Chapter 21
Spot checked over the gauges. Adding Buster, Dodger, Princess Whiskers, and her four guards was putting additional stress on the engines from the weight. He glanced over at Marshy, who had the same worried look on her face.
Something beeped on his displays. “Enemy aircraft inbound,” Spot said. From the look of it they were fixed-wing fighters, probably armed with missiles. From the sensor analysis the fighters didn’t have rocket engines, but they were still approaching at over Mach 4. “They’ll intercept us in three minutes.”
“Can we fly any faster?’ Buster asked.
“Negative.”
“Are we carrying any weapons?”
“Only small arms.”
“Lieutenant, can you lose them?”
“I’ll try, sir.” She threw a worried look at Spot. He knew what she was thinking: a transport was not designed for air-to-air combat. Transports were designed as transports, carrying equipment and personnel from the ship to planetary surfaces. They had already stressed the craft enough with the maneuvering through the atmosphere to pick up Buster and the others.
“Everyone hold on,” Spot said over the intercom. Then he turned to Marshy and smiled. “OK, Lieutenant Ruff, show me what you got.”
Her smile was less confident than he would have liked, but she nodded. She punched a few buttons on her console. The control panel parted and a steering yoke popped up. This was intended to be used in emergency situations; Spot couldn’t think of any better emergency than right now. “Here we go,” she whispered.
Marshy yanked the yoke hard to the left as the fighters approached. They didn’t have any trouble following the maneuver, positioning themselves in a firing line behind the transport. Spot watched through the sensors as a missile lit out from beneath one of the fighters. Marshy grunted with irritation and then snapped the control yoke back to the right. The missile went streaking past, its tiny fins unable to follow.
The transport went into a sharp dive and without asking, Spot knew Marshy was aiming for the mist around the tree line. If the fighters had infrared sensors—and they likely did—it probably wouldn’t matter. Still, a pilot flying by instruments was less capable than one flying by sight so it might help even things up.
“Just watch for the trees,” Spot said.
“I will.”
The transport spiraled down into the mist. Spot considered taking control of the craft as they continued to plunge down, nearly into the jungle canopy. He held back, seeing the look of determination on Marshy’s face. She knew what she was doing.
Marshy leveled off abruptly and then spun the craft around a hundred-eighty degrees. “When I give the word, I want you to hit the main engines. Give it everything you have, understand?” Marshy said.
“I got it.”
The fighters came down through the mist slower, using far more caution than Marshy had. She eased the transport forward with its maneuvering thrusters. The fighters were still coming down, trying to get a bead on the transport with their missiles. Marshy waited until three of the four were down on her level and within just two hundred meters.
“They’re getting a lock on us,” Spot said.
Marshy nodded but didn’t say anything. She pushed the transport forward with its maneuvering jets. The warning tone from the missile locks became a shrill buzz loud enough that Buster and Whiskers put their paws to their ears. “Lieutenant—”
The fighters fired their missiles. Marshy turned to Spot. As calmly as if ordering a bowl of kibble, she said, “Hit the engines.”
Spot did as she said, slapping the button to activate the main engines. These were designed to be used in space, where the heat and radiation wouldn’t affect any plant or wildlife. There was also the aerial disturbances created by the engines, especially at full power. As the transport lurched forward, its engines kicked up a vortex of deadly hot air. This vortex proved to be a lucrative target for the enemy missiles, which exploded harmlessly in the transport’s wake.
As for the fighters, they were caught practically standing still as the transport shot past. Its wake tossed the three craft around like boats in a hurricane. Already in the unstable air near the trees, the fighters couldn’t pull up in time. The three pilots bailed out only moments before their fighters became entangled in the branches.
The fourth decided discretion was the better part of valor and turned away. Spot looked over at Marshy and nodded. “Nice flying, Lieutenant.”
“It’s not over yet,” she said. And she was right.
#
No one bothered them as they climbed through the atmosphere. Cattatonia’s atmosphere was thicker than most Bloc worlds, making for a warmer and choppier flight. With the inertial dampeners already gone, Spot had to cling to the edge of the control panel to keep from getting his head bashed in. Marshy and Buster had similar problems. As for Whiskers, she was smiling.
She let out a very unregal squeal as the transport rocketed through the atmosphere. If he weren’t being thrown around like a chew toy, Spot would have asked her what was so funny. It must be a Cat thing, he thought.
They emerged safely into orbit, the craft settling down and turning cooler. “That was amazing!” Whiskers shouted. She seized Buster’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “Is this what it’s always like?”
“Usually no one’s chasing us,” Buster said.
The princess leaned forward to stare through the viewscreen. “Is this space?”
“This is it,” Buster said. “You’re among the stars now.”
“It’s incredible. I see why you enjoy being up here so much.”
Then she kissed him. Spot had never seen anything like it. He had to grab onto the edge of the control panel again, only this time out of shock. A Cat kissing a dog! And they both seemed to be enjoying it. What had happened down there?
He turned to Marshy, who was trying not to look back at the interspecies lovers. “I think it’s time we activated the cloaking device.”
“Good idea.” She punched the intercom. “Randy, is the cloak ready?”
“I’m afraid not, Marshmallow.” Despite the circumstances, she bristled at this name. “All of our maneuvering has damaged the relays. I fear beyond repair.”
Right on cue, two Cat warships appeared in front of them. Captain Morgana’s face appeared on the communications screen. She pressed her face just about against the camera as she screamed, “Invaders! Traitors! We will destroy you!”
“Can we hit the hyperdrive?” Buster asked.
“Not yet. We’re too close,” Spot said. He hit the intercom again. “We need that cloak, Dr. Ruff.”
“I’m sorry, Commander.”
Dodger’s voice came on the intercom. “I have an idea. Can you send Princess Whiskers back here and then punch through a video link to their ship?”
“What are you planning?”
“There’s no way they’re going to kill the princess. So we use that against them.”
Buster turned to Whiskers. “You don’t have to do it.”
Whiskers smiled at him. “I must. It’s the only way for us to escape.”
“At least let me be the one—”
“No, you couldn’t do it. They’ll know.”
“Whiskers—”
“There’s nothing to fear, my love.” She gave him a shorter kiss before unfastening her straps and slinking off to the back.
Spot typed in a few commands to create a video link between the back hold and the Cat warship. As he did, he said over his shoulder, “You have some explaining to do when we get back, Mister.”
“Don’t I know it. Father is going to neuter me.”
With a last flourish, Spot set up the transmission. On one half of the screen he saw Captain Morgana, her tongue sticking out of her mouth as when they had first seen her. On the other half of the screen, Dodger pressed one of the Saint Bernard rifles to Princess Whiskers’s head. “Hey, Captain Morgana. Nice to see you again,” Dodger hissed.
“You dare put a weapon to the princess’s head?”
“That’s right. And I’ll use it if you don’t let us go.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“You think so?” Dodger’s gray muzzle turned up in a grin even Spot found unsettling. “It’s too bad I can’t show you my raccoon tail collection. Three hundred thirty of them. I think the princess would make a good addition.”
“If you singe even a centimeter of her fur—”
“What will you do? Fire on us? Kill your princess, the only heir to the throne?” Dodger shrugged. “Maybe the queen’s not too old for another child. Miracles can happen.”
“You vile—”
“Listen up, Twitchy. You and your friends better stand down. Got it? Or else there isn’t going to be any heir to your throne. And don’t try following us either.”
“You won’t do it,” Captain Morgana hissed. “If you kill her, we will destroy you.”
“Directive One of the Fleet Intelligence manual is that no agent is ever to be taken alive. Surrender is not an option for me, Twitchy. Think about it. I’ll give you one minute to call your queen and tell her that her daughter is about to be vaporized.”
“No!” Captain Morgana hissed something in her own language. Spot watched on the sensors as the Cat warships backed off.
“They’re letting us pass,” Spot said.
“Good.” Dodger didn’t lower the weapon, though. “Thanks, Twitchy. But if you try to have one of your cloaked ships follow us to the Batpooh, I won’t hesitate in vaporizing her.”
“We understand. You will be allowed to pass through Cat space with the queen’s protection.”
“I’m glad we understand each other. See you around, Twitchy.”
Spot broke the transmission. He kept the camera on the back though until Dodger turned Whiskers loose. The princess staggered back to the cockpit, where she collapsed against Buster. He stroked her fur and whispered comforting words as Marshy set a course to take them back to the Batpooh.
Spot looked over at Marshy, noticing the same look of concern on her face. “Let’s go home,” he said. Despite the damage to the makeshift cloaking device, the hyperspace engines worked. Cattatonia, its moons, and its warships disappeared from view, but Spot knew the latter would reappear sooner rather than later.
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