Brady Carmichael and the Poodle of Mass Destruction - The Kachina Shaman by David Carnes Page B

the black and
yellow orb in mid flight. It floated motionless, like a sun
surrounded by eight speedy little white planets.
    Brady looked over at Fifi and winked at her.
Then he closed his hands making two fists. There was a sound like a
knife cutting a ripe apple and sixteen perfectly sliced sections of
bowling ball fell to the ground.
    With what sounded like a satisfied hum, the
PODS circled back and resumed their orbit around Brady.
    “Not bad, not bad at all Gramps. Of course
Fifi would have to throw the bowling ball at me. You couldn’t have
thrown a golf ball or something?”
    Fifi grinned and wagged her tail
innocently.
    Gramps shook his head, “You guys know you
shouldn’t be doing that sort of stuff in here, you’ve got to run
tests in the sealed test lab down the hall. That’s what I meant
when I said to try it out. Remember the last time you were goofing
around in here and you let those nanobots out? They could’ve eaten
half of North America. Someone will get hurt and it will probably
be me. Plus I kind of liked that bowling ball.”
    Brady and Fifi both mumbled apologies. Brady
added, “We’ll get you a new bowling ball Gramps. We promise.”
    Fifi quickly whispered to Brady, “Remember
that? Letting those nanobots out was awesome! They ate your shoes,
oh and the pizza guy’s car. That was hilarious."
    Then seeing Grampa frowning at her, Fifi
tried to change the subject and asked, “What about me Gramps? Got
anything good for me?”
    “Of course I do, my dear.” He replied and
smiled. “You’ll like this. You remember that tooth you chipped when
you were fighting the giant robot from Antares Prime?”
    “You mean dis one?” Fifi asked in a muffled
tone as she opened her mouth wide and let her tongue roll out to
one side.
    “Yep that’s the one. I made a cast for you
and I have a replacement, but it’s not like your other teeth,”
Gramps said as he reached into another grey drawer and held up a
small, shiny, white dog tooth. “If you press on it with your tongue
and bite down hard, it will light up, giving you a smile so
dazzling your opponent will be momentarily blinded.”
    “Hmmm, danks Gwamps.” Fifi said as Gramps
snapped the tooth into place.
    “It has an adhesive that will set in about 30
seconds. Here you go my girl. Enjoy your new, extra dazzling
smile.” Gramps scratched her the way she liked just behind her left
ear.
    Fifi let Gramps scratch her ear long enough
for the tooth to set in place, plus a little extra. Then Brady and
Fifi left the workshop area through a double garage door opening
into the main body of the hanger.
    It was by far the biggest room in their
underground complex. Fifi had tried to call it the poodle-cave. But
Brady argued with her that she was ripping off Batman and on basic
principle he would refuse to hang out in a poodle-cave or ride
around in a poodle-mobile. So after a long argument they took
Gramps’ advice and agreed to call it the “hangar” and to give each
of their vehicles a number rather than a name.
    They had twenty-three numbered vehicles in
all. Transports ranging from a radar-evading, deep-sea, stealth
submarine, Number Four, to a fancy hi-tech jet helicopter with a
shimmering blue force field, Number Six. They even had a massive
bright pink Hummer with spinning wheels and hidden missile turrets
(that was the one Fifi wanted to call the poodle-mobile) Number
Two.
    Brady had to admit he had not outgrown
thinking it was funny to say in a British accent, ‘Ms. Fifi would
you like to take Number Two?’ She would giggle and respond in high
old lady voice, “Let’s go number twoooo.” And they would both
laugh.
    Brady selected Number Eight for their trip,
one of their fastest and most flexible air transports. It was sleek
and looked like a shiny metallic egg. It could quickly fly in any
direction or just hover. It was completely silent and could use
virtually anything for fuel. One time they were running low on fuel
during a mission in