by Andy Remic
I choked. ‘In life? You SIM dreg, you are compu! You are AI. You are not alive, you are simulated and you cannot have ambition!’
‘You are simulated as well,’ said TEK, his voice suddenly low and serious.
‘I am organic,’ said I. ‘I am metal–combo but alive. I have brain and limbs and organs; I die like any other mortal and I am superior to pep no–matter what that dreg fukk Jolly Joker says on TV; now you listen to me TEK–Q and you listen good because I’m in a bad mood and might well put a bullet in your AI chip and end your thoughts of any career in comedy. I want to know, and I want to know now about GOV’s proposals for the end to Canker. What sort of tests will be run on Emmy?’
‘Listen Justice,’ sighed TEK, ‘there are several tests; they are painful but don’t worry, buddy budd, they do not require the death of the specimen. As long as Emmy is clear of HRG then she will live.’
‘What if she’s got it?’ I asked, my voice soft. I was suddenly fearful, more fearful than I’d ever been in a long time. Since the War, in fact.
‘If she’s got it,’ said TEK, ‘then you’re better off without her! She’ll be passing it to you, via air, via water – hell, I don’t know how it works, bud. But listen – don’t worry. There are other cats in the world! You can get another one! A clean one! One without Canker!’
‘I don’t want another one,’ said I. ‘Emmy saved my life out dregside and I owe her; I cannot let them take her away and test her and kill her.’
‘You must,’ said TEK in a gentle voice and I switched off his power then, because I was angry, and I pulled out my SMKK and crossed the room and checked on my cat. She had finished lapping milk and was washing herself quietly in the kitchen. Look at her! Such a sweet little pussy cat. How could she possibly be harmful to anybody?
I sat on my settee and switched on the groovy groovy MM and placed my SMKK across my knees. I closed my eyes and the music took me – it was Tchaikovsky, the Romeo and Juliet Fantasy Overture – and the sadness of the music filled me, and I wanted to cry and felt powerful emotions surging through myself before I lost consciousness and abandoned myself to the MM and the dazzling light.
*
Later: I had a dream. I was in a park somewhere – it must have been distant because there was no grass and trees in State for a thousand miles – and I was sat on the grass and Emmy was there, playing with a piece of string and I was laughing and I could see Snow walking towards me and Emmy, and she was laughing and carrying two cream cones and the world seemed very fine. But the V2.0 Battle SIMs came from nowhere and they demanded Emmy; and I said she was clean but they would not listen, and their dark SMKKs tracked her as she played with her string and I screamed no no no no! but they pulled their dark triggers and bullets roared – and I awoke.
*
I was shivering and cold. The sky thundered dark bastard bruised copper outside and I moved to the window; it was night and across the land Justice SIMs would be out on Leviticus 20 tours; I did not envy them. I think I must have been getting old. Emmy was curled up on my lap and I was stiff and chilled and I did not want to disturb her but I had to; I stretched my legs and got myself a drink and switched on my apartment’s heating. Soon, warm air was blowing and it became comfortable. I sat back down, Emmy came straight to me and curled up in a ball on my lap and began to purr. I switched on TV and waited, my brain switched off against the barrage of banal dreg on the screen.
And finally.
It appeared.
*
... Kate Jess here, from the Royal Swedish University with Gerry Cantrell and Z from GOV South State. Good evening, gentlemen. Now firstly, can I ask you Mr Cantrell, about your new discoveries and their possible ramifications?
Yes of course, Ms Jess. HRG is indeed found in – I would estimate – 96% of animals in UK State; this is a most heinous problem because they are spreading the viral strain and furthering constant mutation. The problem must therefore be contained and we are asking for the full co–operation of all peps and SIMs of UK State. As we all know, HRG has already made us blind – and after monitoring regressive brain activity due to HRG, I estimate that because the animals are ‘carriers’, the viral strain had been accelerated by their own genetic input, the input of the host – and humanity’s regression accelerated. In the next thirty years I estimate homo sapiens will lose its sense of hearing, then taste and possibly other ‘pleasure’ senses. There is also the real possibility of mobility – a loss of mobility. HRG is one of the most serious diseases to hit mankind for centuries. It is gradually stripping away our senses at a root genetic level; until we become nothing more than vegetables.
Thank you, Mr Cantrell. Now, Mr Z, what are the GOV's proposals in protecting the peps of this planet? I believe they are already in operation?
Yes, Ms. Jess – even as we speak, at this very moment in time, I have lower class Battle SIMs scouring the streets and rounding up all pets and livestock. The animals in question will then undergo preliminary tests and if found to be clear, the animals will of course be returned to their owners in 48 hours. Those animals with HRG will of course be culled and I hope we can rely on full co–operation from pep and SIM alike. After all, it is for the good of the Whole. And of course I might add, standard GOV policy applies: failure to comply with our instructions will result in execution for disobeying LAW.
Of course. Thank you both.
*
The QQB News ended with pictures of strapped–down animals on conveyor belts being fed into incinerators on a huge scale, a factory scale. There was much noise of pain and animal screams.
There went a conveyor of dogs, all breeds and sizes and shapes, yakking and thrashing and woofing, their eyes big and sad. There went a conveyor belt of sheep, little black legs struggling, pathetic bleats spurting from little sheep mouths. And there, finally, went a conveyor belt of cats – tails swishing angrily, eyes flashing dangerous, snarls and hisses coming from bared teeth as straps popped open and they tumbled thrashing into the glowing flames...
The cam slowly zoomed out.
Each animal conveyor was at least a kilometre long.
I could feel myself go white as blood left my face and I was very cold again despite the heating in my apartment. And I could not quite fully understand what was happening. This was wholesale slaughter! How could GOV sanction such actions on so little evidence? It was madness. Insanity! But then, I had always thought GOV policy weak and prone to panic and absolute ridiculousness.
Where was the quarantine?
Where was the proof? Genuine evidence?
All of this unfolding posed a great problem. I was SIM. I upheld LAW. To uphold LAW in this case would of course mean surrendering Emmy to the Battle SIMs presently roaming the streets and rounding up animals in Battle Truks.
How could I disobey LAW?
How could I go against the GOV that ruled us all?
And of course I would not. Could not. Should not.
But... my mind churned with plans and I doubted I could give up Emmy. She was my cat. The cat that had saved my life and was a good friend and superb substitute for narco.
I didn’t want no trouble.
I didn’t want no violence.
Especially against Battle SIMs that would eat me up and chew me up and spit me out. Oh no. I could do without that sort of LAW–breaking fukk, thank you very much!
I decided I would lie. How could they prove she was here? I could not guarantee that Emmy was clean, free of Canker, but I really did not care and if I suffered then so be it. Maybe in a few weeks the panic would settle down, they would realise it was all a mistake – because let us be frank, it had happened before at the hands of GOV idiots. A thousand times.
And I could hope...
All Emerald needed was more time.
Emmy looked up at me and I bent close, my mech eyes clicking; she rubbed her nose against my nose and this I found touching. As if she understood my good will. As if she understood my problem and loved me for it. I wi
shed that Snow was there, then, to give me advice – but I remembered the betrayal and decided it was probably best if she was off visiting GOV and those bastards with their policy for the ‘good of all’ when it was really for the ‘good of oneself’ and fukking definitely ‘for the good of GOV’.
No. They would not take my cat.
There came a knock at my door.
Slowly, I went cold. Blood seemed to drain from me.
Oh.
It couldn’t be them. It couldn’t. Not so soon.
Could it?
I could hear noise down outside my apartment, a pep screaming in the street and I moved to the window and out onto the balcony and peered in the darkness; yes, there was a Battle Truk outside and it had started raining once more and peps were in the street, several banging on the side of the Truk with sticks and bricks.
Again, a knock on my door.
I ran to the kitchen and put Emmy on the floor, then locked her in and moved back, not knowing what I would say or do, my mind a whirlwind of confusion.
I opened my apartment door.
Two Battle B SIMs stood there, their armour dull and their rank inferior to my own.
‘Yes?’ said I.
‘We are sorry to bother you, Justice D SIM,’ said one of the Bs, ‘but we have data information that you own a cat? A feline? We would appreciate your co–operation in handing over the feline cat pussy animal for tests as laid out by GOV policy 55B 22.11. 2074 at 6PM.’
‘A cat?’ said I. ‘You are wrong.’
The Battle B checked his chart. ‘No, Justice D we are not wrong and we have much to do, and your speedy co–operation would be commended to the highest ranks and without fuss.’
‘You are wrong,’ I said, my voice full of certainty. ‘I have no cat. I used to have a cat but she ran away stupid thing because that is what cats do. Thank you. Good day to you.’ I closed the door and rested my back against it, heart hammering, brain pounding and I could really do with the old narco bastard right now.
I had lied. I had bluffed them!
I had broken LAW.
However. Now, I thought:
FUKK LAW.
There came a knock again, and filling up with a sudden irrational anger like a jug filling up with hot blood, I opened my apartment door and looked into their faces.
‘Yes?’ I snapped.
‘There is a cat in there. In the kitchen,’ said the Battle B.
‘Do not be ridiculous,’ said I.
The Battle B leant forward and showed me his small alloy scanner. It indeed did show a cat in the kitchen, signified by a flashing red blob, and I looked at this cursor for a moment, my mouth open, betrayed by fukking technology.
‘Your compu equip must be faulty,’ I said, even as I drew my long stocky SMKK and the Battle Bs stared at me without comprehension for a long long moment, and the barrel touched the first B’s forehead and a bullet exploded with a roar and blood spattered the landing wallpaper and even as the body fell – I swung my SMKK – the other Battle B was grappling at his holstered gun but he was too late and too slow and I fired; the bullet smashed through his shoulder, for his armour and upgrades were not good, they were cheap sub–GOV units, and he flew back to land at the top of the stairs and I stepped over to him and looked down at him and his eyes whirred and clicked and his blood pumped out. I knelt and put another bullet in his head and he was still then. Quiet. Like he should be. Not nagging me with questions.
I stood and glanced down at my SMKK.
It was spattered with SIM blood but that was just fine with me because nobody was going to take Emmy away from me for ritual pointless GOV slaughter. It just would not happen. Or at least, only over my dead SIM body.
I moved back into my apartment and checked on Emmy; she was happily playing with her catnip mouse on the kitchen floor. I dragged the Battle B from the top of the stairs and across the landing where he left a long red smear. I hoisted him over my shoulder and he was a heavy bastard and I dumped him on my kitchen floor and went back for the other B; he was lighter, and I carried him inside and dumped him beside his dead corpse fellow.
Emmy padded over and sniffed the two bodies, then went back to playing with her catnip mouse and I was proud because she showed no fear and no emotion.
I liked that.
The killer gene.
The way it should be.
I filled a bucket with hot water and found a sponge; returning to the landing I wiped up the SIM blood and wondered if anybody had heard SMKK rounds fired. I hoped not. But then, peps were cowards at the best of times. That was why we fought their wars and patrolled their streets.
I scrubbed at the wallpaper but all the blood would not come out because the thick pattern had soaked it up and stained it bright red. Damn.
I gave the landing a final check, then went back inside and rinsed the blood down the sink and found some meat for Emmy and sliced it fine and fed her and she ate it right down and enjoyed it, I thought, judging by her loud purrs. The two bodies leaked on the kitchen floor and the blood started to spread out in a pool, so I found plenty of thick towels and rolled them up long and thick and placed them around the corpses to soak up any more blood.
Returning to my settee, I switched on TV and everything seemed to be a panic; there was some mild form of hysteria running through peps and SIMs alike. People could be seen, running through the night streets and some were shot by Justice SIMs but other SIMs and peps alike were killing animals out on the roads and burning their bodies in big heaps, on bonfires of animal corpses, and this made my grin go tight and my face grim and I could feel a pounding in my head and the weakness of my recent wounding no–longer worried me because my natural anger was taking the place of narco – and who needed fukking narco anyway? Not when one felt fury like this!
The TV cameras panned, locked on a large group of peps and SIMs – probably around 90 to 100 people. They had amongst them many animals and were beating dogs and cats to death with clubs and slitting the throats of horses and cattle with long glittering knives. Animal screams filled the air like women screams; like child screams. The scene was barbaric and I wondered at the sanity of mankind because it had taken such a little thing to turn us all into savages and the mob attacked the camera crew then, and clubs hammered down and the camera picture was cracked and went suddenly black and fuzzy and that, at least, was good humour – just what every TV journalist deserved.
The scene changed then; it showed farmers in their cattle sheds with groups of heavy–set peps and they were killing all their cattle and trying to get the camera crews away amidst the chaos of noise and stamping hooves. Much serious grievance went on and the bastard scum farmers were just trying to get the meat cut up and frozen in freezo-packs so they could make money and not lose their cattle to the GOV for mere destruction.
I have always disliked farmers and have shot several on occasion and taken much minor pleasure from this death of men and women who purport to sanction the land and the animals that live upon it when in fact they are merely dreg who bleach the land and slaughter their animals and it is all money and all greed and leaves me filled with anger and rage. But that’s nothing new.
I flicked off TV. It made me feel sick.
Emmy reappeared from the kitchen and she had a dead mouse in her jaws and it dangled limp and broken and I stroked her; this was good. I was protecting her and she was protecting me. This was mutual – affection and protection. A symbiotic exchange.
She dropped the mouse at my feet and scampered off and I placed the dead mouse corpse in the bin and was happy. But I would not have much time, I knew, because the death of Battle SIMs would not go unnoticed for long and so I began to pack a small bag with weapons and I stripped the Battle Bs of their bullets and tried to prepare.
*
I stood on my balcony and watched the madness below. Peps were gathered and were chanting, and there seemed to be several SIMs amongst them, mostly Menial but a few lower class Justice models; there was a bonf
ire of animals in the distance pouring black smoke to the rain–heaving skies. I watched a Battle Truk pull up at the curb behind its brother and I cursed. Of course! I should have moved it! That was an oversight I would pay for.
I watched two Battle Bs get out from the cab and approach my building and I ducked inside and waited for them to mount the stairs. I checked the kitchen door was shut.
A knock. Loud, fast, urgent.
I opened the door and forced a smile despite the Bs being of lower rank.
‘Yes?’ said I.
‘Two of our brothers were here earlier,’ said one of the Bs and I could see suspicion in his eyes which I decided to ignore.
‘Yes. They took my cat and left,’ said I. ‘There was an angry mob outside though, and a group of peps and some rogue SIMs; I think you should check it with them. They built a bonfire. You may have seen it when you came in...’
The Battle Bs did not look convinced. ‘We saw the bonfire,’ one said. ‘But we also have reason to believe that you have a cat inside your kitchen – and yet you said our brothers took it away? Please explain.’
‘Hmm,’ I said, and shot the Battle B in the chest and he exploded backwards in a spray of blood; I turned my SMKK on the other Battle SIM but he already had his weapon out, pointing at me, and there was a grim smile of triumph on his face.
‘I have you,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said I.
‘You’re coming with me,’ he said.
‘Possibly,’ said I, and shot him in the stomach. He folded up like a deflating balloon, and slowly toppled onto his face. His arm twitched for a while and he made gurgling sounds, but was then still.
Sighing, I reached down and dragged the Battle B into my apartment and dumped him with his brothers in the kitchen; then I dragged in the fourth body, and went through the act of rearranging the soaked and stinking blood towels so as to absorb their blood. It was gruesome work and I did not relish it, and it left me feeling quite strange and quite anxious as well. Four corpses in my kitchen. This was not good, and did not fill me with joy and Emmy sniffed around the four Battle SIMs and sniffed the blood and licked a bit of it but I shooed her away; it was not fitting for Emmy to taste SIM blood.