SpaceBook Awakens (Amy Armstrong 3)

by Stephen Colegrove

  Philip stared at One for a moment, and then shook his head. “Pardon my rudeness, but I don’t think you’re being perfectly honest with me. I would know if any of my friends had perished, especially Amy. All she had to do was swim, by Jove!”

  “You’re exactly right; that was all she had to do,” said One. “And she failed. A very pretty girl who was very bad at breathing water.”

  “Look here, this is no time for jokes. Do you think the death of––” Philip cleared his throat. “––of my beloved Amy is funny?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Show me her body,” said Philip, his voice breaking. “I won’t believe a word until I see her.”

  “Of course.”

  One sat down and patted the red velvet fabric of the couch cushion.

  “First take a moment and rest, child. Your face is so red you look like you’re about to burst. How much do you know about me? Despite all these scars and my metal arm, I won’t bite. Don’t believe any rumors from the flea-bitten pirates of my crew.”

  Philip sat on the couch at a respectable distance. “Three said that you’re evil; that you’ve done horrible things. Why else would she run away from you?”

  “You met Three first. Is that why you believe everything from her pretty red lips? Which is more believable? The fabricated half-truths of an escaped criminal or the word of a captain of a trans-dimensional starship? In fact, I’m the commander of a fleet of starships.”

  “She seemed first-rate and I have no reason to believe that she was dishonest.”

  “A girl with that many tattoos? A young man of your upbringing must be shocked. I’m certain she was also very forward.” One slid across the cushions and placed a hand on Philip’s knee. “And eager.”

  The teenager moved to the far end of the couch. “Tattoos upon the body and unladylike behavior are signs of lower class, not a dishonest person.”

  One sighed and looked down at her stockinged feet. She wiggled her toes under the black silk.

  “You’re much wiser than I expected for such a young man. What a pity that Four is next in the rotation.”

  “Rotation? What does that mean?”

  One stood up and smoothed her skirt. “Four is captain of another ship––the Raw Tithes. It’s her turn to act as host for our guests. Unless, of course, you have information about the engineering of your spacecraft? Information we could exchange? Your ship is an interesting bio-metal design, one that I’ve never encountered. I’d be very happy if you could show me how it works. If I’m happy, you’ll be happy. I guarantee it.”

  Philip shook his head. “To be perfectly honest, I’m not very educated in technical matters. MacGuffin and Sunflower would know more about that.”

  “Are those the names of cats? I’m sorry. We found several bodies floating in the water.”

  Philip buried his face in his hands. “If only I could have saved them! Look at me––useless and stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

  One reached over and patted him on the head. “Don’t say that! You seem like a very charming and smart Philip. I’m certain that you’ll make Four very happy, at least for a short time.”

  Philip wiped his eyes. “I’d prefer to be set free on the nearest spot of land.”

  “In such a backwards place? This dimension has barely advanced beyond sticks and stones. For your own safety, stay with us for a few days. In that time, Four can help you search for any trace of your friends. We’re using every bit of technology we have, and something will turn up eventually. Don’t make any rash decisions, and let’s see how things develop.”

  Philip sighed. “Fine.”

  “That’s a good boy.”

  One swished across the animal hides and out of the bedroom. She slipped on her shoes and the hatch to the corridor slammed shut behind her, followed by a murmur of her voice.

  Philip leaned back on the couch, arms behind his head. He stared at the ceiling and let out a huge sigh.

  This was a spacecraft, and a very utilitarian one at that. Pipes, rectangular metal ductwork, and bundles of multicolored cables crossed the low ceiling in a haphazard jumble. Someone had attempted to cover the mess by hanging sheets of dark red cloth as a makeshift ceiling, but Philip could still see pipes and wires through gaps in the material.

  “How could I be so useless?” he said to himself. “I should have given Amy the pressure suit, but then she might have drowned as I almost did. Dear, sweet Amy. You can’t be dead. By Jove, I absolutely refuse to believe it!”

  He sighed again, still gazing blankly at an exposed section of ductwork in the ceiling. A subtle movement caught his eye, and he stared at a square grate fixed to a steel ventilation duct by four bolts. One of the bolts began to turn counter-clockwise, so slowly that he wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been staring directly at it. When the bolt was about to fall out of its hole, a tiny white hand emerged from the grate and grabbed it. The metal bolt slipped from the tiny fingers and plummeted down to smack onto Philip’s thigh. A faint, high-pitched curse came from behind the grate. After a short pause, another bolt began to turn.

  Philip stood and climbed onto the arm of the couch to get a closer look. Whatever was in the ventilation duct caught the next bolt and made it disappear, but had not calculated the effect of weight on the downward-facing, flexible steel. When the third bolt loosened completely, the grate squealed and flexed open, causing a tiny woman to scream and slide out of the ventilation duct.

  Knowing something of the character of the person he had suspected was in the duct, Philip was prepared for this to happen and waited with a pillowcase spread wide, like a firefighter with an old-fashioned jumping sheet. He caught the falling woman with ease and lowered the pillowcase to the floor. As she struggled to stand free of the cloth, Philip laughed and pointed at her.

  “Nick! You’re alive. And … pregnant? Not again.”

  The tiny blonde woman got to her feet and glared at Philip, both fists on a waist that bulged at the sides but mostly from her abdomen, as if she’d swallowed a tiny beach ball. Luckily, the red spandex minidress she wore was able to stretch. Copious streaks of dark brown sludge covered the sprite from head to toe, as if she’d been attacked by a gang of Mars bars.

  “I––AM––NOT––PREGNANT!”

  Philip poked the round ball of Nick’s stomach. “You promised to keep yourself thin and beautiful for me, dear Nicky. How could you let this happen after you ate all of those cupcakes last week? This is just like that other fatty incident with the transmogrifier.”

  Nick stamped her bare foot. “I’m not fat! I just found some chocolate, okay? What’s wrong with a little snack?”

  “My word––it was definitely more than a ‘little’ snack.”

  “If you’re going to be mean, then I’m leaving!”

  Nick vibrated the dragonfly wings on her back with a loud buzz, but her feet remained planted firmly on the ground.

  “Come on, come on,” she said between gritted teeth.

  Philip grinned. “I’m sorry for making fun of you, Nicky. You’re still my favorite girl, even if you like to eat sweets a bit too much.”

  Nick stopped buzzing her wings. The tiny sprite slumped her shoulders and stared at her feet.

  “The chocolate was good,” she whispered. “And there was sooo much of it.”

  “Don’t worry. The belly from the cupcakes disappeared after a day or so, didn’t it? That’s what will happen this time. You’ve got the metabolism of a hummingbird, along with the talent for flying, of course. I suppose around the time we’ve finished our tour of Four’s ship––Raw Tithes, or whatever it’s called––you’ll be back to a normal weight.”

  Nick’s eyes grew wide. The tiny woman clenched her fists and hopped up and down on the pillowcase.

  “No! That’s what I came to tell you––the scarface Amy and the black-haired Amy are going to kill you! I heard scarface Amy talk to the others about not hurting you too badly, because she wants to do it herself. Phili
p, we have to find Sunnie and Amy and Betsy and get out of here!”

  “I suspected as much. Thank you, Nick, for finding me. I agree that we have to leave immediately. Have you seen Amy or the others? Are they prisoners of this mad band of murderous, trans-dimensional females?”

  Nick shrugged her brown-stained shoulders. “I’ve been all over this stinky place, and I haven’t seen anyone but you. The cats found a couple of those dumb lizard guys, all drowned and dead and stuff, but the way they flap their lips blah-blah all the time about not finding anyone but you and me, I think they haven’t found anyone but you and me.”

  “Right,” said Philip. He gently picked up the tiny sprite and placed her in his front pocket. “Plan One: we break out of this room and find a control panel, ideally a panel that gives us access to a means of transport. What transport that would be, I have absolutely no idea.”

  “We don’t have to go anywhere,” said Nick. “I’ve watched the scarface Amy do everything from her desk in the other room.” She scratched the back of her leg. “Is there a shower in here? I feel itchy and gross.”

  Philip took several rapid steps out of the bedroom and into One’s office. “You’ll have time for all the showers in the world once we escape. Where’s the control panel?”

  “Have you ever been covered in chocolate and dirt and dust and a billion icky things like that? I could die from this crap!”

  Philip sighed. “As you wish. Show me how to use this desk and I’ll let you take a bath.”

  Nick leaned out of Philip’s pocket and pointed at a marble paperweight on the desk. “Those two naked people hugging––turn it to the right.”

  Philip twisted the black marble figurine, and the glossy center of the desk rotated to reveal a bright display and a mechanical keyboard. In the center of the screen was an orange flower, the username “Real_Amy4569,” and below that, an empty white rectangle with a blinking cursor.

  “There you go!” said Nick. “Take me to the sink, it’s my turn.”

  “Good show, old stick. What now?”

  “Type in the password, you doink!”

  “What do I use?”

  “Don’t look at me,” said Nick. “It’s probably ‘catfarts411.’ That’s the only password I know.”

  Philip frowned. “I doubt that an evil trans-dimensional copy of Amy would use Betsy’s password in any situation.”

  Nick crossed her chocolate-streaked arms. “Look, I’m no system hacker. I’m just a dirty sprite being held prisoner by a huge human I THOUGHT was my friend, because friends don’t let friends not take a bath.”

  “Fine, fine.”

  Philip carried Nick through the bedroom into a closet-like washroom and set her in the sink. He cracked the water handle, causing the tap to drip slowly, and pushed on the dispenser to squirt a bit of soap on the side.

  “Close the door!” squealed Nick.

  Philip ran back to One’s desk and stared at the blinking cursor.

  “Password, password,” he murmured. “What would she use for a password?”

  Neither of Nick’s suggestions worked. Philip drummed his fingers beside the keyboard, and stared at the screen.

  “Bit of a smudge there,” he mused, and used his sleeve to wipe a tiny mark on the display. His eyes widened. “Hold on!”

  The teenager grabbed an artificial candle and held it close to the keyboard.

  “The sinister Amy uses lotion on her hands,” he said to himself. “And several of the letters on the keyboard are shiny with the stuff. H, I, L, P––what poppycock! I couldn’t possibly make a word from those letters.”

  He leaned back and rubbed his chin for a moment.

  “Unless … but that’s far too easy.”

  Philip typed his own name into the password field. The screen blinked and filled with a grid of dozens of pale yellow folders.

  “Wizard! Now to find a map for this ship, and perhaps a set of secret controls. What an odd collection of boxes this evil Amy has on the screen: Personnel Hired, Personnel Fired, Personnel Spaced Out the Airlock, Personnel With Odd Names That I Can’t Remember So I Call Them Dan, Spreadsheets for Punishment Cube, Funny Cat Photos, Spreadsheet for Punishing Cats Who Send Me Photos, Thermonuclear Warhead Timer (PLS DO NOT USE), Photos of Philip and Me, Draft of First Novel …” Philip rubbed his eyes. “It all seems a bit useless. Am I missing something?” He scanned the folders again. “‘Quantum Attenuation Transfuser: Information for Pre-IPO Investors.’ That must be interesting.”

  Philip touched the folder icon, and the sparkling pancake of the Milky Way galaxy filled the screen.

  “Space … the final frontier,” droned One’s voice. “Or is it? What about trans-dimensional travel?”

  The spiral galaxy split into a hundred, then a thousand identical Milky Ways.

  “Dimensional travel … the final frontier,” continued One. “The items and precious minerals obtained through our proprietary transmat technology have given Armstrong Industries a double-digit growth rate and billions of woolongs in the past five years, but I am always looking to the future … and to the past.”

  The galaxies disappeared, replaced by a montage of historical events fading in and out: the Pyramids, Julius Caesar, the Great Wall, a blonde woman in a Nazi uniform who looked like a grim-faced Marilyn Monroe.

  “Imagine not only traveling across dimensions, but through time itself. Imagine the ability to create useful change in the universe, and to influence the course of history for the betterment of mankind. A rising tide lifts all boats, does it not, ladies and gentlemen?”

  One appeared in the foreground, blonde hair pinned back and dressed in a well-fitted black suit and skirt, as the montage of history continued.

  “With your financial support, Armstrong Industries can create a future that will last forever, from a past that is under our firm and copyrighted grasp.”

  The scene dissolved, and returned as a swath of airport tarmac covered in bright sunshine. A huge steampunk submarine the color of black jade sat on dozens of landing legs, stretching over two hundred meters from rounded bow to stern. A multitude of long and bulbous humps covered the dark green skin of the ship, like veins popping from the arms of a wrestler. A solid rectangle of three hundred cats and dogs stood at attention on the tarmac to the side, each wearing a black beret and colored uniform for his or her department. One stepped into the shot, wearing the same corporate black suit.

  “The Hare Twist you see at the spaceport behind me was engineered to be a mobile laboratory in trans-chronic research, using data from my late husband’s notes. I will personally take command of this project and see it to the end.” One clasped her hands. “Several members of the corporate board of Armstrong Industries have become tragic victims of random home invasions––Crom rest their souls––after questioning my methods, hiring practices, and frequent use of the phrase, ‘I know where you live and will send someone to stab you to death.’ If they were still alive, I would say to them that I’ve changed, and that I’ve learned from my mistakes. The new board members who’ve pledged allegiance to the corporate values of Armstrong Industries will attest to that. As an example of my new transparency, I will give a demonstration of the quantum attenuation transfuser, and how we extract data.”

  The scene faded into a cramped and dark laboratory packed with display screens and white cylinders. Wires hung from the ceiling and covered the floor. At one end of the room, a silver disc in the floor was illuminated by a single beam of light. In the ceiling above the disc gleamed a circle of multi-faceted gems.

  “The quantum attenuation transfuser works by breaking down the universal frequency of matter. This gives us specific data that can correlate with transmissions from the nearest Galactic Position Satellite, commonly known as SpaceBook.”

  A black pug with a bored look in his eyes trotted into frame and pushed a glass box containing a brown-and-white poona onto the silver disc. The hamster-like creature frantically jumped and scrabbled at the transparent wall
s of his tiny prison as the dog slunk away.

  “The universal frequency has only been discovered as part of organic matter,” narrated One. “This is either unfortunate or fortunate, depending upon which side of our test chamber you find yourself. In full accordance with Gliese laws, we have only experimented on poona, death-row criminals, and daytime talk show hosts.”

  Philip felt a tug at his ankle, and he lifted Nick up to the top of the desk.

  “What’s all this crap?” asked the tiny woman, rubbing her wet hair with a scrap of paper.

  Philip shrugged. “Some sort of research.”

  On the display screen, the gems in the ceiling spun in rapid, concentric circles above the trapped poona. A moment later, a bright flash filled the room. The small animal and his glass prison had disappeared.

  Nick gasped. “Whoa!”

  “The living matter is transformed into super-heated plasma in a matter of nano-seconds,” said One’s voice. “Converting it through stages to an original quantum state. We have a recording device capable of several million frames per second, and have observed the test subject actually reversing the aging process back through what we consider ‘time,’ from adult infant, embryo, and egg cell. Unfortunately, my assistant borrowed the camera to film his nephew’s pool party, so that footage is not available.”

  Philip nodded. “How interesting. Apparently she wants to make even more money by traveling through time.”

  Nick stopped rubbing her hair with the cloth and stared at Philip. “That’s not true!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I heard scarface talking about that stuff to one of the cats. She doesn’t care about money. Evil scarface wants to travel back in time to find Philip.”

  “Me?”

  “No, silly! An old person like her. Stop looking at this dumb video and find the control panel.”

  “How? It’s still going.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  The sprite hopped onto the flat screen, paused the promotional video with her foot, and swiped back to the grid of yellow folders on a blue background. She hopped around the screen, opening and closing folders by tapping them with her tiny bare feet.