Andrew Mackay - Pink Symphony

“Hey, Oxade,” yelled the driver as he stepped on the gas, “Stop flirting with them, they’ve had enough.”

Oxade hissed at the petrified cats, scaring them half to death, “Ha-ha!”

He thumped his foot on the roof and shouted over his shoulder. “We must have at least thirty of them, now.”

“Where are the rest?”

“I don’t know, but we’ll get them,” Oxade took a final look at the feline captives, “Won’t we, my little pedigree chums?”

The 4x4 sped off past the trees and into the horizon. The noise from the engine dissipated only to be replaced by crickets.

Ten seconds later, a wet nose appeared from one of the trees. All clear.

Then another nose moved out from another tree…

… and another…

… until twenty or so female felines of different breeds, sizes and colors emerged, knowing they were safe – for now.

The leader of the pack, a gorgeous panther-esque Egyptian Mau with silver eyes, howled at the others, wanting their attention.

Scores of tiny spiders crept across the ground, snaking in and out of their paws.

The cats clawed back at them, stomping, and squishing a few of the spindly creatures as they scuttled away.

Mau snarled at the surviving spiders. She roared at the ground, scaring them off.

The cats instinctively formed a crescent around her and sat on their haunches. They were ready for answers.

Mau shifted around, lifted her tail and showed them all her behind. Everyone knew who was in charge, now.

“Meow,” the cats replied in unison.

Mau wandered toward the water, knowing the others were following her. She averted her attention to the bright moon and stopped at the shoreline.

The cats sat upright behind her.

Mau licked her mouth and shook the fatigue from her head. The light from the moon streaked across her pupils.

“Meow.”

The other cats followed suit. “Meow.”

A wondrous sight to behold if anyone had seen it. Thirty or so escapees looking at the stars in the night sky. Thankful for the chance for freedom.

The call-outs to the moon occurred again, and again… until the chorus of meows from each cat blended into one prolonged and eerie howl at the moon…

Tor held the analog keyboard in his hands, restricted in movement by the wires connecting to the deck. Manuel’s holographic book hung in the air as they conversed.

“Manuel, what is your primary function?”

“To serve the crew of Space Opera Beta and to act as autopilot.”

“Good,” Tor punched the results onto the keys and turned to the transparent screen in front of the deck. He felt the rim of his Decapidisc, lamenting the day ever he fell on the wrong side of his crew. “Confirm coordinates of Opera Beta, please.”

Manuel folded his spine and conked out for a couple of seconds.

“Manuel?”

“Yes, Tor?”

“Confirm Opera Beta coordinates, please. Command prompt. One, zero, six, forward slash, one, zero.”

The numbers appeared in as a green digital readout over the front of the book.

“The coordinates are precisely the same as before. That is to say, zero, zero, zero, zero—”

“—Okay, stop. I get the picture.”

Tor shook his head and typed a prompt on the keyboard, “Commencing scan, please standby.”

Tripp and Wool ran into the deck ahead of Jaycee escorting Baldron through the door, “Tor, are we up and running?”

“Yes, we—” he turned around and saw Tripp clutching his Rez-9. It made him nervous, “What’s going on? Why the gun?”

“Didn’t you hear what I told you?” Tripp scanned the walls and ceiling ready to blast whatever might pop out from the walls, “The whole place is breaking up.”

“Breaking up?”

“It’s sick, comrade,” Baldron spat and caught Tor’s attention, “There’s these things breaking into the ship, Viktor. We’re not in space anymore, comrade.”

Tor eyed Baldron’s Decapidisc. It seemed to him that whoever was wearing one was considered to be the bad guy.

“Comrade,” Baldron stepped over to Tor and opened his arms for a hug. The pair found they couldn’t hug on account of the metal discs around their necks..

“Hey!” Jaycee threatened the pair with his K-SPARK shotgun. “Less of that stupidity. Get a room.”

“We had a room,” Tor chewed down the urge to scream, “We were perfectly safe in N-Carcerate till you forced us out.”

Baldron closed his eyes and tugged at his Decapidisc, “No, no, that’s where the things got in.”

“Will someone please tell me what he’s talking about?” Tor asked. “What things?”

Tripp checked signs of damage on the control deck, “They’re big and ugly, and vicious. Whatever they are.”

Baldron eyed Jaycee, only to receive a knowing wink from him.

“You don’t say.”

“How’s Manuel? We need to get the thrusters up and running and get the hell out of here.”

Tor placed the keyboard on the control deck and hit the return key, “Functional, but still confused. I found something, though.”

Wool kept her right hand near her belt’s hand gun holster. “What did you find?

“A video message. Sent just before we went dark.”

“Oh.”

Tripp knew the content of the message. He had hoped to keep the details to himself, “The one from USARIC?”

Tor couldn’t bear to look at his captain. “Yeah. Look.” He hit a key. The holovideo to projected into the middle of the control deck.

Maar Sheck, CEO of USARIC, read from a prepared holographic statement at a podium.

“Following the death of Viktor Rabinovich, Deputy Dimitri Vasilov and the news of Russian infiltration on Space Opera Beta, USARIC will cease operation with immediate effect.”

Baldron took a few steps around the holovideo and glanced at Tor, “So, they know?”

“Seems so,” Tor nodded as the video played out.

Maar continued, “All diplomatic relations have been suspended with immediate effect. It is with regret that all Russian operatives are to be ejected from American soil, and vice versa.”

Jaycee didn’t take the revelation very well at all. He stomped over to the keyboard and hit the pause button. “You mean to tell me that Russia and North America are now at war?”

Tripp shook his head, “Not quite war . More a divorce, if you like.”

“It wasn’t our fault,” Tor complained. “It was the brainchild of Dimitri Vasilov. We were only following orders.”

“Much like my button on my glove, here,” Jaycee held up his wrist and teased the button on his glove with his finger.

“Stop doing that!” Baldron and Tor screamed in unison.

“Jaycee, stop—” Wool tried to placate the angry mercenary as he pushed Baldron against the control deck.

“Hey, imbecile.”

“Please don’t kill me,” Baldron felt along the rim of the deck and pulled himself away from Jaycee. “I swear, it wasn’t—”

“— Earth is about to start a second cold war because of you . I have family back home.”

Tripp tried to placate the angry giant’s temper, “Jaycee, all of us have family back home.”

“You shut up,” Jaycee pointed at Tripp and screamed at him for the first time – close to two years’ worth of pent-up frustration against his colleague.

Tripp lowered his gun, stunned beyond comprehension, “ Okaaay ?”

Jaycee socked Baldron in the face. The side of his body hit the deck, accidentally hitting the play button on the keyboard.

“Oww.”

“You’re gonna get us all killed,’ Jaycee spat and blenched his fist.