by Paul Corey
Cat and I finished eating. He sat in the centre of the kitchen floor and washed himself.
“All right, Cat. How the hell do we get out of here?”
He stopped washing, mid-swipe of tongue. He looked up at me, tongue hanging, idiot-eager. “Murrrff.” He completed the interrupted tongue swipe. The rhythm of his washing increased as if to make up for the time lost.
No help there, and I had expected none. At least we were fed.
TWENTY-FIVE
There was plenty of food here, cooked and uncooked.
Vegetables, fruit, meat, and various kinds of bread and pastry. They were all opaque and most of them in transparent containers. But we had no need for food now.
The kitchen tools were transparent and hard to make out. But among them I found a cleaver-hatchet-like device. I tested the edge. It shaved hair from the back of my hand smooth and clean.
On an impulse I swung it hard at the outside wall. I was ready to jump back or duck, expecting it to rebound or shatter. Instead, the blade cut a clean four-inch gash through the surface. This success drove me to hack away until I had a hole big enough to crawl through.
But fear choked my triumph. The noise my chopping had made could have attracted the attention of the Grendan still in the barn. My eyes searched the pile of hay beneath that transparent roof. He still worked blithely on, his own activity hiding notice of the sound.
Already Cat had leaped through the opening I had made. I saw him in the yard vigorously digging a hole, and when satisfied with it, using it, a thoughtful stare in his blue eyes lifted to the climbing sun.
I rushed back to my room. The wall was still split over the prostrate cook. He gave a muffled buzz as I stepped over him and grabbed up my things.
Back in the kitchen I wrapped up the roast in some thin plastic and put it in my kit. I slipped a bunch of napkin-like tissue in my beret and pulled it on my head. I dropped my kit, a container of biscuits, the cleaver-axe and my cape through the hole and crawled out after them.
Cat was nowhere in sight. I hoped he hadn’t abandoned me because I liked his companionship. But there was no time to worry about him. I had to finish my break. I had played it by ear so far. Once away, I could take the time to make an escape plan worthy of my intelligence.
Always watching for the return of the Grendan work crew, I made a quick circuit of the yard wall. It was at least fifteen feet high and no tree or shrub grew near enough to it for me to climb up and jump over. I guessed that it was at least two inches thick and I gave up the notion of hacking my way out.
If I couldn’t get over or through, then how about under? There were garden-type tools by the rear of the house. I grabbed a thing that looked like a grub-hoe and went to a spot along the wall where the shrubbery was thickest.
I began to dig frantically. The base of the wall was thicker than the wall itself but I soon discovered that it went down no more than a foot in the ground. Once when I paused to rest, I realised that Cat sat at the edge of the shrubbery watching me. There was a wild—that’s the only interpretation I can give it—gleam in his eyes.
The moment I sat back to relax, he leaped into the hole and began digging. The dirt fountained out, first in one direction, then in another. He was some help, but it seemed to be more of a game with him than purposeful action.
When I regained my breath, I said, “Cat, get the hell out of there.”
He stopped digging. I pulled and lifted him from the hole. He tongued back in place some hair I had disturbed, then sat and watched me work.
As I got under the wall, he suddenly seemed to catch on. He crowded into the hole, crowded me over and began clawing up to the surface on the far side. In a matter of minutes he burst through and raced away in the meadow.
There was no time to see where he went. Freedom was too close. I enlarged the hole until I could get myself and gear through. On the outside I took time only to brush myself off, look around for Grendans, organise my stuff for carrying, and move out.
In the direction I considered “west” I could see a ridge of hills blue-green with trees. Without hesitation, I headed towards them. I walked boldly. I told myself that Grendans couldn’t see me. If I kept far enough away from them their built-in radar couldn’t pick me up.
I had to travel in the daytime, because I knew no stars here to guide me at night.
The land was rolling, ridges and hollows forming drainage areas. This was a pasture I was crossing. I climbed a long slope. As I crested it, I saw a herd of animals off to my right.
Cattle? Yes, they looked somewhat like Earth cattle—Brahmas. But even larger. Colour? I stopped dead.
“Oh, no! Impossible!” I muttered. But they were. They were purple, a real royal purple. They stopped grazing, raised their heads and watched me curiously. There must have been forty or fifty of them.
One of them bellowed. A bull maybe. Dangerous? How should I know? I bawled out the sound Ello had taught me and moved off to the left. Heads went down, one, two, three, and the entire herd resumed grazing.
In a short while I had put the herd between me and the farm buildings.
Another ridge topped, another hollow crossed. I didn’t look back but I heard the sound, softer than hoof beats. An attack? My only weapon was the cleaver. I whirled to meet this onrush, arm raised for at least one good blow. And I almost let him have it.
It was Cat. He went past me like an Earth cheetah. He came to a turf-tearing stop fifty yards ahead of me and waited. As I approached, he crouched for a spring at me, tail lashing, eyes maniacal.
For a moment I thought, suppose this is not my Cat. It could have been a different one—just looked like the one I knew. My hand quivered on the cleaver.
“I have no time for nonsense, Cat,” I said and walked straight on towards the hills.
He sprang, ninety pounds hurtling twenty feet, just to brush past me, land, claws digging, body turning, doubling back with tail arched. His next charge ended with only a butt of his head against my knee. Then his back curved heavily against me, pushing me slightly off course, and he padded along beside me.
By this time we had put the farm buildings out of sight behind us. But atop the next ridge, I saw Grendans off to the north taking up the hay they were storing in the barn. They were a considerable distance away but I kept ridges and hills between us and them as we pushed on.
Ahead now I could see a different type of field. It was a tall crop. Higher than my head. As we drew near I recognised a resemblance to Earth corn or maize. It had been planted in rows. My eyes searched for evidence of Grendans at work but saw none.
When we got within fifteen or twenty yards of the field, Cat ran on ahead. Suddenly he let out a terrific yowl and came rolling back at me as if he’d been belted a good one. He staggered to his feet, hair bristling from head to tip of tail.
I stopped, realising that some barrier was between us and the cultivated field. Cat cowered beside me, growling low in his throat. With my cleaver I cut squares of turf and tossed them towards the field. The lower ones came splattering back at me. But when I raised their trajectory to four feet or above they flew on into the maize.
Cautiously I moved in, tossing bits of turf until I had located the force fence and determined its height. I threw my cape over, then my kit and biscuits. Next I dropped a chunk of turf on the far side as close to the barrier as possible and pushed another up to the base on my side.
With my unseeable obstacle thusly determined, I took a good run and leaped high. I felt a blow on my backside like a hard kick in the pants, but I went over, landing in the edge of the cornfield.
Cat prowled the far side, tail lashing, eyes glaring. I wondered if I jumped back if I could throw him over. Throw ninety pounds of squirming cat over an unseen barrier that gave out a severe jolt at the slightest contact? No. But I did jump back, clearing the wall easily this time.
I jumped over and back several times and Cat watched. At first he looked as though he thought I was crazy. At last he got
the idea. The next time I jumped from his side he jumped with me. He didn’t even take a run but he cleared that barrier by six feet.
When he landed he was off down the corn rows like a jet car and out of sight. I didn’t know if he would come back to me or keep on going.
I gathered my things and sat down at the edge of the field. All the energy I had expended in the past two hours had worn me out. I was hot. The afternoon sun came down strong. While I rested in the shade it occurred to me that Cat might come back when he got hungry. After all, I had the food.
My muscles relaxed. Energy returned and I took a moment to consider my situation.
TWENTY-SIX
If that barrier marked the boundary of the farm, then I was out. But I had no way of knowing. Those farm hands would hardly believe that I had had the brains to negotiate their fence. They would conclude that I was still somewhere within its confines. Good. That would narrow down their search.
The mountains were still miles away. There lay some sort of temporary freedom. The cornfield extended towards those mountains. The rows of the crop ran in that direction.
I got up, slung on my kit and cape and shouldered my pack of food. At the moment it seemed to me that the most important thing was to put as much distance as possible between me and the animal refuge. I set out down the corn rows. Although Grendans had no eyes, I felt much safer travelling through this field with its crop that hid me from above.
Down slopes, across gulleys, up slopes. On and on. The dirt was black and soft and hard to walk in. The long corn leaves swiped at my face. Several times I wondered what had happened to Cat. I felt the need of a companion.
Finally I came to the end of the field and stopped. In front of me stretched another field. This one had already been cropped over. The only covering on the ground was a short stubble as in a harvested grain field. The hills were at least two miles away and the sun slanted down behind them.
Then I saw the bubbles. I counted seven of them. They floated in a line around from the north. The farthest out must have been over the foothills. I realised that they were sweeping a circle around the farm. Did they suspect that I had gotten over the pasture barrier?
They were less than five hundred feet up. I stood close to a hill of corn and peered at the nearest. I could plainly see the Grendan in it. He wore a uniform like the campus guards. I couldn’t tell what sort of probing went on from those bubbles. Could they pick up shape, body heat or my body vibrations?
The one nearest me moved in over the spot where I stood. I tried to wrap the corn leaves around me and remained still and straight. All the time I had the hopeless feeling that you can’t hide from the blind.
As the bubble came in closer, I found my neck cramped from watching it. I looked down to ease the crick. There on the ground between the corn rows lay Cat. He panted a little silently. He watched the bubble, head cocked a bit to one side, intent but absolutely motionless.
I felt that they must surely spot him and get me caught. Why hadn’t he got lost and stayed lost? Still the bubble hovered. We waited. Then it lifted abruptly and joined the others on their sweep. Cat looked up at me with a mighty yawn.
“Well, what do you suppose happened, Cat?” I said.
I wondered if that bubble had spotted Cat, but they weren’t after him. They were after me. So maybe he had put them off.
We couldn’t stay in the cornfield. We had to get to the hills and there was no cover ahead. I felt rested. We had to make that dash across the stubble field to the safety of the brash land.
“All right, Cat, on your feet.”
We started out fast. Then I stopped. There might be a barrier on this side of the field. But Cat went right on. There wasn’t any.
I kept on the lookout for bubbles. Cat trotted beside me or ahead of me. We had covered half a mile or more and I began to wonder what I would do if that sweep of bubbles came again. All I could think was to get across the field and into the woods. I ran down a slope and panted up the next. Down and up again. My lungs hurt from the strain.
But I didn’t make it.
A reflection from the low sun tipped me off. They were sweeping in from the north again. Cat had raced on over the ridge ahead of me. Running would do me no good now.
On my left I saw a washout in the slope. I sprinted to it and dived in. The roots of the field crop had held the edge of the wash, forming a lip. I pinched my way up under this narrow shelter.
I couldn’t see what was happening. I could only wait and hope. Nothing did happen for a long time. Then I heard a whistling sound. I recognised it as the sound the cook had made calling Cat. I knew the Grendans had located Cat. Then I heard him yowl angrily, then horribly as they caught him.
It wouldn’t be long before they located me, I told myself. I gripped the handle of the cleaver. Remembering the fight with the cook that morning, I knew that if I could get behind a Grendan I had him. I waited, hardly breathing.
Nothing happened. I couldn’t tell what the bubbles were doing. I couldn’t look up. Then darkness closed in. Finally I decided that I couldn’t stay under that shelf of sod forever. I eased myself out into the gully.
For all I knew the bubbles were still up there. I shouldered my gear and started up the slope, expecting any moment to feel the cord snaring me. Still nothing happened. The farther I travelled without being snared, the bolder I grew. I began to hurry.
It was dark all around me but it was darker up ahead and I knew that that was the edge of the woods. The stubble field ended and I was about to plunge on when I remembered the pasture barrier. I stopped and threw a handful of dirt directly in front of me. I heard it strike the brush ahead.
I stumbled towards low bushes and over rocks towards darker areas which were small trees. In one clump of these I felt soft grass beneath my feet. Exhaustion caught me then like a blow on the chin. I just crumpled, my kit, cape and food sack falling around me.
After sitting there a while I felt the chill of darkness increasing and getting at me. I pulled my fallen cape up around me. From my food sack I got a piece of roast and a biscuit and ate.
Then I placed my kit and food for a pillow and stretched out, cape over me. I lay listening for a long time. All I heard were the chirpings and screechings of bugs. Sounds were much like a country night on Earth.
Were there any dangers in these woods? I hadn’t the faintest idea. I wished I had taken time during my flight to repair my sun-torch. A bright beam of light can sometimes frighten off prowling things. But I hadn’t fixed it. Wishing was no help. At last I fell asleep.
It was almost morning when I awakened. I didn’t move, but I was wide awake and afraid. There was something moving near me in the darkness. A moment’s thought of Old Groper came and went. I was far away from him. A new fear took its place. Was this some dangerous wild Grendan animal prowling about me? My fingers held the cleaver handle so tight they hurt.
I followed the sound of padding feet over the grass. I heard sniffing. “Murrrf”.
It was a cat. A wild one? Did Grenda have wild cats? Or was it Cat? I remained rock stiff, frozen. A paw poked tentatively at the edge of my fallon cape.
“Cat?” I whispered. “That you?”
“Murrf.”
The answer would have been a growl or a snarl or a slashing blow if the animal had been a wild one, I reasoned. Cautiously I pulled back the cape from my face. Above me was a shadow—a cat. Yet it could have been any cat.
It sniffed me. Then its tongue gave my cheek a light dab. It seemed friendly and I pulled back the cape more. Without any hesitation it stretched out full length beside me the way Cat had done last night, it was Cat all right. I knew him then.
“How did you make it. Cat? How did you get away from those bastards?”
I flipped my cape over him and we snuggled together. A great purr rumbled up. We couldn’t communicate more than that, but we were content. In a little while we were asleep.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Increasing heat and sin
ging birds awakened me. When I tossed back my cape I saw Grenda’s sun well up the sky. The bird song came from a shrub nearby, a waxy-leaved bush with red flowers. I saw no bird, but a large butterfly milked the bloom.
The warbling song continued and my eyes searched for the bird. But I watched the butterfly too. It was twice the size of any lepidoptera on Earth. It had pale green wings with golden splotches and a black trim. Its wings pulsed slowly like an Earth butterfly’s, while its darker green body teeter-tottered like an old-fashioned Earth oil well pump.
As I watched I realised that the songs came from this butterfly. And with that conclusion came the additional startling realisation that with this song it was taking the nectar from the flower. Confirmation came when the song stopped, thin wings fanned air to another bloom, then the teeter-tottering and the warbling resumed.
And sightless Grendans miss all this, I thought.
Cat still slept. But as I moved he opened one great blue eye only to close it firmly again. Then, reluctantly, it seemed, he opened it once more, got up and stretched. I saw patches of dried blood on him and dirt. He was gaunt and his orange-yellow coat messy.
He began washing himself immediately, but when I hauled out the food he came over and nosed me for a share. We finished off the roast and the biscuits. Then we went in search of water and found a clear, cold stream. We drank.
While we sat on the bank, Cat resumed washing and I thought, our food’s gone. What do we live on now? Maybe there is some wild life in these woods. I hadn’t seen anything substantial—a singing butterfly, some smallish feathered things like Terran birds. If Cat would hunt and there was edible game we might make out.
I didn’t really believe it of him, but I told myself: suppose there’s nothing to eat and Cat gets hungry. Did he have plans for my future? No, I didn’t really believe anything like that of Cat.
