She dithered for a few seconds, then made up her mind. Lisbeth would help her free the Larrys. Then she would eliminate these human vermin.
“I don’t know where they’ve taken your friends,” Lisbeth said. “They can’t have gone far, though. Maybe they’re in the detention block.”
Let’s go look.
“I have no reason to be there, and if you’re spotted, they’ll grab you, too,” Lisbeth protested.
When dark begins to gather, I will practice stealth and find my companions.
“If you go when I serve dinner, they’ll all be distracted.” Lisbeth threw the chopped bits into a large metal container and placed it on the heating device.
Agreed. Sashelle jumped onto the platform near the heating device. While Lisbeth’s back was turned, she knocked a large wooden cylinder over, and small grains poured into the metal container. She swacked the cylinder again, and it fell to the floor. I helped, she said. You’re welcome.
Lisbeth complained about the spilled ‘salt’, but Sashelle ignored her. She planned her route to the detention block. Then she explained her plan to the woman. Lisbeth dubiously agreed and went back to her cooking.
While the woman worked, Sashelle practiced the techniques the Larrys had taught her, but Lisbeth didn’t notice Sashelle’s efforts. Either that or she was crap at it, but that couldn’t be the case. She was Sashelle, Mighty Huntress!
Sashelle ghosted through the camp, creeping along the tops of the blocky ‘buildings,’ as Lisbeth had named them. She practiced her distraction techniques on each person she met and none of them noticed her. Clearly, she was mastering the skill.
She crept to the edge of the last building, her body low, her ears swiveling quickly. The smells of Lisbeth’s burning wafted through the camp, drawing humans from each corner to the central area. The sun dropped lower, casting deep shadows across the valley, and small animals rustled in the dark wood surrounding the camp. Sashelle smelled rodents, but the humans did not notice them.
She leapt across a narrow gap and landed on the roof of the detention building. A clear arched panel sat cocked above a small opening. She peered inside. Several smaller spaces were delineated by vertical bars, and a human slumbered on one of the narrow platforms. The air stank of human and fermented fruit. No sign of the Larrys.
Larry, where are you? she called. She’d tried before, but the humans—or perhaps their buildings—must be dampening her range. She stalked along the roof, calling out.
Here, Larry answered. The voice was so faint, she couldn’t immediately discern which Larry had spoken. But she had a direction. She streaked across the buildings, headed toward the call.
Both Larrys answered her next call, and she found them in the building she and Lisbeth had visited before. The skinny human sat behind his box—or desk according to Lisbeth. Sashelle focused on his head, imagining burning meat.
A loud growl erupted from the man’s stomach. He glanced at one of his devices. “Dinner time already?” he asked. A few moments later, he left the building.
Sashelle’s jaw dropped in a grin. Silly humans—so easy to influence.
The thin, porous fabric over the roof-top opening was no match for her claws. She leapt down, landing on the desk. Papers and human devices lay scattered about the top of it.
Where are you? she asked again.
Here, came the reply.
A door stood between her and her goal. This one did not have a convenient crate nearby. Lowering her rear end, she readied herself and leapt at the door handle. Her weight proved sufficient, and the door swung inward.
The two cages lay on the floor in the narrow space. Shelves lined the long walls, with various boxes and bottles arranged haphazardly. A small metal grate high in the far end of the space let in the last of the evening sunlight.
She narrowed her eyes, studying the cages. These might require a human hand to open.
Shredder of Vegetation, she called. Come to my aid!
The Larrys exchanged a glance. To whom are you speaking? Little Larry asked.
Sashelle ignored him.
She tried again. Burner of Good Food!
My name is Lisbeth, the woman replied.
I heard that! Sashelle said in amazement. My hearing is reaching incredible levels.
“Maybe I’m getting better at thinking aloud,” Lisbeth said as she opened the door of the building.
Ridiculous, Sashelle replied. I require your assistance in opening these cages.
“As you wish,” Lisbeth said.
Sashelle recognized a tinge of sarcasm. The human was learning.
With the cages open, the Larrys streaked out of the narrow room, leapt to the box and disappeared through the tiny roof-top opening.
Come back here, Sashelle called. My human rescued you. Assist me!
We won’t stay inside that artificial cave, Large Larry replied.
If you wish to speak face to face, come back to our camp, Little Larry said. Their voices grew softer as they hurried away. We will wait there until sunrise. Then we return to the pride.
Sashelle growled. Cowards.
“I thought they were going to help us,” Lisbeth said.
They will. Sashelle bared her fangs. Stick to the plan. I will be back.
She jumped to the top of the desk. After surveying the space for a moment, she knocked three of the four devices off the box. Each hit the floor with a satisfying crunch. A squat cylinder rushed out of its tiny rectangular cave, and she eyed it sadly. No time to ride the demon right now. She had work to do. She positioned herself under the opening, and with a wiggle of her butt, leaped into the air. Her claws barely reached the top of the opening.
Not fair! The Larrys had made it look so easy.
“You could just go out the door,” Lisbeth said.
She ignored the human and scrambled through the opening. Once atop the building, she gave the opening a glare, then slapped the domed covering down. It, too, provided a satisfying crunch. She bared her fangs again and hurried into the dark.
Later that night, the loggers sat around the campfire, telling their nightly stories. A gentle breeze rattled the upper tree branches but didn’t reach the circle.
As one logger finished a well-known tale, Lisbeth sat down. “Have you heard the story about the Hadriana caats?” she asked.
A round of “no” went up, and she began the tale.
“The caats are native to this planet,” she said. “They’ve hidden from mankind for fifty years, since we first landed here. But they grow angry at our continued destruction of their forests.”
“Tell it to some greenies,” someone called from the darkness.
“Yeah, destruction of forests is what we do!” someone else yelled. A few cheered and others laughed.
“Do you want to hear the story or not?” Lisbeth snapped.
They grumbled but subsided.
“The caats are big—larger than a wolf,” she said. “They have fangs the size of your hand, and one swipe of their tail can knock out a grown man.
“One night, a group of loggers sat around their campfire, much like this.” She gestured to the fire. “A frigid wind blew through the trees.” At that moment, a cold breeze whipped through the camp. Lisbeth shivered.
“The caats encircled the camp, howling.”
“That’s stupid, cats don’t howl,” one of the men said.
A low, menacing wail started behind Lisbeth and moved through the trees at the edge of the camp. It grew just loud enough for all to hear, then stopped.
Lisbeth shrugged. “These aren’t normal cats—they’re alien caats, remember? Who knows what they sound like?”
The wail made its way around the camp again. The men looked nervously at each other, casting glances over their shoulders.
“The next morning, they found a circle of dead animals surrounding their camp,” Lisbeth went on. “Tiny rodents, laid out tail to nose, all around the camp.”
Something flickered on the edge of her vi
sion, and one of the loggers jumped with a muffled shriek.
“What?” others demanded.
“There’s a mouse,” the man said, pointing. “It’s dead.”
Silence reigned around the campsite for a moment. A couple of men chuckled nervously and ribbed their companion. “Ooh, scary mice!”
“Those cats killed a bunch of mice,” someone said. “Maybe they dropped one.”
“But it wasn’t there before!” the man said.
“You just didn’t see it. Stop interrupting.”
They all looked at Lisbeth, dismissing the incident.
Lisbeth gulped. “That night, the caats howled again.” She paused, but nothing happened. “The second morning, the camp looked like a tornado had plowed through. Every piece of equipment was flipped over or thrown across the camp. But the tents where the men slept hadn’t been touched. And they hadn’t heard a thing.”
Behind Lisbeth, a loud bang rang out. That last line had been a mistake. She bit back a snicker.
“What the hell was that?” someone yelled.
Individual lights flashed on, throwing strange shadows on the assembled loggers. They all hurried across the camp, past the sleeping modules, their lights swinging and intersecting as they ran. Lisbeth ran after.
On the edge of the camp, one of the stump grinders lay on its side. Large paw-prints encircled the piece of equipment.
“Right, someone is messing with us,” Fortescue said. “Lisbeth, who are you working with?”
“I’m not working with anyone,” she exclaimed. “I was just telling a story.”
“Sure.” Fortescue grabbed her arm. “How do you explain that?” He pointed at the damaged grinder.
She held up her hands. They were shaking. “I can’t explain it. But those are big pawprints.”
Fortescue glared at the ground and at the woman beside him. “What else happens in this story of yours?” He shook her arm. “Finish the story.”
“The next night, the caats attacked the camp and ate all the loggers,” she babbled. “The cook only survived because she was locked inside the kitchen, and they couldn’t get to her. When she came out, she found only bones.”
“Ridiculous,” Fortescue snapped. “I’ve been logging these woods for years. Never heard such a stupid story.” He turned to the men. “Set a guard all around the camp. Keep watch. I don’t want any rival companies sneaking in here to damage my equipment. The rest of you, go to bed. Storytime is over.”
The men muttered as they left, giving her dirty looks. When they’d dispersed, Fortescue dragged her back to the kitchen. He shoved her roughly through the door. “Get in there where you belong. And make sure breakfast is ready on time.” He slammed the door. “If anything is damaged, the repairs are coming out of your pay!” he called.
Sashelle sat on the counter, grooming her tail.
“That went badly.” Lisbeth sank onto a stool.
Not really, Sashelle said.
“What do you mean?” the woman asked.
The caat didn’t answer.
“Do you want to go out before I start breakfast?” Lisbeth asked as she unlatched the kitchen door.
Sashelle yawned and stretched. We must see what our subterfuge has wrought.
Lisbeth gave her a funny look and opened the door.
The camp was deserted. The buildings stood empty, their doors swinging open in the gentle breeze. Hundreds of pawprints covered the dusty ground.
“Wha—what’s going on?” Lisbeth asked. “Are they trying to prank me? Where is everyone?”
Sashelle didn’t answer. She prowled to the skinny man’s box and swaggered through the open door. Lisbeth followed behind, gazing around the empty camp.
The chair lay on its side. The empty cages had been reduced to mangled piles of wire. Papers lay strewn about the floor, and the cylindrical demon beeped angrily from behind a pile of fallen books.
“Where’s Mr. Fortescue?” Lisbeth asked as she righted the chair. “Where is everyone else?”
Sashelle licked her paw. They have been eliminated.
“But what happened?” The woman stared around the room in confusion. Then she hurried out the door, calling out, “Hello? Anyone here?”
Sashelle strolled back into the sunlight. She crossed the camp, stopping by the woman’s side. The pride took care of them.
“The pride?” She sank onto one of the fallen trees used for seats by the campfire. “But where did the men go? Did you—did they—did they get eaten?”
Sashelle jumped into the woman’s lap and curled up. No bones.
“But—”
Don’t worry about it, she told her human. They are not your concern.
“They’ll be back,” Lisbeth said. “Maybe not those men, but others.”
Then we will stop them again. Sashelle’s whiskers twitched. I must talk to the Larrys. She jumped out of the woman’s lap and strutted to the woods. Lisbeth rose slowly and trailed behind.
Both Larrys jumped down from a tree as she approached.
Your plan was successful, Little Larry said.
But I had to ask for help, she said.
There’s no harm in that, Little Larry said.
But I was on quest!
Even on quest, a caat can ask for help. That’s what the pride is for.
Sashelle nodded.
Large Larry bowed his head. The queen has named you Eliminator of Vermin.
Pride rose in Sashelle’s chest. A fitting title, she replied with a smug sweep of her tail.
Will you return with us?
Sashelle glanced at the woman behind her. She looked at the Larrys and the other eyes peeking through the foliage. Not today, she finally said. I don’t think the humans will be deterred so easily. I will travel with this woman, and we will eliminate the vermin in other places.
Be well, Eliminator of Vermin. Be bold. Little Larry said. They both nodded and slunk away. The other eyes disappeared, and the pride returned to their lands.
Sashelle looked at Lisbeth. We have much to do and see. Will you travel with me?
Lisbeth looked around the empty camp, then down at the caat. “I’m glad you’re my friend.”
Sashelle blinked. We are an excellent team. Fetch your demon disk and we will go.
The woman laughed. “I think we’ll take the rover. Would you like to be carried, Eliminator of Vermin?”
You may transfer me to the vehicle. And l require scritches.
Lisbeth picked up the cat and carried her away while scratching her ears.
Julia Huni writes science fiction full of heart and humor. She studied Computer Science and National Security, both of which she ignores when writing stories involving computers and politics. While serving in the US Air Force, she worked on a NASA program, and thus considers herself a rocket scientist. She lives with her spouse, three children, Pippin the Wonder Westie.
Find out more at juliahuni.com/sashelle.
24
The Hacker
By Kasia Lasinska
Yesterday, I was supposed to die. Today, I have to disappear. Only a Hellcat can hack her way out of this one.
My Deathday was yesterday.
The Grand Alliance of American States—the GA—had always taught us that the eight-digit date emblazoned on our wrists didn’t lie. We were born with those digits, and when the numbers lined up with the calendar, we would die.
Apparently, the numbers did lie, because I was still here. Alive and kicking.
The night wasn’t exactly what I’d call pleasant, though. Excruciating electric shocks, building up from my wrist and shooting through my entire body like a geyser…then falling back into a tumultuous half-sleep, wondering whether this was it. Would I wake again, or would I finally fall into oblivion’s dark embrace?
I stumbled downstairs into the kitchen for breakfast, looking for Mom. Maybe she knew what was going on. I grabbed a bread roll off the basket on the counter, stuffing a chunk in my mouth. My throat was dry, but I was cert
ain it had nothing to do with the bread.
Mom’s mouth fell open and her hand flew to her chest as she caught sight of me. “Emmeline—what on earth?”
“Mom? What’s happening? Why didn’t I die?” Mom hurried to close the blinds, her dark eyes flitting to the street corner. “No Safety Patrols.” She wrapped her arms around me in a tight embrace, tears streaming down her face. “I can’t believe this…”
“Mom, I need answers.” I needed to know why, out of the millions of people living in the GA, I was the only one who’d survived past my Deathday. This wasn’t normal. “I need to know—”
She shook her head, cutting me off. “I’m afraid I don’t have the answers. But Emmeline Vega, listen to me.” She peeked through the blinds again. “It’s not safe for you here. You need to go. Immediately. Get somewhere safe and then disconnect your comp from the network.”
“What?”
“You remember how to do it, right?”
“Of course I remember. But why would I want to?” I could do anything from inside the network. I knew all the backdoors and the ins and outs of the governmental systems. Permanently disconnecting my comp would be like willingly handing over my food rations to the Safety Patrols.
“You’ll still be able to continue using your comp without being traced. Give yourself a new identity, like Dad taught you.”
I winced. It was painful to think about Dad. Mom hardly ever brought him up, not since that fateful night…
“I’ll disconnect it now.” I pulled my comp—a small, gray rectangular device we had to carry at all times—out of my pocket.
“No, not here. Please, Em. You need to go. The Patrols will be here any minute to pick up your body and deliver your death certificate. If you’re still here…” She blanched. “Focus on getting someplace safe. Find shelter first.”
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