The Girl Who Stole A Planet (Amy Armstrong Book 1)

by Stephen Colegrove

  The tentacle whisked up through the ports in the ceiling, and the white walls in the room deepened to red.

  “Wait! I didn’t mean that! I meant, uh, Procyon!”

  Amy scanned the featureless room for a means of escape. She took off a glove and dashed along the walls, using her bare fingers to feel for gaps or notches in the smooth surface.

  “Five seconds until gamma cleansing.”

  The room shook and tilted wildly, throwing everything into the air. Amy slid to the bottom of the rectangular space and dodged the wood, carpet, and other debris that crashed around her. The air in the room felt warmer and hummed with power.

  “This isn’t funny anymore!”

  Amy leaned against a nearby surface. Blue lines sparkled to life where the bare skin of her palm touched the wall, and formed the outline of a rectangle two foot by one foot. The lines popped and a tiny door swung inside, bringing a gust of air that smelled of sulfur and grease.

  Amy was a thin girl and had no problem diving headfirst through the dark and narrow opening, especially when it seemed she was about to be roasted alive. She reached back into the room and grabbed her backpack just as the small door slammed shut and a crackling roar came from the other side.

  The space she found herself in was cramped and dark. Amy tried to sit up, and banged her head on a low ceiling.

  “Flying forks and fanny packs,” she hissed, rubbing the top of her head.

  She took out the pen light with red cellophane taped over the end. The crimson-colored light reflected off the flat gray walls of a shaft that went on for thirty or forty feet. In the dust Amy saw the paw prints of a cat and long, shiny scratches, as if a heavy weight were being dragged along the metal.

  “That little thief! He’s got my Super Nintendo.”

  Amy squirmed forward on her elbows and knees. The metal walls narrowed drastically after a point, and she was forced to shove the backpack ahead of her and turn sideways, although she couldn’t bend her knees and had to pull herself forward with one arm. The tunnel angled to the left, and after twenty more feet the paw prints led straight to a featureless white wall.

  No locks, keypads, or handles showed anywhere. Remembering what had happened before, Amy pressed her bare palm to the white surface. A neon maze of blue lines spread from her hand, creating a door that slid up. Dim light and a clanking, rumbling sound poured inside.

  Amy squeezed sideways out of the doorway, stopping for a second as the metal button at the front of her Levis caught on the edge. She sucked in her stomach and worked her hips back and forth, at last pushing against the outside wall and yanking her waist free.

  The floor outside was gray and felt slightly sticky and rough at the same time, like tacky sandpaper. A faint aroma of rotten eggs mixed with the clean smell of machine oil and a strange animal musk. The auditory soup of a busy city was stirring somewhere nearby, with a thousand different events and conversations taking place at the same time.

  Amy got to her feet and almost fell down again in shock. If there hadn’t been a metal cable at waist level that’s exactly what would have happened, although she would have tumbled over the edge and fallen five hundred feet.

  “Oh, brother,” she breathed.

  Before her lay an impossible city. It was a mish-mash of objects, materials, and construction styles, as if a thousand cultures and time periods had been thrown together. The stone walls of medieval keep stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the red bricks of American Federalist houses and the peaked roofs and jade tiles of Japanese dwellings. Rickety shacks made from planks of gray wood and covered in tar paper faced Italianate mansions, at least fragments of them. The lack of consistency extended throughout the city, and many of the buildings were a mixture of materials and objects, reinforced by tall silver poles at each corner. The vertical bow of a battleship pointed to the sky, with doors and windows hacked into the gray metal. A treehouse covered the branches of a giant oak, and stood next to the red and yellow fabric of a Mongolian yurt. Fragments of New York brownstones rose several stories, the silver poles at each corner their only obvious support.

  Under a variety of streetlights strolled a menagerie of cats and dogs. Amy searched the distant specks of color as they wandered over dirt lanes, brick alleys, and asphalt thoroughfares, but saw nothing bigger than a terrier. A few of the dogs pulled small wagons piled high with boxes of goods. Amy guessed this was some kind of weird, fancy-pants zoo, but she couldn’t see a single human being. Where were all the visitors?

  A gigantic fan of metal rafters supported a dome over the city, all pointing to a glowing needle of a building at the center of everything. The bright, thread-like tower served as a light source and disappeared into mist at the uppermost heights of the dome. Vast terraces surrounded the perimeter of the city, like balconies around the atrium of the galaxy’s largest Marriott. Each level of terrace was graduated––slightly wider at the lowest floor and as narrow as an Italian balcony at the highest, near the metal supports of the dome.

  Amy counted five terraces between her and the dome. She looked down and fought back another wave of vertigo. Below her feet were another thirty or forty floors and a scattering of cats and dogs trotting along the terraces.

  “Wake up, girl,” Amy whispered. “Just wake up.”

  A flash caught Amy’s eye a dozen levels below. A brown and white Corgi pulled a small wagon loaded down with a golden, rectangular object; the point of Amy’s original mission.

  “Well, I can’t stand around all day, even in a dream.”

  Amy searched the terrace and found another line of paw prints and scrapes. She followed the faint trail along the curving balcony for a hundred feet or so, until it stopped at another of the narrow white doors. The prints of the cat continued for another twenty feet and disappeared into another door. The cat had bypassed at least a dozen doors before stopping at these two.

  Amy sat down with an exasperated sigh. She leaned back against the brushed metal wall and stared at the vast urban conglomeration beyond the terrace. What did a cat want with a Super Nintendo? Why these doors and not the others? They didn’t look any different. And why weren’t the cats and dogs fighting like cats and dogs?

  The door the cat had disappeared into whisked open and the orange tabby emerged. He scraped his back feet against the floor a few times to kick away something imaginary and filthy, then walked to the edge of the terrace all prim and proper, his tail held high. Amy watched as the cat sat on his hind legs and gazed over the city. The orange and yellow fur on his back shook with a giggle, one that turned into a full-blown peal of laughter; a very human and un-catlike sound.

  “What’s so funny?” Amy asked.

  The cat jumped into the air, banged his head on the ceiling, and made an unfortunate somersault that ended with him hanging off the edge of the balcony, scrabbling desperately for a purchase with his front claws.

  Amy jumped forward and pulled the cat to safety by the fur on the back of his neck. The orange tabby spat at her and backed away, ears flat and tail low.

  “Don’t touch me,” he growled. “I don’t like being touched!”

  Amy pouted. “What a crabby kitty. Stop hissing or I’ll smack you with a shoe.”

  The cat shook his head. “Only five seconds and you’re threatening me with violence. I suppose that’s normal for someone like you.”

  “Someone like me? I just saved your life! That’s twelve feet to the next level, twenty-four if you bounced!”

  “You’re the one who scared me!”

  Amy was surprised at how quickly she had become used to talking to a cat.

  “Give me that gold Super Nintendo and we’ll call it even,” she said. “And don’t even think about using that old cat trick of looking cute when you need something.”

  The cat blinked at her slowly with his green eyes.

  “That particular prop is halfway through the city by now. Corgis make for the worst dinner companions and fastest delivery drivers.”

  �
��I want it back.”

  “You can’t have it,” said the cat. His jaw dropped and eyes widened. “Wait a minute! You’re supposed to be dead!”

  “I hope not. I’ve got a date with a game console.”

  The cat sniffed. “I could have sworn you didn’t make it through the remat process. You certainly sprawled across that carpet like a dead human. Nope, definitely dead. I’ve been around the block a few times and you were as dead as a five-toed poona on his wedding night.”

  “I was sleeping. Did that ever cross your mind?”

  The orange tabby licked a paw and gave the fur behind his ears a brisk swipe.

  “Sleeping? Don’t throw your strange technical terms at me. I’m not one of those operators who claim to know everything about humans. I suppose I’ll add that to the list. One question: can you sleep without a head, and all that red goop everywhere? Most of the humans that have come back with me were missing a few parts, and definitely had lots of red goop. Can I also say you’re very noisy creatures?”

  Amy swallowed. “That’s definitely not sleeping.”

  “Human biology is so boring,” said the cat with a yawn. “Must have been why I slept through the class. How did you get out of the remat chamber? Those Service Employees guys are supposed to scan for secondary props and burn out the foreign biomat. Don’t tell me they shut down the unit again.” The cat bared his fangs in a grim smile. “Those union jokers; I remember the last time they went on strike. Nothing got cleaned for weeks. Nick brought back a French wardrobe with some idiot human inside. A team of dogs hauled that heavy thing almost to C Sector before he jumped out. Scared the poop out of everyone, I’ll tell you that for free.”

  “Some tentacle with a blue eye talked to me and tried to cook me alive. I found a door and squeezed outside.”

  The cat gasped and held a paw over his nose. “But how? All portals are surface-coded by job and operator function. You’re just some dumb human who wandered inside. With nothing about you on file, there’s no way the portal should’ve worked! You should be monkey bacon right now!”

  “I’m not lying. Watch this.”

  Amy touched the nearest white rectangle on the wall. Blue lines spread from her bare fingers and the bright door slid up with a swish, revealing a tunnel.

  The orange cat leaned forward, his mouth open. “Impossible! That’s private and for … never mind.”

  “Don’t ask me to explain it. I’m just dreaming in a made-up fantasy world.”

  “There’s something very odd about you,” said the cat. “First the not-being-dead thing, and now this door-opening thing. I need to do some serious thinking, but before that, it’s lunch time. There’s absolutely nothing to eat on Old Earth.”

  “What do you mean, Old Earth? Wait!” Amy pointed to the city beyond the terrace; the vast hodgepodge of castles and temples, cats and dogs, ships and shacks. “Tell me what this place is before you get some kibble.”

  The cat tilted his head and gazed at the city. “That’s Junktown. It’s the most magnificent pile of garbage in the galaxy.”

  “Why were you laughing at it?”

  “I wasn’t laughing AT it. I was laughing BECAUSE of it. Junktown is the most amazing place I’ve ever been. It’s the center of the largest, most impressive ship that will ever roam the stars; a ship commanded by the most intelligent and powerful being to draw breath. If the waveform of highs and lows in galactic history could be tracked, I can say without reservation that this is the highest point.”

  “What’s the lowest point?”

  The cat bared his fangs. “The birth of the inventor of SpaceBook, without a doubt.”

  “This is a spaceship?”

  “I think I said that. Didn’t I say that? I keep forgetting what tiny ears you monkeys have.”

  Amy hopped up and down. “I’ve always wanted to go into space! Show me a window or a porthole or something.”

  “The nearest observation deck is on the other side of Junktown,” said the cat in a sour tone. “I’m not taking time out of my schedule so you can plaster your big nose across a window. It’s all black and stuff, so use your imagination. Do you have one? Seriously, I’m just checking.”

  “But what kind of spaceship is this? What are all these animals doing here? Where are all the people?”

  “Questions, questions, questions,” said the cat. He walked away from Amy, his tail held high. “This is the largest robbery in the history of the universe.”

  Chapter Four

  Amy followed the cat along the terrace and through a three-foot-high door the cat opened with his paw. The walls of the square room brightened with light as the cat stepped inside. It was still too small for Amy’s comfort, and she had to crawl inside and sit slightly sideways with her knees bent.

  “Is this where you eat?”

  “Don’t be silly! This is an elevator.”

  The white doors slid shut and Amy felt her weight lift a bit. The doors became transparent and Amy watched levels of the terrace slide up as the elevator descended. An English bulldog waited at one level with a leather harness strapped to his body and a four-wheeled, red wagon behind him piled high with grinning plastic pumpkins.

  “The largest robbery in the history of the universe,” said Amy. “And you’re stealing Halloween crap?”

  “One cat’s trash is another cat’s treasure. I’ll be honest––some operators aren’t very good at props.”

  “Props?”

  “Property Relocation Operations,” said the cat. “‘Props’ for short. A job comes from the Lady and filters through the chain of command to the operator. We launch, find the prop target, and call for a return. The target gets transported, maybe with a few secondary items, and junkies take the leftovers to Junktown.”

  “Launching and returning? But I didn’t see a spaceship or any kind of rocket.”

  “This isn’t the dark ages! Remember the sphere of energy around you and the unfortunate not-dying part? That was a return, or a ‘remat.’ We launch the same way. It’s called a ‘demat.’ Don’t think I’m telling you because I care. I just don’t like it when people use the wrong words.”

  “People? But you’re not a person.”

  “Please. From the smell of things, I’m more of one than you are.”

  The levels crept upwards past the transparent door of the elevator. A dachshund waited patiently at one level, his green wagon empty.

  “Let me get this straight,” said Amy. “A talking cat teleports down to Earth from this spaceship, finds something to steal, and teleports back with plastic Jack-o-lanterns or a gold Super Nintendo?”

  “Number one: I’m not a talking cat, and two: I’m just following orders. If the Lady wants a gold Super Nintendo, the Lady gets a gold Super Nintendo, even if I have to land in the ocean and get chased by Earth dogs for three days.”

  “Are there any other kind of dogs?”

  “Don’t get me started,” said the cat.

  The levels passed one by one, and Amy wondered if they’d ever reach the bottom.

  “Why haven’t I seen any people around?”

  “The Lady thinks humans are boring, and it’s easier for a cat or dog to sneak around places.”

  “It sounds like a whole lot of effort just to steal a few things.”

  The cat blinked his green eyes at Amy. “There’s the pot calling the kettle black. You wanted to steal that golden blocky thing, too. Unless your name is Frank Yamagashi, the human who lived there. Are you a male or female? I can never tell which is which.”

  “I’m a girl!”

  “Well, here I have a girl thief who is jealous of a much better thief.”

  “You destroyed that bedroom and probably the house! How is that a better thief?”

  “Ah, well,” said the cat. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

  “I should stop eating so much cheese at dinner,” said Amy. “I’ve had strange dreams before, but this takes the cake.”

  “Don’t even joke
about eating cheese. What is this ‘dreams’ you keep mumbling about? Is it a disease? Does it mean you’re dying? That would make everything easier.”

  The transparent door changed back to white and whisked open. Amy crawled out to a wide hallway lined with paintings that ranged from bizarre Cubist work to Dutch masters. A number of cats and dogs were trotting along the hallway, and all stopped and stared as Amy got to her feet.

  She followed the orange cat toward a buzz of conversation and scrape of ceramic tableware. The air smelled like vanilla mixed with fresh rubber. Expecting a cafeteria or restaurant, Amy walked through a doorway and stared at a room full of animals. Cats and dogs lay on cushions scattered around the room, each with a bowl of glowing blue beans nearby. On the far wall were a stack of bowls and a series of silver machines that looked like expensive coffee makers, but with more silver tubes than she remembered.

  The conversations in the room halted completely, and all eyes focused on Amy.

  The orange cat raised his voice. “Don’t worry, it’s just a delivery from my last job. You wouldn’t want an old salt like me to starve to death, would you?”

  “No,” yelled a black-furred terrier. “We want you to hang yourself!”

  The room burst into hoots and raucous laughter.

  “Or jump off the tower,” yelled a black and white tuxedo cat.

  The animals rolled on their cushions and squealed with mirth.

  “Or tell the Lady to get stuffed,” shouted a high-pitched beagle.

  The room turned deadly silent.

  “I didn’t mean that,” said the beagle. “I was going to say … he should get stuffed to death!”

  The other animals looked away in disgust, and picked up the threads of their interrupted conversations. Murmurs and the clink of metal on ceramic filled the air again.

  The orange tabby walked to a stack of bowls on the floor and pushed one below a strange ‘coffee’ machine. He pressed the clean white front of the machine and a stream of glowing beans poured into the bowl.