“Yes, my Lady.”
“I don’t see any shark,” said Three. “What the fox ears are you two talking about? This place has no decoration and barely any lights. Tape up some posters of Sailor Twit and hang a few lava lamps, is all I’m saying.”
“The ship has a mental projection system,” said Amy. “Called T.H.E.––Total Happiness Environment.”
Three shrugged. “The dumb thing is broken. All I see are gray walls and a black table in the middle of the room.”
A rectangular holoscreen materialized above the central console. The upper body of a woman appeared on the screen, framed by low-tech control panels covered in switches and old cathode-tube displays. Cats wearing headsets sat in front of the displays or moved behind the woman pressing switches. The woman seemed to be in her late forties or early fifties. The ends of her blonde hair touched her shoulders, was streaked with gray, and faint lines showed at the edges of her eyes and mouth. Her razor-sharp bangs, deep red lipstick, collared white shirt, and the confident way she stared at the camera gave the impression of a corporate executive, an image that sharply contrasted with the jagged pink scar that sliced down her pale face from forehead to chin. An artificial limb clicked and whirred from her right shoulder, taking the place of her flesh-and-blood arm. With silver mechanical parts and exposed wiring, the arm was more crude than any technology Amy had seen on the Lady’s body. This woman was not the Lady, but even with makeup and the weathering effect of age, her face was still Amy’s.
“My word,” said Philip. “She’s you.”
“She’s not us,” said Three. “Maybe she started out the same as me, maybe not, but there’s no way I’ll turn out to be such an evil, back-stabbing control freak. And I’d never be caught dead wearing that outfit. It’s so ‘corporate vice president.’”
Philip leaned over the navigation console and stared at streams of data. “How are we receiving this? I thought the ocean provided a shielding effect.”
“The audio transmission is on a low-frequency band,” said the ship. “198 kHz. After detecting the broadcast, I found a limited video signal on a higher frequency.”
Amy shrugged. “Her lips are moving but I don’t hear any sound.”
“Activating,” said the ship.
“––is a dangerous criminal wanted in fourteen dimensions for violent acts of terrorism, sedition, and love crimes. Under the authority––”
Three hooted with laughter. “Listen to that! She’s piling it high and wide this time.”
“What’s a love crime?” asked Amy.
“A crime of passion, I suppose,” said Philip. “They have those in France.”
Three giggled. “Oh, boy. It’s when you do something bad––you know, like blowing up a building––but because you had SO much fun doing it, some fat, stupid judge calls it a ‘love crime’ and he gives you ten extra years in the poke.”
“Did you actually do any of these things?”
Three shrugged. “I’ve stabbed plenty of jerks and blown up a few space bars on the asteroid belt, if you know what I mean, but none of that terrorism crap she’s blabbing on about.”
Amy crossed her arms. “Right.”
“What? She’s just fishing for an easy catch. You don’t get it! If she knew where this ship was, she’d fly in with cannons blazing. This one looks like us, but trust me––she’s the Lady Hitler of all the Lady Hitlers in the universe!”
“––agree to meet at a planetfall location that is distant from any local culture in this time-dimension. An additional option is to deposit this Amy Armstrong on the surface, and contact my ship with the coordinates. As mentioned, the reward is twelve million mao of iridium bars transferred to any location you provide. If you can receive this message, respond immediately on this frequency.”
“I’d rather not contact this individual,” said Philip. “I don’t know what a Lady Hitler would be, but it doesn’t sound pleasant.”
Amy rubbed the back of her neck and sighed. “Right. Doing nothing seems like the best option at this point.”
Three punched the air. “Sweet!”
“Don’t get cocky,” said Amy. “If you stab any of my crew or steal a paper clip, I’ll push you out an airlock myself. That goes double for love crimes.”
“Yes, One––I mean, Amy. Captain Amy.”
A bright circle appeared in the wall of deep blue ocean, and Sunflower trotted inside the navigation room.
“That stupid MacGuffin,” grumbled the orange cat. “I don’t see why you thought he was so smart. Still working on the transmat … at … at …”
Sunflower stopped and stared open-jawed at the floating holoscreen.
“… at her …”
“He hasn’t met your double,” said Philip. “Sunflower, allow me to introduce Three––a slightly older Amy, and on screen, Lady Hitler––an even older Amy.”
“Her …” whispered Sunflower, his yellow eyes still locked on the screen.
Amy knelt beside the cat. “Snap out of it! You should have expected one of my twins to show up sooner or later. It was your job to travel through dimensions.”
“Not her,” whispered the cat, still staring at the screen. “Her.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. That’s a copy of me, just much, much older.”
“Not HER her,” growled Sunflower. “Her!”
On the holoscreen, a shorthaired gray cat wearing a headset stood behind the fifty-something twin of Amy, constantly blinking and clasping and unclasping her front paws.
Three laughed. “The gray cat? She’s a nobody; a personal assistant.”
Sunflower dashed to the central console and slapped the top surface. “Where are they? Open a channel now!”
Amy held up a hand. “Stop! Blanche, disable all radio traffic. Sunflower, we’re not going to talk with her or broadcast our location. She could be dangerous.”
Sunflower looked up from the controls. “Dangerous? She’s my wife!”
“Ah, yes,” said Philip. “I see the misunderstanding––he’s talking about the cat.”
“Andy Nakamura? That’s impossible.”
Philip pointed at Three. “Quite so, dear, but I said that only a few minutes ago when I met this one.”
The blonde teenager shrugged. “You might be right. She could be called Nakamura or something like that. We kidnap-–I mean, pick up cats from every dimension, so it’s hard to tell. Anyway, they all look the same to me.”
“You stupid, specist Centaurans,” growled Sunflower. “Give me back the controls! That’s my wife. You know it, I know it, and even this taller, better-looking version of you knows it.”
Amy shook her head. “Better looking? The Lady said––in front of all of us––that Andy Nakamura disappeared without trace. I know it’s hard to accept, but this cat is just a copy of your wife, if anything.”
“She’s definitely something and you’re wrong!”
Sunflower darted out of the room.
“Awkward,” said Three. “Anyone for a snack? I just realized I didn’t finish lunch. Philip?”
“You two do what you want,” said Amy. “I’m going to check on the repair job.”
Chapter Three
The gigantic steel tiger lay dormant in the cargo hold, blunt gray head resting on its front paws. Even when lying prone it was taller than a man, and stretched from nose to tail longer than a box truck from Old Earth. Black stripes down its flanks and a blood-red paw print on the shoulder identified the machine as a former unit of “The Reds”––the emperor’s elite First Armored Brigade. A web of steel cables held it to the diamond-patterned floor of the cargo hold, as if someone were afraid the feline-shaped vehicle would wake from its slumber and escape. To the left of the huge machine stood Nistra’s rectangular cargo container, and to the left of that, the escape pod in which Three had arrived, both held to the floor and walls with the same type of steel cables.
The circular hatch spiraled open and Sunflower stepped inside the c
argo hold. The orange tabby turned and watched the corridor behind him for a moment, and then trotted to the armored cat. He stood on his hind legs and pressed a switch concealed in the neck of the giant machine.
Servos whined and tight cables creaked as the blunt head lifted and revealed a clear, curved window where the mouth would be on a real tiger, between fierce white fangs painted on the nose. With a heavy click, the head split horizontally below the window and opened to a forty-five degree angle. Inside the small and narrow cockpit sat a pair of seats in tandem, both sized for cats.
Sunflower slid into the rear seat and rapidly flipped switches. A red glow and a faint hum filled the cockpit as control panels flickered and shone with pinpoints of light. A half-dozen rectangular holographic displays materialized above the front and rear control panels.
“Good morning, navigator,” said a male voice with a serious, military tone. “No pilot detected. Would you like me to scan the local area for pilot, starting with space bars, holo-theaters, and clip joints?”
“No, no, no,” said Sunflower, and lowered his voice to a murmur. “Holy Saint Fluffy, I hate automated systems.”
“Would you like me to spin up turbines? You are not a pilot; it is understandable you would not be aware of the most basic of steps in the pre-flight sequence.”
“Disable auto start, disable voice prompts,” hissed Sunflower.
“How can voice prompt notify navigator I am disabled if voice prompt must activate to notify navigator I am disabled?”
“What kind of refurbished, dropped-at-the-factory junk are you? Don’t say one more word or I’ll rip out your central processor and turn you into a refrigerator thermostat!”
“How dare you––my mother WAS a refrigerator thermostat. It’s a good job.”
Sunflower shook his furry orange head and sighed. “Now I see why they gave me this one.”
He stuck his paws into wide tubes set in the control panel, and began to flip the holographic display through several screens of information, stopping at a bright green, horizontal line.
“Now to find the right channel,” he murmured. “It was in the megahertz band … one-ninety something.”
“Hey, Sunnie!”
The familiar voice caused Sunflower to jump and bang his head on the ceiling of the cockpit. Betsy’s brown-and-white head and floppy ears poked into the opening below the curved front window.
“Whatcha doing?”
“Number one––I’m busy, and number two––none of your business.”
Betsy giggled. “You said number two.”
Static crackled through the cockpit speakers, and the straight green line on the holographic display changed to a violent up-and-down squiggle.
“Under the authority given to me by the Centauran planetary government, I am authorized to arrest the individual known as Amelia Earhart Armstrong for the express purpose of transporting her to a detention facility on Alpha Centauri. Individuals providing information leading to her capture will be awarded twelve million mao or a lifetime supply of space burgers, dependent upon availability. Respond on this frequency––”
“That sounds like Amy,” said Betsy. “But old, like her mom.”
“Quiet,” said Sunflower, and leaned close to the controls. “This is Sunflower of the White Star. Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” said Betsy. “Why are you whispering?”
“Shut up for one second, will you? Broadcasting source, can you read me? This is Sunflower of the White Star. Please respond.”
Betsy climbed into the cockpit and shoved his furry rear into the seat in front of Sunflower.
“I know what you’re doing! You want that lifetime supply of space burgers. Amy’s my friend and I want the burgers!”
“That’s not what I’m doing, you idiot.”
“Good morning, pilot,” said the male voice of the armored cat’s computer. “Would you like to begin the start-up sequence? I’m ready to spin up turbines.”
“No, thank you,” said Betsy. “I’m talking to Sunnie and we’re about to eat space burgers.”
“Acknowledged. Start-up suspended.”
Sunflower groaned. “Can both of you geniuses please be quiet?”
The speakers crackled and a squiggly blue line flashed across the holographic display.
“Sunnie, are you there?” whispered a female voice.
“Andy! It’s me!”
“Don’t talk! Switch to encrypted channel 192.”
Sunflower moved his paws in the control tubes. The holographic display changed to a full-color video feed of a gray shorthaired cat with a black headset over her ears and the pipe of a small microphone in front of her whiskers.
“Sunnie! Is it really you?”
“I want to ask you the same question,” said Sunflower. “Are you a copy, or are you the real Andy Nakamura?”
“I’m not important enough to be anything,” whispered the cat. “I was snatched up by these horrible fake copies of the Lady and I never thought I’d see you again.”
“Ask her about the burgers,” said Betsy.
“Shut up.”
Andy’s yellow eyes widened. “What did you say? That’s how you treat a wife trapped in another dimension that you haven’t seen for a year? My mother was right about you and your hippie family!”
Sunflower sighed. “Dear, I was talking to a dog, not you. A stupid, stupid dog.”
“I’m okay with being stupid,” said Betsy. “I don’t get blamed for anything.”
“Oh! I hear his voice now,” said Andy. “He sounds nice. Sorry about that thing with my mother.”
Sunflower shook his furry head. “What are your coordinates? I’m coming to get you.”
“You can’t do that! Just leave, Sunnie. Get out of this system before they kill all of you!”
“Not without you, Andy. Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you?”
The holographic display flickered. Sunflower’s wife disappeared, replaced by the face of the older, scar-faced version of Amy.
“Well, well, well,” mused One. “What do we have here? A reunion of star-crossed lovers. Or shall I say, traitors? Thank you for allowing me to triangulate your location. With the few precious minutes of freedom you have left before my fleet arrives, I suggest you power down your systems and prepare to surrender. After all, we don’t want the husband of dear Andy Nakamura to be violently murdered, do we? That would mean it wasn’t true love the whole time.”
The video feed snapped off.
“That makes me sad,” said Betsy. The small dog rested his chin on the cushioned back of the front seat and stared at Sunflower. “Not a word about burgers.”
Sunflower pulled his paws out of the control tubes and sighed.
“Aw, poop.”
A metallic whoosh came from outside the armored cat.
“Someone’s coming,” hissed Sunflower. “Watch your tail, I’m closing the cockpit.”
“Got it,” whispered Betsy. “This is fun! We’re like secret agents.”
Sunflower moved his paws inside the control tubes and the fiercely-painted jaws of the armored cat whined shut. The blunt head silently lowered down to the paws on the cargo deck.
Nistra froze in mid-stride and stared at the giant steel tiger.
“Could have sworn that thing moved,” he murmured. “Need to get my prescription checked when I get back to Kepler Prime.”
The large sauropod walked to the cargo container. He stuck a crowbar into the side of the container and pulled back on the metal bar, straining his huge, scaly arms to try and pry the door open.
Inside the escape pod on the other side of the cargo hold, a digital timer continued to count down.
PHILIP BUMPED against the wall of the kitchen, his hands raised in surrender.
“I did not say that, Miss Three. Please behave yourself and stop being outrageous!”
The older twin of Amy touched Philip’s chest and rubbed the slick spandex of his uniform.
“
Stop being so shy,” she said with a smile. “I’m taller and better-looking than her. If you’re worried about getting caught, just say you were confused. Pretty girls always get a man confused, everyone knows that.” She wound an arm around Philip’s neck and pushed her face close to his. “How about my eyes? Are they just as blue?”
“Miss Three, this is scandalous!”
“Think so? I’ll show you scandalous.”
In a flash, Three pulled her stretchy red top over her head and tossed it across the kitchen. She shook out her curly blonde hair, put both hands on her waist, and pulled back her shoulders.
“I’m a real woman, not a girl,” she whispered.
Philip stared at the tank top and the tattoos up and down Three’s muscular arms.
“Miss Three, it pains me to say this, but I have the feeling that you’re not a very good person.”
Three waved at the orchids and Chinese characters on her arms.
“What––because of these? Everyone has them where I’m from.”
“Not at all. It’s your behavior. You’re simply far too aggressive for a young woman.”
Three gave him a broad, nose-wrinkling smile. “I know! It’s great, isn’t it? Bad is rad and stuff.” She flexed her arms. “Let’s not waste time, honey. I’m a girl, you’re a boy, let’s you and me give it a whirl.”
“You and I.”
“What?”
“You and I give it a whirl, not you and me.”
Three furiously grabbed Philip’s uniform top with both hands and kissed him hard on the lips.
Philip pushed her away. “I beg of you, please stop!” He backed across the room, keeping the dining table between himself and Three.
“Stop what? Just let it happen,” said Amy’s twin, and banged on the table with both fists. “Everyone loves a bad girl, especially good boys!”
The hatch spiraled open with a swish of air, and Amy stepped in from the corridor. She stopped and stared at the pair of teenagers.
“What’s going on here?”
Philip cleared his throat. “I, um … simply having lunch, dear.”
“Why does Three have her top off?”
“Um …”
SpaceBook Awakens (Amy Armstrong 3) Page 4