Strange Days
08 Jul 2019Sally Forth
It's been a strange couple of weeks. I only remember parts of it.Being interviewed by a tall woman of Indian stock: Dr. Chandra, senior psychiatrist at the Archambault Terminal Infimary. Hearing the murmurs of "post-trauma psychosis," between the medical staff afterwards.
Angelo escorting me back to the apartment I used to live in. Unsurprisingly, given the chaos of late, looters have been through it, and there is precious little left. I find, amongst the wreckage, an undamaged picture of my family and myself. I gaze at it. I know that I should be upset by the ruin of my home. But, like when I look at the family picture....I don't feel anything at all.
Angelo stands respectfully by the door. His face is sad. Oh, if our roles were reversed - if one of your best friends had gone crazy - I'd feel sad too.
Am I crazy?
The cats cautiously prowl around the apartment, sniffing at things and leaping onto furniture. It took the psychiatrist to explain to be that only I can see the cats; Angelo had kept, ah, pussyfooting around the subject.
Maybe I am insane. Only I can see these cats. Gives a whole new meaning to 'crazy cat lady'...
I vaguely remember Dr. Chandra talking to someone in military uniform. He was a tall, distinguished-looking man with a great sadness in his eyes. He was of high rank (maybe a Vice-Admiral?) and his name badge said 'Dixon'. Not long after that, they gave me a tranquilliser. Angelo saying "I'll see you when I see you, Sally."
A tear runs down his face. Bless him.
Half-asleep in what looks like an operating theatre. My hair is shaved off and then unconscious again.
And then I am awake, in a dimly lit room, a really quite small room. "Lights..." I say drowsily, and lamps slowly brighten. I roll out of a bunk and stare around the room. No. It's not a room. It's a cabin.
The black cat and the tortoiseshell land lightly on the floor and pad out of the doorway. The tabby leaps onto my shoulders and balances as I stand.
What am I wearing?
Looks almost like armour. And now I know what it is. A RemLok. As worn by starship pilots. I am on board a Faulcon DeLacy Sidewinder. I know how to fly it. There is knowledge in my head that definitely was not there before. I make my way to the cramped cockpit and lower myself into the pilots seat, casting my eyes over the glowing orange of the displays. The cats find comfortable places to sit and watch me expectantly.
"Oh well," I mutter to them, "guess it's better than being sectioned...."
Back and forth. Back and forth. Trading at first. Then I start taking missions. My credit balance creeps up. Then one day, finally, I have enough money to buy a better frame shift drive for the ship. And a detailed surface scanner. Utilising the 'green dot' technique, my money suddenly skyrockets.
Within a week, I can afford an A-rated Cobra.
Missions. Trading. Fighting off pirates. Pleiades and back. It's all becoming a blur.
One thing stands out. As I'm driving round a Thargoid barnacle site, seeking meta-alloys, the SRV passes close to one of those weird scavenger critters. The cats are up against the glass, backs arched, hissing and spitting...
The cats have names!
Mackenzie aka Mack (the one who is black).
Annie, short for Annabel (the tortoiseshell)
Gabrielle aka Gabby (yep you guessed it...the tabby).
I know these are not normal cats. They do not need feeding. They don't pee and crap everywhere (yay!). They are unaffected by zero-g; they just happily walk on any surface as if it was 'down'.
I really don't know what they are. I do not care. They are my reason to live.
Looking at myself in the mirror. Hair is growing back. You know what? I'm going to have dreadlocks! Never allowed them as a kid, and obviously unsuitable for a respectable mother-of-two.
My little girls. Sweet, intelligent and adorable. Why can't I grieve for you?
Oh. Of course. Because I'm crazy.
Davis. Such a calm, hard-working, sensible man, with a subtle sense of humour. Why can't I cry for you?
Me crazeeee! Mad! Disturbed!
I'm stood in the cockpit of Purr, my Cobra Mk3. The cats are strutting round in excitement. We have just docked at the megaship Sadler's Song and will be departing in just a few hours.
Driven round a few Guardian sites. Found some materials. Taken down a dozen Sentinels. But can I find the bloody pylons? Bugger this for a game of soldiers!
Cats weirdly calm and staring in fascination at million-year old architecture.
I understand they're paying good money for exploration data somewhere in the Pleiades. Ah, what the hell. These Guardian places aren't going anywhere. Thirty-four jumps. Feels like a long way. Better get moving.