Zorroc: Feline Predators of Ganz

by Lil Gibson

  Dee, who dealt in solid facts and logic to locate and transport bail jumpers and Angel, who as a scientist, believed in nothing that couldn't be proven by two or more methods, often found themselves at a loss as how to react to Cat's occasional jumps into never-never-land. Cat knew her two friends sometimes found her two Twinkies short of a box, but she held firm to her ideas, convinced they were every bit as logical as her friends were.

  Cat snorted, "Oh, please. The arrogance of humans never ceases to amaze me.” Especially when she found it in her own friends. "What makes you think we are the most intelligent species on earth?"

  "It's a scientific fact proven conclusively by every renowned scientist and academic on the planet," Angel concluded.

  "A scientific fact proven by 'human' scientists and academicians who made up the criteria of what intelligence is then proclaimed their own species the most intelligent. Prejudicial data built to support flawed theories. Maybe if our intelligence enabled us to communicate with other species, we would find that they viewed things in a wholly different light. We know that ants communicate telepathically, therefore, probably impart knowledge a whole lot more effectively than humans; aren’t those attributes the mark of superior intelligence? Maybe cats are really the most intelligent species on the planet and should be worshiped by humans as the ancient Egyptians did instead of systematically slaughtered for food." Cat always felt particularly philosophical when sipping margaritas.

  Angel and Dee studied Cat with twin expressions of bemusement, confusion, and frustration before Angel summarized. "Cat, sometimes I think you're from another planet."

  Chapter Two

  “Sometimes that girl worries me,” Dee mused, her gaze following Cat’s retreating form as she made her way to the exit. “She insists on cat-sitting every evening until early morning even though she has competent staff to handle any difficulties. Her energy and dedication boggled my mind. Maybe all that sleep deprivation is catching up with her and affecting her judgment,” she proposed, meeting Angel’s amused glance.

  The two burst into fits of giggles, delivering twin declarations of, “Nahhh.” Shaking their heads. “She’s just different than we are,” Angel said, pausing to gather her thoughts, “fanciful and almost fey with one part of her rooted to reality while another, I don’t know, exists in a realm we can’t reach. And yeah, sometimes that concerns me a little.”

  “When she watches one of her Sci-fi classics, she gets so engrossed I think she half believes it. And if I have to listen to another lecture on the pyramids…” Dee added.

  “The Egyptian civilization was not advanced enough in engineering to design or construct such masterpieces of architecture, which supports the theory of ‘beings’ from another planet,” Angel finished, starting the two giggling all over again. “I guess it’s that combination of imagination, naiveté, and intelligence that makes her so precious.”

  “You’re probably right and we two pragmatists will always be here to protect those qualities.”

  * * * *

  Heading to her car, positively buzzing from a sugar high, with packages and purse making her progress awkward, Cat contemplated the unsolvable equation of what makes a friendship solidify into a bond stronger than family.

  Considering this latest puzzle, she began chewing on her lower lip; a habit she employed to help her ruminate on inconsistencies, whether involving people or situations. Caught up in her thinking, she didn’t register what had materialized directly in front of her and when she did, still could not believe it. She froze. He stood clearly illuminated by the powerful parking lot lights but she refused to grasp what her sugar-soaked brain communicated. Obviously hallucinating, she stared grappling for an answer. What other explanation could there be? Okay, it could be a costume, some hair dye and weird cat contact lenses—or this could be Candid Camera; she scanned the area for potential tricksters—or it could be…a pooka?

  Oh, this was too much. A pooka in the form of a cat. That entire drivel about cats being the most intelligent species mixed with Margaritas and chocolate must have pickled her brain.

  Think, think…he was the right size, around six four, the right shape, obviously human but…different. His skin gleamed a deep golden bronze, which beneath the powerful lights looked as smooth and shiny as polished marble. He had cat-like-eyes that settled on her in a very direct feline manner and had yet to blink. Add to that his Sean Connery eyebrows, and it equaled an absolutely, drop-dead gorgeous cat man.

  So, what should she do? Walk up and say hello? Ignore him? Run like hell and hope that he disappeared when the Margaritas wore off? He stood utterly still and silent and more to the point, he blocked her car as if he had the right. Time to brazen it out; a hallucination couldn't hurt anyone, could it?

  She approached slowly and cautiously, blinking rapidly in an effort to clear him from her vision. He exemplified male perfection beyond anything her overly vivid imagination could conjure. She studied him slowly from his head down to his toes, pausing briefly at the bulge between his legs and felt telltale color flood her cheeks. Boy, what an imagination she had! His hair, mostly sable in color, possessed two defining streaks of gold on either side of his temples; his cat-eyes matched the golden streaks. His muscular shoulders and body looked sleek and hard, exuding a leashed power that should have been intimidating, but instead acted as a lure. He wore tight black jeans with a short sleeved, V-necked black T-shirt. Moreover, he emanated a hypnotic magnetism that proved impossible to resist.

  "Hello," she croaked, then cleared her throat to try again. "My name is Catarina Achilles, are you, uh, real? Silly me, of course you're not real, ha." She forged on, determined to make an even bigger fool of herself. "Are you lost or possibly an escapee from a costume party?"

  She inched a little closer and whispered, "Are you an alien cat species worried about your relatives here on earth and decided to pop in for a little look-see? I promise I'm doing the best I can."

  She faltered at his continued silence then put her hands on her hips, frustrated with both herself and him. "Look, I know this is some sort of pooka mirage gone awry, but I'm going to touch you just to make sure, okay? If you have a problem with this and prefer I keep my hands to myself, now would be the time to speak, got it? Or better yet—disappear." She waited for something to happen. A poof of smoke, a waning mirage, did she detect an amused glint in his amber depths?

  He'd not moved a hair though she now stood close enough to breathe in his clean musky scent. His eyes, however, pulsed, vibrantly alive as they speared her very soul... Otherwise, she could have made a good case for an unknown party dropping a statue in the middle of the parking lot, blocking her car. Gingerly, she put out her hand, gently brushing the center of his chest, and then snapped it back as if she'd been burned. He felt every bit as smooth and hard as he looked but warm to her touch—hot, in fact. She had not counted on the heat. Yep, he was real all right, and if she told anyone about this, they would commit her and throw away the key chip. Cat believed a certain truth surrounded every folklore and legend. She’d spent hours, in fact, researching everything she could get her hands on concerning the subject, but still…could this really be a mythical spirit come to life?

  "Why is she not running? She appears nervous, but unafraid. Is she mind-blasted?" Prolinc mindspoke to Zorroc.

  "No, she is not crazy; she believes I am her pooka." Zorroc thought back; clearly amused.

  "What is a pooka?"

  "I knew you never paid sufficient attention in our history studies. It is one of many ancient names for our species before earthlings could accept the reality of another race not of their planet. They believed us to be mythical creatures, only seen by mind-blasts or addicts. You cannot read this for yourself?" questioned Zorroc. "She is projecting her thoughts blatantly and loudly."

  "No, I can read nothing," replied Prolinc. "Why is she touching you?"

  "She touches me to see if I am solid. She does not believe her eyes."

  "You can see me
?" he asked, and then mindspoke to Prolinc, "This will be easier than we anticipated."

  "Of course I can see you, we wouldn't be having this conversation if I couldn't see you. Of course, I've done all of the talking. I thought maybe pookas couldn't speak. Uh, you are a pooka, aren't you?" Cat asked, nervously looking around to see if anyone might be able to confirm this sighting. Twin amber-lit pools seemed to pour straight into her center. Such beautiful exotic eyes…she just might melt into a puddle at his overly large booted feet.

  "Can you see the others?" Zorroc asked with deceptive innocence, ignoring her question.

  "Huh? Others?" she stammered suddenly breathless. She took a couple of steps back finally grasping the precariousness of her situation. She swung her head in all directions trying to determine the best route for escape. A fine time for my flight or fight instinct to kick in.

  "We will take her, prepare to transhift," he telepathed to the others and began to move toward Cat. She threw her packages at him and turned to run, but got no more than a step before he was upon her. As he jerked her to his chest, Zorroc experienced a disorienting haze of oneness with her. He told himself it was just the effect from transporting together in the same stream, but a part of him doubted it. It almost seemed as though his body recognized hers, and then cursed himself for his delusions. "Bring her bundles, Bandoff; we want no evidence of a forced taking."

  Cat awoke alone in a spacious cabin, lying on a huge soft platform, covered with a thick comforter. All unfamiliar to her. She felt groggy, almost drugged. "Of course," she mumbled, "the Margaritas topped off with dessert." Which failed to explain how she'd gotten here and by the way, where was here? A pooka, she suddenly remembered, a pack of pookas materializing out of nowhere and the pooka she touched grabbing her…but that had to have been a dream. Pookas didn't exist. That must be it, she was still dreaming. She pinched herself. "Ouch!" Would she feel pain in a dream? Sometimes her dreams were so real she actually believed they occurred. At least for a while. Once she even asked Dee if a certain something had happened, only to receive a reply in the astonished expression on her friend’s face. She sighed and pushed her hair out of her eyes taking note of the tangled auburn mass and crumpled sweater and skirt. “Whew, still dressed anyway, thank the fairies. Well, except for my shoes, eek, and thigh-highs.” She rooted around on the bed under the comforter and on top, and came up empty then concentrated on her surroundings looking for a dresser, closet, or bathroom—not necessarily in that order. Her stomach felt queasy and her mouth cotton-coated.

  She eased off the bed making her way toward a panel across the room. It was spacious and immaculate with what looked to be steel walls, until she slid her hand over the surface to discover that they were warm and gave slightly when pressed. Padded walls! Had she landed in a loony bin? Would someone report her location to her aunts? Geez Louise, they'd worry when she didn't come home. Her pulse leapt as she battled the onslaught of heart-wrenching fear. It had seemed so real. The heat pouring off him. The conversation. She even remembered wondering if she could make him purr.

  A built-in desk with a console containing a computer, stood alone, followed by several rectangular openings, took up one side of the room. Something that looked suspiciously like a surveillance camera occupied a corner. Were they monitoring her? She had to use the facilities but whether she'd be emptying her stomach or her bladder first became the question foremost in her mind. She approached the exit and began pushing the buttons on a pad next to it. The lighting blinked to pitch-blackness. "No," she whispered. She imagined herself sucked into an inky black vortex devoid of oxygen, and began to hyperventilate just as a soft glow appeared near the platform bed enabling her to see and press the lights back on. She took a deep, cleansing breath that ended in a sigh. She approached the other panel to the right and it slid open noiselessly. A bathroom with a door that she could lock for privacy, she hoped.

  As Cat entered, the lighting came on. The roomy compartment had a clean, woodsy scent. A sunken tub that looked more like a small pool dominated the area, a circular disc on the floor beside it resembled a trap she would not traverse, and two large chair type things rose up from the floor along the back wall. One must surely be the toilet, but which? On examination, one looked like some sort of bidet or foot washer, which made the other the most likely choice of toilet. All this extravagance; had she landed in a loony bin of the stars, possibly mistaken for some famous, crazy country singer?

  She leaned over and lost the contents of her stomach.

  After taking advantage of the well-stocked bathroom, she made her way unsteadily back into the main quarters. Her name reverberated throughout the room, drawing a startled yelp and making her veer off toward a clothes alcove with the insane thought of hiding from the voice.

  "Apologies, Catarina, it was not my intention to startle you," the all too familiar voice remarked from the speaker on the wall. "My people are on their way, please make easy. You will not be harmed."

  Suddenly, more infuriated than frightened, and furious at her own cowardice, she screamed, "Where, the hell am I?"

  There was no reply except one terrifying certainty. It was no dream.

  She didn't have long to wait. There were four of them. The same pack of pookas she'd glimpsed, briefly, before being nabbed. They appeared exotic in the extreme and no two looked alike. Though tall and muscular, their similarity ended there. One was all black, his skin and hair so dense they absorbed the light. Even his eyes appeared black as they bored into hers. Another had rust colored hair with golden stripes, matching rust skin and vivid green eyes. The third had a brown mane and chocolate skin with golden eyes similar to her cat man and the fourth was solid cream with blue eyes. She peered at them closely, looking for any sign of make-up, contacts or hair dye. There weren't any. They looked real, and though remotely feline, resembled no cat she had ever seen. She felt sick and disoriented before a bizarre thought struck, making her want to giggle and groan at the same time. It would no doubt be politically incorrect to pet them.

  "You will come with us," the rust colored one stated.

  She could tell he was used to being obeyed without question. Feeling distinctly perverse, she decided to toy with them as she had been toyed with. Surprised that her legs supported her, she rose. "Harvey would never order Elwood P. Dowd around; he always asked what Elwood felt like doing and then complied…politely." She waited expectantly.

  They looked around the room and at each other like a group of confused Cyborgs. Satisfied to see the universal look of bewilderment staining their faces, Cat relented. "Who are you?" she inquired semi-politely. They stilled as one then glanced at one another, clearly not expecting this turn of events. Maybe it was a Rumpulstiltskin thing; she smiled inwardly, beginning to enjoy herself.

  The rust colored one stepped forward, tilted his head, and said, "I am called Prolinc, and I am in charge of security. This is Carpov, our head Med-tech, and these are Sycor and Bandoff, who both report to me."

  Okay, Cat repeated to herself; the black one was Carpov, the brown one, Sycor, which left Bandoff, the creamy one.

  "I appreciate the introduction, gentlemen, I am Catarina Achilles at your disposal," she said, silently praying they wouldn't take the comment literally.

  "I still believe she is mind-blasted," Prolinc concluded, while propelling her in front of them to take her to the meeting room.

  "She is like a crazy little flame. Never have I seen hair with more of a mind of its own. I wonder if it is indicative of its owner," Carpov posed to the group, not really expecting a reply. It was unnecessary to have four males escorting her, but Zorroc had insisted. Something about intimidation. She did not look intimidated to Prolinc.

  Cat's mind spun as she realized she was on some kind of yacht. And what a yacht! The floors, walls and ceiling gleamed with the same look of the silver material that lined her cabin. The passageway, though well lit, had no discernable light source, and no hum of engines sounded in the background. Were they d
ocked? Could she get away? She needed to be aware of exits and get her bearings in order to find her way out to freedom. First, however, she needed to gain a sense of direction which, through some cosmic misunderstanding, had been bequeathed to someone else.

  The hallways dissected and catacombed; winding, dipping, climbing and shooting up as they entered some sort of an elevator. Could it be a deluxe submarine instead of a yacht? It reminded her of an ant farm—zapping her back to the last conversation she’d had with Angel and Dee about telepathic ants. She felt her control slipping toward hysteria, as if at any moment, her meanderings would get the better of her, and she'd start laughing at nothing, unable to stop. Honestly, who else on the planet could get kidnapped by a tribe of pookas?

  They came to a wall that silently opened before them, the message, all too clear. When she stepped over the threshold, her gaze flew to his, immediately trapped and held by amber flames that flashed heatedly, drawing her to him. They belonged to her cat man.

  "Where am I?" she demanded, refusing to budge.

  "You are aboard my ship, the Stellar," he answered softly, unwavering in his scrutiny.

  Had she fallen into a sort of altered reality or was he just some rich tycoon with a massive boat and a cat fetish?

  She faltered, mesmerized. Some force pushed at her mind to approach him but if she gave into temptation, would she be forever trapped? Everything in her screamed silently in the affirmative. The image of a butterfly caught and cocooned alive in a spider's web, waiting to be devoured, materialized inexorably.

  She felt disoriented, dizzy, and overwhelmingly warm. What was that feeling?

  Sexual promise rolled off him in heady waves, drenching her senses. Lounging in a massive chair, he almost dwarfed it. A carafe, cup, and bowl of fruit resided on the table beside him. He sipped languidly on a twin cup held in his long elegantly formed hand. He hadn't taken his hooded gaze from hers for a moment, studying her like his next meal. He looked utterly relaxed, and as lazy as a sated tiger. He also looked positively sinful, good enough to eat and she was suddenly ravenous. In fact, he looked downright hungry, too. It would be the ultimate karmic justice, Cat decided. An alien race of people-eating-cats invading a planet on the brink of harvesting cats as people food. Cat looked closer and thought it might be pleasant to be devoured by this particular predator. It was probably a good thing he couldn't read her thoughts; so close to melt down, she lingered. Could she finally be experiencing passion and physical attraction, the chemically induced reaction Angel and Dee had tried to explain? If so, what they described more resembled a twenty-watt bulb compared to this overpowering current of 2000 watts. Her heart pumped uncontrollably and she feared he could hear it, though she remained across the room.