Finally, among the aliens, sat the scientists rescued from Kaperosa. At first, when Romy had shepherded them into the tavern, they had glanced around nervously, then huddled in the corner to talk about boring things like math and science and other stuff that made Romy's head hurt. But once she had started swaying on stage, and once enough booze filled the scientists' bellies, they finally relaxed. Now they too drank deeply, sang, and pounded their fists on the tabletops with the beat.
"Dance with me, Piston!" Romy said, reaching down from the stage toward him.
The gruffle glared up at her, clutching a mug of ale. Foam coated his beard. "Get off that stage, Romy! You're embarrassing yourself."
She shook her head, casting sparks off her hair of flame. She gave a little pirouette, tripped on her tail, and fell. With a quick flap of her wings, she was up and dancing again, and the crowd cheered.
"Dance with me, Prince of Egypt!" She reached down and grabbed Piston's beard. "Come on. They want to see a dancing gruffle."
Piston roared. "A dancing gruffle? I'm not a performing monkey."
"A monkey!" Romy's eyes widened. "Do you think I can be a monkey? Are there any aliens here with monkey heads? Can they turn me into one?" She looked around the tavern. "Does anyone know how to turn me into a monkey?"
She saw people with the heads of hawks, snakes, hippos, crocodiles, and jackals, but the only monkey she saw was a capuchin on a leash. Abandoning her dream for now, Romy kept dancing, hips swaying to the beat, the fire crackling on her head. Somebody handed her an ale, and she drank deeply. She had lost count of how much she had drunk today. More than she could count—which wasn't saying much, granted—but until she passed out, it wasn't enough.
She was drinking another mug, and her dancing was becoming more erratic, when the shrieks rose from outside.
Romy frowned and blinked.
"Quiet!" she shouted at the windows. "Romy the Desert Queen is dancing."
Yet the shrieking continued from outside, so loud it drowned even the music inside the Golden Scarab tavern. Humans and aliens turned toward the windows. Romy tried to peer outside, but with the haze of incense that filled the tavern, she could see nothing but smudges. The whole damn tavern was spinning too, which wasn't helping. The sound grew louder outside, accompanied by the roar of engines, then by the screams of aliens.
"Romy, those are starship engines!" Piston shouted. He hopped onto the stage and grabbed her arm.
"Oh hai, Piston!" She patted his head. "Come to dance with me at last?"
The gruffle might have only reached Romy's shoulders, but he was wider and stronger, and he yanked her right off the stage.
"Hey!" she cried.
Both humans and aliens were staring out the windows and crying out in fear. Through the dusty panes of glass, Romy saw swaying palm trees and fleeing people.
As Piston dragged her across the tavern, Romy managed to grab a mug of ale from a table and guzzle it down. Then they burst outside into the blinding sunlight.
Romy blinked. "My eyes hurt."
Piston gasped. "By the gods of rock and metal! Shade ships!"
Squinting, Romy stared up at the sky. Past the tips of obelisks, the soaring columns of temples, and a sandstone sphinx, she saw them. Tesseracts. The ships of the enemy. They soared down from the sky, the sun at their backs, engines shrieking. Palm trees and reeds bent along the river, and the boats swayed.
"Ghosts," Romy whispered.
As she stood on the hot cobblestones, the tesseracts swooped toward the city and blasted out dark fire. The ghostly flames washed over a temple. Statues of men with hawk heads collapsed. Columns cracked. The roof caved in. Priests fled, only for ghosts to leap from the tesseracts and tear them apart. More screams sounded behind Romy, and she spun around to see a tesseract blast dark fire against an obelisk. The pillar cracked and slammed down, crashing into homes.
Aliens ran down the streets, crying out in fear. The scientists fled. Palm trees burned, and more tesseracts kept appearing in the sky, roaring down their ghostly fire.
"To the Dragon Huntress!" Piston shouted. "Come on, Romy, we'll fly her together."
Romy nodded. "We'll take Fred."
She ran toward the camel who was tethered outside the tavern. His true name was long and complicated and made her tongue hurt, so she had called him Fred. He stood laden with the essentials Romy had purchased in the market that morning: silken scarves lined with tassels, a parrot in a golden cage, a few jeweled daggers, magical potions, a monkey's paw, and three sacks full of chickpeas. It was a wonder Fred could still stand.
"Hurry, Fred, take us home." She beat her wings, soared, and landed on the saddle.
The camel groaned. "You're the last straw, Romy."
"No I'm not. That'll be Piston." She reached down, grabbed the gruffle, and yanked him up.
Grumbling all the while, Piston managed to settle into the saddle behind Romy. "Gruffles weren't meant to ride camels, damn it."
Fred moaned. "And we camels weren't meant to carry gruffles. Or demons. Or half the market of Athemes."
"Hurry, Fred!" Romy said. "Gallop! Gallop like the wind!"
Wobbling, the camel raced through the city, hooves thumping against the cobblestones. The city denizens ran alongside, wailing in fear. The tesseracts still flew above, and ghosts swarmed everywhere, claws stretching out to rip at flesh.
Leaving the tavern behind, they raced through the city market. Stalls lined the roadsides, selling everything from spices to weapons to exotic pets. A cart overturned, spilling dates and figs. Ahead, a wagon bearing silken scarfs caught flame. A ghost swarmed through a shop, shattering olivewood sculptures and vials of potions. Rugs fell and tangled around legs, sending shoppers falling to the ground.
One ghost leaped from a rooftop, sailing down toward Romy, a smoky spirit only half in this world. Romy thrust her pitchfork, impaling it. The creature shattered into a thousand black strands that fell like burnt scraps of paper. A second ghost leaped from an alleyway, and Piston swung his hammer, cleaving its head. Beneath them, Fred kept running.
"Time to ditch the dead weight!" Piston said.
Romy whined. "But I like the stuff I bought."
Piston grumbled. "I mean you—fly above us!"
"But—"
"Now!"
Romy moaned. She hated flying with her own wings. Too much ale and honeyed dates meant even more weight than usual to lift. But she obeyed, flapping her wings and rising from the saddle. Fred ran beneath her, still bearing Piston, and to Romy's chagrin, the gruffle was now tossing the sacks of chickpeas off the saddle.
She was going to object when another ghost flew toward her. Romy wailed and thrust her pitchfork. More shades raced through the alleyway, overturning carts. Sacks of spices spilled, filling the air with the aroma of cumin and cardamom. Statues of gods fell and shattered. Jugs, plates, and vases of tin, porcelain, and precious metals rolled across the cobblestones. Fred kept running, pushing through the sea of shades, as Piston swung his hammer.
Finally they burst out from the market. They raced across a boulevard. To their right, tesseracts fired upon a towering sandstone temple. Statues cracked and fell. To their left, ghosts swarmed a massive sphinx the size of a mountain, chipping at the stone. The nose crashed down, burying a fortune-teller's stall. Romy's wings ached, but she forced herself to keep flapping them. She pressed the button on her pitchfork, blasting out fire at the shades.
The damn things were everywhere. One's claws ripped across her leg, shedding blood. She screamed and lashed her own claws. Another beast landed on her back, and its fangs dug into her shoulder. She wailed, shook it off, and bit with her own fangs.
"You might be ghosts, but I'm a demon. And everybody knows that demons outrank ghosts."
Her hair crackled, her pitchfork shot out flame, and blood filled her mouth. She flew onward, tearing through the enemy.
I'm done being afraid, Romy thought. I used to fear you, to flee from you, but I've got a belly f
ull of beer and a pitchfork full of fire.
A battle raged below. Platoons of tawerets charged down the streets, hippo jaws opened wide. They blasted green electricity from their jeweled spears, knocking shades back. A thousand anubis warriors—women with jackal heads—yipped and charged in chariots. They fired arrows tipped with blue lightning, and they swung golden sabers. Men with hawk heads leaped off temples, glided over the streets on wings of silk and wood, and dropped balls of clay. The missiles exploded on impact, tearing shades apart.
Yet despite their efforts, the ghosts would not stop swarming. The corpses of natives lay strewn across the roads. More columns cracked. Ships sank in the river and palm trees burned. The tesseract ships flew above, unopposed.
Fred kept running below, and Romy kept flying above, and finally they burst out of the city into the open desert. They raced across the sand toward the pyramids. Shades were flying here too, climbing the pyramid slopes, battling the taweret guardians. Between the towering structures rested three Dragon Huntresses.
Romy blinked, rubbed her eyes, and brought the world into focus until only one ship stood before her. Damn ale!
Piston leaped off the saddle and bounded into the airlock. Romy tried to fly in after him, but somehow she managed to splatter herself against the hull. Piston reached out, grabbed her wing, and yanked her into the ship.
"I'll kick-start the engines!" the gruffle said, leaping down into the engine room. "Go fly this thing."
Romy saluted. "Aye aye, sir!"
She raced down the hall, only to slam into another wall. She moaned and shook her head, seeing stars. She kept running and stumbled upstairs on hands and knees. Finally she crawled onto the bridge. The whole chamber swayed around her.
I'm never drinking again.
She dragged herself forward, crawled into a chair, and grabbed the controls. The engines roared below.
"Up!" Romy said, tugging joystick and throttle.
The Dragon Huntress lurched backward.
Romy groaned and shoved the joystick forward. The ship drove through the sand, digging a rut.
"Damn it, you clod!" Piston's voice rose through the communicator. "Up! Fly up!"
Romy beat her wings and flew toward the ceiling.
Oh wait, he means the ship.
She flew back into the seat and grabbed the controls again. Damn it, she should know this! She had flown the Dragon Huntress before. But back then, Twig had guided her hands, and she hadn't been full of ale. Romy cringed. Through the windshield, she could see tesseracts flying near. She yanked the controls madly and hit buttons at random. Finally the ship roared skyward, blasting smoke.
A tesseract flew toward her. Black fire roared out and slammed into the Dragon Huntress. The ship spun, sputtering smoke. It took all of Romy's concentration to level their flight—and to hold her bladder.
"The red button," Romy muttered, remembering. She hit it. Plasma roared out of the Dragon Huntress and crashed into a tesseract. The ghostly ship tore apart, raining down metal cubes that thumped into the sand.
"I think I got the hang of this!" Romy said.
She flew toward the city, determined to blast the enemy apart.
Countless tesseracts—with her spinning head, it was hard to see how many—seemed to notice her. The impossible ships shrieked like steam, charged toward her, and fired their guns.
Roaring out fire, the Dragon Huntress crashed into their ranks.
CHAPTER NINETEEN:
THE OLD GUARD
"And don't you think, Riff, that in season twelve, episode four, scene three, that when the Raelian Spacehawk activated its antimatter cannon that Captain Carter should have responded with a classic B-cluster maneuver?" Crawling through the tunnel, Dee snorted. "I mean, it's textbook Defensive Flying 101, and in season four we clearly see it performed in the background during the Jarasu battle."
Riff crawled ahead of the rumpled prisoner. "No, it suits Carter. He was always reckless. Never one to do things by the book. That's why Pascal was a superior captain to the Lodestar."
"Gods! Put me back in my cell, man!" Dee tugged his hair. "I refuse to be rescued by a Captain Pascal fan."
Behind them, Steel groaned. "What are you two talking about? What ancient battles? I have studied all great space battles and—"
"Space Galaxy," Riff said. "A television show."
"A religion!" Dee said. "Saying that Space Galaxy is just a show is like saying that It Came from the Sea! is just a movie. In any case, Riff old boy, you are clearly delusional. I will remind you that in the appendixes to Space Galaxy IV—and I refer to the original movie series, not the dreadful prequels—Captain Carter is seen entering the Academy during the tenure of Professor Halivian, where one would presume that—"
"Enough!" Lenora said, crawling behind them. "Boys, if you don't shut up about your stories, I'm going to bang your heads together."
They closed their mouths and crawled onward in silence. The tunnel was narrow and rough—Dee had carved it with his spoon—but it soon opened up into a smooth shaft. This new tunnel was constructed of polished sandstone bricks engraved with hieroglyphs. It too was narrow and dark, but tall enough to let them stand and walk.
"Where are we?" Riff said.
"In the heart of the pyramid," Dee said. "In the holy passageways. See, the tawerets—those surly fellows with the hippo heads—worship the Knights of Sol as gods. When the knights asked them to build a prison, they used the same design as their other pyramids, tombs to their kings."
Riff passed his hands over the hieroglyphs lining the tunnel. "And these tunnels are part of every pyramid?"
Dee nodded. "Normally a pharaoh is buried within each pyramid—right about where I was buried. These inner tunnels are constructed to let the pharaoh's spirit rise from his body and fly off to the sky." Dee chuckled. "My father sealed off my cell. But I knew that if I dug through the wall, I'd find these passageways. Now all we have to do is crawl onward, pass the booby traps and guardians, and reach freedom."
"Booby traps?" Riff gulped. "Guardians?"
"Of course." Dee nodded emphatically. "You don't think the architects would dig a tunnel right into the holy of holies but leave it undefended? Still . . . an easier escape than the main passageway the guards took you through. Should be a cakewalk. You did bring your book of ancient incantations, right? To ward off the curses?"
Riff groaned. "It's in my other pants." He looked over his shoulder. "Steel, we might have trouble ahead."
The knight glanced behind him. "We might have trouble behind us too." Footfalls sounded in the distance. "I don't think the television set stopped the guards for long, not even with your Galaxy Seed show on."
"Space Galaxy!" Dee said. "You're talking about a classic, sir, about—"
"Enough!" Lenora said. She pointed ahead. "Let's move, fast! Run!"
They raced along the tunnel. It began to slope upward, and Riff imagined the spirit of an old pharaoh traveling here toward his final resting place in the sky. He just hoped his own final resting place wasn't here in the darkness. The only light came from Steel's sword and Lenora's flashlight. All the while, the sounds of pursuit rose behind them: thumping boots, clanking armor, roaring hippopotamuses, yipping jackals, and hissing snakes.
The tunnel bent at mad angles, rising, falling, zigzagging. Hope was rising in Riff that the tunnel was deserted when he saw the jagged metal pieces ahead. He skidded to a halt. The others crashed into him.
"What is it?" Giga whispered, leaning around him. She shuddered. "Was it once . . . another android?"
"I don't know," Riff said.
Light kindled in Giga's eyes, casting two beams like flashlights. The light revealed a chamber ahead, its floor strewn with rusty old metal parts: gears, springs, blades, bolts, and countless other pieces. Cobwebs and dust covered them, and frescos of ancient machines covered the walls. Tattered ropes lay on the floor. Beyond the debris, a dark doorway led into another tunnel.
"The booby traps," Dee wh
ispered.
Riff breathed out a sigh of relief. "Looks like we're not the first to have escaped through here. Whoever previously walked here, they smashed whatever traps had once filled the chamber." He squinted but couldn't recognize what the machine had been; too much dust and cobwebs covered the parts. "Whatever this trap was, it was shattered long ago. Let's keep going."
With the sounds of pursuit close behind, the companions stepped into the chamber.
Riff led the way, gun raised. Giga walked a step behind, katana drawn. The Rosetta siblings entered next, while Steel brought up the rear. At the back of the chamber, Riff could see another tunnel. They tiptoed over the debris on the floor, scattering cobwebs, leaving footprints in the dust.
"Captain," Giga whispered, and her voice shook. "I think these things were androids. I . . ." She tilted her head. "But I don't see circuits. Only . . ."
Her foot brushed against a gear. It was only a tap, but the rusted bronze piece clattered across the floor, raising a ruckus. It tore through cobwebs, scattered a host of screws, knocked over a spring, and finally thumped down.
The companions froze.
The chamber began to rattle. Bolts and sprockets and gears vibrated and bounced on the floor. Dust flew. The cobwebs tore. Metal rods rolled.
"Earthquake?" Steel said.
Riff shook his head. "The chamber isn't moving. Just the pieces."
Steel glanced behind him. "Guards getting closer. Come on!"
They all began to run again, heading across the chamber. Before they could reach the opposite tunnel, however, the pieces strewn across the floor leaped into the air.
The companions froze and gasped.
Before them, metal rods, wheels, and plates snapped together. Screws turned. Bolts slammed into place. Springs coiled up and gears began to turn, raining dust. Limbs of metal spread out, tipped with chipped blades. Crystal eyes, set into bronze skulls, blazed with light. Three automatons, taller than men, loomed before the companions, blocking the exit. Gears spun behind metal ribs, ticking, and springs moved along their arms. The creatures unhooked rusted jaws made of bear traps, and their howls echoed in the chamber.
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