Just the prospect of her being dead was worse than when his wife had died. Maybe it was because he’d had no power over the situation when his wife had died, while he had instigated his pet’s death.
It was true that there were patrols of soldiers, Elite Guardsmen, out collecting pets already. This was apparently to ease the pressure expected at the Cattery on the last day of the grace period, when all those who had kept hold of their pets until the last possible hour would hand them all in at once. According to the news reports he had read, the soldiers were expecting five to ten times the influx of the first day, and that was despite the patrols. A spokesman for the Elite Guard had even claimed that they just didn’t have the facilities for all of them on the last day and that they were trying to get the grace period extended to ease the pressure. But the Government wasn’t buying it; they had set the deadline, and they expected it to be met.
George had considered several times that if they were overcrowded now and they were still receiving more prisoners daily, then they must be easing the pressure somehow. If the original news statement had been true, then people should already be getting their pets back with a clean bill of health and a document stating the pet had been checked. So far he had heard of none. Not that he had too many friends who had owned pet cats, but those few he did and who had already handed their pets in had heard nothing back yet.
He had seen none of the patrols around his way, and if they had called on him he might have had some difficulty describing what had happened to his pet. The fact was, though, that they could call at any time. The Elite Guard didn’t fear the night; they knew how to handle cats, and the hunters avoided them because of it. Had they called when Kitty was here, he would have had no choice but to let her go with them, so perhaps he had done the right thing by letting her go already. But they hadn’t called, they hadn’t come looking for her, and there was a good chance they wouldn’t. He could have given her an extra seven days of life by keeping her until the end. No wonder he couldn’t sleep. No wonder his head throbbed in pain and all he could do was sit in the virtual darkness with nothing more than soothing music and the newspaper on.
Assassination attempt on the Greater Matriarch fails. There had been a time that a headline like that would have caught his imagination. The Greater Matriarch lived in America, in Florida, in a fragile peace with the human population. Who would want to assassinate her and maybe upset that peace? Was the would-be assassin caught in the attempt, or did he or she escape? How many were there? Had the Greater Matriarch or her husband made a statement to any of the networks about the incident? There were more questions to be answered, yet all he could think about as he read the headline was that it had nothing to do with Kitty.
A little further down the list of headlines, ignoring titles like ‘Carson achieves new world record for mile,’ ‘Cats break into Army Armory,’ and ‘Iteck to send team to remains of Pluto for investigation,’ George found something else that would’ve caught his attention on any day but this. ‘Samuel F Goldberg and crew still on the moon!’ This was the eighth exploration ship to return to Earth since they had been launched, and people had a lot of experience with what to expect. Each crew member became a celebrity in their own right. They would appear on chat shows and write their memoirs and the like. They would tell people of their experiences on the strange world they had visited, the arguments, the jokes, the geographic anomalies, and so on. Although they had a habit of fading from the public eye after two or three years, once the novelty had worn off, never before had a crew effectively vanished from the public eye before being in it. Then there was the moon. Every other crew had landed back where they had launched from. None of them had ever landed on the moon before. It could simply be a new directive, but it was strange, to say the least. Again, though, he paid it no heed. He knew Kitty wasn’t on the moon, nor had she been part of Samuel F Goldberg’s crew, and that was really all he cared about today.
George didn’t know when he had fallen asleep or how long he had been asleep when the soothing music was replaced by the computer inquiring, ‘I have an incoming call for you. Would you like to receive it?’
His first thought as he sat up was that Kitty had finally decided to call. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘put it through.’
‘Please confirm,’ the computer asked in its usual monotone voice.
‘Confirmed, confirmed, put it through!’ George almost yelled at it. For days he had been hoping to hear from his pet cat, fearing she was dead, and when she did call the computer tried to delay him with its petty requests.
The face that appeared on the monitor attached to the wall next to the drinks bar was not that of Kitty, though, and his heart sank when he saw it. It wasn’t that he had anything against his brother, whose face it was, just that he had been so hopeful that it was Kitty. Stanley Lomax was a construction and maintenance engineer posted on the moon. Moonbase had been built nearly nine hundred years earlier, and it had the sort of layout that looked as if bits had been added as they had gone along. It needed a lot of work just to keep the structure from falling in on itself. Mars base was much different; they had planned the layout of it before they’d even started building, and though it too needed maintenance work occasionally, the base layout made a lot more sense.
‘Hello, Stanley,’ George said. He tried to suppress a yawn and failed.
‘Hi,’ his brother replied, ‘are you there? I don’t see you in my monitor. Why’s it so dark there?’
‘Hold on a second.’ George got off the couch and walked round to face the monitor so his brother could see him on his side of the link. ‘That’s better.’
‘Yeah, I can see you now. Why the darkness?’
‘I was just taking a nap on the couch,’ George explained. ‘Afraid you woke me up. Can’t be helped, though; what’s the call for?’
‘I thought you’d like to hear the news. I’ve been promoted to head of my team. I’m also getting a transfer to the base on Mars, but I think we can talk more about this tomorrow. Maureen and I are on our way, if you can put us up for a day or two. We’ll give you all of our news then. Calling from the Moon is very expensive. Besides, everything up here is suddenly so par—’ Here there was interference on the line for a moment. ‘…into the same small area. I don’t know when we’ll get a flight; it’s as if everyone on t—’ More interference. ‘…at the same time. How they intend to k—’ Again, interference hit and continued for a while until Stanley’s voice came through again, ‘…lo, are you there? George, can you hear me? Hello, George, can you…’
‘Yep, I’m here,’ George interrupted. ‘You keep getting interference. Perhaps it’s best if you wait until you see me. I think I can put you up for a day or two; how long are you on leave?’
‘About a week, though my leave started yesterday. I’m supposed to take up my new post on Mars in six days,’ Stanley told him. ‘We’ll be leaving as soon as we can get on a flight, but I also intend to call on an old friend before we join you. We’ll probably be there just after dark tomorrow.’
‘Ok,’ George affirmed, ‘but try and make it before dark; it’s not safe to wander around the streets at night.’
‘If we can get away quickly enough,’ Stanley replied, ‘I’ll do what I can.’
‘Good, I look forward to seeing you. Will you have all your stuff, or are you having it transferred directly to your new quarters on Mars? You’ll probably want to get back a little early so you can sort your quarters out. If you need any help, I’m available for the foreseeable future.’
‘Yes,’ Stan commented, ‘I heard about your job, but we can talk about that tomorrow. Tell that cute little moggy of yours that we miss her and we’ll see you both tomorrow.’
‘Moggy? Oh yes,’ said George hesitantly. ‘I, er…yes, okay, I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a great trip.’
He sighed as he returned to his position on the couch. How was he going to explain to Stanley what he had done with Kitty? He still found it an effort to explain it to
himself, and though Kitty wasn’t Stan’s pet, Stan was nevertheless very fond of her. Well, he had been very fond of both her and Jojo. It might be because his employers hadn’t allowed Stanley or Maureen to have any pets of their own.
So it was that the clock display on the newspaper slowly ticked its way toward eight o’clock. Then at a quarter after, the front doorbell rang.
He almost jumped off the couch at the noise. He rarely had unannounced visitors to the door. He never had them after night had fallen, and it had been dark out for many hours. No one called on people after dark, no one except perhaps cats. Yes, a cat might call at night if they thought they might be able to trick the householder into opening the door.
There was a monitor in the hallway that he turned on when he got there. This showed him the image of the person who had rung the doorbell. It was a young redheaded woman, maybe seventeen years of age, and she had a smile on her face as she looked up into the camera.
Well, she didn’t look like a cat, but he knew the cats had all sorts of clever disguises. He was safe so long as he kept the door closed. Hopefully if she was human she would get away before the cats found her. If she was found mauled to death on his doorstep in the morning he would have a lot more explaining to do than he felt he could face right now.
‘Can I help you?’ he said to the stranger. He kept his voice cold and unwelcoming. He wasn’t going to open the door to her, and he wanted her to leave as soon as he could convince her to go.
‘Are you Mister George Lomax?’ she asked simply, her head tilted gently to one side in a way that only served to unnerve George more.
‘Yes,’ he said, his voice still cold. The fact that she had used his name surprised him a little, though that wouldn’t have been hard for her to find out. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Would you open the door so we can talk face to face?’ she asked and gave him a cute smile.
‘I don’t think so,’ he replied, ignoring the smile. ‘I don’t know you well enough.’ Even had it been light out, he would have thought twice about opening the door. Just because the cats were known to hunt at night didn’t mean that would stop them from trying to take advantage of a situation during the day. Cats hunted at night because their night sight was better than that of humans and they could stalk their prey more easily at night.
‘Fair enough,’ she said. Her face suggested she understood. ‘I represent HIDD, Humans In Defense of the Domesticated.’
‘Oh yes,’ said George. His voice was still cold, and he sounded non-committal. He remained wary that the figure on the other side of his front door could easily be a wild cat. She couldn’t get in without his opening the door for her, though; the door was laser proof, and the lock was computer controlled and couldn’t be picked. ‘So what can I help you with?’
‘Well,’ she said, ‘the group I represent is trying to build up support among the many pet owners in the area to march on the government and force them to return our pets to us. Our records show that you own a pet by the name of Kitty, and we were wondering if you would be willing to help us.’
Well, that sounded legitimate enough. There were always people protesting against this and that, especially against the government. It was like spaceports: everyone wanted to use them, but no one wanted to have one at the end of their street. ‘What would I have to do?’
‘Nothing you don’t want to,’ she said, smiling. It was a very fake smile. ‘A donation. I could even take it now if you were willing to open the door. Or you could march with us on the day, or you could just sign our petition. It’s the names we deliver that we hope will be the biggest blow. Maybe you could help out in two or even all three areas; that would be great.’
That was the second attempt to get him to open the door. George was feeling very suspicious about the woman. ‘Well, I support your stand, but I’m not going to open the door to anyone I don’t know at this time of night. If you could give me an address where I could send a donation, and perhaps the date of the march and where it’s starting from, then I’ll be there on the day.’ Actually, he couldn’t afford a donation. He had another mortgage payment to make soon, and with him not having a job it would have to come out of his savings. He had enough for just one more payment after this, assuming he didn’t have to pay for things like food and heating, which was also beginning to become an issue now that it was late autumn.
‘That’s fine,’ the girl on the step said. She smiled again into the camera, and then she turned to walk away.
George watched her go, a little confused. Well, he had wanted her to leave before she became someone’s dinner on his doorstep, but what had he said to make her go? He turned off the outside camera and returned to the couch, where before too long he was asleep again.
Day Four
Meetings
It is thought that something like 73 percent of the people who play ‘The Game’ are below eighteen years of age. People from all walks of life seem to be aficionados, including at least one world leader and, though they don’t openly advertise the fact, several wild Herbaht.
15
Interrogation
The sound of the early morning alarm woke Lieutenant-Colonel Giles Norton from his nighttime slumber. It was time for him to get out of bed and get ready to face the day before him. As was normal, he lay there for a few minutes as if hoping the new morning were only an illusion and that maybe he could go back to sleep for another hour or two.
Colonel Norton had pretty much reached his current rank more through the nepotism of his father than through any actual ability of his own. Nevertheless, he was the man in charge at the Cattery, and he had made it his business to learn every aspect of the goings-on there to the best of what ability he did have.
The gentle pitter-patter on the roof told him that sometime during the night, it had started to rain and was continuing to do so. The sound of the rain was hypnotic, and it threatened to send him back to sleep. It would have succeeded were it not for the sound of the alarm that was still being emitted by the household computer.
After a few minutes of fighting the desire to go back to sleep, he threw back the bedclothes and got up. He stood there, swaying slightly, his bare feet acclimatizing to the cold floor before he headed into the shower room.
He would take around an hour or so, showering, eating, getting dressed and so on, preparing himself for the rigors of the day before him. As he did so his mind was always working, thinking about the things he had to do that day or even about how well the men under his command had coped this last week. In the last few days especially there had been a lot of pressure on them. Cats had been piled into cells thirty or more deep. Cats had been arriving quicker than they could be destroyed, and it didn’t help that they had now run out of the drug used to destroy the creatures. He had to admit, the men had handled the extra workload admirably, considering the pressure they were suddenly under. There had been complaints, of course (there always were), but nothing that had put much of a strain between him and the men. He was proud of the way they had acted, considering the circumstances.
The only man who really seemed unhappy was Major Musgrove, and he always seemed unhappy. It was understandable; the Major would probably have been the man in charge of the Cattery by now had not Colonel Norton’s father intervened and gotten him the promotion that had made him what he was.
He checked himself in the full-length mirror to make sure he was smart enough to be seen in front of the men. He needed to realign his tie, but he was pretty happy with the rest of his appearance. His batman, Collins, had done a good job in getting out the oil stain that he had somehow picked up two days ago. There was a truck arriving every day for the disposal of the dead cats, and he had probably brushed past one of the arms of the lifting mechanism on one of them sometime or other. He couldn’t remember doing so, but the oil patch had just suddenly appeared on his uniform, and now it was gone.
He opened the door to the world beyond his small apartment and breathed in deeply. The smell o
f fresh air was mixed a little with the smell of the cats in their prison blocks. There were so many cats being held prisoner that you really didn’t need a super sensitive sense of smell to notice it, and it stank. The cats weren’t washed, and they were never exercised.
He breathed in a few more times and then ventured out into the rain, not moving any faster because it was raining than if it hadn’t been raining. He wasn’t about to surrender his dignity for the sake of a little rain.
There were five apartment houses in the Cattery, and they had been placed as far away from the actual prison blocks as they could while still being inside the stockade. There was a line of barrack houses, a canteen, and a small car park used for official army vehicles between the two. But the Cattery was only so large, and most of it was dedicated to the twenty long, thin prison blocks. The apartments could only be just so far away. Besides, if they were too far away, he’d just have that much further to walk each morning.
Major Musgrove stood waiting just inside the prison block that the Colonel was heading towards, positioned so that he was just out of the rain but could still see a good part of the compound. He saluted as the Colonel entered and stepped back to give him room to do so.
Colonel Norton returned the salute. He was dripping a little on the floor of this building, but he refused to notice.
Every one of the twenty prison blocks in the Cattery had a room at the end for the guards, usually a group of three, to spend their on-duty hours when they weren’t keeping a watch on their inmates. It was in one of these rooms that the Colonel was now standing. It was a nice-looking room. The guards seemed to like to pick a theme for their room, and they competed with each other to give their room that illusion. It was harmless enough, so Major Musgrove had allowed them to carry on. As a result, some of the decorations could be quite outrageous. This was the prison block where the wild cats were kept and, as an intended irony, it had been decorated as hunting lodge.
London Wild Page 25