War on Whimsy

"Oh, I do respect them, darling." Mrs. Mania grinned. "That's why I had them kidnapped. I needed them out of the way until we've won this war and Whimsy has surrendered."

  "About that," said Nicola. "The people of Whimsy have a message for you."

  "They've had enough and they're going to surrender, are they?"

  "Not exactly," said Nicola. "May I present Henry Sweet, the president of Whimsy."

  Henry stepped forward, nervously pulling off his beret, so a tuft of hair stood up like a peacock. He didn't look at all presidential.

  "Not off somewhere painting a pretty picture then, Henry?" said Mrs. Mania.

  "Ah, no, not right now," said Henry. He brightened. "Although I was just looking at the specks of dust dancing in the beam of light streaming through that window over there and it gave me a rather marvelous idea--"

  Nicola shook her head at him. Henry coughed and cleared his throat.

  "The people of Whimsy would like to challenge you to a battle to, um, end all battles." Henry carefully recited the script the Space Brigade had worked out the night before. "If you win the battle, we shall surrender. If we win the battle, you shall formally recognize Whimsy as an independent planet and immediately withdraw your troops and promise to never, ever declare war upon us again."

  "You're kidding, right?" said Mrs. Mania.

  "Ah, no," said Henry. "I'm perfectly serious. We propose the battle takes place at the Sublime Valley at sunset today."

  "You actually think you have a chance of defeating the finest army in the galaxy! Whimsy doesn't even have an army!"

  "I wouldn't say we were exactly full of confidence," admitted Henry.

  Mrs. Mania laughed out loud. She shook her head almost fondly at Henry."This is exactly why you can't rule yourselves! You have no grip on reality."

  "It's funny you should mention that," said Henry. "I was just thinking to myself, Could all this be a terrible dream? And yet it feels so real!"

  Mrs. Mania rolled her eyes. "I suppose the Space Brigade is behind this idea of yours?" She shot Nicola a malevolent look.

  "Umm, well--" Henry blushed. (The people of Whimsy were terrible blushers.)

  "What if we are?" spoke up Nicola. "Are you frightened of us?"

  Excellent, Nicola! Georgio's voice suddenly rang out clearly in Nicola's head. Now watch her snap up the bait like a hungry fish!

  He was right. Mrs. Mania bristled.

  "Frightened of Earthling children?" she cried. "Your challenge is accepted, Henry Sweet! Prepare to be annihilated! "

  CHAPTER 33

  "Lovely," said Henry Sweet, before realizing that probably wasn't the most appropriate response to, "Prepare to be annihilated! " and being overcome with embarrassment. "I mean, er, well, let's see now--"

  Nicola interrupted him.

  "You might be thinking that even if you lose, you can always back out of this deal," she said to Mrs. Mania.

  "That's exactly what she's thinking," spoke up Shimlara, who had obviously been reading Mrs. Mania's mind.

  "Fortunately, we've got insurance," said Nicola.

  "Insurance?" frowned Mrs. Mania.

  Tyler stepped forward carrying his video camera. "I filmed the whole thing," he said.

  "If you lose the battle and go back on your word," said Nicola, "we will broadcast this footage to the entire galaxy."

  "You're not real journalists!" said Mrs. Mania.

  "No, but this is a real camera," said Nicola, thinking that it was lucky that Mrs. Mania couldn't read minds, or she might have discovered that Tyler's camera had actually been ruined by the policewomen's water hoses during the protest.

  "I think the intergalactic community would be very interested to hear how you've treated the United Aunts," said the green-skinned aunt.

  "Every planet in the galaxy would be furious with you," said the aunt representing the Planet of Shobble. "I would certainly be recommending that my planet didn't export any more ShobbleChoc to you!"

  Marty Mania's mouth dropped in horror. "Mom! Don't let that happen! I couldn't live without ShobbleChoc!"

  "Don't worry, Marty," said Mrs. Mania testily. "We're not going to lose the battle."

  "What battle?" said a rough voice.

  "Yes, what battle?"

  The sleeping Volcomanian guards were waking up. (They must have taken much bigger first mouthfuls of their food than Mrs. Mania and her son, so they'd slept for longer.)

  As the guards realized they were tied to their chairs and struggled to free themselves, there was a terrible din.

  "Who tied me up? "

  "I only had one mouthful of my breakfast and now it looks like it's gone cold! "

  "QUIET! "

  It was Mrs. Mania. (Her voice projection was quite outstanding.)

  The guards fell silent.

  "Not another word," she said. "I blame every single one of you for the indignity I have suffered today. So I suggest you zip your lips and consider new careers because you're all fired!"

  "But--" began the guard who had reminded Nicola and Sean of the school bully.

  "Zip it! " shouted Mrs. Mania.

  She looked at Nicola. "I assume you'll be untying me and my son now? I don't mind if you want to leave these incompetent guards but obviously someone of my position should not be expected to feel this level of discomfort."

  "Ah, no," said Nicola."Call us crazy, but we don't actually trust you."

  "And just how am I meant to contact my troops?" asked Mrs. Mania. "I need my hands free to control my radio." She jerked her chin at the large radio sitting on the table next to her breakfast plate.

  "That's no problem," said Sean confidently. "I can operate it."

  He went striding up to the platform and bent over the radio, studying the controls. "Easy," he said, and twiddled a few knobs. "There you go." He held the radio microphone up to her lips.

  Mrs. Mania grimaced. Then she shrugged and began to speak.

  "Come in all platoons, all platoons come in. This is Mrs. Mania. Good news! The Whimsians have challenged us to a battle in the Sublime Valley tonight at sunset. Once you've all stopped laughing, please proceed to the valley. It should be a quick, easy battle that will wrap up this war once and for all. Expect to be back with your families in time for dinner."

  The radio crackled as the deep-voiced captains in charge of each Volcomanian platoon responded.

  "Copy that, looking forward to it, Madam!"

  "Should be amusing, Madam!"

  "It will be like defeating a litter of kittens!"

  After each captain had responded and Sean turned off the radio, Mrs. Mania grinned nastily at Nicola and Henry Sweet.

  "Are you sure you don't want to forget the whole thing?"

  "Maybe we should," said Henry to Nicola, his eyes wide with alarm.

  "Of course we shouldn't!" said Nicola. "We'll leave you here for now, Mrs. Mania, but we'll be back to collect you at sunset so you can watch the battle for yourself."

  "And me too?" asked her son eagerly.

  "You too," said Nicola. She felt rather sorry for Marty Mania. "Come on, everybody. It's time for our breakfast."

  The Space Brigade, the prisoners, the United Aunts, and the Gorgioskio family left the food hall together. The piggy eyes of the guards silently watched them go.

  "I really think someone should stay and keep an eye on those guards," said Greta.

  "Everyone is hungry," said Nicola snappishly. She was sick of Greta thinking she knew best. "They've all been tied up securely. Nobody is going to escape."

  As arranged, Poppy the waitress had left a huge picnic outside the prison gates.

  The Space Brigade and Henry Sweet stood back politely and waited while the starving prisoners fell upon the food. It was wonderful to see the color coming back into their cheeks, and the light returning to their eyes as they ate and drank.

  "There is something familiar about that aunt with the fuzzy gray hair," said Katie quietly to Nicola, pointing at the picnic rug where the United Aunt
s were sitting with very straight backs tucking into sausage sandwiches.

  "That's because she represents the Planet of Shobble," explained Nicola. Most of the people of the Planet of Shobble share similar features: fuzzy hair and round, sweet faces.

  "A Shobbling!" said Sean. "We can ask her, then!"

  "Ask her what?"

  "Ask her what the limited edition gold buttons do," said Sean.

  He walked over to the picnic blanket where the aunts were sitting. They watched him bend down and show the Shobbling aunt the button around his neck.

  A few minutes later he was back with a big grin on his face.

  "So?" said Nicola.

  "It lets you unbutton your mistakes," he said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "She said if you make a mistake that you can't fix any other way, you just hold the button between your fingertips and say, 'Let that moment retake, so I can unbutton my mistake.' You'll get a second chance to fix things. Nobody else except you will ever remember you made the mistake."

  "Gosh." Katie carefully held up her button and looked at it with awe.

  "I bet it doesn't work," said Greta. "It seems very unlikely to me."

  "I wonder what technology it uses," said Tyler.

  "Well, I'm always making mistakes," said Shimlara. "It should come in very handy."

  "That's the other thing," said Sean."She said you can only use it once. That's why it's called a limited edition. She said to make sure you only use it for a really serious mistake."

  CHAPTER 34

  "So this is your army, Nicola?" said Georgio doubtfully.

  It was later that afternoon. Nicola looked at the huge crowd of Whimsians gathered in front of the prison camp. They had all responded to Henry Sweet's "Call to Arms" the night before. Not surprisingly, there was no electronic means of communication on Whimsy. Instead, messages were sent on miniature scrolls of parchment, carried by white doves in their beaks.

  "At least everyone seems very busy," said one of the United Aunts.

  This was true. Artists feverishly painted huge canvases. Sculptors were up to their elbows in wet clay.

  "They might not look like an army--" said Nicola to Georgio.

  "You've got that right!"

  Before Nicola could say any more, Henry Sweet hurried up to her, wringing his hands. "The artists are arguing over color schemes. This is unexpectedly stressful. I might need to lie down."

  "You can lie down once we've won the war, Henry," said Nicola. She looked up at the sky. Whimsy's giant sun had begun to slide toward the horizon. "We haven't got long before sunset."

  "Maybe you could take us through your strategy one more time, Nicola?" said Georgio.

  "She doesn't have time," said Mully. "We're going to have to trust the Space Brigade. They've proven themselves before. I think their plan is very . . . creative."

  "That's one word for it," said Georgio grimly.

  "Do you have any other ideas, Dad?" asked Shimlara impatiently.

  "Not exactly," admitted Georgio.

  "Then instead of complaining, maybe you could be asking how you could help!"

  "Putting aside your rather undaughterly tone, you make a good point," said Georgio. He turned to Nicola. "How can we help?"

  "Everyone has been assigned to a platoon," said Nicola."So I suggest you report to your platoon leader and await orders."

  "Aye, aye, sir!" Georgio saluted Nicola as if she were a ship's admiral. "Who is my platoon captain?"

  Shimlara smiled. "That would be me, Dad."

  "Excellent. I'll feel right at home being bossed around by my daughter."

  Squid removed his thumb from his mouth. "I want to be on your plate, too!" he cried, looking up imploringly at his big sister.

  "Don't worry, you're in my platoon, too," said Shimlara. She hoisted Squid up onto her hip.

  "What about me?" asked Mully. "Am I in Shimlara's platoon, too?"

  "Actually, seeing as you're the only person with actual army experience, you have your own platoon," said Nicola. She hoped that Georgio wouldn't be upset about his wife being a platoon captain, when he was a lowly soldier, but she needn't have worried.

  "Mully's platoon will put the others to shame!" he said with satisfaction.

  "Thank a lot, Dad," said Shimlara. "Great team spirit."

  "What? Oh! Sorry, darling, I mean, oh dear, I do put my heel in my mouth sometimes."

  "Foot in your mouth," corrected Greta under her breath.

  "What's she mumbling about?" said Georgio irritably.

  "The United Aunts are all in Mully's platoon." Nicola squinted at the piece of paper she'd been scribbling on last night.

  "Right," said Mully. "And what's our objective?"

  "Your objective is to infiltrate the enemy lines and to sabotage their tanks," said Nicola, wondering if this was actually possible for a group of elderly aunts. "If that's okay?"

  "No problem," said Mully, as if Nicola had just asked her to pass the milk.

  "What's our objective?" Georgio asked Shimlara respectfully.

  "Intelligence," said Shimlara. "We have to read the enemy's minds and report anything useful to Nicola. We'll be scanning thousands of soldiers' minds all at the same time."

  Princess Petronella sauntered over to Nicola.

  "I hear that you're assigning people to platoons," she said. "I assume I'll be commander in chief of a battalion, perhaps?"

  It hadn't actually occurred to Nicola to give the princess a specific role.

  "Ah, we thought of you as more of a . . . figurehead," she said.

  "Figurehead," frowned the princess. "That must be an Earthling word. I expect it means Queen of Everything?"

  "Sort of," said Nicola. No need to mention that figureheads didn't actually have any authority.

  "Excellent," said the princess. "I'll go and check on everybody's progress."

  "Thanks," said Nicola. She turned back to her list and checked off the roles for everyone else.

  Sean--Captain of the Theatrical Platoon

  Katie--Captain of the Music Platoon

  Tyler--Captain of the Sculptors Platoon

  Henry Sweet--Captain of the Painters Platoon

  Greta--Captain of the Writers and Poets Platoon

  Nicola--GENERAL

  Nicola looked around her to check on how all the other platoon captains were doing.

  Sean was trying to make his platoon do push-ups without much success. There was a lot of theatrical groaning and collapsing.

  To Nicola's surprise, Katie was speaking extremely sternly to her music platoon. "We're going to practice again," she said. "Again and again.Until we get it perfect."

  Tyler's sculptors were working hard, as were Henry's painters. Meanwhile, Greta's writers and poets seemed to be . . . crying. Oh dear.

  Nicola hurried over to see what was going on.

  "I don't know what's wrong with them," snapped Greta when she saw Nicola approach.

  "She said my beautiful words were garbage,'" sobbed one of the poets.

  "I don't think writers handle criticism very well," said Nicola quietly to Greta. "You need to be more encouraging."

  She turned to Greta's platoon.

  "You are the best and most talented writers and poets in the galaxy!" she told them. "You write exquisitely! Your words can help win this war! Please, do not give up! We need you!"

  The writers and poets sniffed, wiped their eyes, picked up their pencils, and got back to work.

  "Thank you, Nicola," said Greta sincerely. "That was very helpful of you."

  Nicola was a bit thrown by Greta's uncharacteristic gratitude but she didn't have time to think about it because at that moment she heard a sound like the beating of a drum in the distance. "What's that?"

  One of the Whimsian writers looked up from his notebook.

  "It's the sound of marching boots," he said. "The Volcomanian army must be close."

  Nicola looked up at the sky and saw that Whimsy's giant sun had sunk even lo
wer in the sky.

  Icy fingers of fear caressed her neck.

  The battle was about to begin.

  CHAPTER 35

  It was sunset on the Planet of Whimsy. The sky was the color of crushed strawberries.

  Or the color of blood.

  Nicola shivered.

  "Are you chilly?" said Princess Petronella.

  "I'm fine." Nicola lowered her binoculars.

  She and the princess were standing on a small, rocky outcrop on the side of a mountain above the Sublime Valley. It was a perfect vantage spot to observe the army below.

  The Volcomanian tanks had rolled into the valley just before sunset, along with what seemed like thousands of soldiers marching in straight-backed, stiff-armed formation. Their boots and buttons shone. Their weapons were slung over their shoulders at the same angle. This was an army that knew exactly what it was doing.

  Nicola held her portable radio provided by XYZ40 close to her mouth.

  "Come in, Shimlara," she said, feeling self-conscious. "Over."

  Shimlara, Georgio, and Squid had a hiding spot lower down the mountain, where they were close enough to see the soldiers' faces so they could read their minds.

  Shimlara's voice came over the radio. "This is Shimlara."

  "Have you--"

  "Over!"

  "Beg your pardon?" said Nicola.

  "I forgot to say over after I said 'This is Shimlara.' Over."

  "Oh, okay. What have you got to report?"

  "Shimlara?"

  "Sorry, I was waiting for you to say over! Over."

  Princess Petronella snickered.

  "Have you read the minds of any of the Volcomanian soldiers?" asked Nicola. "What are they thinking? Over."

  "They're all very relaxed. Most of them seem to think that we've chickened out," said Shimlara. "Dad says he's never read more smug minds. Oh, and Squid wanted me to tell you that a soldier called Pete is looking forward to a fried armchair for his dinner. I think his reading might be a bit off. Over."

  "Thanks, Shimlara," said Nicola. "Over and out."

  She turned to look at the princess. "It's time to attack."

  "You have my approval," said Princess Petronella grandly.

  Nicola hid a smile and picked up her radio. "Come in Sean, Katie, Greta, Tyler, and Henry!"

  The other platoon captains were all scattered at different points overlooking the valley. Everyone except for Henry answered immediately.

  "Henry?" said Nicola.

  "Sorry!" said Henry after a second. "I was overcome by the eerie sensation of hearing your voice through this remarkable machine."