“And just why should I do that?”
Craig was getting mad. Who ever heard of apologizing to a cat? This guy was totally crazy.
“Because you had no reason to strike my friend. She had done nothing to you.”
“It was just a damned stray cat,” Craig said. “Why are you picking on me? And besides, I can throw a rock at it if I damn well please. If I were you, I’d have these steps clear by the time I get back.”
Craig spun and headed off down the street, not looking back. He’d read the paper first after all. The scratch really wasn’t that bad.
All the way to the library he had the feeling he was being watched. Along the way there were a lot of cats. Many more than he had ever noticed before. But not one got close enough for him to try hitting with a rock.
Two dozen cats guarded the library steps. As Craig approached, more jumped up from the bushes.
A young couple came out of the front doors and started down the steps, seeming not to notice the unusual number of animals. The cats moved out of the couple’s way and then, like water filling in behind a boat, returned to their places.
Craig stopped twenty feet in front of the steps as more and more cats joined the mass of colored fur. Then again, just as suddenly as before, the man dressed in gray appeared in place of a gray tom.
It was everything Craig could do to not run.
His stomach felt as if he’d had peppers for breakfast. He made himself take a deep breath. He could feel his heart pounding. “Just a trick. Just a trick,” he repeated over and over to himself. Nothing more. Any half-baked magician could do the same stunt.
He really hadn’t seen that man just grow out of that old tomcat.
“Just a trick. Just a trick.”
“That was interesting,” Craig finally said louder, looking up at the man in gray while trying to keep his voice as calm as he could. “How’d you do it?”
“Do what?” the man said.
“You know what I mean. How’d you just appear like that? You good at magic or something?”
The man in gray laughed a soft, slurring laugh. “You might say that.”
“How’d you know where I was going? And how’d you beat me here?”
Again the man laughed. “We know all the secret ways and we always know what humans are thinking. If you had spent any time around us, you would have known that without asking.”
“Sure you do,” Craig said. “And I’m the Pope.”
He started for the library steps. A bunch of damn cats and a crazy man weren’t going to stop him.
The cats closed ranks and then, as a unit, looked up at Craig.
A wall of clear, hard ice dropped between Craig and those steps.
The coldness in the cats’ eyes stopped him and then drove him staggering back, until finally, they looked away. Craig again found himself sweating in the warm summer air.
“Would you please apologize?” the man said, “So that we may all move along.”
“And just what will happen if I don’t?”
The man shook his head. “It would not be pleasant. Have you ever watched one of us catch a rat?”
Craig nodded. He’d watched a cat on his uncle’s farm keep a field mouse running in circles for most of one afternoon.
The man in gray smiled. “Good, for it is our greatest sport. My brother, Claws That Dig, actually kept a rat trapped, but alive, for two full days before the rat died of heart failure. My brother is much honored.”
“You’re crazy,” Craig said and spun away before any of the cats could look up at him. He headed back toward his apartment at a brisk walk, restraining himself from breaking into a run.
Along the way cats paced ahead and behind him, just out of his throwing range.
Cats covered Craig’s apartment building’s steps as he got in sight.
A large gray tom sat in the middle of them, calmly gazing up the street away from Craig, as if all the sights in the world were in that direction.
Craig had decided he was just going to plow right into the middle of them without stopping. He might get a cut or two, but he would show them who was the strongest. They would just scatter and run and he’d be done with them.
By the time he was twenty steps away, a hundred cats had joined ranks against him.
At five steps away, they all looked up at him.
This time the ice wall of their eyes smashed into Craig like a steel door slammed in his face.
The next thing he knew he was sitting dazed on the sidewalk looking up at the cats and the man dressed in gray.
“It would take a simple apology,” the man said. “Nothing more. This is your last chance.”
Craig stumbled to his feet and brushed off the seat of his pants. He was getting damn mad. All he wanted to do was go into his apartment and put some disinfectant on a cut. Now some crazy man and a bunch of trained cats were playing games with him. No one did that to Craig Lieberman and got away with it.
If this guy wanted to play, Craig would play. Only Craig had the law on his side and it was about time he had this Mouth guy arrested. Then Craig would see just who would apologize.
Without a word, Craig turned and headed up the street toward the Thirty-first Precinct.
And again, the cats paced him on all sides.
Craig could feel his stomach tightening as he kept telling himself he was just being foolish. A bunch of cats couldn’t hurt him. They certainly couldn’t act together.
It was just a trick.
Nothing more.
Fifty to sixty of the cats beat him to the police station.
They sat on the front steps of the busy station, moving only to watch something unseen in the distance or get out of the way of the people going in and out. None of the police seemed to notice anything odd, and a few people stopped to pet the large gray tom who sat up on the stone balustrade to the right of the door.
Craig strode toward the steps. There was no way they could stop him now. They wouldn’t dare with all these people around. Just let one of them stray within kicking distance of his foot and they’d see just who should apologize.
Damn stupid animals.
Three paces short of the bottom step, Craig again slammed into the ice wall of their combined stare as in unison they turned to look at him.
TWO
“YOU ALL RIGHT, mister?” The cop asked as he held Craig’s arm and helped him sit up.
“I think so,” Craig said and nodded, then quickly reached for the bump on the back of his head as sharp stabbing pains shot through his skull.
“Banged your head on the concrete pretty damn hard,” the cop said, keeping his grip tight on Craig’s left arm. “You sure you’re all right?”
Craig let the cop help him back to his feet and hold on to him as Craig dusted off his pants.
“I’m fine,” Craig said. “But don’t you think you should do something about getting rid of all those cats?” Craig pointed at the steps.
The cop looked up at where Craig indicated. “You mean that old gray fellow? Hell, why would we want to do that?”
Even through the pain from the back of his head, Craig understood that he had to be careful. Real careful, or seeing all these cats was going to get him thrown into the nut house. Then he’d really hear the cats laughing.
“It must be the whack on the head,” Craig said, holding the lump on his head. “But I’m seeing about fifty cats there on the precinct steps. How many are you seeing?”
The cop laughed, but still didn’t let go of Craig’s arm. “Only one, mister. You better get to a Doc and get yourself checked out. You went straight over backwards. Damn lucky you didn’t kill yourself. You want me to get you a ride down to the emergency room?”
Craig nodded, then winced at the pain the movement caused. “Sure. I could use a lift.” That would at least get him away from the cats and give him time to think. How could cats be invisible? It wasn’t possible. Maybe he was sicker than he thought he was. Maybe he should have the doctor
give him a good checkup. Never hurt to be careful.
“This way,” the cop said and pointed at a patrol car sitting in front of the station. Two dozen cats blocked the passenger side of the car and others were moving slowly in that direction. They weren’t going to let him in the car. And right now his head hurt too much to fight it.
“On second thought, I think I’ll just walk home. I live close by. Thanks.” Craig pulled away from the policeman and started back up the street.
This time even more cats paced along on all sides of him. Four different times Craig tried ducking suddenly into restaurants or shops, but cats filled the doors as if they knew what he was planning. Maybe they did know what he was thinking.
That just didn’t seem possible.
He tried hailing a cab, but cats moved between him and the curb and he didn’t dare go near the street.
A hundred cats covered the steps of his apartment building. He tried standing back and throwing rocks into the middle of the mass of fur, but after the first rock, which fell short, every time he’d raise his hand to throw, a cat jumped out of nowhere and clawed painfully at the back of his leg.
Finally, after both his pant legs were torn and one ankle was bleeding, he gave up, crossed the street, and sat on the bus stop bench facing his apartment.
He watched as his neighbors moved up and down through the cats without seeming to notice them. Why were the cats doing this to him? He’d only thrown a little rock. A cat had scratched him first. Why didn’t they just leave him alone? Or find someone else?
During the next hour he made a dozen more attempts at getting inside buildings, restaurants, or cabs. All were blocked.
Craig even tried telling a cop, but like the first, the policeman just laughed.
Finally, Craig decided the quickest way out was to apologize. He’d get even later, but right now all he wanted to do was go inside. He was getting hungry.
As he slowly approached the steps, the man appeared in place of the gray tom.
Craig fought down the urge to run. “I’m ready to apologize now,” he said, keeping his gaze turned away from the gray man.
“It’s much too late for that,” the man said. “You were given your chance. Three of them to be exact.”
“Wait just a minute,” Craig said and took a step forward. “I didn’t do anything that bad to you or your friends. I’m sorry I threw that rock, so let’s just forget it? All right?”
“I’m afraid not,” the man said. “We are hunters. We do not make it a practice to let prey go just because they whimper.”
“Whimper!” Craig took another step closer. “Come down here and I’ll show you whimper.”
“We shall see,” the man in gray said, and then smiled, “just who will show who.”
Craig looked quickly around. There must be a good two hundred cats sitting on the steps and along both sides of the street. He wouldn’t stand a chance if he pushed it now.
He turned back to the man dressed in gray, took a deep breath, and tried to calm down. “Answer me one question. Why me? Why pick on me and let all of these other people alone?”
“Because you let us catch you,” the man said. “We gave you every chance to get away. As with any prey, only the stupid or the slow get caught. I think in human terms it is called survival of the fittest.”
“I’m as fit as anyone,” Craig yelled at the man in gray, then whirled around and headed back across the street to the bench to plan his next move.
On the top step of the apartment building, the gray tom dozed in the warm afternoon sun.
THREE
CRAIG SPENT THE night on the bench across the street from his apartment. Hunger cut ribbons from the insides of his stomach and he felt dizzy most of the morning.
The mass of cats never left the apartment steps or the surrounding doorways.
At seven a.m. he tried to sneak around to the back door of the building, but dozens of cats blocked the alley.
By two in the afternoon, he had again tried getting into nearby buildings, restaurants, and a dozen passing cabs.
Three times he had ended up on the sidewalk with another bump on the back of his head and a headache that made him cry.
Each time, the passersby just walked around him as if he wasn’t there. No one stopped to help him, or even give him a second glance.
Not even the cops spoke to him any more.
Somehow, the cats had made him invisible.
He tried walking at his apartment steps with his eyes closed, thinking that if he couldn’t see the cats, they wouldn’t be able to drop their wall in front of him.
It didn’t work.
Their ice wall felt as solid as a brick building. He didn’t know how long he was out cold after that attempt.
By six p.m., the hunger was more than he could stand.
He went back across the street to try pleading with the man in gray.
The man wouldn’t appear.
The old gray tom just lay on the top step and stared off down the street as if it couldn’t even hear Craig yelling.
That night, Craig again slept on the bench across the street from his apartment.
FOUR
HUNGER, THIRST, AND HEAT pounded at Craig like hammers against a block of ice.
Parts of his sanity shattered and melted with every passing hour.
At ten in the morning, he tried to throw himself into the middle of the street in front of a passing wave of traffic.
Two dozen cats stopped him at the curb.
At noon, he tried to pick up a garbage can and hit a policewoman with it. He was unconscious for over two hours.
At seven, in front of his own apartment building, he got down on his knees on the hot pavement and begged the assembled masses of cats to give him something to drink.
Not one cat even so much as looked at him.
He spent that night stretched out against the curb in front of his apartment steps.
FIVE
THREE DOZEN CATS slowly herded Craig Leiberman into a dead-end alley two blocks from his apartment building. It took them most of the day, as they continually had to wait for Craig to regain consciousness.
The back doors of the kitchens of three restaurants fed out onto the alley, filling the dark space between the buildings with a thick smorgasbord of smells.
Craig sat against a brick wall and drank in the odors as ten cats guarded each door.
Craig twice attempted to get at the garbage from the three restaurants. While a dozen cats stood guard, a yellow tabby and a white and gray female cat sat on top of the dumpster and clawed at Craig’s hands every time he reached forward.
After the second attempt, his hands were bleeding so much, he sucked at his own blood to get moisture for his cracked mouth and lips.
SIX
ON THE SIXTH day, except for one attempt to crawl down the alley, Craig Lieberman lay unconscious in the dirt of the alley.
Six cats took turns guarding him.
On the morning of the seventh day, a gray tom cat walked slowly, lazily up the alley to the body of Craig Lieberman and sniffed at his torn shirt sleeve.
Then, without hesitation, the cat raised its paw and sharply hit the man on the cheek, leaving four evenly spaced claw marks.
The man didn’t move.
The old cat studied the man for a moment, then turned and strolled back up the empty alley.
Three blocks away, a construction worker named Burt Hopkins went to pet a large yellow cat that had strayed onto their work sight. The cat scratched the worker’s hand and then quickly dodged Burt’s kick.
And the sport began again.
USA Today bestselling writer, Dean Wesley Smith, finally gives popular Captain Brian Saber his first full-length novel.
Brian Saber and Dot Leeds constantly must leave their nursing home rooms and fly across known space to save the Earth and the Earth Protection League. They love the job, the love feeling needed.
But in the end, will being needed be enough?
>
A novel of hope and a future.
LIFE OF A DREAM
An Earth Protection League Novel
For Kris
Who is putting up with me getting older between every mission.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Early parts of this novel are new and altered variations of four short stories. I liked how Brian and Dot’s stories evolved in the stories, so I decided to include the stories in altered form instead of telling it again. The four stories are: “The Gift of a Dream,” “Hand and Space,” “A Time to Dream,” and “We Dream of a Moon.”
THE FIRST MISSION
ONE
December 24th, 2018
Actual Earth Time
Location: Chicago
DOROTHY “DOT” LEEDS pulled herself slowly up to a sitting position, using the metal railing on her nursing home bed. The railing was cold in her hand and the room felt like it had a chill to it. She rubbed her old legs through her thin cotton nightgown, slowly, as if doing so would bring back some of the long, lost feeling to them. She had been dreaming again. Dreaming of dancing, as she and her husband used to do every Saturday night.
Like him, and most of the use of her legs, those days were long gone.
Yet every night, without fail, she dreamed of dancing. Usually the dream was of a small dance floor just big enough to swirl around. Often she was with her dead husband, Dave. Sometimes she was with a handsome man she couldn’t exactly see clearly.
She could never really see the dancehall or who was watching around the edges. It was a dream and those people didn’t matter.
Moving, dancing was all that was important. She loved the feeling of almost flying around the floor, the strong grip of her partner helping her float like a bird on a soft wind.
Smith's Monthly #8 Page 9