Before him, Regular-Ginny’s giant pink blob thrashed and crashed against the floating B.I.T. carrier upon which she was mounted. The rockets exploded against her pink membrane, knocking her off balance and sending her rolling toward the edge of the ship.
Drillbot watched the pink blob jiggle as it reeled from the surprise explosion, heard the woman’s voice begin some sort of taunt, and then slammed into the pink membrane himself. His momentum and his drills carried him all the way through the pink blob like a bullet through a gelatin mold. He came out the other side and hooked the blob’s edge with a drill to prevent himself from freefalling down toward the city far below. He twisted so he landed on the membrane in such a way that he could continue slicing.
The Ginny within the blob turned toward him and began swinging tentacles at him, only to find herself blindsided by the mighty mass of Ginny Rex and Artkylosaur as they emerged from the white bubble and crashed into her blob. Their blow was strong enough to send all four combatants over the edge of the B.I.T. airship and out into the empty air between the B.I.T. ship and the ground. Drillbot anticipated Regular-Ginny’s attempt to grab onto the edge of the ship with a tentacle to save herself, so he sliced off said tentacle. The four warriors fell.
Drillbot shrugged his version of a shrug—a gesture comprised of microscopic vibrations in the rotors at the base of his head and counterclockwise rotations of the dials and buttons running the length of his torso—as Artclops and the rest of the raiding party dove into view from the other two white bubbles that appeared above the B.I.T. airship. They landed on the flat expanse of the ship from which Drillbot and Ginny Rex and Artkylosaur and Regular-Ginny had just tumbled. Artclops and his fellow members of the raiding party scratched their heads in stunned silence, since they had emerged from their bubbles intending to fight Regular-Ginny to the death, only to instead find her blob knocked beyond their reach. Drillbot nodded acceptance as they turned their attack toward the bridge of the B.I.T. carrier rather than jumping after the four falling superpowers in a gesture that would surely have meant their suicide with little payoff.
The blob swirled and viciously swiped at Drillbot and the dinosaurs with all manner of tentacles. Drillbot parried and sliced and diced and crawled across the expanse of pink back over to Ginny Rex’s side, who was fighting tooth and nail and rocket and claw against the pink blob. Eventually, just after a pair of well-placed rockets exploded onto the blob’s membrane, Regular-Ginny swirled tentacles in a ferocious arc toward Ginny Rex and managed to snag all her appendages. Drillbot knew this was his chance to dispatch Regular-Ginny now that she was distracted by the dinosaur and moving in for the kill.
Drillbot weighed his options with blinding speed. He could use his drills to dive through the pink blob and kill Regular-Ginny, ending her threat to the Multiverse, but in the time it would take him to close the distance between them and kill her, she would be able to rip the life from his newfound love. So, he trusted his internal prioritization system and leapt to Ginny Rex’s defense, slicing the tentacles off at the roots and freeing her arms and legs. Artkylosaur screamed a curse.
A new tentacle swept into view and crashed into Drillbot’s head. He felt gears jostle loose, and his vision went momentarily blurry. He shook his head back and forth, and by the time his vision returned to normal, it was too late. The Ginny in the blob had snaked small tentacles through the spokes of his wheels and once more around Ginny Rex’s hands and feet. The blob twisted, using its momentum to roll so that Drillbot and his dinosaur compatriots were between the blob and the ground.
“[whir] Da – CLACK – Da – CLACK – Damn!” the robot cursed, realizing with dreaded finality that the blob had bested him, that his love and her servant were about to be crushed despite his best efforts to save them. Registering as less of a problem in his internal prioritization system, he realized that his life was also likely to be snuffed out by the weight of the blob crashing atop him at terminal velocity, which would mean Regular-Ginny’s blob would be able to spread havoc unchecked across the Multiverse, since he seemed to be the only combatant that could bring her to a stalemate.
Artkylosaur, however, was not so fatalistic. His maniacal cackling echoed across the jiggling pink of the blob. He crawled across Ginny Rex’s torso, retrieved a pair of rockets from her bandoliers, reloaded the launchers, and fired them point blank into the side of the blob. Black scorches formed across Drillbot’s torso, and if he had the ability to smell, he likely would have smelled some burnt dinosaur flesh, because Ginny Rex developed new scorches across her torso to match his. The momentum from the explosions caused the blob to keep rolling, moving Drillbot and his companions out of harm’s way just in time for the pink blob to smack into the hard, concrete ground.
Rather than being crushed, Drillbot found himself bouncing high into the air as the tentacles holding him and his compatriots in place ripped free. Drillbot watched with anger as the pink blob bounced in the opposite direction, and then a sense of shame filled him as he realized he would be unable to complete his mission, since he had wasted the opportunity to use the element of surprise to eliminate Regular-Ginny from the battlefield.
Before Drillbot had time to report his failure to the Blue One, Artkylosaur leaned down from his perch on Ginny Rex’s back, hooked his tail around Drillbot, ordered the robot to hold on tight, and then pulled a rip cord that dangled from his neck. An oversized green parachute erupted from the backpack on his back. Drillbot held tight to the ankylosaur’s tail, the ankylosaur held tight to the tyrannosaur, and all three floated slowly toward the spreading destruction and chaos that covered the ground.
“What the hell, Drillbot?” demanded Artkylosaur, chomping down on his cigar as he interrogated the robot.
“[whir] Wh – CLACK – What does friend Artkylosaur mean by this interrogative?”
The wind whipped across the trio as they floated. “I saw you! You had a clear shot at the Ginny inside that blob, and you didn’t take it.”
“[whir] But Drillbot could not. It was – CLACK – It was – CLACK – It was not a choice to Drillbot. Drillbot could have done nothing other than what Drillbot did.”
The ankylosaur spat. Ginny Rex bent her head inquisitively toward Drillbot. “My love, what is my valet talking about?” she asked.
Drillbot frowned his version of a frown. “[whir] Friend Artkylosaur refers to the opportunity that Drillbot had to kill the Ginny – CLACK – the Ginny in the blob. But – CLACK – But Drillbot did not capitalize on it.”
Ginny Rex frowned. Drillbot continued. “[whir] But not because Drillbot did not want to. Drillbot – CLACK – Drillbot altered his own internal programming dozens of earths ago. Drillbot now protects you and loves you above everything else. Drillbot merely – CLACK – merely obeyed his programming.”
Artkylosaur spat. “But the plan was to kill that hag. It’s all that mattered! You put the whole Multiverse at risk, you selfish fool!”
Ginny Rex stared at Drillbot, hurt in her eyes. “You had no right to make that decision on my behalf! We were trusted to stop the Ginny in the blob at all costs! You know I would gladly exchange my life to remove her from this war!”
Drillbot shrugged. “[whir] For Drillbot, there is no Multiverse – CLACK – no Multiverse – CLACK – no Multiverse worth existing in without Ginny Rex. We can kill – CLACK – kill the blob-Ginny next time. But Drillbot cannot replace – CLACK – replace Ginny Rex.”
Artkylosaur groaned. Ginny Rex frowned, but then leaned over and kissed Drillbot, a long, hard, wet lick across his mouth speaker. His dials across his torso vibrated and spun clockwise, his version of a blush.
Before Drillbot could continue speaking lovely clichés to his mate, Artkylosaur interrupted with a shout of “We’ve got incoming!” Behind them and closing fast were a squadron of jets. Drillbot sighed, wondering when the Random Number Generator in the Sky would finally allow him to catch a break.
The undersized ankylosaur twisted Ginny Rex so that she momentar
ily faced toward the jets. He fired one of the rocket launchers with one arm as he clung to Ginny Rex with his opposite arm, but the launcher clicked impotently.
“And now we’re screwed,” muttered Artkylosaur, the understrap on his camouflaged helmet digging into the soft flesh beneath his chin. “No way I can reload and hold y’all up at the same time.”
Ginny Rex did not even make an attempt at reloading the rockets herself, for her arms were obviously too short. Drillbot also made no attempt, for he knew that his drill-arms did not contain the proper dexterity to help. Further, and even more frustratingly, he could not fire his drills at the incoming jets, for he needed the entire surface area of his arms to hold onto Artkylosaur’s tail to prevent himself from falling. And though he would undoubtedly survive the fall, he refused to leave Ginny Rex and Artkylosaur floating helplessly on their own to face impending doom without him.
The jet squadron closed fast. An idea popped to the surface of the ones and zeroes crawling through Drillbot’s internal processors, and with nothing left to lose, he gave it a shot. Drillbot began rocking his weight back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, until the trio was swinging high and wide, a precarious pendulum hanging from the parachute.
Artkylosaur groaned as he strained to hold the weight of his friends. “Drills, buddy, what’re you doing?” he squealed.
Drillbot continued swinging and replied, “[whir] Initiating – CLACK – Initiating what little evasive action that we – CLACK – that we have available.”
Ginny Rex grinned, her sharp teeth flashing yellow in the dark night. “Splendid idea, my love!” she declared, and joined in the swinging. Artkylosaur groaned once more as the strain on his body grew worse. But the maneuver seemed to work, as the first shot fired by the approaching jets missed wide.
Drillbot knew better than to celebrate, for he had only managed to prevent them from being disintegrated for a few moments. He and his companions would need help—and fast. Just as he engaged the communications system within his internal processors to beg the Blue One for assistance, the Random Number Generator in the Sky finally smiled down on him with a piece of good luck.
Drillbot’s communication receptors picked up a message from Pirate-Art, who was leading one of the two raiding squads responsible for boarding and commandeering the B.I.T. carriers in the sky above.
“Yar,” called the pirate to everyone that could hear. “Hoist the black flag of Dread Interdimensional Pirate Art, for the B.S.S.C. Yeti now belongs to me. And now I’m comin’ for ye, Admiral whatever-yer-number-is! But first, let’s see how ye manage without yer Yeti’s damnable jets.”
And with that, all lights winked out within the fighter jets that were barreling toward the trio, as well as all power to their engines and their disintegration beams. Rather than picking off Drillbot and his friends as easy targets, the jet squadron fell, gliding just below the trio’s perch underneath the parachute. Every single one of the pilots appeared confused and terrified, and then they all appeared dead as their ships crashed into the ground.
Drillbot glanced around the battlefield and watched as what he estimated to be a tenth of the B.I.T.’s remaining jet fighters lost power. They became tumbling metallic raindrops that crashed into the concrete and splashed destruction up into the air. Drillbot sighed as a few dozen fell into the midst of a particularly large group of blue and pink warriors who were battling one another. Drillbot hoped any of his friends within the brawl would be spared. Drillbot pushed the thought from his head, instead storing within his long-term memory banks this newly discovered information: all the fighter jets originating from one of these carrier ships can be depowered at the press of a button from within the carrier’s bridge. This discovery could change the way the Army of Life fought against the B.I.T., and it was a significant ray of hope within this endless war.
But then, as quickly as Drillbot cheered his newfound luck, he found reason to curse it once more: the wind suddenly shifted.
“Fellas, I got some good news and some bad news. Bad news is that the wind has changed, and we’re headed toward that!” shrieked Artkylosaur as he pointed toward the lightning-shield that encompassed a large portion of the battlefield.
If Drillbot were able to gulp in despair, he would have done so. Instead, he listened as Artkylosaur continued, “The good news is that we’re all gonna die together, for what that’s worth.”
The ankylosaur hugged his friends tight and prepared for disintegration. However, just before the wind pushed the dangling trio into the shield, a gargantuan explosion rocked the earth. The shield sputtered and disappeared.
Artkylosaur let out a loud whoop of delight. “That’s why I say it’s always better to be lucky than good!”
Drillbot began to join him in his whooping, but then realized that the parachute was carrying the trio toward a five-square mile field of generators that had been demolished and were now engulfed in flames. He pointed toward the area and said, “[whir] We may not be – CLACK – be out of the metal forest just yet.”
Drillbot frowned his version of a frown as he noticed movement amongst the flaming generators. Near the closest flaming husk of a generator, a version of Art wore a ring from which he launched purple cartoonish destruction, while another version of Art flew amongst the wreckage, carried by a flock of seagulls that dropped flaming excrement onto the ground. According to Drillbot’s hurried calculations, approximately three-dozen iterations of Arts and Ginnys lurked elsewhere amongst the ruined generators.
Drillbot looked at his companions. His internal processors raced. “[whir] Now that the shield is down, the children – CLACK – the children will be headed this way. We must – CLACK – We must dispatch these creatures before the children arrive, or – CLACK – or the kids will be killed, and our hope for victory shall be lost.”
The wind carried the parachute directly above the wreckage of the generators. Luckily for the trio, it seemed as though none of the enemy forces responsible for the generators’ destruction had glanced up to notice them.
Ginny Rex nodded and grinned. “Then let us hunt.”
Artkylosaur chomped down on his cigar. He, too, nodded. “Aye, let us hunt.”
And with that, Artkylosaur used his free hand to cut the straps on the parachute with one of his daggers. Once loose of its burden, the parachute whipped up into the air and flew away in the distance. The trio fell.
Drillbot aimed for the Art with the purple ring, landing upon him and driving him into the ground with such force that only gore remained when Drillbot crashed to a halt. Meanwhile, Ginny Rex and Artkylosaur fell upon the Art being carried by the seagulls. They crushed him into a bloody pulp under their weight as they smacked upon the ground. Drillbot and his companions gained their footing and crept forward into the flames, on the prowl to hunt and murder the pink puppets one by one.
Chapter 16
A BRIDGE TOO FAR
Agent 27142 scanned the battlefield and smirked. Wreckage of fighter jets and carrier-class shift-ships and skyscrapers littered the ground. Black smoke rose into the air to mingle with the cold night sky. White bubbles continued appearing at seemingly random intervals, dropping members of the blue bear’s incursion forces sometimes into the midst of the pink bear’s forces and sometimes into the midst of the B.I.T.’s ground marines and sometimes atop the B.I.T.’s air squadrons.
Agent 27142 smiled. Before these blue invaders made earthfall, he was convinced that the B.I.T. home earth would be quickly overrun by the pink swarm, because their numbers were just too staggering to withstand, even with the atom-scattering lightning-shield protecting the Olympus building. But each army was now fighting a war on two fronts, and they soon forced one another into a stalemate, with attrition whittling them all into oblivion. So long as he could maintain this stalemate until the High Commander was ready with his reforged saber, Agent 27142 saw the B.I.T. losses as acceptable when compared to the fate of the Multiverse if his forces failed.
Agent 27142 w
atched that damned marauding pink blob slingshot itself toward the B.S.S.C. Burton, and his smile collapsed into a scowl. The ship plunged and rolled starboard, taking evasive action. The blob flew over the airship, and the facial expression of the Ginny in the middle of the blob indicated to Agent 27142 that the blob had missed its intended target. White lightning leapt from the Scatter Gun turrets that lined the ship’s hull, zapping across the black expanse of night toward the pink blob. It twisted and stretched and condensed and danced between the many bolts. When a second barrage of Scatter Gun bolts launched from the B.S.S.C. Burton’s many turrets, holes opened up across the expanse of the blob, and the bolts passed harmlessly through them. Agent 27142 cursed when the blob countered its miss by extending a long, thin tentacle from its side that snagged the underside of the ship’s hull. It used this tentacle to reel itself in like it was bait on the end of a fishing line, and then it rolled up onto the relatively flat stretch of hull in front of the bridge, leaving a canal of destruction ripped across the ship behind it. It began smashing tentacles across the hull, first demolishing any turrets within range and then turning its attention on the ship proper, a tactic it had already used to bring down far too many carriers during this battle.
Agent 27142 cursed under his breath. He reached over to his communication toggle and ordered Squadron Nu—one of his own squadrons of fighter jets—to divert from its already-desperate strafing mission through Ground Zone 2 to provide support to the B.S.S.C. Burton, though he had little hope that the squadron would arrive in time.
He cursed the B.S.S.C. Burton’s captain for not keeping at least one of his own fighter jet squadrons in reserve for defense. The damned captain had chosen to send every single one of his fighter squadrons on the attack, for he was confident in his ability to maneuver evasively and in the aim of his turret gunners—all of whom he had recruited from an Earth populated by blind humanoids who relied on what they called “divine reflex” to fire ballistics that missed less than 7% of the time. And just as the blob reared back to swipe the B.S.S.C. Burton with such ferocity that it would underline why the captain’s strategy had been terribly hubristic, a trio of white bubbles appeared in the air above the ship. Agent 27142 turned to his captain’s chair. His fingers danced across some toggles, and the view screen zoomed in closer on the B.S.S.C. Burton.
The Endless War That Never Ends Page 14