by Kondor, Luke
“Please be empty,” he whispered. “Please please please.”
He careened his head out just enough to see the prince’s platform. In it sat the furless prince, his chin resting on his paw. He looked angry. On the floor next to him was the shouting cat. The fat one. Payton. He was motionless.
“Somebody get Payton’s fat fucking corpse out of my sight,” the prince said. His voice was quiet. Tired. Bratty. A small number of guards around him. No sign of Snuckems. Just the smaller, less angry-looking guards remained. Probably those that never saw much of the actual fighting. Those that hid away. A cushy job behind the walls of the castle.
“Yes, sire. Right away,” one of them said. He pointed towards the body on the floor and two of the others walked over to the body. They dragged Payton’s corpse across the floor and left a trail of blood leading to his neck.
“Sorry Payton,” he said as the body was shuffled away. “But someone needed to die today. Now all I need is another loudmouth gobshite to take your place.”
Moomamu looked over the carpet, to the wooden door marked with math figures and symbols. The room of the star-doors. He could run. He could make it. But the guards. He looked over again. The smell of Payton’s corpse was in the air now. The two cats disappeared with the body into a room off to the side. A single guard remained with the prince. The guard looked small but strong enough. A thump-stick across his chest.
Images of the bronze warrior’s blood caking into the sand came to Moomamu’s mind. The deep, dark eyes of his fading. The life vanishing right in front of Moomamu’s eyes. Something that Moomamu still hadn’t gotten used to: death. Even in this place.
Moomamu looked again to the star-doors. He could almost taste the cappuccino. He’d rather die than spend any longer in the land of cats. With this thought his legs moved. Almost autonomously. They made the decision for him. He was running if he wanted to or not. No going back now.
“What in the name of Minu?” the prince called from his throne. “Over there!”
The prince pointed at Moomamu and his guard leapt into life. He ran towards him.
Moomamu pulled on the door and it opened. He didn’t recognise the place from the day before. Well-lit by candles lining the floor. The servant’s head had been removed. The door marked with Sol was still there. He ran towards it and placed his hand on the gilded handle. He yanked it open and a gust of wind blew into him.
Inside, a simple cave and nothing more. He’d finally made his way inside and there was nothing there. Symbols painted on the walls of the cave in a language he didn’t understand.
“What are you doing?” the guard said, now looking at him from the open doorway.
“Nothing I guess,” Moomamu said. “I thought there would be more to it than—”
The guard lifted the thump-stick and launched it towards Moomamu. He hadn’t noticed but it wasn’t a regular thump-stick. A metal edge had been fixed to the end. It sliced at his side as the cat vanished, along with the majority of the stick. The metal point tore at him and disappeared behind him. He screamed.
Another gust passed him that carried his screams. The pain went too. It all did. Blue light and white lines stretched forth and stars flew past his eyes. He reached his hands in front of him and watched as they elongated and stretched out so far he couldn’t even see the ends of his fingers. He pulled them back to himself and touched his face. The fine hairs that usually lined his face felt soft to the touch. Wet. Fluid. More like wet dirt and sand. The skin on his cheeks and below his eyes felt like a sliver, a membrane of flesh loosely holding together the blood and tissue beneath. He placed his hands in front of his face and could plainly see through them.
He tried to talk, but the words were quickly behind him. He tried again, screaming until … everything slowed for a second. All around him were blue and white streaks of light. He was still, motionless. A red ball floated upwards into his field of view. A bubble of blood. Trailing from his side where the guard’s stick had hit him.
With great effort, he forced the top half of his body to spin around. He contorted his neck around to see that behind him was more of the same. Nothing. As he went to ask himself where he was, he flew again, this time in the opposite direction and with greater force. Accelerating faster and faster until—
He was on the floor. The cold floor of the cave pressed against his cheek. Dirty liquid on his beard. He coughed and spat the dirt out. Bits of it were still in his mouth. Grit that cracked between his teeth. The pain on his side returned, dimmed somewhat. The bleeding had stopped. He stood up. He could barely see. The cold draft coming into the cave brushed against his cold naked skin and he shivered.
Up to the right, though, obscured by the jagged silhouette of a rock was a light. Moomamu had never seen anything look so warm and inviting as that amber light that whispered into the cave. He could practically feel its warmth readying for him as if to say “Come on out, Moomamu, you’re home”.
Holding his side, he walked slowly. He stubbed his toe against a rock and slipped. He climbed over the rocky edge and followed his way to the light source. As he stepped outside, it was so bright he had to cover his eyes with this free hand. This sun wasn’t kidding. He felt whatever coldness in him wash away as it was replaced by the blistering heat of the sun.
“Holy shit,” he said to the heat. His eyes adjusted to the light and he lowered his hand and looked outwards. All around him were waves of sand. Through the heat-distorted horizon, he saw a triangular building. He recognised it from his time as a Thinker — it was a pyramid.
Gary
The smell of death. Familiar to Gary. Too familiar. It had its way of working into Gary’s slashed wet nose. Found its way inside him, uninvited, into his inner self. His inner cat.
Cats were different than humans in many ways. Even the Earth cats resembled Gary in their nature. One of self-preservation. Keeping out of danger where possible. One of territory. A certain curiosity that might lead them into the arms of a stranger. A Tall One from times gone past. One who would explain the dying universe to Gary. The Tall One who told him that his family would die.
As the elevator doors opened, the two stupid Tall Ones in black with their non-lethal weapons stepped into the academy floor.
“Tell you what,” Kevin said, “that alarm is giving me a splitting headache.”
“Have you not got a Paracetamol or anything?” Daniel said to the older one. A bit more wear and tear to his eyes. “Or a ‘profen?”
Before the elevator sealed shut, Gary walked into the room. The scent was definitely on this floor. Somewhere in that mix of death and children he could smell Luna’s cheap perfume which she bathed in every morning. The perfume that made Gary sneeze.
“No, I don’t take anything unnatural,” Kevin said, rubbing his temples.
“Unnatural?” Daniel said.
“Yeah, I don’t want to be putting those chemicals into my body. It is a temple and all that.”
“A temple?” Daniel said, open-mouthed. “Your body is a temple? No, no. Now, that TV host they got downstairs, the one spouting numbers on her show, now her body’s a temple. I saw her do a shoot in her undies once. Believe me, that there is a temple. Yours, however, is more of a, how do you say … a council flat?”
Gary ran ahead of them. As he rounded the corner he heard one of them talking about how painkillers make people worse off than before and the other one responding with a copious amount of tutting.
He made his way past patrolmen lying on the floor. Metal darts sticking in their heads. A trail of blood around them all. He jumped over the bodies and made his way to the double doors. The sign above read ‘Auditorium B.5’. He stood onto his back legs and pushed the door with his body weight. It gave way, opening, revealing the massacre within.
The auditorium was a large well. Rows of desks descending towards a central stage area. In each of the desks were children, sealed up, just like the boy and his family. Their faces smoothed out. The alarm, wailing away, fa
ded into nothing as Gary looked upon the silent room. It was the lack of breath that Gary found disturbing. That small rhythmic sound. So slight it was normally overlooked. But the absence of it created a void in the room that shook Gary to his furry core. He’d seen death before, but this was different. This was stillness.
He heard shuffling coming from the bottom of the well. A door to the right of the stage tucked away. A circular window. A face, looking up at him, eyes magnified through the thick glasses. He made his way down the stairs and saw the man’s face in greater detail. A bald head peppered with liver spots and a beard of white and grey. The Tall One looked at Gary with great confusion. He pushed the door open.
“Hello, there little pussy. What are you doing here?” he said as he got down on his knee and made a come-hither gesture with his hand. The Tall One made a sound to Gary. A sound that Tall Ones often did to lure Earth cats in for cuddling and pleasantries.
“Tall One will tell Gary where is prisoner? Luna Gajos,” Gary said, sitting down, giving the Tall One his best death stare.
The Tall One recoiled onto his back and climbed to his feet.
“What the …?” he said. “You … can talk? I’m dying, right. Hallucinating? I’m in the hospital. No, I’m still in the seventies? No, this is just an acid flashback. Jesus, I’ve seen some stuff in the past, but this really does take the biscuit. Oh my God. Thank God, the children are probably okay. I’m just hallucinating that some evil man with red glasses killed them. Shame about Connor, though that kid deserved something. Perhaps not a killing. Maybe that’s a step too far. Maybe. But definitely a good kicking. Which is weird for me to say because I was the one who was bullied in school, but here I am advocating a bit of bullying. Just a tad. So anyway, kitty, tell me, where am I really?”
Gary’s eyes widened. Tall One was a fool.
“Tall One is not having acid flashback. Tall One is simple. Tall One must tell Gary soon so he can go and save Luna.”
The Tall One shook his head. He scratched at his beard, now unsure of what he believed to be true.
“Interesting,” he said, trying to compose himself. “Regardless of the state of my mind … and regardless of talking cats, killer men, and acid flashbacks … the prisoner woman, is, as far as I know, in the questioning room.” He nodded now. Affirming. Trying to make heads and tails of the truth. Fact and fiction.
“Idiot Tall One will take Gary or else.”
“One thing I’ve figured out over the years, my dear Cheshire cat,” he said, waving his finger around, “is that you should never try to halt the experience. You should allow yourself to feel the experience. All resistance should be let go, and free thought must be allowed to flow and flourish.”
Gary stared at the Tall One like he might claw his beard off.
“What is Tall One saying?” he said.
“Of course, kitty. I’ll take you to the questioning room. Let’s go.”
Nisha Bhatia
Nisha held her hand to Darpal’s mouth as he cried. As if she might stop the inevitable. The shattered glass fragments were all around them. Dr Warwick had tucked himself away in the far corner. And Luna was still handcuffed to the table. Her chains clanged against the metal surface as she lifted her hands to her face. Well, as near to her face as she could get them.
They all waited, expecting whatever was on the other side to burst through the glass. To explode through and unleash havoc on them, but there was nothing.
Luna’s chains became still. Darpal stymied his sobs. The faint crumbling of the glass. Tiny fragments falling away and hitting the ceramic floor.
They waited, holding their breath until—
“Hello in there,” a voice said. A male’s voice. Broken. Charred. Like an old man speaking through fire. More specks of glass fell to the floor. “How are we all doing?”
Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. Dr Warwick looked to the ceiling.
“Very rude to ignore somebody when they’re talking to you, isn’t it?” he said. “I thought humans were a polite species, especially those of Anglo descent? The last time I was here, a boy, dark-haired with mud on his face, stole something of mine. Nothing important. A leather bound package of food or something. I think he believed it to contain some of your English money within. After he stole it and scampered off down one of those cobbled streets, his bare feet slapping the stone floor as he went, you know what he said?”
Still quiet.
“He said ‘I beg your pardon ,sir’. Imagine that?” The man chuckled. “A polite burglar. You know, I’ve been all over the Galactic Community, and even to some of those loose non-Community planets, and this is the only planet where you would be apologised to as you’re being robbed. I let that boy live. He, along with the planet, had earned my respect. You see, Earth holds a special place in my heart, and it does for the rest of the Community. It’s one of the reasons I’m here. I’m here because we admire you so greatly. So do not think that I enjoy being a part of such a destructive force.”
Something tapped against the other side of the glass now. A fingertip, against the delicate surface. Soft enough to tickle a flower. Still, more glass fell to the floor. In the harsh light on the ceiling the specks of glass sparkled.
“I’m here, simply to do my job. And sometimes, as I’m sure you’re well aware, jobs can become messy. Now, if you would be so kind …”
More tapping and more of the glass fell away, enough now to reveal the face behind. The light in the room reflected in red. The smiling mouth beneath the sagging skin.
“If you could just pass me the boy we can all get along with our lives.”
Darpal shook in Nisha’s hands. She could feel the terror attacking his system. The man was looking directly at him, through her.
“I’ll kill you if you try,” Nisha said. The words felt ridiculous coming from her mouth. Thoughts of alcohol came to her. That thick taste of red wine coating her tongue. She felt the travel-bottle of vodka against her chest. She longed for it. To forget about this whole thing, to bury her head.
“Oh really?” the man said, his smile wider than ever.
“Yes,” Nisha said. “I’ll fucking cut your throat if you lay a finger on this boy.” As she spoke the words empowered her. “I’ll rip out your fucking eyes.” She stood up, leaving her hand behind her, resting on Darpal’s head.
“Marvellous,” the man said. “Just marvellous.”
With that, he punched the glass. With one blow the panel erupted into shards that splashed into the room. Dr Warwick screamed from his safe corner. Luna turned her head away and Nisha covered her face with her free hand. The reflective shards lay on the ground, surrounding them all. Nisha saw a sharp tooth, about the size of her hand, by Luna’s chair.
With an unnaturally smooth precision, the man placed his boot on the frame of the broken window and stepped over it and into the room. His smile remaining as he walked.
“Okay,” he said. His expression was one of a lunatic. It was distorted. The skin didn’t look like his own. It wasn’t his. He was wearing it. Borrowing it. The teeth beneath his wrinkled lips were many and sharp. He looked to Dr Warwick first, and then to Luna, and then to Nisha. “Okay dear, let’s see you do your worst.”
He wasn’t holding any weapons. His hands were bare and exposed. They were twitching slightly. He held them away from his body like he was walking through a field of barley. He passed Luna and ran his fingers through her hair and she cried. She shook in her seat. Tears ran down her face as he licked his pale lips and pulled the copper hair through his fingers.
With each step, the glass cracked and popped beneath his black boots. He was wearing a sleek skin-tight suit that covered him beneath that giant trench coat covered in gadgets and lights and a gun of some kind. With each step, Nisha felt herself harden like petrified wood. She would stand before him. She would not let him kill the child. Even if it killed her.
Another step and her left hand, still on Darpal’s head, began to shake. His head fell from her ha
nd. She didn’t want to turn around. She kept her eyes on those lenses on his eyes. Red glass that looked like it was bonded to his skin, seared in flesh. Holding him inside that baggy pile of skin.
He stopped as he stood before Nisha, smiling, unmoving.
“I do admire the human spirit,” he whispered to her. His breath tickled her nose. “Even if it is mostly wasted in vain.”
He lifted his hands to Nisha’s suit jacket, holding them outwards. He then moved his hands to her stomach. They twitched against her and his smile fell.
“A little one? No, there was a little one. Not anymore. No, you couldn’t carry him. Unfit. A broken womb.”
Nisha felt herself stiffening up even more. She felt the salty tears fall into her mouth. Behind her, Darpal was shaking. She had to stand tall.
The man ran his hands up and over her breasts.
“You know,” he said, lowering his voice to little more than his breath, “on my planet, females who are unable to carry offspring are deemed unworthy. Nowadays, they’re simply looked down upon but there was a time…”
He lifted his hands around to the back of her head. His warm sticky fingers entangled in her thick black hair.
“… Oh yes, there was a time, when the females who were unable, were simply closed up, sealed, removed from existence. It was always their choice too. You see, the shame was so great, they asked for it. No, they begged for it.”
As he massaged the back of her head with his left hand he moved his right hand to her face. He ran the back of his fingers against her cheek, dipping them in her tears. He lifted the moist digits to his mouth and licked them, revealing his slender tongue, narrow and long.
“You should be grateful,” he said, “for I am doing you a favour.”
As he flipped his hand over, it twitched with more vigour than before. Flittering in the air. He slowly moved it towards her face.