‘Okay,’ Stanley offered. ‘We can leave in the morning, three days from now, unless we hear from Kitty before then. Does that sound ok?’
‘I should probably use the time to pack,’ George replied. ‘How much weight am I going to be allowed? I suppose I’d better leave most of the furniture behind. Are the rooms furnished?’
‘We expect it to be furnished, but not with a lot of furniture,’ Stanley told him. ‘We can probably arrange for furniture to be sent separately, but I don’t think we are going to have enough room for you to move your entire house.’
‘You should choose that which you cannot live without and get the rest put into storage. Perhaps you’ll be in a position to get it back in the future,’ Maureen offered.
George nodded slowly. ‘The holoviewa can stay; the newspaper can stay. You’ll have these up there, I’ve no doubt. There are probably a lot of things like that that can stay or at least not hurry to get delivered, but there are a few things I couldn’t bear to be without.’
‘Well,’ Stanley told him, ‘you’re going to have a whole room to yourself. It won’t be a very big room. I haven’t seen the dimensions of it, but I’m told two teenage or younger children or one older child will fit comfortably in each of the extra rooms.’
It sounded a little cramped to George, but circumstances seemed to be calling the shots at the moment. ‘I can’t wait to see it,’ he replied.
18
A Night Out
With the moon little more than a tiny crescent, the only light seemed to come from a pair of very old-looking street lamps below the rooftop on which Sult was currently standing. The nearer of the two lamps hummed intermittently in a way that suggested it needed maintenance. Neither of them seemed to be producing anything like the floodlit effect of the modern street lamps that helped to deter cats from attacking those in their radiance.
Sult breathed out and watched the cloud of steam that his hot breath caused as it hit the cold night air slowly dissipate into nothing. The wind blew his jacket a little and seemed to be trying to distract him from his appointed task.
It was a cold and breezy night, yet Sult didn’t feel the cold and the wind was little more than an annoyance. There didn’t seem to be the usual chill factor that the wind normally brought with it. Perhaps that was just an anomaly, but there were others: the lamps, for one, were a few hundred years old and should have been replaced long ago, and then there was the existence of snow. The modern under-road heating was designed to stop it from settling, but this place had no under-road heating and tonight the snow was everywhere. Even as he kept his eyes on the part of the road that was illuminated by the lamps, his vision was partially obscured by the still falling snow.
Sult didn’t care about the snow. It was a minor inconvenience. All that worried him was what happened in the street below. This rooftop had a commanding view of that street. The building has once been the top of a multi-storey car park. As such, it had the only flat roof in the area, apart from a hovercopter pad on top of the fifteen-storey building about half a mile away which he hadn’t been able to find a way onto. It was probably too high for his purposes anyway. The multi-storey was an obvious place to use as a lookout, and his enemy would know that. In fact, this building had a commanding view of four different streets, but you had to move to different sides of the roof to see them all properly. The two roads visible from Sult’s position had rows of shops lining them. The one Sult was interested in was quite wide, wide enough for a road to bisect its center, but if such a road ever did exist it had long since been paved over. The other did have a road, but it stopped before it met the first road. Of the other two streets, one seemed to be the back of yet a third row of shops, while the fourth led north via a road with a wall on the near side and a few houses on the other towards a distant dual carriageway. Coincidentally, it also led around to the fronts of that third row of shops. Beyond the carriageway stood the building with the hovercopter pad on its roof, protected by nothing more than a low and heavily battered steel fence that would have been easy to hop over, had he been so inclined. Back in its heyday this had evidently been some sort of shopping center.—an outdoors mall with the main road paved over for pedestrian access, but with a few offshoot roads also lined with shops and still accessible by road traffic. Sult couldn’t see all of the offshoot roads from his position on the multi-storey, but he knew of their existence from previous visits. He knew that if he were to go far enough to the south along that main paved street, he would reach a traditional enclosed mall complete with parking facilities for the mall’s clients. It was long deserted now, like every other shop in this area. Heading even further south from there would take you to the sea front and what had once been the longest pleasure pier in the world.
‘Bang, you’re dead,’ came a voice from behind him. Sult turned round to the figure moving quietly through the snow behind him. ‘Any sign of them?’
Sult relaxed his grip on his laser rifle, although if it had been the enemy behind him it was very unlikely he would only have said ‘Bang!’ ‘Nothing much. I saw one of them a few minutes ago moving between a couple of shop fronts. He or she ducked into the doorway of that big shop by that road, just out of range of the light from that second lamp. I sort of lost sight of him soon after, but there’s virtually no way the figure could have moved without my seeing it. You have the glasses.’
Sult’s partner in this endeavor was one Fredrick Hughes. He was off-duty for the day from the Elite Guard, where he held the modest rank of Guardsman. He was five foot nine, fairly thin with thick black hair, and he looked very fit. His head kept moving, studying everything around himself in a way that suggested that nothing could get past without him noticing it. In short, he was very well trained, but then, only the most capable entered into the ranks of the Elite. He moved to the edge of the rooftop next to Sult and peered into the area that Sult had indicated. As an aid to his vision, he pulled out a small pair of infrared binoculars and used them to study first the doorway Sult had pointed out and then all the other shop doorways that were in easy reach of the first. ‘I see nothing down there; he must’ve moved while you were watching.’
Sult shrugged his shoulders. ‘So I’m out of practice. It’s been a while since we were last in Sou’nd. It’s a shame, though; I was hoping he might lead us to the others.’
Fredrick stood up again and looked around, saying, ‘They’ll probably guess we’re up here. We should move.’
Sult took one last look down at the street below, looking for any sign of his quarry. There weren’t even footprints in the snow. Then he climbed to his feet. ‘Okay, let’s go.’
The sound of a weapon powering up near the central elevators was followed within a moment by his friend Fredrick Hughes getting the full force of the blast from a laser rifle in the chest. The blast was so violent that it threw him from the rooftop.
Sult reached for his weapon at the same time he dived for the soft, snow-covered ground. As he landed he guessed that he hadn’t made it; they had shot him. The world seemed to swivel awkwardly as one of the cats he had been hunting approached from the relative darkness of the rooftop elevators, his laser rifle still pointing at Sult. Two more emerged from the shadows behind the first. The hunter had become the hunted. At the same time the words ‘GAME OVER’ flashed in front of his eyes.
Sult removed the Interactive Reality helmet and gloves angrily. He knew they shouldn’t have set the game to its hardest setting; it really was a waste of money. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to shoot; nor, he was sure, had Fredrick. He knew it was only a bit of fun, and it had gotten his adrenaline pumping, but in the end he felt they really hadn’t stood much of a chance. No one had yet beaten any of the Sou’nd scenarios at that level of difficulty.
Although Fredrick had been hit no more than a second before, Sult’s game was also over. When he left the IR booth, Sult saw that the other had already returned to his seat at their table. Despite the adrenaline rush that he too must have
been experiencing, he looked quite relaxed as he sat there looking straight toward Sult and the booths.
‘Well, I enjoyed that,’ Fredrick told him as Sult rejoined him, ‘even if it was over a lot sooner than I expected. I didn’t think they could move that quietly, not on snow anyway.’
‘Computers tend to cheat,’ Sult replied simply. ‘One of the side-effects of the A.I., no doubt. After all, the computer has to know where you are at all times so it can give you a fair input of your surroundings and show you what you can see. But the computer also controls the baddies. Although the baddies aren’t supposed to know what the computer knows, it’s not difficult for the computer to tell itself things it’s not supposed to know.’
Fredrick nodded sagely and then said, ‘Or it could just be that the multi-storey was the most obvious place to lookout from and we spent too long there. It’s not unreasonable to think that the computer might be programmed to send them there after a while because of its commanding view over the nearby streets.’
Sult gave his friend a toothy grin and said, ‘Well, if you want to get technical, I suppose.’
Fredrick laughed. ‘I think it’s my round; what would you like to drink?’
‘It is your round,’ Sult enthusiastically agreed before asking for a pint of his usual.
Fredrick inserted his card into a small slot in the top of the table, and a machine popped up between them.
‘Two pints of lager,’ he said.
The machine silently obeyed and poured them two perfectly measured pints of draught lager. They didn’t have to refer to it by name, as the machine would only offer the lager produced by the public house’s brewer. When the vessels had been removed from its delivery slot the machine made itself scarce again by disappearing back into the center of the table. When the machine had disappeared, the tabletop was totally smooth, leaving no trace that the machine had even been there.
Fredrick removed his card from the slot on his side of the table and replaced it in his shirt pocket before sipping on his drink. ‘Nothing quite as nice as authentic machine served lager,’ he commented seriously.
They sat in a modern public house. As with most public houses of this era, there was a bar, but it was just for show. Every table was fitted with its own dispensing machine capable of filling any order that the customer might make of it, so long as it was programmed for the item in question.
There were as large a number of tables as could usefully fit in the place while still allowing room for people to pass between them. There were also large glass windows that were becoming more and more common in public houses because they gave a commanding view of the car park for that public house and hence protected the patrons from possible cat attacks when they went to their cars. Even though it was only early evening, the rest of the public house seemed all but empty. Other than Sult and Fredrick, there were five other sets of customers scattered about the room. A pair of men sat across from each other not too far away. A man and a woman held hands across another table in a far corner. A pair of men and a pair of women occupied a third, though they seemed to be friends rather than on a double date. And near the door a group of between ten and twelve seemed to be having some sort of party celebrating something or other. Sult didn’t really care enough to listen in, though they were making most of the noise in the place. Finally, sitting on her own not too far from the I.R. booths was a woman looking impatiently at the main doors of the public house. It seemed most likely that her date hadn’t yet turned up and, judging from the expression on her face, was probably very late.
Behind the bar sat a lone member of the bar staff. He wasn’t there to serve the customers, though; that was what the machines were for. He was there to ensure that the machines continued to work, to keep them supplied, and, when necessary, to update the database of the central computer when new cocktails came out. If he had to he would call for someone to come and fix a machine that had broken down.
Sult drank his lager in large, thirsty gulps and referred again to how well he had done in the game they had just been playing, saying, ‘Guess I’m out of practice.’
‘It was on hard,’ Fredrick agreed, smiling. His lager was as of yet untouched in front of him. ‘And I know I’m not out of practice. I would have liked to have done better, but a computer simulation is never the same as real life.’
Sult shrugged. ‘I’m a musician now; other than the odd game with you in the I.R. booths, the only military experience I get is in The Game, and that’s hardly good practice for what we were playing.’
Fredrick nodded his agreement.
‘It brings people together. It brings people from all walks of life and from all over the world playing with each other,’ Sult frothed.
‘And against each other,’ Fredrick replied sardonically. ‘I’ve played it too, remember. Some people seem to take it so seriously, though. Did you hear the news last month about a man in Brighton who killed himself after a character he had raised to the rank of Major was killed in combat? Hanged himself.’
Sult sighed sadly, unable to think of anything to say.
Fredrick continued, ‘According to those who knew him on The Game, he had apparently been leading a raid on one of the homeworlds of a rival clan when their enemy sprung an ambush. It seems he was destroyed before he even realized they were under attack. His wife said that he was also feeling responsible for the others in his clan that lost their characters because he was in charge of the mission.’
Sult shook his head sadly. Some people just took these things too much to heart. ‘So how are you doing in The Game?’
‘I don’t get a lot of time to play these days,’ Fredrick replied resignedly, ‘too much work on my plate with this cat stuff. We could be suffering from the repercussions of this for months or more. We’re hoping to be through the worst soon, though—three more days until the last pet cat can be legally handed in. Then we’ll be mopping up those that still haven’t and likely be dishing out prison sentences for the owners that still resist.’
‘I’d like to know the real reasoning behind it,’ Sult commented carefully, a little cautious of offending his friend. Fredrick might believe the propaganda for all Sult knew.
‘I would too,’ confessed Fredrick, sighing. ‘And now we have been warned that the cats know where the Cattery is. Apparently they sent an agent to rescue someone. This agent was captured himself, but it does mean that the security of the whole Cattery is at risk. I think there are plans afoot to move the location of the Cattery to another area.’ He looked around nervously, afraid someone was listening in case he said something he shouldn’t.
‘You probably shouldn’t be telling me this,’ Sult interjected quickly, noticing how nervous his friend was even talking about it.
‘I probably shouldn’t,’ agreed Fredrick, ‘but the upshot is that we are now awaiting an all-out attack by the cats, especially after Sou’nd.’ His voice became angry, though he kept the volume of his voice low and measured. ‘What is that idiot Slim thinking? Let’s tell our plans to the whole world! Well, thanks for nothing, Slim!’
Two newcomers, a man and a woman, walked into the public house through the main door. They looked around and went to join the lone woman sitting at the table near the I.R. booths. It appeared that her date or dates had arrived after all. Sult watched for a moment out of interest what was happening over there while trying to make it look as if he was minding his own business. As a trained Elite Guard, he found that this was easier than he expected.
The woman who had been alone reached into her handbag and pulled out a small plastic bag with an almost white yellowy powder and placed it on the table in front of her. Sult turned his attention back to Fredrick; he wasn’t interested in drug dealers. At least it didn’t look like that cat-produced drug lambdazine. That was supposedly a pale gray color from the newspaper articles he had seen.
‘Disgusting business,’ Fredrick commented, appalled. He had seen where Sult had been looking.
‘Indeed,�
� agreed Sult, trying to ignore the activity all together.
‘It’s not my jurisdiction…Besides, I’m on leave; otherwise I might’ve felt obliged to do something about it,’ Fredrick added.
Sult just nodded. Even though the three at the table hadn’t made any sign of seeing him watching them, he felt exposed.
‘Those cats have a lot to answer for,’ Fredrick continued, unabated.
‘It’s not lambdazine,’ Sult commented, a little surprised that Fredrick might think it was. Fredrick was trained to recognize such things, after all.
‘No,’ Fredrick replied. He glanced out of the largest of the nearest windows into the very well-lit car park. ‘It’s not lambdazine; the cats have moved on through…This stuff is more addictive and, well…’ he stopped abruptly.
Sult mouthed a silent, ‘O,’ unsure of what to say.
‘Metazine, I think it’s called,’ Fredrick sighed, ‘metazine or muzine or something beginning with ‘M’…I think it’s metazine. It’s more powerful, more deadly, and they use a different dye. I believe the raw version of the drug is pure white. The yellowing is some sort of marketing ploy. As a pop star, you probably know more about drugs than I do.’
‘We’re not all junkies,’ Sult replied calmly. Far from this comment making him angry, as he might have expected it would had it come from almost anyone else, Sult was actually amused by the apparent assumption.
Fredrick seemed to become suddenly serious. Sult felt he was looking directly into his soul as he spoke. ‘And yet there is something on your mind, something that you’ve been thinking about all evening long, and yet you haven’t been able to bring yourself to ask.’
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