Star Cat: Infinity Claws: A Science Fiction & Fantasy Adventure (The Star Cat Series - Book 1) (2nd Edition)
Page 1
Contents
Chrome Valley Books
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Author Notes & Acknowledgments
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CHAPTER ONE
USARIC Data Point
IMS - International Moon Station
Year: 2116
“Good morning, Tripp.”
“Good morning, Manuel.”
Tripp Healy sipped his cup of coffee and glanced at his reflection in the glass panel. He hadn’t shaved for a couple of days. Tired and cranky, he felt twenty years older than he was, which would have made him sixty years-old. He certainly felt like a much older man today.
Personal hygiene wasn’t the first thing on his mind this morning, however. He had an important call to make to his family.
The only thing stopping him from dashing to the N-Gage terminal in his quarters was the spectacular view of Earth. The two-day travel back home wouldn’t be undertaken for another two months.
Tripp had been on the moon for two weeks. Fatigue and homesickness were setting in. He found his work was stressful and maddening. USARIC had made little progress since receiving what they called a “cry” from Saturn six years ago to the day.
“Patch me into N-Gage, Manuel,” Tripp made his way to the seat at his terminal. “Let’s get this done.”
“Yes, of course.”
Tripp sat in his chair and looked at the black screen. His five o’clock shadow didn’t improve, no matter which reflective surface he saw himself in.
The screen fizzed and switched on.
“Would you like visual or audio interface, Tripp?”
Manuel’s voice came from somewhere. The great unwashed would have sworn that they were hearing things. There were no speakers in the room. The screen itself, ultra-thin and flat, wasn’t producing any audio.
“Both, please,” Tripp made himself comfortable in his seat. “They’re used to me looking like a dog’s dinner.”
“Most amusing, Tripp,” came the dulcet response from thin air.
Tripp rolled his shoulders and ironed out the crick in his neck. He placed his cup of coffee on the desk and pressed his hands together, awaiting the call.
N-Gage
Healy Residence
Dialing…
A two-tone noise bubbled from the screen as a green loading panel stretched across the screen.
“Dialing now, Tripp.”
“Thanks, Manuel.”
Somebody answered the call and appeared on screen. A fingertip obscured a face and environs behind it.
“Tripp, sweetie?”
“Yes, it’s me,” he said, “Samantha? Move your finger, honey.”
“Oh, sorry. The answer panel is in a weird place.” She moved her finger away to reveal her face.
Much like her husband, she’d just woken up. Her hair was unwashed and the absence of makeup reminded Tripp of the girl he knew all-too-well.
“Hey.”
“Hey, how’s it going?”
“Wanna see something cool?”
Samantha smiled and looked off-camera for a nanosecond. “Sure.”
Tripp waved his hand in front of the screen. It turned forty-five degrees toward the window. Planet Earth loomed in the distance. A clear day back on the planet with only a smattering of clouds.
Samantha peered into the screen. The wonder of the view registered on her brow. “Wow, that’s amaziant.”
“Yes, if you look closer, you can see the outline of North America. Look.”
He looked at the screen and aimed his finger along the border of Texas and Mexico.
“Oh, yes,’ she said, “It’s very pretty.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Rogan, quick,” she beckoned someone from off-camera, “Come and see what Dad’s showing us.”
A five-year-old boy ran over to her and climbed onto her lap. “What is it?”
“Come and see the view from Daddy’s bedroom on the moon.”
Rogan’s dropped when he realized what he was viewing. “Wow.”
“Incrediful, isn’t it?”
Tripp took the time to absorb his son’s reaction. It was a face he longed to touch again. Those brilliantly blue eyes and angelic face.
“That’s you, right there,” Tripp held out his finger and traced the outline of land. “Wave to me.”
Rogan opened his palm and waved.
His father returned the sentiment. Too far, of course, to see any detail. It was the thought that meant the world to both of them.
“You can’t see me, Rogan, but I know you’re there.”
“When can I come with you to the moon, Daddy?”
“Maybe when you’re older,” Tripp traced the outline of his son’s face. “I miss you and mum.”
“We miss you, too. When are you coming back?”
“Soon. A couple weeks, I think.”
Samantha looked over her shoulder. A black cat walked across the floor in the background.
“Hey, Spooky,” Tripp said as she poked around the furniture and dug her claws into the carpet.
“No, don’t do that,” Samantha said, stomping her foot to the ground in an effort to curtail the damage the cat was doing to the carpet. “Bad girl.”
Tripp chuckled to himself. “We need to get her a post or something.”
‘She’s been behaving strangely,’ Samantha returned to the screen and hugged her son. ‘Ever since you left, she doesn’t know what to do with herself.’
“That’s very flattering,” Tripp smirked. “I’m sure she’ll figure something out.”
“How’s everything going up there?”
Tripp sighed and leaned back in his chair. He looked at his electric guitar leaning against his desk.
“Not great.”
Samantha tried an encouraging smile. “You look like hell.”
“I know, I’ve seen myself twice already today.” He folded his arms and tucked his chin on his neck, feeling somewhat sorry for himself.
Tripp snapped his fingers. A holographic book, about five by eight inches big, appeared a few inches from his hand and flipped through its pages, “We’re at a total loss. It’s all utterly meaningless.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh. Opera Alpha is dead. Nothing, zip. Communication is completely cut off.”
“Still nothing?”
“No.”
“It’s been two weeks, now.”
Tripp looked out of the window. The planet spun slowly around, making its way out of view at the top of the window.
“The Saturn Cry transmission is ongoing.”
“Saturn Cry…” The holographic tome slid through the air and nestled in Tripp
’s open palm.
“No, Manuel, I didn’t mean—”
Manuel ignored the request and launched into its description. “—Saturn Cry is a perceived distress call from the planet of the same name—”
“—Manuel, I know what Saturn Cry is, please stop—”
“—IMS discovered the transmission in the year 2110,” Manuel continued, flipping through his pages. He settled on a graphic of the ringed planet. The stars shuffled around in the background as the audio wave rumbled away. “Here is a sample of the transmission.”
A hissing noise emitted, followed by what sounded like three chords of an electric guitar.
“Manuel, hush.”
Samantha and Rogan couldn’t make head nor tail of the noise as it played out.
“Weird, isn’t it?” Tripp asked.
The noise continued. A striking ‘whump’ - like an excessive boom on a drum - shot through the screen.
Spooky the cat widened her eyes and shrieked. Samantha turned over her shoulder. “Bad girl.”
She hissed and settled into the prone position. Ready to attack anything that came into her proximity.
“What’s she doing?”
“I don’t know,” Samantha said, suddenly very nervous at their cat’s behavior.
“Spooky,” Rogan climbed off his mother’s lap and walked over to the cat. “What are you doing?”
“Tilt the camera down, Samantha,” Tripp said, putting two-plus-two together. “Is there anyone else there with you?”
“No,” Samantha said, watching her son approach the cat. “It’s just us.”
“Nothing unusual happening in the room?”
“It’s very unlike her,’ she mused, turning back to the screen. “Rogan?”
“Yes, mummy?”
“Be careful with her.”
Tripp watched the screen with great intent. Rogan approached Spooky, but felt as if he couldn’t get too close. The cat was incredibly pent-up and ready to launch at someone - anyone.
“Wait, wait,” Tripp looked up the ceiling and cleared his throat. “Manuel?”
“Yes, Tripp?”
“Play the message again, please.”
Tripp looked at Manuel’s page containing the image.
The transmission fired up again.
Static for the first two seconds.
The sound of an electric chord fired up.
And then - boom. A semi-pulsar throttle for two seconds.
Spooky shrieked once again, much to Samantha, Rogan, and Tripp’s amazement.
“Her tail has gone bushy,” Samantha provided a commentary as the signal continued to play. “She’s upset.”
“Keep an eye on her,” Tripp pointed at the screen. “I’m curious to see something…”
The audio static dampened. The “chords” grew louder, followed by another thud.
Instead of shrieking, Spooky widened her eyes and let out a calm meow.
“What the…?” Samantha asked no-one in particular.
“Hey, Spooky,” Rogan crouched and offered her his hand. “Give me a cuddle.”
The cat turned to the hand and licked around its mouth. She thought over the opportunity for a hug for a few seconds.
The transmission static fizzed up once again, followed by a third and final “whump” - like that of a heartbeat.
Spooky jumped in the air and wailed, barely landing on her feet. The cat’s violent reaction caused Rogan and his mother to yelp back in fright.
Tripp could barely believe his eyes. Spooky rolled over and returned to her feet. The poor animal was exhausted. She trundled over to her favorite area of the carpet and rolled around, quite satisfied with herself.
Rogan and Samantha turned back to the screen, not knowing what to say or think.
“My God,” Tripp whispered to himself, focusing more on the family cat than his wife and son for the first time in his life, “What on Earth is going on with her?”
One Year Later…
Every major city in every country held trials to find USARIC’s one perfect feline specimen.
The United Kingdom hopped onto the opportunity much like all the other nations on planet Earth.
One such venue in northwest London’s Chrome Valley was home to the company’s Star Cat program. It wasn’t the most attractive of venues. The CV Stadium was built in 2080 to house the valley’s once-promising soccer team. Shortly after relegation from First Division, and with the introduction of an altered ball, CVFC was no longer sponsor-worthy.
As such, the stadium lost the majority of its funding. The knock-on effect was disastrous. The ground became decrepit and unusable. The vagrant issue was rife because it provided shelter from the intensely hot summers and deadening winters.
The CV Stadium has been home to Star Cat Trials for the past four months. Just one of six locations within London alone.
There were at least two hundred people in line, all waiting with their pet cats in carry cases.
A mother-and-son stood in line awaiting registration.
Five-year-old Jamie Anderson and his mother, Emily, approached the desk. She placed the plastic carriage on the counter.
The official looked up at Emily and smiled. ‘Name?’
“Emily Anderson—”
“—No, I’m sorry, I mean the cat’s name?”
“Oh,” Emily said, looking through the plastic bars. An orange face poked around, wanting to be set free. “Jelly.”
“Jelly?”
“Yes, Jelly Anderson.”
“Okay,” the official said, typing on her keyboard. She hit a button and the printer roared to life. “Jelly Anderson. Just peel off the back and attach it to the cage, if you would.”
Emily took the strip of paper and examined it. The cat’s name and a serial number adorned the front. She peeled the edge away and slapped the sticky end to the plastic top of the cage.
“Please go to the weigh-in, Mrs. Anderson.”
“Mum?” Jamie asked as they entered a darkened causeway with many other families.
“Yes, poppet?”
“What happens if Jelly gets chosen?”
“I don’t think that will happen,” Emily looked at the space-themed walls, “There are so many people hoping that their cat will win.”
“How many, mum?”
“I don’t know. Like, maybe millions?”
“Wow, that’s a lot.”
“We’d stand more chance of winning the lottery than Jelly being picked.”
Jamie walked alongside his pet in the cage. Due to his height - all four feet and one inch of it - he had a perfect view of Jelly rocking back and forth in her cage.
“It’s okay, Jelly,” Jamie smiled, “You’ll be fine.”
Jelly wasn’t terribly happy at the prospect of being put up for selection. Of course, she was a domestic house cat. But that was the point.
A man walking in front of Emily and her son shot them a grin. “Seems really stupid, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, I know,” Emily resigned herself to the fact that this whole endeavor was probably a bit silly.
“A complete waste of time. And space, probably.”
Emily smiled and nodded at the man’s cage. “What do you have?”
He lifted the cage and revealed his cat’s face. “Abyssinian. Her name is Trixie.”
“Aww, she’s lovely.”
“And yours?”
Jamie grabbed the cage and tried to lift it up. He barely managed it. “This is Jelly.”
“Oh. Cute cat.”
“Thanks,” Jamie passed the cage back to his mother. “We don’t think she’ll win, though.”
“Oh? Why not?”
“Because there are a million people all over the planet trying to win.”
“It’s a lot of money, though,” the man said with a smile, “And think of all the fame it will bring.”
Jamie looked up at Emily. “Mum, what is fame?”
“It’s when everyone knows who you are.”
“Wow. So, like, if someone’s cat wins, does that mean they will have lots of money and everyone will know them?”
“Yes, poppet.”
The line shuffled forward.
Emily and Jamie could see the weigh-in facility a few meters in the distance. The sheer volume of participants obstructed the view.
Several giant TV screens hung on the walls. The footage of cats participating in the trials reminded everybody why they were there.
The Star Cat logo was typically futuristic, spinning around on its axis. Friendly music played over the screens as the logo disappeared. It was replaced by a bespectacled woman in a white suit standing in front of a black sky full of stars.
“Welcome to the Star Cat Trials, London Base Six. USARIC thanks you for taking the time to reach out to us and taking part in this historic event.”
An illustration of a cat showed up on the screen. The woman pointed her stick at its body.
“In order to facilitate a smooth and painless process, we ask that you have your cat’s documentation ready for the weigh-in. We would like to remind you of the following eligibility rules.”
Emily nudged her son and pointed at the screen. “Jamie, poppet. Listen to the lady.”
“Okay, mom.”
“One, your cat must be female,” the voice announced.
“Yes, she is,” Jamie said.
“Two, she must be between three and five years of age.”
“Yes,” Jamie whispered to himself. “She’s three-years-old.”
“Three,” continued the woman on the screen, “She must weigh between five and ten pounds.”
Jamie jumped around, giddy with excitement. If he were playing solely by the entrance rules, Jelly would win instantly.
“Yes.”
“Four. Your cat must not have any ailments, debilitations or injuries of any kind.”
Emily couldn’t resist smiling at her son’s moment of joy. Jamie was beside himself with glee.
The overwhelming sense of victory was aided by dozens of people leaving the line with their pets.
“Imagine that,” Emily muttered as she watched the disappointed men, women and families leave the venue. “Turning up and not knowing the rules? I mean, it’s not as if the commercials didn’t specify.”