Taterskin & The Eco Defenders: Book 2, Chapter 39
Book 2 ("Tell It to Future Generations"), Chapter 39 of 56
CHAPTER 39
“I reckon you could fly that way, but would you be able to beat us in a race?” Yukyuk countered.
“Sure I could!” Terri asserted. “That is, if I wasn’t hampered and handicapped by being kept down to this punified version of my rightful self.”
“All right, Terri, if you promise to behave yourself, I will decompress you,” Ravelle offered.
“It’s a whiz,” Terri said.
Albert knew what she meant by that, being fond of old-fashioned slang himself, but some of the rest of us didn’t recall the previous usage of that idiom by Albert and so thought that Terri was either making reference to a common addition to a Philly Cheese Steak sandwich or alluding to the fact that she needed to “use the restroom,” as some euphemistically refer to the act of urination.
But Terri would never talk about that. Not that she was prissy, prudish, prim, or priggish; the reason she wouldn’t discuss it was because she took care of such urges on the fly (literally), and didn’t even give the function any thought.
“Besides,” Terri added, ignoring the confarrassed (combination of confused and embarrassed) looks on the faces of some, “If I’m larger, I can rescue you all when and if you get into trouble. I can’t do much at this size,” she says, looking down disgustedly at her diminutive dimensions. “It takes away all my self-confidence, pride, and courage.”
“OK, OK, don’t worry, you’ll be bad as new in two flicks of a kitty-cat’s tail,” Ravelle said.
At the mention of a kitty-cat, everybody looked at Marmalade. She self-consciously tried to avoid our stares while unconsciously flicking her tail: once, then — before she could give it a second flick, Ravelle had — click-click-click-click — returned Terri to her normal size.
The again-ginormous Pterodactyl swiftly moved away from Ravelle and his Compressor/Decompressor and said “Ha-Ha!” in an I’ve-got-you-now tone of voice.
But she was only thinking of her regained power and winning the race, nothing more sinister than that.
We got into the JNG-Fs, flew upriver a mile or so, turned around, landed in the stream, and came floating down, while Terri waited for us at the edge of the waterfall, not wanting to get a head start and thus have to listen to us claim that she cheated.
The ride down the river, with our engines turned off, was thrilling: We rocked gently, as if we were in an elevated canoe, and the sound of the falls grew in volume and intensity as the amount of river remaining between us and the edge of the falls continued to decrease. Almost before we knew it, we began to feel the spray and saw sky instead of water straight ahead of us. As we hit the very lip, or edge, of the falls, time seemed to slow down for a second or two. We teetered over the edge as if suspended in space ... then, over we went, pitching steeply down. It seemed as if we were descending not just straight down, but even curving inward a bit, as if we would flip vertically, end over end. Right when it seemed we were about to lose control, Albert pressed the Start button/ignition switch, and the engine hummed to life (being electric, it didn’t roar as a gasoline engine would have). We didn’t miss out on any roaring, though, because Rory supplied his own (roar) in his fearcitement (you can probably guess what that portmanteau word means). Even Lions, known for their dauntless courage, can be startled when confronted with certain new experiences.
As we continued to descend rapidly, and were coming nearer and nearer to the bottom of the falls, Albert pulled back the yoke as fast and as far as he could. The Zephyr responded beautifully, raising the nose of the craft. If anything, the craft was too responsive, as we pulled up so steeply so quickly that the stall horn went off — we had gone from the nose of the craft pointing straight down to it pointing almost straight up, and the wind resistance was too strong against the great white underbelly of the Zephyr. It was like being on a flying Horse that was rearing up, trying to buck us off.
Albert pushed the yoke gradually and smoothly back in until we finally leveled out. We all let out whoops and hollers and barks and roars and grunts and screeches. That was truly exhilarating!
Later, I heard about a funny exchange (I thought it was funny, anyway) that had occurred in the Androcles. After Ravelle had pulled out from the downward drop in the same way that Albert had, and even performed an Immelman, a Split-S, a Chandelle, and a Cuban 8 (don’t ask me where he learned those maneuvers — maybe they came to him naturally), Drako exclaimed:
“This is more fun than a barrel of Monkeys!”
“What do you mean by that?” Ooga then said. “What about Gorillas?”
“What about Gorillas?” Drako replied, wondering if Ooga considered his reference to his little cousins politically incorrect or something.
That wasn’t it, though. Ooga was not the type to worry about political correctness — he had pretty thick skin. His issue was more an academic one, you might say. Ooga replied, “How about it being more fun than a barrel of Gorillas instead of mere Monkeys?”
“How many Gorillas would fit in a barrel?” Tubthumper wondered.
“Well, half of one, I guess,” Ooga said.
“And how much fun would that be?”
“I guess you’re right: not much; none at all, to be precise. OK, you win, this is more fun than a barrel of Monkeys. But it’s not more fun than a skyscraper full of Gorillas!”
Ooga was one of those apes who always had to have the last word.
Taterskin & The Eco Defenders (in paperback, kindle, or hardcover) is available here.