 
THE GREAT FLYING ADVENTURE

Book 4, Time Before Color TV series

by Brian Bakos

cover art: Othoniel Ortiz photographs: Brian Bakos

Copyright 2013 Brian Bakos / revised 05-2020

Smashwords Edition

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Table of Contents

One: The Adventure Begins

Two: Frightful Journey

Three: Wacko Land

Four: Danger on Neutral Isle

Five: Rescue Attempt

Six: In the Balance

Seven: Struggle to Return

Next Book in the Series

Brian's Other Books

#  One: The Adventure Begins

What Happened Before

Three weeks earlier, the Adventure Bike Club had a shocking encounter at the Tire Giant alongside the new freeway. Members:

Quentin Mays – leader

Amanda Searles – brains of the outfit

Tommy Velasco – extra brawn

Melissa Jordanek – had the fastest bike

Inside the Tire Giant, which was really a disguised space ship, they discovered four young kidnapped aliens. They also met runaway delinquent Eddie Hawkes.

They defeated the kidnap plot, and Eddie left with the aliens to find a new life in another universe. The club members lost their bikes but escaped unharmed.

For the full story see: Adventure Bike Club and the Tire Giant.

1. Nightmare Alley

Every night for the last three weeks has been a trip down Nightmare Alley.

Bathed in the soft red glow of my lava lamp, I relive the events of the Tire Giant "adventure," as Quentin calls it. Some adventure!

I was never so terrified in my life, and the terror keeps coming. I can't get the image of that hideous guard out of my mind. He chases me through each nightmare, his face ghastly pale like a vampire starving for blood—yellow eyes flaming, clawed hands grabbing for me.

Then I'm on that frightful bike ride around the space ship's dynamo. Faster and faster, flipping upside down. Falling...

I wake up, heart pounding and pajamas soaked with sweat. Thank heaven, the dreams have become less severe over time. I'm hoping they will soon fade away, but I'm afraid of that happening, too. It could mean everything is ready for a new episode of terror.

I have a powerful sense the story isn't over yet. Somewhere, in the mysterious void between two universes, Act 2 of this drama is waiting to play out. And I've got a starring role.

2. Grim Saturday

Saturday morning looks very gloomy without a bike.

Streets and sidewalks roll away, but I am stuck at home. Quentin arrives on his striped-down English bike with the handle bars curled under, racing style.

"Hi Amanda," he says, "hop on."

"I don't know..." I inspect the mismatched carrier stuck onto the back end. "Where're we going?"

"Do you care? It's not like you can go anyplace by yourself."

Quentin has a point. I get on and the adventure begins. Just like that, on the street in front of my house.

* * *

The world is a lot more pleasant when riding through it on a bike. Fresh September wind brushes my hair, and the smells of summer still linger.

Quentin holds out his arms like airplane wings. "Someday I'll be the youngest pilot to fly across America!"

The bike swerves, and Quentin grabs the handlebars.

"You'd better hold on, or you won't live long enough to be the youngest pilot."

My dad teaches flying at the little airport outside town; Quentin is one of his students. To pay for his lessons, Quentin does our odd jobs—trash, lawns, etc. I doubt it covers the training expenses, but Dad doesn't seem to mind.

"I didn't expect you until tomorrow, for the trash," I say.

"I heard there were garage sales around here. I need some stuff."

"Okay." Any excuse to be out riding is fine with me.

At a garage sale down the next block, Quentin buys candles and an old button pin that reads:

SMILE It Kills Time Between Disasters

Usually, I don't examine Quentin's motives; it's easier that way. But I'm getting curious.

"Why do you want this stuff?" I ask when we get rolling again.

"It's for my new club."

I stiffen on the bike rack. "What kind of club is it this time?"

"I'm not sure yet. I'm just following my inspiration."

"Here's an inspiration for you: _count me out_."

Quentin chuckles. "I know you don't mean that, Amanda."

"Oh yeah?"

I let the subject drop. Quentin better not pick it up again after all the trouble he got us into with his last club.

At another garage sale Quentin buys a plastic Viking helmet, complete with horns, and sticks it on his head. I look around frantically, hoping that nobody I know sees us.

"Do you have to wear that thing?" I say.

"It's too big for the handlebar bag. Do you want to wear it?"

"No! It's embarrassing enough to be seen with you."

Quentin turns back toward my house. Then he stops suddenly, right in front of Mrs. Kraft's place.

"See that?" He points to a little sign stuck to Mrs. Kraft's high wooden gate.

GARAGE SALE TODAY

(by invitation only)

Mrs. Kraft has been our next-door neighbor ever since we moved into our house, but I really know nothing about her. Neither does anybody else on the street. Everyone seems to prefer this arrangement.

"We don't want to go there," I say.

"Why not?"

"Mrs. Kraft's... weird. Besides, we're not invited."

"All the better."

Before I can stop him, he runs to the gate and knocks.

I catch up. "Let's get out of here."

"Come on, Amanda, this could be interesting."

I give him my most devastating icy stare.

Quentin wilts. "Oh, all right, let's go."

But then the gate cracks open and Mrs. Kraft's probing eyeball appears.

"Yes?" a reedy voice asks.

"Uh... hello," I say.

The gate creaks farther open, and Mrs. Kraft's long nose pokes through, followed by her leathery face. "Why, it's Samantha from next door."

"Th-that's Amanda, and this is my friend, Quentin."

I elbow Quentin, and he takes off his Viking helmet. "Hello, Mrs. Kraft."

"Glad to meet you, Winston, come on in."

She leads the way into the yard. Her tall, willowy form seems more like a walking sapling than a person.

"This must mean we're invited," Quentin whispers.

We step into the yard, and the big wooden gate clicks shut behind us.

"I was about to close up," Mrs. Kraft says over her shoulder. "There haven't been many people by today."

"I can understand that," Quentin whispers.

Trellises overhang the driveway. Thick vines wind through the lattice work, hanging down like twisty little claws. A sweet, sickly smell wafts from them.

"Those things look ready to grab you," Quentin says.

The rest of the yard hadn't been too bad the last time I visited, but I've never been in this spooky area before. I feel like Dorothy in _Wizard of Oz_ creeping through the haunted forest.

"Are you coming?" Mrs. Kraft calls back to us.

"Let's get this over with," I say.

We make it into a big two car garage with no cars in it. Tables along the walls hold all kinds of tacky stuff—outdated ladies' hats, filmy bits of cheap jewelry, stacks of yellowing magazines. One item catches my eye, a bracelet carved out of wood with all sorts of interesting patterns in it. I can't tell if the patterns are part of the wood or were added later. I slip the bracelet onto my wrist. My hand is just small enough to get through.

I open an old cookbook. Dust billows out, making me sneeze several times.

"Cool!" Quentin says.

"I'm glad you're entertained," I say, wiping away tears with the back of my hand.

"No, no," Quentin says, "look at this."

I move out of the dusty air and join Quentin at another table. He holds a shiny black ball with the number '8' inside a white spot.

"What's that?"

"A Magic 8 Ball," Quentin says. "It can tell the future."

"Yeah, right."

"Ask it a question."

I try to think; it's kind of hard in this creepy atmosphere.

"Tell me, Magic 8 Ball," I finally say, "will I live happy ever after?"

Quentin shakes the ball, then turns it over. An answer bobs up in the 'spirit window:'

Don't Count On It

Quentin laughs, but I can't see the humor. I turn away and notice something horrible leering out of a dark corner.

"Ah!"

"What's the matter?" Mrs. Kraft says.

She drifts over, like she's rolling on silent wheels under her long dress. I point into the corner where an evil face is glowering at me.

"Oh, that's just my husband's old Tiki head," Mrs. Kraft says.

She reaches a long, bony arm into the corner and pulls out the horrid thing. It's a hollow cylinder, about two feet long with fierce eyes and a gaping mouth. It looks like something off a totem pole.

"He used this during his, uh, Luau parties." Mrs. Kraft brushes away some dust. "He'd put a flame inside on these occasions. Very picturesque."

Well, don't I feel dumb?

She gives it to me. It appears to be carved out of stone but is actually made out of some light, plastic-ish stuff.

She notices I'm wearing the wooden bracelet. "You like that, dear? Why don't you keep it?"

"Oh, I couldn't."

"Go on. It's so old I don't remember where it came from. I'll probably just toss it out otherwise."

"Okay, thanks."

"I can't live without that Tiki head," Quentin says. "How much?"

Mrs. Kraft thinks this over. "Along with the Magic 8 Ball, 75 cents."

Quentin hands over a dollar bill.

"I'll be back momentarily with your change," Mrs. Kraft says.

She whooshes toward the house, hands fluttering and dress billowing as if it's caught by a strong breeze. The air is still, though.

Why did Mrs. Kraft give me the bracelet, did she feel guilty about the Tiki head scaring me? She doesn't seem the type of person who would care about that. Maybe she's trying to buy me off so I don't say anything negative about her spooky yard.

Anyway, I like the bracelet. It feels kind of weird on my wrist, though.

"What are you going to do with all this junk?" I ask.

"Beats me," Quentin says. "I'm just following my intuition."

"Let's follow our intuition out of here. This place gives me the creeps."

"Me too." Quentin glances over his shoulder. "Is her husband still around?"

"I've never seen him."

I look about to make sure nobody else can hear, then I put my hand alongside my mouth, confidential like.

Quentin leans in. "What?"

"You're standing on top of him," I whisper.

"Oh!" Quentin jumps back.

3. Haunted Tracks

Change in hand, we make our way back through the Tarzan jungle and onto the bike.

The Magic 8 Ball thunks around in the handlebar bag, while I hold onto the Tiki head. And don't forget the Viking helmet Quentin wears, very glamorous. We ride past another garage sale.

"Aren't we going to stop?" I ask.

"Naw, I've got enough."

"Just in time for trash day, too."

I'm enjoying myself, even if I have to share my seat with Mr. Luau. I don't want the ride to end yet.

"Let's drop this stuff at your house," I say. "Then maybe you can bring me back home?"

"Sure, Amanda."

We make good time heading toward Quentin's house. He seems in a hurry to set up things for his new club. I hope he doesn't expect _me_ to participate. I'm finished with Quentin's clubs. You can take that to the bank, as my dad would say.

The day is beyond gorgeous. Hard to believe another school year is beginning. The summer was so eventful with the Adventure Bike Club, not to mention my Grandma and Grandpa Lenin's amazing visit.

Grandpa is pretty sick now, and we are prepared for the worst. At least they haven't been sent back to Russia. The lawyer Mom found for them is fighting the Deportation Man hard. We'll have to wait and see.

We come to the railroad track crossing by the high school, and Quentin slams on the brakes. We stop between the tracks.

"Careful!" I say. "Are you trying to throw me off?"

"Wait here."

Quentin has a weird, faraway look in his eyes, like he's listening to some voice only he can hear. He takes off down the tracks on foot.

"Hey, wait a minute!" I cry.

The bike almost falls over, as it has no kick stand. I struggle to keep it upright while still holding on to Mr. Luau. Finally, I get things settled. When I look up, Quentin is gone among the shrubs and stony slopes of the railroad track wasteland.

"Come back!"

All I can see are an endless track and spooky trestles arching over them. Somehow they manage to turn the bright day chilly and dark. Nobody moves along the sidewalk or on the street. I feel terribly exposed, as if a train will run me over any second.

I look the opposite direction. A few miles up those tracks is the place where the Tire Giant stood. Awful memories come flooding in. I feel myself trapped in the darkness, staring along the twisty light beams, pursued by the sharp-faced guard who wanted to throw us out into frozen space—

Somebody slips up behind me.

"Ah!" I practically jump out of my skin.

"It's only me," Quentin says.

"Are you trying to get back for that crummy joke in Mrs. Kraft's garage?"

"No, of course not. It wasn't such a bad joke either." He holds up a rusty old railroad spike. "I went to get this."

"What on earth for?"

Quentin shrugs.

I take the spike. It's identical to the one Eddie Hawkes carried in the Tire Giant, except the end isn't ground into a stabbing point. On the head is a raised capital _H_.

It feels weird in my hand. I give it back quickly.

4. Ambush

As we round the corner on Quentin's block, I notice Calvin Pelosi on the front lawn of his house. He slips behind a tree. What's he up to?

When we're passing the house, a stone bounces off the spokes of the front wheel.

BRINGGG!

Another stone hits Quentin's arm. "Ow!"

He loses control of the bike and we fall over. Mr. Luau bounces away as I skid along the pavement leaving bits of my skin behind.

Quentin is the first on his feet. "Are you okay, Amanda?"

"Yeah."

I scramble up and check my injuries. I can see Calvin peeking from around the tree. "Over there!"

Calvin starts running, but Quentin chases him down and tackles him.

"That's it!" I yell. "Let him have it."

Quentin has the upper hand, but then Bill and Jerry Marcovich charge out of their house and jump into the fight.

"Hey, three against one. No fair!" I cry.

Somebody pushes me from behind. "Keep out of it, big mouth!"

It's Calvin's sister, Ilona. Next thing I know, we are battling on the ground. My head bangs against the sidewalk, then I manage to reverse things and bang Ilona's head on the cement. We roll onto the grass.

Neither of us can get an advantage, but Quentin is in bad shape. The three boys have him down and are pounding on him. Worse yet, Frankie Valentine across the street has come out of his house and is cheering them on. Is he going to attack next?

Ilona yanks my hair and the world turns red.

"Ouch!"

I grab a handful of hers and pull for all I'm worth. The sound of running feet intrudes. Tommy and Melissa!

Tommy jumps into Quentin's battle, fists swinging. Soon Calvin, Bill, and Jerry are fleeing back to their houses. Across the way, Frankie retreats inside his own house. Ilona and me continue struggling on the ground.

Melissa comes over. "Hey!" She nudges Ilona hard with her foot. "Get on your broom and fly, if you know what's good for you."

I let go of Ilona's hair and she stands up. She advances on Melissa with murder in her eyes.

Melissa stares daggers in return. "Go ahead. Make your move, Supergirl."

Ilona backs off. She glances down at me with an 'I'll get you later' expression; then she stomps into her house.

Melissa gives me a hand up.

"Am I glad to see you!" I say.

"Don't mention it. I happened to be in the neighborhood and wanted some excitement."

"Thanks, guys," Quentin says. "You got here in the nick of time."

"How rotten can anybody get?" I say. "They attacked us for no reason."

Quentin brushes himself off. "Not a big deal, just a little disagreement."

"Disagreement? They tried to kill us!"

"I think they're a bit upset because they lost the ball game yesterday."

"Maybe we shouldn't have flushed Calvin's head in the toilet afterwards," Tommy says.

"Yeah," Quentin agrees, "that was probably a mistake. Seemed like a good idea at the time, though."

"Ohhh." I feel the bump on the back of my head. "You two jerks!"

"Come on Amanda," Melissa says, "you need to get cleaned up. We can have lunch at my house."

"Thanks."

Quentin picks up his bike. "Give me an hour or so to get ready, then come on over for the new club meeting."

Melissa rolls her eyes. "Another club? Pu-leeze!"

5. Mystery Mail

Half an hour later, I'm in much better condition. I've washed my scrapes and bruises and combed my hair neatly over the lump on my head.

"That looks okay," Melissa says. "In fact, it's an improvement."

"Thanks."

Her mom makes us lunch and hurries out to an important meeting—the Ladies' Auxiliary of something or other. Seems she has lots of time for 'important' stuff and little for Melissa.

"You're not going to join Quentin's new club, are you?" Melissa asks.

"No way! I barely survived the last one."

Our words echo in the vast kitchen. The whole house is huge, and everyone is in a hurry to get out.

Melissa is in a hurry. "I wish I still had my English racer. I feel trapped without it."

"Yeah." I touch my lump gingerly. "And it sure isn't safe to ride around with Quentin."

"I made up a dumb story about my bike getting stolen. Dad isn't buying it, though, and he's not buying me another bike, either."

"Maybe he'll change his mind by Christmas."

"Christmas! That may as well be the end of the world. And who rides around in winter?" Melissa sighs. "I lost half my personality with that bike."

That seems a bit of a stretch, unless she has a really limited personality. I understand her pain, though.

"To think Davis _gave_ his English racer to Quentin," Melissa says. "Dad was really steamed, but he couldn't very well take it back."

"I thought it was sweet of Davis. He didn't really want the bike, and Quentin needed one desperately."

"I'm fed up with Quentin," Melissa says.

"If there's trouble, he's handy to have around."

"Right, and who starts 99% of the trouble? Quentin, that's who."

"Good point."

We eat quietly for a few minutes, each lost in our own miseries.

Melissa notices my bracelet; she examines the colored patterns in the wood. "Where'd you get this?"

"Mrs. Kraft gave it to me."

"Next time get a metal one, so you can slip it over your knuckles." She smacks a fist into her palm. "If Ilona gives you more trouble."

I flinch. "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind."

Davis comes in.

"Hi," I say.

"What do you want?" Melissa snaps.

He hands her an envelope. "This was in the mailbox. It's got your name on it."

"What the heck?"

The envelope is a light orangey yellow, and the paper is very thin. It has no stamp or return address, just 'Melisa' written on the front.

"Couldn't even spell my name right. Who brought this?"

"Beats me." Davis opens the cookie jar. "It was stuck in with the junk mail."

He leaves with a handful of cookies.

"I wonder who sent this?" Melissa examines the strange envelope from all angles. "Maybe it's that cute new boy at school. He can spell my name any way he wants."

"Well, open it."

She slits it carefully with a steak knife and pulls something out. Her eyes bug and her mouth drops open. I think her chin is going to smack the counter top.

"Let me see."

I grab the item from her rigid fingers. It's a snapshot of Melissa standing with her English racer in my driveway.

"Tommy took this a few weeks ago with Quentin's camera. What's the big deal?" Then it hits me. "Quentin left the camera in the Tire Giant, didn't he?"

Melissa nods.

"Who developed the film, then?"

"I don't know..."

We stare at each other, dumbfounded.

I'm the first to recover. "Come on. We're going to Quentin's house."

6. Into the Lair

We walk to Quentin's house, avoiding the corner where Calvin and his crew live.

It isn't far from Melissa's fancy neighborhood, but the differences are startling. In Quentin's area, houses are much smaller and scrunched together. The fancy cars are replaced by lower cost types, some of which are rusted.

Quentin's two little sisters are playing with some weird toy on the front lawn. The thing flashes red lights and spins like a top. It doesn't touch the ground, though. It hovers a few inches above the grass making a low, whiny sound.

"Is Quentin home?" Melissa asks.

Tricia looks up. "What's it to you?"

"Just answer the question, okay?"

"Give us ten cents first," Kimmy chimes in.

Kimmy is a year younger than Tricia, but just as bratty. I try to get a better peek at the top thing, but Tricia turns it off and shoves it inside a box.

"Thanks, anyway," I say. "We'll look for ourselves."

They give me identical dirty looks.

"We were invited, you know."

"Suit yourself," Tricia says, "don't say we didn't try to warn you."

Melissa and I walk up the driveway to the side door.

"Nice kids, huh?" I say. "Very sociable."

"Those little twerps burn me up. Quentin spoils them rotten."

Mrs. Mays meets us at the door. She has her usual frazzled look; her hands twist a dish towel like she is trying to rip it apart. She must be about Mom's age but looks older.

"Hello, girls," she says. "Quentin's in the basement, I think."

"Tricia and Kimmy were telling us that," I say. "They're looking very well."

"Oh?" Mrs. Mays' face brightens a little. "That's good."

She retreats into the kitchen while Melissa and I clatter down the basement stairs.

"I don't believe you sometimes, Amanda. Why are you always so nice?"

"A bad habit, I guess."

The basement is definitely a boy's world, Quentin's "Lair" as he calls it. A bulb on the upstairs landing throws dim light down into it, revealing sports equipment and bike parts scattered around. To the right, a workshop door stands open. The farther reaches of the basement are dark, as there are no windows. We stop at the bottom of the stairs.

"Where's the light switch?" Melissa asks.

"I don't know." I peer into the gloom; the place is creeping me out. "We're here, Quentin. Quentin?"

"He's not home. Maybe we should have paid those brats and saved ourselves a trip."

A deep voice booms from the darkness: _"Enter at your peril!"_

We both flinch. Hands grip our ankles.

We scream. "Ahhh!"

A light bulb flicks on.

Quentin stands under it, the light chain in one hand, a microphone in the other. The Viking helmet, painted gold no less, sits on his head. "Pretty good, eh?"

"Pretty dumb," Melissa says. "Gimme my ankle back!"

The hands retreat. A moment later, Tommy emerges from behind the stairs.

Melissa shoots him a rancorous glare. "I'd expect that from Quentin, but I thought you had more class."

"Well... it was Quentin's idea." Tommy looks sheepish. Quentin only laughs.

Mrs. Mays called from upstairs: "Quentin, what's going on down there?"

"Nothing, Mom! We're just practicing."

"Practicing what," Melissa says, "being an idiot?"

Quentin changes the subject. "How do you like the talking Idol?"

He gestures toward Mr. Luau who is perched on an upended milk crate. Quentin speaks into the microphone.

" _I am the guiding spirit of the club,"_ Mr. Luau booms. _"My commands are law!"_

Quentin lowers the microphone. "Neat, huh? A speaker is hooked up inside. It was Tricia's idea."

Melissa and I exchange angry glances.

"Is that Tricia's idea too?" I point to the large, floppy hat resting on the Tiki head.

It belonged to the _Basitch_ guard we fought in the Tire Giant. I hoped to never see the horrible thing again.

"Well, no," Quentin says. "I thought it would look cool, but maybe it's a little too much, eh?"

He flings the hat into a corner like a big Frisbee.

Melissa grabs the microphone. "How does this thing work?"

"Just push the button and talk," Quentin says.

Melissa raises the microphone to her mouth.

" _I am the guiding spirit of stupidity,"_ Mr. Luau says. _"My commands are totally boring!"_

"Not bad," Quentin says. "You've got the hang of it."

Melissa holds up the orangey yellow envelope. "What do you know about this, Quentin?"

"What's that?"

"A picture, taken with your camera," I say.

"Really?" Quentin examines the envelope. "Weird paper."

"That's not the only weird thing," Melissa says.

"Okay, I'll put it on the agenda," Quentin says. "After we elect officers and approve the charter, we'll talk about this."

"Elect officers?" Melissa is irate. "But this picture—"

Quentin holds up a hand. "All in due time. You're staying for the club meeting, aren't you?"

"I want an explanation now!"

"Let the Magic 8 Ball decide," Tommy suggests.

"Excellent idea." Quentin snatches the Magic 8 Ball from its place beside Mr. Luau and shakes it.

"Tell us, oh Magic 8 Ball," he intones, "should we talk about the picture now?"

He turns the ball over. An answer bobs up in the spirit window:

Ask Again Later

"Guess we're stuck," I say.

We all sit on the floor around a low table. Mr. Luau glares at us eerily from across the basement. The club meeting begins.

7. Things Get Weird

First we elect officers:

Quentin Mays – president (of course)

Melissa Jordanek – vice president ("If I'm gonna be in this club, I want an executive position!")

Amanda Searles – secretary treasurer (Who has any money?)

Tommy Velasco – sergeant at arms (to keep away undesirable elements)

Next we talk about the purpose of the club, but we can't think of one yet. Throughout, Quentin works for a dark, creepy atmosphere with flickering candles, commands from the _Talking Idol_ , and consultations with the Magic 8 Ball. It's all pretty silly, but it starts getting to me after a while.

If you want to speak, you must hold the _Golden Scepter,_ which is the railroad spike Quentin picked up earlier.

"Pretty cool, eh?" he says. "I cleaned off the rust with my dad's grinding wheel and sprayed on some gold model paint."

I feel sad whenever he talks like this, as if his dad is still around. I remember that awful day two years ago when we learned of the car crash. Tears rolled down my dad's face as he took the phone call. He and Mr. Mays had been great pals—bowling on the same team, going fishing together, drinking beer...

Melissa snatches the Golden Scepter. "Enough of all this. I want to talk about the picture."

"All right, let's see if the Magic 8 Ball agrees," Quentin says. As club president, he doesn't need to hold the Golden Scepter when he talks.

"Forget the Magic 8 Ball. This is important." Melissa pulls the photo from the envelope and gives it to Quentin. "Tell me what you know about it."

Quentin adjusts his Viking helmet and lowers the picture toward the candle light. "I can see your shoe lace is untied."

"Not that!"

Tommy looks over. "I took that picture with your camera, Quentin, just before we left for the Tire Giant."

"Yeah, so?"

"Somebody mailed it to me today," Melissa says, "was it you?"

"How could it be? I left the camera in the Tire Giant when..." Quentin looks back at the picture, his eyes widen. "This _is_ weird."

The basement becomes terribly quiet, like a tomb or something, except for a dripping faucet in the darkness by the washing machine.

Mr. Luau starts talking: _"he... hel..."_

Static comes out of the speaker. I feel static running up my spine.

"Cut that out, Quentin!" Melissa says.

Quentin holds up the microphone. "I didn't say anything. Look, the mike is switched off."

" _H-hel... lo,"_ Mr. Luau says. _"Is... uh..."_ A blast of static wipes out the voice.

"I don't like this very much," Melissa says.

"Me neither," I say, which is a huge understatement.

The golden spike in Melissa's hands starts to glow. So do the horns on Quentin's helmet.

"Here, you take it!" Melissa tosses the spike over to Tommy.

The spike grows brighter. Tommy stares at it, unable to move. A big spark leaps from it and strikes the horns of Quentin's helmet.

"Ugh!" Quentin falls over backwards, upsetting the table. His helmet tumbles away.

Melissa and I jump up with a stereo scream. "Ahhh!"

Tommy flings the spike aside as if it's a rattle snake. "Quentin, are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah..." Quentin sits up, rubbing his head. "I must have had a brain storm."

Melissa gulps. Her eyes are wide and scared, like mine, no doubt. "Well... this was great fun, b-but I hear my mom calling. Come on, Amanda, let's go see what she wants."

"Yeah!"

Tommy stands up. "There're some undesirable elements roaming around outside. I'd better chase them away."

We pound up the stairs and scatter. Tricia and Kimmy laugh as we run past them.

# Two: Frightful Journey

8. Rendezvous

I feel pretty dumb by the time I get home. The whole thing was probably one of Quentin's stunts, and he's laughing his head off now with Tricia and Kimmy.

I don't really believe that, however much I want to. Quentin seemed as amazed as the rest of us, and he's not good at faking such things. Also, he's the one who got his head fried. That's a long way to go just to scare your friends.

I start feeling ashamed. Maybe Quentin is in trouble, and we left him there alone. Imagine, three weeks ago we outfought that horrible guard in the Tire Giant, and now we're afraid of a stupid Tiki head!

Of course, we had no place to run away from the guard, so we had to fight him. I want to phone Quentin, but that would probably embarrass him. He'll think I'm questioning his macho status if I show any concern.

I turn in early. I like the feel of the wooden bracelet on my wrist and decide to leave it on.

As I'm lying in bed, watching my lava lamp throw weird shadows around my room, a stone bounces off my window screen, scaring me half to death. I look outside to see Quentin standing in my back yard moonlight.

"Come down, Amanda," he whisper-yells.

I throw on some clothes and slip out the back door. Quentin is very nervous, shifting from one foot to the other as if he's standing barefoot on a hot beach.

"Check this out." He thrusts the Magic 8 Ball into my hands.

I move to the little circle of light behind the shed. Then I shake the 8 Ball and turn it over. Something very strange bobs up in the spirit window.

Hep – E H

I shake the ball again:

Plz – E H

and again:

Hury – E H

With each answer, the hair on the back of my neck stands up stiffer. "Did you mess with this?"

Quentin shakes his head. "Don't you see? It's Eddie Hawkes, 'E H,' calling for help."

The night beyond the 40-watt bulb suddenly teems with dark mystery. The hair on the rest of my body begins to stiffen. "That isn't possible. Eddie's in another universe or someplace."

"Right, and he's been trying to contact me all day. Why else did I buy all that weird stuff? The railroad spike, too. Eddie was directing me, somehow."

I grasp for a bit of sanity in this madness. I'm not the one going around the bend, am I? "What about that snapshot, Quentin? Tell the truth."

"Eddie must have sent it somehow. I left my camera in the Tire Giant with my old bike, you know that."

"Th-this simply can't be." The tingle up my spine claims otherwise.

"He can barely get through," Quentin says, "it's like somebody's fighting him. Look how choppy those words are. There used to be more, but they're fading out."

I shake the ball again. A standard answer appears in the spirit window:

Reply Hazy Try Again

"The Tiki head kept trying to talk after you left."

Another chill runs up my spine. "What did it say?"

"A bunch of words I couldn't figure out through the static, and then some numbers repeated over and over until the head went silent."

"What numbers?"

"That's been bothering me all day. I think I've finally figured it out." Quentin yanks something out of his pocket. "They're map co-ordinates. I found them on my aeronautical chart."

He unfolds the chart and points to a red X. "It's about 65 miles from here, along the same railroad track where the Tire Giant was. I'm sure Eddie needs us to go there right away. He must be in serious trouble."

"How could we do that? It would take forever to bike that far."

"We'll have to borrow the airplane."

I'm too astonished to answer.

"There's no other way. If we wake somebody up and ask them to drive us, they'll think we're crazy."

" _I_ think this is crazy. Besides, how well can you fly? At night no less." I turn back toward my house. Why did I leave it in the first place?

"There's plenty of moonlight," Quentin says.

"Count me out."

I start walking, Quentin trots after me.

"I can handle it, trust me, Amanda."

I turn back toward him. "No way!"

"But—"

"Stealing, I mean 'borrowing' that airplane is a serious matter. What would happen to us if we got caught, if we don't kill ourselves first?"

Quentin lowers his eyes. "Yes, I know."

He seems so pathetic I almost feel like giving in. I steel myself against such foolish sentiment. "Go get Tommy if you want a flying adventure."

"I wish I could, but there's room for only one passenger, and you're the brains of our outfit."

"Don't try to flatter me."

Quentin's voice turns very sad. "I know it's risky, but Eddie needs us. If it wasn't for him, we'd be frozen blobs drifting in outer space."

"Yeah..."

I think of brave, tough little Eddie. How he backed off Quentin and Tommy with his railroad spike dagger. How he single-handed took down the alien guard and saved us all. I can almost see his angry, though oddly vulnerable face bobbing around in the moonlight—the way he looked when he thought nobody was watching him.

"Please, Amanda, I can't do it alone. Something really bad is happening to Eddie, I'm sure of it."

I look across the night to my upstairs window. Behind it lies my wonderful room with its comfortable furnishings, my books, and my lava lamp. I want to go back and crawl under the covers.

9. Night Ride

We bounce across the dirt road behind my house, then turn down the Sidewalk to Nowhere in front of the subdivision that never got built.

Dense trees block the moon, and reality narrows to the little circle of Quentin's handlebar light. A warm breeze blows off the mosquitoes.

What the heck am I doing?

One moment I'm sending Quentin on his way, next I'm climbing onto his bike. The whole thing seems to be happening to somebody else. The sidewalk ends, and we slam back onto the dirt road. The carrier jars against me with every _bump!_

"H-how far to the a-airport?" I ask as we go over a rough patch.

"S-six miles."

"I d-don't know if my rear end c-can make it."

Quentin peddles us out of town, which isn't far since a state park borders my neighborhood. Open fields spread off to our left. The road here is paved but old and beat up. The world has become spooky. Blazing moonlight turns everything an eerie silver, except for the dark bulk of the forest to our right.

"We have to go around the state park," Quentin says. "The airport's half a mile off the south side."

I've been to the little airport before with Dad, but that was in cheery daylight riding in our car, not bouncing on the back of an English racer at night. The road gets steeper, and Quentin shifts to low gear. He stands on the pedals, pumping hard. He's so strong—I like that.

I don't like this trip through Zombie Land, though. A weird bird is screeching off in the trees, and bats flutter around like in the _Shock Theater_ TV show. A car appears ahead but turns down a side road before it can see us.

Is that a police car?

I can imagine the cops pulling us over: "Hello, officers. We're going to steal an airplane, but it's to help somebody in another universe, so that's okay, right?"

"No problem. It's always good to meet fine young people like yourselves, especially after curfew."

They might even give us a ride to the airport. Or off to juvenile hall.

We pass the entrance to the state park where we'd gone in a couple of summers ago for our disastrous picnic that got attacked by giant ants. Wasn't that a good time? Almost as much fun as this is.

The gate is locked down, and the little booth where they take your money is closed for the night. Behind it, the dark recesses of the forest invite you to come in—and never come back out.

Finally, we get to the airport. We ride past the little white office building with its flagpole outside, then down a taxiway to the airplane parking area. We stop by a small high-wing plane, and I climb off my torture rack.

"Ohhh." I stretch myself. "Next time I'm going first class."

"Stay here a minute." Quentin rides back toward the office.

"Wait..." He's already gone.

I feel completely abandoned, worse than at the railroad tracks. Panic jabs at me; I try to shove it away.

_Quit being paranoid, Amanda!_ But this is a good night for it.

The plane is tied down on the edge of the pavement. Other airplanes hulk nearby. Their propellers gleam like sword blades in the moonlight. The wind has died away, and the mosquitoes are starting to discover me.

"Isn't this nice?" I complain to the darkness as I swat the pests.

Absolutely none of this makes any sense. Nothing that happened in the Tire Giant three weeks ago made sense, either. And what are we supposed to do once we arrive at wherever it is we're flying?

Quentin comes walking back with some keys.

"Where'd you get those?"

"Don't ask. The less you know, the better."

"Okay."

He unlocks the airplane doors, and I hop into the right seat. While I wait, he undoes the tie-downs and checks things outside the plane. Then he gets into the pilot's seat.

"Those mosquitoes are getting bad." He hands me a piece of paper and a little flashlight. "Read me the checklist, okay?"

The flashlight throws a dim red beam. As I recite the list, Quentin works the plane's controls.

" ...circuit breakers IN... fuel mixture RICH... carburetor heat ON... "

Too soon, it's time to start the engine.

"Clear prop!" Quentin yells out the window.

"There's nobody out there."

"Oh yeah, standard procedure."

He turns the ignition key, and the plane roars into life. I can scarcely hear myself think. We taxi out past a small hangar, Quentin dancing on the rudder pedals to steer the plane. Then we are at the end of the landing strip facing a long, dark stretch of pavement.

He keys the radio microphone, and a double line of white lights flicks on alongside the runway. It's beautiful, in a frightening sort of way.

"Ready?" he says.

I gulp hard. "Well..."

I twist around to look out the back window. The sky sparkles with wonderful and dangerous beauty, not a place for a sensible person to be flying around. My hand grips the door handle. If I wait a moment longer, I'll lose my nerve all together and throw myself out of the plane.

"Yeah," I shout over the engine racket. "Let's go!"

10. A Flight to Remember

We hurtle down the runway faster and faster, the white lights zipping by in a psycho blur.

Terror and excitement struggle inside me. I'm super tense. Red, glittering lights stare from the end of the runway ahead, like the eyes of some horrible creature waiting to devour us.

Any time... get us up there, Quentin... come on!

The wheels leave the pavement. We're airborne at last, climbing steeply into the night sky. Quentin keeps his eyes riveted to the flight instruments. Outside is dizzy blackness.

The plane makes a sickening tilt. "Ohhh!" I cry.

Quentin levels the wings.

We tilt again. "Ohhh!"

I've heard Dad talk about situations like this, a "stall-spin crash on takeoff." I shut my eyes tight and steel myself for the collision. Unbearable seconds tick past...

I peak one eye open. Quentin has recovered control. He eases the plane out of its terror climb into straight and level flight.

"Yee Haa! I'm Pilot in Command at last."

"Glad you're enjoying this."

I would enjoy being someplace else right now, even the dentist's chair getting a tooth drilled. Below, the town's lights twinkling in the distance. The knot in my stomach begins to loosen.

"We have to fly north to the freeway and pick up the railroad tracks alongside it," Quentin says. "Then we follow the tracks west to our destination. Simple."

Behind us, the runway lights draw farther away. They abruptly switch off.

"So, where are we going to land?" I ask.

"I haven't figured that out yet."

"What?"

"Relax, Amanda, we'll get down one way or another."

What tiny bit of confidence I feel instantly vanishes. "I'd like to be in one piece when we do get down. If you don't mind."

"There's bound to be a road or an open field. Don't worry."

Don't worry? That's like telling me to give up breathing.

Before long, we locate the freeway with the ghostly strip of railroad tracks running beside it. We make a left turn. The road veers off, and the tracks continue alone through the night.

"We're flying IFR now," Quentin says.

I've heard Dad use that expression. "You mean _Instrument Flight Rules_?"

"No – _I Follow Railroads_ ," Quentin laughs.

I do not find this so-called joke amusing. The throbbing racket of the airplane jangles my nerves, and thoughts of the coming crash torture my brain. And what will happen next— _if_ we survive the landing?

Quentin looks relaxed and confident, though. He's even wearing that dumb _SMILE_ button. I admire his ability to live in the moment and not worry about coming disasters. I wish I was living in another moment, back home in bed.

Through it all, the most beautiful moon blazes into the cabin. I can see Quentin clearly. What must I look like?

The flight drones on, "very routine" in Quentin's words, as if anything today could be considered routine. Maybe in Psycho World it might be. We catch up with a train and follow it for a while. It veers off on another track while we continue on straight.

Quentin consults his chart. "I think we're there. We can use that empty field off to the left."

He points out a small, open area surrounded by trees.

"We're gonna land on _that_?" I gasp.

"It's the best we can do. Everything else looks too rough."

He pulls back the throttle, and the plane becomes much quieter. I try to gulp my heart back down where it belongs. We circle the field, dropping lower and lower.

"Maybe we should reconsider," I say.

Quentin turns a grim face my direction. His confidence seems to be deflating by the second. "We could turn back, but Eddie's counting on us."

"Are you sure you can get us down okay?"

"Yeah, I'm... pretty sure."

Every atom of my being is crying out for us to turn back. That skinny runway at the airport seems to be a huge, welcoming freeway now.

I squeeze my eyes shut. "Ohhh, go ahead, then. Let's land."

Quentin lowers the flaps; the grinding electric motor noise jolts my eyes open. We are coming down at a steep angle, just missing some tree tops. I close my eyes again and place a hand over them. My other hand grips the dashboard.

The plane rocks back. The main wheels hit the ground hard. I open my eyes to see a line of trees coming right at us. The nose wheel digs into the dirt, and I pitch forward against my shoulder harness.

"Hang on!" Quentin yells.

The plane lurches hard left and continues its ghastly progress. Finally, we stop, bare inches from a tree trunk.

Quentin shuts down the engine. Gasoline smell fills the cabin. "Piece of cake."

11. The Gateway

I get out on rubbery legs. Quentin isn't too steady either, judging by the way he grips the wing strut.

The airplane tilts forward, its wheels sunk into the soft ground. Another foot and the prop would be digging for gold. Nearby, a stony bank leads up to the railroad tracks.

Quentin pushes off from the strut and makes a quick inspection of the plane. "Nothing looks damaged."

"Except for my ears." After listening to so much airplane roar, I'm not sure my hearing will ever be the same.

"Eddie, we're here!" Quentin yells. "Eddie!"

We listen eagerly for a reply. Nothing.

"It's Amanda and Quentin!" I call.

Only cricket chirps answer us, and the whirring of some other bug. Quentin switches his flashlight to standard beam and trains it on his chart.

"I'm sure this is the place." He points toward a huge electrical tower lurking nearby. "We were supposed to stop before that line of towers, right in this field."

I swat a mosquito. "Maybe we got the wrong towers."

"These are the only ones. That junction a few miles back was the last checkpoint. This _has_ to be the place."

"Let's see if we can find him."

We run around the field for several minutes calling out, but no Eddie. No nobody. Quentin waves his flashlight around frantically. Nothing, not even a curious farmer, or a cow, even. We've landed in the precise middle of nowhere.

I climb onto the tracks. Ghost rails shoot off in both directions, and tiny red lights shine at the horizon. Human beings do not belong in this eerie world...

Finally, we admit defeat and get back into the airplane.

"Oh man, I can kiss my flying lessons goodbye," Quentin says. "There's no way I can take off from here. I'll have to phone the airport to come get the plane."

"Maybe we can hitchhike back to town, then call in a tip—anonymous like."

"We couldn't get back before daylight." Quentin shakes his head sadly. "This is my responsibility. I'll have to take my lumps."

"What about me? If I'm extremely fortunate, I'll only be grounded until high school graduation."

"I'm sorry I got you into this." Quentin rubs his temples like he has the granddaddy of all headaches. "I've done some stupid things in my life, but this is the dumbest by far."

The world falls silent, except for the insect noises. Until now, I've been grateful just to be alive, but the full awfulness of our situation is beginning to sink in hard.

"I've got it," Quentin says. "I'll tell them I kidnapped you. How long do you think I'll have to spend in jail for that?"

"Hush, Quentin. I didn't have to come, and you know it."

Despite my misery, I can't help feeling proud of Quentin's great and unselfish achievement, even if it was all for nothing.

"Poor Eddie," Quentin says.

Poor us!

Further minutes of silence drag past as we stare into the bleak future. I'm about to suggest we start walking toward home along the tracks when –

TA-ZAP!

Sparks sizzle on the power lines.

"We're gonna get flash fried!" Quentin yells.

The sparks dance along the lines until they form a solid mass of power. They shoot down to the railroad tracks.

"Something very weird is happening," I say.

The electrical charge gathers into the shape of a person standing on the tracks. It's a good twenty feet high.

Quentin flings open his door. "Eddie, is that you?"

The bright, crackling figure looks down at us from its towering height. " _Quentin?"_

"Yipes!" The harsh, staticy voice makes my hair stand on end.

"Yes, it's me!" Quentin yells. "Amanda, too!"

The figure jerks, as if surprised. _"An airplane?"_

"Yeah. I borrowed it for the occasion."

Confusing static, then the figure talks again: " _Start engine."_

"Okay." Quentin shuts his door.

"Hold on a minute," I say.

Quentin looks at me. His face has an unearthly glow in the electrical light. "I have to go, Amanda. You can stay here if you want."

"I'm not staying here!"

"Then buckle up."

Quentin starts the engine. I fasten my seat belt and yank the shoulder harness tight. The figure on the track dissolves into a glowing blob of power. A giant hand reaches out of it—straight for us.

"This is it!" Quentin shouts.

A blinding flash. The plane leaps off the ground into a terrifying new reality.

12. Violent Passage

We turn and twist on a nightmare carnival ride.

One moment we're going up, the next we're sliding backwards; then we're spinning down. It's like the tumbling exit from the Tire Giant, only much more violent. The compass by the windscreen spins crazily.

"I left my stomach behind," Quentin moans.

The air outside is bright and thick. The propeller throws back streams of rainbow vapor. Then everything goes black.

Quentin flicks on the nose light. The beam twists through the darkness in a crazy pretzel pattern, making me feel even more disoriented. A high, whiny sound grows louder until its about to shatter my eardrums. Beneath it, a deep roar shakes the plane. I clamp my hands over my ears.

* * *

Finally! When I think I can't stand another second of this agony, the twisty turning stops and we are flying calm through a gorgeous blue-yellow orangey sky. Spikes of color shoot through the air, like glints off of some fantastic jewel.

"Wow!" Quentin says. "Did we die and go to Heaven?"

"Certainly not. We don't have time."

Below us lies an open space, flat as a pool table. A large golden circle stands out brightly on the ground; the shadow from our plane passes over it.

"That must be where we're supposed to land," Quentin says.

Up ahead, I can make out a built-up area, but much of it is covered with haze. Towers and spires poke out. One golden tower reaches right into the clouds. It's hard-edged and pointy, like a railroad spike dagger, and it scares me to look at it.

To the right is a bluish, misty ribbon that might be a river, and beyond that lies a darker area hidden in a gray-purplish haze. A weird double arch pokes through the gloom. I don't like the feel of it, and I yank my eyes away, back to the landing zone.

Twenty or so people move out from a pavilion similar to the picnic shelter at the park by the Tire Giant. They stand together under a large, fluttering banner near the golden circle.

It's an American flag.

"The welcoming committee." Quentin waves. "Aloha!"

He puts us into a gentle landing pattern. Soon we are on final approach, engine idling and flaps full down. The wheels kiss the pavement alongside the golden circle.

"Quite a difference from our earlier landing," Quentin says. "Here at last."

"Right... wherever this is."

We taxi toward the crowd. As we get closer, I recognize them as Kintz—waxy pale and thin with flowing white hair. They retreat hastily back into the pavilion.

"I hope they're friendly," I say.

"Of course they are. Eddie wouldn't steer us wrong."

We come to the golden spot.

"The Winner's Circle," Quentin says. "All hail the conquering heroes, eh?"

"Maybe we shouldn't go in there."

"It'll be okay."

The moment we enter the circle, a blinding cloud of gold dust flies up in the prop wash.

"Dang!" Quentin shuts off the engine and brakes to a stop.

"At least we know why the 'welcoming committee' got out of the way." I try not to sound sarcastic.

A minute passes before the dust settles down. Golden film covers the windows, but we can still see out a bit. A lone figure separates from the crowd and walks toward us.

"That must be their fearless leader," Quentin says. "Let's go see what he wants."

"Uh, sure."

Quentin gets out, but my fingers hesitate on the door latch. This rattley little plane seems almost like home to me now, or at least a tiny shred of home, and I'm unwilling to leave it.

What are we getting into?

# Three: Wacko Land

13. A Strange New Reality

I finally leave the cabin and join Quentin standing by the wing. Our shoes leave prints in the golden circle. Thick dust floating in the air makes us cough, and glittery yellow covers the airplane.

"I hope that powder didn't get sucked into the engine," Quentin says. "It's not supposed to be gold plated."

"My tennies are gold-plated, anyhow."

"Yeah, mine, too. Maybe we can start a fashion trend."

The Kintz leader approaches slow and dignified, as if he's performing a solemn ritual. Well, I guess visitors from another universe don't pop in every day.

He carries a long communicator device like the one we used at the Tire Giant. I expect him to speak into it; instead, he bows to Quentin and says in perfect American English:

"Welcome to Core City, Prince Quentin of South Allendale." He bows to me. "Welcome, Lady Amanda, also of South Allendale."

Our jaws drop.

There's something very un-Kintzlike about this person, besides the American talk. He has the regulation white hair and the usual little ear and nose rings, but his skin is not naturally pale. He looks made up, and his eyes are different. His face is familiar somehow...

"Eddie?" I blurt out.

No, it can't be. Eddie's a small boy, this person is taller than Quentin.

He bows again. "At your service, Lady Amanda."

"Wow!" Quentin says. "What happened to you, Eddie?"

Eddie glances over his shoulder at the crowd, then back at us. "We must speak quietly; there could be spies about."

Quentin lowers his voice. "This is totally amazing."

Eddie nods. "I thought you'd be older."

"We are," I say, "by three weeks since we last saw you."

"It's been five years over here."

My ability to be surprised by anything must be worn out by now because I take this in stride.

"At that rate you won't have to bleach your hair much longer," Quentin says. "It'll turn white on its own before you know it."

Eddie strokes his hair. "Yeah, it's a hassle."

He smiles, and a terrific warmth radiates from him. It washes over me, thawing the chill that crept in during our nightmare journey.

"Things can work the opposite way, too, I think," Eddie says. "You could come back in five years and discover it's only next week here."

I can't get over this new Eddie. The one I knew before was a tough-talking little delinquent with a chip on his shoulder and a sharpened railroad spike in his hand. Now he's all smoothed out; his anger and suspicion are gone.

He seems more than five years older—like he's at least eighteen. His voice is deeper, too. A little grin flickers over his face, and I see the old, mischievous Eddie behind it.

"You're thinking I am much changed, Lady Amanda?"

"That's putting it mildly. This place must be good for you."

"That's right... "

A sad expression comes over his face for a moment. He glances toward the plane, the same way he turned his attention to our bikes the first time I touched a raw nerve. "I thought you'd bring a car."

"I'm too young to drive," Quentin says. "Actually, I'm too young to fly solo, either. I kind of bent the rules a little—well, a lot."

"You weren't solo," I protest. "I was there, too."

Quentin grins and gives me a thumbs up. Eddie shoots me another warm smile.

"Actually, it's better this way," he says. "The Kintz prefer dramatic entrances."

"The flag is a nice touch," Quentin says, "very patriotic."

"Are there enough stars? I'd heard Alaska was going to be a state."

"Not yet," I say, "there're still just forty eight of us."

"That reminds me of a joke," Quentin pipes up. "This guy from Alaska says, 'Alaska will be the biggest state.' And this Texan says, 'Wait until the ice melts.'"

Eddie and I kind of stare at him.

"Well, I thought it was funny... sort of," Quentin says.

Murmurings in a strange language drift toward us from the crowd, then all goes quiet. The Kintz have emerged from the pavilion and gathered by the flag pole. I'm creeped out by their stillness and gleaming skins. They seem like marble statues, rigid under the alien sun.

"We'd best go to meet the elders," Eddie says. "The golden circle is no longer fit for the welcoming ceremony. You weren't supposed to land in it."

"Yeah, I figured that out," Quentin says.

We start walking, Eddie leading the way with his ceremonial steps. The crowd becomes tense and excited as we get closer, or about as excited as Kintz are likely to get.

"This is feeling a little strange," Quentin mutters.

14. Welcoming Committee

The elders are genuine Kintz with that great, eerie stillness, as if moving is difficult for them. They wear form-fitting jumpsuits in soft colors. Some also sport flowing blue capes; they must be the top honchos. I figure the younger ones standing off to the side are attendants.

All are trim and fit, not a pot belly in the bunch. Maybe they've been watching some inter-universe Jack LaLanne exercise program.

"I can understand the Kintz language okay," Eddie says, "but I can only speak a little. Humans aren't built for it."

He raises the communicator device and speaks English into it. The sing-songy, musical, radio static Kintz language comes out the other end. Then a mid-air picture show flows out of the communicator and hangs in the air like a CinemaScope movie:

Quentin and I march toward the airplane, military style. Dramatic music plays. We get in and start the engine. We take off down a runway large enough for a B-52 bomber.

We fly along the railroad track. The music becomes dreamy and romantic. We sing along with it. My voice is strong and clear, like an opera soprano's, but I can't make out the words over the engine noise. The sky is tremendously bright.

We make a perfect landing in a field. Eddie waits for us on the railroad tracks. We take off again in a blaze of glory.

The Kintz nod their heads. They seem to like the show.

"That's not exactly how it happened," I say.

"I had to polish the story a little," Eddie says. "Otherwise, you won't make the right impression."

"That's a lot of polish," Quentin says.

The caped ones approach. The dark eyes in their stiff, waxy faces bore into Quentin. He moves one foot back but holds his ground. I stand alongside, clutching his arm.

The most dignified looking Kintz, the big leader I suppose, reaches out a finger slowly and touches Quentin's _SMILE, It Kills Time Between Disasters_ button. The others hold back, talking quietly among themselves.

The leader says something to Eddie.

"Our council president wishes to know where your crown is," Eddie translates.

"Crown?" Quentin says.

"I think he means your Viking helmet," I say.

"Oh that. It got fried, with my head still in it."

Eddie and the council president exchange comments.

"He asks about your scepter," Eddie translates.

"Scepter?" Quentin pulls the gold-painted railroad spike out of his jacket pocket. "You mean this?"

Something like a gasp shoots through the Kintz. The council president steps back, and everybody bows.

"What's going on, Eddie?" Quentin whispers. "I feel like a bug under a magnifying glass."

"It's mostly theatrics. I told them you'd bring symbols of power."

"What other 'symbols of power' are we supposed to have?" I ask.

Eddie isn't listening, though. Something else has caught his attention.

"Up there!" He points toward a blinking disk in the sky. "Skybot!"

The Kintz break out in excited chatter. The skybot jerks and swoops like a psychotic bat. It heads straight for us.

"Let's go!"

The pavement sinks down into a broad ramp. The golden circle behind us drops, taking the plane with it.

"Hey, the airplane!" Quentin shouts.

"It'll be okay. Come on!"

The Kintz flee down the ramp, capes fluttering. We move faster, though, and get to the bottom ahead of everyone.

"Follow me!" Eddie cries.

We jog along a dim tunnel while behind us, the ramp lifts up again. Just before it shuts, an explosion rips the air outside, and a hot, acrid smoke rushes into the tunnel. Tears burst from my eyes.

"...knockout... gas bomb..." Eddie says between coughs. His face glows red under the makeup.

15. Getaway

A powerful whooshing begins, pulling at my hair and clothes. Fresh air blasts into the tunnel, and I can breathe again.

"Whew!" Quentin wheezes. "A little of that stuff goes a long way."

Eddie's face bleaches out again. "Someone must have signaled the skybot. I knew we had a spy."

He moves toward the Kintz and speaks with the council president.

"I don't suppose they'll have another welcoming ceremony any time soon," Quentin says.

"Yeah, too many uninvited guests."

Eddie and the council president finish their conference. The Kintz hop on little scooters without wheels. They lift off the floor a few inches and zip away, offering us little bows as they pass.

We bow also. Despite the strange situation, I have to keep myself from laughing. The Kintz remind me of surfers in those dumb teenager movies back home. Eddie walks back to us.

"Those scooter things are cool," Quentin says. "Can we ride them?"

"There isn't time to learn now." Eddie points down the tunnel. "We'll take those."

I can't believe my eyes. Our old bikes are leaning against the wall—Melissa's English racer, my green & white Hornet, and Tommy's red & cream boy's Hornet. All of them are sharp and gleaming.

"I fixed them up," Eddie says. "Yours was a total loss, though, Quentin. We threw it out of the ship to save weight."

Quentin jumps on Melissa's English racer. "This one will be okay."

Things sure are different in other universes. Quentin wouldn't be caught dead riding a girl's bike back home. I get on my Hornet and immediately feel connected with my old life. For the first time in ages, things seem halfway normal. Eddie gets on Tommy's Hornet.

The boys take off fast, leaving me behind.

"Wait up!" I call after them.

"Sorry, Lady Amanda," Eddie says.

The boys slow their pace, and we bunch together—me slightly behind because there isn't room to ride three abreast. The setup makes me feel distinctly second class.

The Kintz scooter well ahead of us, so we can talk un-overheard.

"Explain a few things, Eddie," I say, "like why we're here."

"Yeah," Quentin says, "and what about that knock-out gas?"

"Sorry I had to call you, Quentin," Eddie says, "but I couldn't think of anything else. We're desperate."

We ride along for what miles through the tunnel as Eddie explains our astonishing situation...

When he first came here with the rescued kidnap victims, Eddie was welcomed as a hero. The elders made him an honorary Kintz and named him _Lord Eddie_.

"Wow, that's quite a promotion," Quentin says. "One day you're a runaway kid, the next you're royalty."

"Not just me," Eddie says. "All of you have fancy titles, _Prince_ Quentin, because all of you helped beat the kidnap plot."

"I like that." Quentin squares his shoulders. He seems bigger somehow and rides Melissa's bike as if it's a royal stallion.

"Does that explain all the razzle dazzle?" I ask. "The fake 'crown,' the 'scepter?'"

"Uh, that's right, Lady Amanda," Eddie says.

"Plain _Amanda_ will do fine."

"As you wish."

"So, it's all a big put on, right?" Quentin says.

Eddie nods, and Quentin starts shrinking back to his normal size.

"The Kintz are incredibly advanced," Eddie says, "but in some ways they're like little children. They love razzle dazzle. If I told them you were just a couple of kids, they would've ignored you."

"That's pretty dumb," I say.

"Are things much different back home? All those make-believe TV shows and phony war movie heroes."

My face reddens. "Well, my dad is a _true_ war hero, a jet ace. He's no Hollywood phony!"

Eddie's white-washed face looks surprised.

"Sorry," I say, "this touched a raw nerve."

Losing Dad is my very worst nightmare, and it almost came true, thanks to that war in Korea. It makes me sick how people swagger around talking tough, acting tough, unconcerned about the terrible cost of all the violence in the world.

Things are quiet for a while, then Eddie starts talking. An on-again / off-again civil war has been going on for years, he says. People he calls the "Purple Nazis" are battling the legitimate government. Their stronghold is across the river in the gloomy area I saw from the plane.

The young Kintz we rescued at the Tire Giant are the children of government leaders, including the council president's son and daughter. The Purples had kidnapped them for blackmail. We wrecked those plans, so now we have powerful enemies.

"That's great," I say, "and you brought us right into the middle of it?"

Eddie slows down so fast I nearly crash into him. We all stop.

"I only wanted Quentin to come. There's a deadly serious competition scheduled, and we _must_ win. We need Quentin's help."

"So, I'm not good enough. This is just for the Old Boys' Club, eh?"

I'm talking nonsense and know it. I can't be angry at Eddie because he called me here, and then be angry because he didn't. It's my fear speaking.

"I asked her to come," Quentin says. "She's the brains of our outfit; you know that yourself."

"Okay." Eddied sighs. "She might not be much safer back home, anyway."

He looks down, and again I glimpse the old Eddie—a scared and insecure little boy trying to put on a brave front. Quentin and I trade glances. Neither of us want to hear any more scary talk.

Quentin sidesteps the conversation. "So, how did you get a hold of me?"

Eddie seems relieved at the change of subject. "Did you see that big golden tower from the airplane?"

"Yeah."

"The transmission equipment is up there. I tried to get through for weeks."

"Cool," Quentin says. "I'd like to visit that tower."

"Later, if there's time. Fortunately, I had this for a reference." Eddie pulls Quentin's red plastic camera out of his handlebar bag. "Your address and phone number are taped on the bottom, so I could get a fix."

"Oh, man!" Quentin takes the camera. "It's almost worth the trip just to get this back."

The camera has _Imperial Flash_ written on the front, and a picture of a planet with a lightning bolt shooting behind it.

"That looks suitably royal," I say. "What about the picture Melissa got?"

"Tricia took care of that," Eddie says. "I sent her a gift so she'd deliver it."

I recall the flashing, spinning toy Tricia and her sister played with on the lawn. I wish I were back there with them, brats or not.

"Tricia's a great kid," Quentin says.

I feel like disagreeing, instead I say: "We returned Joey Blanton's baseball cap."

"Yeah," Quentin says, "we mailed it to the children's home, said it was from a 'friend.'"

Eddie chuckles. "Good old Joey, I almost miss him."

This is the end of our three-way conversation. The boys take off ahead so they can talk without me. I don't bother to protest.

16. Home Sweet Home – sort of

They turn off at a side tunnel and wait for me. By the time I catch up, my legs are about done for. I get off my bike and park it with the others.

"We're at the sports club," Eddie says.

"How nice," I say.

He places his hand on the wall. Elevator doors pop open in what seems to be a solid surface.

"Cool!" Quentin says.

"After you, Amanda," Eddie says with a slight bow.

I'm not won over by his old-fashioned manners. I get in the elevator, half suspecting the boys will stay behind to continue their private conference, but they come aboard, too.

We zoom up at stomach-wrenching speed and get off at a long, curvy hallway. Everything is a soft, glowing white, so I can't make out details very well. It's like I'm in the middle of a marshmallow ocean.

Eddie walks ahead, fortunately, so I'm able to keep my eyes fixed on him. Otherwise, I might get turned around, as happened inside the Tire Giant when I tried to walk unassisted.

"You can have a room to yourself," Eddie says. "Quentin will stay with us in the team dorm."

What team is that?

I don't like the sound of this much, but I'm too tired to ask questions. Besides, I'm just a girl; why bother explaining things to me?

We come to a little oval outline on the wall. Eddie presses his palm against it, and an invisible door slides open. We enter a small room as white and blurry as the hallway—no windows, just a desk, chair, and a bed. Another sliding door in back opens into a bathroom.

"I'd better lay down," I say. "I'm feeling a bit light-headed."

"You're probably just hungry," Quentin says, "I sure am."

"We'll have food sent up for you," Eddie says. "Oh, and wear this."

He hands me a little ear piece. "It translates Kintz."

I watch the boys walk off down the corridor. Eddie wraps an arm over Quentin's shoulders, real buddies. I feel about as useful as an air conditioner at the North Pole.

I go back inside my little domain. "Well... here we are."

The bathroom is similar to any back home, except for the shower. The moment I get into it, soapy water jets spray from all directions. Next thing I know, I'm floating in mid air; then I'm rotating around. The water turns clear, then shuts off. Warm air blasts me dry.

I leave the shower feeling fresh and also a bit unsteady, as if I've just gotten off a violent carnival ride. A light green jumpsuit lies folded on a shelf. It looks impossibly small, but when I pull it on, it expands to cover me exactly right. It's comfortable, too.

When I come out of the bathroom, food is waiting on the desk. It looks and tastes like a hamburger with fries and a reasonable imitation of a cola. Eddie must have taught these Kintz chefs a few things. I remember him saying how terrible regular Kintz food is for humans.

I'm so exhausted I barely make it into bed. Something switches on, and I am hovering inches above the mattress. I'm instantly asleep.

17. A Startling Reunion

When I wake up, I have the delicious sensation of being back home.

All the strange events have only been a dream, like in that stupid ending to _The Wizard of Oz_. When I first saw that movie, I felt cheated, but now I want a similar boring outcome.

I open my eyes, hoping to see my familiar room spread around me. Instead, a trio of waxy Kintz are standing beside my bed, staring at me with their department store dummy eyes.

I jerk upright. "Who are you?"

They don't budge, except to turn their heads slightly and stare at each other a few seconds. They wear translators; I grab mine and put it on.

"Do you not remember us, Lady Amanda?"

"N-no, should I?"

Something like sadness passes over their stiff features.

"You aided Lord Eddie in our rescue from the kidnappers," the tallest one says. "He named us Kintz A, B, and C."

I jump out of bed. "Of course!"

These are the Kintz girls from the Tire Giant, grown to my size. The oldest one is actually taller than me and very mature looking. I fling my arms around her. The other two join in. We hug each other like long-lost sisters.

"Welcome, Lady Amanda!"

Their strange, crackly Kintz language enters my left ear like music from a busted radio speaker. The translator in my right ear switches it to English—a jarring sensation. I'm so happy I almost forget the terror of the past hours.

"It's great to see you all again." I wipe tears of joy from my eyes.

How is it I can come to a different universe and feel so much at home? The two younger girls are twins, as I recall, but all Kintz look pretty much the same to me at this point. Fortunately, their jumpsuits are different shades.

"I don't want to keep calling you A, B, C. How about some new Earth American names?"

They clap their hands. "Yes, we would like that!"

"Okay." I gesture toward the oldest one. "You'll be called... Ilona."

"Oh, how pretty."

I indicate the twins. "You'll be... Tricia and Kimmy."

"Thank you, Lady Amanda."

The trip here must have warped my mind. Why else would I name my friends after three girls I can't stand?

Well, the names themselves are okay, and maybe the girls back home aren't so bad, either, now that a whole universe separates them from me. Tricia and Kimmy are Quentin's problem, and Ilona had only been sticking up for her brother.

But why did she attack me? I didn't flush Calvin's head.

"This is wonderful," I say. "I'm so happy you got back safe."

"Thanks to you and your bold plan," Ilona says.

As always, I'm impressed by the little rings they have pierced through various areas. Ilona has four in each ear, another through a nostril, and yet another on the corner of one eyebrow. I can't resist running my fingers over the ones stuck through her left ear.

"You like my piercings, Lady Amanda?"

"Yes, they're very unusual."

"Would you like some for yourself?"

"Uh, maybe some other time."

I can imagine what Dad would say if I came home all pierced up—if he didn't knock himself out hitting the ceiling, first.

"Have you seen Quentin, I mean, _Prince_ Quentin?" I ask.

"Yes, he is in very good form," Ilona says.

"Can you take me to him?"

"We certainly can..."

Ilona's voice trails off; her button eyes fix on the nightstand beside my bed. The other girls follow her gaze. They are as motionless as ever, but they look surprised, somehow.

Ilona points to the garage sale bracelet. "That is yours?"

"Yeah. It's just something the neighbor lady gave me."

Ilona reaches out a hand. "May I touch it?"

"Sure." I hand the thing over. "Keep it, if you want."

Ilona examines the bracelet closely; the twins look on. They all seem impressed, judging by the tiny wrinkles appearing on their foreheads. I'm getting better at reading Kintz emotions.

"Oh no, I cannot keep this," Ilona says. "It is a symbol of great power, meant only for you."

"Is that so? I thought it was old garage sale junk."

She gives it back to me. "Wear it at all times, Lady Amanda."

"Well, okay." I slip the bracelet on. It feels heavier than before, somehow.

"Prince Quentin may be the one called here, but this item proves that _you_ are the more important."

"Really?"

The girls nod.

This makes me feel better, especially after the cold-shoulder treatment I've been getting from the boys. The whole 'symbols of power' thing is creeping me out, though.

"Come with us, Lady Amanda," Ilona says. "We will take you to Prince Quentin."

18. Flame Ball

Ilona leads the way out of my apartment and down the long, weird corridor.

The sight lines are distorted, as if they run through dimensions we don't have back home. The blank whiteness doesn't help. The deathly quiet almost hurts my ears, like we're walking on a cloud through a cemetery. Tricia and Kimmy hold onto my arms.

Ilona places her hand on a wall oval and a double door slides open. The racket is tremendous now—yelling, buzzing, things slamming around. We step onto a balcony. Below us, in an area much larger than a basketball court, Quentin, Eddie, and ten Kintz boys are playing a violent game.

It looks to be some demented type of field hockey. Six players on each side, reds against blues, wielding curved sticks that they slam against each other more than they hit the ball. The ball itself is made of fire!

"My brother is team captain." Ilona points to one of the players. "You called him 'Kintz One.'"

He's grown up now and plays as rough as the others, ramming into opposing players, smacking them with his stick. Quentin is the smallest one out there, and he'd be getting clobbered if the Kintz weren't so slow and clumsy. Quentin dodges their blocks and shoves easily enough, most of the time. One does connect, though, and Quentin falls down hard. I flinch.

Three contraptions buzz around above the players like giant insects. They remind me of the maintenance robots we saw in the Tire Giant.

"What are those?" I point at the weird flying machines.

"Umpires," Kimmy says, "they are free of prejudice since they are merely robots."

The pounding, struggling contest grinds on. I recognize Eddie on the blue squad. Compared to Quentin, he is fairly awkward but still faster and better coordinated than the Kintz.

Tempers flare. Two players throw down their sticks and begin punching at each other. A robot separates them with a blast of electricity.

"The referees in this sport are as violent as the players," I say.

Ilona nods, then she says: "Lady Melissa fancied my brother, I think."

I look away from the brawl. Kimmy and Tricia are giggling, in their restrained Kintz style.

"You could put it that way."

Tricia and Kimmy giggle some more, and I turn back to the game. No, the ball isn't on fire, but it trails electricy stuff like the blast from the golden scepter that fried Quentin's Viking helmet.

Hisssss!

Somebody smacks the ball hard, and it whizzes up to our level. The air smells like a 4th of July sparkler. I step back, but my Kintz friends don't seem alarmed.

"Can you give Kintz One a new name, also?" Ilona asks.

"Uh, sure. Let's call him Calvin."

Two boys lift off the floor and chase the ball in mid air. Fifteen feet up! Other players fly after them; a half dozen battle and elbow in front of us.

A robot referee flies up with them. It's a long cylinder with claws on the ends of its dangly arms. A bright ring of colored sensors flashes from its rotating head. It has no legs.

"Ugh!" I move back another step, the thing is even creepier than the maintenance robots in the Tire Giant. At least they didn't blast people.

Someone breaks away with the ball. Quentin!

"Oh, look at that," Ilona says. In Kintz terms, she's practically shrieking.

Quentin swoops down toward the opposing goal. Two players rise to block him, but he dodges away and smacks the ball hard. It hisses past the goalkeeper, and a blinding orange light flashes. Players crowd around Quentin, congratulating him—the usual macho stuff.

"Prince Quentin possesses extraordinary talent," Ilona says.

"Yes..."

Quentin looks out from his crowd of admirers. "Hi, Amanda!"

He leaps right up to the balcony. He's wearing a shiny red jumpsuit with a matching helmet like the ones roller derby players use. He's all bulgy with protective padding.

"You look great," I say.

"These levitation belts are fantastic." He points to a little gizmo strapped to his waist. "Wish I had one for basketball."

He looks toward the girls. "Hi, Kintz A through C."

"Lady Amanda has chosen new names for us. I am Ilona; these others are Tricia and Kimmy."

"Great." Quentin grins at me. "That's real class, using my sisters' names."

"Don't mention it."

Eddie hurtles up from the floor and joins us. He's dressed the same as Quentin, only in blue.

"You're a natural." He claps Quentin on the back. "In a few years, you'll be unbeatable."

"Thanks." Quentin tries to act casual, but he's eating up the praise, I can tell.

Ilona shoots Eddie a glance that would melt any Kintz boy's heart. Eddie doesn't seem to notice, though. Typical male.

"Hi, girls," he says.

"We have new names." Ilona takes a step toward him. "I am called Ilona, and here are Tricia and Kimmy."

The three girls curtsy, like proper ladies back home.

"That's nice," Eddie says.

A shadow of disappointment flickers across Ilona's face. It's amazing how fast I'm picking up on her emotional cues. Well, we girls have a lot in common, whatever universe we might be from.

"Did you see my first goal?" Quentin asks.

"No, we just got here," I say.

"Oh." It's Quentin's turn to look disappointed.

Kintz One, Calvin, joins us. He wears the red outfit of Quentin's squad and sports a golden badge on his chest—crossed sticks and a flaming ball. He's donned a cape, and I get the weird feeling Superman is fluttering around the balcony.

"Greetings, Lady Amanda." He lands in front of me. "I trust all is well with you?"

He makes a chivalrous bow. I feel like a damsel receiving homage from a knight. This is stuff out of Eddie's old King Arthur book, the one he programmed into the translator back at the Tire Giant.

"Quite well, thank you," I say.

"And Lady Melissa is also in fine fettle?"

"She is also well."

"Please convey my regards when next you see her."

Another player zooms up. He bows to us girls, fixing his gaze on Ilona. She lowers her eyes.

"Lady Amanda," Calvin introduces, "This is my assistant captain, xxx." He gives a Kintz name I can't hope to pronounce or remember.

"Pleased to meet you," I say.

But I'm not pleased. He has a hard look to him that gives me a chill, and his mouth is slightly twisted. He's mean inside, despite his surface polish.

The assistant captain makes another bow. "The pleasure is mine, Lady Amanda."

"If you will please excuse us," Calvin says, "we have much to do." He and his assistant whoosh back down.

Things in this little stadium are much clearer than in other areas of the building. Maybe all the noise and action straightens the dimensions out. The floor has colored lines along it, like in an ice hockey rink, and other balconies surround it. A clear dome with a hole in the center covers all. I can see the fantastic sky shimmering outside.

I feel lighter here, as if gravity has been reduced. Or maybe the whole planet is like that, and I've been too overwhelmed to notice before.

The players are leaving the court, heading for some towel-snapping fun in the locker room. They drop their equipment carelessly, littering the floor with sticks, gloves, and helmets. Attendants pick up after the conquering heroes and deactivate the referees.

I feel sorry for the attendants. The players treat them little better than robots, shoving past them as they leave the court. The assistant captain is especially rough and impolite.

"They sure are mean to the helpers," I say.

"Yeah, that bothers me, too," Eddie says. "I tried to speak to the captain about it but... well, I'm just an alien when you boil things down."

"So, how brave are they against people who can fight back?" I say.

Eddie shrugs. "The guys have sure perked up. We've got a real crack at winning the tournament now."

"Yeah!" Quentin pumps a fist into the air.

"And what if one or two bruisers get a hold of Quentin?" I say. "He'll be smashed to a pulp."

"Hopefully that won't happen," Eddie says. "We'll cover him as best we can."

"That's wonderful, but it's still like sending a grade school kid out against the college football team."

Ilona takes my arm. "It seems there are matters you wish to discuss with your fellow Earth Americans. We will come back to visit soon."

"Okay, see you later." I watch the girls leave, then turn back to Eddie. "Well?"

"Of course there are problems for Quentin, and for me, too, but our human speed and reflexes are big advantages."

"Yeah," Quentin says. "Those Kintz guys are real stiffs."

I'm not buying it. "So, it's like a bull fight, huh? Great fun until the bull connects, but hopefully that won't happen."

"I'm sorry, Amanda," Eddie says. "I thought Quentin would be mostly grown up when I called. I didn't realize he'd still be so young."

I give him my icy stare. Eddie spreads out his hands helplessly. "I wish I could make you understand. It's all part of the deal."

"What's the other part, Eddie?"

Quentin puts a hand on my shoulder. "Let's go have lunch."

19. The Horrid Truth

"What!!" I practically knock over the table as I jump up. "You agreed to let them invade Earth just so you could recruit a team?"

The cafeteria gets quiet all of a sudden; Kintz stare at us from the other tables. The reek of their alien food burns my nose.

"It's not that simple," Eddie says.

" _You_ lose the game, and _we_ get invaded. That sounds simple enough." If there'd been a sharp knife handy, I might have grabbed it to use on Eddie.

"Calm down Amanda, please," Quentin says.

"I am calm!"

Eddie looks embarrassed under his white makeup. Well, isn't that too bad?

"If the enemy beats us here, they'll attack Earth anyway," he says. "All I did was make it part of the official deal."

I sit down hard, like a puppet with its strings cut.

"They already found Earth once," Quentin says, "they can do it again."

"Yes... yes." I cover my face with both hands.

Nightmare visions explode in my mind. I see the sharp, evil face of the Tire Giant guard with his red eyes and corpse complexion, a creature that will stop at no cruelty. How many more like him will be coming?

I try to make sense of what Eddie's told me:

The struggle of the legitimate government against the Purple Faction has dragged on for years, but neither side can get a decisive advantage. They each control about half of this world. Core City, where we are now, is divided between them at the river. Finally, they agreed to settle everything with a great flame ball contest.

Unbelievable! People back home go nuts over football games and stuff, but this is _really_ nuts.

"It's kind of a duel," Quentin says.

"Yes," Eddie says, "winner take all."

"Like that guard at the Tire Giant," I say, "guys like him could be the winners, right?"

Eddie shudders and sips imitation cola. "He was in the _Basitch_ , their secret police, but the rest of the Purple crowd is pretty rough, too. They're like Nazis."

"So, how can a flame ball team beat them?" I demand.

"I know it sounds strange, but it's how things work here. The side that wins the match will gain huge popular support. The losers will suffer total discouragement."

I look around the cafeteria. It had seemed fairly solid before; now it's shifting to blurry marshmallow. The Kintz have returned to their lunches and conversations. Musical, radio static voices fill the air. What kind of beings are they? Their whole civilization seems like a bad movie. I've been an idiot to come to this Wacko Land.

"Their team is tougher than ours," Eddie says. "We think they're jacked up on drugs. Before we'd agree to the match, they had to let us recruit another human player."

He sips more cola stuff.

"I'm no great shakes at this game. They probably thought our new guy would be no better."

"Quentin will get killed out there," I say. "I saw him take a major hit already, and you're all supposed to be friends."

I expect a smart comment from Quentin, but he says nothing.

20. Nervous Days

The next couple days are pretty similar. The boys practice their violent game while I watch, chewing my fingernails. After each scrimmage, Quentin is more beat up—scrapes, bruises, a black eye. He is by far the best player, though, and scores goal after goal.

Kimmy, Tricia, and especially Ilona spend a lot of time with me. We have conversations on various topics, including boys.

"I've heard we live in parallel universes," Ilona says, "that must be why we are so similar."

"Yeah, I've thought about that, too," I say. "This parallel universe stuff is hard to figure out."

"There are many obvious differences between us, but we are identical in crucial ways. Our medical researchers have determined that our two races can breed together."

What exactly is she driving at?

I venture a guess. "You like Lord Eddie, don't you?"

"Oh yes, very much. Since he has matured, he is the only one who—how do you say?—turns me on." Her face reddens a little. "He has always been my hero."

"He did come through for us on the space ship, clobbering that Basitch guy."

"I wish he would discontinue his disguise," Ilona says. "He is so handsome on his own."

"How does he feel about you?"

Her lips turn down a tiny bit. "Ah, Lady Amanda, he acts as if I scarcely exist. Of course, everyone knows I am spoken for, so why should he bother with me?"

"Spoken for? Who?"

"The assistant captain of our team."

" _That_ guy!"

"Yes. His family is well-connected politically, and our engagement was determined when we were very young." She lowers her eyes. "I do not care for him; he is arrogant and cruel."

"I'm so sorry. We got rid of this kind of stuff years ago."

"You are more advanced than we." Ilona sighs. "I would like to visit your Earth America. It seems a better place than here in many ways."

The girls want me to visit their houses, but I can't leave the sports club. This is for "safety reasons," as Eddie explains. The club becomes like a prison for me with its weird dimensions and blank whiteness. Without my friends, I'd be climbing the curvy walls in no time.

My worst fears surface at night when I'm alone hovering over my bed with nothing and no one to support me. It's a time for frightful thoughts. Treachery is in the air, I'm certain. That sneak attack from the skybot was no isolated event. More of the same is coming.

If the deal Eddie described is really on, why would somebody try to knock us out with gas? The Purples have to be responsible for the attack, yet it doesn't seem to be in their interest. They want the war to end as much as our side does. Attacking the Earth Americans would derail the whole plan.

Eddie mentioned a possible spy. Who is it? The traitor could be anybody. In my worst moments, I even suspect the girls.

Not that I have actually seen many Kintz besides my friends, just the flame ball team and their much abused attendants. Dummy robots do the grunt work, like the one who cleans my room. It scared me half to death when it first appeared with its cleaning tools.

Also, I saw the council president when he came to visit Quentin. Since he's Ilona's dad, she managed to get him to say a few words to me. He was polite but stuffy, treating me like some honored though essentially useless person.

News comes that we're moving out tomorrow. I'm getting nervous.

# Four: Danger on Neutral Isle

21. Procession to the Island

A large group assembles by the sports club—three humans and whole lot of Kintz. We're preparing for the trip to Neutral Isle where the great flame ball competition will be held.

"It's great to be outdoors again!" Quentin says, breathing in a great lung full of fresh air.

He's surrounded by Kintz teammates, like a king in the middle of his court. They all wear bright red uniforms and carry helmets under their arms. Calvin might be the team captain, but there's no doubt Quentin is the big star.

"Yeah, it's wonderful," I say, but I'm not enthusiastic.

I'd begun to feel a little bit safe in my room, but now I'm exposed under the incredible blue-yellow orangey sky. It's too bright. I try to shade my eyes with my hands.

"Try these," Ilona says, "we had them made special for you."

She hands me a pair of sunglasses. I put them on, and the world becomes more bearable.

Tricia claps her hands. "You look like those movie stars you told us about!"

She didn't really clap her hands or raise her voice; she scarcely moved at all. I'm adding stuff to make better sense of things. At least I can still tell the difference between reality and make believe. What will happen if I can't anymore?

We've got to get home soon, before we go totally wacko!

Already, Quentin is acting like a knight in shining armor, as if this whole universe was tailor-made for him. Will he even want to return, or would he rather stay here and be a nobleman like Eddie?

Sure, Eddie has no reason to go back. He has no family on Earth and no friends except us, and we're here now. Quentin's life back home can't be rosy, either. He's the 'man of the house' with a neurotic mom and two bratty sisters. Who wouldn't want to get away from that?

Ilona takes my arm. "You look unhappy, Lady Amanda."

"Oh... I'm thinking about my home and family."

"Let us be your home and family for now."

This is a nice thing to say, though kind of scary, too. Doing what Ilona suggests will only loosen my ties to my real family back home. Then again, none of this will matter if our side loses the game, will it? We'd all be doomed. I force myself not to think too much, as it isn't helping me any.

Many Kintz elders are standing around. The council president gives a speech about how great our team is, how victory is assured, and blah, blah, blah.

Like everyone else, I stand at respectful attention while the council president speaks. I do manage to glance over at Quentin, though. He has this weird, joyous look on his face as he soaks up the praise. Yeah, he's going native. Soon he'll be bleaching his hair and whitewashing his face.

The speech finally ends, and we're off. The elders lead the pecking order, walking with great dignity in their flowing capes. The flame ball team goes next, with Calvin at the head, flanked by his assistant captain. Quentin marches right beside them, carrying his golden railroad spike no less.

Then come the attendants lugging the team equipment, including a large cage in which four referee robots hover like big, silent vultures.

"Those things give me the creeps," I say.

Ilona nods and tightens her grip on my arm. Several police skybots hover far overhead; there won't be any surprise attacks with them around. They probably look creepy, too, if you saw them close up.

The girls and I bring up the rear, along with the other less important persons. Tough looking men with gun type weapons guard the procession. Two dignified older Kintz in white jumpsuits keep to themselves off to the side.

"Who are they?" I ask.

"Our top physicians," Ilona says. "They specialize in human ailments."

That's reassuring, but creepy. They expect Quentin to get busted up in the game—so do I.

The city around us is an incredible mix of glittering high-rise buildings, sprawling domes, and pointy towers shooting up into the fantastic sky. Among the high stories, narrow bridges connect the buildings. Cigar-shaped vehicles run along these tracks like the cars of an amusement park ride.

I feel eyes staring down at us from those cars and from the great buildings, but ground level is deserted. The guards must have scared away any gawkers.

Trees and other plant type things poke up from the pavement—similar to the ones back home, except for their red-bluish color. I look back the way we came.

"Wow!"

Behind us, a blocky cliff thrusts into the air. Four large, roundish structures stick out, as if flying saucers have crashed into it.

"That's the sports club?"

"Yes," Ilona says, "your apartment was in the uppermost pod."

The place looks as weird on the outside as it did inside.

"How far do we have to walk?"

"Three or four Earth miles," Ilona says. "No one may bring powered vehicles onto Neutral Isle, and a foot procession through our city displays our confidence."

Well, I'm not feeling all that confident. "What is this _Neutral Isle_?"

"The parley ground betwixt the two halves of Core City. Neither side controls it."

We continue marching for some time, and I'm getting tired. The huge, glittering buildings get smaller and more spread out. Open park type areas become more common—grassy ground cover, trees, little pathways. Without the giant structures hemming us in, we can see the distant sky. It is an ugly purplish color.

Ilona shudders. "Our enemies reside over there, beyond Neutral Isle."

That awful sky holds my attention. It seems to boil with hate.

We creep through an open area and down a gentle slope. Ahead I can see water, and beyond it an island. The dark and bright skies mix over the island into flat, dead grayness.

We cross a bridge, quiet and grim like a funeral procession. Will we ever come back?

22. The Great Arena

An enormous building sprawls over the middle of Neutral Isle, like the granddaddy of all football stadiums. Huge archways surround the edges. A clear dome covers the top, glistening even under the dull sky.

"That's the Great Arena, huh?"

Ilona nods. She and everyone else seems awe-struck. The team members lift their eyes upward toward the arena ramparts. They slow their pace, as if they're approaching some vast holy shrine. I half expect them to fall flat on their faces.

Okay, it's big, I get that. I can't afford to let it overwhelm me, though. At least one person has to stay clear-headed amid all this razzle dazzle. I fix my eyes downward.

We arrive at a blocky little building, bone white all over. It reminds me of the mausoleum where Grandma Searles is buried.

Dad took me there once. I was badly creeped out by the rows of corpses stacked up in the walls behind neat little marble squares, high-rise apartments for the dead. And that awful sweetish smell of flowers.

"I know I would have loved Grandma if I'd known her," I told Dad, "but please don't ever bring me here again."

Did I really say that, or was I just inventing things? Dad never did bring me back—but I'm here again, just the same. We enter the huge door, as if we're being buried alive. I force myself not to turn and run.

Inside the building is very different from the mausoleum, thank heaven. There are no layers of coffins in the walls or sickly sweet flowers, just the hum of machinery. This must be a maintenance building, generators and stuff. We move down a wide ramp.

"We go to our quarters now," Ilona says. "They bestride the Great Arena."

We walk down a tunnel, get onto a huge elevator, and zoom up.

* * *

I have a room like the one at the sports club. Ilona, Kimmy, and Tricia have similar apartments nearby. We are the only ones on our level. The elders and the flame ball team take quarters on the big shot floors.

A large commons area fills the next level up from us. I meet Quentin there a couple hours after we arrive. He has a gold railroad spike printed on the left side of his uniform. On the other side of his chest, he sports his _Smile, It Kills Time Between Disasters_ button.

"How do you like my new look?" He spreads his arms wide. "If the guys back home could see me now!"

"Yeah, it's great," I say with limited enthusiasm. Quentin doesn't seem to notice my attitude.

"I could get used to this real easy," he says.

"You're blending in too much, Quentin."

He takes a dramatic pose and glances at himself in a nearby mirror. "Oh, come on. Can't I have a little fun?"

I scarcely recognize the boy standing before me. Whatever happened to the easy-going Quentin I used to know? He's turning into some kind of weird super hero; he even looks bigger in his Kintz outfit.

"Where did we come from?" I say.

"You know that. The sports club."

"No, I mean originally. Quick, tell me."

Quentin laughs, as if I've just asked the universe's dumbest question.

"Why, we came from... uh..." He looks baffled.

"Ever heard of South Allendale, on a little place called Earth?

"Yes, yes, of course. It was on the tip of my tongue. Eddie says that—"

"Where's Eddie now?"

"He went with Calvin to watch the enemy scrimmage. They should be back soon."

"I'll wait."

* * *

Calvin and Eddie arrive. They are both in their red team uniforms, and Calvin wears his fancy captain's cape and gold medallion.

"Hey, what's up, guys?" Quentin says.

It's pretty clear what's up; they've seen something scary. Both are highly agitated.

"I won't lie to you," Eddie says, "those guys are tougher than we thought."

"Oh?" Quentin's smile fades, and a grim silence settles over everyone.

Calvin finally speaks. "We had best prepare. Our practice time draws nigh."

I go to my room without further discussion. I've already heard more than I care to.

23. Into the Maw

The girls stop by, and together we leave for the Great Arena.

"This is our team's opportunity to practice on the official court," Ilona explains. "Tomorrow, they confront our enemies there for the final contest."

I don't like this "final contest" talk. It sounds too much like the _final solution_ , Hitler's plan to wipe out millions of people.

"Okay, let's go," I say.

"Okay, let's go," the girls echo.

They've picked up numerous English words such as: _okay_ , _cool_ , and _get lost_ which sound odd in their crackly, musical voices.

We take an elevator down to yet another tunnel. I'm getting tunneled out on this world. After many minutes of walking, we enter a high, bright passageway. Then we are inside the Great Arena. A gigantic enclosure reaches out for me. My stomach turns.

"Ohhh!" I stumble back into the passageway, almost falling over.

"What is wrong, Lady Amanda?" Ilona says.

"It's so huge!" I struggle to catch my breath; it's coming in ragged gasps.

"Shall we return to your chambers?"

"N-no..." I shake my head. "Give me a minute, okay?"

I take some deep breaths. The military voice in my head, the one Dad uses when he wants to make a point, speaks firmly: _"You can do this, Amanda. Front and center!"_

The world spins less now. "Hang onto me, please."

Tricia and Kimmy take my arms, Ilona moves on ahead. Again we enter the arena. The place is overwhelming—a gigantic bowl zooming off in all directions—as if we are in an oval Grand Canyon. I feel my heart seizing up.

We are down by the playing court, and mountains of bleachers tower above us. The glass dome floats high over everything like some horrid transparent umbrella. Needles of brightness shoot along its surface, except for a big hole in the middle where the gray sky leers.

The place is so quiet that it actually seems noisy. How many people can sit in these infinite rows... a million? The vast dimensions try to crush my spirit and suck my mind away. I yank it back hard.

"You dumb pile of stone." I kick the wall. "I'm better than you!"

The girls look at each other with surprise. I feel good, though. In either universe, there's nobody quite like me, so why should I feel cowed by this awful place?

"Let's sit down." I gesture into the huge emptiness. "If we can find a place."

We walk down a few rows and take seats at the end of a bleacher.

The flame ball court is much larger than the one at the sports club, but it's only a tiny patch in the center of this massive building. I arch my hands around my face like blinders and keep my eyes focused down so as to avoid seeing the mammoth arena hulking all around me. I wish I had a big, floppy-brimmed hat.

More spectators enter from the passageway, elders and various others. The doctors arrive, all dignified in their white outfits. Everyone sits well away from us to the left.

"Is it always like this?" I ask. "The girls pushed off to the side."

"Yes," Ilona says, "our society is very much a man's world. We are usually treated nicely, however, like delicate toys."

I can hear an edge of resentment to her voice. Ordinarily, I'd be angry to hear such talk, but I'm too worried now. The arena is pressing me down like the boot of some terrible giant.

The team attendants enter the play area. They activate three referee robots and place them on the court. The fourth robot stays on the sidelines in reserve.

The team marches out in two parallel lines, like a military unit, half in red uniforms, the rest in blue. Quentin swaggers in front with Calvin. He looks pretty confident, but all I can see is how small he is compared to the others.

The audience cheers and applauds, a real racket in Kintz terms.

Ilona squeezes my hand. "Do they not look magnificent?"

"Yeah." I wish I was feeling more magnificent.

The scrimmage begins. While the boys fight and shove each other on the court, huge projections of them appear in midair so that people in the high bleachers can watch.

I turn away from the violent action and see two tall, frightening Kintz males take seats between us and the other spectators. They are dressed in dark purple jumpsuits; one also wears a cape and has a silvery medallion hanging around his neck. Danger radiates from them.

I scrunch down in my seat. "Who are they?" I whisper.

Ilona takes my arm. Tricia and Kimmy huddle close from the other side.

"Observers from the enemy team," Ilona says. "One of them is their captain."

No wonder Eddie and Calvin were upset. Those purple guys look plenty tough, like fierce cats ready to strike. The captain glances my direction with flashing red eyes that seem to stab right through me. I feel an incredible thrill—half terror, half excitement.

I yank my eyes away. When I look back, both enemy Kintz are watching the game. The captain leans forward, gripping his knees. The long, powerful fingers strain with bottled-up violence; his face is hard and intense. His body may be present on the bleacher, but his mind is out on the court doing battle.

24. Scrimmage from Hell

The game is even faster and rougher than at the sports club.

Quentin plays great, but I'm certain he'll get creamed any second. The scrambling action rushing back and forth makes me dizzy. The imitation eggs I ate for breakfast churn in my stomach and threaten to come back up.

I close my eyes, but the dizziness gets worse. I want to run away but don't have the energy.

I can't watch the brutal game anymore, look at the purple guys or at the vast arena swirling around me. I fix my eyes on the sidelines where a half dozen attendants stand watching the action. I try to become as still as they are.

Amazing how Kintz can stand so utterly motionless, like statues almost. Minutes pass and none of the attendants makes the slightest move, not even when the ball hisses by them and the players struggle past. I've paid little attention to these team flunkies, but now I study them closely, so as to occupy my brain.

I'm getting better at telling the Kintz apart. The attendants are actually quite different from each other, despite their similar uniforms, hair, and complexions. The one standing in back looks familiar, somehow. He's slightly taller than the others and holds his head more erect.

Was he with the welcoming committee?

"Oh!" the onlookers cry.

A fight has started on the court with a half dozen players swinging at each other. My heart leaps.

Is Quentin hurt?

No, he's off to the side with Eddie and Calvin protecting him. The robot referees break things up in their usual gentle manner, sending bolts of energy flying around.

The game resumes, and my heart settles down a little. I return to watching the attendants. The one in back is slipping away from the group and moving toward the reserve robot referee. The others don't seem to notice.

What's he up to?

"Cool!" Ilona shouts in English.

Quentin has broken from the pack and is heading toward the goal. Defensemen chase him, but he outruns them. He smacks the ball past the goalie and bright lights flash. The little crowd cheers.

Quentin leaps ten feet in the air and hovers with his stick over his head, pumping a victory salute. Typical male.

I look back toward the sidelines. The attendant is at the reserve robot now... something is wrong. With a violent jerk, the attendant tears off his green jumpsuit. He wears another one underneath it. Purple!

"Ah!" I grab Ilona.

"Lady Amanda, what's wrong?"

The attendant jumps on the robot. The machine zooms across the court.

"Look out, Quentin!" I shriek.

The crowd gasps. Quentin turns toward the onrushing enemy. Too late. The robot grabs him in its spidery arms. It shoots up at incredible speed, through the dome hole.

Quentin's scream trails behind: "AAAHHHHhhhhh..."

He's gone.

I sit frozen with shock and terror, gaping at the dome, mouth hanging open. Nobody makes a sound. The two purple observers stand up, and the spell breaks.

"Get 'em!" Calvin shouts.

The Purples head for an exit, but the elders and other spectators block the way. Our team charges off the court, Eddie in the lead.

"Yaaa!" He dives into the enemy captain and knocks him over.

The captain jumps back up and throws Eddie into an arm lock. "Desist! We are not responsible!"

Our team is in no mood for discussion. They rush the Purples, howling with rage. The enemy players fight back hard. It seems they might escape, but our players swarm over them, knocking them down into a great heap of pounding fists and shouts.

Everything swirls around me. I put my hands over my face; they're ice cold. I duck my head between my knees.

"Lady Amanda!" The girls cry.

Blood rushes into my paralyzed brain, and the fainting spell passes.

"We must get you back to your chambers," Ilona says.

"Yeah..." My voice sounds distant, like it's coming from somebody else.

The elders have stopped the massacre. The Purples are on their feet, battered and bloodied, with our guys pinning back their arms. Eddied grabs the purple captain's medallion and snaps it off its chain.

"You dishonor us both," the captain protests.

Eddie waves the medallion in the captain's face. "I'll do a lot more than that, punk!"

The girls help me to my feet.

"Please stay here, Ilona," I say, "find out whatever you can."

I stumble toward the passageway with Kimmy and Tricia propping me up. I'm too numbed to be afraid any longer.

25. Collapse & Recovery

An hour passes, and I can't do anything except cry. Tricia and Kimmy stay with me, but I have never felt so utterly alone. Quentin is gone! What are those horrible creatures doing to him? How can I ever get home?

If only I were a tough, macho guy, maybe I could handle things better. Then again, Quentin was surrounded by macho guys and they couldn't do a thing. Eddie said they'd protect him. Why didn't they?

At last, I'm able to sleep a bit. When I wake up, I feel stronger, as if some of my terror and worry have wrung out of me with the tears. The situation is no less horrible, though. Kimmy and Tricia are gone. Ilona stands nearby, gently prodding me.

"Lady Amanda?"

I sit up on my hover bed. "What did you find out? Is Quentin okay?"

"As far as we know, yes. The enemy has opened negotiations."

Relief washes over me, followed by suspicion. "What kind of negotiations?"

"The enemy offers to exchange their two best players for Prince Quentin. None of them will participate in the final contest. Once the game is finished, all hostages will be released unharmed."

I think this over. It doesn't take long to see through it. "Bull!"

Ilona looks confused. "What is this 'bull,' a male animal of some kind?"

"It's what my dad says when somebody tries to put one over on him."

"What is this 'put one over?'"

"Forget it." I slide off my hover bed. "We have to stop them."

"My father and the Council elders are inclined to accept the offer," Ilona says. "What else can we do?"

I stalk the room. "We can show some backbone. The Purples wouldn't sacrifice their two best players unless they were really afraid of Prince Quentin."

"So it would seem, but the elders think— "

"I'm sick of those old phonies!"

Ilona frowns.

"Er... sorry, Ilona. I didn't mean to insult your dad or anything."

Fortunately, Tricia and Kimmy come in from the hall to help take the edge off the situation. They stand with Ilona by the hover bed.

"Quentin is the key," I say. "Without him we lose the game, then the Purples invade Earth."

"A lamentable outcome for certain," Ilona says, "perhaps it is fated to be."

"Well, I'm an American. We don't think like that."

"So it would seem."

"I'm half Russian, too, and they are _very_ tough people. We beat the stinking Nazis together once before, and we can do it again, even if a billion of them land in our backyard!"

The brave words carry me along. I have to keep moving or I'll fall over, like riding a bike. I need to get far away from that fainting little girl back in the arena.

"Can you get me in to see the Purple hostages?"

"Lady Amanda, this is unheard of."

"All the better, nobody will expect it."

"Perhaps it could be arranged, but to what end?"

I take a deep breath to buck myself up. I don't feel a bit wobbly now. "I'm going after Quentin. Maybe those Purple guys know something I can use."

Ilona's mouth pops open and her eyes widen. "I am afraid that—"

"That's the trouble; we're all afraid. It's time we took action."

She is clearly not convinced, so I play my final card.

"Does this mean anything or not?" I hold up my arm with its garage-sale power bracelet. "If I'm the important person you think I am, help me rescue Quentin."

A long silence. Then: "Very well, Lady Amanda."

Ilona leaves my apartment. Ten minutes later, she's back with two extra translator ear pieces.

"These should suffice for the interview." She turns to the others. "Tricia, Kimmy, you stay here. Tell no one about this."

She adds in English: "Got it?"

"Got it," they reply.

Ilona can sure take charge when she wants.

"Shall we go, Lady Amanda?"

"Lead on."

26. The Purple Hostages

An elevator ride down, a short walk, and we're at the 'jail.'

It's really just an apartment like mine, with two guards at the door. They hold long stick clubs and wear official green pouches over their shoulders. They are thin, like all Kintz, but seem puffed up with authority.

Ilona approaches as if she's their commanding officer. "Let us in. We wish to interview the prisoners."

"I am sorry, my lady," one of the guards says. "We have orders not to admit anyone."

Ilona raises an eyebrow. "Do you know who I am, trooper?"

"Yes."

"Then please oblige me."

Tense seconds pass. The guards exchange muffled words my translator can't pick up. Finally, they open the door. We follow them inside.

"Nice work, Ilona," I whisper.

"The Council President's family carries weight, even the females."

The two purple flame ball players sit on the hover bed. Thick, black cables surround them, forming a sort of cage around half the room. These cables seem alive, almost, writhing around like snake bodies.

"Leave us alone with the captives, please," Ilona tells the guards. "Don't disturb us unless we call."

The guards hesitate. I'm certain they're going to refuse, but a commanding glare from Ilona changes their minds. They head for the door. One of them brushes against Ilona on his way out. It looks to me as if she stepped in his way.

"Excuse me, my lady," he says.

The two hostages glower at us with their smoldering red eyes. The captain still wears his cape and the silvery chain around his neck.

"You would do well to show proper respect when ladies of quality visit," Ilona says.

"Of course." The captain stands and offers a slight bow, rather sarcastic if you ask me.

"Use these." Ilona tosses over the translators. "Lady Amanda wishes to address you directly."

"So, this is the famous Lady Amanda?" the captain says. "Perhaps we should feel honored."

I wait for him to put on his translator. "Feel any way you want, just tell me what I need to know."

The two Purples glance at each other; the captain speaks again: "I have heard that you Earth Americans waste few words."

I nod.

"Very well." A maddening little smile creeps over his thin lips. "How may we be of assistance?"

He has a cool, dangerous look, as if he could turn violent any second. At the same time, he's very cute—in an exotic, bad-boy sort of way. Does he think I'm cute, too? I reach to smooth back my hair.

Get a grip, Amanda!

I try to slam my mind shut against Captain's charms. He notices the hand raised against my head, and all trace of mockery vanishes. He looks toward Ilona.

"Yes, that is an armlet of power she wears," Ilona says. "You had best take that into account."

I glance at the garage-sale bracelet on my wrist. What is it with this thing? Well, if it helps my cause, I'll play along.

I lower my hand. "What happened in the arena today?"

Captain's face darkens. "We were betrayed! We gave our solemn oath to play the enemy team and its puny humans. Now we are made out to be liars."

I resist taking a step back. "Who betrayed you?"

Captain seems too upset to speak; he's actually trembling.

His sidekick pipes up. "The Supreme Council must have ordered this treachery. Those cowards believe we cannot handle a mere boy like Prince Quentin."

"Maybe Prince Quentin is tougher than you think," I say.

"Certainly, we could always use him for an attendant."

I decide not to argue, as it wouldn't help.

"Our Fuehrer is old and sick," Captain says. "The council has stolen his powers."

_Fuehrer,_ isn't that the title Hitler used? I swallow and try to keep a calm face.

"We need a vigorous young leader for our people," Captain says, "someone to carry on the Fuehrer's wise policies."

"You wouldn't have anyone in mind, would you?" I ask.

Captain gives me a long, thoughtful look through his crimson eyes. "Lady Amanda's reputation for intelligence would seem to be well founded."

"I'm smart enough to see we're all in the same jam. We have to get Prince Quentin back so you can all play in the final contest."

Captain glances at Sidekick. They laugh, if you could call the nasty, crackling noise laughter.

"How does Lady Amanda propose to accomplish this?" Captain says. "Simply appear at the prison tower and ask them to release the Earth American?"

"Yeah, if I have to."

Captain laughs again. I'm glad he's having a good time. "You would not get ten feet into our side of Core City. Not unless we came with you, and that is unlikely."

"Well..." My bold rescue plan is crashing down before it can even get started.

"Perhaps arrangements can be made." Ilona opens her hand. A little metallic rectangle sits in her palm.

The Purples gasp. The laughter vanishes from their faces. I take Ilona's arm and bring her to the farthest corner of the apartment.

"What is that thing?" I whisper

"The key to their restraints. I took it from the guard."

I must look as shocked as the Purples.

"Come now, Lady Amanda. It is obvious these enemies are the only ones who might bring us to Prince Quentin."

I fight to get my spinning head under control. Incredible and frightening possibilities gape at me. Could I possibly be brave enough to attempt a rescue mission, with those two dangerous guys, no less? Sure, I'd said I'd do it, but that was back when it seemed impossible. Now a real opportunity is staring me in the face.

"Lady Amanda? Are you all right?"

"Yes..."

I shake my head hard to get some sense back into it. The path becomes suddenly clear to me.

"We can't both go," I say.

"Why not?"

"Nobody must know you're involved; it could ruin everything. Besides, you're too valuable as a hostage if we get caught."

"I cannot allow you to go alone with those brutes."

I glance toward the hostages who are having their own whispered conference. "Look at them. They almost fought off our whole team. There's nothing you can do to protect me."

"But— "

"Let's get started before the guard misses that key gizmo."

And before my nerve gives out.

27. Break Out

I approach the prisoners. "I have a proposal for you, _if_ you're brave enough to try it."

This appeal to their macho pride seems to work. Captain draws himself up. "What is it?"

"If we let you go, will you help me rescue Prince Quentin?"

Captain does not hesitate. "Agreed."

"And you won't hurt anyone on our side. If you have to clobber somebody on your own side, that's okay."

The Purples nod.

"Only the three of us can go. Ilona stays on Neutral Isle."

"That would seem prudent," Captain says.

"You have to give your most solemn oath. The one you save for special occasions."

Both snap to attention and place fists over their hearts. "My word is my honor!"

Their voices are low, but they carry great force.

_Well... that'll have to do._ I turn toward Ilona. "Let's go."

She presses a button on the gizmo, and the cables fall flat. The Purples step out of their cage. Without their constraints, these guys are a hundred times scarier.

_Here it comes,_ _we're dead! Or else we'll suffer the 'fate worse than death,' like they say in the old stories._

Nothing of the sort happens. The Purples creep toward the door. Captain reaches an open hand toward Ilona. She gives him the key gizmo, then starts screaming.

"Help! Help!"

The door bursts open, and the guards charge in. The Purples jump them from behind. I grab Ilona and retreat to a far corner. The guards struggle fiercely but are quickly overcome and pinned down. Sidekick raises a fist to finish one off.

"Don't hurt him!" I shout.

Captain restrains his teammate. He snarls at the guards. "Cease resistance and you will not be injured."

They seem to have little choice, as they've already been knocked down and disarmed. The Purples throw them onto the hover bed and reactivate the cage snakes. Captain jabs a threatening finger at them.

"Remain silent for an hour, then we will release the hostage unharmed. Otherwise... "

He makes a crunching gesture with his fist. The guards look helplessly at Ilona.

"Please do as he demands," she cries. "My life depends upon it!"

Captain takes me up in his arms, Sidekick gathers up Ilona, and we are off trotting down the empty hall.

"Is this necessary?" I ask.

"You wish to appear as a prisoner, do you not?" Captain says. "It would hardly do if someone spied you running after us."

Actually, I might be able to keep up with them on foot. Like all Kintz, these Purples are slower than humans.

"That way," Captain says.

We round a corner and enter a _down_ elevator. I don't mind being carried by Captain. He's an undeniable hunk, strong and wickedly handsome. Why does he have to be so attractive? I mean, he's an _alien_. Aren't they supposed to be gooey with tentacles and stuff?

The elevator door slides open and we enter a narrow, dismal tunnel. I can scarcely see a thing. The Kintz start to glow in the dim light.

Apparently I'm the alien here, and I'm not all gooey. I might just melt away, though, if Captain doesn't put me down soon.

We run for several minutes until we reach a narrower tunnel that drops sharply to the left. It's dank and stinky, like the polluted creek at the end of our street back home. The Purples set us down.

"This is the route to our side," Captain says. "Good fortune has attended our effort thus far."

"So it would seem," Ilona says.

Captain offers a courtly bow. "Farewell, Lady Ilona. Perhaps we shall meet again under more pleasant circumstances."

I hate to admit this, but I feel jealous at the attention he's giving her. "Let's get moving."

Captain returns his attention to me. "Would you not prefer to stay with Lady Ilona?"

"No. I have to get Quentin."

"We gave our word. We will bring Prince Quentin safely back or perish in the attempt."

Why does he have to mention getting killed? I'm scared enough already. "He won't cooperate unless I come along."

Sidekick speaks up. "That is logical, my captain. Our endeavor has little enough chance of success without Prince Quentin opposing us."

Captain nods. "Agreed."

I gulp. Am I an idiot for teaming up with these guys? They are as much as admitting we're on a suicide mission.

Ilona hugs me. "Take care, Lady Amanda."

"I-I'll try."

"May the best of fortune attend you."

We enter the tunnel without her.

# Five: Rescue Attempt

28. Eerie Trek

The tunnel shuts in around me like a grave; I can hardly see a thing. I run my hands along the wall to keep my balance.

Filthy, cold slime. "Ugh!"

I have to keep touching the wall or risk falling into the slippery goo we're walking over. The passage goes down and down; everything becomes much darker. We walk single file—Sidekick, Captain, me.

The Kintz begin to glow more strongly until I can see their sharp faces, shiny red eyes, and long-fingered hands creeping along the wall like great spiders. I look back to see a last dot of light framing Ilona. Then she's gone.

The tunnel squeaks and groans around us as we trudge into deeper ground. Finally, the descent stops, and we walk for many minutes on a level passageway. We must be crossing under the river now. I feel the weight of the whole planet trying to press me into mush. Foul-smelling water drips on me from cracks in the ceiling. Horrible little creatures brush against my legs and scurry away.

"Ahhh!" My scream thuds in the dank air.

"Fear not, Lady Amanda," Captain says. "The rats should not harm you, unless they sense you are weak or injured, then..."

I fight a growing urge to begin screaming non-stop, cut loose like a fire truck siren. But then the tunnel starts going up again, and a speck of light appears far ahead. The tight bands of fear around my chest loosen.

The circle of light gets bigger as we move closer, but it throws little cheer. It's more like a dim candle flickering at the side of a vampire's coffin.

"It is fortunate for us that the enemy has not blocked this passage," Sidekick says.

"Doubtless they have a similar one going to their own side," Captain says. "It would not be honorable to obstruct ours."

This 'honorable' stuff sure is important here. Back home, somebody would have dynamited this route long ago. Then again, maybe dynamite isn't necessary because the cracks in the walls and ceiling are getting worse.

I'm walking through cold, ankle-deep water now. As soon as we pass a drippy area, it immediately starts leaking more.

"Spread out," Captain says, "tread lightly."

But no matter how careful we try to be, things are getting bad, fast.

Somewhere behind us in the darkness, a waterfall starts roaring. The water around my legs gets deeper. I glance ahead to the light. It's much bigger and doesn't look like a coffin candle any longer, more like the bright sun in a fairytale kingdom.

"Run!" Captain shouts.

The water is almost at my knees and rising fast. I slog along behind the Kintz. Their light has gone out, leaving us in a dim twilight area of thundering water and dank stench.

"Hurry!" Captain grabs my hand.

No electric thrill from his touch now, just cold dread. All around me, layers of terrified rats shriek and claw. One jumps onto my shoulder, I smack it away with my free hand. Others leap on my back.

The water is past my waist now. I dive under it and shake off the rats. Then we are all swimming under water. I hold tight to Captain's vise-like hand. With my legs and free arm, I struggle with all my strength.

My lungs feel ready to burst. I fight to get back to the surface, but there is no surface. Just an endless nightmare of frigid water and thrashing rat bodies. Bottled up air explodes from my lungs, my consciousness starts to slip away, I begin the final, deadly inhale...

Then we are out.

29. Back to the Living

I lay sprawled out, gulping down the sweetest air in any universe. Captain kneels beside me holding my hand and gazing into my face with his probing eyes.

"Ugh," I gasp, "that was some pool party."

A faint smile crosses Captain's face. "Welcome back, Lady Amanda."

I sit up, just in time for a coughing seizure. I spit out some fluid. Very elegant.

"How long have I been out?" I ask when the coughing finally stops.

"Only a few moments, but I think the 'pool party' went on much longer than necessary."

Is that supposed to be humorous? Is the grim, steadfast Captain able to tell jokes?

"What happened back there?" I say.

"That tunnel was old and ready to collapse. Our presence within proved its final undoing." Captain stands and salutes the tunnel entrance with a raised fist. "Thank you for granting us this final service, great tunnel!"

Sidekick also salutes the collapsed tunnel. Many rats lie around gasping for air. They look like rodents back home, but are very large with vicious fangs. Sidekick punts them like footballs. He kicks one hard right beside me. As it flies through the air, gore squirts from it like a bloody comet tail.

"Gross!"

"Please pardon the indelicacy," Captain says, "but in your weakened state, you do not wish to have these creatures active around you."

He helps me stand.

"Lady Amanda seems much recovered," Sidekick says.

"Not if you keep that up. I'm about ready to vomit my guts out."

Captain chuckles. "Yes, well, we all have our little diversions."

Other rats are recovering and lumbering away toward the riverbank. I guess they're tired of being used for soccer balls. The final rush of water must have been fairly clean because I don't feel too grungy. My jumpsuit is drying fast, but my hair is a total loss.

Captain places his hands on his hips and takes in our surroundings. "Sweet home at last."

Sweet home looks pretty weird to me. We are in a deserted area alongside the river, near the flooded mouth of the tunnel. Ahead, a dark and gleaming arch shoots into the sky, the same arch I glimpsed from the airplane. It's huge but is still some distance away, so I can't really tell how big it is.

The sky is a dark, roiling purplish-black, like you might see at home when a thunderstorm builds up. I cringe beneath it.

"Our sky bothers you?" Captain asks.

"You could say that."

"Get accustomed. Once we have triumphed in the final contest, such a sky will cover all of Core City and beyond."

I straighten myself up. "You seem pretty confident about that."

"Of course. We are the master race. Our triumph is inevitable."

"Oh? Lord Eddie thinks your team is using drugs."

Captain smiles and waves a hand, as if to say I'm full of hot air.

Sidekick inhales something from a little bottle he's pulled out of his sleeve. He doesn't notice me watching because his eyes are closed. With each inhale, he seems to puff up bigger.

Captain follows my gaze over to Sidekick. "Hey!"

He snarls something so furious my translator can't handle it. Sidekick pushes the bottle back under his sleeve; he looks terrified. So, that's it—"master race" in a bottle. I guess that honorable routine only goes so far.

Whap!

Captain smacks Sidekick alongside the head. He seems angry enough to take his teammate apart for blowing their precious secret. Sidekick tries to cover up.

"I won't tell anyone," I say.

Captain turns toward me; the rage flickering in his eyes cools down a bit. Sidekick stumbles out of hitting range.

"Then we may rely on Lady Amanda's discretion?"

"Of course. No sense rocking the boat, is there?"

Captain rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Rocking the boat... you Earth Americans have a poetic manner of speech."

I nod. "Just get me to Prince Quentin; nothing else is important."

That isn't true. The drugs are _very_ important. Without them, the Purples would be a normal team, and Eddie's squad wouldn't need Quentin to even things out. We'd still be safe at home, and...

If I keep thinking about what might have been, I'll go nuts.

"Can we get moving?" I ask.

"Certainly. Our objective is yonder."

Captain points toward a distant tower. It's an ugly, dirty white against the dark sky and is framed by that hideous double arch. Low buildings and large open areas stand between us and the "objective."

"That's a long way off," I say. "How can we get there without being discovered?"

"First we need to hide your green outfit," Captain says.

He takes off his purple cape, folds it in half, and wraps it around me. I feel a warm thrill at his touch and close my eyes so as to enjoy it more

I go off into reverie land. Wouldn't it be great to have an exciting, powerful hero sweep me away from all this danger? I want to sag back into Captain's arms and forget everything. He must feel something too because he's taking longer than is really necessary. His breath tickles my neck.

Cut it out, Amanda, he's the enemy!

I step away from him. "Thank you very much. I can handle it from here."

Why are we girls such jellyfish? All it takes is a brief touch from this guy and I'm ready to forget the rescue mission. Well, I guess you're always going to feel whatever it is you're going to feel. The important thing is to _act_ sensible.

Captain gives me his mocking little smile, as if he can read my thoughts. That shouldn't be too hard. He probably has every Kintz girl in Core City falling over him.

"Shall we go?" he says.

30. Heroes' Memorial

We walk through a wide park-like area with long, grayish purple grass and many large trees.

Blank, low buildings scowl along the edge—places where dead people might live. Captain walks beside me. Sidekick stays to the rear, as if he's afraid of getting smacked again. An eerie wind hisses through the grass and along the tree tops. It seems to have ghost voices in it.

I wrap the cape more tightly around myself. "What is this place?"

"Heroes' Memorial Park," Captain says. "It is dedicated to the founders of our revolution."

"You mean like, a cemetery?"

"We leave such primitive notions to aliens. No offence intended."

Cemetery or not, this is definitely a place you wouldn't want to have a picnic.

"Where is everybody?" I say.

"The population must fear an enemy attack because of this kidnap business. They are in concealment."

"This surely works to our benefit," Sidekick says.

He has moved alongside us and is obviously trying to get back into his leader's favor. Captain gives him a sharp look but doesn't hit him again.

Numerous statues, fashioned out of gleaming white material, loom above us on pedestals. They are all frozen into threatening postures—marching, charging, swinging weapons. They hardly look like Kintz at all but are filled out bigger. Maybe somebody shot them up with drugs.

One ghastly trio stands at rigid attention with guns in their right hands and their left fists raised in salute. Their thighs are all bulged out, and their faces are erased. I draw closer to Captain who seems right at home in this frightful area.

"An old tunnel begins at the park boundary," he says. "If it is still passable, we can take it into Zone Five, near the prison tower."

"Then what?"

"We shall have to rely upon our wits."

Great, another tunnel ready to cave in on us any second. And I don't like the sound of this Zone Five place. I remember Tommy speaking of _Zona Cinco_ , in Guatemala City where his family is from. He said it was _muy peligroso_ there. I think that means 'very dangerous' but my Spanish isn't so hot.

Tommy—what I wouldn't give to see him again! I'd even be glad to see Quentin's bratty sisters.

We are passing the saluting trio now. Of all the statues, they are the scariest with their blank faces and bulging legs. One of them seems to move a tiny bit.

"Oh!" I almost jump out of my soggy shoes.

"Is something wrong?" Captain asks.

"Yes... I mean, no. I thought one of the three stooges moved."

"Three stooges?" Captain studies the trio of statues. "Lady Amanda has a unique sense of humor."

The statues stand perfectly rigid on their pedestal. Well, don't I feel dumb? If I don't get a grip soon, I'll be ready for a padded cell. Ahead, one statue towers above all the others. It portrays a very cruel and evil looking Kintz man wrapped in a flowing cape. We pause before it, looking up into the harsh face. Its expression seems vicious enough to crack the stone.

Captain and Sidekick snap to attention and make clenched fist salutes. "To the glorious Fuehrer!"

This is the big honcho? He sure looks mean enough for the job. I glance back at the three stooges. They are maybe fifty feet away and... no, they haven't moved.

"It was the Fuehrer's inspired plan to invite Prince Quentin," Captain says. "Then he became ill, and the Council sought to interfere."

"How?"

"With that." Captain points to the double arch. "They used the equipment at its apex to jam communications with your world."

That must explain the difficulty Eddie had getting through—the heavy static, the garbled messages. He couldn't contact Quentin directly but had to use all kinds of dodges, like the Magic 8 Ball. There's a lot to think about here.

The three stooges jump off their pedestal and move toward us. All thoughts blow out of my head replaced by absolute terror.

"Basitch," the Captain snarls, "run!"

Before we can go ten feet, one of the stooges fires a blast from his weapon. The ground before us explodes into a shower of dirt and grass chunks. We all freeze. Only my thundering heart tells me I'm still alive.

31. A Nasty Situation

"I should have listened to you, Lady Amanda," Captain says, "we might have ambushed those cowards."

"Perhaps we still can," Sidekick whispers.

I don't like the sound of that. It's too much in line with Captain's 'perish in the attempt' philosophy.

"Please don't do anything stupid," I say.

The three Basitch cops confront us, weapons at the ready. They strip off their head covers to reveal their true faces—thin, sharp and ghastly pale, with vicious red eyes. They look very much like the guard at the Tire Giant. All the terror and hatred I felt for him return with a vengeance.

"You are under arrest," their leader says.

"Why?" Captain says defiantly. "Because we escaped enemy captivity with an important hostage?"

He indicates me. So, I'm an official "hostage" again.

"You disobeyed a government order." The Basitch leader says. "Your duty was to remain in enemy custody."

Captain and Sidekick exchange glances. They are about to do something desperate, I'm sure.

"Don't try anything," I say. "You can't fight these guys."

"Silence, Alien!" the leader commands.

"She is the noteworthy Lady Amanda," Captain says. "You would do well to show proper respect, officer."

He is furious, but I can tell he's no longer planning a suicide attack. My cautious remark seems to have gotten through to him, barely.

"Very well," the Basitch leader says. "Come peacefully, and none among you shall be harmed."

The polished, old-fashioned English from my translator hardly matches the savage explosion of Kintz language coming through my other ear.

"Tell me, officer," Captain says, "how does it feel to disobey the Fuehrer's will?"

The Basitch leader hesitates. "The Fuehrer died two days ago."

"What?" Captain gasps.

"Why weren't we informed?" Sidekick demands.

"The announcement will be made after the final contest is decided," the squad leader says. "The situation is extremely delicate; surely you understand that?"

Rage and confusion twist Captain's face. Sidekick looks dumbstruck.

"Play along with them," I whisper.

The Basitch don't notice my comment, but Captain does. He gets his violent emotions under control.

Then he says: "Of course, officer, we understand now. You have our full cooperation."

The Basitch goons relax a bit. Captain gestures toward the Fuehrer's statue.

"Might we have a moment to pay homage?"

The squad leader nods. "As you wish."

Captain and Sidekick walk toward the statue, leaving me to face the goon squad alone.

"I'll just keep them company," I say and quickly follow.

Captain and Sidekick kneel solemnly on one knee before the Fuehrer statue and bow their heads as if they are praying. I kneel beside Captain so as not to stick out—though I don't care at all about the Fuehrer, of course.

"I can't believe he's gone," Sidekick murmurs. "Who will be our new leader?"

"Some weakling from the Supreme Council," Captain says, "unless we can stop it. We _must_ play in the final contest."

He is only whispering, but his anger and conviction are shouting loud and clear. This is a golden opportunity for him. If he can lead the Purple team to victory, he'll tower above all others. The old fuddy duds on their council will fade away, and he'll become the new Fuehrer.

And I'm helping with this? Wouldn't it be better to let the game go on without him and Quentin?

No. I have to believe that my original idea is right—our side has no chance without Quentin. If we lose, it's doomsday, no matter who the new Fuehrer is.

"Will they take us to the tower?" I whisper.

"Most likely," Captain says.

"Then we'll be near Prince Quentin. We can all escape together."

Captain gives me a sideways glance. "You are a female of uncommon perception. Once we have triumphed, there will be a place for you in the New Order."

"Uh... thanks."

"Let us go and 'play along,' as Lady Amanda advises," Captain says.

He stands; Sidekick and I follow. We walk back to the Basitch cops. They have brought out hover scooters, ominous black with lightning bolt decals on the sides.

"You drive," the Basitch leader says.

Captain takes hold of the controls on the first scooter. The Basitch leader gets on behind him and sticks the barrel of his gun into Captain's back.

"Please forgive my weapon," he says. "We have our orders."

Captain grunts something in reply. Sidekick and the second cop get on another scooter the same way. The third goon gestures toward the remaining scooter with his gun barrel.

"I can't drive that thing," I say, "and keep that gun to yourself, please."

Captain turns toward us. "Anyone who molests Lady Amanda will answer to me _personally_. Understand?"

How brave—talking like that with a gun stuck in his back! Captain has so many wonderful qualities. Why does he have to be on the wrong side?

The cop slings his weapon over his shoulder and waves me aboard the machine. He seems almost polite now. He stands behind me with one hand on the controls. His other hand wraps around my arm. There is no pressure, but I can't move at all. His hand seems like it's made of iron.

We're off.

32. Another Startling Reunion

Soon we arrive at another tunnel. Captain's scooter pauses while he and his guard talk. Then they enter, driving slow. The rest of us follow.

These Kintz are the tunneling-ist people. Is it because of their extreme paleness? If I was all bleached out like they are, I'd want to avoid the sun, too. Is that why the enemy created such a dark sky, or does it reflect the anger and evil inside them?

Anyway, we aren't going far into this tunnel because a cave-in blocks the route. All the Kintz are glowing, so I can see fairly well. This lighting-up thing almost seems normal to me now. It sure is amazing what you can get used to.

We leave the tunnel, then take off fast above ground. The landscape whizzes by, mostly open parkland and low buildings. The rushing breeze dries my hair. Large skyscrapers in the distance draw closer—and the arch, too.

That ghastly structure seems like a magnet pulling us onward. I can't take my eyes off it. I saw a picture of a big arch being planned for St Louis, and it looked pretty cool. This arch, though, is from nightmare land. It's a steely bluish black and radiates menace like the Tire Giant did.

As we get closer, I can see it's really two arches close together; cables connect them at the top. We whoosh underneath them, and electrical forces make my hair stand on end. I crane my head back. The tops of the arches passing over my face try to yank my mind away like the Great Arena did. I'd fall over backwards if the guard wasn't pressing against me.

The prison tower draws close—tall, square-sided and dingy white—another horror lurching out of this horrible day. Behind it, the horizon glows a sick, yellowish green. We slow down.

Hidden doors open in the ground near the tower. We get off the scooters and sink into darkness. Next, we are in an elevator, rocketing upwards. Two grim-faced guards meet us when the elevator door opens.

We enter a white, curvy hallway, like at the sports club. A guard touches a wall panel and a door slides open to reveal a large, blank room. Someone is standing inside, looking out through its single barred window. He turns toward us.

"Quentin!"

I leap into his arms.

"Amanda!" He spins me around. "I knew you'd come for me."

His face glows like a Christmas tree, and everything seems perfect for a few seconds. He looks towards the door, and his holiday lights dim. Sidekick is entering.

"You, out!"

Quentin charges across the room and brings Sidekick down with a hard tackle. He throws on a choke hold. Sidekick struggles but can't break free.

"Stop that, Quentin!" I yell. "He's my friend."

"You're kidding."

"I am not kidding. Let him go!"

The guards stand in the doorway, observing the chaos. Captain moves past them and grabs Quentin.

"Don't hurt him!"

The Captain holds up his hands and backs off. "Very well, Lady Amanda."

Quentin loosens his grip. Sidekick rolls away, gasping.

"Prince Quentin seems more formidable than we thought," Captain says as he helps his teammate up.

Quentin scrambles to his feet. He faces the two Kintz with rolled up fists. "You need to hang out with a better class of people, Amanda."

"Whatever..."

Everything catches up with me at once, and I'm unbearably tired. I slump into the nearest corner.

33. A Shocking Offer

A few hours drag by. An uneasy truce holds as Quentin and the Purples trade suspicious glowers.

As far as prisons go, this place isn't too bad, I suppose. In addition to the large main area, a bathroom lies off to one side, a kitchenette on the other. Humans and Kintz stake out opposite ends of the common room where we speak to our own kind in hushed voices.

I try to explain our plans to Quentin, but he isn't convinced.

"How are we gonna get out of here?" He gestures toward the window. "Slice through those bars and jump? If we had hover belts and a cutting torch, maybe."

"I know it's tough, but at least we're together."

We rustle up dinner which includes some pasty goo Quentin and I barely manage to gag down. It was "specially formulated for human consumption," the guard says. Well, nobody would get rich selling this stuff back home.

Quentin and Sidekick turn in early, each sprawled in his corner. Outside the window, the alien sun drops between the arms of the great arches, scarcely visible at it reaches the horizon. A damp, moldy smell wafts in through the bars.

Captain joins me to watch the final daylight disappear.

"Tell me, Lady Amanda," he says, gesturing toward my bracelet, "what heroic deed won you that symbol of power?"

I have to admit being flattered, but can't think up a suitably noble story. I'm tired of all the Kintz made-up drama, anyhow.

"Nothing really, the neighbor lady gave it to me."

"Ah, she must be a sorceress of unusual foresight."

Mrs. Kraft, a "sorceress?" I let the subject drop; she's creepy enough as it is.

"If you've got any escape plans, I'm all ears," I say.

"All ears?" Captain sounds puzzled. "No, I'd say Lady Amanda's ears are quite well proportioned."

He raises his hand. For an instant I think he's going to touch my ear, stroke my hair. Oh, what I wouldn't give for a decent shampoo! The moment passes, and he drops his hand.

"Tomorrow we will talk of escape," he says.

I sigh and look back out the window. The cold enemy twilight seems almost pleasant, now that Captain is standing with me. The moldy odor takes on a sweet undercurrent. Even the looming arches can't spoil the romantic atmosphere, so I spoil it myself.

"There's a huge transmission tower on the other side," I say. "Lord Eddie used it to bring us here."

"We are aware of that."

"Can those arches do the same thing, send us back home?"

"I am no technical expert," Captain says, "but I believe it could be done. Time and effort would be required for proper calibration, however."

"But it _could_ send us back eventually, right? Or maybe even a lot of people?"

Captain nods. "So it would seem."

"Like a whole invasion force, maybe?"

"After our victory, an invasion of Earth will occur. I do not yet know the exact details."

A bolt of terror shoots through me. Captain is real matter-of-fact, though, as if he's talking about the weather. Tears well up in my eyes.

"Please do not be upset, Lady Amanda. It is merely the nature of things. The strong are destined to rule."

I pull away.

"Besides, amnesty could be arranged for you and your family," he says, "along with such friends as you wish to include. There will be room in the New Order for a small human colony."

Captain must think he's being spectacularly generous, but I'm shocked to my core. The romantic evening blows away, replaced by a roiling alien night.

I creep to my corner and try to sleep. My earlier tiredness is gone.

34. Escape Plans

We are up bright and early, or as bright as things are likely to get under this heavy sky.

It's not a great morning, but at least the boys let me have the bathroom first. The place isn't bad, with a decent shower and a small attached dressing room. I get my hair back into a reasonable approximation of clean.

We have a depressing breakfast—glop that tastes like peanut butter mixed with library paste, washed down with chalky 'milk.' All of us are pretty quiet as we sit together in the bare center of the common room. Quentin and the Purples eye each other like wary dogs ready to tangle any second.

Quentin is first to speak. "The game starts in a few hours. If we're going to play, we'd better get moving."

He talks directly at Captain, trying to get a rise out of him. Captain merely looks up from his glass of bluish liquid and makes a slight nod.

A minute later, Quentin speaks again: "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't see any way we can escape."

"Prince Quentin is quite right," Captain says coolly. "There is no way for us to escape on our own."

Quentin reddens. "So what's the purpose of all this? Amanda has to risk her life so we can sit here?"

"Please Quentin," I say, "this was my idea."

"Why did you trust these guys?"

Captain bristles. "We gave Lady Amanda our word. We will do everything honor requires."

"That's great," Quentin says. "Let's have a weenie roast while we're waiting. Know any campfire songs?"

Captain ignores the sarcasm, or maybe he doesn't understand it. "There is a possibility others may aid us."

For the first time I feel a ray of hope. "Who?"

"The Basitch squad leader. I sensed that he felt dishonored by his orders to capture us, so I offered him a deal."

Quentin looks hard-eyed suspicious. "What deal?"

"If he assists our escape, I shall promote him as far as my authority allows. Perhaps up to leader of all the security forces."

I suck in my breath. Isn't this daring! My admiration for Captain soars to new heights, and I almost forget about his invasion talk.

"Don't look so surprised, Lady Amanda," Captain says. "You advised me to 'play along' with them, did you not?"

"Yes."

Quentin isn't impressed, though. "That's it? We wait around until this guy, hopefully, shows up?"

The Captain nods.

"Okay." Quentin moves to his corner and sprawls out. "Wake me when he gets here."

He has an amazing ability to relax, even in the tensest circumstances. Other sports guys would be way too pumped. They'd be pacing around, smacking their fists into their palms, climbing the walls. Quentin just dozes off.

Sidekick returns to his corner, leaving me alone with Captain in the middle of the room.

My head is spinning, and the rest of me is all fidgety. I'm at the center of huge events, and nobody will catch _me_ napping. I am sitting beside the next Great Leader! Power oozes from him; no wonder he's so totally gorgeous. Why, as soon as we get away and he wins the game...

Stop that, Amanda!

I gulp some liquid chalk to clear my head, but it goes down wrong and I start coughing.

"Try this."

Captain hands me his glass. I sip the bittersweet liquid and my gagging stops.

"Thank you."

Captain gives me his maddening smile, as if he knows what I look like without my jumpsuit. I'll bet he's seen plenty of Kintz girls without their jumpsuits! I'm suddenly furious and jealous at the same time.

"So, you think this Basitch officer can be trusted?" I say as calmly as possible.

Captain shrugs. "I made him a forthright offer. The rest depends upon his capabilities and his sense of honor, not to mention his ambitions."

He takes back the glass and drinks from the very spot my lips touched. I think I'll go crazy watching. I feel myself being pulled toward him like a paper clip to a magnet. In a faraway corner, Quentin is conveniently asleep. Off to the side, the cozy little dressing room beckons...

_What's going on?_ I have to get away from this guy before something dangerous happens.

Am I this boy crazy back home? Of course not. This world changes us humans. I feel older here, and all charged up. Look at Quentin's superhero act, and how Eddie is so much more mature than he should be. We have to escape this whole universe!

I move closer toward Captain, carried on a wave of irresistible attraction. I rest a hand on his knee...

Before I lose control, a huge uproar begins in the hallway outside. All romantic notions blow out of my head.

Captain jumps to his feet. "Battle stations!"

He and Sidekick take up position on one side of the door.

Quentin wakes up. "What's going on?"

Captain gestures to the other side of the door. Quentin rushes forward and crouches there.

"Conceal yourself, Lady Amanda," Captain says.

I retreat to the kitchenette, but keep my head poked out into the main room so as not to miss anything. The door suddenly flies open, and our two guards tumble in. They sprawl on the floor, very untidy looking.

Quentin nudges them with his foot. "They're out cold."

In the hallway, three stone-faced Basitch cops stand at attention with guns at the ready. They salute Captain.

"Well done, officers!" Captain snaps back a salute. "Your loyalty will be amply rewarded."

We rush down the elevator, then outside to four hover scooters. The Basitch cops take control of three, and Captain grabs the fourth. I jump on the back of Captain's scooter.

"Hold on tightly, Lady Amanda. This will be a maximum effort."

I wrap my arms around Captain's muscular waist, and we're off at terrific speed.

"Wow!" Quentin yells. "This sure wakes you up."

I'm way too excited to be scared. Things are happening so incredibly fast. We blur over the ground. We zoom under the arches, and my hair does the electrified dance again.

I'm on a powerful machine, with a powerful driver. I feel magnificent, like I own everything, as if everyone on this planet exists only to do my bidding.

"Yippee!"

It's too early to celebrate. Not everybody on this world is at my service—that row of cops up ahead, for example. A dozen of them on hover scooters block the way. Our machines jerk to a halt.

"Our plans are discovered," the Basitch squad leader says.

"Those traitors!" Captain growls.

The enemy scooters advance, slowly and cautiously, like a wolf pack sniffing out prey. Those on the outside curve inwards so as to encircle us. Captain runs to one of our Basitch cops and snatches his weapon. Sidekick does the same. They both move away from the scooters.

"What are you doing?" I shout.

They pause and look back toward me.

"We must die fighting," Captain says.

"What?!"

"Another imprisonment would be too shameful," Sidekick adds. "This way, future generations will laud our bravery."

"Hold on! This isn't the Little Big Horn."

Captain looks puzzled. "I do not understand Lady Amanda's reference. In any case, I regret being unable to fulfill my pledge."

"W-what about me?"

"The future will be hard. If you prefer to die with us, we would deem it a great honor. You will be a heroine in our legends."

"Nobody's going to die here!" Quentin shouts.

"If Prince Quentin has an alternative, I am 'all ears,'" Captain replies.

"I, uh..."

The enemy scooters are much closer. I turn around frantically, like a top going crazy. Terror and danger face me in every direction.

# Six: In the Balance

35. Desperate Gamble

"There." I point to the arches. "We have to get inside."

"For what purpose?" Captain asks.

"Just do it, okay?"

Captain gives a slight bow. "Very well."

He jumps on our scooter and shouts some commands to the others. We hurtle back toward the arches. The enemy has almost closed their ring around us, and we head straight for the narrowing gap between the lead scooters.

"Here comes the rough stuff," Quentin says.

As the enemy is about to cut us off, Captain and Sidekick fire their blasters into the ground. Geysers of dirt and grass chunks erupt on either side of us. Enemy Basitch cops tumble off their scooters.

We zoom through the gaping hole in the enemy circle. Guns blast all around us, burning the air overhead, tearing up the ground. It smells like a million 4th of July sparklers.

One of our scooters is hit! Sidekick and his driver sprawl in the grass by their wrecked machine. We pull alongside. Sidekick sits up, dazed.

"Get on!" Captain pulls him aboard. I am pressed in the middle.

The stunned Basitch cop rolls onto another scooter. We take off again. Captain and Sidekick keep up a constant barrage of gun blasts, but the enemy has stopped firing back.

I look back from our jam of bodies to see the enemy Basitch standing beside their scooters, guns lowered. I maneuver my head around Captain. The base of an arch is coming toward us, dark and menacing like it has thrust up from the underworld. The enemy must have ceased fire to avoid hitting it.

We tumble off our machines. The Basitch leader places his hand on the smooth, bluish black arch surface and barks a command. A hidden door slides open, and we flee inside.

* * *

We are in a blank, dim area. I can't tell about its size because space is distorted and curvy.

"It's like inside the Tire Giant," Quentin whispers.

I peer into the distance, but can't tell if I'm seeing a wall or an opening into infinity.

"We have achieved entry," Captain says. "Now what?"

"The transmitter," I say.

"But an escape to Earth America is quite impossible, given the available time."

As if to back up his remark, shouting and banging come from outside. Our cops take back their weapons and post themselves at the door.

"No," I say, "just back to our side of Core City."

Captain looks startled. "That seems a hazardous endeavor. So much power, so little distance."

"You have a better idea?"

The threatening racket from outside increases—sometimes sharp and close by, sometimes muffled and far away.

"Very well, Lady Amanda. We shall try your plan." Captain turns to our Basitch cops. "Squad leader, please accompany us. You others, hold off the enemy as long as possible."

The Basitch thump their chests in reply.

"You have all performed magnificently," Captain says. "Should you be forced to surrender, feel assured that you have done everything honor requires."

Let's get moving!

"And if this day brings us victory," Captain continues, "all of you will accompany me into the highest ranks of the New Order. I salute you."

He shoots out his fist. "Hail!"

The Basitch salute back. "Hail!"

This is something out of a WW2 newsreel.

Captain turns toward me. "Shall we go?"

"Yes!"

36. Transmission Boogie

Captain takes my hand. Suddenly, we are going up—like on an escalator, but with nothing under our feet!

Everything is blank and confusing; I can't get any bearings. Without Captain holding onto me, I would drift away to who knows where. I feel tremendous power all around me, and my hair goes into frizz alert.

Sidekick and Quentin drift beside us. Sidekick keeps a firm arm around Quentin's waist. The grim Basitch squad leader floats ahead.

"This sure beats the theme park rides back home," Quentin says. His voice echoes from everywhere and nowhere at once.

I try to answer, but all that comes out is a long, "Ohhh..."

Captain speaks directly into my translator earpiece. "Fear not, Lady Amanda. I am with you."

This makes me feel a lot better. I know I can rely on Captain, unless he decides to take off on another suicide venture. I close my eyes and hope for the best.

Abruptly, we enter a room with several other Kintz in it. I see panels with flashing lights, screens, buttons. Things have stronger focus, or maybe I'm getting used to the bizarre atmosphere.

Everybody is standing and shouting. The Basitch cop thrusts his gun in their faces, and the chatter stops.

"Who is in charge here?" Captain demands.

A Kintz with silver arches stitched to his jumpsuit steps forward. "I am chief technician."

He and Captain speak in quick, furious voices. My translator can't make out what they're saying, but the chief technician doesn't seem very cooperative. Captain wrenches his arm into a hammerlock.

"Ahhh!" wails the chief technician in the universal language of pain.

This seems to do the trick. After a few shouted orders, Captain pushes the guy toward a control panel.

"Please forgive the unpleasantness, Lady Amanda," Captain says. "The chief technician required convincing."

"I got that impression."

"He assures me he can transmit us to the control tower in eastern Core City. Unfortunately, the trip is apt to be violent."

I gulp. "Well, it's kind of late to worry about that now." I turn toward Quentin. "Should we try it?"

"Yeah." He shrugs. "It's either that or the jail again."

Captain freezes, as does every other Kintz. Their heads swivel toward the door.

"The enemy has gained entry," Captain says. "We can expect them soon."

The chief technician pauses, but gets working again fast when the squad leader shoves the gun barrel against his back.

"We must stand over there," Captain says.

He leads us to a little stage beside the chief technician's control panel. The moment I step onto it, powerful vibrations shake me from my toes to the ends of my electrified hair. The room fades, as if somebody half erased it.

A dozen Basitch cops appear! They push their way toward us...

The control room vanishes. I'm in nowhere land, jerking and gyrating in a psychotic boogie-woogie dance. My head snaps back painfully; my arms and legs flail out of control. I grope for Captain but can't find him. My brain seems about to rip out of my head.

CRASH!

We are in a different control room—broken furniture, chaos, a new group of astonished Kintz jabbering and running around. We made it!

I lay on my back atop a smashed table. Quentin, Captain, and Sidekick sprawl in contorted heaps nearby. By some miracle, my translator is still in place.

"Is everyone all right?" I manage to say.

"Sure," Quentin groans. "It only hurts when I breathe."

He wobbles to his feet; so do the others. They all seem okay. I try to get up, but a jolt of incredible agony shoots up my left leg.

"Ahhh!"

"Lady Amanda!" Captain rushes to my side, along with Quentin, Sidekick, and a bunch of Kintz technicians.

"Her leg's broken," Quentin says.

I lift my head. My leg is all twisted, and my foot points in a crazy direction. Another bolt of pain, and I almost black out.

The Captain thrusts a little bottle under my nose. "Inhale."

I breathe in acrid fumes. Instantly, I feel a burst of strength, and the agony in my leg drops to a bearable level.

"Gimme more!"

"I dare not," Captain says, "it might prove fatal to your human system."

Quentin works fast, making a splint for my leg out of broken furniture pieces. "We have to get her to the arena clinic. They've got specialists in human medicine."

A half dozen Kintz technicians stand around, gaping. Captain looks up at them. "We require transport to Neutral Isle. Immediately!"

The technicians scurry off. Captain examines the drug bottle in his hand. He flings it against the wall, breaking it into a million pieces.

"Lady Amanda has shamed us. We will prove ourselves worthy without this concoction."

Sidekick pulls his bottle out of his sleeve and hurls it against the wall, too.

Quentin does not comment. He's said before it's never wise to rub it in when you beat somebody. Maybe he should have taken this advice instead of flushing Calvin's head back on Earth.

Earth! Will I ever get back there? Mom, Dad, my wonderful room.

"I need binding for the splint," Quentin says.

Captain whips off his cloak and tears some strips from it. "Use these."

Quentin secures the splint. "I wanted to visit the tower," he mutters, "but not like this."

37. At the Clinic

Quentin finishes the splint work as a little hover trailer arrives. They load me onto it and push me in an elevator for a gut-dropping ride down.

Two empty scooters stand outside the tower. Another scooter contains a pair of Kintz good guy policemen.

"I'm glad to see you," I say.

The cops bow stiffly. They seem as powerful and efficient as the Basitch cops, but without the savage look. Captain attaches my trailer to one of the scooters and we take off fast. Sidekick and Quentin follow on the second scooter. The police lead the way, siren wailing.

The drug is wearing off, and a rising chorus of pain shouts up my leg. I try to distract myself with the scenery. Behind us, the gleaming tower thrusts into the bright sky, a perfect replica of Quentin's golden railroad spike. I shade my eyes against it with both hands.

We zoom along city streets, weaving through crowds of people.

"Out of the way!" Captain shouts.

We drop down a tunnel, then up into the open air again. Neutral Isle bridge comes in sight. Kintz crowd onto it, heading to watch the final contest at the Great Arena. We get separated from our police escort in the mob, and we bull our way to the bridge entrance without them.

A guard confronts us. "Halt! No vehicles are allowed on Neutral Isle."

Captain shoves him with both hands. The guard tumbles off the bridge.

Splash!

"I hope he can swim," Quentin says.

As we take off again, the guard bobs to the surface and shakes a fist. The Neutral Isle landscape blurs past. We enter the tunnel to the Great Arena and come up again at the clinic. The potion has worn off, and pain is exploding in my leg. I'm beyond screaming.

Two Kintz doctors in white jumpsuits approach. One aims a shiny gizmo at my leg.

Zapf!

The pain instantly vanishes, replaced by numbness. I sag with relief. Robot attendants transfer me onto a hover table.

Someone dabs a wet cloth on my forehead—Ilona!

"Do you feel better?" she asks.

"Y-yeah, lots."

Quentin stands on the other side of the hover table. "Hang in there. You're in good hands now."

"Hail, Lady Amanda!" strong voices call from across the room.

Captain and Sidekick stand in the doorway. They snap to attention and jerk their fists up in salute. I return the salute. They spin around on their heels and march off.

"I can't believe I did that," I say.

"Hey, whatever it takes," Quentin says. "Just get through this, okay?"

The doctors work fast. They've put up a sheet so I can't see what they're doing. Ilona moves off to speak with them.

"Pretty bad, isn't it?" I ask when she returns.

"Yes." She takes my hand. "The doctors say an entire week might pass before you are recovered."

"A week? What are they, magicians?"

Quentin squeezes my other hand. "I've got to go, Amanda. The game will be starting soon."

"Good luck."

"Don't worry. We'll beat those guys, guaranteed."

The doctors finish working on my leg, and robot attendants transfer me to a small room. Ilona stays with me throughout; Tricia and Kimmy appear after a while, too.

A long pouchy thing surrounds my leg. Through the clear sides, I can see liquid flowing around. I drift toward a drugged sleep.

Elsewhere in this gigantic place, the final contest begins. The roaring of the crowd echoes through the walls and punches into my numbed brain.

Is our side winning? Is Quentin okay?

I should be worried, but everything seems so unreal, like it's happening in another universe. This _is_ another universe. I'm too doped up to think straight. What could I do, anyway? I just try to sleep.

And there is my Captain hero. His mysterious, commanding presence drifts in and out of my dreams like a phantom, beckoning to me. I want to drift away with him and never come back.

38. Abrupt Awakening

I float in and out of consciousness for what must be hours.

It's always the same scenario: a mighty roar from the mob wakes me up; I look over at Ilona. She's all tense and paler than ever. Then I drop back to sleep.

Finally, an uproar occurs that's impossible to ignore. It's right here in the clinic. I jerk fully awake.

"What's happening?" I croak.

Ilona pokes her head out the door. She turns a worried face back toward me. "Prince Quentin is injured."

"Get me out there."

"But Lady Amanda – "

"Now, please!"

Ilona leaves. She is gone only a minute, but it's enough for horrible scenarios to play out in my mind. Quentin must be smashed to pieces. He's dead! If only I could so something. Ilona returns with an attendant. The robot flicks some controls on my hover bed, and I'm floating out into the main clinic.

Chaos.

Every member of our flame ball team has crowded in, all of them hurt and bloodied. Their uniforms are ruined; some have little more than rags dangling from their bodies. Their crackly language fills the air.

Worst of all are their expressions. I never thought stiff Kintz faces could display such agony. We must have lost! The full horror of this has hardly begun to sink in when I glimpse the center of their concern—Quentin.

He lies on a hover table with the two Kintz doctors working furiously on him. Attendants push the team members back.

"Get me up there!" I demand.

Ilona and my robot shove me through the crowd until I'm next to Quentin. I can scarcely look at his battered face. One side is horribly swollen, and the eye is puffed shut. What other terrible injuries has he suffered? Is he even alive?

"Oh, Quentin," I moan, "you were always so brave."

The good eye flutters open, and Quentin turns his head slightly my direction. His voice comes out weak and gurgly.

"Hey, Amanda..." He raises two fingers in a trembling victory sign. "Piece of cake."

The attendant whisks me away. I find Eddie in the crowd. He's badly beaten up, and his nose looks broken. He holds a handkerchief to it.

"What happened, Eddie? Did you win?"

He nods. "Yeah. I hope we didn't pay too much, though." His voice is sad, muffled by the bloody handkerchief. "I thought they'd murder Quentin when he scored the winning goal, but their captain pulled them off."

Hours of fear drag past. Ilona recites the list of Quentin's injuries: broken ribs, internal bleeding, a fractured skull... I have to block my ears to keep from screaming.

The horrible specter of a world without Quentin looms up before me. How can that be possible? I've known him for years. He's like a brother, a wonderful best friend. He's always there when I need him.

And I've been so ungrateful. I've even been jealous because Dad pays so much attention to him with the flying lessons. Why doesn't Dad give _me_ flying lessons? Well, I never asked him—but that's not the point to my stupid, selfish mind.

If only Quentin pulls though, I'll be the best, most loyal friend ever. I'll never say anything unkind about him again, and Melissa had better not, either. If only...

# Seven: Struggle to Return

39. Recovery

The marvelous Kintz doctors work their magic yet again. By that first night, Quentin is out of danger. Ilona tells me the doctors expect him to make a full recovery. A huge weight lifts off my mind, and the whole alien world seems fresh and beautiful.

Did I actually say all those mushy things about Quentin? Well, best take them with a grain of salt.

* * *

After a few days, I'm up and limping around. Quentin is much better, too. Eddie and Calvin stop by the clinic to visit us.

"Man, the tests those doctors put me through when I first got here," Eddie says. "I knew they only wanted to develop treatments for humans, but I was ready to jump on the next ship out."

He gives Quentin a gentle high five. "Looks like it paid off, though, huh?"

"No complaints. I'm starting to feel like Mr. Universe."

Eddie looks quite different. His injuries are healed and he's cleaned off the white makeup. His hair is cut short, and the roots are dark, so he isn't bleaching it anymore.

I put an arm around his waist and tweak his hair. "Here's the Eddie we know and love."

"Yeah, well, I figured it was time to claim my heritage."

"How's that?" Quentin asks.

"It made me feel more connected to disguise myself as a Kintz. You know my background. I was just a throwaway kid at the children's home, and... "

He starts to choke up. What a load of pain he's still carrying. I can't imagine how awful it must be not to have a loving family.

I pull him closer. "Just remember that without you, _we'd_ be throwaway kids. Right into outer space."

He smiles and brushes away a tear. For a moment, he's the little boy at the Tire Giant again. Then the mature Eddie takes over.

"You two have shown me how important it is to be your own person. The make-believe stuff was okay for a while; now it's time to move on."

Calvin speaks up. "My only regret is that we failed to apprehend the traitor who kidnapped Prince Quentin. Who would have suspected a member of our own team staff?"

"Let it be a lesson to you," I say.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. If you treat people rotten, you can expect a bad result. Or as my dad says: 'Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.'"

Calvin frowns, offended, but I don't care.

"How long did that attendant get pushed around by the 'heroes' on your team before he decided to go help the enemy?"

Calvin bows stiffly. "Lady Amanda's point is well stated, if a trifle blunt. I will ensure these abuses end forthwith."

"And when your boys start feeling real tough, remember the beating you took from the Purple team. Without Prince Quentin, you'd all be on the trash pile."

"You've got that right." Eddie strokes his repaired nose. "I'd like to say we beat them up as bad as they did us, but that would be the lie of the century."

"Well, all's well that ends well," I say, "or something like that."

* * *

After a week, my leg is better than new. It has more strength than my other one, not that I'd want to break any more limbs just so they can be fixed up stronger. These Kintz are lightyears ahead of us in medical stuff.

Quentin is also recovering beautifully. We leave the clinic and take apartments in eastern Core City. At first I enjoy having my own digs after all the lousy places I've had to stay. I mean, who wouldn't love a big, beautiful suite after living in a cramped hospital room, not to mention that horrid prison tower?

I'm starting to feel very uneasy, too. I've changed a lot here, and not all the changes are good. I am rocketing ahead way too fast. I'm forgetting where I came from, turning into somebody who isn't the best person for me.

Not to mention Captain. He's very dangerous and not good for me at all, but I think about him constantly. Thank heaven he's out of the picture. Still...

We need to leave this universe before we change too much. Quentin seems to be in no hurry, though. Whenever I bring up the subject of going home, he blows it off with another excuse.

Things come to a head three days after we are released from the hospital.

40. Intervention

Eddie arrives at my apartment. Ilona is coming, too, so the three of us can approach Quentin as a united front. I arranged for Eddie to show up first. I've had no chance to speak with him alone and want a little heart-to-heart.

"What about you, Eddie?" I ask. "Will you be coming back to Earth?"

"I don't know, maybe someday. I've put down roots here, and there's stuff I need to do."

"After that big flame ball victory, what more can you accomplish? Maybe it's time to quit while you're ahead."

"Yeah, maybe you're right..."

He clearly wants to let the subject die, but I don't think it's time yet.

"Is it because of Ilona? She really likes you."

Eddie's face brightens. "How do you know that?"

"She told me you're the only one who 'turns her on.'"

"That's great!" His face darkens. "She's engaged, though."

His voice is so miserable, he might as well have said: 'She's dead, though.'

"To that jerk on the team?" I say. "She can't stand him. Why don't you go for her?"

Eddie paces the room, frowning, eyes fixed to the turquoise carpet. "I wish I could, but that would cause huge problems. The government, politics... you don't know how things are here."

"So what?" I flick my wrist with its power bracelet. "When did a few problems ever stop the Railroad Spike Kid?"

He laughs, and some of his gloom lifts.

"I mean it, Eddie. Ilona could be the key to everything. All that terrible stuff you've had to live through—she could smooth it away."

Eddie takes my hands. "Thanks, Amanda. You always were on my side, right from the beginning."

Ilona arrives, and things get kind of awkward. They both understand that I've spoken with the other and their true feelings are known to me. I'm done with the Cupid routine, though. Whatever happens between them will have to wait. Right now, we have a mission.

The three of us walk across the hall to Quentin's apartment and go in. His place is larger and fancier than mine, as befits a great athletic hero. The fantastic alien sky shimmers outside an open window, brightening the living room.

Some of Quentin's flame ball buddies are hanging around, drinking blue liquid and reliving their glorious victory. There are a couple of Kintz girls, too, sitting very close beside Quentin on the hover couch.

"Hey Amanda!" Quentin says with more than his usual bravado. "What's up?"

I look over the flame ball players and the girls. They don't have translators, so we can talk without their useless input.

"It's time to go home," I say.

"We are home." Quentin gestures around the room. "Man, I never thought I'd be living in a place like this!"

True, the luxurious apartment with its thick carpeting, creamy walls and hover furniture is a far cry from his modest house in South Allendale.

"It's been great," I say, "but we don't belong here."

"What's the rush? The victory parade is tomorrow. I'm the big star."

"But today is the best time to go." I turn toward Eddie. "Isn't that right?"

"Yes. The energy vortex will be widest in about three hours."

"So?" Quentin says. "There'll be other times just as good. When's the next window of opportunity, Eddie?"

"Two weeks from now."

"That settles it. Two weeks will be perfect."

The Kintz bimbos couldn't have understood what Quentin said, but they hang on his every word, gazing at him with admiring button eyes. I want to smack them.

Quentin stands up and stretches painfully. "Besides, I want the doctors to check my back. It isn't quite right yet."

He moves slowly across the room, limping a bit.

"Don't you see, Quentin? If we stay two more weeks it'll be that much harder to leave. Then we'll wait two more weeks, and two more after that. We'll never get home."

"Oh, Amanda, you're getting worked up over nothing."

"Maybe time has reversed itself, like Eddie said it could. Maybe our friends have already graduated from high school." I feel tears welling up. "Mom and Dad might be old now, still wondering what happened to me."

"I doubt that."

"You got me here, Quentin. You have a responsibility to take me home."

He shrugs helplessly. "Yeah, I know – "

"If you won't come with me, I'll leave without you!"

The bimbos stare at me, surprised by my outburst.

"Not a good idea," Eddie says. "It would be a lot safer if I could transmit you both with the airplane."

"Ugh!" I turn away.

Ilona takes my arm. "Try not to be upset, Lady Amanda."

Sure, what reason do I have? I'm only trapped in an alien universe. My 'best friend' has gone native with a local tramp on each arm. Rather than miss his big victory parade, he'd rather see me get torn apart in a transmission beam.

_Prince_ Quentin returns to his bimbos, quite unconcerned. A dummy robot glides in and hands me a little square of bright metal.

"What's this?"

"It is a projection box," Ilona says. "Somebody wants to open a holographic communication."

"A holo-whatzit?"

"Push the button."

I do, and suddenly a life-sized moving picture of Captain is standing a few feet away from me! He's dressed in a magnificent cape and wears a new silver medallion around his neck. The disarming smile is on his lips, and his eyes sparkle.

"Greetings, Lady Amanda." He bows graciously. "I am delighted to learn of your recovery."

"Uh... thanks. Hi."

"We are bested for now, but undaunted. It was an honorable, hard fought contest—and Lady Amanda knows of the advantage we foreswore."

The Kintz girls abandon the hover couch to stand beside me.

"Our cause will surely rise again," Captain says. "Stay, therefore, and be part of the great resurgence."

He pauses, and my heart stops dead. It will never beat again if I can't hear his wonderful voice.

"I will attend the so-called 'victory parade' tomorrow," he continues. "Meet me there and we shall go together into the glorious future."

My mouth is hanging open. I want to leap into Captain's arms. The Kintz girls look ready to do the same. He hasn't asked for them, though. He's asked only for me.

Quentin's angry face appears. He stomps through the projection, not limping at all. "Give me that!"

He snatches the projection box out of my hands.

"Hey!"

"Here's your answer, pal."

Quentin kicks the box hard, like a football. It flies across the room. Captain's image sails along with it, out the open window.

"No!" I run to the window in time to see the projection box hit the pavement below. It explodes in a shower of sparks

"Ohhh."

I feel ready to faint. I want to tumble out the window and join my beloved Captain.

Ilona wraps her arms around me. "Give it up, Lady Amanda."

I sag against her. "I-I can't..."

"Prince Quentin is very jealous," she whispers, "but he is also right."

Quentin walks over to Eddie. "Let's roll."

41. Departure

I change into my Earth clothes, pocket an extra jumpsuit, and am ready to go. I'm moving on autopilot because my heart has been ripped out.

Eddie wants to organize an official send-off from the elders.

"Forget those old fuddy duds," I tell him.

"They'll want to reward you and Quentin."

"They can stuff it! If I never have to see them again, that's reward enough."

I'm in a savage mood, but Eddie seems to understand. "Okay, Amanda."

* * *

So, it's just Ilona, Calvin, Tricia, and Kimmy who come with us to the airport—Eddie too, sort of. He's at the transmission tower setting things up, but his holographic image comes along, courtesy of Ilona's projection box.

The Kintz drive scooters, but I want to ride my bike. I need exercise to burn off tension. Quentin must feel similar because he's riding Melissa's English racer, surging far ahead of us in the tunnel.

"We'll miss you, Lady Amanda," Tricia calls from her scooter.

"You were the big sister we always wanted," Kimmy says.

It almost breaks my heart to hear this. I feel a strong urge to turn back, not just because of my little sisters... it's because of Captain, too. He's such a hero.

Why don't I stay here and be part of his glorious future?

I'll bet I can change him. I'll convince him to abandon his terrible "master race" ideas, bring out his warm and cuddly side. A good woman can do that, right?

In my heart, I know this is nonsense. Take my aunt, for example; she's on her third alcoholic. She was going to change each one of them, but they all chose the bottle instead of her. No, if anybody changes here, it would be me. And I've changed too much already.

Quentin is battling with his own second thoughts, judging by the way he is slowing down and glancing over his shoulder.

He drops back beside me. "Are we making the right move, Amanda? I don't have any right to tell you what to do, and, well..."

This has to be tough for him. He's giving up the lifestyle of a sports hero to become plain Quentin again. But who can say what great things he might accomplish in the future? Home, where he belongs. I reach over and take his hand. We ride this way until we feel better.

We arrive at the airport. Our little plane stands on the pavement, all fresh and gleaming. The gold powder is cleaned off, except for a small area under the engine. The fuel tanks are refilled, and the whole machine has been given a once over—according to Eddie's hologram.

While Quentin does the preflight inspection, the rest of us make our good-byes. Soon we are all crying. Eddie's holographic image looks misty-eyed, as well. By the time Quentin finishes his preflight, we are sharing a group hug. Quentin joins in.

Eddie's hologram speaks: "We'd better get started now."

Reluctantly, we break our circle and wipe away our tears. An idea pops into my head. "I'm taking my bike."

"No way," Quentin says. "There isn't room."

"Yes there is, if we take the wheels off. There are tools in Melissa's kit bag."

Quentin sighs. "Okay. I know better than to argue."

As we start taking my bike apart, a vision swims up from my memory. It's of me struggling on the ground with Earth Ilona, and of Melissa driving her away.

"Get on your broom and fly, if you know what's good for you!" she'd said.

Melissa came through for me then; it's my turn now.

"We're taking Melissa's bike, instead."

"Make up your mind," Quentin says.

"I have. Melissa loves her bike; she has only half a personality without it."

"Okay."

Soon we have the bike taken apart and stuffed into the plane—wheels and fenders in the rear storage area, the frame wrapped around me in the passenger seat. It's an uncomfortable arrangement, but at least working on the bike took my mind off my grief for a while.

It comes back with a vengeance now. The girls are clinging tragically to the plane. I squeeze my hand through my window toward them.

"Goodbye! Goodbye! We love you!" they cry.

"Give our regards to Lady Melissa and Prince Tommy," Calvin says. "Farewell."

"Clear Prop!" Quentin shouts out his window.

My Kintz family retreats, and the engine roars into life. We roll down the broad pavement, picking up speed. We are airborne.

"Oh, I left my heart down there," I say through my tears.

Quentin turns and flies back over our friends. They wave their arms, and a great pulse of love flies up to us. Quentin waggles the wings in reply.

Eddie's voice crackles over the radio. "Thanks for everything."

"Hey, no problem," Quentin says, "piece of cake."

Eddie laughs. "I figured you say that."

"Goodbye, Eddie," I say. "Maybe our paths will cross again."

"Yeah." Eddie's voice sounds terribly sad. "Are you ready?"

"Roger that," Quentin replies.

A blast of energy shoots toward us from the transmission tower. It hits with incredible force.

42. Spin Out!

Our passage is even more violent than the last time. I bounce and slam around, banging up my shoulders, my legs. Good thing the bike wheels are tied down. Good thing I didn't eat anything recently, or it would be splattered all over the cabin.

Great blasts of fiery power shoot back from the propeller. The engine roars louder and louder, until it seems about to explode.

"I've got to stop this!" Quentin shouts.

He pulls back the throttle, and the terrible shaking eases a bit.

"We're gonna break up!" I cry.

"No way. This is one tough plane."

I don't believe him; any second we'll be thrown out amid a shower of airplane debris. If only we'd stayed behind. I'd give anything to be back with Ilona, with my Captain...

We break through into a clear night sky. Railroad tracks gleam dimly below us. A barn stands nearby, and a bright light mounted on its wall pierces the darkness. Only problem is, we're spinning toward the ground.

"Do something, Quentin!"

"I'm trying to think."

"Think fast!"

The plane does a full turn. The barn light is off to our right, then to our left, underneath us, and to the right again.

"We didn't practice spin recovery yet," Quentin says, "but your dad told me how to do it."

"Get started already, then!"

"I can't remember what to do first."

The plane does another full turn, and the barn light grows from a pin point to a blazing sun.

"Okay, here goes."

Quentin stomps a rudder pedal, then shoves the control wheel forward. The horrible rotation stops, but now we're headed straight down like a dive bomber. The Earth reaches up for a deadly hug.

"Ahhhh!"

Quentin pulls back the control wheel. I slam into my seat, and the bike frame presses me hard. Quentin pushes the throttle in, and the engine roars.

We're flying straight and level!

I swallow my heart back down; my breath comes in uneven gasps. Even Quentin is too rattled to say, "Piece of cake."

We fly quietly for a while until we calm down.

"Your dad's the greatest," Quentin says. "Everything he's taught me is A number one."

I lean over and kiss him on the cheek. "I think you're the greatest, too, _Prince Quentin_."

Even in the dim light, I can see he's turned red.

"Thanks," he says.

The flight back is uneventful and the landing gentle. A true piece of cake, with extra frosting. We've only been gone a couple of hours, according to the clock and calendar in the airport office.

Quentin secures the plane and helps me assemble Melissa's bike. We arrive home as the sun is coming up.

43. Trash Day

I'm totally wiped out.

Mom tries to get me up for Sunday school, and I tell her I don't feel well. She fires questions at me, but Dad—with his usual understanding of my moods—stops the inquisition.

"Just let her alone for a while," he says.

I roll out of bed at 1:00 o'clock, absolutely famished. Dad brings me a tray, and I gobble everything down. I even ask for seconds of the wonderful Earth food. This convinces Mom I'm not planning to die any moment. Fortunately, they leave to visit Grandpa in the hospital, so I barely have to talk to them.

Life is all out of focus. I'm only half here; my other half is still in the alien universe. I don't fit entirely inside my body. It's time to return Melissa's bike.

I take the scenic route, cruising the streets of my home town as if seeing them for the first time. People are out cutting grass, driving cars, blabbing with neighbors—the usual stuff. Everything looks strange to me. I keep expecting a white-haired Kintz to pop up from behind a tree.

The bike glides over the pavement like a hover scooter, and I truly hate to part with it. Eventually, I find myself turning down Melissa's street.

Melissa comes charging out of her house before I'm half way up the driveway. "I don't believe this!"

The moment I get off the bike, she grabs me in a tremendous hug.

"You're my best friend ever, Amanda!"

"Th-thanks."

"Someday—maybe years from now—when you desperately need a true friend, I'll be there for you."

It's almost worth all the trouble to see Melissa's best self come out. She takes me inside the house, which is empty, as usual. Over chips and Cokes I tell her about our alien adventure.

She listens with great interest, especially to the part about Captain. "That must have been tough leaving him behind like that."

A knife blade of regret digs into my heart. "Yeah."

"Does Kintz One remember me?"

"Yes, he misses you a lot." This is an exaggeration, but I can't see any reason to spoil the good mood.

"Oh well, he wasn't really my type. Too electrical."

* * *

Late afternoon, Quentin comes by to sweep our garage and take out the trash.

"Hi Amanda," he says casually, as if nothing unusual has happened.

I nod hello, with equal casualness. We're back in the real world now and have to be careful. I sit on the front porch watching him work, glad it isn't me hauling around the rubbish.

He's taking the last load to the curb when Dad pulls up.

"Hello, Mr. Searles," Quentin says. "Are we still on for flying tomorrow, 5:00?"

"I hope so," Dad says. "There's been a problem at the airport."

"Oh?" Quentin's voice turns wary; he throws me a nervous glance.

"Somebody took the training plane out for a joy ride," Dad says.

Quentin gulps. "It's not damaged, is it?"

"Doesn't seem to be. Charlie's doing a full inspection. He'll let me know tomorrow if it's okay."

"I'm glad to hear that."

Quentin busies himself rearranging the trash into a more presentable heap.

"Funny thing," Dad says, "there's some gold powder splattered on the engine cowl."

"Really?"

Dad nods. An awkward silence

"Well... looks like I'm about finished," Quentin says. "See you tomorrow, Mr. Searles. Bye Amanda."

"Bye."

Quentin picks up his bike.

Dad watches, stroking his chin. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about it, would you Quentin?"

"Uh, no sir. I have no idea what any gold powder could be."

He looks my direction, and I can't help smiling a little. Then he's off. Well, Quentin didn't lie, exactly, he just didn't tell the full story.

What is the full story, anyway?

THE END

Thanks for reading! You must have liked the story if you got this far, so why not write a review? Just a few words is okay, either at the online bookstore where you obtained this book or in any other medium you wish. May numerous blessings come your way.

# Next Book in the Series

Return of Mr. Badpenny is the next book in the Time Before Color TV series. Please click here to obtain a copy.

# Brian's Other Books

Here are brief descriptions of my other books for young readers. They are available at all major online retailers in ebook format. Also, please check my Smashwords author page.

The Lost Country

Crown Prince Rupert struggles against ignorance and superstition to rally his countrymen against a dire threat coming from the mysterious Eastlands. When disaster finally strikes, it's up to Rupert and his band of often questionable allies to win through or face destruction of his kingdom and everything he holds dear.

Young adult action / adventure fantasy

Captive in Terror Orchard

Book 1 of the _Terror Orchard series_

To the authorities, Billy Conner is just a rebellious and defiant juvenile delinquent. To his foster parents, he's a pawn in a fiendish drug plot. He's much more than anyone realizes, though – he'd better be, or the consequences will be unspeakable. Assisted by unlikely allies, one of them literally "dug up" from the orange orchard, Billy struggles for his freedom and for the lives of countless other potential victims.

light horror / action adventure

The Bulb People

Sequel to _Captive in Terror Orchard_

Book 2 of the _Terror Orchard series_

What's going on in the awful little town of Bridgestock? Why did the English teacher's husband race his truck down the streets screaming his head off, and why are people vanishing? Of course, only nasty types have disappeared so far, but that could change at any time.

Ryan Keppen, a 13-year-old newcomer, must tackle these mysteries, along with the issue of his "happy blended family" which he desperately wants to disappear as well. Maybe everything is related, and one problem can help solve another.

light horror / action adventure / humor

Disaster Productions

Matt's struggle to win media fame by his 14th birthday leads to escalating disasters. Matt knows that he is too much of an impractical dreamer achieve this goal on his own. He needs help from a smart collaborator. Enter manipulative genius and borderline frenemy Stephan "Duals" Chrono.

The resulting power struggles and unexpected consequences drive the story. Throughout the chaos, Matt develops the focus and leadership skills necessary for true success and, incidentally, does become famous in a totally unpredictable way.

humor / satire

Raptor Aces

The terrifying Zone of Destruction – ZOD, the absence of God. It has taken over the Raptor Aces, an elite Youth League air squadron.

Its leader, Dytran is the cream of his totalitarian country. His world unravels when a poor decision goes horribly wrong, resulting in death and destruction. He grabs at a chance to volunteer for support aviation duty in the war. At the front, he and his comrades are swept up in violence and revenge until escape seems beyond reach.

New Adult / Action-Adventure / War

A Hurricane in Your Suitcase

Brett's constant lying is getting him into serious trouble. Can big brother Joe stop admiring himself long enough to help turn things around? A strange mixture of cautionary tales leads to a showdown with the Giant Hill.

Children's humor / satire

The Daring Rooftop Rescue

"Coming up in the world" can bring unexpected problems as Johnny Badger learns the hard way. Despite his new-found wealth, Johnny is no match for the complicated political situation in Forest Towne. His own bumbling arrogance adds to his woes.

Children's humor / satire

TIME BEFORE COLOR TV SERIES

Follow the adventures of Amanda Searles and her friends as they make astonishing discoveries, invent new stuff, and generally save the world. Based in 1950's USA, they branch out into strange realms of the wider universe to set things right. It's all in a day's work.

Middle grade – Young Adult humor / adventure / fantasy

How Raspberry Jam got Invented

Book 1 of the _Time before Color TV series_

The last summer picnic turns into an astonishing disaster! Melissa's snotty arrogance involves the friends in a situation they may not survive, but maybe they will.

Middle grade humor / adventure / fantasy

The First Ring Rainbow

Book 2 of the _Time before Color TV series_

1950's cold war tension at it's scariest. Anything can happen during the Atomic Summer. Amanda struggles to deal with the era's sexist restraints, her fugitive Russian communist grandparents, and the appearance of a bizarre creature at Secret Pond. Somehow, everything ties together.

Middle grade humor / adventure / fantasy

Adventure Bike Club& the Tire Giant

Book 3 of the _Time before Color TV series_

The huge tire on the freeway outside town is not an advertisement, as people think, but a vessel from another universe on a sinister mission. Can Amanda and her friends make it back out alive? The fate of the world might hinge on the outcome. Not only that, but the town mayor stands to lose a fair amount of money.

Middle grade humor / adventure / fantasy

Return of Mr. Badpenny

Book 5 of the _Time before Color TV series_

Tommy gets more than he expected from a mysterious two-headed coin. The power it gives him goes rapidly to his own head, setting him on a course to moral decay. Solution? Hand it off to Melissa, who also goes off the rails with her new found power. Eventually, they team up to battle the danger.

Tween humor / adventure / fantasy

