Star Cat: Infinity Claws: A Science Fiction & Fantasy Adventure (The Star Cat Series - Book 1) (2nd Edition)

by Andrew Mackay

  Tripp Healy sat in the eighth chair dressed in his American Star Fleet uniform.

  Dimitri cleared his throat and looked at Tripp.

  "As you know, the Select Committee has concluded its deliberations. I’ve asked Commander Tripp Healy from the American Star Fleet here today to deliver their update on Opera Alpha. Tripp?"

  "Thank you, Dimitri."

  Tripp stood up and yanked on the sleeves of his combat jacket, "Can we call up Opera Alpha, please?"

  "Yes, Commander."

  A holoprint of Space Opera Alpha appeared several inches above the surface of the console. It spun around on its central axis very slowly, offering the board members every conceivable angle of its body.

  "Forgive me for the summary, but I feel it’s important to establish the findings of the select committee. As you know, in 2113, USARIC sent Opera Alpha to Saturn to try to discern the source of Saturn Cry."

  A picture of a Japanese woman in her twenties appeared above the rotating ship.

  "On board was captain Zillah Chin-Dunne and a manned crew of five. Also on board was a series two Androgyne unit, along with the autopilot computer, Manuel."

  The holoprint of Zillah vanished. Tripp waved his hand to the left, enlarging the image of the vessel.

  "A year later, Opera Alpha confirmed with USARIC Base that they’d reached Saturn’s vicinity. Specifically, one of its moons named Enceladus. It was established that Enceladus was the source of the transmission. Approximately five days later, all communications were cut. Three years later, we are still without communicable channels to Opera Alpha. Saturn, or, more precisely, Enceladus, continues to "cry" and our primary radio satellites continue to receive the message."

  Tripp splayed his fingers and enlarged the Enceladus holoprint.

  "Excuse me, Tripp?" asked a board member.

  "Yes?"

  "What of Space Opera Alpha?"

  "We don’t know," Tripp snapped his fingers and called up a recorded video, "Since 2110 we’ve been at a loss in trying to decode the message. Space Opera Beta is in its tertiary phase and will launch next year."

  Tripp pressed the play button on the holovideo. A picture of his son and wife appeared on the screen.

  "Three weeks ago, however, I made something of a discovery. Before you watch it, I’d like you to bear in mind that USARIC’s select committee has green-lit the proposal I am about to put forward to you."

  Tripp lifted his palm, raising the sound.

  The recorded video displayed Spooky, The Healy family’s cat, sitting on Samantha’s lap. Tripp’s voice spoke to her from behind the camera.

  "Honey, I’ll play the message again."

  "Okay," Samantha pressed her cheek on top of Spooky’s head. "Shh, don’t worry."

  "Meow," Spooky licked her paw, enjoying her owner’s warmth.

  "Okay, do it."

  A button click, launching the recording of Saturn Cry.

  A hiss started, followed by an electric guitar chord.

  Spooky turned to the monitor, trying to ascertain the source of the noise.

  And then - whump.

  Spooky launched out of Samantha’s arms and landed on her lap, terrified. She let out a death-defying growl.

  "Keep her still, honey," Tripp’s voice came from behind the lens.

  "I’m trying, Tripp," she grumbled, struggling to clutch the cat. "She’s really hassled, right now. She wants me to let her go—"

  "—No, don’t let her go. Let the sound keep playing."

  As the hiss died down and the "strumming" of the guitar loudened, a dog trundled into shot, wondering what was going on.

  Whump. The second jolt within the message flew through the screen. Spooky meowed loudly and curled up in Samantha’s arms.

  "How is she now?" Tripp asked.

  "She’s purring."

  "My God," Dimitri leaned into the recording, "Are you trying to tell us that the cat is responding to Saturn Cry?"

  Tripp slammed his palm into the holographic recording, pausing it. A freeze-frame of the dog showed its silly face all confused.

  "That’s right. Interestingly, Sparky, our dog, isn’t responding at all.”

  Dimitri turned to his superior, Maar Sheck, the CEO of USARIC.

  "Tripp?" Maar placed his hands onto the edge of the console, "Are you trying to tell me that your cat can read the message?"

  "No. I’m not saying that."

  "So you’re saying…" Maar tried before resigning to confusion, "What are you saying?"

  "I’m saying the message is eliciting a response from my cat, and not my dog."

  Maar folded his arms and shook his head, "Explain it to me like I’m a five-year-old."

  "Keep watching."

  Tripp resumed the video. The static crept over the guitar’s strings and provided the final boom as the recording closed. Spooky’s eyes bulged. She let out a long wail.

  Tripp paused the video, "There are three distinct bumps in the audio. The first occurs at twelve seconds. It angers the cat. The second bump happens at exactly twenty seconds, which appears to makes her comfortable."

  "And the third bump?" Maar asked.

  "As you saw, it made her howl like a dog. It happens at the twenty-six second mark."

  Maar pointed at the paused Sparky, "And the dog?"

  "He didn’t respond at all," Tripp shrugged his shoulders, "He may as well have been listening to Strauss. No reaction whatsoever."

  "Have we tried other animals?" Dimitri asked.

  "I’m glad you asked that because that was my first thought. Here’s a selection of other animals we played the track to."

  Up first, a recording of a parrot in a cage. The woman on screen angled the video to its cage.

  "Who’s a pretty boy, then?" said the parrot.

  "Clarkey," the woman’s voice came from behind the camera, "Listen carefully. My friend is going to play you a song."

  "Play-a-song, play-a-song," Clarkey squawked.

  The message began to play - hisssss.

  Electric guitar chords.

  WHUMP - twelfth second.

  Clarkey bopped his head back and forth, largely unperturbed by the message.

  "Clarkey?" the woman asked, "Do you like this song?"

  "It’s terrible-terrible-terrible."

  A bearded man with spectacles looked into the lens and turned his device to the left.

  Round two: A recording of a tank of exotic fish. A babbling brook coughed out bubbles around the dozens of goldfish swimming around it.

  "Okay, is that good?" asked the man.

  "Yeah," Tripp’s voice came from behind the lens, "Make sure the speaker is right up against the glass."

  "You got it."

  "Okay, in three, two, one…"

  Hissssss… the message fired up.

  "Nothing’s happening," the man peered into the fish tank, "They’re just sort of swimming around."

  "Of course they’re swimming around," Tripp snapped. "They’re fish. Be quiet a moment and let me listen."

  The twelfth second struck - boom.

  The sound wave hit the glass and sent a riptide across the water. The fish swam against the current, failing to react to the noise. They couldn’t have been less interested.

  The man looked into the camera. "Tripp, did you get what you need?"

  "Ugh, forget it."

  The third and final video.

  Dimly-lit sneakers scurried along a gravel path.

  "I could get in serious trouble for this, you know," a woman’s voice whispered above the frantic movement into the tiger enclosure.

  "Thanks for doing this, Shannon," Tripp’s voice came from behind the lens.

  She lifted the camera. A tiger enclosure bleached into view.

  "A zoo?" Maar looked up from the screen, "You’ve got too much time on your hands, Tripp."

  "You call process of elimination a waste of time?" Tripp asked, before realizing who he was dealing with. "Oh, of course. You’re just the money man,
you’re not a scientist."

  "Don’t get insolent, Healy."

  Tripp ignored his superior’s remark and placed his index finger against his lips. “Shh. Watch.”

  “Don’t shush me, Healy.”

  “Look,” Tripp interjected, “If it didn’t work with a dog or a fish or a bird, then the last natural course of action was to try it with a bigger cat.”

  “Oh, my,” Dimitri opened his mouth in wonder as the recording played out..

  Shannon focused her lens on the sleeping tiger. “Tripp?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m not going in. I’m setting the player down behind the cage. It’ll be plenty loud enough for her to hear it.”

  “And it’s definitely a female?”

  Shannon set the camera down on the stone ledge and focused the lens on the beast.

  “Yes, this is Daisy. She’s relatively sedentary, as you can see. Perfectly harmless.”

  “Okay, play the message when you’re ready.”

  “Hang on,” Shannon reached into her belt and pulled out a tiny black device. She flicked the switch, enabling an array of blue lasers to shoot out and form an audio wave in thin air. “I can’t believe I’m doing this for you. I could lose my job.”

  “You always were one for adventure,” Tripp joked.

  She shot the lens a look of incredulity, “Oh, har-har. Remind me to wipe out all those dates we had before you joined NASA and ran off and married my sister.”

  “Shh. Keep your voice down and play the track.”

  Shannon giggled and hit the play button, “Okay, okay. Here we go.”

  The waveform sprang to life, rifling through the lines of the hiss.

  Daisy didn’t budge.

  “Nothing’s happening.”

  “I know,” Tripp said, “Give it five more seconds.”

  Guitar chord…. Nine, ten, eleven, and…

  Whump.

  Daisy continued to sleep. No reaction whatsoever.

  “Shannon?”

  “Yes?”

  “Can we wake her up? She might not be able to hear.”

  “She’s alert, even when she’s asleep.”

  The twentieth second rolled round in time for the second boom.

  Still nothing.

  The audio wave’s visual bump representation slid off to the left and out of their lives forever.

  The holovideo paused on Daisy the tiger.

  The board members - and Dimitri and Maar - turned to Tripp for an explanation.

  “So, this is the result. The message only gets a response from cats. Specifically, domesticated female house cats. We played the message to males and they didn’t respond.”

  “Did you try any other lifeforms?” Maar asked.

  “The investigation was, and still is, under embargo as per the Infinity Clause. Subsection twelve-point-eight, subsection three. If it wasn’t for that, I could have outsourced.”

  “I’ve heard enough, Tripp,” Maar walked around the console and waved his hand across the image.

  It rolled several thousand frames back to the start of the video, ending with a freeze-frame of Spooky’s confused face.

  Maar addressed the board members, none-too-happy about the decision he was about to make.

  “People of the board. USARIC finds itself in a rather invidious position. At once, we have a missing vessel with five of USARIC’s souls on board. Their whereabouts and state of wellbeing is unknown. We must presume they have expired. Dimitri?”

  The board members looked to Dimitri in solemnity. He stood up and address the members around the cone-shaped spacecraft above the table.

  “It strikes me that Tripp, here, has made a worthwhile discovery. The 2085 Bering Treaty stipulates that major advances be kept under embargo until such time as they are established as fact. Since we cannot establish any facts - about the well-being of Space Opera Alpha, the nature of the Saturn Cry or, indeed, if this cat revelation is a hoax - it must remain embargoed.”

  Tripp pressed his hands together, hoping to convince his superiors, “Am I right in thinking if the board votes unanimously twelve-to-one in favor of a decision, it will pass?”

  “Correct.”

  Tripp turned to the twelve board members, “People, you have seen the evidence presented before you. It sounds as laughable as it is silly, I grant you, but the fact remains that USARIC and its scientists and crew are stuck. Opera Beta is due to launch next year, 2118.”

  Tripp clicked his fingers.

  An imprint of Opera Beta appeared above the table. A brilliant-white, cone-shaped space vessel with a revolving cylindrical midsection.

  “I am the commander for this upcoming mission to Enceladus. We need answers. Not only to what happened to Opera Alpha, but also to the meaning of Saturn Cry. The question is, can you, in good conscience, send me and my crew up there knowing that we failed to thoroughly scrutinize the opportunities present in my findings?”

  The board muttered amongst themselves. Maar stepped forward with a great deal of sincerity.

  “Be careful what you wish for, Tripp.”

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  The board members reached a conclusion quicker than Tripp was able to ask.

  “Board members, I ask your permission for a temporary lift of Infinity Clause twelve-point-eight, subsection three. Ergo, you afford USARIC the opportunity to pursue this feline line of inquiry with regard to Saturn Cry. To make it public and, if the research should produce results, find the most suitable subject to join the Opera Beta crew and assist them in deciphering the code.”

  All twelve board members raised their hands, much to Dimitri and Maar’s astonishment.

  Tripp breathed a sigh of relief. The board voted unanimously to kick-start the search for the first cat in space. A historic moment.

  “Quite amaziant, Healy,” Dimitri chuckled, “You’re good.”

  “I know.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Do you own a cat?

  If so, USARIC needs your help.

  We are on the hunt to find the most suitable domesticated feline for the first ever cross-species manned flight into space.

  Hundreds of thousands of participants are signing up their pets to USARIC’s Star Cat Project.

  The selected candidate will receive a lifetime of fully comprehensive insurance. Her owners will be awarded two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand dollars.

  The entry criteria is simple and subject to official verification:

  1: Your cat must be female.

  2: She must be unsterilized and free from ailments.

  3: Aged between three and five years.

  4: Weigh between five and ten pounds.

  Could your cat be the first in space? If she conforms to the entry criteria, and you wish to take part in this ground-breaking advancement in space exploration, please visit StarCatProject on all Individimedia channels and enter your pet today.

  USARIC. The prowl is on.

  CV Stadium (United Kingdom) - Presently…

  Jamie watched the commercial on the one-thousand-foot screen that hung on the north-side of the arena. It resembled a proper sports stadium; about the size of a regular football pitch.

  The logo for the Star Cat Project contained a furry paw with shiny metal claws encased on a titanium circle. The image revolved to cheers from at least fifty-thousand audience members.

  Jamie and Emily sat in the participant gallery, surface level to the events that were about to play out on the pitch.

  The commotion from the audience forced Jamie to raise his voice.

  "Mom?"

  "Yes, poppet?"

  "What happens now?"

  Emily pointed to a bank of metal cages being hauled to the west side of the arena.

  "See that?"

  "Yes. What is it?"

  "The numbers go from one to fifty. Jelly is in paddock eighteen. They’re going to race."

  Jamie leaned forward onto the back of a little girl’s chair. Her blonde hair
folded over the back and got trapped under his arm.

  "Hey!"

  "Oh, sorry," Jamie lifted his arms, "I didn’t mean to do that."

  She brushed her shoulder and smiled at him, "That’s okay."

  Jamie screwed his face and mustered up the courage to break the ice, "Is your cat taking part?"

  "Yes."

  "What’s her name?"

  "Cindee," the girl said. "She’s number forty-four."

  "My name is Jamie. What’s your name?"

  "Fiorina. Nice to meet you, Jamie," she took his hand and yanked it up and down. Clearly, Jamie had never shaken anyone’s hand until now. In fact, neither had she. Both had seen adults do it a lot, recently, and it made them feel like a bit older than they were.

  Fiorina’s mother smiled at Jamie. He returned the sentiment and leaned back in his chair.

  "My cat’s name is Jelly, and she’s going to win."

  "Oh yeah?" Fiorina asked. "Like Star Jelly?"

  "Yeah," Jamie revealed, confidently, "She’s always running up trees and stuff."

  "Cindee does that, too," Fiorina chuckled to herself, "We’ll see who wins."

  Dramatic music rocketed out of the arena speakers as the lights dipped down. The commotion from the audience died down with it.

  The arena’s mega-screen flickered, propelling a holographic title into the middle of the grounds.

  "Welcome, people, to the Chrome Valley CV Arena. Please remain seated and ensure all Individimedia and Outernet devices are switched off."

  Emily looked at Jamie, "Show me your arm, poppet—"

  "—but, Mom, I switched it off, already."

  "Just do it, please."

  Jamie rolled up his shirt sleeve and presented his wrist to his mother. The black imprint stretched across his skin like a moving Rorschach inkblot. The square closed in on itself and formed a straight line from his wrist to the crook of his elbow.

  "See?"

  "Good. The last thing we want is to get disqualified because you didn’t turn it off."

  "I know, Mom."

  A spotlight shone on the banks of paddocks on the stage. Seconds later, fifty white lines shot up the width of the arena from the paddock gates to the east wall.

  Another light snapped on to the end-point. Each end of the fifty rows illuminated to reveal a five-inch-high bank containing five holes. That was about all the audience could see from this distance.