Intergalactic Terrorist (New Dimension Book 1) (28 page)

Chapter 42

The odd little group turned the corner onto Spinach Street and cut through one of the lesser alleyways that was too insignificant to be given a name. Not insignificant to the homeless old lady who lived down there however. Although at this moment she wished it was so insignificant that no one even knew it existed, as the fleeing convicts had not seen her sleeping under her rags and had stomped on her fingers, her knees and her head.

    Before long they found themselves back in the market place, which was currently still void of people. They could see the docking bay in the distance. An’ishia strained her eyes.

    “There are no guards at the docking bay,” she remarked.

    It should be pointed out about now that May’orns have incredible eyesight, but it is selective. If they chose to, they could pick out a fly buzzing through the sky a mile away. It can be a great asset in May’orn society but it can occasionally cause problems. Al’loyor Mil’xer once tried to see the surface of the sun and ending up melting her eyeballs. Il’corath Tax’zerlath used his impressive eyesight to search for his wife, eventually finding her on the opposite side of the city in bed with his brother.

    Of course May’orns are not the only species with great eyesight. A native rat in Baggus’Regious has developed super eyesight to enable them to see through the immense amount of dirt in the sewage pipes. In a random dimension where the stars are black and space is white, the Intaloola, a species whose arms are five miles long, need brilliant eyesight to be able to see what they are holding in their hands. On Earth there is a creature called a mole that, under common belief has terrible eyesight, but in reality has the best eyesight on the planet. They just really enjoy fooling everybody.

    “They must have all been ordered to help capture us!” Wextoal laughed.

    “Why are you still with us?” Charlie grumbled. Luckily it went unheard or Charlie would probably have found a knife in his stomach.

    “It seems,” said Greebol proudly, with a finger pointing into the air, “that we are in luck!”

    “Luck is given and taken away by our Lord Beff!”

    The priests of the True Believers strode into the market place led by the badly burnt Reverend
Kimfin
.
It was he that had spoken and was about to again, his mood terrible. He had the rage of a god brewing inside him.

    “You try to destroy us?” he growled. “Many have tried before. None have succeeded. Beff will not allow you to succeed. You
will
face His almighty judgement on the other side. The True Believers will not be destroyed by unbelievers or sects from false religions!”

    Greebol chuckled. “There has been a large mistake here Reverend,” he began. “Have you not heard? We are not against your religion… we are terrorists.”

    Charlie kicked him in the shin. Greebol didn’t seem to notice.

    “The reason for your attack is unimportant,” the Reverend spat. “you will still face your punishment.”

    Greebol considered explaining to the priests that it was a mistake. He considered apologising. But Greebol, being Greebol, shrugged these considerations off as being ‘most un-bounty hunter-like’ and instead thought he would do something that he would find highly amusing instead, but was unsure if anyone else would.

    He reached into his tight pants and brought out the
Through Interspace Transportation System
remote control. He grinned.
This
was going to cause a stir. He was sure Charlie would kick him again.

    He pressed the button.

    Once again the form of Professor Amirous began to appear in shimmering light and once again the form of the mighty dragon appeared around him. And once again the screams of priests filled the air.

    “The beast!” they shouted. “It’ll kill us all! The religious terrorists strike again!”

    The priests scattered, fleeing from the dragon that rose up on its back legs, let out a deafening roar and blew streaks of flames across the market place.

    Charlie stared at Greebol dumbfounded, but his stares of disgust were ignored as Greebol laughed out loud and slapped his thighs. He slapped Wextoal’s thighs who chuckled along with him. He slapped Vegora Vrall’s thighs that were so solid that he didn’t even feel it. He slapped An’ishia’s thighs and instantly found her boot in his groin.

    The dragon burned a couple more priests as they fled from it. It was really frustrated. Twice it had been happily going about its business, when it had suddenly been pulled, ripped from its point of existence and sent in a blurry haze to a completely different area that was in no way as good as where it had just been.

    It is impossible to describe what it feels like during teleportation. The best description came from a young girl. She said it felt like being caught by a billion tiny fish hooks attached to a billion fishing rods that continuously attempted to reel you in different directions, ripping your flesh, muscles, organs and bones into a billion tiny pieces and then casting them away through the air. The little girl had in no way ever experienced teleportation as it was a pretty new-fangled invention but, surprisingly, her theory was quite astute.

    It should be pointed out, for legal reasons from the company that makes the teleportation device, state that it is in no way painful.

    The dragon would disagree.

    It turned its attention away from the priests and glared menacingly in Greebol’s direction.

    Dwarf, Elf and Wizard culture would state that dragons are simple creatures who survive purely on instinct. There was an attempt by a group of Wizards to test a number of dragon’s intelligence using a series of intricate mazes and puzzles. The results concluded in a number of broken mazes, puzzles and dead Wizards.

    Whether this particular dragon knew that Greebol was controlling its sudden teleportation or not was an issue that could be debated at a later date. Currently the only debate was whether to run, freeze, pass out or soil yourself. Charlie began to do all four.

    The dragon reared up its huge bulk of a body, stretched out its long, thick wings and, with a giant leap, took off into the sky. It circled for a moment before picking Greebol back out of the crowd again, opening its humongous jaws and diving straight for him.

    Now Greebol did not scare easily. It took something pretty darn frightening to spook him. At this moment in time he had to admit that there was a slight tingle in his fingers. The last thing he wanted was to be swallowed by this ugly brute. Therefore he grabbed Charlie and pushed the panicking Human in front of him like a sweaty pink shield.

    Charlie cried. Real tears streamed down his face.

    At the last moment the dragon veered off to the left, narrowly avoiding Charlie, although his shirt did suffer a large rip as it caught onto one of the spiked teeth. The dragon soared back up into the sky once again and circled the market area, searching for Greebol. It saw him hiding behind two more people. This time there would be no escape!

    An’ishia stared at Greebol by her feet. “Either you're hiding like a scared baby,” she began, “or you’re trying to look up my dress. Either way I’d move before I do some serious damage to your face.”

    The dragon swooped.

    An’ishia and Vegora Vrall were currently too occupied with Greebol to notice the oncoming beast. Charlie closed his eyes. He did not want to see the love of his life chewed up inside a mythical creature’s mouth!

    Then Charlie did something he never expected he would. He actually tried to save her life. Here was a man that once ran away screaming when a moth became trapped in his girlfriend's sweater, now running to save the life of a green skinned girl he barely knew from the jowls of a gigantic dragon!

    It must have been love.

    Charlie reached An’ishia and gripped her by the shoulders in an attempt to pull her out of the way. Unfortunately for Charlie and An’ishia, and Vegora Vrall come to think of it who was pushed along with the other two, the dragon turned sharply again, which just happened to be in the path of the fleeing three.

    Charlie had never been a fan of mouths. Sure, they were good for chewing and came in handy for talking but other than that they freaked him out a little. It was possibly due to his very first experience of kissing a girl. It wasn’t his fault. No one had told him how wide to open his mouth or that he should in no way attempt to bite thinking that it might be ‘kinky’. The taste of blood in his mouth had lingered for days.

    His dislike of mouths had also probably stemmed from the dentist, as most people's did. Charlie hated having someone else’s fingers inside his mouth, rummaging around in those rubber gloves as though they were searching for a peanut down the side of the couch. Once again, no one had told him how wide to open his mouth and again not to bite. Presumably people had just expected him to know. A plus side to this story is that people flocked from miles to have their teeth seen to by the three fingered dentist.

    This particular mouth freaked Charlie out more than any other. Probably because it was about the size of a bus with teeth sharper than razors. And probably because he was currently inside this colossal mouth. It was like looking into an endless chasm. A really stinky chasm.

    Luckily for Charlie, and An’ishia and Vegora Vrall who were in the exact same predicament as him, he did not have to play eyeball with the dragon’s tonsils for long as, with one almighty gulp, the three were thrust down into the beast’s vast gullet!

Greebol was a little bit disappointed. He had believed that Charlie, even though at the moment he seemed to hate his guts, would eventually become his partner for real. Greebol had seen great potential in him. Charlie would have made a smashing bounty hunter with a little training.

    Greebol guessed he would have to find another prospective partner. He glanced over at Wextoal who was picking his teeth with his knife. Possibly? Wextoal cut his tongue. Greebol shook his head and slapped himself for thinking such foolish thoughts.

    “We should really get away from here,” Wextoal muttered, knife still in mouth, blood building up between his lips.

    “Probably would be a good idea,” came the reply as the dragon circled back again through the grey clouds up above, its reflection shimmering on the surface of the large Elfin ship. The dragon was determined to get that grey
thing
for making him keep disappearing and reappearing elsewhere.

    It went in for a dive. Ten out of ten for effort, a poor two out of ten for style. But this dragon did not care for style. Greebol and Wextoal turned on their heels to run, Greebol dropping the
TITS
control
in the process. He reached down to grab it just in time as the dragon’s teeth skimmed by where his head had just been.

    “Oh it is bloody broken!” Greebol sulked, stomping his foot on the ground as he waggled the switch that was hanging from the remote.

    The dragon also spied the damaged object in the grey thing’s hand. The dragon smiled a smile like a crocodile. It was that object he held that made him disappear. Now that it was broken, the dragon was satisfied. After all, he had just swallowed three people so he didn’t need to eat anything else. Not for at least an hour anyway.

    Greebol watched the dragon rise upwards into the sky and beyond the clouds as Wextoal stole a couple of coconuts from one of the abandoned stalls. He wobbled the broken remote control in his hand and sighed. That
TITS
had cost him a lot of knobs. What a waste. He threw the remote control onto the floor and began to stomp in a tantrum away towards the docking bay. Wextoal followed, picking up the broken remote as he went, shoving it into one of the pockets of his large overcoat. The scrawny runt would steal anything.

    “Wait!” a deep voice shouted after them. “Wait! No! Damn you! No!”

    Giblet emerged into the market place, out of breath and covered in blood – none of it his own. Greebol and Wextoal turned back to the Dwarf.

    “Are you talking to us?” Greebol asked melancholy.

    “I was talking to the dragon,” Giblet spat as he watched the last signs of the beast in the distance, leaving cloud trails behind it like the back of a jet.

    “Is it your pet?” said Wextoal snuffling and wiping a line of green from under his wet nose.

    “Pet? Ha! No… it is my challenge! I
must
have that dragon’s head! There is treasure in its belly that has to be mine!”

    Greebol's non-existent ears pricked up. Had he just heard the word treasure?

    “I was told that you had the power to summon the dragon. Is this true?” asked Giblet.

    “Alas,” Greebol began, “the power was mine but it has been stolen away from me.”

    Giblet sighed. “That is a shame. I cannot even follow the creature,” he continued, “as my darn vessel has been confiscated!”

    Greebol grinned. An idea was brewing in his mind. A light switched on. Greebol reached up and switched it off again.

    “I have a ship,” he said.

    The Dwarf eyed him suspiciously. “And?” he said.