London Wild

by V. E. Shearman

  She felt she had been very patient, supervising her domesticated friend, especially when, after constant egging from Kitty, February had agreed to assist in the making of a mask. A mask was a better variant of disguise than just covering up stripes with makeup, but it was a lot more arduous to create, as it needed to be molded to the shape of the face as well as other parts of the body that Kitty might want to cover.

  They would work on that this afternoon after February had had something to eat and Kitty had taken a bath and washed off all the makeup she had spent that morning applying. February had suggested a shower. It would’ve been quick and easy and would’ve allowed them to have lunch together. Kitty preferred a bath, though; she could relax better in a bath. If making a mask was going to be as tough as February had warned her, then she needed to loosen her muscles up for the ordeal.

  February descended the stairs and entered her living room. The house was a little too quiet down here for her liking, and the sound of rain on the roof by itself was a little unnerving. She felt she needed something to keep her company while she prepared lunch. She picked up the small remote device for the newspaper and was about to use it when she remembered that it had recently been switched to receive voice commands instead of commands from the remote. She returned the remote to the small table positioned to the side of the couch from which she had gotten it.

  ‘Paper on!’ she said and left the room, assuming her command would be carried out. It wasn’t until she was in the kitchen and had started to prepare herself something for lunch that she realized that the newspaper was still off.

  ‘On!’ she yelled at the newspaper. The newspaper sprang to life, as did the holoviewa, her computer, and the micro-powered kettle that had been sitting on the kitchen’s island. She flipped the kettle off manually and then yelled at both the computer and the holoviewa in turn, naming them and then ordering them off.

  Shortly afterwards she returned to the living room with lunch in hand and made herself comfortable on the couch. She picked up the remote control from the small table again and said, ‘Switch to remote!’ in the direction of the newspaper. There was no perceptible change. The list of headlines on the screen appeared much as they had before. Even the cursor that currently highlighted the top headline looked no different, though it might have blinked one extra time as the newspaper switched its input.

  One at a time she read the headlines, looking for something to occupy her whilst she had lunch, something other than the mindless pap that they tended to play on the holoviewa channels during weekday lunchtimes.

  The fifth headline was the first to catch her eye: ‘Assassination attempt on the Greater Matriarch foiled.’ She moved the little floating cursor down until it highlighted the headline in question, moved it across to the verbatim column, and pressed the confirm button.

  The screen with the headlines was replaced by a man facing towards the viewer. Behind him was what appeared to be a normal city street with perhaps a few subtle differences from those that were found in London. Walking towards the reporter amidst a number of other denizens of the city was a male Herbaht in full display of his stripes. The humans in the crowd seemed to ignore him as if such an occurrence was commonplace. This must be Florida, which part of America to which the Greater Matriarch and her husband and a number of other Herbaht had gone in the hope of finding a peaceful coexistence with humanity. The striped figure seemed to notice the broadcast unit and turned to cross the road and avoid them. Not everything was different over there.

  It was evident from the way the crowds seemed to be slowing down as they approached the screen that the broadcast unit was in the way. More so because there were a fair number of people stopping to watch what was going on and hoping to be seen.

  The speaker started, ‘This was the scene last night when the Greater Matriarch and her husband were leaving a local restaurant after dinner when they were ambushed by someone that witnesses, also dining in the restaurant at the time, claim bore a striking resemblance to one of their own.’

  February noticed that one of the nearby buildings was a restaurant and the camera was pointing more or less towards it.

  ‘Exactly what happened seems to be the source of some confusion. Some say he pulled out a laser pistol and it didn’t work, and that he then pulled out some sort of dagger. Others say he went straight for the dagger and attacked the pair. It is said the Patriarch stepped between his wife and their would-be assailant. No one really seems too clear on the matter. Some witnesses claim that the assailant was moving faster than the eye could see and that somehow he stepped around the Patriarch and lunged at his intended victim. Witnesses here agree that the Matriarch seemed to do nothing; indeed, the assailant was moving so fast she probably couldn’t have defended herself had she tried. But then a strange twist happened. The assailant just collapsed dead mid-lunge. Those who arrived on the scene first and examined the body say that he had recently ingested some sort of drug and it had proved too much for his heart.’

  ‘The cats claim they have no idea who the assailant was, or why someone would want to assassinate the Greater Matriarch. Some people think that the Lesser Matriarch might’ve sent the assassin, but no one can think of what motive she might have for wanting her sister dead. The Greater Matriarch refuses to entertain such a notion.’

  ‘But it didn’t end there.’ The voice took on a more sinister tone and continued, ‘The ambulance used to transport the body back to the morgue vanished. There was no trace of the ambulance or any of the medics involved. The hospital that they had claimed they had come from even refuted….’

  February had heard enough. She angrily turned off what sounded very much like propaganda to her. Oh, of course a Herbaht had tried to murder the Greater Matriarch; it couldn’t have been a herd, oh no, no way, never. After all, every Herbaht in the country would just jump at the chance to kill their leaders, she thought sarcastically to herself. It must look good to the herd. Those Herbaht are turning on themselves. How could they begin to imagine that they could get away with blaming it on the Herbaht? No doubt among the herd they would probably succeed. Had anything like it actually happened? Well, they didn’t even call on one Herbaht witness to back up their claim. The whole thing had to be a fabrication.

  The reporter and his city street background were replaced with the list of headlines, and February, still fuming as she tore the previous report apart in her head, continued to read down the list. Nothing jumped out at her until she got to the ninth item. ‘Invasion of Sou’nd set for tomorrow.’ The ninth item, as if they didn’t consider such a battle important enough for the top spot. She glanced at the top item on the list for comparison. ‘David Knoult on Holiday in Vienna.’ Oh, yes, like that was much more important. David Knoult, some holomovie actor, being on holiday.

  February had been born in Sou’nd and had many happy memories of the place. She remembered walking along the pier on the sea front. There were two flagpoles near the pier entrance, though the flags themselves had long since worn away to nothing. It was a long pier. Her father had claimed that it had once been the longest pleasure pier in the world. She remembered that on that day there had been a couple of humans at the very end of it trying to do a little bit of fishing. February and her father had not been in disguise. Herbaht didn’t always bother with disguises in Sou’nd, but the humans hadn’t been scared of them, and that had felt liberating somehow. The humans had lived so long with their Herbaht neighbors that they knew their habits and had known February and her father hadn’t been hunting without having to think about it. Not that the two races could ever be friends, but they seemed to understand each other.

  It was a happy memory, but it brought with it the memory of her parents, both of whom went hunting one night when she was ten and never returned. She had lost both parents and three of her four siblings to the authorities over the last few years. Liykl still lived in Sou’nd; tomorrow she might lose her last brother. She would have to call him, warn him of what was happening
.

  The happy sounds of splashing from the upstairs bathroom contrasted sharply with the feelings February had just from reading the headline. Perhaps she should wait a while before seeing the story. Maybe Kitty ought to see it too?

  Almost without intent she pressed the confirm button and the story started.

  A figure in a long white raincoat was trying to shelter as best he could from the downpour. He was standing on a muddy-looking green in front of a large building that appeared blurred in a fog that had also hit the area. To one side a small table was being set up beside an army truck. The table had a banner flying above it that read Check-In. The man shivered as he spoke, ‘I’m standing on the green verge just outside the Houses of Parliament Museum and in the shadow of the great clock tower known as Big Ben, possibly one of the greatest symbols of the war against the cats. Big Ben was virtually destroyed back in the twenty-sixth century when a group of cats broke into the houses of parliament. It’s thought that they did so with the intention of assassinating the then Prime Minister, Mr. Hugo Jones. As history denotes, the cats failed, and when they tried to escape they found that our brave soldiers had thrown a cordon around the parliament buildings. A few of the cats made it to the top of the clock tower, where they held out for three days. It is said that they had rigged a number of explosives to the clock face and triggered these as soldiers stormed the tower. The top of the tower was destroyed, but somehow the bell, Big Ben itself, survived and is now housed in the rebuilt tower seen behind me.’

  ‘It was soon after this and possibly as a direct result of this assault that the houses of parliament were vacated and turned into a museum. The security forces claimed they could no longer protect the occupants from such future assaults without drastically altering the historic structure. They would have needed to reinforce the walls and implement new security measures which would have required the widening of parts of the building. It was considered best for all concerned to build a new parliament house and design it with the security measures already in place rather than try to adapt the old one.’

  The man seemed to pause for effect and pull himself even more tightly, if that were possible, into his raincoat. ‘So a good landmark from which to launch the attack on Sou’nd. No doubt that was part of what Slim Dorris, the great cat hunter, was thinking when he chose this location as the jump off point for his attack tomorrow.’

  ‘Slim Dorris, as you are no doubt aware, became the great cat hunter when he…’

  February yawned and sighed as the story of how Slim Dorris became the great hunter was played out on the screen in front of her. This man really didn’t seem to have a lot to say about the attack. It all seemed to be anti-Herbaht propaganda. She was also getting a little tired of his usage of the word cat. After talking about Slim Dorris, the man continued.

  ‘…Already a few items are being brought here in readiness for tomorrow’s assault. A simple table…’ He pointed to the table behind him and quickly withdrew his hand again to stop it getting too wet, ‘…has been set up on one side of the green. That is where all civilians who wish to join in the attack will have to sign up. If you wish to go along, they prefer it if you have your own weapon but will supply you with a standard issue laser rifle for the duration of the battle if you need it.’

  ‘Slim seems to be on good terms with the army, as they are also lending him no less than thirty tanks and an equal number of support vehicles with which to aid him in this mission. There will also be a number of soldiers to man these vehicles for him. He is being given another one hundred infantry on top of that and has been given a link to an airbase so he can call in an air strike should his forces get bogged down by enemy fire. They must really think a lot of him in government.’

  This stuff was more useful; knowledge of the numbers involved might be vital when preparing a defense. February decided to watch the rest of the clip first in case they revealed something else she could impart.

  However, as it continued, it seemed mainly to be a lot of frothing about how good Slim Dorris was and very few actual facts. There were no details about his plan of attack, nothing that February could relay to her brother. She couldn’t help but think it was a silly idea that they should advertise the attack on the newspaper at all. Anyone might be watching. She might be watching.

  ‘Tune in early tomorrow for live coverage of the attack as it takes place’ was the last thing spoken, but a little bit of text came up at the bottom of the screen. If you would like to join Slim in his quest to free Sou’nd of the evil cat menace, be at the check-in desk no later than five-thirty a.m. tomorrow.

  February let the story end itself, and the newspaper’s screen returned to the headline page. For a moment she considered several alternatives. The first was to watch the story again in case she had missed something important that she could tell to her brother when she called him. The second was to go straight to the computer and put a call through to her brother and let him know as soon as possible about the danger that was coming his way. The third idea that also occurred was that she should go along to the check-in desk herself tomorrow morning and sign on as a civilian. She might be able to do a lot of damage to the invading force from the inside.

  This last idea she rejected out of hand. Slim might not have the same aptitude as the Elite for recognizing a disguised Herbaht, but he was getting a lot of help from the authorities in this venture. As they were sending soldiers to help in this attack, it made sense that there might be one or two of the Elite Guard there tomorrow too, and they would spot any Herbaht trying to join in an instant.

  Another idea did occur to her: with all the harassment the herd were currently giving her race, it might be a good idea to run. To get away from London, maybe head up north where they had never even seen a Herbaht. The idea appealed to her, but the word coward that seemed to accompany it didn’t.

  Well, whatever else she did, she would call her brother first. She decided there wasn’t really a lot she could get from watching the news again.

  She got up and walked to her computer, chewing the last mouthful of her sandwich. She had been so occupied with the story that she hadn’t even remembered eating it.

  ‘On!’ she said to the computer’s monitor as she reached it. It was a simple tabletop version, designed for easy movement as opposed to the popular wall-embedded type of computer that most homes had. Those who worked with computers and those who played games on them tended to prefer to keep their machines mobile.

  The computer screen sprang to life. A number of short, one-line messages flowed across the screen. Advertisements from the company that had made the computer, supposedly there to remind her where she had gotten it for when she wanted an upgrade. She never bothered to read them, though they were always there and had probably gotten through to her on a subconscious level.

  ‘Computer, link to my brother Liykl in Sou’nd!’ February then waited while the computer made the connection.

  ‘Hello?’ a voice said. There was no picture. The recipient wasn’t allowing his face to be transmitted. In Sou’nd there was always a good chance that the machine he was using didn’t even have that facility. There was a very good chance the machine he was using was two hundred or more years old.

  ‘Liykl?’ February said quietly. She seemed unsure she had gotten the right number, despite the fact that she had only told the computer his name. ‘It’s me, February.’

  ‘Febby,’ replied the voice, sounding a little stressed, ‘good to hear from you. You just caught me on my way out. How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine, Liykl,’ she replied. The sound of water pouring away upstairs permeated through the ceiling. Kitty had finished her bath and would probably be down to join her soon. She would probably be looking for some lunch too. February turned her attention back to the screen and said, ‘I had to warn you; Slim Dorris intends to attack Sou’nd tomorrow and, well, I was worried about you.’

  ‘Yeah, we know. News of the imminent attack started reaching us around midnig
ht last night. Apparently Slim is having the whole thing televised and has put out a call for volunteers to join him. Basically he’s given us plenty of warning that he’s coming. They tried setting up some roadblocks, but we’ve found a way through and most of our people have already left the area and are heading in all directions, though mainly towards London. We’re hoping that some will intercept the convoy as it makes its way here and stop it in its tracks. It’s thought that if Slim is killed, the rest of his attack will just collapse.’

  ‘That’s good thinking,’ February agreed. It was quite a weight off her mind that her people in Sou’nd already knew of the attack and were doing something about it. ‘I take it you’re getting ready to leave Sou’nd then?’

  ‘I’ll be staying,’ Liykl replied with conviction. ‘Some of us are going to stay inside the boundaries of Sou’nd and defend our land in the same way our people have for centuries. We intend to make them pay for every inch of Sou’nd they destroy.’

  ‘They’ll destroy the town from a distance,’ February told him; ‘with the weapons they’ll be using they can destroy the town without even crossing the threshold. They could probably do it without leaving their starting positions if there weren’t so many other buildings in the way. You won’t stand a chance.’

  ‘We’ll be all right,’ Liykl assured her. ‘There are a number of tunnels under Sou’nd. Andreicht thinks they might be a part of the sewer system that ran underneath the town in order to deal with herd waste in ancient times. We can use these to get behind the attackers and take them unawares. If they don’t know about the sewers they won’t think to destroy them, and they won’t be expecting us to use them.’

  ‘That’s a big if,’ February told him. ‘Chances are they have paid careful attention to all possibilities. I’ve heard of the stuff this man has done; he’s very hard to get one over on.’