! Help!”

  The teenagers ran after the flying sprite to Mrs. Egglestein’s back garden. The bodies of two sauros lay unmoving, twisted around splintered lumber and broken begonias. Nearby, the armored steel cat lay on its side, covered in bricks and redwood beams and boiling with black, oily smoke. The head and right forepaw jerked weakly and made a grinding sound. A steady, high-pitched beep came from under the pile of rubble.

  Nick landed on the head and banged her fist on the scratched, blackened metal.

  “Sunflower! Say something, you dumb cat!”

  Amy climbed up the pile and pushed at a huge wooden post on top of the armored cat. Philip joined her and helped to roll the heavy beam to the side.

  Three waved at the teenagers from a safe distance. “Hello? We can’t waste any time! One just crashed her ship through a house not ten meters from the two of you—do you know what she’ll do to us?”

  “Sunflower tried to save us,” shouted Amy. “I’m not leaving him!”

  “Bravo,” said Philip, as he bent over and pushed away a pile of bricks. “That’s the Amy I love. By the way, what exactly are we doing? I’m not overjoyed at the thought of being re-captured.”

  “It’s a military vehicle, right? I’m looking for the emergency release!”

  Amy’s fingers brushed across a seam in the neck of the giant armored cat. She used the hem of her nightgown to wipe off a coating of dust around a red-and-white striped circle.

  “Found it!”

  She lifted the protective cover and twisted a small handle inside.

  Philip pulled her back as explosive bolts fired with a loud crack, sending the top half of the steel beast’s head flying off. As the armored cat was lying sideways, the heavy titanium cover flew through the wall of Mrs. Egglestein’s house and landed in her drawing room.

  Sunflower lay limp and unmoving in the pilot’s seat, hanging sideways in his straps and still wearing his helmet.

  “You stupid cat,” hissed Amy. “Wake up!”

  The orange tabby didn’t move, even after Philip unbuckled him from the straps and pulled him out of the cockpit to cradle the cat like a baby. Amy unfastened his helmet and Sunflower twitched in Philip’s arms. He coughed and a trickle of bright blue liquid dripped from his mouth.

  “Never … take me alive,” he mumbled. “Pig-faced … son of a … monkey.”

  “There’s the Sunflower we love,” said Amy. “Good to see nothing’s changed.”

  The ground shook and bricks tumbled down the pile. A giant, two-legged walker thumped out of the darkness and pointed two large, dangerous-looking cannons down at Amy, Philip, and Three. A dozen cats and dogs in combat armor surrounded the teenagers and pointed plasma rifles at them.

  “Don’t move one molecule!” shouted a beagle wearing a helmet and green chest armor. “We’ve got you.”

  “Time to leave?” squeaked Nick.

  “Time for ‘Plan B,’” said Amy, and held up her hands. “How about it, Three?”

  Three reached for Amy’s hair and untied the blonde braids.

  “You should wear a ponytail if you’re going to pretend to be me,” she whispered. “Make sure to walk like a boy and spit when you talk. Also, don’t let anyone see your arms or legs.”

  “Why not?” asked Amy.

  “Because I’ve got tattoos and you don’t!”

  “We’re both covered in white plaster. It’s not going to matter.”

  “Just keep them covered.”

  Three fluffed out Amy’s hair, pulled the blonde strands into a rakish ponytail on the left side of Amy’s head, and then squeezed both arms around Philip’s waist.

  “Steady on, there,” said Philip.

  “She’s pretending to be me,” whispered Amy. “Trust us.”

  Three fluttered her eyelashes and gazed at Philip with big kitten eyes.

  “Pardon me, you handsome, strong man, but could you help a confused little girl who’s down on her luck? How about a kiss?”

  “I don’t sound like that!” hissed Amy.

  More church bells began to peal, adding to the collection ringing through th
e night. A rapid clang like some kind of alarm started up down the hill closer to Lighthouse Avenue, and Amy heard men shouting and horses galloping through the dirt lanes. The mob of villagers along the street grew even larger as everyone in town ran to get a look at the massive green pickle of a starship that had plowed through Mr. Woodley’s house. On the same side of the ship as the crowd, loud, sizzling cracks shot into the night sky like out-of-control fireworks and sent the villagers fleeing into the dark, including Hans, Anna, and E.G. Woodley.

  A middle-aged woman in a gray skirt and jacket walked around the mountain of fresh earth and wood at the bow of the ship, gracefully navigating the broken furniture, lumber, and fallen brickwork in spiky black heels. Her blonde, shoulder-length hair was streaked with white, a color that matched her smoke-colored outfit. A pink scar slashed down the left side of her face from forehead to chin. The fingers of her right hand gleamed silver in the faint light from the street lamps and held a bulbous black pistol.

  The woman stopped in front of the teenagers, and a grim smile spread across her scarred face.

  “Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

  Amy crossed her arms and spit on the ground. “Screw off, I’m not going back! Take these kids if you want, but touch me and there’s going to be a fight.”

  One shook her head at Amy. “There’s no need for such a performance, dear. I know you’re not Three––she has a tiny butterfly inked on the side of her neck.”

  “Blast it,” said Three. “Forgot about that one. Oh, well.”

  One turned the pistol on Three. “‘Oh, well’ is an appropriate description of the past few days. Everyone knows how badly you’ve failed your mission. You were supposed to trick the copy into coming with us, and instead caused one of the worst cock-ups I’ve ever seen! You spent your time making friends and playing on the beach, while I have to crash-land through this stupid human village just to stop both of you from running away. You’ve let me down far too many times, Three. In the past I’ve forgiven you of worse mistakes, but now … your fate will be the same as the others.”

  Three stamped her foot. “What? No! Two and Four won’t stand for this. We had an agreement!”

  One waved the pistol back at the ship. “Take them to the brig. Also, put that flying pest in a jar somewhere.”

  Beside her, the black cat Wilson cleared his throat and bowed from the waist.

  “We no longer have a brig, my Lady. After the punishment cubes were installed, you turned the brig into a sauna.”

  One nodded. “That’s right, I forgot about that. Throw them into the sauna!”

  “No!” squealed Nick, and grabbed her head. “My hair will go flat!”

  “You monster,” whispered Amy.

  One smiled sweetly. “It’s better than the brig. That place was nasty––mold and space weevils everywhere.”

  The cat and dog soldiers prodded Amy, Three, Philip, and Nick over the bricks and remains of Woodley’s house, and around the curving bow of the badly-landed ship to the circular hatch of an airlock.

  “This isn’t the way it’s supposed to happen,” said Amy.

  Three sniffed. “You think?”

  Philip walked behind the two girls and carried the limp Sunflower in his arms like a baby. “This might be the time for me to say something pithy, like ‘keep a stiff upper lip, dear’ or ‘don’t give up the ship.’ Unfortunately, I haven’t a clue what to do. All of our friends are wounded or captured.”

  Sunflower coughed in Philip’s arms. The orange cat opened his eyes a slit.

  “No,” he whispered. “There is another.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  After the transport docked with the Hare Twist, Betsy headed toward the medical bay like the beagle had said, but once he was out of sight of the crew he scampered through the corridors looking for any floor plans or signs of where a prisoner might be kept.

  “Where’s the jail?” he asked the rear end of a German Shepherd that was sticking out from a square ventilation hole in the bulkhead.

  “The what?” asked a hollow voice.

  “The jail?” asked Betsy. “You know, the place with bars on the windows and free holo-TV?”

  The German Shepherd backed up from the ventilation opening and pushed his grease-covered goggles up on his head to stare at Betsy. A battered wrench was strapped to one paw.

  “Are you pulling my leg? Terry put you up to this, didn’t he?” The dog spun around and stared down the corridor. “Terry! I know he’s hiding somewhere. This is one of his jokes.”

  “It’s no joke,” said Betsy, wagging his tail. “One of my friends is in the jail.”

  The German Shepherd blinked. “Did you hit your head or something? I think you mean the punishment cubes.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Don’t ask about the punishment cubes unless you want to end up there.”

  Betsy nodded his furry head. “I do, I do!”

  “Quiet! It’s true; you terriers really do have small brains. Go down the corridor that way, climb the first ramp on your left, and you can’t miss it. You’ll probably hear the screams before that.”

  Betsy trotted away. “Thanks, buddy!”

  “I’m not your buddy and we never had this conversation.”

  Betsy spun around. “What, buddy?”

  “Never mind.”

  The German Shepherd sighed and climbed back inside the ventilation duct.

  Betsy shrugged his furry shoulders and trotted along the cramped corridor in the direction the German Shepherd had pointed.

  Laughter and loud cheers startled the little dog. He poked his head into an open doorway and saw a dozen cats and dogs in a room decorated with balloons and party streamers. The animals wore cone-shaped, red paper hats on their heads and held drinks with the ‘manos’ bracelets around their front paws.

  “Hurrah!”

  A calico cat raised a glass full of green liquid and a goldfish.

  “Here’s to the next fifteen minutes!” she shouted.

  Furry paws came from behind and pushed Betsy into the room.

  “There you are,” said the beagle from the transport.

  “Guess he wasn’t shell-shocked after all,” said the white Persian with the scorched fur. “He found the most important room on the ship.”

  “Hey, buddies,” said Betsy. “What’s going on?”

  The calico cat lowered a paper hat onto Betsy’s head and snapped the rubber band under his chin.

  “It’s a fifteen-minute party,” she said. “Cheers! Wait––someone get this dog a drink!”

  “What’s a fifteen-minute party?”

  “Good gravy! Back to the medical bay with you,” said the white Persian.

  The calico cat giggled. “We’re celebrating not dying, silly! Most crew members who get sent on a planetfall mission only last fifteen minutes, but we made it back!”

  “Oh, no! Do they get killed or something?”

  The cats and dogs in the room burst into laughter.

  “Killed?” asked the calico, wiping tears from her eyes. “Bless your little heart. No, they just run away.”

  The beagle nodded. “The Lady is a ferocious boss. I’d bolt for the hills myself if it weren’t for my student loans. Take my advice––don’t go to astrogation school.”

  “Cool story,” said Betsy. “I gotta visit the jail. Catch you later!”

  The white Persian watched the terrier saunter out of the party room, and shook his head. “Brain damage, mates!”

  Out in the corridor, a pair of cats in grease-stained orange coveralls saw Betsy and blocked his way. One of the cats pointed at the little dog and murmured in the other cat’s ear. Without warning, the entire corridor vibrated and filled with a loud thrum. The lights in the ceiling turned red and the deck tilted down sharply, causing the cats to tumble and slide away, trying and failing to grab the metal floor with their claws.

  Luckily, Betsy was wearing both of his “manos” on his front legs and could snap them out. He grab
bed the edge of a doorframe next to the ramp and hung on tight. As the ship leveled out to a more horizontal angle, the terrier scrambled up the sloping ramp to the next deck.

  He paused in the corridor above as a Yorkshire wearing a communications headset galloped past. The gray dog jumped through a hatch and slammed it shut with a bang.

  “Weird,” murmured Betsy, and looked at the ceiling. “What’s with the red lights and the noise? Sounds like the engines. What if they’re on fire? That would be really bad, so I need to move fast!”

  Following the German Shepherd’s directions, he scampered down the narrow, cable-lined hallway past a pair of strange doors, each decorated with the crudely-painted image of a cat’s head, its tongue sticking out and an “X” over each eye.

  Betsy skidded to a stop and backed up. “Fun One” and “Fun Two” were scrawled over the doors respectively, and a tiny display was mounted to the right of each door at normal-dog height, or waist-height for a human.

  Betsy stood on his hind legs and brushed his paw over the first display. A video feed glowed to life on the screen and showed a Siamese cat standing behind the counter of a fast-food restaurant. He wore a brown apron around his neck and a white cap that was too large over his ears. The cat’s jaw hung slack and his eyes held the dull, unmoving stare of someone who had either taken too many sleeping pills, watched the entirety of “Three’s Company” in one sitting, or watched the entirety of “Three’s Company” in one sitting and needed sleeping pills to numb the pain.

  “Welcome to Pwason King, how may I help you?” droned the cat on the screen. “Our special today is fresh-caught kribich. Would you like milk dipping sauce, poona dipping sauce, or red dipping sauce? Please do not ask what is in the red sauce. I do not know.”

  “That looks like Doctor MacGuffin,” said Betsy. “He’s not dead!”

  He tapped through the controls on the screen, shut down the mental broadcast, and slapped a button. The door swished open and the little terrier poked his head inside the punishment cube. The glassy walls of the tiny room still glowed with bright energy and fuzzy shapes glided under the surface, like the shadows of whales under the sea. The crumpled heap of brown and tan fur that was once the Siamese cat Cynthia MacGuffin lay shivering in a corner with his eyes squeezed shut.