Petra 97 was created to rule a planet but was never going to settle for just that. Simultaneously exiled from two worlds, she seeks to forge a new life for herself as a space adventurer - and promptly blunders into a scheme so destructive it defies sanity.
I NEED AN EARTH GIRL!
By Stephen Walker
(20,000 words)
With a crack like thunder, a Kelibas space
destroyer appeared in the skies above Orbis Septi's only spaceport.
Its thrusters raging, it came in for a landing.
Its
huge metal feet touched down – and, almost immediately, a ramp
dropped down from its underbelly.
The ship's captain
strode out down it.
Carried under his arm
was a woman. She was called Petra 97 and he was carrying her like an
unwanted rug.
At the bottom of the
ramp, he released his grip and she fell to the spaceport’s tarmac.
Inconvenienced as she
was by the wearing of a straitjacket, and a heavy chain around her
ankles, she merely lay there on her side, as a small insect walked
past her.
Behind her, the
captain stomped back up the ramp.
The ramp withdrew into
the spaceship and, with another raging of thrusters, the ship took
off.
There were those who'd
insist that any landing you can walk away from is a good one. As she
couldn't walk away from this one, Petra 97 drew her own conclusions.
But now she saw
something.
A pair of feet that
had appeared in front of her.
Her gaze climbed the
owner of those feet until it reached a face that was looking down at
her.
That face was her own.
*
It
wasn't her own face, of course. It was that of Petra 2. But, as
everyone on Orbis Septi was a clone of exactly the same person, it
was inevitable that you got to see a lot of your own face on it, even
when you didn't want to.
Petra 2 looked down at
the new arrival, gave a sigh and told her two lackeys, who also
looked exactly like Petra 97, 'Medical Centre.'
*
Their
hands occupied gripping their captive, the lackeys kicked open the
medical centre's twin doors and they dragged her inside.
They dragged her to
the far side of the room, then flung her, face down, onto a padded
bench.
Petra 13 entered the
room.
Petra 13 crossed to a
worktop, freed a syringe from its wrapping, discarded the wrapping in
a pedal bin and then headed towards her.
Petra 13 stuck the
business end of the syringe into the back of Petra 97's neck.
And, with a steady
pull, she drained enough of her blood to fill it.
*
The
lackeys hauled Petra 97 into a lift and, as its door shut, told it,
'Basement.'
*
Deep
below the building, the lackeys flung Petra 97 into a cage with bars
as thick as a woman's wrist, and she landed, face down, on the cold,
hard floor.
One of them flung the
cage door shut.
Petra 97 heard its
lock clunk, and the lackeys departed, leaving her alone, to no doubt
ruminate on her crimes.
A week earlier, she
hadn't even existed. She'd just been a bunch of cells floating around
in a vat. But no good things last in life and so, those cells, as
they were meant to, had collected together to form the being she now
was.
And that was all the
fault of one woman.
Queen Heliopetra
Magnificens the First.
Heliopetra
Magnificens the First had been the most legendary ruler in all of
known space; beautiful, wise, just and kind, blessed with the oratory
of a poet, the digestive system of a barbarian and the brains of a
machine. Well, Queen Heliopetra the First was long gone – even she
wasn't immortal - but the legend lived on.
More
importantly, so did her clones.
Centuries after her
death, her foot – the only part of her that still existed, had been
bought at auction by two men whose names history didn't record.
However, they'd called themselves the Brind Corporation and, armed
with that foot, they'd launched their enterprise.
It went like this;
hand over enough cash and you'd get your very own queen. And, because
she was an exact clone of the original Queen Petra, she was
guaranteed to be the finest ruler that money could buy.
After just three days
of that corporation's existence, the first three queens off the
production line had used the financial clout that came from being
rulers of their worlds to buy out the pair. That pair had then
retired on their windfall and the corporation became a co-operative,
owned by the queens it produced. If you wanted a queen and could
afford it, Orbis Septi was the place to go. What you were going to
get was a guaranteed one hundred percent perfect monarch.
As
Petra 97 had discovered, five minutes after her creation, what she'd
be getting was a planet to rule.
And
not just any planet.
She'd been created to
rule over Kelibas, possibly the richest planet in its sector.
Spectacular was Kelibas, its towers soaring, its cars flying.
Petras were quick
learners. Most of what they needed to know to do their jobs was
already implanted in them during their creation, and the rest they
could pick up fast.
That was why, just
three days after she'd been fished from that vat, she'd been ready
for action.
Her bags packed, she'd
climbed aboard a spaceship at Orbis Septi spaceport, said goodbye
forever to a world she hadn't known long enough to regard as home and
had set off to rule, for at least a thousand years, over the cheering
people of Kelibas.
Three days later, here
she was, back, returned with a demand for a refund.
And there was her
thinking she'd done a good job.
*
With
the swipe of a card, one of the lackeys unlocked the door to the
cage.
It was an hour after
they'd thrown Petra 97 in there. And, if she'd learned any lessons at
all in that time, she didn't have a clue what they were meant to be.
One of the lackeys
pulled open the cage door.
That lackey said,
'You're wanted upstairs.'
*
The
lackeys pushed her, still straitjacketed, onto a chair. They were in
the Meeting Room of the High Commission.
The High Commission of
Orbis Septi consisted of just three people; Petras 2, 3 and 4. As a
rule, Petras were not given numbers that were at all relevant to the
order in which they'd come out of the vats. This was to prevent any
planets thinking they'd got a better or worse deal than any others
thanks to having received an earlier or later model.
The three exceptions
to this were the first three clones who'd ever been produced.
And here they were,
right now, looking down at her from behind their raised bench. Each
of them was at least five hundred years older than Petra 97 but you'd
never know it to look at them. Despite Orbis Septi being a,
'co-operative,' they were the ones who made all the decisions round
here.
'This,' declared Petra
2, 'is the darkest day in the history of this co-operative. Never,
since its inception, has a Petra ever been returned as faulty.'
'I
am not faulty.'
'Petra
97, you are flawed, flawed in ways that make me despair. You were in
charge of Kelibas for just three days - let's just remind ourselves
what you got up to.' Petra 2 opened a document that lay on the bench,
before her. Studying its contents, she said, 'According to this, on
that world, you tried to cure poverty, feed the starving and stop a
war that's been raging between its two hemispheres for five thousand
years.'
'And what's wrong with
that?'
'Petra 97, what is the
job of a queen?'
'To right wrongs and
make your world a better place.'
'No, Petra 97, it is
not. If your subjects wanted that, they'd do it for themselves. What
they want is someone to wave and smile and tell them that what
they're doing is right.'
'And what if it's not
right?'
'Then you must pretend
it is.'
'Even if it's not?'
'That is the nature of
pretence.'
'Do
you know what that war was over? It was over which hemisphere
should call itself the north and which should call itself the south.
They both want to be north because that sounds better. Five thousand
years they've been at war over that. Five thousand years!'
'The
sheer idiocy of it doesn't matter. All that matters is that you go
along with it. It seems, from Petra 4's report, that, whilst you were
being created, cigarette ash from Petra 1008 may have fallen into
your vat, corrupting you.'
'You
see?' said Petra 97. 'Smoking. We're supposed to be perfect. How was
that perfect?'
'Petra 1008 was about
to be sent to rule a planet where smoking is not only allowed but
compulsory. Like any good Petra, she was merely getting in some
practice. Something I noticed you never bothered doing. As for
the physical corruptions within you, it seems, from Petra 4's report,
that these elements are ingrained within you to such an extent they
can never be removed. Therefore our course is clear. I have no choice
but to order you liquidated at dawn.'
'What?'
'Fortunately, Petra 3
here tells me this is fully tax deductible, as natural wastage,
therefore the business won't suffer. A replacement Petra shall be
sent to Kelibas - which we shall tell them is you repaired - and none
shall be any the wiser.'
'Hold on a minute, you
can't just “liquidate” me. I'm a living breathing being.'
'No, Petra 97, you're
not. Like all of us, you're an asset of this business, and we expect
you to die with more dignity than you ever lived with.' And, as Petra
97 was being hauled out of the room, Petra 2 said, 'Goodbye, Petra
97. Remember, we are all your sisters and we love you very much.'
Slam! The doors shut
behind her.
Love? They didn't know
the meaning of the word!
And it was true. They
didn't. All they understood was profit, loss, accounts, amortisation.
These beings who were created to be perfect, it was like nothing else
existed in their entire universe.
*
Not
that her moral superiority did her any good. It didn't stop them
flinging her back into that stupid cage, though she did at least get
to have her straitjacket and ankle chain removed this time.
And that was that.
Until dawn, she was to be left to her own devices.
Fortunately, her own
devices were plenty.
*
Some
ideas come with a light bulb appearing above your head. This one came
with her spotting a light bulb above her head.
In
any normal cell, owned by normal people, the bulb would've been
removed in case the occupant used its glass to slash their wrists
but, of course, it wouldn't occur to a planetful of Petras that any
Petra would be un-egotistical enough to end her own life.
And they were right.
No way was she going to throw her life away. Nor was she going to
allow anyone else to do it. She was determined to get out of here
alive, even if it killed her.
So, what else was
there in this cell?
There was make-up.
Loads of it. If that didn't say it all, what did? What other
government in the universe could think a vital essential in a prison
cell was boxes of cosmetics?
Well,
right now it was essential because, unlikely as it might seem,
those boxes were going to get her out of there.
*
When
Petra 2000 came to bring the prisoner's breakfast that morning, there
was a shock waiting for her. Petra 97 was stood there pointing a gun
at her.
Of course, it wasn't
really a gun. It was a ramshackle concoction of lipstick tubes,
aerosol cans, a bar of soap, curling tongs and a light bulb, all
blackened with eye-liner to make it pass for a unified metallic
whole. In a good light, it'd struggle to fool a five year old.
But it wasn't in a
good light.
That was because she'd
removed the cage's only light bulb to make it.
Besides, Petra 2000
wasn't five years old. She was a new one, straight out of the vat,
only still on Orbis Septi because she hadn't yet been despatched to
rule over who-knew-what corrupt regime that needed a good smacking
instead of royal confirmation. Petra 97 could spot the new ones a
mile off. And that newness meant that no way could she ever have seen
a real-life particle gun before.
Petra 97 pointed it
through the bars, at her visitor and told her, 'This door, get it
open.'
Petra 2000 did exactly
what she was told.
Still pointing the
'gun' and taking care not to jab her visitor with it, in case it fell
apart, Petra 97 stepped out of the cell. With a wave of the gun, she
ordered her visitor to, 'Get in the cage.'
She did so.
Petra 97 slammed the
door shut then locked it.
And now she did what
all heroines with any sense do.
She did a runner.
*
Petra
97 made her way through the building's subterranean passageways,
trying to remember the route she'd taken to get here.
She'd remembered
right.
She found the lift.
She summoned it.
She got in.
She told it to take
her to the hangers.
It did.
*
Petra
97 emerged from the lift and, straight away, amongst all the other
vehicles, she saw exactly what she needed.
It was a shiny new
sports car.
She didn't know whose
it was and she didn't care.
She leapt in it and
pressed her hand against its dashboard palm reader. It accepted her
as its rightful owner.
Of course it did. She
was on a planet where everyone had exactly the same palm print.
The engine started.
A press of a button
signalled for the automatic hanger roof to open above her and, with a
thrust of anti-grav, that she knew was turning the car's underside a
brilliant blue, she took off.
Wham! Out of the
hanger, Petra 97 hit the thrusters, and a planet was left trailing in
her wake.
*
Having
escaped her doom, a sensible woman would have flown into neutral
space as soon as she could.
But Petra 97 was not a
sensible woman. If she had been, she'd never have got into this mess
in the first place. Right now, there was only one place she was
going.
And that was Kelibas.
*
Petra
97 pulled her car up at a cash machine, slammed her hand against its
palm reader and declared, 'Withdrawal!'
As she awaited a
response, she took a look around her.
Half of Kelibas was a
wreck. Five thousand years of non-stop war over nothing in particular
tended to do that.
Not
that you'd ever know that where she was right now because the other
half of the planet – the half not near the equatorial battle zones
- looked like it had never seen a scrap of violence in its existence.
In this way could those who gave the orders insulate themselves from
the consequences of their actions. Well, she'd seen enough of the war
zone, on the unannounced visit that had started all this. This time,
she was in the capital, and the capital was like something from a
movie. Cars flew around in the air, a great big ring circled the
planet, and shining towers rose high enough to puncture the clouds.
All of it built with money from arms sales to feed the war.
Well,
that wasn't going to be lasting much longer.
All of the capital's
cash machines were at least forty storeys up in the air. There was no
good reason for this other than it gave people an excuse to fly their
cars to get to them, thus reminding them how glamorous their lives
were. Having been recognised by the cash machine, she promptly
withdrew the government's entire budget for the entire year, in the
form of a bar of solid Trilate. Just as she'd hoped, with her out of
the way, and an identically palmed replacement expected, it hadn't
occurred to the government to cancel her power to access its funds. A
power she was using right now to the limit of its capabilities.
On
most worlds, stealing every penny a government had might seem like an
irresponsible thing to do but, as this government was going to spend
it all on fighting a war that made no sense, it didn't seem that way
to her.
Their
war now rendered unfinanceable, she put her foot down and got out of
there.
*
The
atmosphere of the planet Rolst was pure helium. She didn't care. Like
all Petras, she'd been created to breathe most planetary gases. She
didn't care either that its cities were all in the habit of floating
in mid-air or that they did so upside-down in order to fully show off
their mastery of anti-gravity.
Having landed in the
adjoining street, she climbed out of her car, looked up at the
frontage of the Global Bank HQ, and went inside.
It was big inside.
But, then, it would
be. Most of it had been financed by criminal activities on other
worlds.
Thud. She slapped her
stolen bar of Trilate on the counter and said one thing. She said,
'I'd like to swap this for cash.'
*
Petra
97 strode out of the bank and descended its front steps.
She climbed back into
her car, started up its engine and took off. She had a fully
charged-up card in her pocket and, thanks to it, was now the richest
woman on this planet.
*
Once
they realised what had happened, the government of Kelibas would, of
course, demand Petra 97's extradition, to which the government of
Rolst would tell them to, 'Eff off!' One, because they didn't like
being told what to do by foreigners who lived the wrong way up; and
two, because she now had enough money to bribe their infamously
corrupt prime minister into having an overwhelming desire to protect
her human rights.
So, that was it. Petra
97 was now set up.
Or was she?
No she wasn't. She had
all her material needs sorted but she couldn't get away from it; she
needed a sense of purpose. Something to make her feel important. She
didn't know if it was a genuine need or if she only had it because it
had been implanted in her by her creators.
What she did know was
she had to get out there and save someone.
But save who?
And why?
*
'First
off, what do you know about the Trebus Empire?'
Two days after her
bank visit, Petra 97 was on the eighty seventh floor of a monolithic
building on a planet well outside her sphere of knowledge. She was
there in answer to a job ad requesting a, 'Space adventurer.' She
didn't know what that actually meant but figured there must be scope
somewhere within it for saving people.
The office belonged to
a man called Len Chem and, according to him, he was the man charged
with the task of finding the ideal candidate. He was therefore the
one interviewing her for the job.
Sat in a chair, across
the desk from him, she answered his question. She said, 'Absolutely
nothing. For some reason, knowledge of your society wasn't something
I was implanted with.'
'Implanted?'
'When Petras are
created, we're implanted with all the knowledge we're likely to need
in the course of our duties. There's history, geography, economics,
the arts and whole bunch of other stuff in this head. Oddly enough,
there's nothing at all about the Trebus Empire.'
'Yeah? Well it's not
that odd. You see, there's a good reason why there wouldn't be.'
'Which is what?'
'That it's crap.' He
rose from his swivel chair, turned his back on her and gazed at the
huge map of the empire, that completely filled that wall. 'Look at
it,' he said. 'Looks impressive, doesn't it? A hundred million
planets all under one government. Some of them vastly larger than the
planet that rules over them all. But let me tell you something. The
Trebus Empire is notorious for being the worst galactic empire in
history. The only reason it survives is because no one can be
bothered to steal its territories from it. Most of the planets in it
are so backwards they don't even know they're members.'
'Mr Chem, shouldn't
you be trying to sell it to me?'
'I
am selling it to you. You should hear what people who don't
like it have to say about it.' He sat back down again, once more
facing her across the table. 'Amongst all its other problems, it has
one very specific one. Professor Mystery.'
'Professor...?'
'It's some TV show
they make on one of the planets in the empire. A place called Earth.
It's another of the planets that's so clueless it doesn't even know
it's in the empire. So, this TV show, thanks to it drifting out into
space and being pirated, everyone knows about it. What keeps
happening is, whenever people in the real world have problems with
invading aliens, they promptly phone the government, demanding we
send Professor Mystery round to deal with them. When the empire
doesn't send him, coz he doesn't exist, they sue the government for
not sending him. That's why the empire needs a space adventurer. It
needs someone to answer the Professor Mystery calls and deal with
them.'
'I don't get it,' she
said. 'If someone's planet's being invaded, shouldn't the military be
getting involved?'
'I told you. The
empire's crap. The only people who want to invade any of its planets
are people from other planets in the empire. That's why it makes no
odds to the government who invades who. In the end it's all still
part of the empire. Thing is, the government can't afford to keep
getting sued, mostly because its so bad at collecting taxes. So,
that's what you'll be for, to save the planets no one cares about, so
we don't get sued. Welcome to the company. When can you start?'
'You're giving me the
job like that? Don't you want to know my qualifications? My talents?
My aptitudes and abilities? Am I a trustworthy person?'
'You're
the only one stupid enough to have applied for the job. That's all
the qualifications I need.'
*
'And
this little beauty's your office.'
Petra 97's office was
a spacious thing with curved walls that flowed seamlessly into the
ceiling, creating an effect like a giant upturned kidney dish. The
walls and ceiling were inset with large geometric shapes, some of
which emitted light and some of which didn't and the place had a
split-level floor. She had to admit it looked quite good though she
wasn't sure how practical it was. It was in the same building as
Len's office but way down in the basement and at the end of a
corridor. According to him, 'Down here's where we house all the
special projects.' He hadn't explained what he'd meant by that.
Right now he told her,
'As you can see, it's got all mod cons. That's your desk. That's your
hotline.' He meant the phone that rested on that desk. 'It flashes
red when you get an emergency call.'
'Please tell me you're
joking.'
'Nothing but the
finest of clichés for a heroine of the empire.' Now on the far side
of the room from her, he yanked open one of its cupboards – of
which the room seemed to have more than it could possibly need and,
from it, yanked out an object. He said, 'This is your pulse rifle. Be
careful with it. It's the only one we've got and they say they won't
be able to replace it till the new year. You've handled one before?'
'Never but all Petras
are implanted with an understanding of shooting, in case they have to
go hunting.'
'Great stuff. I'll
leave you to it.'
*
A
man who was far too slick to be trusted told Petra 97, 'This is the
apartment we've selected for you, on Mr Chem's instructions. I trust
you'll find it to your satisfaction?'
Stood at its centre
and taking in her new surroundings, she said, 'No.'
'No?'
'It's too small. It's
the wrong shape. It's got nowhere to hang from and...' She headed for
the window. '... looking out the windows, the view's blocked by the
surrounding buildings.'
'Such is the nature,
I'm afraid, of city living.'
Frankly, looking out
every day and seeing a forest of monolithic rectangular boxes from
her living room wasn't her idea of, 'Relaxing.'
But, to the left,
something caught her eye.
She said, 'That
building over there. The really tall one...'
The man joined her at
the window. 'Ah yes. That's the Tempus Tower. The tallest building in
the city.'
Her gaze settled on
the Tempus Tower.
And it stayed settled
on it.
*
Next
day, at work, Petra 97 flung open a cupboard door.
And promptly hit
someone in the face.
It turned out it
wasn't a cupboard door at all. It was the door to another corridor.
Her unintentional
victim was a man-sized insect-like creature who, when she closed the
door, so she could see him, was picking up the papers she'd just
knocked from his, 'hands.'
As she'd basically
just assaulted him, she felt it was the least she could do to help
him pick the stuff up. 'Are you all right?' she said as she handed
him a dropped folder.
'Oh yeah. Don't worry
about me. I'm fine, thanks.'
'I don't get it,' she
said. 'Why do all the doors in this place open outwards?'
'Coz the architect who
designed it thought that people opening doors in each others' faces
would be a great way for them to meet each other and break down the
barriers between strangers.'
'Is that true?'
'Not half. He won an
award for it. He's been living off it ever since. I'm Bloop Bickerel,
by the way.' He extended a hand towards her, which she took as a sign
of greeting, rather than an offer of food.
So she did the right
thing and shook it. 'I'm Queen Heliopetra Magnificens 97.'
'Are
you serious.'
'It's
just the way my face is stuck together. It means I always look
serious.'
'I meant about you
being a queen?'
'Just take a look at
me, matey. Beauty like this costs a bomb, and they don't spend that
sort of cash on nobodies.'
'I don't suppose they
do.' He looked her up and down.
And then he did it
again.
He waited a moment, as
though contemplating something.
And then he said it,
'Do you want me to show you my test tubes?'
*
'Behold
my magnificent laboratory!'
Bloop Bickerel's,
'magnificent laboratory,' was at the end of the corridor and was a
place of madness, a room with even less straight lines than her own.
The far end of it looked bigger than the near end, and its distance
from her kept changing like it was randomly zooming in and out at
her.
For that matter, the
entire room kept changing shape, like it was made of a particularly
gelatinous liquid. A huge roaring noise filled the place and it was
full of things just floating around. Some of them were everyday
objects while some were swirling things she didn't even know how to
describe.
Bloop
tapped her on the shoulder to get her attention then walked across to
a swirling thing. He stuck his arm into it, and the other end of his
arm appeared out of a totally different swirling thing across the
room from it. Like a bad stage magician, he waggled his fingers at
her to show it really was an arm.
But
suddenly, a small furry creature, bright pink and about two foot
tall, ran up to her and wrapped itself around her leg.
'Don't
worry about him,' Bloop shouted to be heard above the
background noise. 'That's my assistant, Ferris. He's just being
friendly.'
She
tried to shake Ferris off but got nowhere with it. So she pressed her
palm against his head and tried to push it away from her to start the
task of peeling him off her.
That attempt was
abandoned when, at her first push, he tried to snap at her fingers
with his fangs.
'Are you sure this is
a scientist?' she said.
'Don't let his act
fool you. He has a mind like a steel trap.'
Now Ferris let go of
her and ran across the room – straight into a table leg and knocked
himself out.
Petra 97 returned her
attention to Bloop. She said, 'What exactly are you doing in here?'
'I'm working on the
Ouroboros Anenome.'
'The what?'
'The warping of time
or space, for propulsional methods, without using any energy at all
to do it.'
'You do know that's
impossible?'
'And yet still I try.'
'So you're either a
genius or a madman.'
'I'm definitely a
genius. Do you know, I've been thrown out of six universities for
doing. “Stupid experiments”? The stultifying conformism of those
people. If it's not in a book, it doesn't exist for them. Know what
it is? Me and Ferris are mavericks. You won't understand this - being
a queen - but if there's one thing people in charge can never stand,
it's a maverick.'
*
Petra
97 flung a dustpan over her shoulder.
Her emergency hotline
showing no signs of ringing, she was manufacturing something to do by
checking out the contents of her office's multiple cupboards. So far
she'd found nothing of any interest whatsoever.
But now she did.
At the bottom of the
last of them, she found a cardboard box.
She hauled it out into
the open, lifted its twin flaps and checked inside.
It was full of all
sorts of junk.
But right at the
bottom of it was something much more intriguing.
It was a memory card.
And, according to its
label, it contained five years' worth of a certain TV show.
*
Petra
97 barged into Len's office and said it. 'Len, I need an Earth girl!'
He looked up at her
from behind his desk and said, 'I'm sorry?'
Claiming a seat facing
him across the desk, she said, 'I've been watching that TV show you
were talking about - and it's obvious from that that what a space
adventurer needs most is an Earth girl accomplice. According to that
show, Earth girls are feisty, resourceful, loyal, add
will-they-or-won't-they sexual tension and sometimes have big teeth.
Big teeth are highly useful for biting through ropes with.'
'If you want an Earth
girl, Pets, you get an Earth girl. Just as long as it doesn't cost
anything and we can't get sued for it.'
*
Her
heart filled with purpose, Petra 97 yanked her coat on as she emerged
from her office.
And promptly smashed
her door into someone's face.
It was Bloop Bickerel.
After she'd hauled him
to his feet, he said, 'We can't carry on meeting like this.'
'Well
you can't. You'll be dead within a week at this rate.'
'Ah
but the friendships I'll have forged with total strangers in the
meantime.' Noting her coat, he added, 'Where you off to?'
Getting her head
feathers free of her collar, she said, 'A place called Earth, to get
me an Earth girl.'
'Never heard of it.'
'Me neither but it has
the pluckiest girls in the empire.'
'In that case you
might need this.' He handed her something that looked suspiciously
like a phone.'Thinking it'd increase my chances of getting to climb
on top of you if I do you a favour, I've been working on something
for you.'
She looked at it, both
sides up, and said, 'What is it?'
He said, 'A teleport.
Get you there a zillion times faster than any rubbishy old
spaceship.'
'Bloop , teleports are
for lunatics. I could end up scattered all over the cosmos.'
'Not
this one. This one is guaranteed stable. You could teleport through
an ionic storm on a Zylorian Ztoomah and come out of it in one piece.
Admittedly, it does have one drawback.'
'Which
is what?'
'It has rotten battery
life and can only transport two people, max.'
'That's
two drawbacks.'
He
said nothing.
So she said, 'What's
its range?'
'That's the genius of
the thing. It hacks into the phone system, meaning that, wherever
there's a compatible signal, you can use it. That means you can go
anywhere at all in the empire. Admittedly, anywhere outside that and
you'll probably rematerialise as something resembling the contents of
a lava lamp.'
'And this thing
definitely works?'
'Of course it does.'
'I
mean it really works?'
'Cross
my heart and hope to die.'
'Use it,' she said.
'I'm sorry?'
She thrust the thing
at him and said, 'Use it.'
So he did. He gave out
a sigh at her lack of faith, took the phone from her, prodded some
coordinates into it and promptly vanished.
He didn't reappear.
Fifteen seconds later,
he still hadn't reappeared.
Twenty seconds later,
he still hadn't reappeared.
And then, at last,
after a full thirty five seconds, he finally reappeared.
And, as though it
explained anything at all, he just said, 'Call waiting.'
You can download the rest of I Need An Earth Girl! from:
Amazon.Com, Amazon UK and Smashwords.
Cover credits:
Teddy Bear 27 by Waugsberg (own photograph - eigene Aufnahme) [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html), CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/) or CC-BY-SA-2.5-2.0-1.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5-2.0-1.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
Earth From Space by NASA (Public Domain), via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Earth_from_Space.jpg
Overall cover design, copyright Stephen Walker, 2012, available under Creative Commons License CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/) or CC-BY-SA-2.5-2.0-1.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5-2.0-1.0)
