Star Cat: War Mage

by Andrew Mackay

  Three fresh cat scratches glowed on her cheek.

  She’d only recently come-to, temporarily forgetting about her Androgyne nature. The scratch marks served as a stark reminder that she wasn’t human. Lifting her earlobe back with her knuckle revealed the Manning/Synapse logo.

  Yet another reminder.

  She closed her eyes and sobbed. Feeling sorry for herself wasn’t an action she was used to. She knew that most every day of her life there must have been a point when she discovered she was an Androgyne Series Three unit. Every day since her inception she would have accepted it and gone back to sleep.

  Or get knocked out by someone, forcing her to shut down.

  Each time she’d wake up with the knowledge of her true self erased.

  Still, the pervading sense of being abnormal upset her for the umpteenth-thousandth time in her life. The revelation never got easier.

  If anything it got a damned sight worse.

  “I hate myself,” Wool brushed the tears away from her eyes. She focused on her reflection and saw something she despised staring back at her, “I hate you," she screamed at the top of her lungs.

  Wool’s fists tightened with fury. She scanned the room for something to strike. Her radio was the first victim presenting itself to her, sitting on the desk like an antiquated idiot laughing at her dismay.

  “Bastard,” Wool scooped it in her hand and threw it at the window. It bounced off the plastic and slammed against the floor, setting off a music track she usually found comfort in; Cats in the Cradle by Ugly Kid Joe from the late twentieth century.

  The song reminded her of her childhood. Nothing specific, but just a soundtrack of happier times.

  The twang of the opening guitar resembled a bunch of meowing cats. She couldn’t be bothered to bend over and stop it, and so shifted the device across the floor with her boot.

  The song continued to play its first verse as she moved to the window and held out her palm. Her reflection did exactly the same.

  “It was all lies,” she said to herself, “But they’re my lies.”

  All considerations of life and childhood vanished the moment she looked past her teary reflection.

  In the distance, a humongous black tree hulked its root and frame out of the sparkling ocean.

  SCHTOMP… SCHTOMP… SCHTOMP.

  It slammed its limb-like branches to the shore and waded out of the water.

  She raised her eyes with anxiety, “My God. What is that?”

  The room rocked around each time the tree slammed one of its twelve limbs onto the sand. The surrounding Shanta shifted out of its path. The tree’s front four branches extended across the sand and out of view of the window. It seemed to be going for Opera Beta’s back-end.

  CLANG!

  Medix shifted around with every stomp it took - a none-too-subtle indication that the tree had made contact with the vessel.

  “Gah,” Wool stumbled back and grabbed the frame of Jelly’s bed.

  She kept her gaze trained on the window. The three suns in the sky bubbled and formed together like an amalgamated ball of pink liquid paint. The rings around it spun faster and faster in all directions like a furious gyroscope.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  Pink Symphony’s horizon wobbled around as the intensity of the room’s shaking grew, “We’re moving?”

  Wool clutched the metal rim of the bed for balance.

  The radio slid along the floor. If the casters on each bed weren’t locked into place they’d have rolled around and knocked into each other like mad bumper cars at a fairground.

  “We are moving,” Wool clutched her chest and caught her breath, “Thank God.”

  SWISH.

  An enraged Jelly ran into the room on all fours and made an instinctive bee line for Wool, “Mommy.”

  “Jelly,” Wool hopped onto the bed and opened out her arms, “Where have you been?”

  The floor shuddered around causing Jelly to slip off track, “Miew.”

  An exhausted Tor ran into the room and attempted to catch his breath, “Where are you… you little—”

  The shuddering floor pushed him onto his ass.

  “Oooph.”

  “—Hisss,” Jelly clung to the bed frame. Wool caught her under her arms. She set her down on her lap and shot Tor a look of thunder, “What are you doing?”

  “She tried to run away from me,” Tor complained and caught his breath.

  “Look at her,” Wool turned to the hassled Jelly, “Her heart is racing a mile-a-minute. What did you do to her?”

  Tor climbed to his feet and tried to keep his balance. Unable to look at the girl, he turned to the window, “I didn’t do any— Whoa!”

  He caught sight of the sand dunes lowering through the window.

  “Are we… moving?”

  “Yes, did the commotion not give it away?” Wool stroked Jelly’s fine orange hair in an attempt to calm her down, “Seems the thrusters are working, now.”

  “We’re getting out of here,” Tor placed his palms on the plastic window and felt a wave of relief roll down his spine, “Thank God.”

  “Miew,” Jelly wriggled for freedom in Wool’s arms. She kicked her legs out and exposed her belly.

  “It’s okay, honey. We’re going back home.”

  A glowing pink orb buried beneath Jelly’s stomach fur caught Wool’s attention.

  “ You’re going to be a mommy, yourself.”

  Tor looked at the three suns form a blinding ball of pink and white. The rings continued to spin.

  “What’s going on up there? In the sky?”

  “I don’t know, Wool kept her eyes trained on Jelly’s belly. The pink orb slid around and pushed the fur aside. It bubbled up and formed two circular edges which tried to break apart.

  “Huh?”

  “Miew,” Jelly clung to Wool’s inner-suit sleeve and kicked her legs out. The orb bubbled out into three, smaller oblong-shapes and nestled side by side.

  “Tummy. Hurts.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Tor yelped.

  Jelly jumped from Wool’s arms and bolted under the bed frame for safety.

  Tor pointed at Jelly’s ass disappearing under the bed, “Wh-what’s she d-doing? And why is the sun growing?”

  “How should I know?”

  Wool jumped to the ground and crouched to her knees. The bed’s shadow rolled over Jelly’s body as she cowered on all fours. Her orange-black eyes gave her position away. She didn’t want anyone to touch her - not least Tor.

  “Hey, honey. It’s okay,” Wool offered her Jelly a friendly hand in the hope she wouldn’t lash out, “It’s me. Mommy.”

  Jelly scrunched her nose and forced her whiskers up and down, “They come.”

  “Who… come?”

  “They come,” Jelly said with a childlike innocence, “War.”

  “What’s she talking about it?” Tor asked. He knew full well that no one had the correct answer, “War?”

  “Protect gift,” Jelly flexed her infinity claws and scraped them across the ground, “War. It comes.”

  Wool kept her false smile up for fear of angering the cat, “What do we do, honey?”

  “Fight.”

  “We fight?” Tor snapped. “Fight who?”

  “Did someone say fight?” Jaycee’s voice boomed from the door, “I’m up for a fight. I think I’ll start with knocking your block off, Rabinovich.”

  “Hey-hey,” Tor took one step back and held his hands out at Jaycee, “Don’t you touch me, you dumb mound of metal.”

  Jaycee clenched his one good hand and threatened to punch the man, “Where’s Anderson?”

  “Under the bed. Look.”

  “Right,” Jaycee thumped the bedside desk and used it for balance. His right knee slammed against the ground, putting a dent in the tile.

  “Be careful,” Wool said. “You and your heavy frame.”

  “Shhh,” Jaycee peered under the bed and waved at Jelly with his severed wrist, “Hey, gi
rl.”

  “J-Jaycee…” Jelly squinted and refused to move.

  “Yes, it’s me. Why don’t you come out?”

  "Scared."

  "We’re all scared."

  He unclasped the side of the desk and pushed his good hand under the bed, "Com here, girl. It’s okay."

  Jelly didn’t want to go anywhere near him. She shook her head and covered her body with her furry, human-like arms, "No. Safe here."

  Jaycee climbed to his feet, "She won’t come out.”

  An idea came to him. He opened the compartment on his leg and took out a black smart bomb, "Wait, I got it."

  Wool raised her eyebrows, "You’re not going to blow her up, are you?"

  "Don’t be stupid."

  He grabbed the bulk of the grenade in his hand swung it upside down. The metal hook and pin at the top of the device jangled back and forth.

  "Here, kitty-kitty-kitty," he smiled, dangling the pin in front of her, "Look at the shiny-shiny."

  "Miew…" Jelly’s cat-like desires got the better of her. She took a swipe at the jangling metal only for Jaycee to pull it away from under the bed.

  "Haha, look at her going for it," Jaycee pulled the smart bomb back . He knew Jelly couldn’t resist attacking it.

  "Be careful, man," Tor said. "What if she yanks the pin—"

  SCHWAPP!

  Jelly’s right infinity claw sliced through the air and hooked through the metal loop. Jaycee yanked it back, but was too late.

  CLICK!

  "Oh dear."

  "Smart bomb armed," came a tinny voice from the hook, along with three flashing lights, "Warning, smart bomb armed."

  "Christ almighty," Tor and Wool hopped to the other side of the room in a bid to take cover, "Make it stop."

  "Miew," Jelly bolted from under the bed and hopped onto the desk. She attacked the rumbling grenade in Jaycee’s palm.

  "Ah, get back," Jaycee thumped the pin back into place. The lights flashed off one by one.

  "Smart bomb deactivated," advised the grenade.

  Tor and Wool exhaled in utter relief.

  "Jelly… play. Toy," she held out her paw and demanded he give her the grenade.

  "You want this?"

  "Jelly wanting."

  "No, Anderson. This isn’t a toy," Jaycee slid the bomb in his thigh compartment and clamped it shut, "This is for the big boys."

  She thumped her chest with pride, "Me. Big cat."

  "No," Wool moved to the desk, “You, silly cat.”

  “You. Silly,” Jelly smirked.

  Wool looked at Jelly with suspicion, "Honey, you’re not a big cat. You’re very unwell."

  Jelly threw her adopted maternal crew member a vacant stare.

  "Wh-what are you looking at?" Wool asked with a side order of dumbstruck awe.

  "Beta moves," Jelly flicked her ears and clutched the side of the desk. She looked over Wool’s shoulder and saw the pink horizon shudder back and forth, "We fly."

  Jaycee, Tor, and Wool looked at the window in surprise.

  "I don’t get it," Jaycee held his breath and saw the ravenous Shanta horde scurrying across the sand from the ocean, "The thrusters aren’t on. How are we moving?"

  Tor walked through the holographic E-MRI of Jelly’s body and pressed his palms against the window. His breath fogged up the plastic as he muttered, "I don’t know. It doesn’t make any sense."

  A sprawling root filled the lower half of the window.

  "We’re definitely lifting, though—

  SCHLAMMMM!

  A black branch smacked against the window. Tor jumped out of his shoes with fright, "H-Holy shi—"

  SQQQUUEEEAAKKK!

  The black substance smeared out into five, thick digits and tensed against the exterior of the ship.

  Jaycee reached for his Rez-9 and pointed it at the window.

  "That tree thing. It’s taken a hold of us," he waved the others back to the door, "Get away from the window."

  Wool grabbed Jelly and set her in her arms, "Don’t shoot the window, you’ll get us killed."

  The room shuddered once again. The force of gravity shifted from the floor and up the back wall.

  Tor, Jaycee, and Wool staggered onto the surface of the wall in an attempt to keep upright.

  "Mommy?" Jelly tensed her muscles and clung to the woman’s inner-suit, "What goes on?"

  "I don’t know, honey. Just hold on to me."

  Tor lost his mind and snapped his fingers, "Manuel?"

  No response.

  "Damn it," Tor turned to the door. Tripp and Bonnie clung to it as the ship revolved on the spot.

  "What’s going on?" Tripp screamed from the door frame. He placed his foot on the wall in an attempt to keep up with the gravity subsidence.

  Bonnie placed her boot on the door frame and threw her hands in front of her face, "Wool. Is everything locked to the floor?"

  "Everything except the utilities," Wool tumbled next to her and slid up the length of the wall. She watched the beds climb away and released Jelly onto the picture of Jamie.

  "Friend," Jelly said.

  She pawed her way over the picture as the gravitational pull rolled across the ceiling.

  The E-MRI holograph continued to revolve in the center of the room.

  "Guys, listen up," Tripp barked across the room, "The thrusters aren’t on, but we’re being moved. We need to get to the control deck—"

  CLANG-SCHPLANG-SCHTANG!

  Various medicinal items - including scalpels and syringes tipped out from the trays and crashed against the ceiling. Each sheet lifted from its bed and drew into the air like an angry ghost.

  "Tripp, I don’t know what you have planned," Wool screamed, "But make it quick."

  SHUNT… CREAK… GROWLLL!

  "What the hell was that?" Jaycee applied his weight to the ceiling.

  The three suns warbled together like an unholy light bulb of God, "Captain, we could use some guidance here."

  Tripp looked around the floor and snapped his fingers, "Manuel?"

  Snap-snap. Still no response.

  "Something must have happened to him," Tor placed the sole of his left boot on the ceiling and the other on the adjacent wall. The utilities clanged around his boots.

  "The comms must be cut. We need to get to control."

  "Wool?" Tripp asked.

  "Yes?"

  Tripp saw Jelly sliding across the ceiling toward the far wall, "Is what you said true? About Jelly?"

  Wool pointed at the upside-down E-MRI. Three glowing dots appeared in the abdomen section of the holographic diagram.

  "It’s right there. What’s the state of Botanix?"

  "Jaycee took care of them," Tripp said. "Stay here with Jelly and keep the door closed. Bonnie, Jaycee, Tor. Come with me to the control deck."

  "How are we supposed to get there when the ship is spinning like a spit roast?" Bonnie asked.

  Tripp pushed himself onto the ceiling of the level three walkway, "Improvise."

  CHAPTER THREE

  USARIC Research & Development Institute

  Port D’souza

  (Ten miles northeast of Cape Claudius)

  USARIC Chief Executive Officer Maar Sheck sat at the head of the conference table.

  When he first arrived in the bunker it resembled little more than a makeshift nuclear shelter. Only the common survival tools one would expect to see were present - a large refrigerator and a sectioned-off compartment acting as a makeshift bathroom.

  Now, many months later, and upon his insistence, a selection of life’s more amenable luxuries were installed.

  A plush couch lined the wall. An antiquated one-hundred-inch TV screen installed on the long wall. It reminded him of his younger days.

  His right-hand man, Kaoz, stood by the open door as the board members shuffled into the room.

  “Quickly, please,” a hurried Crain McDormand led them inside. He placed his briefcase on the central table and took a seat next to Maar.

 
; "Is this all of them?"

  "Only seven of the twelve could make it," Crain snapped the locks up on his briefcase and removed a bunch of papers.

  Maar pressed his hands together and made eyes at each board member. They took their seats around the table.

  "Are we quorate, though?"

  "Yes. Seven makes it over half."

  "Right, I’m starting—"

  "—But don’t you want to go through—"

  "—No," Maar stood up and held his hands at the seven members of the board.

  "Good people, I’m very sorry you’ve been rushed here on short notice. I’d like to apologize for the lack of refreshments and change of venue. Sadly, it is necessary in light of recent events."

  "Does anyone know you’re down here?" asked an elderly female board member, "We’re concerned about you."

  "That’s very touching. And, no, no one knows I’m here. Not even my family," Maar waved his hand over the table.

  A holographic vector of something named Space Opera Charlie zipped to life and rotated on its axis, "And by the way, no one can know I am down here."

  "Space Opera Charlie?" another board member pointed at the vector. He clutched at the name placard resting on the desk: Samuel Moore.

  "Yes, Samuel. We received a communication from commander Tripp Healy on Opera Beta. Captain Daryl Katz and two of his crew had been killed trying to rescue those on Opera Alpha. Healy went on to confirm that they had decoded Saturn Cry with the help of Anderson, the winner of the Star Cat Project. Then, they disappeared."

  "We’ve heard nothing since?" Samuel looked at the others for a reaction, "What’s this got to do with Opera Charlie?"

  "As major shareholder of USARIC, I seek approval to change the operational remit of Opera Charlie."

  The female board member adjusted her lens-less spectacles and rifled through her papers.

  "The board approached the select committee to green light the rescue mission. They agreed and confirmed a launch date of August 29th, 2119."

  "That’s two weeks from now," Samuel said. "Who are the team?"

  The female board member read from her paper, "Colin De St Croix, Captain. Joined the American Star Fleet in 2110—"

  "Ah. They’re not going, anymore," Maar snapped.

  "They’re not?" Samuel asked. He expected Maar to explain himself but, instead, received a look of disdain.