Rocking the Resistance

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  SPECIAL THANKS

  This one goes out to all girls who stand up and fight for what’s right, even when it isn’t the easy thing to do.

  A SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT FROM EMPRESS GEELA:

  “Greetings, all you lowly fools on the planets of the Pentangle. Guess who’s back and more amazing than ever? That’s right, darlings—it’s me: your magnificent and all-powerful EMPRESS GEELA!

  “Have you missed my beautiful face during this dark period when my media networks were on a break? I realize it may have been—ahem—an inconvenience that every single one of my news and entertainment channels was off the air for several weeks. My servers are undergoing some technical difficulties, but a team has been working hard to solve a rather sticky situation. Despite their obvious incompetence, they have finally fixed the problem so none of you needs to suffer through life without your favorite shows any longer.

  “The Geela Entertainment Holo-Viz Networks are back—and our upcoming programming is better than ever! We’ll be airing all-new, even more romantic episodes of The Empress. Look forward to a remarkable new season of Dancing with the Empress. And of course, we have a full slate of incredible music programming including new songs from galactic rising stars SPACEPOP!”

  “Wait—what?! CUT!” Geela, the self-appointed Dark Empress of Evil, glared at the team of producers gathered around her elegant soundstage. She hissed, “Who is this SPACEPOP, and why must I talk about them during an announcement about me and my shows?”

  Geela’s newly promoted executive producer ducked his head and cringed. He was the fourth executive producer Geela had worked with that day. The first three were recovering from their morning assignments in the studio’s medical wing. “Y-y-your Highness,” the beefy, square-headed alien stuttered. Four slender tentacles on his head quivered.

  “Speak up!” Geela snapped.

  “Your Highness, SPACEPOP is that new band?” he said in a whisper. “The band that sings the song ‘We ’Bout to Start Something Big’?”

  “Is that a question or a statement?” Geela demanded. The expression on her stone-cold face was impassive, her mouth set into a thin line.

  “A statement, Empress.” The enormous producer let out a shaky sigh. “SPACEPOP is the hottest new band in the galaxy. Athena, Rhea, Juno, Luna, Hera—”

  Before he could say anything more, Geela’s long, quick fingers plucked a jelly-filled doughnut off the platter floating beside her in midair. She whipped it at the producer, smirking as her sweet little missile flew across the soundstage at the speed of light. Splurk! Green jelly goo flew in all directions when the doughnut hit the producer’s face.

  “Clean that up!” Geela screamed, gesturing to the sticky mess. “And that will be enough talk of SPACEPOP. Let’s get back to work so we can air this special message for the people of the galaxy. It’s been too long since they’ve heard my voice. Have I made myself clear?”

  Everyone in the studio mumbled, “Yes, Your Highness.”

  Geela nodded, scowling at her employees. Then she stood tall, smiled at the camera, and began again:

  “Before we return to my exceptional slate of programming, please listen closely to an important warning. I am certain all of you are well aware that it is simply NOT POSSIBLE for anyone to break in and destroy my servers. However, if some PESKY rebels ever did manage to breach my impeccable security and steal or break something (again), there will be consequences. I want to make sure this is crystal clear: any creature caught anywhere near MY STUFF will be captured immediately and taken to a very special storage compartment in the DUNGEON OF DARK DOOM. There, as my esteemed guest, you will learn to mind your manners and my rules.

  “Now that we’ve gotten all this essential business out of the way, I want to take a moment to tell you all about a wonderful new product I just ADORE! The Swish-M-Boots are a marvelous invention that will absolutely REVOLUTIONIZE your cleaning routine. Take it from me—this is the greatest new product of the millennium. Is your cleaning bot on the fritz? Tired of getting down on hands and knees to reach that pesky dirt in the corners of your home? Crouch no longer! With the Swish-M-Boots, you can sway, dance, and skate your home clean. Our special cleaning pads attach to your limbs and—”

  “Cut! Cut!” Geela screeched, waving one long arm in front of the camera. She flicked the cameraman’s nose with her pointed fingernails. “This is ridiculous!”

  The cameraman howled in pain. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. I’m so sorry. Can I get you a fresh box of doughnuts, Your Greatness? Something to cheer you up for the next take?”

  “There will be no next take,” Geela growled. “I do everything perfectly the first time.”

  “Of course you do,” crooned the jelly-covered producer. “You’re magnificent.”

  Geela smiled. “Indeed.” Her cold smile curled into a hideous frown. “But what is this nonsense about Swish-M-Boots? Since when do I advertise these silly cleaning products? I am the DARK EMPRESS OF EVIL!”

  All the gathered producers and other staff exchanged nervous glances. Tibbitt, Geela’s beloved sidekick, hopped off the empress’s shoulder and hid under a table. Finally, one of the assistant producers squeaked, “Swish-M-Boots are one of your new products, Your Highness. Your team of researchers invented them, and all the money made from sales of the boots will go directly to you. You stand to make a fortune if the product catches on.”

  “I see,” Geela said, her nostrils flaring. “So I’m supposed to endorse this product?”

  The young producer nodded eagerly. “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “Just to be clear, you want me—the most important person in the entire galaxy—to endorse an absurd pair of boots that help clean floors?”

  No one said anything.

  Geela raised her arms over her head. “I have taken it upon myself to imprison the royal families of the Pentangle and rule over the galaxy, and I have proved myself to be the most influential and powerful creature alive in the universe. Yet I am supposed to smile cheerfully and tell people I CLEAN MY OWN FLOORS?” She shook her fists. “Does anyone see how utterly nonsensical that is?”

  There was a chorus of yeses from Geela’s staff.

  “Whose idea was this?” Geela shouted.

  Silence.

  “Tell me WHOSE IDEA IT WAS TO INCLUDE THIS FOOLISH COMMERCIAL IN MY SCRIPT!” Geela slammed her fists onto a table, and her body grew rigid with fury. The room crackled with energy. Tibbitt whimpered and scooted farther under the table. As much as the empress seemed to like her strange pet, he often got caught in the cross fire when she went on one of her rampages.

  “If I were selling shampoo and showing off my lustrous locks, that would make sense. As you are all aware, my hair is outstanding. Undoubtedly, my best feature.” She caressed her shiny dark hair, blissfully unaware that everyone in the room knew she wore a wig. “Or if I were promoting a line of self-help books, that would also
make sense since I have so much wisdom to impart. Perhaps a workout video, to help others achieve my level of physical fitness and strength.” She flexed her biceps. “But CLEANING? Come on, you fools. Who’s going to believe that?”

  When no one said anything, Geela shook her head and hissed, “You all disgust me. Find me a new staff, then fire yourselves.” She beckoned for Tibbitt to follow, grabbed another doughnut, and stormed out of the room, muttering, “I am running a galaxy full of fools…”

  LUNA

  “Take forty-six,” a weary commercial director called out. “And … action!”

  “Hello, all you gorgeous Pentangle residents.” Luna, the lead singer of the band SPACEPOP, stood with her back to the camera and shook out her long golden hair. “Love my locks? Well, let me tell you all about Solar Glow, an out-of-this-world new hair-care line that will make your hair look like this!” Luna spun around and beamed at the camera. “Bad hair days begone!”

  “Cut!” someone yelled from the edge of the set. A formal-looking older fellow stepped out of the shadows, smiling apologetically. “Cut, cut!”

  “What is it, Chamberlin?” a producer asked, obviously irritated. One of the female alien’s two heads glanced at the clock and grumbled, “We really need to wrap things up here.”

  The older guy—Chamberlin—stepped forward and explained, “As I’ve told you approximately forty-six times already, you are not to show Miss Luna’s face in this commercial. We all agreed that this spot is to be only about her hair.”

  Luna pouted. She loved her hair, but her face was undoubtedly her best feature. And Luna loved for it to be seen. “But, Chamberlin—”

  Chamberlin cut her off. “No buts, Your Hi—” Chamberlin stopped himself just in time. Though he had been living with the five princesses of the Pentangle for over a month, he sometimes forgot the girls were in disguise and he was no longer allowed to call any of them “Your Highness” when there were other creatures nearby. If anyone were to find out the band SPACEPOP was actually a cover for the five missing princesses, they would be in for some serious trouble. Geela and her extensive army of Android Soldiers were searching for the missing girls everywhere.

  Just over a month ago, Geela had taken the kings and queens of the Pentangle prisoner and declared herself empress, and Chamberlin had been given the task of helping the princesses escape and then keeping them safe. Though the experienced royal butler would have preferred that he and his charges hide on a remote planet until life in the galaxy was back to normal, the five princesses came up with a very different idea. Not willing to sit by quietly while their homes were destroyed, the young royals disguised themselves as a rock band called SPACEPOP and set off on a tour of the galaxy singing songs about rebellion and peace.

  Eager to succeed in the most important assignment of his life—keeping the princesses safe and their true identities a secret—Chamberlin had agreed to act as the band’s “manager” while they were on the road. It was not an easy job. Especially now that the band was achieving a certain level of fame for their music. Luna, especially, could be a bit of a diva. All the girls missed their royal lives.

  Chamberlin cleared his throat and went on. “As we have discussed, Luna, the Solar Glow Corporation is not paying you enough to use your face in this commercial. Only hair. And no, we are not willing to negotiate.” The girls’ disguises were still relatively new, and Chamberlin was constantly worried about the five girls being recognized if anyone got a close-enough look at one of them. Broadcasting Luna’s face in a commercial that would air all over the galaxy was too risky. When she had insisted on doing this product endorsement, Chamberlin had made her agree to certain terms.

  “Got it,” muttered the weary director. “No face. Only hair. But, dude, can you please inform your talent that she’s as much to blame as anyone? Quit spinning around to smile at the camera, lady!”

  Luna clenched her jaw. “Excuse me?”

  The director rolled his eyes. “You heard me: quit spinning around. We can’t keep your face hidden if you insist on smiling at the camera.”

  “Do you have any idea who I am?” Luna said. “My name is not ‘lady.’”

  “Whatever,” the director muttered. “And yeah, of course I know who you are. You’re this week’s hot new thing. I’ve been in this business long enough to see plenty of singers just like you come through my studio. You and SPACEPOP are hot today, but don’t get too full of yourself. It can all be gone, just like that.”

  Luna huffed. There were many things she disliked about living in disguise, but this was probably the worst. She hated people treating her with anything less than the full respect she deserved. She couldn’t tell anyone who she really was, and there were times—like now—that she would absolutely love to announce, “I am Lunaria de Longoria, the princess of Lunaria,” to see how quickly the lowly creature would bow and avert his eyes. She could just imagine the look on that sniveling director’s face if he learned her true identity. He was full of himself for no reason. She, on the other hand, deserved it.

  “Remember, Luna,” Chamberlin whispered. “No showing your face. That was the deal we made. We can’t risk you being recognized—it’s for your own safety, and the safety of the other girls.”

  “Fine,” Luna snapped. Then she sighed, thinking of how awful it would be if she ruined things for the four fellow princesses she now considered her friends—the first true friends she (or any of them) had ever really had. Quietly, she added, “I get it.”

  “Take forty-seven,” the director grumbled. “And … action!”

  This time, Luna swung her hair and recited her lines like a pro. She’d had plenty of experience with photo shoots during her years as princess of Lunaria, and she knew how to buckle down and get things done when she had to. Though she wasn’t thrilled with the end result, she decided take forty-seven was good enough. Solar Glow was complete junk, so the commercial didn’t really deserve her best effort anyway. The products smelled like chemicals, and when Luna used them in her own hair, they left her long, gorgeous waves limp and lifeless. She was pretty sure she had even detected a faint green tinge among her golden highlights. And at the edges of her face, Luna’s soft buttery-yellow skin had started to burn a little after she’d left the hair mask on too long.

  But because Luna liked the attention and loved that she was the only member of SPACEPOP asked to endorse the line of Solar Glow products, she had quickly said yes when she was offered the paid opportunity. The funds would help her refresh her makeup collection. Besides, she felt guilty that most of the residents of the Pentangle couldn’t afford the hair creams and cleansers she used in her own hair—Solar Glow was (maybe) better than using nothing at all. Even if the things she said about Solar Glow weren’t true, it’s not as if a few little white lies would hurt anyone.

  No one would ever have to know—just like all the other secrets she and the other princesses of the Pentangle had been keeping.

  JUNO

  Ignoring her burning muscles, Juno scrambled onto a narrow bridge and leaped across a lava stream. The toughest and most athletic member of SPACEPOP flung her legs up and over an enormous steel column, then braced her body for impact as she jumped fifteen feet to the next level down. “Oof!”

  Juno—who had once been well-known throughout the galaxy as the princess Junoia Atley-Wolford—ducked and weaved as she crossed through an open area in the warrior-style obstacle course. Small animals screeched and dove at her, pecking and burrowing into her spiky purple hair. Juno swatted them away. Thick metal branches closed in around her. Unfazed, she got down on her hands and knees and crawled, commando-style, under them. None of the obstacles thrown her way were anything compared with what she had faced when she had been sent into the wilderness on Junoia to live alone for a month at the age of ten.

  Juno smirked. She totally had this.

  The floor shook and broke apart under her feet, but still she powered on. Just when Juno thought she was in the clear, a stray rubber bal
l thwacked her in the head—probably thrown by some kid in the crowd. That was the hazard of doing this sort of thing in front of a live studio audience.

  When Juno had agreed to be a competitor on Fight or Flight—one of the galaxy’s most popular holo-viz broadcasts—she had definitely not expected the obstacle course to be as challenging as it was proving to be. It looked so much simpler when you were watching it from the comfort of your own media room.

  Juno adjusted the competitor mask she had been forced to wear (to “make you look fierce,” the producers had explained—as if she needed help in that department!). She squinted up at the cameras hovering around her, following her every move. The lights inside the stadium were intense, and it was hard to see past her immediate surroundings. She knew she had to be close to the end of the course, but Juno had no idea how she was doing versus the other competitors. Despite the noisy clanking and whirring of gears and levers all around the stadium, Juno could hear wild applause and cheers from the crowd. For her? Juno hoped so.

  Suddenly, all noise stopped. The branches surrounding her went still, and Juno braced herself for the next challenge to swoop in and surprise her. But a moment later, a loud voice rang out over the sound system. “Contestants, we’re going to take it from the top again. Camera L is having some technical difficulties, and we missed the whole sequence of Alta running across the bridge. Juno, Alta, Lunddor, Pliz—take five. There are snacks in the Flight lounge. We’ll call you back to set when we’re ready.”

  Juno gazed up and around, confused. The camera drones buzzed away. She pushed the ridiculous mask up onto her forehead, took a much-needed deep breath of air, and frowned. Pliz, one of the other Fight or Flight competitors, strolled past her, whistling. He gave Juno a little salute. “You surviving?”

  “Of course,” Juno said breezily. She recognized Pliz from past shows—he was a repeat winner of Fight or Flight. The round, pockmarked creature looked like a softy, but she knew he would be a tough one to beat. She looked up at the motionless obstacles dangling above her and asked, “What’s going on?”