The Toyminator (26 page)

And so on and suchlike.

And …

“Whoa!” went the helicopter pilot. “Would you take a look at
that
?”

And Sam looked up and Sam looked out and Sam said, “What
is
that?”

“
That
and
those
!” The pilot made a troubled face. “They’re coming towards us … They’re flying saucers. Oh my God – and oh!”

And the fleet of saucers swept over the helicopter, spinning it all around. And on the desert highway below the robot Jack saw the saucers, slammed on the brakes of the big truck and swung
it
around.

“Going without me, eh?” he went. “Well, that’s not fair for a start.”

On-rushing police cars swerved and smote one another. The big truck ploughed through several of these, mashing them fiercely to this side and the other.

“Get back after him,” cried Sam. Hanging on for the dearest of life, as the helicopter clung to the air. “Get after him and get after those flying saucers.”

“This really
is
a job for the Air Force now,” said the helicopter pilot. “Although in all truth, I’m prepared to have a go at them myself. I’ve been applying to be a space pilot for years, but I keep getting kicked back. If I could take out a few flying saucers, I’ll just bet that NASA will give me a chance.”

“You go for it,” said Sam. “I’ve lost the plot good and proper now anyway. I didn’t even notice you were black – I thought you were from Arkansas.”

“What
is
all this Arkansas business anyway?” asked the pilot as he steered the helicopter around in pursuit of the departing truck and similarly departing saucers. “Some kind of lame running gag, do you think?”

“Like all that stuff that weirdo Jack told us about following the American Dream? Before he turned into a robot, of course.”

“Well, he did say he was from England. And as all we Americans know, the English have no sense of humour.”

“Well, I’m glad we’ve got all
that
out of the way,” said Sam. “On with the chase, if you will, Mister Pilot.”

“Ten-four, Chief, ten-four.”

And on flew the flying saucers, low now over the outer suburbs of LA. The bits that tourists never see. Many gap-toothed fellows called Joe-Bob, who sat upon their verandas drinking from earthenware demijohns and smoking corncob pipes, viewed the saucers’ passing. And many shook their dandruffed heads and said things to the effect that they were not in the least surprised, as they’d been abducted so many times, but could find none to believe them.

“Onward, onward!” cried the remaining Eddie. “On through The Second Big O.”

And as there had been no apparent response from the Air Force, which was a shame because a really decent UFO/Air Force battle outclasses ground-based explosions, shoot-outs and car chases (no matter how extreme and prolonged) any old day of the week (with the obvious exclusion of Tuesdays), Sam’s pilot said, “Check this out!” and pressed certain buttons on his dashboard.

“What do you have there?” asked Sam.

“A special something,” said the pilot. “Fitted it myself. State of the art. It’s called an M134 General Electric Mini-gun. 7.62 mm. Full-clip capacity of 5,793 rounds per minute. 7.62 x 51 shells, 1.36 kg recoil adapters. Muzzle velocity of 869 m/s.”

“Nice,” said Sam. “Then open fire on those alien sons of bitches.”

“Ten-four, Chief,” said the pilot, and he opened fire.

And down below and through the streets of Hollywood now roared that truck with the robot Jack at the wheel and all that dangerous acid on board. Along Hollywood Boulevard, past the Roosevelt Hotel, and Grauman’s Chinese Theatre and the Hollywood Wax Museum.

And, “Rat-at-tat-at-tat-at-tat-at-tat,” went the M134 General Electric Mini-gun. And Sam Maggott cheered as tracer bullets scoured the sky. And he bawled, “You’ve hit one. You’ve hit one.”

And the pilot had.

A saucer wobbled, spiralled, span. The chicken pilot squawked.

And down and down the saucer went to strike the home of Sydney Greenstreet. Who was presently being loaded into an ambulance with many broken bones. Which really wasn’t fair. But there you go.

“Well done,” cried Sam, patting the pilot. “Oh no, one’s turning around.”

And a single saucer was. The helicopter did nifty manoeuvrings. Hollywood residents looked up from their poolside soirees, rubbed at
their
rectal probings and said, “I told you so.”

“Whoa!” went Sam, once more clinging on for the life of himself. “Shoot that mother, will you?”

“Doing my best, Chief, doing my best.”

And down below the robot Jack drove onward in his stolen truck. Up now and towards the Hollywood hills in pursuit of the saucers. And police cars screamed after him, all flashing lights and wailing sirens. And cars swerved and passers-by took to their heels.

“Onward, ever onward,” cried the Eddie in the Mother-Henship, “and engage the fiendishly clever miniaturisation units that will enable us to sweep through The Second Big O without touching the sides.” And his paw pressed the special button and in other craft wing tips did likewise.

“And did you see
that
?” shouted Sam. “Did they just get smaller, or are they suddenly very far, far away?”

“Bit of both, I think, Chief.” The pilot rattled away with the M134 General Electric Mini-gun.

The robot Jack’s truck bumped up the grasslands, but lost neither speed, nor size.

“Onward!” cried the remaining Eddie. “Onward, ladies. Onward into the future pages of chicken world history. God of All Chickens, I love this job.”

And onward they swept towards the Hollywood sign.

And onwards too swept the robot Jack, his truck bouncing all about, but roaring ever onward.

And after him the black-and-whites, doing what black-and-whites always do in situations like these: crashing into one another, flying off cliffs in slow motion, having the occasional bit of comedy relief with blackened-faced officers staggering from wrecked police cars to the sound of incidental music going, “Wah-waaaah.”

“They’re going through, Chief,” cried the helicopter pilot. “They’re going through The Second Big O.”

“Then pull up. We’ll get them on the other side.”

The pilot yanked back on the joystick. “Oh my God!” he shouted. “The controls are stuck. Oh my God! Oh my God!”

“Don’t go without me, you rotters!” And the robot Jack put his foot down harder.

And then it all happened.

As it always does.

In slow motion, with some really great shots.

Picture it if you can.

The flying saucers moved from the horizontal into the vertical plane and swept one after another towards The Second Big O of the Hollywood sign.

The great big truck with its dangerous cargo did its own kind of sweeping up, which involved its wheels leaving the grasslands and the performance of a rather spectacular flying leap forward
into
the Hollywood sign.

To be joined there, at that very moment, by Sam Maggott’s helicopter, big guns blazing and controls all gone to pot.

And then that explosion.

With the flatbed canister-load of sulphuric acid crumpling forwards, releasing its lethal load, swallowing up the robot Jack.

That
big
explosion. As of truck and sign and helicopter. And of a few surviving police cars, too.

And of the lone Air Force jet, which hadn’t actually been scrambled but had been taken aloft by a young black pilot who was hoping for a job in the space programme with NASA.

And, by golly, at least a good half-dozen flying saucers that hadn’t quite done the sweeping through The Second Big O thing.

And what a big explosion
that
was!

And all in slow motion, too.

And cut, and print, and that’s a wrap.

Hooray for Hollywood.

“What was all
that
?” The Eddie at the controls of the Great Mother-Henship, which had now swelled back to its regular size, glanced into the rear-view mirror and called out in alarm. “What happened back there? Speak to me, ladies.”

Chicken voices clucked into his headphones.

“How many ships lost? Six? No, seven! That’s outrageous, impossible.”

Further chicken voices confirmed the sad news.

“Oh well, never mind,” said the remaining Eddie. “There will never be a shortage of chickens. And they died nobly in a glorious cause. Their names will be forever remembered. Whatever they were. Does anyone remember?”

Further voices clucked.

“What, no one? Well, never mind. Onward, ladies, on to victory. You’ll have to double up in all the soul-sucking-jar jobbies. Beam down those rays, suck up those souls and then we’ll nuke the place.”

Chicken voices cackled in a merry kind of a way.

“And then you’ll nuke the place?” asked a certain voice, which did not come through the headphones.

The remaining Eddie swung around in his chair. “
You
?” he went. “How’s this?”

“How’s this?” said Eddie Bear. “It’s me, that’s how it is.”

“But you’re dead.” The other Eddie pawed the autopilot. “You’re as dead as a donkey dodo.”

“The rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated,” said Eddie, padding his way to the centre of the cockpit.
[47]
“As you can see, I am in remarkably fine fettle. And not too dead at all.”

“No!” And the other Eddie threw up his paws. “This cannot be, it cannot.”

“Well, it can be and it is,” said Eddie, squaring up before his other self. “And personally I think I deserve an award for my acting. I certainly had
you
fooled. And do you know what? Now that I’m back on my side of the barrier, back in my own world again, I feel fine. I’m as healthy as, and it’s time to set matters straight.”

“Time for you to die properly,” said Eddie’s other self.

“I think not,” said Eddie, making the fiercest of faces. “Now land this craft or know my wrath – I’ll bite your blinking head off.”

“Land this craft?” The other Eddie laughed.

“I really hate it when you laugh like that,” said Eddie Bear.

“Well, it is of no consequence to me. Guards, take this resurrected bear and throw him out of a porthole, or something.”

“Guards?” said Eddie. “What guards?”

“The guards that I summonsed by pressing the special ‘guards’ button next to the ‘autopilot’ button. I pressed them both simultaneously, as it were, when you made your appearance.”

“You fiend,” said Eddie Bear.

“Yes, I can really be a stinker at times.” And the other Eddie laughed once again. And as he did so, chicken guards dressed in figure-hugging golden uniforms (which displayed their breasts to perfection), sleek golden helmets with beak-guards, high-heeled boots and the inevitable heavy weaponry jogged into the cockpit and surrounded Eddie.

“Ah,” said Eddie. “
These
guards.”

“Out of a porthole with him,” said the other Eddie. “And if his fat belly gets stuck, shoot him up the bottom, that will do the trick.”

“I don’t think that’s a nice idea,” said another voice.

The guards and the other Eddie glanced towards the source of
this
voice. And Eddie Bear did glancings, too. And Eddie Bear said, “Jack!”

“Nice to see you again, Eddie.” Jack brandished a large gun of his own. He aimed this at the other Eddie. “Let Eddie go,” said he.

“Jack?” said the other Eddie. “Now I’m damned sure that I killed you. You plunged to your death in the elevator.”

“Not quite so.” Jack brandished the large gun some more. Because in such situations as this you can never do too much brandishing of a big gun. He had acquired this particular big gun from a chicken guard at the launch site, whom Jack had taken by surprise and overcome through the employment of a handy spanner.

“I like the uniform,” said Eddie. “Very dapper, it really suits you. Although it smells a bit.” And Eddie smiled as he said this, for his sense of smell had returned.

“Why, thank you,” said Jack. “And you’ve had a wash and brush-up, I see.”

“I’d rather not think about
that
,” said Eddie.

“Now just stop this nonsense,” said the other Eddie Bear. “You really should be dead!”

“I certainly would have been,” said Jack, “if it hadn’t been for Dorothy here.”

“Hi, Eddie,” called Dorothy.

“Hi, Dorothy,” called Eddie.

Chicken guards swung their weapons about, some aimed at Dorothy, some at Jack and some at Eddie Bear.

“Dorothy is not what she at first appears,” said Jack. “Which I am a little sad about, but we won’t go into that here. But she saved my life, pushed me out of the roof hatch in the lift, helped me cling to a dangling cable, that sort of thing. It was all very exciting.”

“Sounds so,” said Eddie. “It’s a shame I missed it. I spent the time being booted about by your doppelganger.”

“I know,” said Jack. “I felt your pain. I could feel what you were thinking.”

“And I could feel you too, Jack,” said Eddie. “Something to do with my condition on the other side of The Second Big O.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” said the other Eddie, “all
very
interesting, I’m sure. But how did you get aboard this craft?”

“We sneaked on while Eddie kept you talking,” said Jack. “And now you must ask the guards to drop their guns or I will take great pleasure in shooting you dead.”

“Shoot
me
dead?” The other Eddie laughed some more.

“Oh, just shoot him, Jack,” said Eddie. “I’m sick of all his laughing.”

“Tell the guards to drop their weapons and land the craft now,” said Jack. “Oh and order all the other ships to turn back, tell them that the mission is aborted.”

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with,” said the other Eddie. “I will
not
land the craft,
I
will
not
abort the mission. In fact.” And he swung about in his chair and disengaged the autopilot. And also swung the steering wheel, which caused the craft to swing.

And chicken guards went tumbling and so did Eddie and Jack.

And Dorothy went tumbling, too.

The other Eddie didn’t tumble; he was strapped into his chair.

But he put the craft through a triple roll and the tumblers whirled all about.

“Kill them all!” shouted the other Eddie. “Fly, you foolish guards. Fly and shoot them, toss them off the ship.”

And squawking guards went fluttering.

And unpleasantness occurred.

“Such a pleasant night,” said Wellington Bellis, his perished arm now tight about Amelie’s waist. “Such a night for romance.”

“Calling all cars. Calling all cars,” the radio crackled in Bellis’s parked police car.

“Calling all cars?” said Wellington Bellis. “Now what might this be, I wonder?” And he detached himself from Amelie and shuffled over to the car, reached in through the open window and took up the toy microphone that was attached by a length of string to the dashboard. “What is all this commotion?” he said into it.

“Sir, sir – is that you, sir?”

“It’s me, yes. Is that
you
, Officer Chuckles?”

“
Special
Officer Chuckles, yes sir. Calling all cars, I am.”

“And why are you calling all cars?”

“Because we are under attack, sir, from spaceships. They just blew up the remains of the old Toytownland sign. Half a dozen spaceships, sir, flying towards the city.”

“Have you been drinking, officer?”

“Of course I’ve been drinking, sir.”

“And where are you calling from?”

“From Tinto’s Bar, sir – I’m looking out of the back windows. The saucers are coming. We’re all gonna die. I’m converting to Mechanology. Out.”

“Out?” asked Bellis.

“Out,” said the voice of Tinto. “This is my telephone and it’s for use-of-barman only. Aaagh! Stop hitting me!”

“Flying saucers?” said Bellis.

And suddenly there they were.

Large as life in the Toy City sky. Great big saucers with blinking lights. The lead craft doing a sort of victory roll, the others flying steadily.

Bellis reached into his car and pressed buttons on his dashboard. “Action stations. Fire at will. Operation Save Our City is
go
!” And then he replaced the microphone and smiled towards Amelie. “Have no fear, my dear,” said Bellis. “Everything is under control.”

“The End Times are upon us,” gasped Amelie. Huskily. Sexily.

“Not a bit of it,” said Bellis, re-establishing himself at her side and offering her a comforting hug. “All will be attended to. I received a tip-off this morning from a clockwork spaceman. He told me an extraordinary tale, which I did not at first believe … Oh, duck, if you will.”

And Amelie ducked as a bolt of light swept down from above and carbonised Bellis’s car.

“As I was saying,” said Bellis, “an extraordinary tale. But I felt it prudent to take it at face value. So I put the Toy City Army on red alert. They’ll soon shoot those aliens out of the sky.”

“My hero,” said Amelie.

And the words of Bellis were no idle words. Well, he hadn’t risen to his present position of power through not being able to rise to the occasion. In fact, he intended to rise to the occasion with Amelie, quite shortly, when all the mayhem was over and done with.

“Excruciating,” said Tinto once more.

But then
he
had cause to duck.

A blinding light bore down into the bar.

Swept along the counter.

Crispy-crunchy husks of policemen toppled to the floor.

“Oi!” cried Tinto, rising from his duck and shaking a dextrous fist towards the ceiling. “There was a slight chance that they
might
have paid for their drinks.”

The saucers now criss-crossed the sky, beaming down their rays. And to the great surprise of the chicken pilots and death-ray crews, fire was now being returned at them from below.

“Go to it, lads,” cried the Grand Old Duke of York, who may not have
actually
had ten thousand men, but had been given command of a legion of clockwork tanks.

Tank barrels spat their shells towards the sky.

And as this
was
Toy City, those toy shells carried force.

“I’m hit,” squawked a pilot, but in chicken tongue.

The other Eddie levelled his craft. “Kill them all!” was the order he gave. “Prepare the nukes and kill them all.”

Eddie and Jack and Dorothy rolled about on the floor. Chickens fluttered above them, but they still held onto their guns.

Somehow!

“And please shoot this troublesome trio,” ordered the other Eddie. “And get it over and done with.”

And guns trained down on the troublesome trio.

And one of these leapt up.

She leapt up with a great degree of style, so stylish it could almost be called balletic.

And, as with all the best bits so far, it happened in good old-fashioned slow-mo – which, although it could be argued that there has been rather too much of it lately, it is exactly the way that this bit
should
and
did
happen.

Dorothy cartwheeled into the air and spun around, her left foot describing a wonderful circle, striking beak after beak-guarded beak, striking chickens from the air.

Eddie, in slow-mo, also leapt, towards his other self. He caught him a decent enough blow to the ear with the special tag and knocked him from his seat and seat belt. The two bears bowled across the cockpit. Things now became a bit tricky.

From beneath came vigorous gunfire. Toy cannons added to the tanks’ assault. Toys of all varieties issued into the streets, many, in the more disreputable parts of town, toting illegal weaponry that they too discharged skywards.

A stricken saucer plummeted down and struck Toy City Town Hall.

Gunfire ripped into the undercarriage of the Great Mother-Henship.

The Great Mother-Henship, now pilotless, slewed hideously to port.
[48]

The Eddies bowled over and over, punching and biting and suchlike.

Dorothy dropped down nimbly into the pilot’s seat.

“Do you know how to fly this?” asked Jack, swaying about in an alarming fashion.

“Now would be the time to learn.” And Dorothy yanked back the steering wheel.

The craft shot upwards, narrowly missing another craft that was rapidly on the descent.

This one struck police headquarters. Mercifully empty. Although Chief Inspector Bellis’s entire collection of dolly porn went to ashes.

“Whoa!” went Jack, a-steadying himself.

The Eddies did further tumbling.

Separated.

Fell in different directions.

Dorothy took control of the craft, levelled it out and put it into a circular holding pattern.

Jack snatched up his weapon as the two Eddies prepared to engage in further battle.

Explosions burst all around the circling saucer.

Remaining saucers poured down fire.

Greater fire was returned.

“Stop it, you two,” Jack told the squaring-up Eddies. “It’s all over now – will you stop.”

The Eddies glared at one another. “Shoot him, Jack,” said one.

“Don’t shoot
me
,” said the other one. “I’m the real Eddie. Shoot
that
one.”

Jack’s big gun swung from side to side.

“I’m not shooting anyone,” said Jack. “Land the craft, please, Dorothy.”

“That might be a problem,” said Dorothy. “The controls appear to be jammed.”

“Let me have a go at them,” said an Eddie.

“No, let me.” And an Eddie snatched up a fallen big gun.

The other Eddie rapidly did likewise. “Drop that gun,” he said.

“Drop your gun or I’ll shoot you dead.”

“Shoot him, Jack,” said an Eddie.

“No, shoot
him
, before he kills us all.”

Jack’s gun moved backwards and forwards and back.

Explosions rocked the craft.

Dorothy struggled at the controls. Said, “I think we’re going down.”

Eddies cocked their big guns both.

“Jack, shoot him,” said one. “I’m your bestest friend. You know it’s me. Shoot him, Jack.”