‘Another sixty seconds of full engine power, Captain!’ barked Butch.
‘Then hold on to your hats!’ yelled Poppy.
The plucky pilot immediately sped up until the Dogstar was soaring high above the spinning sphere. Then she took a sharp nose-dive through the atmosphere and quickly levelled out as they flew across a terrifying terrain of jagged asteroid mountains. Poppy steered around the perilous peaks until she found a suitable place to land and then cut the engines, causing the ship to bump along the alien landscape until it finally skidded to a halt.
‘Is everyone OK?’ asked Rocket, digging himself out of the fallen debris to find the ship had taken a battering upon landing. Panels had come loose and wires were hanging down, while maps and other equipment littered the floor.
Poppy and Butch hurried forward saying that they were fine, and then all three spread out and searched the ship for the missing new recruit. They eventually found the poodle under his blanket on the transportation deck, but he wasn’t moving at all.
‘MONTY!’ they yelled, clearing space around him.
growled the poodle, lifting the edge of his eye-mask and frowning at the panting dogs. ‘Now would you mind keeping the noise down? Some of us are trying to sleep!’
The Spacemutts rolled their eyes and hurried back to work.
Butch fetched a large boom-bone from the munitions lock-up while Poppy patched the bomb’s remote timer into the Dogstar’s control panel, so they could monitor the explosive device after take-off. At the central hub, Rocket instructed the computer to scan the terrain, to measure the weight and mass of the giant ball, and then estimate the force needed to send it into the sun.
‘Ten megatons, Captain,’ said WOOF, displaying a diagram of her calculations on the screen. ‘Which means burying the boom-bone at a minimum depth of fifty metres and detonation within thirty minutes.’
‘We don’t have time to dig that far down!’ said Rocket.
‘Not even with all of our paws digging together!’ said Poppy.
‘Actually, we only need one paw,’ said Butch, trotting away to the back of the ship and returning with a large metal paw-shaped shovel. ‘I present to you the amazing dogged-digger!’
‘The amazing doggy what?’ said Poppy.
‘Dogged-digger! I invented it to bury big juicy bones where no other dogs could get to them,’ said Butch, drooling at the thought of big juicy bones. ‘It can dig through anything and burrow to a depth of one hundred metres in ten minutes flat!’
‘Then let’s get going,’ said Rocket.
The Spacemutts quickly gathered at the back of the ship with the boom-bone and the dogged-digger, and then set out across the surface of the object. They had invited Montague to join them, hoping he might discover the joys of digging, but the poodle took one look at the dirty brown landscape and volunteered to stay behind and look after the ship.
Montague gave a little whine as the Spacemutts left without him. He wished he could have joined them on the expedition, but his fear of filth kept him aboard the Dogstar.
‘This is one small step for dog,’ said Poppy, the first to place a paw on the strange, lumpy surface. ‘And one giant leap towards saving the whole of mankind from being blasted out of the sky.’
‘It’s very sticky,’ said Butch, prodding the ground with the digger.
‘Hairballs!’ said Rocket, sniffing out a scent as the wild wind battered his nostrils.
‘Huh?’ Poppy and Butch said together.
‘Can’t you smell it?’ said the captain, scooping up a handful of matted hair with his paw. ‘It has the scent of a million different cat hairs all stuck together with fish-flavoured dribble.’
‘Now that you mention it . . .’ said Butch, snuffling along the ground.
‘We’re hurtling through space on a gigantic, apocalyptic hairball!’ said Rocket.
‘So Lady Fluffkins has given up trying to conquer planet Earth and wants to destroy it instead?’ said Poppy, shaking her head. ‘Well, at least we won’t have to fight the feline forces or do battle with a kitty-cat army!’
‘Let’s just get this thing buried and get out of here,’ said Rocket, glancing around the dark terrain of rounded hills and sharp mountains as the cold wind shrieked and whistled. ‘This place gives me the creeps.’
The Spacemutts moved through the peculiar lumpy landscape and behind the nearest hairball hill, where Rocket set the boom-bone down and Butch went to work with the dogged-digger. The noisy shovel device made short work of the hole while filling the air with a fountain of hairballs and Poppy was soon lowering the armed boom-bone on an extendable dog lead before the hole was filled again.
‘Not bad for ten minutes’ work,’ said Rocket, patting the mound down with his paws when Butch had finished filling the hole. ‘Now let’s get back to the ship. We’ve got twenty minutes to leave this smelly hairball and get out of its path before—’
‘This is WOOF calling Rocket,’ interrupted his collar, lights flashing around the captain’s neck. ‘I’m picking up a strange movement from your location. The blue rivers on the surface seem to be changing course and are heading straight for you.’
‘That’s impossible!’ said Rocket.
‘My scanners have been monitoring the surface ever since we landed,’ said WOOF. ‘I’ve double-checked all the data and there is a definite shift taking place . . .’
‘No. I mean that hairballs don’t have rivers!’ said Rocket, looking around for signs of movement through the dusty astral winds. ‘Which means it must be something else. It obviously felt the vibrations of the digger and is snaking its way here to investigate.’
‘Over there!’ said Poppy, squinting at the hazy, smoky movement growing thicker in the distance. ‘It’s like a thick blue mist that is slowly closing in on us.’
‘That’s not mist,’ said Butch, hearing a sound above the roaring wind.
‘How do you know?’ asked Poppy.
‘Because mist doesn’t hiss,’ growled the bulldog.
It was then that the Spacemutts saw glaring yellow eyes glowing all around them, as many feline shapes marched on their hind paws in close formation towards them. As they moved forward the captain saw that the cats were wearing flappy furry hats and trench coats with shiny buttons. He also noticed they were armed with curved sabre swords!
‘Regiments of Russian Blues!’ said Rocket.
‘The most merciless of all military moggies!’ said Butch.
‘And they have us trapped on this hairball,’ said Poppy, as the feline forces penned them in, paws on swords.
‘Right on top of a ticking time-bomb!’
In the cockpit of the Dogstar, Montague had been listening to the Spacemutts, conversation over the intercom and was growing increasingly concerned about Rocket, Poppy and Butch, and his chances of ever getting home again. The poodle looked up from his nail filing when he heard the words ‘ticking’ and ‘bomb’ and scanned the control panel for the boom-bone timer.
‘UH-OH!’ he said aloud, seeing that the device was set to detonate in exactly fifteen minutes, and with the Spacemutts trapped there was no one to pilot the ship. ‘Things are going to get very messy indeed!’
Mechanical Animal
With the sea of smoky blue cats closing in around them, the Spacemutts kept together in a tight group. Rocket, Poppy and Butch all lowered their heads and growled a warning, even though they were completely outnumbered and it was only a matter of time before the cat army attacked.
All around them the Russian Blues were unsheathing their swords and swishing them menacingly. Then they began a strange dance of spins and swiping blades, leaping forward in an elaborate ballet of synchronized slashing.
said Rocket, pricking his ears.
‘I can’t hear anything over the whistling wind,’ said Poppy.
‘Except for the hissing of cats,’ said Butch.
‘There’s something else out there,’ gasped Rocket, tilting his head to find the direction of the sound.
‘It’s an engine! And I think it’s coming from the other side of that hill.’
The Spacemutts all looked towards the hairball hill, hoping the Dogstar would appear and swoop down to rescue them. There was a chance Montague could have worked out how to switch the controls from manual to autopilot, and then WOOF could zero in on their location.
The Russian Blue cats heard the noise too and looked up expectantly. Then they all began yowling with glee as the clockwork Mouseship appeared over the starry horizon.
Lady Fluffkins had arrived.
The metal mouse hovered in the air, tail spinning and whiskers twitching as it landed on the hill with its metal bottom facing the three dogs and the regiments of cats. Moments later the side door dropped down and Baldy crept along the side of the ship.
The Russian Blue army gave a disappointed hiss at the sight of the hairless servant. But then he began cranking down the cargo door and their yellow eyes fixed on a dazzling light inside the ship.
The Spacemutts watched too and swallowed hard when quaking footfalls stomped to the edge of the cargo-hold and a colossal silhouette filled the bright doorway.
‘I was hoping you three would show up!’ boomed a familiar voice.
A mechanical monster leaped from the ship and landed on two feet like a human giant, but inside the chest sat Lady Fluffkins, moving the robotic limbs with levers! Baldy hopped on to the metal frame and began climbing up while his cackling mistress lumbered down the hill and staggered towards the prisoners, a sea of blue cats parting in her wake.
The Persian moved her fluffy white paw over a lever and a mechanical claw grabbed the three dogs by their collars, lifting them up to her eye level. Above the empress, Baldy appeared in time to flick on a pair of headlights to better illuminate the dogs.
‘Put us down, you metal monstrosity,’ growled Rocket, wriggling to free himself from the grip of the giant claw.
‘Oh, I’ll put you down,’ chuckled Fluffkins, her second claw spinning on the end of her metal arm like a giant drill. ‘And this time I’ll make sure you stay down!’
The empress used the spinning tool to drill three holes into the ground before dropping the dogs in one by one. She then took two steps back and hissed an abrupt order in Russian. The blue cats immediately surrounded the holes, turned their backs on the Spacemutts and began kicking up hairballs with their hind legs, filling in the holes until the three dogs were buried up to their necks.
Rocket, Butch and Poppy tried to dig their way out of their hairball prison, but their bodies were packed in so tightly they could only move their heads. The captain didn’t even have a free paw to activate his collar and send an SOS to WOOF.
‘Now that’s what I call a captive audience,’ chuckled Lady Fluffkins, teasing her prisoners and making the cat army purr as they poured around her metal ankles. ‘And what an amazing show we have for you tonight!’
‘A show?’ frowned Poppy.
growled Rocket.
drooled Butch.
‘Of course not, you stupid fleabags!’ hissed the empress, pointing a mechanical claw towards the bright blue ball that was glowing far in the distance. ‘I’m giving you all front row seats for the total destruction of planet Earth!’
‘About that,’ said the captain. ‘I’m afraid we’ve already foiled your plan.’
‘Really?’ hissed the empress, flinging her metal arms in the air dramatically as they passed by a red planet. ‘Because that looks like Mars to me, which means the hungry hairball will impact Earth in less than twenty minutes.’
‘It won’t get anywhere near Earth,’ said Rocket.
‘A well-placed bomb is set to detonate in ten minutes’ time, sending your horrid hairball off course and straight into the surface of the sun.’
‘HA! HA! HA!’ laughed the empress, clapping her metal claws.
‘What’s so funny?’ asked the Spacemutts.
‘This has worked out even better than I’d hoped,’ chuckled Lady Fluffkins. ‘When the hairball hits the sun and takes you three along with it, Earth will be mine for the taking and there will be no more meddling mutts to stop me!’
‘T-t-time is getting on, M-M-Mistress,’ stammered Baldy, deciding that interrupting his mistress in mid-rant was only slightly less perilous than a fiery death on the surface of the sun.
‘I’m quite aware of that, you feline abomination,’ said the Persian, smiling at the three doggy heads glaring up at her. ‘It is time for me to flee this flea-filled hairball and begin planning a brand new phase two.’
‘Phase two, M-M-Mistress?’ said Baldy.
‘Yes,’ hissed Fluffkins. ‘The merciless invasion of planet Earth!’
The empress turned and stomped back up the hill with her sleek blue army trailing behind her, and then stopped halfway when she saw that the Mouseship had completely vanished!
Things Are Heating Up
‘WHERE’S MY BEAUTIFUL CLOCKWORK MOUSESHIP?’ roared Lady Fluffkins, grabbing Baldy by the scruff of his neck and giving him a good shake. ‘What have you done with it, you clammy imbecile?’
The quivering minion pointed to the hill of hairballs where he’d left the craft, and then frowned. The hill seemed significantly higher than when he had landed and as the mechanical spotlights scanned the area, they all saw something grey and grubby standing on the summit.
‘MONTAGUE?’ gasped the Spacemutts.
‘Call me Monty,’ panted the poodle, feeling like a proper Spacemutt as he set down the dogged-digger. The puffy white dog was completely filthy, with mucky fur and droopy pompoms, but he looked happier than they had ever seen him.
‘YOU DIRTY DOG!’ growled Lady Fluffkins, flexing her metal claws menacingly.
‘Oh, it’s under here somewhere,’ smiled Monty, patting down the pile with his mucky paws. The proud poodle then held up the ticking timer for the boom-bone.
‘I’ll dig it out before you can rescue your friends!’ laughed Fluffkins, flinging Baldy away and spinning her arm attachments until the metal claws were replaced with two large shovels. ‘And I’ll have plenty of time left over to bury you beside them.’
‘Artificial enhancements?’ Monty frowned, shaking his head at the spinning shovels as the empress made her way up the hill. ‘In the dog show circuit we call that cheating, so I’m afraid I’ll have to relieve you of them!’
The Spacemutts watched with wide eyes as the poodle bounded down the disgusting pile and skidded to a halt with perfect posture in a shower of hairballs. The prize-winning poodle then showed off his agility training as he weaved through the hissing blue cats, leaped on to Lady Fluffkins’s metal leg and scaled it like a silly circuit obstacle course.
Monty imagined he was competing in a dog show: that way he could relax in the spotlight and focus on his footing. The empress swung her arms around wildly, trying to swat the climbing canine, but he was much too good at performing under pressure.
When Monty finally came face to face with the Persian, she swiped at him with her real claws, but the nimble poodle hopped above her head, pulled a nail file from his collar and began loosening the screws of her mechanical arms.
‘Stop that!’ hissed the empress, swivelling her robotic torso back and forth to see what he was doing, but the movement caused her metal arms to fly off in different directions, and when Monty leaped to safety, the shift in balance brought the whole machine crashing to the ground.
With the boom-bone timer ticking, the poodle bounded away to rescue his friends, digging desperately to release Rocket who then helped to free Poppy and Butch.
‘Hurry up, you blue buffoons!’ yelled Lady Fluffkins, kicking her mechanical legs as Baldy dragged his mistress from the chest cage of the robot wreckage, while the Russian Blues swarmed up the hill and started digging for the Mouseship.
As the giant hairball hurtled towards Earth, dogs and cats fought to reach their ships so they could flee the deadly ball of doom. And as the clock began counting down from sixty seconds, the four Spacemutts sprinted tow
ards the distant Dogstar.
‘WOOF!’ called the captain, swiping his collar until the lights shone around his neck. ‘Start the engines and prep for an emergency take-off. We’re on our way!’
‘Yes, Captain!’ said WOOF, back in control on Rocket’s command.
The fuel jets were all firing when the Spacemutts skidded through the cargo doors and bounded to their stations, then the Dogstar shot away from the mangy matted missile like a flea from a flea collar.
Rocket, Poppy, Butch and Monty were a good distance away when they heard a very large BOOM!
The four dogs all ran to the observation window and wondered if Lady Fluffkins and her feline forces had made it off the hairball in time, or whether things were heating up for the evil empress.
As the hairball headed for the surface of the sun, the extreme temperatures caused it to singe around the edges and then fizzle into nothing. Moments earlier, the clockwork Mouseship had zigzagged away from the sizzling fireball like a metal baked potato, heading back to the Catnip Nebula in a trail of black smoke and cinders.
The Hairball of Horror! Page 2