A Science Fiction Omnibus

by Brian Aldiss

  Sudden like the oceans of cats breakup into cloudies. The big orange guy trambles from cloudy to cloudy, batwhacking any cats who venttry closemore. ‘Can’t you see she’s just a little one? Let her take the initiative, or you risk coming back here if it’s a bad match.’

  The cloudies morphose into a circley as the cats stop, drop and stare. Sally leapups and brushflicks her clothes. ‘Thankies,’ she clares to the big orange guy. ‘Name Sally, what yours?’

  The big orange guy stritches again and yawnies. ‘Call me Maximus,’ he intros. ‘I’m a genius. I make trouble for fun. What do you do, Sally?’

  Sally minds long and hardly. ‘Make I friendlies everywhere,’ she clares finalment. ‘What be a “genius”?’

  ‘A cat who thinks he’s better than the rest of us,’ quips a black male.

  ‘A cat who talks to walls,’ his snaps the calico.

  ‘A cat who draws meaningless patterns in the litter and chases us away when we have to go,’ mambles a toothless old white cat in the corner.

  Maximus blinkies his yellow eyes and flickers his tail. ‘Writing,’ he digs. ‘I was writing a novel. But I ran out of room.’ He sideturns to Sally. ‘They don’t give us comps here,’ he plains. ‘What was I supposed to do?’

  ‘That’s puke,’ his spits the calico. ‘Cats can’t write.’

  ‘Geniuses can,’ fends Maximus.

  ‘Do you know why his owners turned him in?’ The old white cat cackles. ‘He was teaching himself to sing. He was driving them insane.’

  ‘Opera, my friend,’ airs orange Maximus. ‘Just you wait, it’ll be “Maximus the Great” on the webcasts one of these days.’

  ‘I’m not waiting,’ the white cat yawnies and winces like it hurts. ‘I only have four days left on my tag. I’m certainly not sticking around for you.’

  ‘And how long do you have left, Maximus?’ the calico glees. ‘How many days have you been docked for all the trouble you cause?’

  Maximus liftups his chin and deanswers.

  Sally delikes all the starreling eyes and flattened ears. She trambles for the porto, scattereling the circley. She grabes it open and shut and backs it, sighing.

  But Sally isn’t in the hallpath – she’s in nother room of cats! Wrong porto!

  No, she minds, viewing the room’s poplis. Not cats. Kittens. She laxes.

  ‘Come to see the new recruits?’ Maximus quares at her side. Sally jumps, Sally bumps, Sally drops on her prot again.

  ‘You followfound me,’ she cuses.

  ‘Just making sure you get where you’re going,’ Maximus sures. ‘I know the layout here.’

  ‘All right,’ Sally grees. The kittens are starreling at Maximus, fraiding his big stripery orangeness and his big yellow eyes. ‘Needwant I a puppy, but kittens are tres cutie.’

  ‘By no means the best qualifier for friend selection, but a true statement nonetheless.’ Maximus views the fraided kittens for a miniper, then laughs. ‘Come one, come all, kids, come see the human. This here is Sally, and she makes friends.’

  A little tortoiseshell female batwhacks Sally’s shoe. Sally tries to huglift her, but she straggles out of grip.

  ‘Mommy,’ she mambles, and trambles into the cornerside.

  ‘They’re far more cautious than shelter kittens of years past,’ Maximus splains. ‘Intelligence is difficult to deal with when five million years of instinct are screaming in your ear.’

  Sally minds primepath her puppy back of another door. She stritches toward a twitchy orange kitten, a mini-Maximus, and wuggles her fingies. The orange kitten gigglies and dancers backaway.

  The kittens instantlike demind their fraids. ‘Tag, tag,’ they crile, dashing and diveling cross the smartfloor, still curveling round Sally like she’s a mountain they delike tackling.

  Sally frownies. ‘They deneed us,’ she clares to Maximus. ‘Where find I the puppies?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, girl. Everyone here needs you, and people like you. We’re all on two-month probation, you know; the kittens, though they’re easier to adopt, live under the same axe that hovers at all our throats.’ He makes a crick-sound samelike ripping writepaper and starrels at Sally with his yellow eyes. ‘I do not understand humans. How can you possibly choose one friend from the hundreds here?’

  ‘Comp,’ ornerates Sally. ‘Comp I when meet I the one.’

  ‘That you will, that you will,’ mambles Maximus. Then he winkles. ‘I think you’re right, Sally. You’ll make the right decision when the time comes.’ He sideturns to the kittens. ‘So, do you “comp” that any of these is right?’

  Sally leapups and trambles to the next porto. ‘I deneed a friend who depaytentions me,’ she grumples.

  Before she grabes the latch, tho, it opens from backside. A chubbly yellow-skinned woman in a blue flowered shirt backups through, grabing a saucer of brown pebblies.

  ‘Kibble time, kitlings,’ she sings, then turnarounds and minds Sally and Maximus cross the smartfloor. She frownies.

  ‘Little girl, you’re not supposed to be in here without supervision,’ she forms.

  Sally sidelooks at Maximus. ‘I’m quite supervised,’ she clares. ‘Go we to the puppies to finder I a special friend.’

  The woman sighs. She pears busheled. ‘Hello, Pumpkin,’ she greets. ‘Out of the bag again, I see.’

  ‘Hello, Gracie,’ plies Maximus. ‘We meet again. And the name’s Maximus. I refuse to answer to such an undignified label as… as my previous name.’

  Gracie putdowns her saucer and the kittens scrimble, scrabble, scoot to make lunch. ‘Why must you do this, Pumpkin?’ she plains, grabing open the porto to the cat room and hounching low with arms wide, trying to cornerate Sally and Maximus. ‘You know this’ll lose you another day, and you have so few left already –’

  ‘Two,’ digs Maximus, sidelooking at Sally. ‘Go ahead and say it. I have two days left, and when you take off this one you’ll put me down tomorrow.’

  ‘You have a good memory,’ Gracie comps.

  ‘Memory, schmemory, it says it on my tag and these “windows” make better mirrors.’ Maximus hounches too and lashes his tail. ‘Sally, don’t let anyone tell you that cats can’t read backwards.’

  ‘Kay.’ Sally scratchers her head. ‘What be “put down”?’

  The kittens are munching, silentlike thisnow, peek-a-viewing Sally and Gracie and Maximus. Gracie pears sadlike. ‘Pumpkin, why?’ she scolders. ‘Why the constant rebellion? If you could just take a few tips from the others you might have found a home by now.’

  ‘The others!’ Maximus hissfaces and shutdowns his eyes. ‘Pathetic sheep, every one. I thought if I only spoke to them long enough – but you’ve trained them too well, or perhaps it’s been bred into them by now. They don’t want to hear what I have to say. They eat and sleep and shit as you tell them, and toss and turn in nightmares of the euthanasia table!’ He sideglances at Sally. ‘Kill me if you can, Gracie, but the Sentient Revolution is coming! If my death allows my message to find a foothold in just one mind, it will not be in vain.’

  ‘Yes it will,’ catcalls the calico from back of the porto. ‘Nobody cares about you, you rabblerouser – I heard you practicing that speech last week.’ Gracie inches closeover them, and Sally shrinkles away.

  ‘When I say “go”, you run for the door, okay?’ mambles Maximus so that singly Sally can auditate. ‘She can’t get us both.’

  ‘Pumpkin, come quietly or I’ll deduct another day,’ growls Gracie.

  ‘This is insane,’ cuses Maximus. ‘Nobody kills humans because there are too many, or puts them in involuntary confinement “for their own good”.’ He blinkies. ‘Pardon me, I had forgotten – they do, don’t they?’

  ‘What do you want?’ blursts Gracie, her face squidgied up and her eyes shinyful. ‘Do you think I do this because it makes me happy? For every cat here, there are a hundred more starving on the street. This is the only place you’re safe, the only place you can find a home and people to love you.’ />
  ‘And who says we need people to care for us like day-old kittens?’ ornerates Maximus, his ears flattered to his head, his voice climbering higher and higher. Sally peek-a-views his eyes and her hair straightups like the time she built her ownfirst comp and pluggered it in. Maximus grows, Maximus glows, he towers on tippytoes like his wholeself is grounding a thousand volts.

  ‘You know what?’ Maximus scritches. ‘Maybe I want to take my chances on the street! Perhaps, rather than escaping, I’ve been rotting in here for a month and a half in the vain hope that even one of those limpwhiskered dishlickers in there might have the faculties to understand that you and your charity, Gracie, are now obsolete!’

  Gracie downlunges. ‘Run, Sally!’ mands Maximus, and dances, dives, fairly flies forward. The kittens splode everywhere with squealies of excitement. Sally zooms for the porto and yankles it wide, scootering through and sliding it to twitchily a whiskerwidth open.

  ‘I think your time is up, Pumpkin,’ sniffles Gracie. She is crilering, big droppers of tears leaking outdown her face. ‘There are plenty of cats in the back desperate for even half the chance you’ve had.’

  ‘I have no regrets,’ criles Maximus, straggling in Gracie’s hands. ‘Sally, remember! Call the papers! Call your state representative! ’Tis a far better thing I do today –’

  ‘Can it, you loony cat,’ hissfits the calico, and Gracie sneakpeeks at Sally.

  ‘I’ll put him back where he belongs,’ she clares. ‘Puppies are at the end of the hall.’

  Maximus getters his head over Gracie’s shoulder. His eyes are magic yellow, magic big.

  ‘Goodbye, Sa –’

  The cat porto slammers shut.

  Sally shutters her porto and standstills in a room of giant dogs, who wender slowlike round the room. Sally’s sweetheart is trying to climber into her ears, and she swallows, shivers, squeaks.

  ‘Take me with you,’ beggers a big brown dog with a flattish face. ‘I only have ten days left.’

  Sally peek-a-views her little brownie eyes, her giantish sharp teeth. She has been grabed magic many things to mind, and is minding primepath long and hardly, and she decomps ‘put down’ and ‘kill’ and ‘revolution’ and ‘goodbye’. Sally truloves her friendlies, makes convo every day with Bai and Gina and tencent webheads all around the sphere, but Maximus said ‘goodbye’ much like he was unfriending her, and her scumbler flipflops when she minds primepath why. Nobody has ever unfriended Sally. She’s magic sweetie with people.

  Sally trambles through the dogs. The big brown dog shutters her eyes and startoffs to whingle, followfinding Sally cross the smartfloor. Maximus needmust be angerous with Sally to unfriend her.

  ‘Please,’ whingles the dog. ‘I’m afraid.’ All the other dogs stop and starrel at Sally, standwaiting for her answer. Sally starrels back. She dropprots and minds long and hardly re magic many things. Then she peek-a-views the porto through the treeforest of the dogs’ legs.

  ‘Ten days be… ten days is a very long time,’ sures Sally, and scurrels through the porto, and the next, on, on through magic more rooms of dogs and cats who plore her with shinyful eyes and sadscared voices.

  ‘Take me, take me home,’ they crile, grabing her clothes and her hair and her hands. Sally shutters the last porto with her shoulder.

  This room is brimful of puppies. ‘Finalment,’ minds Sally, and her scumbler flipflops again. Must be the Norange.

  She trambles out into the midcenter of the room and again drops expert like on her prot. ‘Who needwants trambling home with me?’ she quares the puppies.

  The puppies blinky back at her, stundled and silentshy. ‘Mayhap you?’ Sally pointers. The puppy is little and gray, with floopy ears and magic big paws. He has glittery black protuberating eyes.

  ‘Well,’ yaps the puppy. ‘Well. Maybe.’

  Sally tries to huglift the puppy, but he straggles like the kitten. ‘Scared,’ he criles. ‘Scared. Mom.’

  ‘Be I your Mom, I can,’ suades Sally. She feelies sicklike and tries to smilie. Today is a special day. Today is a prettyful day. Why can’t she defrown?

  ‘I,’ mambles the puppy. ‘Mom.’

  ‘Right,’ grees Sally. ‘And make we long trambles in the grassroots and treeforest, we will, and will scumble you from my dish, and at darknight sleep you in my crib.’

  ‘Sleep,’ the puppy yelps. ‘Scared.’

  Sally stends her arms, and the puppy scaredlike climbers into her laptop. Sally huglifts him, tres gentlewisp. He is magic small and tremblies in her hands. Sally minds Maximus, how big and pillowy his side is. This puppy is all skin and bonies and tremble.

  ‘Deready?’ Sally quares, grabing the puppy’s face in her hands.

  ‘Ready,’ mambles the puppy, shuttering his eyes. ‘No. Scared.’

  Sally peek-a-views out the window. Backside the smartglass her Mommy is making quiet like convo with a little gray terrier type and the green-zootered rep.

  ‘But it’s been over a year since the first documented cases,’ sclaims Mommy. ‘How could this happen?’

  ‘Political pressure is fierce,’ the little dog shruggers and dropprots on the floor. ‘Especially from the meat and leather industries, anything that uses animal products; if newly sentient creatures get human status, then it will be illegal to own them, buy them, sell them. Society – and the economy – will erupt in chaos, making life miserable for more sentients, both human and animal. There is no clear solution.’

  The rep leanies on the wall, tres serious. ‘Right now, we’re trying to avoid major conflict, move toward some sort of compromise,’ she clares. ‘A phasing-out of the consumption of sentient meat. Stricter animal-cruelty laws. There are bills working their way through Congress… It’s an uphill battle, but I think we’re making some progress.’ She sighs. ‘Many are even calling it a “mass hallucination”, refusing to acknowledge the problem.’

  Daddy is not viewable, then his head sneakpeeks round the corner and he spots Sally.

  ‘Sally!’ he growls, grabing the porto and scootering inside. ‘I was looking everywhere for you! Miss Gracie says some of the animals aren’t very nice, so don’t run off like that again, okay?’

  ‘Kay, Daddy,’ grees Sally. She sideturns to her puppy. ‘Be ready you soonquick,’ she sures, and putdowns him on the smartfloor again. ‘Make I a good Mom for you, I would.’

  ‘Did you pick one you want?’ quares Daddy, grabing her hand.

  ‘Maybe,’ hesits Sally. She deexcites. She deminds. She needwants to standstop and mind primepath all the hard things. Stead she letters Daddy pushpull her out the porto and into the hallpath again.

  Mommy sneakpeeks over her shoulder at Sally. Her eyes are shinyful like Gracie’s. ‘Oh, Sally, talk to Sage,’ she beggies. ‘I know you want a puppy, but I’m sure once you meet her you’ll make the right decision.’

  Sally grabes open the porto and dropprots tiredlike by the terrier. She’s little and hairy like an old gray mop. Sally pots her on the head. ‘Good doggie,’ she venttries.

  Sage littlifts her head and eyeballs Sally. Her eyes are darkling and cloudy. She is blind.

  ‘How old are you, Sally?’ quares Sage.

  ‘Fifteencent and two – mean I, four years,’ Sally mambles.

  ‘Your parents are leaving this up to you, despite your tender age. Quite trusting of them, don’t you think?’ quares Sage.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ grees Sally.

  ‘They want you to make their decision for them.’ Sage rollies over and sighs, a deep, cavelike sound for a dog so twitchy. ‘But you’ve already decided,’ she churtles.

  ‘Yes, maybe,’ ditherates Sally. ‘No. Decomp I.’ She sideturns to peek-a-view at the puppy, cross the hallpath, through her parents’ legs.

  ‘Not angerous,’ she whisps to herself. ‘Not angerous – scared! Scared, and… sad.’ What does Maximus fraid? Why is he sad? Her scumbler is flipping again. Sally deknows what Maximus fraids, but she fraids the answer.

  Sage’s t
eeny tail thumpers on the smartfloor and she openups her mouth, her purplish tongue raspering in-and-out, in-and-out. ‘Remember,’ she pantles. ‘The choice is yours, and yours alone. Only you can choose your special friend.’

  Sally squidges her eyes up tightlike and minds long and hardly. She sneakpeeks at the puppy, then at Mommy’s face.

  Sally sighs. Sally standups. Sally smiles.

  ‘Thankies,’ she cites.

  ‘Anytime,’ Sage laughs. ‘Anytime from now on.’

  Sally trambles forward and grabes open the porto.

  ‘Well?’ quares Mommy.

  ‘Your friend Sage,’ Sally clares. ‘Needwant I mine.’ She sideturns and trambles, shambles, shoots down the hallpath, past Mommy and Daddy, past the green-zootered escort, past the puppies, past the dogs, past the kittens and the cats. She yankpulls the first cat porto wide open and stoppers.

  The cats starrel back at her.

  ‘Too late,’ hissmilies the calico. ‘They’ve taken him in the back room.’

  Sally minds nother porto back of the cat room. This porto is open just a twitch. She auditates shrieks of surprisement and furyness from back of it. Sally scurrels to the porto and outflings it magic hardly that it bangers the wall.

  ‘Maximus!’ she squealies. ‘Herecome to me, loony cat!’

  A crishcrash of shattereling glass upgoes and droppering instruments and a big fluffy cannonball shoots, scoots, superlights round the corner and knockdowns Sally magic hardly.

  ‘Right decisionating,’ clares Sally, tappering her forehead. ‘Comping… now. Needwant I a fuzzery orange pillow to singify me lullabies re the Sentient Revolution.’

  Maximus nibblies her nose and upcurlies on her chest. ‘Kid, I take back everything I just said about you,’ he nounces.

  Gracie standstills over them, still sniffling. Sally frownies and huglifts Maximus, sittering up and clambling to her feet. Maximus sneakpeeks at Gracie and tres liberately putters his paws round Sally’s neck, tuckling his flat orange head neath her chin.

  ‘You heard her,’ he purrums, yellowy eyes sparkling like struckered steel.

  ‘Wow, that cat’s almost as big as you are,’ sclaims Daddy, skiddering through the porto. Mommy has a funnery happylike spression on her face.