7.
Emily waited for a moon to go over then jumped up and down waving her arms like a demented seagull. Nothing! The same happened with the next moon and then the first one came around again.
‘If you flap your arms around like that long enough, you might get airborne, but if I was you, I’d click my fingers,’ said Castor.
She clicked her fingers.
Zimp!
She was in the cockpit of Castor’s SM3.
‘More lettuces,’ he said, giving her a wink. ‘You need to plant more lettuces.’
‘Maybe we can come to an arrangement,’ said Emily. ‘Zeus said that I might be able to do some online shopping.’
The moon’s dome window lit up with hundreds of screens, each with an online shopping site and then quickly moved to websites for eleven year old girls. A pair of jeans caught Emily’s eye and the screen became bigger. She didn’t have to touch it or anything, just a simple thought and she could surf to the colour selection, styles and sizes.
‘I like these,’ she said. ‘Washed denim, stretch fit, tapered leg.’
‘Would you like to try them on?’ asked Castor.
‘Oh yes!’ said Emily. ‘I’ve always ended up with the wrong size when I have tried online clothes shopping.’
A life sized Emily wearing the jeans appeared next to her. Not only could she see how she looked but could feel the fit on her body. ‘A bit tight,’ she said. ‘Let’s try the next size up!’
She thought red, blue, black, loose fit, summer weight, flares, up a size, down a size...
‘It’s better than being in a shop!’ she exclaimed. ‘I can never quite find the right size!’
An hour or so later, Emily’s shopping cart was at the checkout: two pairs of jeans, one blue, the other pink with aqua blue hems, a jacket, a lovely red dress, a couple of skirts, T-shirts, a black one-piece swimsuit, flip flops and a huge jersey, adult XXXL size for chilling out in on cold days.
‘What address do I put?’
‘Asteroid C-A-M-I-L-L-O.’
‘Will it get here?’
‘If you use the correct post code it will; AS3752.’
‘How do we pay?’ asked Emily.
‘It’s on me,’ said Castor. ‘I’ll sort it out.’
Two seconds later the order was confirmed.
Emily thought, Missile attack Khartoum, and the screen filled with search results.
She opened the page, Emily Taylor’s body found, and read the text.
‘Relations between the US and Europe were further strained this evening when a body, thought to be that of English school girl, Emily Taylor, was pulled from the wreckage of the Alton Towers apartment building in Khartoum, Sudan, reportedly destroyed by a US missile attack last Thursday. While the State Department claims that Bin Laden was in the building at the time, no trace of his remains have been found. The US denies rumours that there was a tactical nuclear device in the building, saying that no evidence of one has been found in the rubble.
‘There have been demonstrations and rioting outside the heavily fortified US Consulate in Khartoum. Embassy staff were airlifted to safety this morning. Angry locals claim that the missile attack was aimed at Azziz, a preacher who claimed to be the 2nd Son of God, saying the US wanted to silence him because of his moving words advocating World peace and religious unity. They say he performed miracles from where he preached on an old refrigerator in front of the tower block. A body thought to be that of Azziz was buried two days ago and has already become a site of pilgrimage with steady stream of local and foreign religious leaders having visited his grave to pay their respects. The US remains in a state of high alert after threats of reprisal by terrorist groups.’
Emily followed a link to a grainy video of Azziz standing on his refrigerator with a goat reaching up to chew on the tail of his cloak.
‘We will all die in a ball of fire and one who shall change the course of the World shall riseth up from the ashes,’ said Azziz.
A tall pixelly figure in the background was circled in red with a note, ‘US sources claim that this is Bin Laden shortly before he entered the building.’
It was a bit of a shock being dead when she felt so alive. Emily pinched herself just to feel the pain and check that she wasn’t a zombie mummy or something.
‘So I’m dead,’ she said sadly. ‘I guess going to visit Mum and Dad is out of the question?’
‘It probably is,’ replied Castor, furrowing his brow.
‘The missile, the one that Bin Laden bought, where did it come from?’
‘It’s probably the most watched missile in World history!’ said Castor. ‘Teroid politics are almost as entertaining as anode politics, with their fights and family squabbles. Here we have The Clash of the Titans and slimeballs; on Earth you have Osama versus Obama. You have Ariella from Europe, now she’s a bit of a wild card, and there was the missile and you!’
‘Me, why me?’
‘I’ve edited the clips together to make a film. It’s seven months long so we might have to jump over a few bits.’
Castor’s film was a montage of high resonance radar images, CCTV, press cuttings, satellite images, phone conversations and digital photos.
It started at the White House with a meeting between President Obama and his heads of security. The security chief was putting forward an argument to sell a tactical nuclear missile to Bin Laden.
‘We’ll have a tracking device in the warhead so we can track it twenty-four hours a day. As soon as it reaches Bin Laden we’ll activate the self-destruct mechanism and Boom! We’ve got’im!’
‘I don’t like it,’ said President Obama. ‘Giving a nuclear warhead to an extremist Muslim terrorist is asking for trouble. Can’t we use a dummy?’
‘No, it has to be the real thing. It can’t go wrong. If you’re not happy at any stage, we will send in a team to pull out the weapon or self-destruct it. Your popularity is dropping in the polls and the senate. If you show yourself to be a strong leader by getting Bin Laden you will have the voters and the senate behind you and be able to push through the welfare reforms.’
‘Let’s go with it,’ said the President. ‘But don’t take your eyes off that thing!’
The next clip showed the missile being ‘stolen’ from a US bomber and snuck off the airbase in Madrid. There were loads of phone calls and scenes with hoodlums with suitcases full of cash. Next came satellite images of the missile being loaded into a RIB on the Spanish coast and the smugglers grabbing Emily off the beach and dragging her kicking and screaming into their boat.
Me, on tele!
‘Nice kick!’ said Castor as Emily kicked one of them in the face, giving Annie a chance to run away.
‘They were watching me, they saw me get kidnapped, and they did nothing!’ said Emily, feeling a bit put out.
Dad would have rescued me if he knew.
Castor fast-forwarded to grainy thermal images of the box containing the missile being loaded onto the camel train, followed by Emily being tipped out of a sack onto the ground.
‘This is where we really started to get a lot of data,’ said Castor. ‘Your abduction was big news in Europe so, naturally, the President was informed. He wanted to have the mission aborted and have the Special Forces free you. It would have been a public relations coup and done a lot to improve relations with Europe. His chiefs were totally against it, wanting to stick to the original mission and arguing that rescuing you would compromise it. In the end an agreement was reached where the Special Forces had one go at getting up you out. It was meticulously planned and executed using their top green berets. Watch.’
The screen showed images of the sand storm hitting the caravan and the green berets, dressed as Arabs, rescuing Emily. Castor laughed when Emily pulled their scarves down over their eyes making them lose control of their car and crash into the oasis. Then she swam away into the dust storm.
‘Those poor soldiers,’ laughed Castor, ‘they’ll never live it down. Outwitted by a
ten year old girl!
‘After that, the President demanded daily updates and had a special screen set up in the Oval Office to keep tabs on you. He said it was so he could keep an eye on the missile, but he’s a family man, he has no real interest in weapons.’
Castor fast-forwarded through pictures of the caravan crossing the desert, oases, more desert, dunes and sand storms, then stopped and said, ‘This is my favourite.’
The screen showed Zula and Emily sitting on top of a dune watching the stars. They were life size and the picture was so clear that it was just like being there.
Zula and Emily watched enthralled as a desert fox fought with a snake. Then the fox broke free and ran off into the night. They were holding hands. Emily gave Zula a kiss on the cheek.
Oops! I just couldn’t help it.
Emily and Zula jumped up and surfed back down the sand dune.
The screen flicked over to CIA Headquarters where a grainy satellite image showed the same scene on a huge wall screen. Everyone in the room is watching. There was a collective gasp when Emily gave Zula the kiss and the women chorused, ‘It’s so sweet!’
Emily went red. Not just a slight embarrassed pink but red. More mad than embarrassed.
‘So the whole world and half the Galaxy was tuned in to Emily Taylor TV! There I am having a special private moment and you and the US are watching it like it’s a soap opera. Did they have commercial breaks!? Let’s fast-forward!’
Castor, who was looking a little embarrassed himself, fast-forwarded to Timbuktu and Emily texting her mum.
‘This was a spanner in the works,’ said Castor. ‘The US was sure that the mission would be compromised. There were reporters and SAS dressed as Tuareg everywhere. That wonderfully crooked Gamel outwitted them, you outwitted him, and Saleem out-manoeuvred everyone and turned it into a political coup.
‘The US really likes Saleem. While they disapprove of him smuggling weapons, children and who knows what else, watching the caravan opened their eyes to the Sahara Desert. Pressure is being put on France to tidy up their uranium mining and Saleem will probably find US companies are keen to invest in his solar energy plans.’
Greetings from Eart, said the writing on the dune. Zula and Emily were busy scrapping a huge h in the sand using sticks. Castor chortled, ‘This made us laugh, just as your ‘E.T was here’ in camel poo struck a chord with the Americans.’
‘I wish Zula could see it,’ said Emily. ‘It was his idea.’
The video footage jumped ahead to the moment where Emily kicked the ball down the well at L’Arbre du Ténéré. ‘No!’ she said, not wanting to relive that bit. ‘Fast forward!’
The video moved on to show radar images of the tornado at Gweni-Fada.
‘The US nearly had kittens here. From the moment you entered the crater to when The Book was taken from you, they lost coverage, even the tracker in the missile stopped working. They were in a panic and two months on, the burnt out wreckage in the desert is still a mystery to them. They sent a mission to the crater but found nothing but rumours and sand.
‘This is where the President earns his money,’ said Castor, fast-forwarding to President Obama giving the go ahead for the missile attack on Alton Towers in Khartoum. ‘He knows a lot of people will die if he says yes, but he has to make a decision. It’s his job.’
The screen flashed up an image of a pentagon war room. On a giant wall screen there was a telephoto image of Bin Laden. On another his telephone conversation with the President was being replayed.
‘Yes, positive match, face and voice,’ said an operative.
‘We’ve got him!’ exclaimed a general. ‘Permission requested to launch an attack.’
‘But what about all those people?’ said the President.
‘A bit of collateral damage never stopped us before, Mr President, now is our only chance.’
‘This is not collateral damage; these are my people from my part of the World.’
‘Now or never.’
‘Okay, go ahead.’
‘Launch missiles.’
‘He’ll be devastated now your body has been found,’ said Castor, then flicking quickly through images, added, ‘You’ll love this bit,’ and shows the CIA watching grainy footage of three Arabs, looking like the three wise men, leaving the building, carrying what looked like an elephant’s trunk
‘Now let’s watch the Radar,’ he said showing a 3D image of Bin and his bodyguards leaving the building, arm in arm, nursing the missile in front of them. They crossed the road to honks and beeps from the traffic, then looking around and seeing the cruise missiles about to slam into the building, they dived into the ditch.
‘So what happened to The Book?’ asked Emily.
‘That is what the US should be worried about, not some nutter with a bomb!’
Bam! Crash!
The moon reverberated as a phaser slammed into it, sending sparks flying about the place.
‘Bogie, Sector 11F,’ boomed Pollux’s voice as Castor opened fire.
‘Why Bogie?’ asked Emily, picking herself off the floor.
‘Because these guys are the slime of the universe.’
Lasers and phasers traced red and green through the darkness The moon shook as it took another hit. Castor swung around sharply to pick off a couple of incoming slimeballs then turned his attention back to the gleaming spaceship that was attacking his moon, firing off a quasar torpedo. Half a second later the other craft reflected it back.
Bing! Bing! Bing!
The quasar bounced back and forth between the two craft.
Bong!
It ricocheted towards Pollux in the distance, then back towards the attacker.
Bing! Bing! Bong!
Back and forth bounced the quasar, like a game of space ping-pong.
‘We’ll get him on the next bong,’ said Castor.
Bong!
The quasar zoomed towards Pollux. At the same time as he binged it back at the bogie, Castor fired off a couple more torpedoes, the three arriving at the same moment, with a huge explosion.
‘Got him!’ exclaimed Castor spinning around to zap a slimeball.
‘That was Baron von Wongle and his twin brother Zomp, Siamese twins, joined together to form the meanest, nastiest, most revolting creature in the universe. Their spaceship is the best. I don’t know what it is made of but it seems indestructible. The only way to get rid of it is to detonate torpedoes from different directions right next to it.
‘He fancies himself as the Red Baron and flits around the place causing havoc. Their ears will be ringing for a couple of days now. They’ll be back on Pluto licking their wounds and planning their next foray.’