War on Whimsy (Space Brigade 3)

Please compare and contrast the history of the Planet of Volcomania with the Planet of Whimsy.

Nicola nearly choked. It sounded like an essay question. There was no way she was going to use these questions.

"Sure thing," she said to Greta.

She took a firm hold of her microphone and stood next to Bertha, who had her hands clasped in front of her and was whistling a mournful tune.

"Sorry," she said when she saw Nicola. "I always whistle sad songs when I'm nervous. It's a strange habit. You won't ask me any really difficult questions, will you, or try and make me look stupid?"

"Definitely not," said Nicola warmly. Knowing that Bertha was nervous filled Nicola with confidence.

"Action!" ordered Greta, in a tone of voice that made you wonder if she'd been waiting her whole life for this moment.

Nicola lifted her microphone. She had decided to use her mom's maiden name for her fake identity.

"I'm Diane Dennett, reporting live from the Planet of Volcomania."

Mmmm. A bit too squeaky. Lower your voice and slow down.

"With me today, is Bertha . . ." Frizzle! Forgot to ask her last name! "Ah, Bertha is taking part in a protest against the War on Whimsy. Tell me, Bertha, why are you so strongly opposed to this war?"

Nicola tried not to look at Sean (he was making elaborately stupid faces at her) and held her microphone close to Bertha's mouth.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Greta furiously jabbing her finger at the list of questions in Nicola's hand.

"Because it's an outrage!" said Bertha.

There was an awkward pause.

"Ummm, why is it an outrage?" asked Nicola, taking the microphone back.

But she never got to hear Bertha's answer because at that moment they were both knocked off their feet by a torrent of water.

CHAPTER 14

Was it a flood? Had a river burst its banks?

Nicola went flying across the street on her stomach, propelled by an incredibly powerful surge of water. It was like she'd suddenly gone face-first down a very fast waterslide.

Gasping for breath, she sat up and looked down at her drenched clothes. Remarkably, she was still holding on to her microphone. Not one of the protesters was still standing. They were lying all over the road like flies knocked out by insecticide. Most of them had lost their placards. Some were crying.

"What happened?" she said to a young Volcomanian man lying close to her.

He sat up, dried his face on his sleeve, and pointed at the far side of the road. "Police," he said.

Nicola looked where he was pointing and saw a large group of Volcomanian women dressed in green uniforms. Each of them was holding the nozzle of an enormous black hose. The hoses looked like creepy serpent creatures.

"They turned those hoses on us?" said Nicola.

"Sure did," said the Volcomanian man grimly. "And now they'll arrest us."

"This is an outrage!" cried someone. Nicola looked up to see her interview subject, Bertha, climbing unsteadily to her feet and pushing her bedraggled hair out of her eyes.

"This was a legal protest against an illegal war!" she shouted.

"Oh dear," muttered the Volcomanian man.

"All protests against the war are now deemed illegal by order of Mrs. Mania!" boomed one of the policewomen. "Sit back down now, citizen!"