The Girl Who Stole A Planet (Amy Armstrong Book 1) Page 8

  Amy pulled a red-and-white canister of shaving cream out of a box.

  “Is this for Nick’s human?”

  Sunflower lay on the floor next to a massive case of Hostess Sno Balls.

  “I don’t remember,” said the orange tabby. “It’s got short hair. Is short hair a female human or the other kind of human?”

  “It could be either one!”

  The cat yawned. “Well, you’ll find out soon enough.”

  Amy heard Nick’s high-pitched, girlish laughter in another room.

  “But I’d rather not see them,” moaned a male voice in the posh nasal tones of the English countryside. A few of his open vowels cracked lower, the sure sign of an adolescent with a changing voice.

  As soon as he spoke, Amy ripped off her beret and pulled her blonde hair out of a ponytail. It never hurt to look good, especially if you needed to twist someone around your little finger. She grabbed a hairbrush and stood in front of a tiny mirror, brushing her hair quickly with long, lightning-fast strokes so that it hung straight down and across her blouse. Nick and the boy continued to argue, so Amy pulled off her shoes and jeans and jumped into her brown skirt.

  “I’m glad someone’s excited,” murmured Sunflower.

  “Shut up, cat!”

  She’d just zipped up the side of her skirt when Nick flew into the room.

  “Bless my cute little peepers,” said the winged sprite. “You’ve cleaned yourself up.”

  Amy shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  A teenage boy shuffled through a doorway. He was pale and tall, with black, slicked-back hair that almost touched the ceiling. His white shirt and dark blazer hung so loosely on his skinny shoulders that he reminded Amy of a stick insect from a nature program. His mouth was wide, his nose long and straight, and his brown eyes large and liquid. When he caught sight of Amy, his cheeks flushed.

  “My word! You didn’t tell me it was a girl!”

  Nick spread her tiny arms. “Does that matter? You should be happy to see her!”

  The teenager glanced left and right in a panicked, last-minute search for escape, but settled for sticking his hands in his pockets and looking down at the floor.

  Amy stepped forward with her hand out.

  “Hello! I’m Amy Armstrong.”

  The tall boy cringed and stared at Amy’s fingers in horror, as if she held an invisible hatchet. After a long pause, he stuck out a bony palm and shook her hand weakly.

  “Greetings,” he said. “I’m Philip Salisbury.”

  “I like your accent. You’re British, aren’t you?”

  “English, actually.”

  “I thought British and English were the same thing.”

  “The United States and California are the same, I suppose?”

  Amy clapped her hands. “That’s where I’m from! California, I mean.”

  “That’s perfectly wizard!” said Philip, and smiled. “I’ve never met anyone from there.”

  “Look at them, getting on so well,” Nick whispered in Sunflower’s ear.

  Philip waved angrily at the tiny sprite. “Stop talking about me! I hate it when you talk about me!”

  “Philly-Billy! You have guests, so be nice.”

  Philip sighed and slumped his shoulders. “Sorry.”

  “I love British television shows like Monty Python and Red Dwarf,” said Amy. “What’s your favorite?”

  “Pardon me. My favorite what?”

  “Television show.”

  “Is that a kind of play? Like the queer little boxes with moving pictures the cats and dogs watch?”

  Amy crossed her arms and squinted at Philip. “Wait a minute … when were you born?”

  “I beg your pardon!”

  “Everybody knows television,” said Amy. “Especially in 1995.”

  Philip’s eyes grew wide. He stepped forward and grabbed Amy by the shoulders. “Crickey––1995! So you can tell me what’s happened! I was brought to this horrid, mad place in 1889. My disappearance would have been plastered across the world and noted in history books. My father was the Duke of Marlborough, largest landowner in Yorkshire!”

  Amy pushed Philip’s hands away. “1889? You’ve been here that long?”

  “It jolly well feels like it. No, that was the year I was kidnapped.”

  “More like hitchhiked,” said Nick. “It still makes me giggle when I think about it!”

  Philip sat on a box of toilet paper rolls, his shoulders slumped and head bowed.

  “In any case, I’ve been in this beastly madhouse for two years. Ellie’s forgotten me already, I know it.”

  “Ellie?”

  “Yes. She’s the only one who ever cared about me.”

  “I’m sorry, Phil. A lot of things happened between 1889 and 1995, and I don’t remember anything about a Duke’s kid going missing. The Lindberg baby, yeah, but that’s as close I can get.”

  Philip twisted his mouth into a frown. “You must be thinking of goats. The son of a duke and heir to Clarence House is certainly not a kid!”

  Amy put a hand on her hip. “Sure about that? You’re starting to sound like one.”

  Philip turned red, but before he could say anything, Sunflower spoke up.

  “The two of you are talking about years and history as if you came from the same dimension, and that’s definitely not the case. Philip’s disappearance wouldn’t be part of Amy’s history.”

  Amy shrugged and turned to Nick.

  “Sunflower said you have a shower. Could I use it? I really need to wash up.”

  The blonde sprite hovered in front of Amy and giggled.

  “Shower? You mean a pet cleaning room. Of course I have one! It was such a waste of money, though. Philly-Billy never wants to use it.”

  “I going to jolly well scream if you don’t stop talking about me,” growled Philip.

  Betsy trotted into the room and shoved the door closed with his butt. “Who’s talking about me?”

  “Nobody,” said Sunflower. “Ever.”

  “Awww …”

  Amy stamped her foot. “Quiet! While I’m scrubbing dog spit off my face, you three come up with a plan to get me back to 1995. That’s MY 1995, and I want to go back in one piece.”

  Sunflower jerked his head up. “Impossible!”

  Amy raised both hands. “Miss Armstrong is now taking a shower and all questions must be submitted in writing.”

  Nick buzzed around Amy’s head. “Come with me, Amy Waymee! We’ll scrape off every bit of disgusting human filth and dog filth and other strange filth you’re covered in!”

  “Okay, okay. I’m not that dirty. You make me sound like a hobo.”

  Amy followed the tiny hummingbird woman along a dim, shoulder-wide hallway. The breeze from Nick’s buzzing fan of wings shivered hundreds of cellophane snack bags and bits of newspaper tacked to the walls. Amy glanced over the scraps as she walked, but saw nothing more than advertisements for dishwashing detergent and something called ‘Spacom.’

  Nick turned left into a small, swampy-smelling alcove and pointed at the open lid of a top-load washing machine.

  “There you go,” she said brightly. “Cleaner for human pets!”

  Amy groaned and covered her eyes. “That’s a washing machine, but not for people. It’s for clothes.”

  “It works for people, too! Philly-Billy sits on the top and sticks his legs inside. He rubs water over his skin and everything. It’s so cute! I have to use the ‘Delicate’ cycle, or he gets sick and starts yelling, though. Do you want him to come in here? You two pets can take a bath together!”

  “No!”

  Nick pouted and whipped her blonde hair back and forth. “You don’t have to yell. The human soap is on the shelf and human water in the bucket.”

  Amy bent down to sniff the water. “Is it clean?”

  “I sterilized it this morning.”

  Amy sighed. “Please shut the door. Humans don’t like to be watched.”

 
“But I have to turn on the machine.”

  “Shut the door!”

  Nick slumped her tiny shoulders and buzzed away.

  A variety of towels and cleaning products lined the shelves of the alcove. Spic-n-Span, Dove dishwashing liquid, and Toilet Duck sat next to bottles of shampoo and hair gel. Amy smiled to herself, thinking about the horrible bathing experiments Philip must have gone through. A rich twerp like that couldn’t have drawn his own bath even in his own time, much less in Junktown with cleaning products from different centuries. The experience didn’t seem to have made him a nicer person, however.

  Amy piled her clothes on top of the washing machine and took a sponge bath with shower gel, water, and a washcloth. She shampooed her hair with a bottle of something that had expired in 2001, twisted a towel around her wet blonde hair, and dressed in her underwear, skirt, and blouse.

  As soon as she stepped out of the “pet cleaning room” and into the hallway she could hear a maelstrom of voices.

  “I’ve never heard anyone say anything that disgusting and stupid in my entire life,” squeaked Nick. “You take it back right now!”

  “I won’t,” said Sunflower. “That’s the only way it works. By hiding him for so long, it’s clear you choose your pet over the Lady.”

  “That’s not true!”

  Amy walked back into the cluttered room. Sunflower was sitting on the pile of toilet paper rolls, the end of his tail twitching. His green eyes glared at Nick, who buzzed circles around his head. Betsy and Philip were nowhere to be seen.

  “What’s not true?”

  Nick clenched her fists and flew to Amy.

  “Aargh!” she screamed. “This stupid cat! He says I have to give up Philly-Billy!”

  Amy shrugged. “You’ll find another human. Maybe one that’s nicer and better-looking.”

  “I heard that!” yelled Philip from his room.

  “No! Philly-Billy is the first human I met, and you’re the second. There haven’t been any others!”

  “I’m sure there will be more. How old are you?”

  Nick’s face turned crimson and she buzzed away to Philip’s room.

  Sunflower shook his head. “Never ask a sprite how old she is.”

  “Sorry!” Amy yelled after Nick.

  Cartons of Hostess Sno Balls trembled, and Betsy crawled out.

  “Is the yelling over?”

  Sunflower licked a paw. “Almost.”

  Amy grabbed a pink Sno Ball and ripped open the clear packaging. Checking the expiration date would only make things worse.

  “So what’s the plan to get me out of here?”

  “An illegal prop like a human pet leaves the Dream Tiger only two ways,” said Sunflower, and blinked lazily at Amy. “If you aren’t counting capture and death.”

  “Or death and capture!” said Betsy, his brown tail wagging.

  “You’ll be caught eventually,” said Sunflower. “The Lady would incinerate you or toss you out an airlock, or both.”

  “She’d incinerate you,” said Betsy happily. “The airlocks are too far away.”

  Amy shook her head. “Philip’s been here for two years and nobody’s bothered him. Why are you so worried about me getting caught?”

  “We don’t know,” said Sunflower. “The Lady is a cruel mistress.”

  Betsy barked. “Don’t you dare say that!”

  “Fine. We don’t know why the Lady allowed Nick’s human to roam Junktown freely, and never sent inspectors after it. The Lady has her own reasons, and far be it from us to question them. Right after you showed up, though, all inspectors were put on alert and she’s been combing the entire ship from top to bottom like a mother looking for a lost kitten.”

  “Or a sauro looking for his plasma rifle,” said Betsy.

  “Why?”

  Betsy giggled. “Because he loves killing!”

  “Not that. Did I set off an alarm or something? Why does she want me and not Philip?”

  Sunflower shook his head. “Maybe the Lady was fine with one human, but when another shows up she thinks it’s an invasion. We’ve had problems with sauros lately, and maybe she thinks you’re a spy. Or, since Philip is one kind of human and you’re another …”

  “Another what?”

  “One of you is a boy and the other a girl,” said Sunflower. “Don’t make me try to remember which is which. It’s not like you’re a cat or anything.”

  “I’m a girl, okay? I’m the opposite of my name!”

  “Awkward,” said Betsy. “I thought you were a boy. My face would be so red if it wasn’t covered in fur.”

  Amy chopped a hand through the air. “Cut the crap, okay? How do I get off the ship?”

  “Right, sorry,” said Sunflower. “Anyway, with the inspectors out, you’re going to get found. Even with your magical ability to open any door on the ship, we can’t run from hiding place to hiding place forever.”

  “It’s not magic. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not magic.”

  “Well, I was trying to explain it using words you could understand.”

  “I understand!” barked Betsy.

  Amy sighed. “Continue.”

  “Using that ability to open doors, you can get me into the engineering section, and I can link all of the demat cores into one channel. With that much power and quantum jiggery, I can probably demat you to the right dimension.”

  “Say what?”

  Sunflower sighed. “Human version: I can send you back in time.”

  “Okay. What’s the catch?”

  “The catch?”

  “The negative. The huge problem with this plan.”

  “Oh,” said Sunflower. “Well, security will lock down everything and I’ll probably be arrested for treason, so we only get one chance. That means you have to pick one year to demat to, and the other human is out of luck.”

  “That sucks. What else could we do?”

  Sunflower blinked. “The Lady keeps several small craft in the hangar for shuttling cargo. We could sneak you onto one of those, but you wouldn’t survive on Kepler Prime. That’s the planet we’re currently orbiting. The Lady’s personal cutter, White Star, is docked outside the asteroid. It’s a big and fast ship and can take us anywhere we want to go, even the human systems. The problem is, it’s been powered down for decades. We’d have to find a way to restart the engine core, fill the stores and tanks, and charge the oxidizers, among a million other things. What to do … what to do …”

  “I can’t fly a spaceship!”

  “Finding a pilot is the least of your problems. Astrogation is taught in elementary schools these days, and Starman Jones is a very popular book.”

  “What would I do on the human planets in 3317? They’re a thousand years beyond my time. They probably drink methane and use thought waves to communicate instead of talking.”

  “They don’t talk much,” said Betsy. “They’re too busy watching television!”

  “It hasn’t changed as much as you think,” said Sunflower. “Humans are very simple.”

  Betsy wagged his tail. “They eat cheese! It’s weird.”

  “Okay,” said Amy, with a shrug. “I guess that’s an option.”

  “Maybe not,” said Sunflower. “It’s more dangerous than linking together fifty demat chambers, each with the power of a sun. Worst of all, it creates a problem that can’t be solved by your magical, door-opening hand.”

  “What problem is that?”

  The orange cat jumped down from the pile of toilet paper rolls and walked across the cluttered carpet. He sat in front of Amy.

  “To access her personal ship, you’d have to kill the Lady.”

  Chapter Seven

  Betsy scampered out of the room with his tail between his legs, while Amy backed away from the orange tabby.

  “I’m not doing that,” she said. “Even in a dream.”

  Sunflower watched her calmly. “Do you remember my apartment? You asked about the cat who used to live there, and I said the
Lady made her disappear. What I didn’t tell you is that she was my wife. I gave myself a year to find her, and if I couldn’t get any answers, promised myself to either quit this job or take a hunk of cheese up to the Lady and blow both of us to bits.”

  “That’s horrible! You’re not going to do it, are you?”

  The cat stretched out and laid his chin on his paws. “The year is up, and that golden toy from Old Earth was my last prop. Now I have to decide what to do.”

  “Even if the Lady is as bad as you say, I don’t want to murder her. I’m not that kind of person.”

  “Maybe not, but if the Lady catches us you’ll be the kind of highly incinerated person who fits in a trouser pocket.”

  Philip stomped into the room. “All of this is stupid and pointless. My father is the Duke of Marlborough and you have to consider my plan first.”

  “Exactly,” said Nick, from her perch on Philip’s shoulder. “Listen to Philly-Billy! He wants to stay with me.”

  “Actually, no. I demand to be taken home. The American girl can stay here.”

  Nick jumped off Philip’s shoulder and corkscrewed wildly through the air. “What?!!”

  Sunflower flattened his ears. “You want her to die? If she stays, that’s what will happen. Also, the only way you can go back home is with her help. She’s the only one who can open the right doors.”

  “I didn’t consider that,” said Philip. “I … uh, I’m sorry. I suppose all of you think I’m a frightful toff, demanding this and demanding that.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind,” said Amy. “You’re just being a boy. How old are you?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “Well, I’m sixteen,” lied Amy. “That puts me in charge, even though my father wasn’t a duke. I say we have a vote, American style.”

  “My little pet has to stay,” sobbed Nick. “I can’t live without him.”

  Sunflower sighed. “I’m sure you’ll go on somehow. Camille in Accounting has wanted a date with you for years.”