The Girl Who Stole A Planet (Amy Armstrong Book 1) Read online

  Amy bent down and sniffed the blue oblong shapes. “Smells like a new car.”

  “Excuse me,” said the cat and pushed his bowl away from Amy. “It’s very rude to sniff someone’s ReCarb, especially when he hasn’t eaten for a week. Feel free to get your own bowl, but it may or may not be incredibly poisonous to humans. Who can keep track of all the things that can kill such a silly species? Not me.”

  “In that case, I’ll pass.”

  The cat shook his head in disgust. He pushed the bowl into a corner of the room and lay on an empty cushion. Amy sat cross-legged on a pillow nearby.

  “So, next in this dream or nightmare or whatever, you’re going to tell me you’re not really a cat, and these aren’t cats and dogs. You’re all a bunch of ancient aliens in disguise, stealing crazy things from Earth to make a super weapon that will destroy the universe.”

  The cat scooped glowing beans into his mouth with a paw.

  “That’s a funny story,” he said. “You’re funny for a human. All the rest I’ve met are either throwing things at me or screaming about missing body parts. Do humans make money by telling funny stories? You’d be good at that.”

  “So you’re alien cats and dogs? Not like it matters, because I’m basically talking to myself at this point.”

  The cat popped more of the beans into his mouth. “Aliens? You mean those human-eating things from the movies? Nobody eats humans around here, especially me. Even the thought makes me sick. If that weren’t the case, I’d have bitten a few chunks out of you already––my stomach was growling louder than a platoon of schnauzers today.”

  “Not an alien like that. I mean from another planet.”

  “We’re all from different planets: Tau Ceti, Gliese, Kapteyn,” said the cat. “This isn’t some backwoods flea circus from the galactic rim. Only the best and brightest are picked to work for the Lady. I admit we’ve got a few dozen Russian shorthairs that never do anything but wander around Junktown all day asking for a cheeseburger, but that’s nepotism for you. And Russian shorthairs.”

  Amy watched as the cat finished the last of the glowing beans, then licked his paw and cleaned his face.

  “That was good,” he said. “I can probably go for a week on that.”

  “An alien moggie that eats poisonous glowing beans,” said Amy. “I’d hate to see what comes out the other end.”

  The orange cat flattened his ears. “That’s private!”

  “I hope so.”

  The tabby curled up on the cushion and rested his head on his front paws.

  “Now that I’ve got my energy back and it’s obvious you aren’t going to be dead or lose your body parts anytime soon, I suppose I should introduce myself. The name is Sunflower.”

  Amy giggled. “Strange name for a cat!”

  “My parents were free-thinkers, and didn’t follow the rules of normal cat society.”

  “Hippies?”

  The cat blinked slowly. “If that’s the human word for cats who live out of their transport vehicle and make money selling leather hats made in the back of that vehicle while high on catnip, then yes, they were hippies.”

  “Well, Mr. Sunflower, I’m Amy Armstrong.”

  The green eyes squinted up at her. “But you said you were a female. ‘Amy’ is a boy’s name! In fact, it’s my father’s name. Do you even know what gender you are?”

  “I already said I was a girl, and I haven’t changed since then!”

  A Jack Russell terrier that had been eating nearby poked his black nose into the matter.

  “Hey, Sunflower,” he said with a Midwestern American accent. “What year is this human from?”

  The orange cat sniffed, and rested his chin back on the cushion. “O.E. 1995.”

  “There’s your problem,” said the Jack Russell. “Girls had boy names back then, and the other way, too. Skippy-dippy!”

  “Thanks, Betsy,” said Sunflower. “I remember now.”

  “So tell me,” said Amy.

  Sunflower sighed. “Old Earth humans gave their female children names like Alice, Linda, and Moneesha. These are obviously male names, but whatever. Humans like to coddle the females in any litter. They thought that by giving the females a different name, the female would stand out from the other humans. Strange names and unique spellings weren’t enough, and as time passed, they stole names from the males in the litter. Frances, Terry, Billie––those were all male names that were given to females. Over the course of a few hundred years, females took over all the male names, so the males had to take what was left: unfashionable female names like Alice, Linda, and Moneesha. Now, in the year––what year is it, Betsy?”

  “3317,” barked the male terrier.

  “In the year 3317, the trend is slowly rotating the other way. Happily, it’s only a few social outliers who think it’s fashionable to call a female Jessica.”

  Amy shook her head. “The year 3317? Everyone always said I had a good imagination. Maybe I should eat some of those glowing beans. You’re supposed to wake up if you die in a dream, right?”

  “That’s exactly what happens,” said Sunflower.

  Betsy barked. “You don’t want to do that. It would be bad. I take that back. It would be very, very, very, very, very, very––”

  “Can it, you twit,” growled Sunflower.

  “Aww, don’t be mean to Betsy,” said Amy. She stuck out a hand to stroke his furry brown and white head, and then jerked it back when she realized it might not be polite.

  “Betsy’s not being nice,” said Sunflower. “He just knows how much of a mess your body would make when it explodes everywhere.”

  The Jack Russell terrier wagged his tail.

  “I see,” said Amy.

  The pale lilac glow of the ceiling in the cafeteria changed to red and the air filled with a buzzing sound like a massive swarm of hornets. All the animals including Sunflower and Betsy jumped off their cushions and ran pell-mell out of the room.

  Amy dashed after the cat and terrier as they galloped down the corridor.

  “A fire alarm?” she yelled. “Or alien attack? Is it battle stations?”

  “Worse than that,” shouted Betsy, his pink tongue lolling from his jaws. “Emergency inspection!”

  The trio stopped at a corner to catch their breath.

  “It’s the Lady,” said Sunflower. “She’ll send me back to prison if I’m caught with an unregistered prop, especially a live one. I’m NOT going back to prison.”

  Betsy wagged his tail and stared at Amy. “Can’t we just leave her?”

  “Have some principles, dog! This is an inspection, not bingo at the old dog’s home!”

  “Sorry.”

  “Where’s your cart?”

  “Parked on level five,” said Betsy. “But I don’t want to get in trouble again. You’re always getting me in trouble!”

  “Too late for that,” growled Sunflower. “Take us to the cart.”

  “Okay, but we can’t use the elevators.”

  “To the emergex, then!”

  Amy held out her palms in the flashing crimson light of the corridor. “Maybe I should just stay here. I don’t want to cause a problem.”

  “At the risk of repeating myself––too late for that,” said Sunflower. “You seem like a smart human who wants to continue not being dead, so come on!”

  The orange tabby sprinted down the corridor and touched a panel with his paw. He darted inside an opening with the terrier and Amy on his tail. The blonde girl followed the cat up a narrow set of spiraling stairs on her hands and knees. Sunflower waited for Amy at the fifth landing and led her onto the terrace.

  “Where’s that silly dog?” hissed Sunflower. “If he ran off, I’m going to put milk in his water dish.”

  Amy felt the floor vibrate beneath her hands and heard a furious whir. Betsy galloped up pulling a large, four-wheeled cart, attached to the dog with a black harness and two silver poles.

  “Climb in,” said Sunflower.

  “Sh
e looks too heavy,” panted Betsy. “A hundred and sixty pounds, I bet.”

  Amy stamped her foot. “I’m a hundred and five!”

  “Don’t be silly,” said Sunflower. “She’s skinny and weak, and almost dog-size. You won’t have a problem, but if you do, I’ll be there to help.”

  Betsy laughed. “A cat pulling a transport cart? That’s funny! You’re funny!”

  Amy lay on the scratched steel floor of the cart and Sunflower covered her with a white blanket. The cart jerked forward. Amy used her rucksack as a pillow and to keep the top of her head from hitting the front of the cart. She squeezed her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her shins, and was completely hidden by the blanket.

  The cart turned and stopped. Amy heard the swoosh of doors closing, and everything became quiet.

  “We’re in the elevator,” she heard Sunflower whisper.

  “I know,” said Betsy. “Why are you telling me that?”

  “Quiet! I’m talking to the human!”

  The cart creaked and leaned a bit to one side. Amy squealed as a substantial weight thumped onto her ribs.

  “Sorry,” came Sunflower’s voice. “I have to ride on you for a minute.”

  “You’re so heavy! How can you weigh that much?”

  “See what I mean about cats?” murmured Betsy. “Always looking for a free ride.”

  “Keep it quiet, both of you. We’re at street level.”

  The elevator bounced and stopped moving. Amy heard the door whisk open, and the cart jolted forward.

  The buzzing alarm was gone. Amy heard the creak of Betsy’s harness, the smooth rub of the wheels on the waxed floor, and the echoes of animal feet in the corridor.

  The cart picked up speed and swerved through several corners. It stopped without warning and Amy was squished uncomfortably to the front of the cramped space. Sunflower dug his claws into her side to keep from flying away, and Amy had to bite a knuckle to keep from screaming.

  “Sorry about the quick stop,” whispered Sunflower. “Betsy tried to get around the queue, but there’s another group of inspectors.”

  Amy heard a faint metallic voice; one that came closer each time the cart inched forward.

  “Operator BL8519,” said the voice. “What is your prop destination?”

  Amy heard Betsy clearing his throat. “It’s not a prop,” said the Jack Russell terrier. “It’s junkmat for my place in town.”

  Amy held her breath as she saw a blue light move over the blanket.

  “Expose the junkmat,” said the metallic voice. “Extricate from the transport carriage, Operator SF063.”

  Amy felt Sunflower’s weight shift slightly on her ribs.

  “It’s just a load of rubbish,” said the cat. “Is that you, Tony? I thought I recognized that voice, even through the speech chopper.”

  The metallic voice brightened. “Sunny! How are you doing?”

  “Fantastic, now that I’ve heard from my favorite lady. Where have you been hiding all this time? I haven’t seen you for months.”

  The machine voice giggled, or at least, made a thrashing sound that Amy hoped was a giggle.

  “I haven’t been hiding anywhere, Sunny. I’ve been pulling double shifts since that space debris hit sector four.”

  “We should have drinks sometime. I’ll give you a call.”

  “Sure thing, Sunny. Oh––what about this transport? I’m getting foreign biomat readings.”

  “It’s nothing to crinkle your beautiful little whiskers, Tony,” said Sunflower. “Betsy’s last prop exploded everywhere, and it’s just leftover cleaning agent. On my honor as a fellow classmate, it’s all safe.”

  “Okay, Sunny, if you say so. Take care!”

  The cart jolted forward and the blue light disappeared. Amy let out the breath she’d been holding. Betsy picked up his speed to a trot and the wheels bumped and whirred.

  “Looks like someone’s got a date,” Amy heard the terrier say.

  Sunflower growled. His weight left Amy’s ribs, much to her relief, and she heard the patter of soft paws beside the cart.

  “Inspector Tony,” Sunflower murmured. “I always hated that cat.”

  The wheels shuddered and jolted over patchwork asphalt and brick streets. The creaking of Betsy’s cart joined other sounds coming through the blanket: clusters of conversation or shouting, the smack of hammers, the roar of compressors, the hiss of water spraying on concrete.

  The rubbery, new car smell had disappeared after the cart had left the maze of corridors. Amy breathed an aroma of wet stone, fresh plaster, cigarette tobacco, ancient grease, and new paint.

  The sizzle and smell of frying meat caused Amy’s stomach to grumble, and she lifted the edge of the blanket. The little buildings that passed her eyes were made from such a wild variety of materials that it seemed like the aftermath of a fantastic hurricane, where the residents had simply hammered together anything that had landed on the ground regardless of size, shape, color, whether it belonged on a fishing boat, or was a fishing boat. One shack would be lit by Christmas lights, the next halogen, and the third by gleaming hoops of neon. In front of another building were ten lava lamps, nailed to a board and hung upside-down. A mix of dogs and cats trotted along the sidewalk. Others curled in doorways or on high windowsills.

  The cart stopped briefly, and then crossed an intersection. Amy saw a line of dogs waiting patiently in the street, all harnessed to carts with cargos of strange machinery and boxes. On the next block stood a building that seemed formed of glue, with bulbous pink columns and an irregular, rounded dome. Dogs and cats reclined in clear, bubbly windows with bowls of the glowing beans. Amy smelled the same rubbery aroma as in the cafeteria.

  Something whirred by in the air, probably a bird. Amy pulled the blanket back a little further and looked up. Tiny red, purple, or green lines zipped past and were framed against the distant rafters and cloud-obscured dome of Junktown like colorful shooting stars. Amy couldn’t tell what it was: bird, robot, or supersonic moth.

  Amy lay back in the bottom of the cart and closed her eyes. She should write all this crap down when she woke up. Helen said her mother did that kind of thing; kept a dream journal. Amy had never had any dreams worth writing down, and definitely nothing like this. She thought about Lucia in the hospital, and hoped she was okay. Things were going to be rough for a few weeks while she recovered. That was another thing that was supposed to wake you up from a dream: thinking about the real world. It certainly wasn’t working for her, and Amy wondered if her brain was a double-crossing cheat, since all the rules for waking up from a dream were in her head, along with the dream that was causing the problem. It was the mental version of Schrödinger’s cat, and she was feeling more and more like the cat.

  The cart bumped over potholes and swerved around corner after corner. At last it shuddered to a stop, and Amy heard Betsy’s gruff voice.

  “All out that’s getting out!”

  “Hush up, silly dog,” hissed Sunflower. “Keep the blanket on, human, and follow me.”

  “Don’t step on his tail,” said Betsy. “Cats hate that!”

  “Quiet!”

  Amy slid across the metal cart and followed Sunflower’s orange-striped tail across gray asphalt to a battered green door. Sunflower pushed at a moldy brick to reveal a brass key, then stood on his hind legs and unlocked the door. The cat led Amy into a human-sized hallway and through a series of dark rooms covered in frayed, patchwork rugs.

  Amy bumped her head on something and fell to her hands and knees on a rough brown carpet.

  “Ouch! Can I take finally take this thing off?”

  “You’re still wearing that? You could have dropped it ages ago,” said Sunflower.

  Amy ripped off the blanket and blinked in the darkness.

  “Hit a light switch or burn a candle or something,” she said. “I can’t see a thing.”

  “Yes, master. Can I get you a bowl of diamonds and gold, master?”

  Wood c
reaked as he pushed open a small window. The room brightened and Amy found herself in a ten by ten room. A fluffy round mattress lay in one corner. The blue-painted walls were covered in fixtures of human hair care: brushes, combs, barrettes, hair clips, and bobby pins. Tiny strips of wire or globs of clear jelly kept the items stuck to the walls. Against one wall stood a low bookshelf made from particleboard and loaded down with a pile of colorful cloth.

  “I guess you like hair accessories,” said Amy.

  Sunflower looked away. “It was like that when I moved in.”

  “The guy who lived here before didn’t take his stuff?”

  “It wasn’t a guy,” said Sunflower bitterly. “The Lady sent her to a place where nobody takes anything, and nobody comes back.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Amy.

  Sunflower left the window and trotted across the room to the doorway.

  “Stay here and don’t make a sound,” he said. “I’m going out for a minute.”

  Amy pointed to the mattress. “Is it okay if I take a nap?”

  “Remind me again––is that when you lay down and pretend to be dead, or is it when you’re really dead? There’s no point for me to find human food if you’re going to be really dead.”

  “Pretending to be dead.”

  “Good.”

  “But this entire spaceship and everything in it is probably going to disappear,” said Amy. “Everybody knows you can’t sleep inside a dream.”

  Sunflower stared at her for a long moment, then walked out of the room. Amy heard his voice from the hallway.

  “I’ll never understand humans …”

  Chapter Five

  Amy flew over the greens of Spyglass and Pebble, arms outstretched and a snow-white gown of fog streaming behind her, the morning air full of the smell of freshly cut lawn. She dodged the gray-green limbs of coastal pines as she flew to Carmel Beach and felt the mist of breakers on her face all the way to the rocks of Point Lobos.

  She continued south, past vertical cliffs topped by magnificent parlors of stone and glass. A column of black smoke and orange flame boiled from the roof of the largest mansion, transforming into a powerful vortex that pulled at Amy. She tried to escape, to fly away, but the smoke jerked her back like an angry leash. Amy spun down and down through the gas and roasting flame to the bedroom of Frankie Yamagashi.