Star Cat The Complete Series

by Andrew Mackay

  Nutrene giggled at his reaction as she opened the cabinet door, “Good?”

  “God, yeah,” he muttered in ecstasy, “Damn good.”

  “Gotta keep that impressive physique of yours on-point if we’re going to do our job.”

  Alex looked down the length of his body. The fine hairs around his well-defined chest and abdomen seemed to stand on end, almost as if it had been rubbed with a balloon.

  “What’s that?”

  Neg swiveled her cylindrical head and flashed her eyebulbs, “Interference, probably. We’re trying to establish contact with Opera Beta.”

  “We’ve found Opera Beta?” Nutrene picked out her USARIC inner-suit jacket from the cupboard. She slipped her arms through the sleeves and inspected the lapels around her neck, “That was fast. How long ago?”

  “A few hours. She’s orbiting Enceladus, but isn’t communicating,” Neg said.

  Alex looked in the mirror above the wash basin and analyzed his face. As expected, he’d grown an impressive amount of facial hair during stasis. Today, he looked like a different person. His hirsute facial rendition in the mirror added a few years.

  “I guess we’re going to board, anyway,” he said.

  “Of course we are. Invite or no invite.”

  Nutrene placed her hand on Alex’s shoulder and smiled at him via the mirror, “The beard suits you, you know.”

  “It’s coming straight off once I’m dressed,” he moved his eyes to her reflection, “How come you’re not feeling groggy after such a long journey, anyway?”

  “I’m used to it,” she extended a strap in her hands and placed her right, bare foot on the side of the hyper-sleep pod, “Seven visits to IMS. You get used to it.”

  Alex couldn’t help but look at her flagrant exposure of her thigh as she strapped the belt around her waist. She thumbed the hook and enabled the material to crawl across her skin and turn her porcelain-white skin a synthetic black.

  Alex averted his eyes to her face, “What were you doing on the International Moon Station?”

  “USARIC set up a Medix center there a couple of years ago. A part of their expansion after the success of the Star Cat Project back in twenty-one-eighteen.”

  She thumped the sole of her foot onto the floor and jogged on the spot, working her new pants down to her shins, “I guess they wanted to keep animals on standby there.”

  “You guess?”

  “They never told us their mission aim. Top secret. My job was to tend to the felines and provide updates. And not to ask questions.”

  “Are you saying there are cats on the moon?”

  “Yup,” Nutrene unbuckled her left sleeve and revealed a metal rail sewn inside, “Only a couple. They had their ICs installed.”

  “The infinity claws?”

  “You know your acronyms, I’ll give you that.”

  She flung her arm forward. A Rez-9 firearm rolled along the inner sleeve rail and landed comfortably in her palm. She aimed the firearm at Neg, “You. Stay there, I need to calibrate.”

  “Please do not point your firearm at me, Nutrene. I work with you.”

  “Shut up, just hold still,” she pressed her thumb on the side of the barrel. A rectangular HUD holograph floated above the sight. The surface drew a white line around Neg’s bulbous shape. The phrase death drone flashed next to it.

  “Pow,” Nutrene pretended to shoot Neg and finished with a smirk, “Bang on target.”

  Neg wasn’t nearly as impressed.

  “Nutrene, do you know that you should never aim a gun at the people you’re working with?”

  “You’re not a person,” Nutrene winked at Alex. “Besides, a Rez-9 charge wouldn’t even put a chink in your armor.”

  The fact surprised Alex.

  “It won’t?”

  “No. Wanna see?” Nutrene aimed her Rez-9 at Neg once again, “Let me show you.”

  Neg rolled back and beeped in protest, “Please, don’t—”

  BLAMM!

  The charge blasted out of the barrel and flew through the air. It collided with Neg’s metallic surface and disintegrated into nothingness. A couple of orange sparks to flew into the air.

  “See?”

  “That was just rude,” Neg huffed and rubbed her head. “Don’t do that again.”

  “Amaziant,” Alex said. “Poz and Neg are indestructible?”

  Nutrene held her left forearm up and allowed the gravity to return her gun to the crook of her elbow.

  “Ha, yeah. Trust Manning/Synapse to include that in the Death Drone series.”

  “I don’t trust any of their wacky technology as far as I could throw them,” Alex made his way to the cupboard and opened the door, “The Series Three units were a good idea, but, like most of USARIC’s endeavors, they were flawed.”

  “Like most humans, I guess. Only we don’t freak out and behave like lemmings when we remember who we really are.”

  Alex pulled out his USARIC jacket and looked at his name on the sleeve, “Beta’s full of them.”

  “Ooooh,” Nutrene pursed her lips and nodded her head, impressed, “You figured that out all on your own, did you? The odds are very high that they’ll have killed themselves. Save us the trouble, and the ammunition.”

  Alex slipped the jacket on.

  “Why do you think they named the ship Beta, and not Bravo?”

  Nutrene’s eyes grew at Alex’s revelation, “Huh. Good point. I thought each iteration was phonetic.”

  “If that was the case they’d have called her Opera Bravo,” Alex grabbed the Rez-9 tucked into the left sleeve, “Sending a cat to Saturn with a bunch of messed-up androids? It was a test. Like a bunch of canaries or guinea pigs.”

  “I never thought of it that way. It makes complete sense. USARIC expected the mission to fail?”

  “Did they really think sending a cat into space would work? The chances of success were literally millions to one, if that,” Alex threw his left arm towards the ground. His Rez-9 slid down the length of his sleeve and landed in his palm, “It’s a stupid idea. If it was a movie or a novel no one would believe it.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Nutrene said. “We’re here to rectify their stupid mistake.”

  ***

  Nutrene and Alex followed Neg as she rolled through the door to the control deck.

  Oxade looked up from the communications panel and clapped eyes on Nutrene’s mercenary get-up, “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  “Sleep well?”

  “Like a baby,” she moved the chair from her path and grabbed his hand in hers. They clutched tightly and bumped fists, “How long you been up?”

  Oxade checked her over and smiled, “A few hours, now. You look great.”

  “Oh, I am great. You know that,” she nodded at Manny, “I heard we found Opera Beta?”

  “Yeah, we did. We’ve just sent a message back to USARIC updating them on our findings.”

  Oxade caught Alex staring at him. He seemed to be lost in his own world. Oxade remained professional and refrained from causing any undue upset.

  “Hey, soldier. You okay?”

  “I’m fine. I just want to get this done.”

  “You seem anxious?” Oxade said. “Having second thoughts about the mission?”

  “No.”

  Alex tugged at his sleeve. A sense of dread thumped against his chest.

  Opera Beta edged closer and closer. Soon, Opera Charlie would bridge with them and instigate an intergalactic act of violence and death.

  “Is your suit okay?” Oxade asked, knowing full well that it wasn’t the merc gear upsetting the man.

  “It’s Kevlar and Technomex. I’m used to it.”

  “It’ll save your life if we encounter a fight,” Oxade waved Manny over to him, “Okay, enough BS. Manny, tell us about Opera Beta?”

  Manny opened his covers and landed a quarter of the way through her holographic tome.

  Manuel-2

  Space Opera Beta (second revision)

&
nbsp; Pg 704,111

  (exposition dump #99/4g)

  Construction of Space Opera Beta commenced in 2116 at USARIC’s Cape Claudius compound. More than one hundred tons in weight, it measures one thousand feet and contains ten levels.

  The name underwent a last minute change in early 2118 before it set off on its voyage to Saturn. Originally known as Space Opera Bravo, the original team of humans were disbanded and summarily executed shortly after the conclusion of the Star Cat Project.

  It was decided by then-chief Dimitri Vasilov and CEO Maar Sheck that the mission would be manned exclusively by Androgyne Series Three units to save on insurance and running costs. In addition, the winner of the Star Cat Project, Jelly Anderson, joined them.

  Captain Daryl Katz and botanist Haloo Ess were the only human beings on board. Along with Beta’s on-board computer, The Manuel, these were the only entities who knew the true nature of their colleagues - the Androgyne Series Three units. It is understood that Katz and Ess did not survive the link with Opera Alpha.

  Data secured from her last communication advises that there are six souls on board at this current time.

  1: Tripp Healy, formerly first officer. Assumed rank of captain after the death of Daryl Katz. Former ASF (American Star Fleet) commander and communications and liaison specialist.

  2: Dr Bonnie Whitaker. USARIC’s then-chief scientist. Honorably discharged from ASF. Specialist in martial arts and prototyping.

  3: Jaycee Nayall. Head of Weapons & Armory. Five years’ service with ASF. Died during service and subsequently reconstituted.

  4: Wool ar-Ban. Chief Medician and Medix liaison. Five years’ service. Project medician coordinator of the Star Cat Project and caretaker of subject #6.

  5: Tor Klyce. Head of communications and specialist in psychoanalysis.

  6: Jelly Anderson. Domestic household cat, and runner-up of the Star Cat Project. Joined Opera Beta after the winner, Bisoubisou Gagarin (Russia) reported dead.

  “Thanks, Manny,” Oxade said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “We don’t know much else. What we do know is that the stupid cat would have had something called infinity claws installed when they reached Saturn’s vicinity.”

  Alex didn’t hide his faux-puzzled expression, “ICs. I know of them, but I don’t know what they actually are?”

  “Titanium talons installed in place of her cuticles,” Oxade said. “Also, micro-fibre whiskers. Designed to heighten the senses.”

  Alex jumped in to the explanation. “Right, they’re for an extra layer of protection. The claws are like talons. I hear they’re fierce.”

  “Really?” Oxade folded his arms and took a keen interest in Alex’s expertize on the subject, “And the whiskers?”

  “Anderson would have had a K-13 chip implanted just above her right shoulder so the crew can track her. The whiskers work in conjunction with it. As I say, heighten the senses,” Alex lifted his left forearm and pointed at the three inked lines across his skin, “They also act as a rudimentary one-way communication channel, a bit like our Viddy Media installations.”

  “Wow, check out the big brains on Hughes, here,” Nutrene licked her lips at him, suggestively, “Not just a fit body.”

  Oxade cleared his throat and grew suspicious, “That’s very interesting, Alex.”

  “Yeah, out of all of Beta’s crew, Anderson is the one we need to keep an eye on.”

  “I’m sure she is,” Oxade grunted and punched his left arm forward. “There’s just one thing I don’t quite understand, though.”

  “What?”

  Oxade’s Rez-9 flew into his palm, “How do you know so much about Anderson?”

  “Huh?”

  Alex held his breath and eyed the gun in his captain’s hand. ‘Idiot,’ he thought. He’d opened his big mouth and said too much. In acting dumb, he’d given the game away. The look in Oxade’s face said everything. Alex knew that he knew.

  The control deck started to close in.

  If Alex hadn’t been wearing gloves, both he and Nutrene would have seen his fingers covered in sweat.

  “I, uh…” Alex didn’t expect his voice to crack so blatantly.

  Oxade tilted his Rez-9 and ran his thumb on the side lever, arming it, “Come on, explain.”

  “I, uh, just…”

  “You just what?”

  “I read up about it before we left—”

  “—Lessense,” Oxade lowered his gun and eyeballed Alex with a devilment usually reserved for people who murder family members, “I’m not stupid, you know. Don’t think I haven’t noticed what’s going on.”

  “Wh-what? N-Nothing’s going on—”

  “—Then wh-wh-why are you st-st-stuttering like a goddamn f-f-fool?” Oxade mocked with viciousness and aimed his gun at the boy’s face, “Answer me, you st-stuttering d-d-dick.”

  “I j-just…”

  “Answer me.”

  “Oxade,” Nutrene screamed in his ear, “Are you out of your mind?”

  “If he doesn’t answer me, he’ll get a Rez-9 charge in his,” Oxade pulled his index finger back, teasing the trigger, “Hughes?”

  Alex licked the dryness from his lips and hyperventilated, “I’m n-not… I’m…”

  “Who are you, Alex Hughes?” Oxade roared.

  “I’m… I’m… Alex—”

  His speech slowed to a complete halt.

  The ground twisted into the air and punched him square in the face, knocking him flat out.

  Chapter 11

  Crew Quarters

  Space Opera Beta

  Tripp sat in front of his N-Gage screen and stared at the eleven-year-old boy on the screen; his son, Rogan. He’d begun to resemble his father. The comparison of their jaw lines and eyes were unmistakable.

  Almost five years had passed since Tripp had left home. It had been ninety seconds since he spoke to his son.

  Rogan’s ears pricked up as Tripp’s last sentence rolled into the front room. He turned to the screen.

  “We’re on a ninety-second delay, which will make talking to each other interesting, won’t it? How is school?”.

  Rogan eventually sighed, “School is okay, Dad. I hate my math teacher. He’s very strict. Why haven’t you come home, yet?”

  Tripp had to wait another ninety seconds for the message to reach him.

  Rogan would be a teenager when he returned home. Tripp looked away from the screen and covered his face, refusing to reveal his emotions.

  “Why are you crying, dad?”

  Tripp wiped the pink liquid from his eyes and cleared his throat, “I’m not crying, son. It’s just that I’m so happy to see you. Where’s Spooky?”

  Rogan leaned into the screen and moved his eyes left and right trying to soak up his father’s quarters, “Is that your room?”

  “Yes,” Tripp muttered, “How is everyone?”

  “Spooky died, dad,” Rogan said, clearly antagonized by the memory of the event, “She got really ill. She really missed you after you left.”

  “Dead?” Tripp closed his eyes and felt the bottom of his heart crack open, “Oh.”

  Tripp wiped his face and saw his wife, Samantha, peer into the screen. She raised her eyebrows in shock before she burst into tears, “I thought you were dead.”

  Finally, a bit of good news to counterbalance the bad. His wife looked healthy and vibrant as she held their son against her chest.

  “Why did you think Daddy was dead?”

  “Oh God. Tripp,” she traced the screen with her fingertip and burst into tears, “Why didn’t you send us a message?”

  “Aww, mom. Get off me.”

  “What message? We couldn’t send any messages while we were away.”

  Another ninety, torturous seconds passed by. It allowed both parties to absorb each other’s facial reactions. A sense of dread crept into the delayed conversation.

  “Tripp, sweetie,” Samantha cried into the screen, “I’m so sorry.”

  “What? What
do you mean you thought I was dead?” Tripp slammed the desk, spilling his tears onto his fists, “I’m not dead. I’m coming home.”

  “We thought they switched you off. They said they’d try to rebuild you if they ever found Opera Beta.”

  Tripp ran his fingers under his left earlobe. He prodded his fingertips into his neck, seconds away from tearing his own throat out and ending it all.

  “You knew I was an Androgyne?” He muttered through his weeping knowing it’d be another ninety seconds until he got confirmation from her, “You knew all along?”

  Another man about the same age as Tripp leaned over Samantha. He ran his hands over her shoulder with over-familiarity, “Is this him, sweetie? Not bad-looking for a Series Three unit, is he?”

  “Sweetie?” Tripp felt the saliva escape from his mouth. His esophagus turned to stone. The walls in his quarters threatened to entomb forever, “Wh-who’s that?”

  Samantha took the man’s hand in hers and ran her face along his knuckles, “You can’t blame me, Tripp. I didn’t know. USARIC told us you didn’t make it. They even paid for your funeral.”

  “They did what?” Tripp huffed and yanked on his inner-suit collar, “No, no, no. This can’t be happening.”

  She turned to the man and waved him away as gently as necessary, “Please, not now, Charley.”

  “Okay, I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me,” he bent over and picked up a toddler in his arms.

  “Who’s that?” Tripp gasped.

  “Oh, sweetie,” Samantha tried to block the lens with her hand.

  “No,” Tripp slammed the desk in fury, “Who the hell is that?”

  “That’s Tracey, Dad,” Rogan said. “My little sister…”

  “No-no-no…” Tripp stammered and felt his left arm tighten. A tingling sensation morphed into an agonizing jolt of pain down his left arm. His fingers moved from his ears and scrambled at the surface of his console, “I c-can’t,” he huffed and slid off his chair.

  “Tripp, sweetie?” Samantha leaned into the screen, trying to see where he’d gone.

  Everything went black.