For the Love of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 3) (15 page)

“Oh my goodness, you have thrown mighty Sir Paul to the ground! Eep! Look out, Sir Paul, he means to stomp you!”

“Yay, though the terrible, non-terran toad attempts to tromp my great head, your hero narrowly rolls out of the way.”

“Hooray, that’s the way to come up swinging! Those wild, roundhouse haymakers are finding their mark! If this were boxing, a commentator might be heard to remark that: “Sir Paul’s mighty blows drive the monster back! He’s got him on the ropes! Ooh, until that damnable top hand grabs Sir Paul on top of the head! What an unfortunate turn of events this is. As Marvin ‘the Marvelous’ Martian holds Sir Paul at bay by the top of his head, the ‘Marvelous One’ reigns, with left and right arms raining a torrential downpour of pummeling punches into the plucky, pugilistic, protagonist, whilst the poor man must use his own arms to hold the eager, big sharp tooth-laden mouth away.”

“Shut up, you fool, unless you can say something helpful!”

“Sir Paul! Hold and spin! His hand! Hold it in place and spin! The wrist lock will protect you from the teeth!”

“The light of understanding dawns as I take your meaning.”

The combative thespian releases one hand from holding the monster at bay. Resorting to using a single arm as a post of safety, the other holds the creature’s grip in place on his head. Putting all the leverage of the move upon the fully engaged wrist of the monster, Sir Paul spins quickly in place, maintaining the point of contact on his forehead as the axis of the rotation. The monster has no choice but to follow with desperate velocity to forebear ruined joints in an involuntary exercise of self preservation.

“Flargle!”

“What ho! Ha, ha! A most satisfying scream doth our creature cry, as he performs an admirable three hundred and sixty degree turn high in the air before landing heavily in a heap. Verily, it must have been a rough landing indeed, forsooth the Martian appears to be knocked out cold.”

“Gosh, Sir Paul, you sure do wear an aura of invincibility.”

“Agreed.”

“I think I saw a small device on the bottom of the warcraft’s fuselage turn toward you, Sir Paul. I get the impression that it is a camera, of some kind.”

“I have no time for the paparazzi now, for as you have our smiley friend stretched out for me, I wish to grant him my blessings.”

“Dang, Sir Paul, you sure did reply with one big heaping helping of Earth’s hospitality.”

“Ichabod! Sir Paul! Help!”

“Oh my goodness, Miss Plumtartt and Miss Englehart! The first Martian has recovered from his blows and is climbing the ladder of his war craft! You girls ran in to  grab and thus dangle from two of his three legs where you have tried to forestall the creature’s untimely escape by clinging to his grotesque weight!”

“Do something, Mr. Temperance!”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

“Hah! I arrive before you, Ichabod, to take the third leg! Good thing, that since you look as if you barely outweigh a sack of sugar, where I on the other hand, without an ounce of fat on my thickly built thespian frame, tip the scales at closer to three bills, than two.”

“Yessir! You are a lot of ham to have hanging off that leg.”

“Hey!”

“Oops! I mean, you’re the better man for the job. Poor old Miss Plumtartt and Valuria are just flapping in the wind, while you hold your leg nice and taut.”

“Mr. Temperance?”

“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am, can I help you? By the way, I am relieved to see that you are wearing your over-the-elbow gloves as is your wont, and are spared the distasteful pleasure of contact with the Martian’s repulsive and foul skin.”

“I say, being snapped and shaken about, several feet up in the air, is not normally within my parameter of experience.”

“No Ma’am, you maintain your composure remarkably well.”

“Er, thank you, though, if I may be so bold as to suggest, you would do well, sir, to secure the other vessel while we are otherwise occupied.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

*danger!*

The ‘sense’ of ‘danger’, not the word, flashes through my mind like a fireworks starburst.

My heart is clutched in a nameless sense of dread.

*listen. danger. coming.*

It’s Bolt! In a psychic connection, Bolt is trying to warn not just me, but everybody, that something bad is coming.

Bolt lets loose a few warning barks, and then falls silent.

I am just reaching the foot of the ladder to the alien war machine. I pause to listen. Faintly, but growing stronger, I hear something.

wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup

It is a rhythmic, steady beat.

My friends and my girl are in a desperate struggle for possession of the other vessel.

wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup

The steady beat almost has a striking sensation to it, as if the air itself is somehow being severely pounded.

wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup

It may be up to me alone to take this enemy ves...

{{{PRR-
BLIZZ
SXK!!!}}}

A green explosion blasts me from the alien war craft’s ladder. I am very nearly knocked senseless from the detonation.

{{{PRR-
BLIZZ
SXK!!!}}}

Buffeted back by the blasts, I am apparently still taking fire. Staggered from the incoming attacks, my head reels with disorientation. The concussive explosions of these green energy blasts force me away from my comrades. I can’t tell where I am being knocked about; I am just trying to keep running.

{{{PRR-
BLIZZ
SXK!!!}}}

{{{PRR-
BLIZZ
SXK!!!}}}

{{{PRR-
BLIZZ
SXK!!!}}}

I want to get back to Miss Plumtartt, but something is in a tenacious pursuit, firing its green blasters in a ferocious assault against me. These are the same destructive blasts of the walking towers that we have been attempting to commandeer, but those had been idle. A strange new platform for the powerful green energy blaster is here. Without getting a chance to clear my mind of its severe rattling, I am forcibly pushed deeper into the demolished Capitol city.

wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup

The pounding, rhythmic beat is deafening. It is as if it is right on top of me. A horrible and powerful wind is viciously trying to knock me down. The sandy, grainy grit of this city’s destruction is whipped into a sudden tornado under the impetus of the sudden and terrible force from an artificial windstorm. The sand is painful and blinding.

wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup

I cannot even get a look at what is chasing me, due to my constant efforts at staying ahead of the ray-gunman, and the flying particles of tiny detritus. I am blind in my reckless flight.

I finally risk a glance back... and up...

It can fly!

Impossibly held aloft, this craft is clearly heavier than air, yet astoundingly, it is able to maintain flight without the assistance of a balloon’s heated air, or a dirigible’s trapped gases.

These monsters have achieved the impossible.

This ship maintains suspension by means of propeller!

{{{PRR-
BLIZZ
SXK!!!}}}

My tormentor continues in a determined effort to snuff me out of existence.

The craft is similar to the others as far as the main fuselage is concerned. This still conveys the impression of two pie plates, one stacked upside down upon the other. However, where the first two pair of machines have three legs extending downward, this craft of the air has three posts mounted at equal distances around her perimeter rising upward. These vertical shafts end in horizontally mounted propeller blades. Roaring like an angry typhoon, the propellers spin faster than a cyclone motivated windmill. These three mighty, and powerful perpendicular pinwheels are able to churn the very air around us to such an incredible degree that the incredible craft is impossibly, and miraculously held aloft.

My knees nearly buckle at the uncanny sight.

Her blasters resume their emerald hued extermination prowess. The pilot is able to guide his ship at an uncanny speed and wondrously supple dexterity. It is able to circle about me searching for an angle of attack at a furious pace.

I am forced to scamper among the broken rubble of the nations gleaming white Capitol buildings. The granite explodes around me.

To my despair, I catch a side glance of our erstwhile targets of capture. The two idle towers are now rising.

One of the sonic cannon bearing mechanicals has joined my flying friend in his search for me. They force me steadily Eastward down the mall. I am barely able to run ahead. I seem to have a premonition of when to throw myself to one side or another, as tremendous blasts of energies burst around me in a deafening cacophony. Piles of rubble provide both obstacle and momentary cover from the green explosions. The unsettling vibrations of the sonic cannon now add their disturbances to speed my demise.

Across a wide boulevard I dash, and up a wide set of steps. These carry me higher, and it is not until I reach the top and look upon a sea of white rubble that I realize that I have run up the steps of our now demolished Capitol building.

I am heart-broken at the sight, but have no time for melancholy. My murderers hound me relentlessly. Without wiping my feet or removing my hat, I jump into the chaos of the crumbled Capitol’s remains.

I find a bit of cover, here. The great piles of broken building provide many hiding places and avenues of travel. Fallen walls often leave a triangular crawlspace beneath. My pursuers never abate their attacks. Green blaster bolts continue to blow apart great chunks of material. The cannon, however, has foregone its aural destructive efforts to search for me with its legs and tentacles. The flying machine takes its cue from the walker. The airbourne craft extends its tentacles and begins sifting through the detritus of legislature.

My scampering narrow escapes never cease.

I grab up a broken piece of lumber, vaguely like that of a cricket bat, but more splintery. At the moment, I am not concerned with the trivialities of splinters, although I have no doubt that under other circumstances, they would be of an utmost concern.

I bat a questing tentacle on the nose.

A gigantic steel crab-like claw almost skewers me.

A green blast hastens me on my way as I scamper through rubbly passages.

I bats more tentacles. A lens is centered in these grabby claws. It conveys the impression of being an artificial ‘eye’. I am reminded of the sight of these camera palmed tentacles from the top of Sloss Furnace’s ‘Big Alice’, and how they so easily handled big Daniel Slagwood.

As the gigantic, crab-like claw of a tripodal leg attempts to puncture me, I shove the board into a space between the machine’s levers that control the extension and retrieval of its last appendage. The rod controlling the pull mechanism is immediately jammed.

It stumbles! I’m bringing the blaster/walker down, but I am about to be crushed in the process!

A dive to the side is another narrow escape from being squooshed. I’m glad I’m so nimble and my intuition is proving correct, but my luck has got to run out sometime. Suddenly, the rubble pile ends, but I don’t slow down. Breaking from the broken granite, I am running blindly. I normally have a fantastic sense of direction, but I am momentarily disoriented from all of my mad scrambling through the grounds of demolished democracy. Somewhere in the back of my mind I remember to be happy about dropping one of the Martian war-walkers.

~Snap!~

I look back to see that the fallen, mechanical, walker has snapped the board I placed, and is quickly retracting his three legs. He now swiftly rises again to renew aggressively  his pursuit of me with freshly found vigor.

Sensing the frustration of the murder pilots, I know that these devils mean to end me. My desperate and harried flight gets no respite. I cannot see where I am running.

wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup-wup

Whumm-whumm. Whumm-whumm.

{{{PRR-
BLIZZ
SXK!!!}}}

The wharf of a riverside quay passes beneath my running feet and I tread air for a breathless few seconds before landing in water.

Green energy bolts churn my aquatic surroundings.

I allow one quick breaking of the surface to gulp a quaff of air and I am again submerged.

I pull what I hope is a tricky maneuver. I swim back towards my enemies underwater, to surface under their noses beneath the ferry’s docks.

Whether or not I am detected, I do not know, but nevertheless, my fiendish foes rip the docks apart with their powerful mechanical tentacles. I am forced beneath the river’s surface once again. I swim as far as I can underwater. When I surface, I take hold of some drifting flotsam from the smashed wharf. A bit of trailing rope allows me to cling to it without the monsters detecting me.

I float away, having failed in my mission. I have failed my country and my species. For the second time in one night, I suffer the humiliating sting of defeat.