No Small Bills Page 4

  “Oh. It’s not a flying car, just a shuttle to the bus. Got it.” That was too bad—I’d really liked the idea of tooling around in a flying car. “So how soon do we reach the bus?”

  “A matter of minutes.”

  “And what, we glide up alongside it, pop a connecting tube, and sidle across?” I caught her quick frown. “No? So it has a docking bay and we slide into that?” The frown deepened. “Okay, how do we get on board?”

  “Our paths intersect. Once that occurs we will terminate this vehicle’s separate vector and continue along the bus’s original course with it.”

  “Okay, right. But what does that actually mean?”

  “It means we ram the damn bus,” Ned informed me quietly. “Hard and fast. And hope we can breach its shields before our own collapse.”

  Oh. Great. Somehow I’d wound up in the Great Train Robbery. Only it was in outer space. And if we made it, we didn’t even get any loot.

  Still, we were going to ram a bus. That might be worth it, all by itself.

  Chapter Six

  Do you have a ticket?

  “Are you crazy?” I demanded. “You want to ram a bus—an intergalactic bus, no less?—with a car? With a late-model Ford?”

  “With bulletproof glass,” Tall pointed out. “That may help.”

  I glared at him. “We’re not dealing with bullets, you moron! It’s us against a spaceship! That’s like sending a fly against a Sherman tank! We’re talking escape-velocity spatter—and we’re the spatter! There won’t be anything left of us but smears on the metaphorical windshield!”

  Tall looked to Mary for a denial of that last statement, and gulped audibly when she shrugged. “There is no way to be certain we will survive the collision,” she admitted. “The likelihood is very high, however.”

  “We should be fine,” Ned assured all of us. “I know the bus’s schematics, and I’ve calibrated this car’s shields to take full advantage of the vulnerabilities in their emitters. Our shields should hold for a tenth of a nanosecond longer than theirs.” He actually had the nerve to look pleased with himself about that, while Mary stared straight ahead and Tall and I both visibly contemplated strangling him with his own tool belt. A tenth of a nanosecond? Was that even enough time for the whole “life flashing before your eyes” thing? Or would I get stuck seeing only up to second grade? Because Mrs. Herkel’s class hadn’t exactly been my finest hour.

  “What can we do to help?” Tall asked, and I rolled my eyes. Yes, ducks can roll their eyes—you don’t believe me? Try offering one of them anything less than seven-grain bread. Snotty little mothers.

  “There is nothing you can do,” Mary replied. Duh! Unless he was offering to play human shield—which didn’t exactly work right now, given the whole “zooming through space” thing—I wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Did he have some kind of forcefield projector tucked away in his suit, right next to the pocketknife and the cell phone and the miniature blowtorch? Maybe he figured he could ward off danger by looking stalwart, or something. I had no idea.

  Me, I was under no illusions. I was useless, and likely to remain that way. I just concentrated on making sure my seatbelt was properly fastened, and wondering how much velocity those airbags could take.

  We exited the Earth’s atmosphere, which should have left me giddy with delight and all-consuming fear. But I was too busy worrying about the whole “smack into a bus” thing to really notice either. I did admire the view—man, the stars are really bright once you get past all that air, and there are a ton of them! It’s a wonder aliens can sleep at all, given all those little twinkling lights everywhere! But after a second I was distracted by a comet blazing toward us.

  “Is that—?”

  Mary nodded. “That is the bus, yes.”

  Great. I looked at it again. It looked just like you always see in those cartoon depictions of comets—a blazing trail of sparks and fire and dust shooting across the sky. And we were going to crash into and try hitching a ride on that?

  “Intersection in five seconds,” Mary warned.

  “Five seconds?” I gripped the door handle. I dunno, maybe I thought I could bail out if things went wrong—not that it would help any, since that would leave me floating in outer space without a suit. I’d seen enough movies and TV shows and even PBS documentaries to know that would be bad. I could hold my breath underwater for a ridiculously long time—I know because I’d done it a few times, both to impress ladies and to freak out lifeguards. But outer space? Not so much.

  The comet was freaking huge now, and right in front of us. It was a mass of swirling colors, and I thought I could just make out shapes within it—and faces pressed up against the glass, staring at us and shouting in horror. But maybe I was imagining that last part.

  Tall was muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer. Amazing. Ned was calmly fingering one of his weird little tools. At least I hoped it was a tool—it was the same color he was, and, well, if you were about to die why wouldn’t you, really? Mary had one hand on the steering wheel and the other tapping buttons on the doohickey.

  “Three,” she called out, “two, one—impact!”

  The car shuddered and squealed and all of us were thrown against our seatbelts, back against our seats, and from side to side. It was like one of those horrible “let’s simulate an earthquake” amusement park rides. Light and sound were everywhere, suffocating me, and I was sure we were toast. Flattened intergalactic toast. Then the squealing softened, and the lights dimmed a bit so I could see the spots behind my eyes, and the air backed off enough that I could breathe again.

  “Successful entry,” Mary announced happily—I couldn’t help noticing, and noticing again, and staring, that she also took a deep breath and let it out. Slowly. Man, I could almost enjoy a near-death experience for that.

  “We must exit the vehicle and blend in with the other passengers,” she informed us, undoing her seatbelt and shoving the driver’s side door open. It was dented inward a bit, and the roof was crumpled toward us as well—I guess one-tenth of a nanosecond doesn’t buy you a lot of leeway. So much for the Flying Fed Car. Once Tall got over sobbing in relief he’d probably be pissed.

  “Right, out of the car. Going.” I clicked free of my belt, kicked the door open, and hopped out. Who knew what’d happen to the car next? They might have some sort of alarm system on board that would detect it, realize it didn’t belong, and flush it like a used tissue in one of those airplane toilets, and if that happened I definitely didn’t want to still be inside it. Ned and Tall were emerging as well, and I glanced around to see where we were.

  The walls were swirling. At first I thought that was just the concussion talking, but when I turned to Mary she was still in focus. So no, the walls were swirling—there was color and light moving through them, shifting and dancing just enough that you were never quite sure what you were seeing. It was disorienting, to say the least, but not completely unpleasant.

  There wasn’t any furniture, or any passengers. Just those swirls, us, the car—and a bunch of shapes, like odd packages, most of them gift-wrapped in glittery metallic paper. Some were stacked here and there, others were webbed to the walls or suspended from the ceiling. If you crossed a magpie, a spider, and a crazed holiday shopper, we were probably in her lair.

  “Baggage car,” Ned told us, looking around. “Nice shot, Mary!”

  “Thank you.” She brushed herself off—I almost offered to help—and gestured toward a wall, which I noticed had a circular window set at head-level, and another one below that at waist level. Either the creatures here came in all heights and sizes or they just really liked crotch-gazing. It could have gone either way. “The passenger compartment is that way. Shall we?”

  I was quick to scoot up behind her, and Ned and Tall were stuck following me. Hah, sorry, guys—victory goes to the swift! She waved a hand before those windows and the wall slid aside, allowing us access.

  It’s a good thing Ned was right behind
me and could shove me forward, or I’d have just stood there, frozen despite the increasing distance between myself and Mary’s inspiring backside.

  Chaos. Complete chaos. That’s the only way to describe it. I know I was staring at a long, wide, tall room, but beyond that my brain was having trouble processing anything.

  “Go on in,” Ned hissed behind me. “Hurry up! We don’t want anyone to notice we came from the baggage car!”

  Notice? Who was going to notice? I doubted they’d notice if we suddenly whipped out instruments and began performing “Ragtime.” While breathing fire. And riding unicycles. Shaped like elephant tusks.

  There were aliens everywhere. I know they were aliens because they were moving and talking—I think it was talking—and eating—I hope it was eating—and drinking and doing everything else you see people on busses doing that they’re told not to do. Yes, everything. I’m scarred for life. But I couldn’t really tell you anything about them except they were alien. Oh, I spotted one or two like Ned—mostly human-looking, with maybe some weird color and a few odd limbs thrown in. But others! I swear I saw a pair of coral with long wispy beards and waving snail-stalk eyes and hands like Mickey Mouse, playing cards off in a corner. There was something kind of like the Yeti, if he suddenly became a rock star and wore enough bling to bankrupt the EU. I thought someone had left their drink sitting out until it blinked and extended a stream to turn the pages of its newspaper. It was insane. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at anything the same way again—I’ll always worry that the crumpled candy wrapper on the floor or the coffee stain on the desk is another alien, and I’ll spend the rest of my life saying “excuse me” and “have you got the time?” and “got change for a dollar?” to inanimate objects and dirt.

  “This way.” Mary was beckoning, and the sight of her in all this mess helped snap me back. Hey, it’s amazing what good a gorgeous woman can do your sanity. At least until she starts laughing at you. Anyway she led us through the crowd and to what looked almost like a park bench made of cut and folded paper. It was empty and she sat down, which reassured me that it wasn’t going to get up and storm off in a huff, then gestured for the rest of us to join her. I did. I was only too happy to squeeze in close so Ned and Tall could fit beside me.

  “We made it onto the bus!” I was thrilled. “That’s awesome! What now?”

  “Now,” Mary replied, leaning back slightly, “we stay on this bus until it nears the matrix location. It will not take us directly there, but within enough proximity that we can then use more localized transportation to cover the remaining distance.”

  Right. Stay on the bus. Cool. I could handle that.

  “Do we need a ticket?” I asked after a second. I did mention that I’d always sucked at those quiet games, right? “I mean, are they gonna come around asking for tickets or anything?”

  She shook her head. “Typically the bus requires payment before entry. Thus it will be assumed we have already paid the appropriate fees.”

  “And if someone figures out we haven’t?”

  “Then we pay through the nose for the on-the-spot tickets,” Ned explained. “Or they toss us right back off.”

  Great. I hoped they’d accept my debit card. And that it didn’t come to more than $112.57. After tax.

  “Do not worry on that score,” Mary assured me, resting a hand on my leg. Man, my body temperature rose at least twenty degrees—it’s a wonder I didn’t scald her! “We will—”

  Whatever else she’d meant to say was drowned out by a sound I’d heard too many times in movies not to recognize.

  Gunfire.

  Well, laser fire.

  Or alien attack fire. Whatever the weapon. It had a particular “zing” and whine and beep like nothing else.

  “What the hell?” I shouted, sticking my head up to look around—only to have Tall shove it back down as we all dove off the bench and squatted behind it. “Who’s shooting? We’ll buy tickets, honest!”

  “It’s not the bus conductor!” Ned whispered near my shoulder. “They don’t carry weapons!”

  “Who is it, then? And what are the odds of one bus getting boarded twice in less than ten minutes?” I was guessing it was somebody else crashing the party because—as near as I could tell—the rest of the passengers were freaking out just like we were.

  Ned fiddled with one of his gadgets, and turned pale. “Temporal raiders!”

  “Whosis what now?”

  “Temporal raiders!” He was shaking in his boots—yes, he had boots. Big heavy work boots. With Velcro straps, which is just wrong, really. Boots should have laces, unless you’re under the age of six. And they should never, NEVER be that shade of yellow.

  I turned to Mary. “Who or what is a temporal raider?”

  “They are a marauding band from the planet Dilexese 12,” she replied quietly. “They believe there are gaps in their race’s evolutionary history and so they travel the galaxy, abducting likely candidates and propelling them back through time to fill out the holes in their record.”

  I glanced around. “They steal people to plug up their own history?” She nodded. “That’s impressive. Do you think that would work on my taxes?”

  “Shush!” she warned, but of course it was too late. The sounds of shooting came closer, and then a mirror-faced silver-suited alien stood over us. It had a long, bulky purple gun in one hand, and aimed that thing toward our little group and the bench we were using for cover.

  “Don’t shoot!” I shouted, standing up, hands up by my head. “Look at me! Do you really want me as your ancestor?”

  I must have said the wrong thing, though, because next thing I knew it was aiming that long barrel my way, and then there was a flash and a glow and a sizzle and everything spun and danced and disappeared.

  When my eyes cleared I was in the middle of a jungle. A big, fluorescent jungle. With insects the size of my head—yes, my head, and not even my original-issue one—fluttering and swooping and zooming around.

  And there was a dinosaur—a huge, bright purple dinosaur with blue markings—towering over me.

  I think I was about to fill somebody’s belly rather than somebody’s evolutionary niche.

  Chapter Seven

  The what effect?

  The massive dino opened its jaws. Geez! Ever heard of an orthodontist? It was disgusting in there! I could see whole trees jammed between some of those teeth—of course, it’d take dental floss thicker than me (and I’m not exactly svelte) to work them out, so maybe it wasn’t the big guy’s fault. Though he might be able to fashion a toothbrush or at least a toothpick out of some redwoods. And breath mints? A city’s worth, please. Stat.

  But my dismay at his lack of dental hygiene was quickly shoved aside by the more practical side of my brain, which screamed, “He’s going to eat us! Run, you idiot!” I turned—and saw a thick batch of bushes to my left, sporting thorns as long as my forearm. I twisted to the right—and discovered we were on a cliff, because there wasn’t anything to the right but air and a nasty lack of guardrails. Behind me—more bushes, and trees, and vines thick as my legs all coiled around like a snake after an epileptic fit. Nope, nowhere to go.

  Forward, maybe? I considered that as the dino stepped closer, its gargantuan foot creating shockwaves that almost knocked me off my own feet. Could I dive forward, between those massive legs, avoid that mammoth tail, and scoot away to safety before it could turn and come after me? It didn’t look good but I was seriously considering it. Too late, though—the dino leaned in over me, its jaws opened even wider, its thick pink tongue lashed out, and—

  “Pardon me, but you are obstructing my appreciation of Nature’s intrinsic bouquet.”

  Huh?

  I stared up at it. And it spoke again.

  “I say, would you mind just shifting a smidge to the side? If it’s not too much trouble, of course.”

  Obstructing his appreciation? Nature’s bouquet? Shift to the side? I glanced behind me. Oh. I was blocking his vie
w of some flowers.

  I sidled over a step so he could see the blooms clearly.

  “Ah, much appreciated,” it roared, then leaned over—and sniffed them delicately. “Such a lovely fragrance! Delightful!”

  “Yeah, it’s a real treat,” I muttered. What the hell was going on here? Dinos that liked sniffing flowers instead of gobbling up passers-by? What was the world coming to?

  But, I realized, it wasn’t coming to anything. Not my world, anyway. Because this wasn’t my world, this was the world of those temporal-raider guys. They’d zapped me back here. So apparently in their history dinosaurs were . . . pacifists? Flower-sniffers? Sissies?

  It occurred to me that I hadn’t seen any sign of meat in the dino’s mouth when he’d gaped that maw at me. Just trees and other foliage. I added “vegetarian” to the list and suddenly felt a whole lot better about my chances of surviving this impromptu field trip. Of course, getting back on the bus might be another matter but first things first.

  “I say,” the dino commented after getting his fill of the prehistoric daisies, “you are not from around these parts, are you?”

  “No, I’m new here,” I admitted.

  “Well, welcome to the neighborhood, old fellow!” The dino waved one of its little tiny arms at me. I waved back. I’ve never understood that, about massive T-rexes and other dinosaurs having such puny little arms. Was it a cosmic joke? Like “hey, we’re making you one of the most dangerous critters ever to walk this earth, but as a tradeoff you only get jokes for arms. No fisticuffs for you but at least you can bite through mountains!”

  “Thanks. So,” I glanced around. “Any advice? Good places to see? Things to avoid? Tasty burger joints?”

  “The land is filled with glory and wonder,” the dino answered me, ratcheting up its “sissy” score. “You have but to see to admire. And I know not of these ‘burger joints.’ But to avoid, yes. Steer clear of the dragonflies if you can.”