SpaceBook Awakens (Amy Armstrong 3), Page 3

  “Dog law is officially suspended. Don’t attack her.”

  Amy’s double turned away and continued to jog up the hill.

  “Where did you come from?” Amy yelled after her.

  “We need to get away from here!” shouted the twin. “The others are looking.”

  “What others?”

  “The people I’m running from!”

  The twin climbed the ridge and stopped. She raised a gloved hand to her forehead to block the glare from the landing lights.

  “Holy bag of hammers,” she whispered.

  The ship gleamed against the darkness; a long, hundred-meter blade of liquid metal, standing on edge without any visible openings or markings apart from the spidery landing legs and their small ports.

  Amy stopped next to her twin. “It’s nice, right? The Lady gave it to me as a sort of consolation prize because of that whole going to prison for stealing a planet thing.”

  The blonde girl stared at her. “Gave you a ship? Either she really liked you or we’re talking about the dumbest woman in the galaxy.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. She was me. I mean, another version of me. I guess that means she was you, too.”

  The doppelganger jogged toward the ship. “I’m my own person, sister. Where’s the airlock?”

  “The other side!” yelled Amy. She grabbed Betsy and followed her twin under the wide silver keel of the ship. “What’s the rush?”

  On the starboard flank of the ship a circle glowed on the silver skin. The airlock hatch swung out with a hiss and the ladder ratcheted down. The twin grabbed a rung and stared at Amy.

  “The people that are after me, you don’t want to stick around to meet them,” she said as she climbed. “They don’t play with dolls and have tea parties and crap.”

  Amy looked down at Betsy. “Tea parties? Does she think I’m four years old?”

  The terrier blinked. “Dog years or people years? I just hope she knows where the candy is!”

  He extended the artificial “manos” hands from the bracelets around his front paws and climbed the ladder.

  Amy sighed. She slapped at a cloud of tiny insects around her face and looked around one last time at the crashed pod and the grassy hillside framed in the landing lights.

  Inside the airlock, her twin had already unzipped her orange pressure suit, revealing more skin than clothing with her tiny white tank top and tight gray shorts. Colorful, flashy tattoos covered both arms: a tiger baring his fangs, a spray of orchids, and vertical Chinese writing. Across her shoulder blade, a huge tattoo of a golden fish leapt from the water, a red butterfly inches from its gaping mouth.

  “Wow,” said Amy. “Where did you get those? Did you have to kill someone?”

  Her twin looked up. “Get what? Oh, the ink. It’s nothing special. Everyone has them where I’m from.”

  “And where’s that?”

  “Phobos. You know, Mars.” She frowned and brushed a hand through her hair with stubby, black-painted fingernails. “It’s been a long time since I’ve thought about that stupid place. Geez, what a bunch of losers.”

  Amy opened a locker and pulled out a red spandex uniform. “You have to wear this. That spacesuit and helmet should fit inside.”

  Her twin hooted with laughter. “You’re kidding, right? I’d rather run around naked.”

  “That’s exactly what’ll happen if you don’t wear a uniform. This ship is allergic to people and normal clothing catches on fire.”

  The blonde girl pointed at Amy’s blouse and skirt. “How come you’re not wearing one?”

  “My clothes are made from the same stuff as the uniforms.”

  The twin shrugged and grabbed a pile of spandex. “Okay, whatever. Burning alive is not my scene.”

  “This is … strange,” said the ship in a halting, nervous tone. “In a thousand years of dimensional travel, I have never had more than one Amy Armstrong on board. The statistical chances of this happening are quite remote.”

  The twin pushed her blonde head through the neck of the stretchy red top.

  “It wasn’t chance, Grandma Talking Voice. The others followed you here. If we don’t leave now they’ll shove those statistics in places you don’t want them to be shoved!”

  Amy frowned. “Blanche, close the airlock and prepare to lift off.”

  “What should be done with the damaged craft, my Lady? Should I open the cargo hold and grapple it inside?”

  The twin held up her small black case. “Leave it. I’ve got all my stuff.”

  “No, I think we should take it with us. Might find something useful.”

  “As you wish, my Lady,” said the ship.

  The airlock hatch shut with a hiss and the floor vibrated as the ship’s engines increased thrust.

  “Prepare for decontamination procedure,” said the ship.

  “You might want to hold on,” said Amy. “We’re about to get plastered.”

  The twin looked up with one leg in the spandex trousers. “Get what?”

  “Stinky wind!” barked Betsy.

  The antiseptic tornado blew all three against the curved walls of the airlock like bugs on a windshield.

  NISTRA STOOD in the cargo hold and jabbed at a keypad at the end of a tall rectangular shipping container.

  “Unlock, you stupid cat-made piece of poona dung!”

  The sauro banged on the keypad with his fist. The metal and plastic shattered and fell to Nistra’s feet in hundreds of tiny pieces.

  “What’s going on?” came a faint voice from inside the container. “Get us out, already!”

  “Murder,” said another muffled voice.

  Nistra pressed his jaws close to the corrugated metal. “Nothing’s going on. Now keep quiet!”

  He found a large crowbar in a locker and began to pry at the edge of the container’s door. The metal squealed in protest but didn’t budge.

  “Holy hairballs,” gasped Nistra.

  The floor vibrated and the air hummed as the ship’s engines increased thrust.

  “What’s happening?” screamed one of the voices inside the container.

  “Nothing,” Nistra yelled through the door. “We’re probably leaving this disgusting planet.”

  The vibrations in the floor increased and a red light flashed in the ceiling. A wide, empty space of the floor behind Nistra split in two, and the high-pitched roar of the ship’s engines assaulted his ears. The giant lizard scrambled to the side of the shipping container to keep from falling down to the grassy hillside visible through the opening in the cargo floor, and covered his eyes from the fine dirt and grass swirling through the air.

  “Cat’s teeth!”

  A pair of claws attached to thick cables dropped from the ceiling of the cargo hold and pulled up the dirt-covered, carbon-scored egg of the escape pod, gently placing it next to the shipping container. Four smaller clawed cables emerged from the wall and secured the egg to the floor and ceiling as the floor slid shut.

  “Do you require assistance, crew member?” asked the ship’s voice.

  Nistra dropped the crowbar and backed away, his claws up in surrender.

  “I was, uh, just exercising. I’ll be going now.”

  AMY’S DOUBLE tossed the stretchy black cap into the airlock behind her and brushed her fingers through her blonde hair.

  “Not wearing one of those if you don’t,” she said. “We’re sisters, right? We do everything together.”

  “Someone I met five minutes ago hardly counts as my sister,” said Amy. “I don’t even know what to call you.”

  “‘Amy’ doesn’t work? I guess not,” said the twin. “How about ‘Three’? That’s what the others called me.”

  “That’s about as strange as calling you ‘Amy,’ but okay.”

  Three glanced around the corridor. “Talking about strange, where’s that dog?”

  “Probably the kitchen. He’s always looking for food.”

  “I’m starving, too. Lead the way, friend. It’s your sh
ip.”

  Amy straightened her pink blouse and walked toward the kitchen. The featureless gray metal of the corridor walls faded and was replaced by the loamy sights and sounds of a redwood forest.

  “Blanche, have we left the mountains yet?”

  “Affirmative, my Lady. I am passing one-thousand seven hundred meters in altitude––”

  “Cancel that and drop down to the surface,” said Amy. “We can’t leave the atmosphere yet.”

  Three nodded. “Smart move. Let’s find a cave or barn to hide somewhere.”

  “A hundred-meter ship inside a barn? Not happening. Blanche, take us north to the bay. There’s an underwater trench a mile deep very close to shore.”

  “This is an interstellar craft, my Lady. I am designed for the vacuum of space, not for extreme pressure on my exterior.”

  Three giggled. “How about your posterior?”

  “I do not understand the question. Is it rhetorical?”

  “Ignore that, Blanche,” said Amy. “How deep can you go?”

  “To avoid environmental intrusion, I recommend no more than fifteen meters.”

  “Good. Find a spot in the middle of the bay and take us down that far.”

  The path split in the “forest.” Amy turned left and kept walking with Three beside her.

  “We could try running for orbit,” said her twin. “This ship looks fast enough.”

  “Maybe, but we’ve got a problem with the transmat drive,” said Amy. “I want to make sure that thing is fixed before any running or jumping or laser blasting.”

  “I get it! That’s why you parked in the mountains.”

  “What?”

  Three shrugged. “Nothing.”

  The kitchen area was empty and Betsy was nowhere to be seen. Three walked to a refrigerator mounted to the wall and opened the chrome door.

  “How about I make a sandwich? Do you have any soy butter?”

  “Probably not.”

  The blonde girl leaned further inside. “Skeksi cheese? Tomatoes? Poona loaf?”

  “No, yes, and mother of god I hope not.”

  Three sighed. “All right. I’ll try to make something that won’t kill both of us.”

  She put together a pair of sandwiches from sliced vegetables and unknown strips of meat. Amy grabbed two cups of ice water and joined her at the kitchen table.

  “Interesting,” Three said after a few bites of the sandwich. “I’ve never had a red tomato. Tastes the same.”

  “What color should a tomato be? Purple?”

  “Of course! Red is freaky––it’s like I’m eating alien babies or something.”

  “Speaking of ‘freaky,’ what’s going on with you and this escape pod? Did you follow me from Tau Ceti?”

  “The others did,” said Three. “They slapped a tracker on your ship and followed your demat from the last dimension. Ask grandma in the control room if you don’t believe me.”

  “She’s not my grandma. It’s the ship’s voice.”

  “What? That’s weird. I thought she was real.”

  Amy looked up at the ceiling. “Blanche! Is there anything strange on the outside of the ship? A beacon or something?”

  “Commencing a scan of foreign objects,” said the warm voice of the ship. “Preliminary scan negative. Secondary-–ah, yes, a magnetic micro-tag on my starboard flank. Applying a negative charge … device is non-functional.”

  “One of those inspectors must have put it there during the battle at Cheezburger,” said Amy. She watched Three bite into the sandwich. “Who are these others and why are they looking for me?”

  “You should be asking, who could possibly follow me through another dimension?”

  “The Lady? But her asteroid was about to explode like the Death Star.”

  “The who and the what?”

  “The Lady is a really, really old version of me. She’s the one who gave me this ship.”

  “You’re on the right track, but the person I’m talking about never gives anyone anything, unless it’s a one-way ticket out the airlock,” said Three grimly. She took a drink of ice water and wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her red uniform. “Two hundred billion galaxies with billions of planets in each. Through all the infinite combinations possible in each dimension, there is only one constant. You. Me. Amy Armstrong. We’re the spinning hub in every dimension: the basis point, center of the wheel, and patient zero. In some of these places, Amy Armstrong is a mousey, boring churchgoer who doesn’t break the rules, in others she’s a totally rad party girl, and in others … in others, she’s the stuff of nightmares, the boogey man, the story that scares children. Only she’s real.”

  The floor vibrated.

  “Surface contact, my Lady,” said the ship. “Submersing to fifteen meters.”

  Amy stared at Three. “All these versions of me. Are you saying––”

  “What the devil?!!” said Philip.

  The dark-haired teenager stood in the open hatch staring at the young women with his mouth open. “Amy?”

  “Philip!”

  Three jumped up, ran across the kitchen, and threw her arms around Philip. She kissed him on the cheek with a wet smack.

  “My word,” said Philip. “I meant the other Amy.”

  “Three, let go of my boyfriend,” said Amy dryly.

  Her twin pulled back from Philip in reluctant, clingy stages, moving her hands away from his neck, down to his hands, and finally stepping back, her fingers the last to let go.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I just … I didn’t expect this. It’s been a long time since … never mind.”

  “She bears a remarkable resemblance to you, Amy,” said Philip. “Perhaps a bit older and slightly taller. I saw that someone had come on board, but I never expected this.”

  Amy stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Three and crossed her arms. “You really can’t tell the difference? Say that again and I’ll throw something at you.”

  Philip smiled. “Of course I can tell the difference, my love. But please, could you explain?”

  “What’s to explain? She’s a copy of me from another dimension.”

  “I’m certainly not a copy,” said Three. “I’m my own person. Right, Philip?”

  The teenager glanced down at Three’s tight-fitting uniform and hurriedly brushed his hands down his spandex trousers as if he wanted to jam them into non-existent pockets.

  “Umm … quite so. One question, if I may. This seems absolutely impossible. Am I dreaming?”

  Three smiled coyly and leaned forward. “Do you want to be?”

  Amy stamped her foot. “Enough with the flirting already! Philip, I don’t know why you’re so shocked. Did you forget what happened in England?”

  Philip nodded. “You’re absolutely right, of course. So this is the Amy Armstrong for this dimension? The egg-shaped conveyance we brought on board doesn’t seem to be from Earth, although I suppose it’s possible.”

  “It’s not my home,” said Three. “Did you see orbital billboards on the way in, or a space elevator? I don’t have a clue about this Earth, but it’s definitely not where I’m from.”

  “She was telling me a story about escaping an evil Amy Armstrong,” said Amy.

  Philip nodded. “Sounds familiar. Didn’t we do that last week?”

  “I’m not just running from one Amy Armstrong,” said Three quietly, and bowed her head. “I’m running from three.”

  Amy rested a hand on the teen’s shoulder. “Finished with that sandwich? I’ll show you more than three copies of us. Come on, both of you.”

  Philip and Three followed her through the ship to the memorial room filled with shelves of old objects under glass, and which contained a wall covered in faded photographs.

  Amy stood in front of the wide assortment of paper, plastic, and digital images. “Hundreds of Amy Armstrongs,” she whispered. “I’m sure some of them were nasty and maybe even kicked a cat once or twice.”

  “For sure,” said Three, staring at the phot
os. “But nothing like the ones I know. They wouldn’t tape anything to the wall unless it was to scare the crew.”

  “Pardon my ignorance,” said Philip. “But I don’t understand exactly what’s going on.”

  “Me neither,” said Amy. “Why are you running from these other Amy Armstrongs? They want you to join the Columbia Record Club or something?”

  “Torture, more like,” said Philip.

  “That’s what I said––the Columbia Record Club.”

  Three glanced between the two teenagers. She opened her mouth for a moment, trying to form the words, and then looked down at her bare feet.

  “They want to destroy us. Completely.”

  A low tone sounded from the ceiling.

  “Incoming hail on a low frequency wavelength,” said the ship. “A request to open two-way communication.”

  “From who? This is old-timey California with cowboys and railroads and crap. Radio hasn’t been invented.”

  “I am not certain of the proper response to that question, my Lady. To put it broadly, the message is from you.”

  EVERY SURFACE of the navigation room glowed deep blue from the artificial projection of the waters of the Monterey Bay. On the ceiling, the ocean’s surface sparkled in a fainter shade, while long shadows moved in the holographic darkness below the floor.

  Amy stepped through the hatch. “Spooky! Glad I can swim.”

  Behind her, Philip cleared his throat. “I’m afraid that when it comes to my particular case, that statement is not true.”

  Three elbowed the tall boy in the ribs. “What’s the matter, Phil––afraid of getting naked? You Martians are all the same.”

  “Pardon me, but I’m from England, not Mars.”

  “Sorry. You talk exactly like a Martian. That’s probably why I keep confusing you with him.”

  A long shape flashed across the walls from left to right.

  “Was that a shark?” asked Amy.

  “A bottle-nosed dolphin,” said the ship.

  Philip pointed at a similar shadow below his feet. “Another dolphin.”

  “That’s a shark,” said the ship.

  “I hope it doesn’t know how to open an airlock,” said Amy. “Blanche, is this copy of me still broadcasting?”