“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.”
“Look at all the people leaving, mom,” Jamie said.
Not everyone left, however. The line was still plenty healthy with people all desperate to get their pets into the trials proper.
Just behind the weigh-in counter a sliding door allowed the successful participants into the preparation chamber. From the tunnel, it was impossible to see what lay beyond that door.
It was like waiting in line to ride an extraordinary ghost train.
“Okay, next please,” said the man by the scale pod.
Emily and Jamie stepped forward.
His little eyes lit up in full admiration of the ceramic plate. Two side vents blew the spent fur and detritus from the previous feline occupant into the air and into a nearby vacuum.
“Here she is,” Emily placed the cage onto the panel and opened the gate.
“Thank you, madam,” the scale man said and turned to his keyboard. “Name?”
“Jelly Anderson.”
“Thank you,” he punched the data into the computer. “Age?”
“Three years and one month,” Emily took out a paper and handed it to the man.
“Thank you, one moment please.”
Jamie stepped over to the cage and offered Jelly his hand. “Come on, Jelly. Let’s get you weighed.”
Jelly didn’t want to come out. It wasn’t until she saw her owner’s smiling, cherub-like face, that she finally relented.
“Thanks, son,” the scale man looked up from the terminal. “Just lead her onto the ceramic edges.”
“Okay.”
The man smirked, “She’s very obedient. I’m sure that will help.”
Jelly exited the cage and made her way onto the ceramic scales. A beautiful, dark orange house cat. Not a blemish.
Even the operator took a moment to look at Jelly’s face. Her bright orange eyes were something of a wonder, and exceptionally unique.
“Cute cat,” he said, double-taking and looking at Emily. “Can I have your address, telephone number, and status, please?”
As Emily gave her details, Jelly followed Jamie’s hand as he moved it to the scales.
In USARIC’s infinite wisdom, the two scales faced one another from opposite sides of the tunnel.
It meant that the cats on each scale had a perfect line of sight with each other. It felt combative way before the trials had even started.
A mother and father stood at the opposite scale with their young son.
The sweaty warmth in the tunnel didn’t help matters much. Ventilation wasn’t a top priority. The other family’s cat seemed like it might not pass the weigh-in, looking as it did like a fat snowball with fur and two beady little eyes.
“Ugh, that’s one ugly cat,” Jamie whispered to himself and turned back to Jelly, “Hey, girl.”
“Meow,” she said, sitting perfectly still in the middle of the scale.
The four-digit panel above beamed to life and ran through a series of numbers as it adjusted itself to Jelly’s weight.
“Okay, here we go,” the scale man said, watching the numbers slow down to a crawl. The ceramic plate sunk a few millimeters and rested into position.
The panel lit up with the final score - 7.5 lbs - with a triumphant fanfare ringing around the device.
“Ta-daa,” the man said, much to Emily and Jamie’s excitement. “That’s perfect.”
A hefty buzzer sounded off from the adjacent end of the tunnel. The other family’s flabby ball of fur failed its weigh-in, clocking in at nearly twice the weight of Jelly. The final result flashed in red above the scale.
“Sorry, son,” the other scale operator said to the disappointed young lad who had burst into tears. “Maybe next time.”
Jamie watched the boy launch into a tantrum. He stomped his foot to the ground and pointed at his furry blob of uselessness. “I hate you! I hate you! You’re too fat, you stupid cat!”
“Hey,” Jamie shouted from across the tunnel. “Don’t call her that.”
The boy turned to Jamie and scowled. “Shut up.”
“Don’t call your cat names. They know when you’re being mean to them.”
“I don’t care,” the boy ran off in a flood of tears, leaving his parents to persuade the fluffy ball of fur back into her cage.
Jamie turned back to Jelly to find her licking her paws as if she was the queen of the universe, “Come on, girl. Back in your little house.”
Jamie ushered Jelly back into her cage. He’d seen scores of other families having to push their own cats backwards by the head.
Not with Jelly. Obediently, she gracefully obliged her owners and settled into the cage. Jamie took a moment to digest the wonder of his little feline friend.
She was a year younger than Jamie. They’d seen the world together. Grew up together. Eaten, lived, and laughed together.
The cage bolted shut.
“That’s great, Mrs. Anderson,” the scale operator held out his hand to the sliding screen on the far wall. “If you’d like to make your way into the preparation chamber, we can begin.”
“Excuse me, sir?” Jamie asked.
“Yes, young man?”
“What happens in the preparation chamber?”
“Oh, it’s nothing to worry about. It’s where Jelly will get ready to participate in the events.”
“Thank you,” Emily picked up Jelly’s cage and nodded Jamie out of the room. “Come on, poppet.”
“Yes, mom.”
The pair walked throu
gh the sliding doors and into the preparation chamber.
Chapter 2
"Welcome to the Preparation Chamber," came a soothing female voice as Emily and Jamie walked through the door. "Your allocated booth is marked on the slip attached to your cat’s cage."
"What number are we, poppet?"
Jamie looked at the slip, "Eighteen, mom."
One hundred marked booths lined the walls in the vast space.
Quad One, to their immediate right, held booths one through twenty-four. Quad Two, twenty-five through forty-nine, and so on.
A technician dressed in a silver suit approached the pair. "Hello, there. Number?"
"Eighteen."
Jamie marveled at the set-up. The place was heaving with people of all shapes and sizes being greeted by technicians and making their way to the allocated booths.
The stench of cat was almost as tremendous as their wails for freedom.
Rattling cages.
The occasional hiss from one cat when it spotted another.
Jelly, however, remained calm and refined. It was almost as if she refused to bow down to her feline stereotype.
"Just through here, please." The technician walked the pair into the first Quadrant and put Jamie at ease. "So, exciting day today, huh?"
"Yes. My cat made it."
"What’s her name?"
"Jelly."
"Oh, cool. After the movie?"
"Yes, Star Jelly is my favorite," Jamie said as the technician pushed a button on the wall. The door to booth eighteen slid open.
"Wow."
The individual preparation chambers measured twelve by ten feet. The bank sitting in the middle of the room contained a desk and a computer. It must have seemed vaguely threatening to the untrained eye.
It certainly caused consternation in the overactive mind of a five-year-old boy. Jamie had second thoughts about the place.
The technician clocked Jelly’s name attached to her cage.
"Jelly?"
"Yes, mister."
"Funny name for a cat, isn’t it?"
"She’s named after my favorite film.”
"Ah, Star Jelly?”
"Yes."
"Hmm," The technician pointed at the padded bank. Whatever was about to happen would at least be conducted in relative comfort for his cat.
Emily placed the cage on the surface and unclipped the plastic housing cage.
Jamie encouraged her out, "Come on, Jelly.”
She wouldn’t move.
"Not very obedient, is she?"
"She’s a cat, mister."
"Come on, girl," Emily poked her face through the cage. "It’s okay."
Jelly let out a whine, never tearing her gaze away from the computer and wires coming from the front compartment.
Emily lost her temper. "You’re testing my patience, puss."
"Mom, wait. Let me try."
Jamie lowered his head and widened his eyes. Jelly tore her gaze away from the dreaded computer and stared at him.
"What’s wrong, Jelly?"
Her pupils dilated and turned a stale yellow. She groaned and lowered her head.
"Jelly, girl. Gimme paw."
Jamie knew how to get the better of his feline friend. He held out the back of his hand with his fingers closed together.
It did the trick.
Jelly couldn’t resist moving forward and head-butting his hand. It was enough for Jamie’s hand to slide along her wonderfully silken coat and gently bring her out of the cage. "There we go."
Jelly plonked herself on the padded surface and wasted no time in checking out her surroundings.
Not much to see upon initial viewing; four walls, a bright fluorescent bulb on the ceiling and three humans smiling back at her.
The technician hit a button on the console. The screen jumped to life which, in turn, made Jelly jump back.
Three rows appeared on screen, each of them waiting for a connection to their subject.
The technician slid his hand under Jelly’s stomach and brought her over to the wires, "We’ll get her hooked up and see what’s doing."
"Paw," Jamie held out his hand. Jelly looked at his palm and sniffed around.
She did as instructed. It was enough for the technician to attach the connected band around her wrist.
"Can you hold her for me, please?" the technician asked.
"Sure."
Jelly trundled into his Jamie’s arms. The second she relaxed, she knew something was amiss.
"Meow," Jelly said, her body starting to vibrate.
The first row pinged to life, measuring her heart-rate.
Bip… bip… bip…
"Steady, steady," the technician looked at his transparent tablet and made a note on the screen. "That’s good, a constant fifty-five BPM."
"What are you doing, mister?" Jamie asked, keeping Jelly pinned to the surface.
"We need to make sure Jelly, here, is fit for the trials. The good news is that her heartbeat is regular. I see she weighs seven and a half pounds, which is what we want."
A commotion came from outside the room.
Jamie, Emily, and the technician turned to look through the window in the door. They saw a man pacing around, running his hands through is chair. "Oh, no!"
"I’m sorry, sir," a female technician approached him, carrying an unconscious cat in her arms. "I can assure you, she’ll be fine."
"What did you do?"
"She’s allergic to the computer. I’m afraid we’ll have to send her to the recovery room."
The technician followed the man away from the door to a crowd of petrified onlookers.
"Oh no," Jamie said. "What happened?"
"Allergies," the technician said, "Some participants have undiscovered allergies picked up by the computer. Some are allergic to the chip we need to install, so it’s better we know now before we commit."
"I don’t know what that means? A chip?"
"Look," the technician pointed to Jelly, who had a synthetic cap stretched around the top of her head. "See this?"
"Yes."
"Look at the screen."
An imprint of Jelly’s brain glowed on screen in various colors. "This is Jelly’s brain. No sign of any damage, which is good."
He pointed at the top of the image, "This is the frontal lobe, the part of the brain that acts as a sonar. Over here in the middle is the sleep center, which is slightly smaller than usual. The back of the brain is very active."
"What does that do?"
"Is Jelly protective of you and your house?”
"Yes, but we don’t live in a house. We live in an apartment. She’s always looking for things to fight with."
"Makes sense. This is the area of the brain that lets her fight and mark her territory."
The technician looked at Jelly. She screwed her face back at him, unhappy with the intrusion on her privacy.
"Well done, Jelly." The technician reached under the console and hit a button.
The screen went dead and slid up, revealing a metal cage. He pulled it forward and opened the door.
"What happens now?" Emily asked.
"Well, she’s fit to take part in the trials."
The technician removed Jelly’s cap and wristband. He covered her face with his palm and pushed her backwards.
"Hey," Jamie got defensive. "Don’t do that."
"I need to get her into the box."
Jelly clawed back at the technician, having no choice but to walk backwards. "That’s right, Jelly. In you go."
"Stop that," Jamie grabbed the man’s arm, "She’ll go in herself."
"Sorry, no. We can’t take the risk," the technician placed his hand on the box to to prevent it from sliding back. "Look at her, she’s already putting up a fight."
"That’s because you’re forcing her."
"Poppet, let the man do his thing."
"But—"
Jelly whined. A final attempt to claw the technician’s hand as it left her face was thwarte
d when he shut the door.
A whirring noise from behind the screen started up. Behind it, a mini conveyor belt traveled backwards, much like a baggage delivery system at an airport.
"Bon voyage, and good luck," the technician said, waving at Jelly.
Jelly’s disillusionment was matched by Jamie’s.
She placed her paw on the glass door, begging for Jamie to reach out.
"Jelly…"
"Poppet, it’s okay. She’s perfectly safe."
"But, but…"
Jelly meowed as her cage rolled backwards along the belt and into the darkness.
"It’s okay, Jamie," the technician said, "You’ll see her out in the arena in about half an hour. She’s perfectly safe, I can assure you."
Jamie wasn’t convinced. For the first time in his young life, his best friend had abandoned him.
Emily wasn’t much consolation either, no matter how hard she rubbed her son’s shoulder.
The technician took pity on the mother and son as the belt delivered Jelly to her destination and out of sight. "It’s never a nice feeling. But I promise, Jamie, it will all be worth it."
The Manuel
Page 200, 456 - “Saturn Cry”
Let’s look at a live feed of Saturn, our solar system’s sixth planet, and its second-largest.
The images you can see are provided by something called a Star Drone. It was sent to the ringed planet three years ago to discover what happened to a vessel named Space Opera Alpha.
In the year 2110 the International Moon Station, known in common parlance as IMS, received what could be readily described as a distress call from the ringed planet.
The message itself reached the primary radio situated on the space station in just under an hour and a half.
The world’s foremost linguisticians and authorities on communication could not make head nor tail, if you’ll forgive the pun, of the message.
The communication itself lasted only thirty seconds. A mixture of sounds that the common human being would recognize as static, more often than not punctuated by the sound of three chords from an electric guitar.
One of Earth’s most intelligent scientific minds, Pascal D’Souza (2056 - 2111), studied the waveform.
He spent three months listening to the recording on virtual repeat and came up with nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Star Cat The Complete Series Page 2
