Part 13 (2/2)
Up above, Quinn still clung to the arm of the ride, his cheek firmly pressed against the cold steel like a gecko clinging to a branch.
”Jump!”
”It's too fast!”
”Just jump!”
”I'll fall!”
”You can make it!”
He locked his eyes on the spinning pod, let loose a battle cry, and sprang from the arm of the ride. He missed the pod. His body slid down its slick black hull, but his arm caught the edge like a hanger hook. I grabbed him by his arm, but I lost my grip. Then I got a grip on his hair, holding it just long enough to grab his s.h.i.+rt with my other hand. It began to tear, but by then I had hooked a finger in a loop on the back of his jeans. He grabbed the edge of the pod and finally flipped himself in.
”Are we done?” he asked. ”Can we go home now?”
Now that we were inside the pod, it began to change, as I knew it would. I felt the fracturing of metal as our pod tore free from the ride, but we didn't fall. We soared. The nose of the pod elongated. A dome grew over our heads, and the cabin expanded. An instrument panel sprang out in front of us as our little bench divided, becoming two separate seats, molded to fit the contours of our bodies. The instrument panel looked nothing like that of the j.a.panese Zero. The entire thing was a computer screen filled with holographic b.u.t.tons and gauges that all seemed to be labeled in some language like Pig Klingon.
”I know this!” said Quinn. ”This is the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p on the cover of a CD I have-Nuclear Galaxy's Greatest Hits!”
”Great. How do you fly it?”
”I don't know. All I know is that there's also a picture of the s.h.i.+p blowing up on the back cover.”
I looked up from the strange control panel to the view-port that stretched not only in front of us, but over our heads as well, giving us a 360-degree view. The sky was dark violet, sparking with electricity; and there were clouds, although they really didn't look like clouds. They looked more like tangled, leathery tree limbs, stretching in an endless purple web all around us. Electrical impulses shot along the knotted, ropelike clouds into the violet distance.
”It looks like a nebula,” I told Quinn. ”A s.p.a.ce cloud.”
He looked at me sharply. ”I know what a nebula is.” Then he saw something that shut his att.i.tude down cold. ”Bad news!”
I stared ahead. A ma.s.sive object was hurtling directly at us. It was a moment before I recognized what it was.
”If we're in s.p.a.ce,” asked Quinn, ”what's that doing here?”
”I have no idea.”
14.
Brain-Jam There's a travel poster of Italy in my room at home, right over my bed. You don't have to see it to know what's on it. There's the Coliseum, the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and that pink place in Venice with all the pigeons-you'd know it if you saw it. Like I've said, I've always dreamed of going to those places and seeing all those things . . . but I never expected to see the Tower of Pisa spinning end over end like a giant tomahawk, heading straight for me.
”Do something!” shouted Quinn.
I looked down at the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p's complex computer interface. No mouse, no keypad. I didn't know what to do, but the second I moved my hand close to the interface, a steering column grew up from the screen, into my hand.
”Cool,” said Quinn, more relieved than impressed.
My fingers clasped the control stick, and I pulled to the right. An engine fired, and our little s.p.a.ce pod veered right, narrowly missing the tumbling stone tower. Now, with the tower gone, I could see that the s.p.a.ce around us was more than just a nebula. It was a debris field-but this was not exactly your typical s.p.a.ce debris. As we shot forward, unable to slow down, the Eiffel Tower tumbled by, cutting diagonally across our path, its movement eerily graceful. Easter Island heads floated by, their mysterious faces seeming to grin mockingly in the strange lavender light.
I looked beyond the debris to the purple nebula around us. Something struck me about the way the electrical impulses shot down the web of snaking, intertwining ropes. It was familiar .. . like something I'd learned in biology. . . .
And suddenly I knew what this place was supposed to be.
”I don't think we're in s.p.a.ce,” I told Quinn.
”Then where are we?”
I sighed. ”We're . . . inside my head.”
”Oh.” Quinn didn't look surprised. ”Why do you have all this c.r.a.p floating around in your head?”
”If I knew, it wouldn't be there.” I was sure if we ricocheted around long enough, we'd find every thought I'd ever had, trans.m.u.ted into rock-solid form. Mental toe-jam. This place was what Ca.s.sandra saw when she looked at me.
I go places sometimes.
Yeah, well, I never thought I'd find myself here.
”I saw this movie once,” Quinn said. ”A bunch of scientists got shrunk and injected into a guy's blood. They had to crawl out over his eyeball.”
”I don't think it'll be that easy.”
A farmhouse tumbled past, colored in sepia tones. A young girl who looked suspiciously like Judy Garland peered out of the window, astonished.
I turned to Quinn. ”If you say, 'I don't think we're in Kansas anymore,' I'll smack you.”
”Watch out!”
I pulled up, but not fast enough, and we were clipped by Big Ben-the clock that usually chimes out over London but was now revolving in front of us like a pinwheel. The impact sent us spinning, knocking Quinn out of his chair. He bounced weightlessly around the cabin. What bothered me even more than being hit, though, was what I saw on Big Ben's ma.s.sive clock face. Its hands read ten minutes to six. Ten minutes to dawn. Ten minutes to beat this ride, or it was all over.
I pushed and tugged on the control stick, which fired retros and boosters until I'd straightened us out. I had no idea what direction we faced, but then, every direction was the same in this place. There was no up or down, no left or right.
”Can't you drive safe?” Quinn pulled himself back down into his seat and struggled with a seat-belt harness that looked like it was meant for a creature with three arms.
We smashed into a grafitti-covered subway car, but it sustained most of the damage from the collision, spinning away from us to reveal another s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p behind it, which jetted out like a cop car at a speed trap. It was sleek and bronze, with curves that were almost feminine, and it took off after us, shooting some sort of multicolored laser weapon. My brain didn't have to fire too many synaptic sparks to figure out who piloted that s.h.i.+p.
The blast tore a hole in our left wing-a hole that sizzled with every color of the spectrum.
”It's an Aurora-Refractive Laser Cannon,” said Quinn. ”Straight out of my Steroid Avenger comic books.”
Ca.s.sandra didn't try to contact us. I suppose she had nothing left to say to me beyond the constant blasts from her weapon. Another blast caught our right flank, jolting us badly, but we held together.
”Check the controls,” I told Quinn. ”If she has an Aurora-Refractive whatever, then maybe we have one too!”
He scanned the unreadable control panel, then did a quick eenie-meenie-meinie-mo and touched one of the virtual b.u.t.tons.
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