by Darrell Pitt
Badde had given her a knife and fork for the chicken. For an evil genius, he wasn’t very bright. She retrieved these and started to scrape at the wall with the knife. Like most things these days, the wall was made from plastic. It only took a minute to make a coin-sized hole. Half an hour later, it was the size of her head.
But it was starting to get dark. Sprot. She needed light. Badde had taken her wristcomm, but at least she still had her hairclip. It had a built-in light and a music player.
She flicked a switch, and it started to flash blue and white. Great. She poked the hairclip through the gap and saw another barrier made of the same plastic.
Here goes…
She dug at the second wall with the knife. After several minutes, she managed to poke her fist through.
Yes!
Cold air flowed across her fingers.
A sound came from behind. Footsteps!
Scrambling out from under the bed, Lisa threw herself onto the mattress and started humming.
Badde came to the door, carrying a bag.
‘Everything okay?’ he asked.
‘Fine,’ she said, frowning. ‘Why?’
‘No reason.’ He eyed her suspiciously. ‘What’s that in your hand?’
‘Oh, this?’ She was still holding the hairclip. At least the light was off. ‘Just a little thing I use to keep my hair under control.’ She gathered her hair up into a bun. ‘What do you think looks best? Up? Or down?’
‘I have absolutely no idea,’ Badde hissed. ‘I’m an evil genius, not a hairdresser! Anyway, I just wanted to drop something off.’
He passed the bag through the bars.
‘More Hypergo!’ Lisa said. ‘Thanks.’
‘Enjoy it while you can,’ Badde said. ‘Time’s running out.’
23
Blake Carter was confused.
After falling through the inter-dimensional gap in Elvisworld, he’d expected simply to leap back into the general vicinity of GADO. Instead he found himself falling down an endless black tunnel—and was now somehow looking at the back of his own head.
I’m getting a bald spot, he thought. I should do something about that.
Blinking, he realised he was looking at a version of himself who was looking at the back of another Blake Carter who was, in turn, looking at the one before him… His fall was being repeated ad infinitum.
It was very strange.
‘What’s going on?’ infinite numbers of himself asked.
Suddenly Nicki’s disembodied head floated past. ‘It looks like there’s an irregularity of the inter-dimensional rift,’ she explained. ‘Like a piece of food stuck in your throat.’
‘This is odd.’ Astrid’s voice seemed to come from nowhere.
Blake looked down and realised that Astrid was floating through his torso.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ he demanded.
‘I can’t help it. And since when did you start wearing boxer shorts?’
‘Mind your own business.’
He hoped his underwear was clean. Looking down the tunnel, he saw a pinpoint of light, growing larger every second. At its centre was a man sitting at a very untidy desk. Trays of paper on both sides of the desk were overflowing. He had a map of the Earth pinned to the wall behind him.
The man looked like a dishevelled poodle. His white hair and beard lurched in all directions as if it hadn’t seen a comb in twenty years. On the desk before him were piles of paper two feet high. This man, completely unaware of what was heading towards him, was in fact Colonel Walter Lichenstein. He was in charge of the western security division of GADO.
Some at GADO said that the colonel was past it, but they never said it loudly. Those who voiced such opinions usually found themselves guarding ice in Siberia or manning a station on Pluto, courtesy of Walter’s brother-in-law, Sam Feldspar, GADO’s director.
Those who knew Walter well sometimes tactfully suggested to him that he might be happier playing golf at the Silver Links course on Risa Three, or holidaying with a blue-rinsed companion on the beaches of Palamarus.
He was, after all, 107 years old.
Walter Lichenstein ignored such advice. That would have been a dereliction of duty, and Walter was nothing if not a dedicated soldier. He could trace his heritage back to the time of Nelson. A cousin, many times removed, had fought and died bravely at the Battle of Trafalgar.
Zeeb says:
Fought and died bravely? Not exactly. History records him as attempting to desert as HMS Victory sailed into battle. Stepping into a lifeboat, he slipped, hit his head, fell into the water and drowned.
As far as Lichenstein was concerned, good soldiers did not leave their post. He turned up for work every day at 8am without fail, drank a cup of Siberian tea, ate a piece of reconstituted bread (no butter) and proceeded to issue orders for the day to the multitude of subordinates operating in his section.
He would have been most surprised to learn that few of those orders were ever followed. ‘Shoot everyone with blue eyes’ or ‘Hand me a pair of boxer shorts—I’m feeling hungry’ or ‘Let’s declare war on Germany! I don’t like their sausages!’ were, wisely, ignored.
His life in the military had taken him to strange places where he had seen strange things and done strange things. So he was not too worried when, peering over a pile of paperwork, he saw three people flying down an inter-dimensional tunnel towards him.
They crashed into his desk, sent papers flying and knocked over a filing cabinet.
‘New recruits, eh what?’ Colonel Lichenstein snapped.
‘Pardon?’ Blake said, as they scrambled to their feet.
‘New recruits? First day on the job, eh?’
‘Yes,’ Blake said, looking sideways at Nicki and Astrid. ‘Absolutely.’
‘Names!’
‘Smith,’ Blake said.
‘Uh,’ Astrid said.
‘Rumpelstiltskin,’ Nicki said.
‘Smith, Uh and Rumpelstiltskin,’ the colonel said. ‘You’re the sorriest trio of recruits I’ve ever seen.’
‘Yes,’ Blake agreed.
‘That’s Yes, sir!’
‘Yes, sir!’ the three responded.
Blake could not believe his luck.
Zeeb says:
Luck is a funny thing. So is coincidence. On the planet Elligor Minor, an eerily similar set of circumstances was also occurring. Three people from Telangor Seven had fallen through an inter-dimensional portal into the office of the supervisor for Planetary Security. On that small world on the other side of the Milky Way, however, the three interlopers were immediately put to death.
‘Rumpelstiltskin,’ the colonel said. ‘That’s damn poor skin you’ve got there.’
‘I…I know, sir.’
‘What’s your explanation?’
Blake peered into Nicki’s face. Her jaw twitched. She seemed to be fighting some internal battle.
‘Come on!’ the colonel bellowed. ‘Spit it out!’
Oh no, Blake thought. Not again.
‘I’m a cyborg, sir,’ Nicki blurted. ‘With my companions I’m here to break into GADO and steal the Maria virus so that we can save their daughter from the clutches of an evil genius known as Bartholomew Badde.’
Lichenstein peered at them. ‘Did I hear you right?’ he asked Nicki. ‘Did you just say what I think you said?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ she said. ‘Sir.’
The colonel looked like he was about to explode. ‘That’s no excuse for poor skin!’ he said. ‘You need sun! Vitamin D!’
‘Yes, sir! Sun!’
‘How do you expect to function if you’re not getting enough sunlight?’
‘I…I don’t know, sir.’
‘Reminds me of the time I was fighting with the forces on Modo Twelve,’ the colonel reminisced fondly. ‘There were nine of us against 12,000 Mododians. We fought them day and night. Hacking and slashing. In the end we were squashing them underfoot.’
‘Squashing them?’ Astrid asked.
/>
‘Mododians are only two inches tall,’ the colonel explained. ‘Nasty little blighters!’
‘Lucky,’ Nicki said.
‘I wanted to take out the whole planet. Nothing like an exploding planet to make a statement. Send a message! Show them who’s in charge!’
Blake was wondering exactly who was in charge, and how long it would take before they walked in the door, when the colonel’s phone rang.
‘What’s that?’ he yelled. ‘An inter-dimensional wormhole within the complex! That’s outrageous!’ He pushed a pile of papers off his desk, revealing an ancient square box with a black disk on top. He pushed a button and a needle settled onto the disk. ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ began playing.
‘Three intruders, you say?’ he barked. ‘Standard orders apply. Have them hung, drawn and quartered. Twice! And get me a cup of tea!’ Slamming down the phone, the colonel glared at Blake. ‘You still here?’ he asked. ‘Get moving! There’s an invasion happening!’
‘That was good work,’ Astrid said after they’d escaped down the corridor.
‘What was?’ Blake asked.
‘All of it.’
Blake shrugged. It was a long time since he’d heard a compliment from Astrid. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Now we need to work out where we are.’
Nicki consulted her datapad. ‘We’re three miles east of the chamber where they’re storing Maria.’
‘That’s not too bad,’ Blake said.
‘But there’s ninety-four security guards between us and the chamber.’
‘That’s bad.’
‘What are we going to do?’ Astrid asked.
Before Blake could reply he heard footsteps approaching. They all dived into a nearby storage cupboard as troops marched past. In the dark, Blake activated a torch on his wristcomm. The cupboard was packed with cleaning supplies and there was a metal box set into the wall. Blake prised it open.
‘Nicki, is this what I think it is?’
‘Not if you think it’s an espresso machine.’
‘It looks like a juncture point for the communications system.’
Nicki examined it. ‘I think you’re right.’
‘Can you break in?’
‘I can.’ She flipped up a console on her arm and fed a lead into the system. Her eyes turned white.
‘Uh, Nicki, please don’t do that,’ Blake said.
‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ she assured him. ‘I only do it when I’m hooked up to communication systems or affected by illicit substances.’
‘Are you picking anything up?’ he asked.
‘Certainly,’ Nicki said. ‘There’s some really nice Buddy Holly on one station, Mozart’s ‘Ninth Symphony’ on another and—’
‘Anything about us?’
‘Oh. Sure. They’ll shoot us on sight.’
‘Can you send a message directing security to another part of the complex?’
‘What will I say?’
Astrid intervened. ‘I’ve got an idea.’
‘Okay,’ Blake said.
‘Tell them the eastern wall is under attack.’
Nicki entered the information.
‘Five hundred—’ Astrid corrected herself ‘—no, a thousand soldiers are pouring in. They’ve got energy weapons, bio-shock guns and pulse rifles that are turning people into glug.’
Nicki nodded.
‘And black holes, too,’ Astrid added.
‘Black holes?’ Blake repeated.
‘Guns that fire black holes at people, sucking them into naked singularities—’
‘Astrid.’
‘Too much?’
‘Too much.’
24
The hole was so large that it could now accommodate Lisa’s head and shoulders, and she could see a dimly lit vertical shaft that seemed to go on forever.
A wall of wind hit her.
What the—
Something fell from above, missing her head by inches.
It’s an elevator shaft.
Lisa watched the elevator halt at a floor before continuing its descent. Two more elevators, on her left and right, were both climbing.
‘Sprot,’ she muttered.
Lisa tried to remain positive. This was a way to escape. All she had to do was get to another floor and—hey presto—freedom!
But she couldn’t climb down. There were no handgrips. A strut a few feet below was wide enough for her to stand on without being struck by a passing elevator, but the ledge didn’t lead anywhere.
Sprot, she thought. And double sprot.
She dragged herself back into the cell. It was now pitch black at the window and the room was eerily quiet. Badde must have gone to bed.
She needed rope, but it wasn’t the sort of thing she usually carried. She would have to make her own.
Lisa sliced along the edge of the mattress and removed the rubber interior. Then she cut the bedsheet into a makeshift rope and rolled up the rubber so it could fit through the hole. Securing it with the rope to stop it unrolling, she tied the other end to her belt.
Climbing back through her hole, she saw the middle elevator about twenty floors above. Now all she had to do was climb onto the ledge.
Except she was terrified.
Zeeb says:
Surprisingly, fear is not common to all species. For example, it was completely unknown to the Zambradi, an aggressive race who lived in the northern arm of the galaxy. The Zambradi would fearlessly face any foe. On one occasion, 10,000 Zambradi faced 50,000 Telaxians in a battle. Another time, carrying only bows and arrows, they charged headlong into a barrage of bullets and artillery fire.
Historians are still debating whether the lack of fear is a good thing: the Zambradi were, after all, eventually wiped out in a suicidal attack a thousand years ago.
Sometimes discretion really is the better part of valour.
Lisa took a deep breath.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Here goes everything.’
She pushed the rolled-up mattress through the gap and allowed it to drop into the void. Then she eased herself, legs first, onto the ledge.
The elevator was still several floors above—but descending fast. Hanging onto a support beam with one hand, Lisa pulled the mattress up and untied it. Manoeuvring it against the wall next to her, she tried to calm herself.
Okay. Everything’s fine.
The next part would be the hardest. Tightly gripping the mattress, Lisa would need to throw herself after the elevator. As long as everything went according to plan, the mattress would break her fall.
Zeeb says:
Now is probably not the best time to mention this, but a man on the planet Galbada Four is stuck in a perpetual loop, doing exactly what Lisa was attempting. Twelve years ago, a group of office workers on the 19th floor of their building noticed a manager named Sargle Barnlogg standing before the doors of an open elevator shaft. In his hands was a large mattress. After gripping it tightly, he gave a cheery nod before leaping down the shaft—only to reappear at the top.
Giving another nod, he leapt back down the shaft—and was instantly transported back to the 19th floor.
Scientists soon discovered that Barnlogg was stuck in a time vortex. No one knows what caused it or how to save him. Trying to reach him is like punching through a brick wall.
There is a bright spot, however, as it made good fodder for my series Weird and Wild Universe, also available on the Nature Channel.
Lisa glanced up. Judging the speed of the elevator, it didn’t look like it was going to stop—
The elevator screamed past like a freight train, its suction dragging her off the thin ledge.
Sprot sprot sprot sprot!
The air vacuum began to spin her about.
Keep turning, she thought. Got to get the mattress under me—
Oooff!
The mattress cushioned her fall just in time.
‘Ouch,’ she groaned. ‘That hurt. A lot.’
‘That was a very good jump.’
/> The voice boomed up and down the shaft. Lisa looked about wildly as the elevator stopped at a floor.
‘Who said that?’ she demanded.
‘I am a Pantron 9001 Quadragillion Computational Hydrogian Accelerator,’ the voice announced. ‘But you can call me Panty.’
‘Uh, what are you?’
‘I just told you,’ Panty said impatiently. ‘I am a Pantron 9001—’
‘Yeah, I got all that. But what do you do?’
‘I am the artificial intelligence of this building. I am responsible for lighting, air-conditioning, lift maintenance and all other duties associated with running the Pye building located at 2318 Hetron Avenue, Neo City,’ Panty said. ‘I also play a mean game of chess.’
‘So we’re still in Neo City?’
‘We are indeed.’
The elevator started descending again.
‘I need to get out of here,’ Lisa said. ‘I’ve been held prisoner—’
‘I have standing orders not to allow any individual to enter or leave this building,’ Panty said, now sounding embarrassed. ‘Sorry, it’s a rule.’
‘Can I at least get off the roof of this thing?’
‘Of course.’
A hatch slid open and Lisa landed, mattress and all, on the floor of the elevator. It was a plain, square chamber with no mirrors. Fine, powdery dust covered the walls. The floor was black with tyre tracks.
Mum would have a fit, Lisa thought.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Panty said. ‘I’m not in charge of housekeeping.’
‘Does Bartholomew Badde own this whole building?’
‘The registered owner is Zark Klurzza.’
Zeeb says:
Obviously a pseudonym, as Zark Klurzza is the third most common name in the universe.
‘Zark Klurzza isn’t his real name,’ Lisa informed Panty. ‘He’s an evil criminal genius named Bartholomew Badde.’
‘Really? He seems so pleasant.’
‘I need to get out.’
The elevator finally drew to a halt.
‘I have no standing orders regarding guests,’ Panty said. ‘You may go anywhere you wish—as long as you stay within the building.’
The doors slid open, revealing a corridor with Victorian-style lamps set into the walls and rows of oil paintings. But it was the work of art at the end of the corridor that transfixed Lisa. Open-mouthed, she stepped out from the elevator and walked towards The Last Supper.