R.T. jumped to her feet to stand eye to… place where his eyes might be with the Lord of the Lemmings. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“I saw an offer to increase my virility. I am nothing if not virile,” he chirped.
“Um, hello?” Kyle didn’t want to be rude to his kidnapper(s), but an angry mob was still calling for his head not twenty feet away. Although, he acknowledged, they didn’t seem too keen on coming outside. They just stood there shaking their fists.
R.T. knew better than to bother interrogating the weirdo so she turned to the prophet.
Kyle flinched. Now that he had her attention, he wasn’t sure he wanted it.
“Where’s the transmitter?”
The answer was easy. It was in his hand, but her urgency made him suddenly worry he was in the presence of badguys. That dude might be Death himself. He needed to be resolute. He couldn’t let the communicator fall into the wrong hands. He needed—
R.T. took the little black box from his hand.
“How does it work? Just press this button…?” a red LED light came on; she leaned closer. “Kendra? Kendra Shields?”
Kyle held up a finger.
“Kendra Shields? Please respond,” R.T. was very short on patience at the moment. She looked over and the Lemming Lord was… was he scanning her with a lemming? “What are you doing?” she hissed.
“Oh. You know,” he mumbled.
“No, I don’t know—” she turned her attention back to the box, “Kendra. If you can spare a minute from piloting my body around the Storyverse I’d really fucking appreciate it!” She shook the little device as if it was the pop star’s little neck. She noticed the prophet’s finger waiting patiently. “What?”
“You have to take your finger off the button,” Kyle circled with his pointer at the device.
“Oh. Yeah. Okay.” She addressed the box again, “Kendra. Please respond. Over.” R.T. dutifully took her finger off the button. The light went off. She looked back to the Lord of the Lemmings who was still holding her at lemming point. This particular one had a little tin helmet strapped to his head and an antenna clamped in its teeth.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” the weirdo supplied conversationally as he continued fiddling with a knob on the back of the rodent.
She had more than a few questions for him, but they’d have to wait. She thumbed the button again, “Kendra Shields, I am the rightful owner of the body—er, ship—you’re flying. Please respond. Over.” R.T. looked accusingly to Kyle.
“She’s usually there. Maybe it’s your murderous tone,” he offered with a shrug.
•••
Kendra spit blood.
For a month she had successfully bounced around the corners of the Storyverse and eluded capture. Her luck had finally run out.
“Leave her alone!” Gunther shouted, which drew the attention of three assault rifles. “Please,” he added and settled back down. The mid-sized crew quarters of what used to be R.T. was filled to bursting with heavily armed hens.
Debra pushed the still-hot barrel of her Uzi against the pop-star’s cheek. Kendra winced but didn’t give her the satisfaction of crying out. Deb leaned her beak close to the blonde’s ear, “We got you, bitch.” The Marsh Gray chuckled cruelly but stopped with a hack as she got some of Kendra’s hair in her mouth.
She removed the Uzi leaving a red O on the girl’s cheek.
“This is some chase you’ve lead us on,” Deb sneered. She cocked her head and took in the contents of the cabin. It smelled like a locker room with just the faintest scent of appletini. It wasn’t the sort of ship she’d imagined chasing these past weeks. She imagined something… frillier. More pink, at least.
A pile of all-too familiar transmitters sat atop a nearby table. Deb walked over, and plodded up onto a chair. With a sweep of her wing they clattered to the floor in an avalanche of plastic. “And for what?!” she shouted, turning sharply on a talon. “What is all this?”
Kendra remained quiet.
Deb plopped down to the floor, stalked across the distance and back-handed the teenager with the gun again. Predictably, Kendra fell to the floor, barely holding onto consciousness.
“Hey!” Gunther again drew attention to himself.
“And who the fuck are you?” The chicken in charge closed the distance to Gunther. The Shadowstory heroically flinched.
“I’m Gunther. Gunther P. Washington.” His rote politeness got the better of him, “Nice to meet you.”
“Well, I don’t need you.” Deb leveled the weapon at Gunther’s head when suddenly a tinny voice accompanied by static came from the cockpit.
“—you’re flying. Please respond. Over.”
•••
The Guiding Hands were all together; even Sage who had to be called back from her wood gathering expedition.
Neither the natural light nor humming of their crystalline headquarters accompanied their meeting today but it didn’t matter. Not the lack of sun, not the diminishing forests, not the lack of brownies. None of it mattered. Not anymore.
“I did it.” Brin grinned, more desperately than usual and with long shadows dancing across his face from the torchlight. It freaked Jibimy out a little bit.
“Shouldn’t we wait for Sunshower?” Sage prompted, looking around to make sure she hadn’t missed their new Vice President of Interns in the half-light.
Brin’s eyes pinned Sage to her chair before his smile returned. “You know, Sage, that’s an excellent point and all, but that won’t be necessary. Sunshower is helping me with a special assignment right now.”
“Oh cool, what is it?” Flint inquired.
Brin twitched a little bit but had an idea. He covered his mouth and in a clearly made-up, falsetto voice he chimed in, “What did you do, Brin?”
The Guiding Hands looked at Brin askance. Except Jibimy; Jibimy looked around to see who had asked that.
“Good. Yes. Good question,” Brin bowled past his mostly failed ruse. “I got us back on the Infi-Net.”
That got everyone’s attention.
“But I thought—” Sage started.
Brin shushed her, “Enough with the thoughts, Sage, Christ. It doesn’t matter how. What matters is that I did it, and that after a long month, we’re finally ready to join our creation.”
Slowly but surely, they nodded.
“Alriiiight.”
The phone rang.
All eyes went to the squat, little box sitting on the table. They had reinstalled the old land lines for communications but no one used the thing. It made an alien and offensive sound.
“Maybe it’s Sunshower.” Sage picked up the receiver, “Hello?” Sage nodded and made affirming noises into the mouthpiece. “Sure, sure. Hold on a sec.” She put her hand between her mouth and the phone. “It’s a Deb?” she informed. “She wants to talk to you, Brin?”
Why now? Brin caught himself making a fist. He let it go. “You know, what? Yeah. Yeah, I know Deb. That’s cool. Tell her now isn’t the best time, would you?”
Sage nodded and readdressed the phone. “Hey, Deb? Yeah, hey. Now isn’t a good time. Brin’s in a super important meeting, you know? So, yeah.”
The response was audible to everyone at the table. Not the words, just the volume, and the tone.
Covering again with her hand, Sage translated, “She says this is super-important and that she has the package.”
Attention moved from Sage to Brin.
He licked his teeth and lips. “Yeah.” He coughed out a laugh. “That’s—you know what?” he paused, displaying that he might not know what. “Just tell her that it doesn’t matter now. We’re good. We don’t need any packages. Tell her she did great and that’s great and she’s free to do whatever she wants. ‘kay?”
Sage made a valid stab at relaying the message in its entirety. Again, the voice on the other end was clear in its apparent displeasure.
Sage grimaced apologetically as she relayed another message. “She says she’s found your R.V.? Your Artie? I can’t really make it out over all the yelling.”
Flint interjected, “She should just chillax, man.”
Most of the table agreed.
“I had a cousin Artie.” Jibimy helped no one.
Brin froze in place.
“She says she’s speaking to her, or it, or them, on the Infi-Net. She really thinks she should talk to you directly. Or Artie should? Again, not sure.”
Brin motioned for the phone.
Sage walked it around forcing everyone to duck under the coiled cord as it travelled.
He held up a single finger to the assembly as he addressed the phone. “Yeah, hey Deb, this is Brin. Yeah, good. Glad to hear from you. Listen. No, no, shush. Your diligence is commended and all, and we’ll make sure to settle that up with Ottgar. I’ll put in the good word for you and your… company, and everything. But listen, we just don’t need that thing anymore. So you go on and put two… stamps in the back of her—on the back of it, and we’ll call it a day. Okay? As for… Artie, you just tell… them, to sit tight and I’ll see them soon. ‘kay, thanks, bye.” He hung up in a hurry.
The Board of Guiding Hands all looked at him curiously.
“So! Who wants to download themselves to the Infi-Net?!” he diverted with a loud clap of his hands.
All of their hands went up.
Jibimy added a sing-songy “Me!”
