Destroyer of Planets: Book 1 of the Neon Octopus Overlord Series Page 8

  Carpe considered this. "Ok. If this Kirian proves legit, and the band is real, then fine." He looked down at his watch and shook his head. "Trust me; I'm rooting on the band. But your time's running out, mate. You only have one hundred and twenty seconds."

  Fleek's heart started racing. He felt a drop of moisture work its way from his hairline down his cheek. Carpe was watching him carefully.

  "Sixty seconds."

  Fleek ran his fingers through his Mohawk again.

  Three beings fell through the portal and landed in a heap on the floor.

  Fleek looked at the jumble of arms, legs, and bodies, and tried to figure out why there were three beings. He re-counted with the same result. There was Kirian, who flopped forward onto the floor. Then there was Ari. And some other guy.

  "Hello, Ari."

  Kirian was covered in blood.

  "What's wrong with Kirian?" Fleek asked.

  "It’s not my blood," Kirian answered. "Fleek, fire in the hole again, get us out of here!"

  Fleek glanced at Carpe, who raised a green eyebrow back.

  "Fire in the hole," said Fleek in response to the eyebrow raise, "try to keep up, Carpe." He sat in the pilot’s chair, strapped himself in, and tapped open the controls. "Go fast. I can do that."

  "Who's he?" Ari asked Fleek, pointing to Carpe.

  "Who's that?" Fleek asked about Kracken, while his fingers danced over the controls.

  "Touché."

  "What about my ship?" Kracken said.

  "Hang your stupid ship," Ari said. "We have to get out of here now."

  Fleek continued tapping at the controls. Kracken glared at Ari.

  "Fine," Ari said. "You want to do this? Where did you leave your stupid ship?"

  "On the planet," Kracken answered.

  Ari shot him a think-about-that-for-a minute-look. She grabbed onto something and held tight.

  "I like her," Carpe told Fleek, his head gesturing at Ari.

  "If the rest of you would stop distracting me," Fleek said, "I'd like to keep us from blowing up."

  The ship shot into warp, and everything got all fuzzy for Ari. First, her stomach did several front flips followed by half a back flip. Then it left her body completely to flit around the space ship without her.

  The people around her became blurred forms. Ari didn't know exactly what was going on, but so far it wasn’t so bad. At least she was hanging onto something this time instead of careening around the ship bumping into things.

  Ari had a thousand different questions about the technology being employed, its effects on beings similar to herself, and where exactly they were going, but those would have to wait until whatever this was stopped and the beings around her stopped being all fuzzy and took their proper shape again.

  There was a loud noise and a serious vibration. The ship did several actual loops. Just as well that her stomach was having its own out of body experience.

  The ship's new antics threw all of them around the cabin, except for Fleek who was strapped in. It was quite like the scenario she was worried about to begin with.

  Up became down, and then up again, and then the lights went out. Ari hit the floor and the ceiling in succession several times. There were screams and groans all around her.

  After what felt like an eternity, but was probably only a few seconds, several things happened.

  The ship stopped flipping.

  Yay.

  Then the lights came back on.

  Beings were scattered around on what was, in fact, the roof. It took Ari a moment to figure out exactly why everything looked different.

  The last thing Ari saw before the ship flipped itself again was everybody other than herself grab onto something. The result was Ari hitting the ship's floor hard, again, on her back. It knocked the breath out of her body.

  Ari lay there gasping and gave her stomach a moment to return to her, but it stubbornly refused the invitation.

  Fleek unbuckled from the pilot’s chair looking unruffled. He spun around to face Ari. "Hey, what happened to Kirian?"

  "This is your Celestial?" The new guy had a thick muscular frame displaying colorful tattoos that at first glance looked both ocean-themed and highly inappropriate.

  Fleek motioned to Kirian. "Carpe," he said ceremoniously, "meet Kirian, Destroyer of Planets."

  Kirian stood and faced him in her blood-soaked clothes. "Sorry to disappoint. You were expecting what?"

  "No," said the new guy. "I guess that looks about right." He still seemed unsure, though.

  "I'm sorry, who are you and what are you doing here?" Ari asked.

  Fleek's face drained of color. "Says the girl who's been on the ship for like two days? Did I say that to you when Kirian brought you on board? Did I give you the third degree? No, I said, hello Ari, nice to meet you. Because some people on this ship have manners."

  Ari was surprised. She didn't see Fleek's outburst coming. She had manners, but the new guy was scary, and he was questioning Kirian. She looked from Carpe to Kracken, though, and realized that the ship was filling with beings that would cause her to both lock her door and sleep with weapons from now on.

  "My name's Carpe," New Guy said. "I'm the bass player."

  "Bass player, sure," Ari said and turned back to Fleek.

  The other thought floating around in her head was that Fleek had just saved all of their lives. If that whole fuzziness thing was warp speed or light speed or whatever, and the ship was still affected, then in orbit they wouldn't have had a chance.

  Kracken slumped in the corner sulking, presumably over his lost ship. What did he think was going to happen?

  He should be happy to be alive.

  Chapter 15

  Trisha paced the threadbare carpet waiting to see if she’d get a chance to ask the Overseer her question, but her hope was fading fast.

  All reporters wanting to cover the event had been cheerfully escorted into this room. Once inside, the armed guards made it clear that the press was not going to get access.

  She’d probably wasted a very expensive trip, and her credit cards were already maxed out.

  To make matters worse, security had thrown all of the journalists in the same room with the conspiracy theory crazies.

  She slumped to the floor thinking about all of the extra research she would have to do when she got home. She'd have to pull so many all-nighters. She should have at least brought her laptop with her, to use the time to catch up on real work.

  A young hipster guy with an ironic Planet Reconstruction Band t-shirt slumped down next to her. "Doesn’t matter,” he said, “they'll never ask her any real questions."

  Trisha realized he was talking to her, but he wasn't looking at her. She turned to him. "What?"

  When she looked right at him his eyes bugged out a little, as though she had violated some sort of crazy conspiracy theory protocol or something.

  "Don't look right at me," he hissed. "Don't you know they're always recording? What are you, crazy or something?"

  Sure. I'm the crazy one.

  "Okay, what kind of questions should they be asking her?" She pretended to look down at her phone.

  "Well, they should be asking her about all the disappearing planets, you know? And about her secret army. And how she's really another species entirely in disguise."

  Trisha looked up from her phone. She couldn't help it. "You don't think she's really an octopus? Then what in stars do you think she is? I mean, you’ve seen her on television, right?"

  "Since when is television reality? Name's Brad by the way." He thrust out a hand.

  She wavered back and forth about whether to give him her real name, then gave in and shook his hand. "Trisha. I'm in journalism."

  If I start having to make up names for every nut case I meet, I'll get little else done.

  She snapped her notebook shut and placed it on the floor next to her. "Well, Brad," she began, "you see there's fictional television which are shows written by beings for entertainment- and
those are made up, and then there are things happening in the real world and people like journalists show them to you and that's called non-fiction."

  Brad laughed out loud. "You don't really believe that, do you?"

  "Do you really believe that the Octopus Overseer isn't really an octopus?"

  "Maybe," he said.

  Trisha glanced at him. He was cute in a cocky kind of way, but she wasn't here to stoke the fires of conspiracy, she was here to cut corners on her thesis. "And just for the sake of asking, what was that bit about the disappearing planets?"

  "She has this secret army she uses to destroy entire planets. Gone in a flash. Poof." He made a puffing motion with his mouth and spread the fingers of his right hand.

  "You mean the Celestials, right?”

  Brad's mouth hung open and he turned to stare at her. "You know about the Celestials? You've been holding out on me." He frowned. "You're a spy, aren't you?"

  "I'm not a spy, Brad. And I can prove it to you."

  A wicked, ambitious idea came to her. It wasn’t very nice. Not for Brad, anyway, but it would help her with her thesis, maybe. And he would simply be doing what he came here to do which was challenge authority and stir up trouble. She sat up and faced him.

  "How?" he asked.

  "I'm actually a journalism student. And I'm here to confront the Overseer and ask her about the Celestials. I'm studying them for my thesis, you see. But I'm going to need your help."

  He nodded cautiously, but she was clearly drawing him in. "What can I do?"

  "It's not going to be easy," she said with a twinge of guilt. "And you can say no," she added, hoping it would absolve her of any responsibility moving forward. "I need you to create a distraction so I can get past the guards."

  A stir rippled around the room as an announcement was made that the meeting was about to adjourn.

  Brad frisked himself, checking his pockets, clearly excited about the proposition. "I have just the thing right here." He pulled out what looked like firecrackers. "I'd get ready if I were you."

  “How’d you get those past security?” Trisha asked.

  “Don’t ask.”

  Trisha grabbed her phone and got ready to run, eyes on the guards. Brad turned and lit his small explosives out of their view.

  "One more thing," Brad said before launching himself toward the security guards.

  "What's that?" Trisha asked.

  "Please bail me out," he shouted as he charged the front door and the first of the firecrackers exploded.

  The other journalists dove out of the way and onto the floor. Most of the security guards made a beeline for Brad. One stood in the middle of the entrance, holding his ground.

  Trisha sprinted as fast as she could. She squirted through the left side and past the guard, whose attention was fixed on Brad.

  She continued down the hallway, turned right, and then headed toward the main hall. It was a good thing that she had researched the building schematics ahead of time. Maybe she wasn't such a slacker after all.

  In the distance, a small, furry creature opened the main conference room door and then, all of a sudden, there she stood, in all her neon blue glory. The Efficient Octopus Overseer of the Galaxy.

  The sight almost took Trisha’s breath away. For one brief moment, she believed her plan would work. She ran toward the Overlord, with whom she made eye contact. Then, four more security guards took her down from the left. Then, her breath, quite literally, was taken away as she hit the floor.

  Chapter 16

  A small furry being posted at the entrance to the meeting room saw her coming and cleared its throat. "Her Supreme Overseer of the Galaxy,” it announced.

  Soda entered the room with a flourish of tentacles. "Hello, board members," she said. "Let's get this over with."

  The board members stood until she wriggled into her chair at the head of the table and then they all sat.

  She tapped a tentacle on the table. "Let’s get to it. I'm not interested in being here all day, gentlemen, I have things to do."

  A tall being with spectacles attached to his face with suckers—he had no ears—and a baggy suit spoke first. He sat two chairs away from her, and his voice grated on her nerves.

  "Your Grace,” he said, “as you probably already know, we called you here to discuss the Official Intergalactic Inquiry that we recently received."

  "Yes? What about it?" The trick with these mindless yes-men is to let them know you are still the boss. Otherwise they'll walk all over you.

  She got bored as he droned on and on and scanned their thoughts, more out of habit and ability than interest. "Hey, who called me wobbly head?" she asked.

  Eight of the ten of them sat up abruptly and fidgeted or adjusted their ties.

  Now she was in an even worse mood. "Somebody send for coffee. I like mine with extra sugar, extra milk, and double the rum."

  She scanned the boardroom to make sure some of them were scurrying with their phones to place the order. That done, she swiveled her head to face the speaker again. "Continue."

  "Well," he said, "and I know that your contract states that as long as things are humming along reasonably well we aren't allowed to bother you and all, but quite honestly, we've received a number of questions over the last few centuries. And you haven't responded to any of our electronic correspondence."

  "Exactly," she replied. "My contract. I'm a busy woman, and I hold up my end of the bargain, doing my job keeping the Galaxy moving along. And what I expect from you people is to do your jobs and stop pestering me."

  "But some of these questions are quite important. And you're the only one who can answer them.”

  She slammed a tentacle on the table. "I don't believe we are here to discuss the benefits and drawbacks of my current contract. Am I correct?"

  After a quick intake of breath, baggy suit lost his train of thought.

  "There is also the matter of how to handle the press." The new voice was to her right.

  She turned from baggy suit to see a shorter, larger being wearing a top hat. Ridiculous. Felt in this day and age? What was he thinking? "No press."

  "I very respectfully disagree," the voice continued. "I believe it's very important for there to be a sense of transparency in the running of the Galaxy. In order to make the residents feel more secure."

  Soda considered this. She had already thrown her tentacle on the table. How else could she get through to these people? She breathed in and out slowly and quivered slightly. Then she really enunciated, "I said no press."

  He opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off. "Technically," she said, "it's not a complaint. It's only an Inquiry. And the Transparency Act only comes into play in the case of a complaint."

  She scanned the faces again. "Are we all agreed that the point of order we are here to deal with today is in fact an Official Intergalactic Inquiry and not an Official Intergalactic Complaint? Show of hands,” she requested.

  Every hand in the place shot toward the vaulted ceiling. Of course. As of this moment, she was holding all of the cards, which was great, because she had eight tentacles and could hold four decks at once.

  "It's just that—" Top Hat started up again, only he didn't finish his sentence on account of the tentacle wrapped around his throat.

  "Anybody else have any questions about press coverage?" she asked, eyebrows raised at them.

  They didn't answer. They were very distracted. Distracted and weak. Distracted by their colleague who was thrashing around, banging on the table and feebly fighting against her tentacle. Strength. It's what these weasels always responded to.

  She pretended to look at her fingernails, ignoring the frantic pleas of the other board members. The room became thick with fear.

  But her fingernails were atrocious. She was decades overdue for a manicure. She tried to remember the name of the lady she really liked at the salon she hoped had not gone out of business in the previous thirty years.

  The thought reminded her of s
omething else. "And another thing, next time I come in here, there had better be a female on this Galaxy Oversight Board."

  A hand shot up. "Um, Supreme Overseer?"

  "Yes?"

  "Um, Ralph, Madame Overseer. You're killing him. I'm quite sure that is a breach of your contract."

  By the look on Ralph’s face, she could tell that he wasn't sure at all. He was hoping though. He was hoping very thoroughly that he was right about the last part.

  She smiled and then glared, daring them, any of them, to think anything as insulting as wobbly head now.

  No? Didn't think so.

  "You're quite right," she answered sweetly. "About not being allowed to kill any of the board members. It was written quite clearly into my contract."

  His hand shot up again.

  "However," she continued, "his heart is still beating, I assure you." She eased up a little on the pressure to allow his face to turn from a horrid purple to a slightly healthier reddish. "I can feel it very clearly."

  She released him. “He’s fine. Somebody get him some water. And where’s my coffee?”

  A member of the wait staff burst into the room and hurried around the table, delivering the coffee.

  "Thank you, dear," Soda said sweetly. Then she waited for the room to clear until it was just her and the board again.

  "Does anybody else need me to check their pulse?"

  She waited a beat. "No? Very well then. I only have one more question. Has anybody here actually read the Inquiry itself? The whole thing?"

  A very worried mumbling spread across the room. From their blank expressions, Soda was certain the board had no idea what the Inquiry was about. No clue. Idiots. Her plan was completely safe. A flash of relief mixed with one of rage at having to be here at all.

  "Let me get this straight,” Soda said. Time to bring it home. “You call me here, under pretense of an Intergalactic Inquiry that you haven't even bothered to read. Then you question me about my contract? And demand that I be more transparent?"