Star Cat: The First Trilogy (Infinity Claws, Pink Symphony, War Mage)

by Andrew Mackay

  "—Never mind that," Tripp stepped in and watched the book float around the room. "How are you feeling, Manuel?"

  "Full of the joys of a typical Spring day, Tripp. Yourself?"

  "Good. He recognizes us, at least."

  "Soul count returns a number I was not expecting," Manuel said.

  "How many souls aboard Opera Beta?" Tor asked. "We’re counting me, Tripp, Wool, and Jaycee. That should make four."

  "I am expecting eight. Haloo Ess, Captain Daryl Katz, Miss Anderson and the series two Androgyne unit."

  Tripp squinted at Manuel in confusion. "Eight? Do you know what happened to them?"

  "I do not. I apologize," Manuel ruffled his pages and emitted four beeps. "I am in full operational order. Quite without anomaly."

  "Without anomaly?" Jaycee shook his head and let out a chuckle of utter disdain. "You know stuff-all about what’s happened to us."

  "Hey, leave him alone," Tor said. "I don’t know how much data was flushed to his disk before we went through Enceladus. I need to run a test on him. Try to pinpoint the exact time he failed to recollect—"

  "—I am running a geo-scan on the ship," Manuel said. "But I cannot locate it."

  Tripp turned to Tor and patted him on the shoulder. "See what I mean?"

  "Wait. Let’s run a test. Ask him something, anything, about an event prior to us going through Enceladus."

  Tripp went quiet, thinking of a question to ask. He arrived at one. "Manuel?"

  "Yes, Tripp?"

  "What’s my son’s name?"

  "Your son’s name is Ryan Healy."

  "And his date of birth?"

  "October seventh, twenty-one-eleven."

  Tripp shrugged his shoulders. "Perfect answer."

  "No, wait, wait," Tor thought aloud. "That’s too far in the past. Manuel?"

  "Yes, Tor?"

  "Data Point, run exposition scan. Open quote, what is Pink Symphony, close quote."

  Manuel’s holograph fizzled in mid-air as he spun through his pages. Tor turned to the others and smiled.

  "He’s recalibrating," Tor lowered his voice to a dead whisper, "If he remembers anything about Pure Genius and Jelly’s attempt to decode Saturn Cry, then we know he’s up-to-date."

  The Manuel

  Pink Symphony

  Pg 616,647

  (exposition dump #139/2a)

  Cats exist to live a life of comfort and privilege if they are lucky. Should they find a good home, their work extends to that of capturing a mouse. Sometimes, even, defending their territory - if they can be bothered.

  Those less fortunate and without a compassionate home are forced to survive. They become territorial, and deadly so.

  Nevertheless, one attribute stands true. Cats are stupid. Dumb, ill-mannered creatures to a man, especially in relation to human beings. They have no concept of intelligence and, as discovered in the year 2080, failed to advance in the way humans did given a lifetime of experience.

  Humans went on to grasp the concept of fire, for example. A cat doesn’t even know what a box of matches is. Ask an adult human with reasonable common sense to watch a boiling pot of water and he will. Ask a cat the same thing, and it will - it’ll watch it burn the house down.

  The above-mentioned facts are important in understanding the breakthrough that was achieved in the year 2119.

  Space Opera Beta launched the previous year. It’s mission, to decode a message from what was originally thought to be Saturn. It transpired that it was actually coming from its sixth largest moon, Enceladus.

  In conjunction with Opera Beta’s on-board computer, Pure Genius, crew member Jelly Anderson managed to crack the code.

  Whether or not she was aware of her success is neither here nor there. The fact remains that she cracked it - which is more than can be said for the humans.

  A series of numbers presented themselves, which Pure Genius quickly configured to be the standard English alphabet. The translation of twelve numbers returned the phrase Pink Symphony.

  Nothing is known of its derivation, origin, or even what it means. Much like humans in space, or cats on Earth, the answer one can reasonably derive that the discovery is as follows: completely and utterly vague, and of no use to man or beast.

  ***

  "Yeah, okay," Tripp suppressed the urge to accost Manuel for his matter-of-fact rudeness. He turned to Jaycee with his thoughts on the matter, "Very snarky. Inelegant to a fault. He evidently remembers what happened before it all started."

  "Well, that’s a start."

  "Very good, Manuel." Tor held out his hand and prompted Manuel, "Now that you’re operational, I need you to run a—"

  "—Tor?" Manuel asked.

  "Yes, Manuel?"

  "I do not have you listed as an official crew member of Space Opera Beta."

  "What do you mean?" Tor shot Tripp and Jaycee a look of extreme consternation. "Explain, please."

  "A little over two hours ago, Opera Beta received a communication from Maar Sheck at USARIC, suggesting that you and Baldron Landaker were not who you said you were."

  Tor felt around the rim of his Decapidisc. He hoped the revelation wouldn’t anger Jaycee. "It’s a long story, Manuel."

  "Is it true?"

  "Yes, it’s true."

  "For my records, I need to know your real name and rank. I presume you are an employee of USARIC?"

  "Yes, I am."

  Manuel opened his bookends out. Tor’s head shot, along with his assumed name - Tor Klyce - appeared as a sheet of transparent paper in the air.

  "May I have your real name, please?"

  Tor cleared his throat, hoping the answer he’d give wouldn’t anger the others.

  "Viktor Rabinovich."

  "What?" Tripp walked through the photo form and sized up to Tor. "You’re lying. Rabinovich was poisoned and died."

  "No, I wasn’t. And I didn’t."

  Jaycee didn’t take the news very well. "Okay, that’s enough. I’m pressing the button." He placed his finger on his glove, activating the Decapidisc.

  A white light beeped on the surface of the disc around Tor’s neck, followed by a tinny-sounding voice. "Decapidisc armed. Warning, Decapidisc armed."

  "No, no," Tor yelped in fright, stepping away and tried to remove the disc around his neck. "Please, make it stop.

  Beep… beep…

  The second of the three white lights lit up, filling Tor with a palpable anxiety.

  "Jaycee," Wool shouted, "Don’t do this."

  "I figure you have about fifteen seconds to explain yourself," Tripp grinned with Jaycee. "Or your head comes off."

  "No, no, please." Tor fell to his knees and begged Jaycee to deactivate the inevitable.

  "Tell us what happened, Viktor."

  "Okay, okay, I’ll tell you," Tor stumbled over the chair. His breathing quickened, the realization that he had better give an accurate account of events within the given time frame - or risk death.

  "Dimitri Vasilov. It was all his idea. I was stationed in Moscow, developing the Androgyne series with Baldron. He tracked me down and head-hunted me—"

  "—Now that’s ironic," Jaycee chuckled to himself.

  "Shut up, let him speak."

  A stream of tears squirted from Tor’s eyes as he hurried his explanation. "He gave us new identities and hurried us into the Opera Beta mission."

  "What was your primary objective, Tor?" Tripp folded his arms, enjoying the man’s torment.

  "To get Anderson to decode Saturn Cry and terminate the crew."

  The third and final white dot on the Decapidisc appeared. The beeps grew louder and louder…

  "Oh, God. Please, no," Tor stood up, frantically clutching at the disc.

  "Hey, ass hat," Jaycee said, "How did you think you were gonna get away with killing us all?"

  "When Androgyne boarded Alpha we knew you’d follow. It was perfect. I primed her to detonate and take you down with the ship.”

  The Decapidisc beeped quicker and quicke
r to a near flat line sound.

  "Oh Jesus," Tor’s sweat fountained down his face. He hoped the next ten seconds weren’t going to be his last.

  "So you decode the message and save the day? Return home as heroes?"

  "I’m sorry! I’m sorry!" Tor gave up on the disc and gripped the arm rests on the console chair. He was close to throwing up.

  "Sorry you were caught?" Tripp spat. "Or genuinely sorry?"

  "Both."

  "It all makes sense, now," Wool said. "If that plan had worked, they would have been heroes."

  "A perfect ruse to get USARIC to allow Russians to join future endeavors?" Tripp kicked the chair away from Tor, throwing him to his ass. "Sound about right to you, Tor?"

  The beeps feathered out into a constant flat line noise.

  "Moment of truth, Rabinovich, my friend," Jaycee said.

  Tor rolled onto his side, his neck pushed up at an awkward angle against the cylinder jamming against the floor. He closed his eyes, adjusted his breathing and accepted his fate.

  "I’m ready."

  SWISH-CLUNK!

  The Decapidisc unbolted, separating out into a metal ‘3’ shape. The whirring inner blades sluiced together, nicking his skin as it clanged to the floor.

  Nanoseconds away from death.

  Tor thought he’d been executed. His eyelids opened, scraping away the tears. His Decapidisc danced around his feet.

  "Am I d-dead?"

  "Sadly, no," Jaycee showed him his glove, "You’re not dead. But we got the truth out of you and that’s all that matters."

  Tor fell to his knees and burst into tears, "I wish you’d killed me."

  "So do we. But we’re not mercenaries," Tripp offered the man his hand, "Get up."

  "I can’t stand this any longer," Wool said, "Stop torturing this poor man."

  Tor wrapped his arms around Tripp and hugged him as tightly as possibly, "Thank you. Thank you."

  "It’s okay. We’re not the bad guys," Tripp pushed the confused and discombobulated man away from him. "You and that boyfriend of yours have that all sewn up. Next time, though, you won’t be so lucky."

  "I understand."

  "The only reason you’re alive is because you know how to operate the communications panel and Manuel. Remember that."

  "Pick up the Decapidisc, Viktor," Jaycee said.

  The man did as instructed and swiped the metal execution device from the floor.

  "Back on your neck."

  “No, please. Don’t make me wear it again—”

  “—I said put it back on,” Jaycee screamed in the man’s face. “Do it. Now.”

  With a great deal of reluctance, Tor slid the neck hole under his chin and clamped the disc shut. He looked utterly miserable and deflated with the compliance device around his neck once again.

  "Right, that’s enough," Tripp said. "Tor, you stay here and run a diagnostic on Manuel. Find out precisely where we are."

  Tor kept his head hung. The best he could do was nod his head in acknowledgment of his Captain’s order.

  "Wool, come with me to N-Vigorate."

  "What are we doing?"

  Tripp made his way out of the control deck. "We need to wake Bonnie up. We don’t know anything about where we are. The air out there could be toxic. It certainly seems to be having a strange effect on cats and dead people, anyway. Jaycee?"

  "Yeah."

  "Go and wake up Tor’s boyfriend in N-Carcerate. Bring him straight back to the control deck and fill him in on what’s happened."

  "You want me to tell him everything?"

  "He’ll find out sooner or later, so yes. Tell him everything," Tripp opened the door and let Wool through, "Tell him if we need to fight for whatever reason that he’s first in the firing line. Like a human shield, kinda thing."

  "My pleasure," Jaycee stormed toward the door and threw Tor a look of evil joy. "You better be here when I get back."

  "I will," Tor turned to the communication panel and continued his work. "Manuel, run oxygen level diagnostic, please."

  Jaycee reached Trip and walked through the door with him. "Oh, and… Jaycee?"

  "Yeah?"

  "When you wake up Baldron try not to batter him too badly, okay?"

  "Who, me?” Jaycee snorted and punched his knuckles together, “The thought never entered my mind."

  Chapter 8

  New Los Angeles, USA

  Howe’s Medician Facility

  Five years ago…

  A wave of muffled voices flew around the darkness. The feeling of an expanding coat hanger pushing through her internal organs was getting too much.

  "She’s losing consciousness," a female voice flew into the air, "Dr. Whitaker? Can you hear me?"

  A horizontal sliver of light burst across the darkness, revealing a blurred vision of a delivery nurse. Bonnie opened her eyelids and looked at down to find her knees splayed across flooded, spongy floor.

  "Welcome back, Dr. Whitaker," the nurse said, holding her up by her left arm. The image of the woman focused into crystal clarity. The bottom half of her body remained blurred through the plastic case attached to her face.

  An oxygen mask.

  "Level off the gas, please," said another nurse, who kept an eye on a monitor to the left. "No need for the Entonox. She’s doing fine on her own."

  "Keep pushing, Bonnie," the delivery nurse said, holding her hands out between her legs, "Nearly there."

  Bonnie tilted her head to the right. Holding her hand was her husband, Troy, doing his best to keep her calm. "You’re doing great, Bonnie."

  Bonnie’s cries fogged up the oxygen mask. Her stomach felt like it had been stuffed with a thousand lit fireworks. She bent her knees apart and tried to push said fireworks out from between her legs.

  A man’s voice echoed around her head as she suffered her birthing pains, "Good people, it is our pleasure to introduce to you the next level in the Androgyne series. The third generation."

  Nine Years Ago…

  The USARIC 2110 summit - attended by all twelve board members and their guests - was the highlight of the company’s year.

  In his late twenties, the devastatingly handsome Xavier Manning spoke to the audience from the stage. Two twenty year-old women stood either side of him in black underwear.

  "The Androgyne Series Three model is an ultra-simple machine. In every way, vastly superior to its previous incarnation. Take a look at both my friends, here. One of them is a genuine human being, born of flesh and blood. The other is not. Can you tell which is which?"

  The first woman stepped forward and place her hands on her hip, posing for the audience.

  In the front row, Maar Sheck felt along his forearm, pushing the ink around and taking a keen interest in the display.

  The second woman stepped forward and turned one-hundred-and-eighty degrees for the crowd of onlookers.

  It was impossible to tell the difference between the two women. Xavier found the audience’s awe most amusing.

  A diagram of what looked like a human body appeared on the screen behind him.

  "What a difference advancements in technology makes. No more amnesia, except for where it counts. The Androgyne Series Three comes equipped with a fully customizable remit. You need an engineer to carry out tasks for you? You got it."

  Xavier lifted the back of the first model’s hair and lifted it up. He opened a plate in the back of her neck and pressed a button. "Sleep, Bonnie."

  The woman’s head faced down, appearing to be offline. He turned to the second woman and smiled. "So, I guess you figured out which one was the genuine woman, huh?"

  The audience giggled. Maar whispered in Dimitri’s ear. "This is incrediful."

  "I know. We should consider stocking future ventures with them."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Think of the savings on life insurance, if nothing else. If something happens, the repair bill will be a lot cheaper than the insurance pay-out."

  "I see you’re thinking what
I’m thinking, Dimitri."

  The USARIC chiefs turned to the stage to see the second woman turn her back to Xavier. He reached for the back of her head.

  "Well, everyone, you chose wrong. Belinda, here, is also a Series Three unit."

  He lifted her hair and revealed a removable panel. The casing slid across her neck, revealing the circuitry inside. Her scalp slid off into Xavier’s hands.

  "Fully integrated organs. Lungs, stomach, pancreas, kidneys, and a fully functioning brain. Every single series three unit is, for all intents and purposes, a real life human being. Calibrated with a lifetime’s worth of carefully selected memories. In essence, utterly indistinguishable from a genuine human being."

  The audience clapped and cheered as Xavier replaced Belinda’s scalp and reactivated her.

  "Belinda?"

  "Yes, Xavier?"

  "Tell me about yourself.”

  "What would you like to know?" She smiled and winked at him, much to the amusement of the audience.

  "I don’t know. Tell me your age and where you’re from."

  "Oh, you’re so forward," she giggled to knowing chuckles from the audience. "I was born in South Texas, but grew up in New York City. I’m twenty-years-old."

  "Excellent," Xavier said. "Tell me about your family?"

  "My folks live in South Texas. I have two older brothers."

  "What do you do for a living?"

  "I’m an engineer for the Manning/Synapse company, out of Moscow. It’s a pleasure to be here with you, Xavier. You’ve always been a hero of mine."

  The audience muttered to themselves with great curiosity. Standing before them was an android who believed she was real and had no reason to believe otherwise.

  "Sleep, Belinda," Xavier said.

  She kept her eyes open and powered down, standing still on the spot.

  "Obviously, I don’t recommend that command when you acquire your own droid," Xavier chuckled. "This is for the purposes of the demonstration. You can customize your shut-down command, too. You, the shareholders and major partners have spoken. We at Manning/Synapse listened. The series three model will forget that they are a droid with every power-down. No more recharging chambers, either. When they sleep, they replenish their internal core and battery, just like us humans do. They wake up fresh, and remember everything - except that they are not human. Just the way it should be. Being alive is depressing enough without that knowledge. Am I right?"