by Andy Remic
Inside the pet shop were all kinds of assorted dreg; wooden kennels, cages, high stacks of cans – presumably pet food. I didn’t know because I had never been in such a shop before, but I felt strange, light–headed; Emmy was in my mind, in my veins and replacing the narco there and replacing the need for groovy groovy MM.
I moved to the door, pushed it open and a bell chimed somewhere in the back; the air was funny, musty, stale; I could hear the tweeps and chitter sounds of birds within the shop, and another sound, a strange, elongated bleat that sounded painfully mechanical and made me cringe.
I stepped inside, closed the door, looked around as water dripped from my cloak to pool on the floor. Nobody made themselves present so I wandered around, past stacks of cans and shittykitty catlit and hotpant doggypresents; and I came to the cages, giant cages, with parrots and budgies and sparrows and other birds within. And yet they no–longer sold well because people could not appreciate the beauty of their colour and life and aesthetic; and of course, GOV did not condone pets of any kinds. Especially with SIMs.
It was... unfashionable.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ asked a voice and I turned slowly because of my wounds, and looked at the small, balding pep standing behind the counter. He was rubbing his hands together and he had large white whiskers on his face – looking strangely out of place below his mech eyes. He was old.
‘Yes. I have a cat,’ said I.
‘A very admirable pet, sir,’ said the man. ‘Independent, and yet totally loyal; they will return to your apartment time and time again.’
‘Yes,’ said I, my gaze sweeping the broad cluttered counter as I stepped forward and tried to acclimatise to this alien environment; shops unnerved me. It was something to do with their order, their anarchy, with their very atmosphere.
‘Is it food you are after, sir?’ said the old man who was rubbing his whiskers with an ancient decrepit hand, bent crooked with arthritis. I stared at his hand for a moment, shocked by his age – and I realised I hadn’t seen an old man, a truly old man, for many years.
‘No,’ said I. ‘I want a gift, some kind of gift that she will like. And maybe a collar, with one of those little silver tags.’
‘Hmm,’ muttered the man, moving to one side and rummaging through a plastic tray; he seemed unperturbed by my SIM status and the large SMKK holstered at my shoulder. I might be without armour – but would never be without weapon. ‘Here we are,’ he said, and turned.
In his hands were a collar with a flashing silver disc; the disc caught the shop lights for a moment and glittered in a very pretty fashion. He also placed a small furry artificial mouse on the counter and I looked at it in distaste. I hate mice. They infest me with their dirt. Again the tinny mechanical bleat sounded from somewhere in the background and I looked around, distracted, trying to place the sound.
‘A collar, and a catnip mouse,’ said the shop owner proudly, rubbing his hands together once more and I noticed this and realised he was doing it in anticipation of a little money.
‘Business is not good?’ said I as I picked up the collar and inspected it; it was a fine collar and strong and would do fine for beautiful Emmy.
‘Not good,’ agreed the man. ‘I fear the pet industry is a dying breed; peps are too busy with the latest fashions and GOV propaganda and TV dreg to bother with looking after God’s creatures.’
‘God’s creatures?’ said I. ‘I have heard that name before, it rings a distant bell? Was this God fellow a famous film star?’
The man cackled and this I did not like because I was a SIM and nobody laughed at SIMs; I placed my hand on my SMKK and the movement did not go unnoticed.
The man coughed, his mech eyes clicking softly in the gloom. ‘I suppose Hollywood did represent him on several occasions,’ said the man. ‘But no. He was not a film star as such. I take it you are not familiar with Christianity, then?’
‘No,’ said I.
‘God is God,’ said the old man. ‘A deity – a God! Surely you have heard mention of the Bible? The Scriptures? The Old Testament? Very popular before Entropy.’
‘No,’ said I. I poked the catnip mouse with my finger and shook my head. ‘I do not like this artificial mouse. What is catnip?’
‘Catnip is a special herb, sir,’ said the man, relaxing because I had moved my hand from my SMKK; ‘cats go mad for it, they love it. I suppose it is a kind of narco to their brains – a stimulant.’
‘Yes. I like this idea. Emmy will like narco I think. I’ll take them both.’
‘I can engrave a name on the tag, sir? If you like, sir?’
‘Put EMMY,’ said I.
I watched whilst the old man busied himself, putting the tag in a small vice and switching on an engraving machine; he was talking all the while but I switched off to his voice because he was boring and talking rubbish dreg about something called ‘religion’ which had been very big before Entropy War when a large proportion of the continents had been wiped out and smashed with GOV's terrible new weapons.
Eventually he finished what he was doing and handed me the items in a thick brown paper bag; I paid him and wandered down the shop towards the door beyond a stack of large cages at floor level. Again, I heard the curious and painfully mechanical bleat. I looked down at a cage by my feet rising to waist height; I dropped slowly to a crouch realising that my mobility was severely impaired by the three reb bullet wounds and the bastards would pay I was sure because I was mad at being shot.
And there, through the wire mesh, something bleated again; a long, whining sound.
I stared into its eyes, which looked back. Then its black mouth opened, it bleated, and there was a tiny click as the mouth shut again.
‘What is it?’ said I, standing up and looking back down the shop where the old man was tinkering with a broken cage; he looked up and smiled, rubbing his whiskers.
‘That,’ said the man, ‘is an electric sheep.’
‘Oh,’ said I, and stared back down at the curious rotund body adorned by curling fur of some kind; it looked up at me, seemed to smile. And then it did something that surprised me much. It winked, a slow wink, and bleated again.
‘Do you like it?’ asked the man.
‘What is a sheep?’ said I.
‘A farm animal, sir. Have you never heard of a sheep, sir?’
‘No,’ said I. ‘What does it do?’
‘You can eat them, sir, but not this one – this one is electric.’ The man had ambled down the shop towards me and he was grinning broadly now. He nudged me, and again my hand strayed to my SMKK and he took a step back aware that I must be a touchy SIM and very on edge having just taken three bullets in battle. ‘You can use them as a –’ he paused then, his grin broadening, ‘you know, as a pet, sir.’
‘I see,’ said I, clearly not seeing at all.
‘Baahaa waaaa,’ said the sheep.
‘Is it supposed to sound like that?’ said I.
‘I think so, sir,’ said the man, his face wrinkling in uncertainty.
‘Do you sell many?’
The man smiled again. ‘To the peps? You’d be surprised, sir, in this day and age. Truly surprised, sir.’ He began to chuckle and the sheep set off its whining noise once more and I truly had had enough of this madness, so I left the shop without further delay and stepped with a sense of relief onto the cold hard concrete and my light–headed feeling returned and holding the paper bag in one hand I marched slowly down the pavement to the simcab. I got in, instructed the driver and the simcab cruised off into the rain and I realised now why I didn’t like to go into shops and it was all a farce and the very act of shopping left me feeling sour and drained.
*
I watched the simcab cruise off into the darkness, its wheels hissing through puddles and it took me a long time to climb the stairs to my apartment; I opened the door and switched on the light and stepped in and Emmy was there, miaowing and rubbing against my legs and she was as pleased to see me as I was her.
Without
even closing my door I knelt there, fumbling in the paper bag; I put the collar around Emmy’s neck and I don’t think she was too happy at first because she scratched it with a claw, but as soon as I gave her the catnip artificial mouse she went wild – she threw it in the air one moment, then grabbed it and chewed it and rubbed her head and nose against it – and then she was throwing it about once more and pouncing on it and purring as loud as I’ve ever heard her purr.
I laughed out loud then! She loved the little mouse and I made a mental note to return to that pet shop one day and thank the little old man with the electric sheep; he had given me a card and I fished it from my pocket, looked at the name in fancy gold lettering:
FRODO FAT, Purveyor of Anymals.
I shut the door and eased myself into my comfy swivel chair; I switched on TEK–Q and he burbled, ‘How’s it going, buddy budd?’
‘OK,’ said I. ‘I took three bullets through my armour and have been stuck up in South State Hospital on my arse for over a week, but besides that, life couldn’t be better.’
‘Tut tut,’ said TEK. ‘That’s a sour tone in your voice old boy. I’ve had a nice chat with Sullivan whilst he was here; he told me all about your little escapade out wasteland side, and...’
‘Yes yes,’ said I. ‘I know. I’ve just been in a pet shop down on Emerald Precinct – owned by a man called Frodo Fat. Have you any files on him?’
‘Checking...’
I waited, watched Emmy playing with her catnip mouse; then she suddenly threw it down and padded out into the kitchen and I could hear her lapping up milk. But something cold washed over me. Something was wrong.
‘No, sorry bud,’ said TEK–Q. ‘No files. What were you doing in a pet shop, anyway?’
‘I bought Emmy a collar.’
‘A what?’
‘A collar. And a catnip mouse.’
‘That’s nice,’ said TEK–Q. ‘But I thought you SIMs didn’t go in for all that pep rubbish? Thought you were too sophisticate for all of that?’
‘I am,’ growled I. ‘This is different. It’s... hard to explain. It has got something to do with the injecto chemicals – and narco. I’m not sure. It’s like – Emmy, she is an alternative drug. I don’t need stimulants when she is around...’
‘I’m glad,’ said TEK–Q. ‘Because you’re going to need calming down when I tell you what I’ve got to tell you.’ Something in TEK’s voice confirmed my cold feeling and I gently loosened my SMKK and something was not feeling good or right and I didn’t like it.
‘What is it?’
‘We–ell,’ said TEK–Q.
‘What?’ I snapped and my SMKK was out and pointing at the screen even though I knew it was irrational and TEK would not feel fear because he was compu; but still it seemed to work and his voice went quivery.
‘You remember Snow?’
‘Of course I fukking remember Snow you fukking dumb–tek motherfukker!’ snapped I.
‘She’s here.’
‘What, in State?’
‘No, here.’
I stared at the screen, at TEK–Q, without comprehension. ‘Here where?’
‘In this apartment,’ said TEK–Q and I was already on my feet and spinning fast with my SMKK up and pointed and the safety OFF and ready for action.
‘Hello Justice,’ came her husky voice from the kitchen and I froze and she was there, shadowed by the darkness, and Emmy was purring and rubbing against her legs and I could see the gleam of Snow’s own SMKK, the stubby black barrel on me. I watched the barrel, aware that due to my wounds I could not react fast enough; so I eased myself back down in the swivel chair and found her mech eyes in the gloom. They glowed soft and I could remember our parting words nearly two years back, my voice filled with bitterness and hate, our SMKKs levelled and only LAW holding us restrained from serious mutual grievance on neutral GOV ground: ‘If I ever see you again bitch, then I’ll kill you,’ I said, and I’d meant it.
And Snow’s reply? She had sat there with her gun, and lit a cigarette with calm fingers, and her beauty had still touched me even through my hate; touched my heart with tenderness. But her words, her words had been ice pure and chilled and soft with malice.
‘Not if I kill you first,’ she said.
CHAPTER FOUR
CANKER
WE WATCHED ONE another for long tense moments. Outside, more rain hammered my apartment’s window and I could hear wind howling in the distance, a mocking jester.
Snow moved forward into the light, then, and I got a good look at her. She had not changed in the two years since I had seen her. She was tall, as tall as I, and very well formed. She was athletic, pure and simple. Her armour was body–hugging, tight and black which I always liked back in days when we shared our sex and her hair was short–cropped, a blond military–cut. Her face was still soft–skinned, and even her mech eyes did not look out of place in a face of such haughty perfection.
‘Where do we go from here?’ she said, words a caress, moving forward with her gun set in steady hands. I watched the barrel with a sense of deep unease.
‘I hear you’ve been torturing and killing people in Middle–Asia,’ said I, leaning back in my chair and projecting the image of a confidence I did not possess.
‘Yes.’
Our voices ground to a halt and for a long minute we found we had reached stalemate; and then she lowered her SMKK and I allowed a quick glance skyward in silent thanks to whatever ruled such emotions in the complex female psyche.
‘Have you missed me?’ said Snow, and I looked at her mech eyes and traced a line down her powerful woman’s body. I could remember the sex of our union, and it suddenly made my throat go dry.
‘Yes,’ I answered, almost without thinking, and I realised that in many ways it was true; but then her betrayal – that terrible betrayal! – bellowed red hot and fury in my mind and I clamped my teeth tight together and glared at her. ‘I missed you,’ said I, ‘and some nights I remember hot sex and that was good, but other nights I remember our parting and I shot holes in the ceiling. I wanted you to die, Snow – I wanted to blast the blood from your veins and rip out your fukking liver.’
She leapt forward then, and we hit the ground together toppling back from my swivel chair hard; despite my weakness and pain I tried to fight but she had me and she pinned me down to the ground with her superior strength and I looked up into her face and her emotion, her features, were stoic. I struggled again. I could not move. She had me.
What would she do? Kill me or fuck me?
I wasn’t sure which was worse...
‘What now?’ I asked and my voice was subdued. All I could hope was that she would kill me fast and not hurt Emmy. But then, I knew her: she liked animals. Emmy would be safe. It was me she held down in that iron grip trained by top GOV military facility bastards.
‘This,’ she hissed, and leaning over me she kissed me with forceful passion and I had forgotten in past months what it was like to kiss and be kissed and Snow was filled with fire and heat and hunger and I responded in kind with that same hunger burning me from inside in my mind and my heart and my loins and I felt lust roaring deep in myself and Snow suddenly pulled away – she giggled, suddenly a child astride me – and then leapt up and was gone heading for the bedroom and I grinned and pushed myself up on my elbows and looked at Emmy, who was staring at me with those large green eyes and how I wish I could have seen that green – and that was the answer – colour – narco, mandrake for me and Snow and we would forget our pasts and I got to my feet and winced in tender agony fire and padded across the carpet to the bedroom and found her standing naked before me holding nothing but her SMKK. This turned me on pretty darned good and I remembered, then, the violent war games we used to play and it had been fun and hot wild and violent and I found my injector and filled it from Sullivan’s supply and first I injected Snow, and she lay back on the bed with a low gasp and her breasts high and white firm and beckoning; I refilled the injector and slid in needle and fired my
veins and then I was standing before her and she opened her legs and beckoned me close as she cast aside her SMKK and I knelt on the edge of the bed and gazed down at my love, at my SIM love from long ago when the world had seemed much more simple. I placed a hand on each of her knees and we were both naked now and hot with lust, and she was moaning, crooning almost with her voice all husky and filled with want and need and hot colours from the narco. I was hard as hard could be and I dived into her hard fast pushing and she screamed and giggled and grabbed me tight and I gasped at sudden hot white fire agony, she eased her arms from my shoulders but there was no time to explain my weakness from bullets because the mandrake took us in its grasp then, and we fukked on the bed in fast sweating non–rhythms and both our eyes were closed now because the mandrake had us in its grasp and I could see her face below even though my mech eyes were shut closed cold and she had colour and was pink and her blond hair was really blond instead of that blond–grey of human colourless existence. She was hot and tight and demanding around me, her cunt hot in my lap and I was in her and we were together and as one and she was moaning husky down my ear as we moved together on the bed and I could hear a purring and knew that Emmy was there in the bedroom somewhere, and probably watching us, but I no–longer cared because emotions swamped me and picked me high up top and I was boosted into orbit within my own mind and fell startled into the warmth of conjugal entwining and we came together, and she screamed long and high hard down my ear and her nails tore great gashes down my back and I arched in pain and pleasure merging and as one, and together, and my mouth was open and blood from my tongue rolled down my chin and her legs were tight around me and pounded me and would not let go as they pulled me so tight inside and tight with fear and pain mixed in and a need to be with me and around me and we merged on that bed, and became as one in our hot love fiery union and the colours were so real and the pleasure was total and vibrating every atom of being so that I screamed and screamed and I bit down then on the soft skin of her neck and our blood merged and our sexual honey merged and we went rigid together, holding together as if falling through worlds, for a moment, for an eternity, jewelled, encompassing our pleasure within pleasure, and then I felt her muscles go slack beneath me and I eased down on top of her and we lay panting and fading as the mandrake took us deep deep into a strange place, and would never, ever let us go.