Chitty Chitty Bang Bang Over the Moon

by Frank Cottrell Boyce

  “Oh, no! This must be the thermosphere,” cried Lucy. “It’s going to be incredibly turbulent for the next million feet or so.”

  It was like riding in the barrel of a rocket-propelled washing machine. Jemima grabbed hold of the nearest solid thing she could. It was a door handle. The door flew open and for a second she saw what lay beneath them. It was too frightening to describe. She almost fainted and fell out. Jem grabbed the handle and Jemima and pulled the door shut. Seeing the fear on Jemima’s face, he avoided looking down. He knew how high they were. He just didn’t want to see how high they were.

  “Thank you.” Jemima shuddered.

  Chitty rocked, shook, rolled, then flipped completely upside down.

  Miles below them they saw the great blue disc of Earth.

  Then the disc seemed to flex itself, bend itself, puff itself up. It was no longer a disc. It was a ball. A planet.

  Inky blackness spilled through the sky.

  The blacker the sky became, the bluer and more beautiful the Earth looked.

  Then the blackness sugared itself with stars. Chitty Chitty Bang Bang pulled in her wings, as though she were curling up and settling down in a dear, familiar black velvet chair.

  “No! Chitty!” called Jemima. “Stop her. Her wings are collapsing. We’ll fall!”

  “I don’t think so,” said Lucy. “We’re so high we don’t need wings anymore. We’re in space.”

  “I’ll say one thing for Commander Pott,” said Lucy. “When he decides to make something antigravity, he makes it really, really antigravity. It would normally take a rocket the size of St. Paul’s Cathedral filled with fuel to push something as big as Chitty Chitty Bang Bang out of Earth’s atmosphere.”

  No one said anything. Everyone looked down at the Earth, wishing that it would just stop getting smaller.

  “Are we eventually going to orbit the Earth or are we going to keep on drifting away to the outer edges of the solar system and beyond?”

  “What’s that?” said Jem. Something that looked like a salt shaker had appeared between them and the Pacific Ocean. Except now it was bigger than a salt shaker, more like a dinner plate, no, a mixing bowl, no, the wheel of a car. It was getting bigger all the time. It was coming toward them.

  “That,” said Lucy, “is a rocket the size of St. Paul’s Cathedral filled with fuel.”

  “It’s huge!”

  “It’s coming this way!”

  “It’s heading straight for us!”

  “Dad! Brake!”

  A wall of steel with a giant “XV” on the side of it rose up right in front of them. It kept rising and rising as they plunged toward it. It was as though they were speeding toward a crossroads while a lorry was thundering toward them in the opposite direction. The last thing they had been expecting in space was a traffic accident.

  Then it was gone.

  There was black and sparkling space in front of them again.

  “That was close.” Dad sighed.

  “Look behind!” called Jem.

  The rocket was travelling so fast that it was already back to salt-shaker size. But something had fallen off it. Or it seemed to have broken in half. The bottom half was tumbling through space.

  “It’s a spent fuel tank,” explained Lucy. “They jettison the spent tank and it falls back down to Earth.”

  The fuel tank spun by them. It was strange to see something the size of a factory falling like a piece of litter.

  “What if it lands on top of someone?” asked Jemima.

  “It won’t. It will break up into a billion pea-size pieces as it hits Earth’s atmosphere.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “Where is the rocket going, I wonder,” said Jem.

  “To the moon,” said Jeremy. “It’s a Saturn V, the biggest rocket ever built. It’s part of the Apollo space programme. The Americans are planning to put a man on the moon! Father was very cross about it. He thinks it would be much better if the first person on the moon was British.”

  “It was nearly four hundred feet high,” said Lucy, “and it weighed three thousand tons.”

  “Very odd,” said Jeremy. “A girl knowing so much about rockets.”

  “We did it in history.”

  “History!? When was all this?”

  “Not long after England won — or lost — the World Cup. A Saturn V rocket called Apollo 11 took men to the moon in 1969. The rocket we just saw was Apollo 15, so this must be 1971.”

  “Oh!” said Mum. “I thought we were going back to our own time. How come we’re in the 1970s?”

  “Chronojuster still a bit sticky,” said Dad. “We might not be in the right year, but come on — nice to be in space, eh?”

  “So if the Americans really do land on the moon, what do they do there? Do they do what Father said and build a great big moon base so they can make rockets there in weightless conditions and launch them using far less fuel than you would on Earth and use them to fly to Mars?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What do they do, then? No. Don’t tell me; don’t spoil the surprise.”

  “OK,” said Lucy, thinking how disappointed the Potts would be to discover that the astronauts simply collected some rocks, came home, and never went back again.

  “At least that means it was nice and quiet in space in 1971. Just one Apollo rocket and a few satellites — nothing else to worry about.”

  “Yes,” agreed Dad. “Hang on. What on earth is that?”

  “It’s nothing on Earth,” said Lucy.

  Coming toward them was a huge transparent slightly wobbly globe. Like a massive soap bubble. Floating inside that bubble like a plastic Santa in a snowstorm was a vast ship.

  “I’ve heard of spaceships,” said Jemima, “but I never expected them to have masts. Or funnels. Or propellers. Or a deck. Or a bridge. Or an anchor. Or portholes.”

  It might have been a spaceship, but its cargo was clearly of earthly origin. Strewn about the deck were the Sphinx, Stonehenge, the Taj Mahal, and the Eiffel Tower. Jem and Lucy recognized the ship straightaway.

  “Is it aliens?” asked Jemima.

  “That’s not aliens,” said Lucy. “That’s Tiny Jack.”

  Tiny Jack’s personal yacht — Château Bateau — is so big that when it’s out at sea it’s often mistaken for an island. When it’s tied up in port, passers-by take it for a small town.

  “How did it get into space?” asked Jemima. “Do you think he can see us? Is he watching us?”

  “What’s protecting it? It’s like a giant soap bubble,” said Dad.

  “It is a giant soap bubble,” said Jeremy. “Father was working on a way of making burst-proof bubbles for the Navy. Before he disappeared, that is.”

  “Burst-proof bubbles?” said Dad. “What a great idea! Imagine the fun that Little Harry would have in the bath with bubbles that . . .” He trailed off, remembering that Little Harry’s whereabouts were unknown.

  “He designed them for underwater exploration. A sailor could get inside one and let it sink to the bottom of the ocean. Hundreds of feet below the surface he would still be able to breathe. This was all top secret, of course. Father would never have given it to anyone without a fight.”

  Jeremy and Jemima stared down at Château Bateau, each imagining the terrible fate that must have befallen their father to make him surrender a naval secret.

  “Of course, if it burst when you were at the bottom of the ocean,” said Lucy, “you would be crushed to the size of a small pizza box by the incredible pressure of the sea. Every atom of oxygen would be squeezed out of you so that you’d end up looking like a deflated balloon. And your eyeballs —”

  “Thank you, Lucy,” said Mum. “We get the idea.”

  “If the bubble bursts in space, on the other hand,” said Lucy, “the opposite would happen. Everything that would implode under the incredible pressure of the sea would explode in the vacuum of space. Tiny Jack’s head would pop like popcorn. His fingers —”

&nb
sp; “Lucy. Please.”

  “So all we need to do,” said Dad, “is pop this bubble and Tiny Jack would be gone forever?”

  “Yes,” said Jeremy, “but so would any chance of ever finding our parents.”

  “Ah.”

  “Or our son,” pointed out Mum.

  “But how can we get to him without bursting the bubble? You can’t drive a car through a bubble without bursting it.”

  “You can if the bubble is burst-proof. It will just close up around us as we pass through the membrane.”

  “Wait,” said Dad. “You’re saying you think we should do that? Land on Château Bateau? On purpose?”

  “Of course. It’s time we sorted this Tiny chap out, don’t you think? For all we know, he might be holding our parents prisoner.”

  “Of course,” said Dad. He didn’t say what he was really thinking — that Tiny Jack didn’t seem the type to hold anyone prisoner for very long. He was much more likely to have fed them to his piranhas or his wolves or his snakes or his poisonous spiders.

  “I’ve just figured out how Tiny Jack made those old cars race endlessly round the track,” said Lucy. “Satnav. From up here, he can use satellites to hijack the navigation systems of all the cars. He could turn every big city into a racetrack.”

  “Or a pile-up,” said Mum.

  “We need a plan,” said Jem.

  “Maybe we should wait until nighttime,” suggested Dad.

  “We’re in space. There is no nighttime.”

  “You’ve probably all thought of this already,” said Jemima, “but doesn’t Tiny Jack think we’re dead? He thinks he blew us up at the North Pole. Isn’t it best to go and grab him now before he finds out we’re alive? Then we’d have the element of surprise.”

  “Jemima,” said Jeremy, “you’re absolutely right.”

  “Yes,” said Dad. “I just wish you weren’t.”

  Passing through the skin of a burst-proof bubble is like diving into a deep pool and finding that under the surface it’s dry and you can breathe. Dad retracted the sun dome. The great car dangled high above the ship. They felt a cool breeze on their faces and saw the dazzle of the glitter-ball heavens. On Earth the brightness of the stars is hidden by clouds and air and the glow of our electric lights. If you look at them from space they’re almost unbearably bright. Crowds of stars twinkle and pulse so that space looks like a vast glittery animal, breathing in and out. Very few people have seen such a sight. Those who have have only seen it through the thick glass of a space helmet or through the porthole of a rocket. To see it with a soft breeze in your face, while lounging in the seat of the most beautiful car ever built, well, it is . . . distracting. No one remembered to worry about Tiny Jack until Jemima whispered, “I really think we should land before they spot us.”

  “GA GOOO GA! GA GOOOOO GA!”

  Chitty’s horn was so loud and unexpected that the whole membrane of the burst-proof bubble wobbled. The starlight bopped and shimmied.

  “Good-bye, element of surprise.” Dad sighed as he tried to sneak her in to land between the pillars of Stonehenge.

  “Well, this is a surprise!” A redheaded lady dressed all in red with the reddest fingernails in history stepped from under the biggest of the Stone Age arches. It was Tiny Jack’s nanny. Smiling, she handed Jem a red balloon with the word “Jem” written on it. Then she gave balloons to Jeremy and Jemima with “Jeremy” and “Jemima” written on them. “And for the grown-ups, something a bit more grown-up.” She gave Mum, Dad, and Lucy cocktails stuffed with fruit and sparklers.

  “Yours is nonalcoholic, Lucy.” Nanny smiled. “Fun can be hard to find when you’re too sophisticated for balloons but too young for hard liquor.”

  “We weren’t a complete surprise, then,” said Mum, as the sparklers in her cocktail fizzed the word “Mum” in fiery letters, while Dad’s blazed “Dad” and Lucy’s “Lucy.”

  “I’m a nanny.” Nanny smiled. “I’m sometimes surprised. I’m never unprepared.”

  She held open Chitty Chitty Bang Bang’s door, and they all climbed out. Or bounced out. For a moment, Jem and Jemima had the feeling that the balloons that Nanny had given them were carrying them away into the atmosphere. Then at the same time they each cried out, “We’re almost weightless!” No matter how urgent your mission, your first experience of being almost weightless is a very pleasant surprise. Mum just had to try jumping up and down on the spot. Even Jeremy couldn’t help bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet a little.

  The air was filled with small floating objects — paper cups, paper plates, birdlike balls of scrunched-up wrapping paper. Heavier ones were sort of bouncing along the ground.

  “Welcome to Château Bateau.” Nanny smiled. “So good of you to come on Tiny Jack’s birthday.”

  “His birthday?”

  “Yes. Don’t worry if you’ve forgotten to get him a present. After all, he is the man who literally has everything. He’ll just be delighted that you came to his party. It can be difficult to have a party in space. Do you know why?”

  “Why?” asked Mum suspiciously.

  “Because there’s no atmosphere!” trilled Nanny. She giggled so much at her own joke that she floated three inches into the air. “Well, don’t let’s interrupt the game of hide-and-seek. You’re getting very warm!”

  “We’re not here to play games,” snapped Jeremy.

  “What a pity — after you’ve done so well.” Nanny smiled. “How was the North Pole? Come on, admit it, the North Pole part was funny.”

  “We were nearly killed,” said Jemima. “Someone blew up Big Ben!”

  “No atmosphere!” said Dad. “I get it now. That’s actually quite good.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Tooting. And what about Tiny Jack’s voices — Big Ben to Kent, Big Ben to Kent — doubly hilarious, surely? He did all those voices himself. He’s such a talented little darling.”

  “We don’t care about what voices he can do. We don’t care if we’re getting warmer or colder. We just want him to tell us what he did with our parents.”

  “And with Little Harry,” put in Dad.

  “And perhaps Tiny Jack will tell you what he did with them all . . .” said Nanny, “if you win the game.”

  She turned and walked away, her high heels pinging like bullets hitting the metal deck. It was a funny thing about Nanny. She didn’t seem to be as weightless as the rest of them. It was as if some kind of magnetism kept her stuck to the floor.

  “Right,” said Mum, making a decision. “If you can’t beat them, join them. And then beat them.” Then she shouted, “Tiny Jack! We’re coming, ready or not!”

  Château Bateau has acres of deck and miles of corridors. Parts of its lower levels have never been explored. No one has ever counted its staircases. How would anyone even begin to search something so big?

  “We’ll start at the forward end,” said Jeremy, “and work our way systematically toward the stern.”

  “But what about —” began Jem.

  “Don’t argue, Jem,” said Dad. “Follow Jeremy.”

  Jeremy was trying to walk briskly. This isn’t easy to do in weightless conditions. You tend to drift sideways when you’re trying to go forward. The harder you try, the farther you drift.

  “The word today,” said Dad, “is try skipping instead of walking. It seems to work.”

  “But shouldn’t we —”

  “Jem, don’t dawdle. Skip.”

  They were all skipping now. Being weightless in a floating palace beneath a canopy of stars is undeniably fun. “You know,” said Dad, “if we weren’t desperately searching for our lost loved ones, this would be a great party.”

  Jem had been going to ask whether it was really such a good idea to leave Chitty Chitty Bang Bang all alone when they knew that Tiny Jack was near. After all, Tiny Jack was the world’s greatest car thief. Chitty Chitty Bang Bang was the world’s greatest car. She was also their only means of escape. The others were about to skip into the grove of palm tr
ees that surrounded the Château Bateau outdoor swimming pool. If Jem took one more step, Chitty would be out of his sight. He hurried back to Chitty’s side.

  The outdoor pool at Château Bateau has a thrilling spiral flume and an artificial waterfall that chuckles and gurgles as it spills warm water into the heart-shaped pool. “Goodness,” gasped Jemima. “A space swimming pool!”

  “But why is there no water?” said Mum.

  “Because there’s no gravity,” said Lucy. “It’s all drifted off.” She remembered the afternoons they had spent having fun here before they knew it was the headquarters of a supervillain. “There used to be an inflatable lobster in the deep end with jugs of lemonade on it.”

  “I wonder what happened to it.”

  “Look up.”

  There, rotating in the air above their heads, was a big purple lobster. It seemed to be looking down at them like a ragged bird of prey. Jemima shuddered.

  “Don’t get distracted, Jemima,” warned Jeremy, pushing onward.

  There was a little brightly coloured plastic bird fastened to each tree. Suddenly every bird’s eyes lit up and they all tweeted.

  “What’s that?” gasped Jemima, instinctively grabbing Mum’s hand.

  “Just Nanny’s intercom,” said Lucy.

  There was another warning tweet, and then they heard Nanny saying:

  “Oh, good!” said Dad. “The word today is going to win this game.”

  “Of course, she is evil,” said Lucy, “so she could be lying.”

  Jem leaned against Chitty’s radiator, the way he always did when he was alone with her. He liked to imagine that if he spoke to her radiator, she could hear him. Thanks to the lack of gravity, not to mention her antigravity paint, she was not quite as stuck to the ground as she normally was. Normally if Chitty Chitty Bang Bang needed a push start, you would have to get some elephants to help you. But today when Jem leaned against her she drifted off a bit and then drifted back, nuzzling his shoulder. It was harder than ever to believe that she was not a living thing.

  The Zborowski Lightning twinkled in the starlight. The Lightning . . . thought Jem, there’s an idea . . . Without the power of the Zborowski Lightning, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang was just an unbelievably beautiful big car. It was the Lightning that allowed her to travel in time. Just to be on the safe side, Jem unscrewed the Lightning and hid it in his pocket.