Intergalactic Terrorist (New Dimension Book 1)

by J. F. Monahan

  “Then it’s a good job we don’t need to stay on this planet,” Giblet said looking at a scanning device attached to his wrist. “It seems the dragon has left Baggus’Regious.”

  On hearing those words, Greebol pulled up sharp, thrusting the electrical upwards, through the planet’s atmosphere, giant blasts from the Elf ship narrowly missing them or skimming off the surface.

  With an almighty ear bursting pop! the King George burst through the atmosphere and out into space, escaping from the might of the Elfin ship, away from the fat planet and out into the distance.

  Chapter 44

  Superintendent Stort watched in annoyance, although in no way showing he was annoyed, as Greebol’s electrical disappeared from view. His men lay in agony by his side, rolling on the ground clutching bruised ribs, bleeding noses and the occasional leaking gut. The Dwarf had promised to kill Stort, which of course had not happened. Many had tried to kill him and all had failed. Stort was not an easy man to get rid of. The Dwarf had done a good job on his men though.

  A loud, deep boom rattled across the city as the Elves large silver ship slowly began to turn. It powered its thrusters, far too close to the ground, and took off away from the planet, burning two schools, a park and a brothel in the process.

  One final act of damnation from a number of strange events, one of the Elves ships thrusters backfired, sending a tiny spark down towards an impressive looking building in the centre of the city. It flew through the open window and hit one of the silk curtains. For a moment or two, the little spark hung there, swinging back and forth, before it decided, with a small sigh, to burn down the entire building.

  Stort slapped his hand over his eyes and waited for the inevitable to happen.

  Several moments later, the Governor stomped over to him coughing wildly, his face covered in soot.

  “You let the terrorists get away?” he spluttered.

  “So it would seem,” Stort responded, lighting a liquorish cigar.

  “I will see you are fired for this despicable act!”

  “Very good sir.”

  “They burned down my house Stort!” the Governor screamed. “My overly large, excessively expensive, ridiculously impressive house!”

  “I’ll see it gets rebuilt as soon as the terrorists are caught.”

  The Gumthar stomped his feet. “Not good enough! I want my house rebuilt now! This very night!”

  “But the terrorists sir?”

  “I am taking you off the job Stort,” he said sadistically. “I am taking this one to the Overseer himself!” And with that he strode away.

  Stort was worried, but in no way showed that he was. The Overseer? Getting the Overseer involved in anything was dangerous business. Stort almost felt sorry for Greebol and his terrorist friends. Almost.

  They were in real trouble now!

  Chapter 45

  The head of some wild beast lay lopsided on the soft ground, its tongue rolled out of its mouth, its bloodshot eyes turned upwards. There was no body attached to this head. It looked peaceful in a horribly morbid way. It probably didn’t die peacefully but it seemed at ease now. The man staring at this bodiless beast was also at peace. In fact it was the first time in what seemed like forever that he was.

  Charlie Pinwright felt happy here.

  It was a strange place to feel happy. Most would be screaming or crying or both. When he had first opened his eyes he had absolutely no idea where he was. He sat in a large, damp cavernous space. It was dark. Very dark. He could only just make out the walls, which were pink and moist. The floor was wet, soft to the touch and sticky. Large white curved pillars ran along the walls and the floor was scattered with bones, rotting flesh and thick blobs of off smelling gunge. Every now and then the whole area would shake and loud belching noises would erupt from the dark chasm ahead.

  If this was heaven it was a major let-down.

  Then slowly, as if sand was passing through an egg timer, he began to realise just where he was. He was like Jonah and the whale. Or Pinocchio for that matter, but obviously not made of wood.

  Charlie Pinwright was sitting inside the belly of the dragon!

  And he was not alone. An’ishia sat nearby, taking deep breaths with her pretty eyes closed. Vegora Vrall was crouched by one of the large pillars (which Charlie now realised to be bones) throwing a small white ball against the side over and over again. Charlie soon realised that it was not a ball he threw but some sort of skull. He shuddered. Professor Amirous was in here also, awake now and studying the surrounding area. He had mostly ignored them since their arrival. It was not that he was being ignorant, just in ‘scientist’ mode, too busy studying for small talk.

  Charlie stood and tripped on a pile of bones below him. From the rusty chain mail the deceased wore, it was clear that this used to be a Dwarf. Charlie wondered how he had died. It seemed as though his flesh had been boiled from his bones.

  Charlie stretched. He was relaxed. A strange place to be relaxed but no stranger than the rest of his current life. Perhaps time for a little sleep. He chose a spot next to what looked to be a large rib and settled down on the hide of a dead woolly looking beast that, with your eyes closed could almost pass for a nice comfy rug. His eyes began to close. Sleep. Proper sleep.

  “What do you suggest?” An’ishia’s voice broke his slumber and Charlie popped open his eyes. If it had been anybody else he would have screamed at them. He smiled.

  “Take that daft grin off your face,” she snapped and sat down next to him, rather closer than Charlie felt comfortable with. “We are in a dire situation here pink skin. We need to find a way out.”

  “Do we?” Charlie responded, his voice squeakier than it ought to have been.

  “We can’t live the rest of our lives inside a dragon stupid,” An’ishia growled.

  Right now Charlie would be quite happy to set up home here. He could imagine his life… house made of bones… An’ishia could be his wife… they could have a family together…

  “You're going to have to do something about this,” she said, startling Charlie from his happy fantasy.

  “What could I do?” he replied.

  “I don’t know. You are a terrorist after all. You should be able to come up with something.

  Charlie sighed. “I’m not actually a terrorist,” he admitted. “The media blew that all out of proportion. Everything that I may or may not have done was completely by mistake. I’m a nobody. I’m a nothing. Just a stupid pink skinned Human way out of his league.” He lowered his head ashamed.

  To Charlie’s surprise, An’ishia slipped one of her delicate green hands into his. She smiled at him. Charlie’s heart bloomed. Even here in the depths of a mystical beast’s stomach, the lovely May’orn managed to be the most beautiful woman in creation. She was perfection from the hair on the top of her head, all the way down to the boots covering her feet.

  It completely baffled Charlie how she remained spotlessly clean yet he was covered from head to toe in Dragon's innards.

  “I have to admit you didn’t really seem the type,” An’ishia said sweetly. “But don’t put yourself down about it. Not being a terrorist probably looks much better on your C.V. than actually being one.”

  Charlie smiled. “Marry me,” he blurted.

  “Sorry?”

  Charlie fumbled. “I said… erm… oh sod it! I don’t know the things I say anymore!”

  “Multiple Dimensions have collided Charlie. I don’t think anyone really knows what to say anymore. Now come on… think of a way to get us out of this. I really don’t want to have to raise my child in here.”

  Charlie nodded his head slowly. He did not understand why she was being so nice to him. It was confusing but he liked it. It made his heart flutter.

  The dragon’s stomach bubbled, forcing the beast to belch. Now, for an average person, the smell a burp gives off can only be described as revolting. A Dragon's burp, who’s mouth is about the size of a double decker bus, can only be described as absolut
ely, disgustingly revolting. However, being inside the belly of a dragon when it burped could only be described as death via smell that made you physically want to tear off your nose and pour cement in the resulting hole.

  Charlie agreed it was time to go.

  He picked up a large, spiked bone from one of the dragon's dead meals and patted it in his hand. “I suppose if Vrall could use this to pierce the side of the dragon we could all climb out and -”

  “Not a wise plan. It’s not your fault of course, you would have no way of knowing as you are not an expert like me but please feel free if you wish to decompress us all,” Professor Amirous butted in unexpectedly.

  “What do you mean?” snarled An’ishia, clearly irked by the scientist.

  “I mean,” he continued, not looking at either her or Charlie, “that this dragon is in flight. Through space I should add. And at light speed. From the design of the interior of this creature it is likely that it cannot fly at such speeds in gravity but in the vacuum of space it must be able to -”

  “Ahh I Can Hold My Breath!” shouted Vrall as he grabbed the bone and reached up, ready to thrust it into the side of the dragon.

  “Doubtful,” said Amirous. “Besides… it is a little more complicated than that. One can only hold one’s breath for so long. Plus there are the temperature factors to consider. It is almost zero Kelvins out there. You would freeze instantly. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” It wasn’t that the Lampan meant to be offensive. He just knew that he knew more than other people. And he was right.

  “Oh well,” Charlie said cheerily. “As long as we can stand these pungent smells, and let’s face it, we all smelt worse on Baggus’Regious, I guess we will just have to wait until the dragon lands on another world.”

  “Alas, once again I am the bearer of bad news,” put in the professor. “From the hydrochloric acidic residue covering this entire area, I would say we are near to this creature’s small intestine. It would appear that the basics of this stomach are slightly different to ours. From the small glands we can see on the surface, it seems that the digestive enzymes rise up through them, basically flooding this entire area thus breaking down any food substances within.”

  “So in other words we’re screwed?” An’ishia snapped.

  Amirous nodded his wrinkled blue head. “In other words… yes.”

  Silence descended in the area. Glum was the general sentiment. Vrall threw the skull once again but it hit a rib and cracked in two. A split skull. That was the way everyone’s heads felt. Splitting.

  Professor Amirous approached An’ishia excitedly, rubbing his hands together.

  “Princess?” he said as he drew closer. An’ishia glared at him. “I hear you are pregnant,” he continued, “and I was just wondering… could I possibly have a feel?”

  The beautiful May’orn was shocked. This was the last thing she had expected him to say. Most people who knew tended to give her a dirty look and ignore the subject.

  “Well…” she began but did not have time to finish her sentence as Amirous had already lifted up her top and was rubbing his blue hands on her green stomach.

  “Fascinating,” he mumbled. “Amazing. Fantastic!”

  “I don’t see what’s so great about it,” she grumbled.

  “You don’t?” asked the professor in shock and for the first time looking into her eyes. “This is an amazing thing! There is life growing inside you! Of all the remarkable things in the galaxy this, one of the most simple, has to be the most astounding.”

  “You try finding out you have something growing inside you then have to inform your non-understanding parents and then tell me how astounding you think it is.”

  Amirous frowned, but not from what An’ishia had said. He pressed her stomach harder and in various areas.

  “What is it?” she asked. “Tell me you’ve discovered it isn’t a baby after all and is just a bit of trapped wind.”

  “Who is the father?” he asked, concern deeply growing.

  The princess blushed. “Not sure,” she began. “If I can explain then -”

  “No need,” the professor interrupted. “I have no desire to hear of your permiscuousness. Just answer me this… what species was he?”

  An’ishia was stumped. Wasn’t it obvious? “May’orn of course!”

  “Erm… I don’t think so.”

  An’ishia was stumped again. “Of course he was! To get pregnant to any other species then I’d have to had…” and she whispered it, “sex.”

  “Yes,” said the professor. “That is generally the case.”

  “Everyone knows that May’orns do not take part in such filthy activities. We are far too respectable for that. What we do is much more graceful… and less sweaty so I am told.”

  “I am sorry Princess but you are wrong. From what I can tell from feeling the variations in your womb through your abdomen… this baby is only half May’orn. The other half is definitely not.”

  An’ishia was getting angry. “Who are you to tell me who the father of my child is? I think I would remember if I had ever had… sex… with anything. I can assure you my garden remains untouched by any man!”

  Professor Amirous sighed. He put a hand on the Princesses shoulder. “I am sorry your Highness but you are mistaken. I don’t know how it has happened but that child is only half May’orn.”

  She looked at the Lampan, still in denial and asked, “Then what species do you think the other half is?”

  And he told her.

  Chapter 46

  A bounty hunter, a champion and a general scumbag stared out at space through the small, round porthole. Space stared back but didn't really seem as interested in them and so began to doze off back to its peaceful slumber. The only trouble is, as space had discovered of late, is that its peaceful slumber wasn't all that peaceful. It was confused. Stars, planets, nebulas... they were all in the wrong place or not there at all!

  Different chunks of space from various dimensions had leaked into one another, becoming one new entity, like a drop of water entering an ocean. It was a troubling time for space but, as space was a resilient old devil, it decided to try and ignore these new events and carry on life as normal.

  It was the things that lived within space that were feeling the effects.

  And they really were.

  Greebol of course already had an understanding of what was occurring. After all, himself, Charlie Pinwright, Princess An'ishia, Vegora Vrall and Professor Amirous were the only beings in existence to have witnessed the collision of the dimensions from an outsider’s point of view. It was just unfortunate that they had soon found themselves to be insiders.

  Giblet knew what was happening from the Wizard, Fungust. However he didn't fully understand it and was only now beginning to realise the scale of what had happened.

  Wextoal didn't have a clue and it seemed to be staying that way.

  "My eyes see new stars... new planets," mumbled the Dwarf, "yet for some reason I feel like I have known them my entire life."

  "Yes it does do that to you," said Greebol, thinking of himself, in present company, an expert on the matter. "It seems that those of you that were trapped within that golden glow... the cause for the dimensions collision... have been changed just like space itself."

  "Well it better change back soon," said Giblet, "for I am wary of such change." He looked at the controls on the electrical. Although they were different to the controls on his space faring vessel, he seemed to understand what they did. Yet at the same time, at the back of his mind, he began to believe that all this technology had no real place where he came from. As if it were thousands of years ahead of his time.

  Wextoal snorted and lay back, resting against one of the walls. He picked his nose. He didn't care what happened to the universe. His mind was half gone anyway.

  Greebol sat down at his work desk and, after finding it during a thorough search in Wextoal’s large pockets, began to repair the damaged TITS remote control. Not the greates
t of electricians, Greebol used sticky tape, superglue, plasters and a chewed up blob of bubblegum. Still, it seemed to be working.

  Giblet checked the homing beacon. The dragon was heading towards a small planet that appeared to be booming with life. The Dwarf hoped the beast would take shelter there. They had been following it now for over a day and he grew tired of his travelling companions. These men had no honour, no sense of pride, no guts about them. He wanted to get to the dragon and have done with them.

  Greebol wished for the same thing. The Dwarf was far too grumpy for his liking. And a little swing-happy with that axe of his. The sooner he got to the treasure in that dragon's belly the better.

  Wextoal coughed up a hairball.

  Chapter 47

  Intelligeous Prime was a tropical, lush green world with great jungles and rivers that stretched across most of the planet. Large blue oceans covered the remainder and at the top and bottom of the globe sat two large ice covered islands with snow topped mountains and giant ice barriers. It was a picturesque world. A paradise.

  Into this great land flew the dragon, billowing through the fluffy clouds and descending down into one of the large jungles. It crashed through the trees with as much grace as it could muster, which was none at all. The tress crumpled beneath it and at least five or six species living there suddenly found themselves extinct.

  There was a large waterhole before it, which the dragon happily began to drink from. Flying was thirsty work. All that flapping. A number of antelope and a beaver scurried away into the undergrowth, fearing this new creature. The dragon gave off the air of a predator. And a great predator it was. A hungry predator at that. It was ready for its dinner.

  Somewhere close by a rifle was loaded. Its owner raised it over his shoulder and stared through the sight. The tiny cross fixed between the dragon's eyes. He was a hunter and he wanted nothing more than to have this giant reptile's head on his wall in his kitchen.