Author: Andrew Mackay
Category: Humorous
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/andrew-mackay/page,5,517729-star_cat_infinity_claws_a_science_fiction_and_fantasy_adventure_the_star_cat_series_-_book_1_2nd_edition.html
"I think we have a winner," Gunnar pointed at the first podium, "Jelly Anderson."
The crowd cheered as they watched Jelly’s face appear on the mega-screen.
"Wow!" Jamie said and clutched Emily’s arm, "Mom, Jelly won."
"I know." Emily wasn’t as over-the-moon as her son, though. The hissing noise swam around the arena walls, making her uneasy. "I don’t quite believe it."
Jelly walked around the podium and displayed her tail to the audience. It was as if she knew she’d won something.
Twenty-six seconds into the noise, another whump sounded off. Jelly looked up and screamed at the ceiling.
Cindee and Bullet turned to each other, angrily, ready for war once again.
"No, no, no," Gunnar said to the two cats, "Not again."
Cindee and Bullet propelled themselves forward and jumped into the air.
Their bodies collided in mid-air. They squealed as they swiped at each other and landed onto Jelly’s activity desk.
Jelly backed up and watched the two tear themselves apart.
"No. Cindee!" Fiorina stood up and begged the handlers to intervene. They were too far away to hear her, "Please make them stop!"
Jelly trundled around the fighting duo and analyzed the situation. She waited for an opportune moment to strike.
She sat up straight and meowed at the top of her lungs. Cindee and Bullet turned to the side and shot Jelly a look of confusion.
Jelly ran her tongue over her teeth and let out a very low howl.
Bullet pushed Cindee away and jumped back to her feet. Cindee rolled around and sat on the corner of the console.
Jelly growled once again, telling the pair off. At least, that’s what it looked like on the giant screen. Two disobedient and unruly pets brought to task by their victor.
"The judges’ decision is in," Gunnar said to the audience, "The winner is… Jelly Anderson."
The crowd exploded with delight.
Fiorina burst into tears.
"That’s not fair," she turned to Bullet’s owner sitting in the row behind her. "Your cat ruined Cindee’s chances."
"It wasn’t my fault," the man tried not to get upset at Bullet’s strange behavior.
"Hey, stop it," Jamie said to the pair. He turned his attention to the inconsolable girl in front of him, "Please don’t cry."
"Cindee lost," she snorted through her tears and pointed at the screen, "Jelly won. It’s not fair."
"Yeah." Jamie looked at Jelly’s face on the screen. She had won, and there was no doubt that she knew.
Her vital statistics appeared on the screen.
Gunnar approached Jelly and lifted her into his arms, "Jelly Anderson, you’re through to the finals. Next month, at Cape Claudius."
Jamie and Emily should have joined the elation coming from the audience in the arena, but they were more concerned about Jelly’s response to the fight.
And what the future now held for her.
CHAPTER FOUR
Emily and Jamie sat in first class on their transatlantic flight. It was an experience neither of them could have foreseen happening in their lifetimes.
Citizens of the United Kingdom rarely, if ever, were in receipt of such luxuries. Much like the rest of the confederate states of Europe.
Jamie remembered his father telling him about their ancestors being able to travel freely from country to country. Many made it a hobby. Jamie’s great-great-grandfather boasted about his conquests at the turn of the twenty-first century. He’d managed to travel the world with relative freedom and blow all his wealth on alcohol and women.
And it was just as well, too.
If he hadn’t have been so reckless with money, he wouldn’t have met his future wife who would go on to give birth to Jamie’s grandfather.
Now, with much of planet Earth’s natural resources close to nothing, and with the weather’s increasingly erratic temperament, commercial airliners operated one or two flights a week.
Oh, how wonderful it must have been to be alive at the turn of the twenty-first century, Jamie wondered. But this lucky little boy would be the only one among his friends to have ever flown amongst the clouds and visit another country outside of what used to be known as Europe.
Sure, he’d seen America before in virtual reality. But nothing could compare to actually going there.
Jelly Anderson had won the UK heats in the Star Cat Trials. They were on their way to Cape Claudius in South Texas for the international finals in two days’ time.
Jelly wasn’t able to enjoy the flight’s first class luxuries that USARIC had laid on for her owners. She was ensconced in the fuselage along with all the other animals.
The standard six month quarantine had been expedited to just six days for Jelly Anderson.
"Mom?"
"Yes, poppet?" Emily asked, enjoying the comfort of her reclining first class seat and took a sip from her umpteenth flute of champagne.
"What happens if Jelly wins?"
"Wins the Star Cat Trials?"
"Yes."
"They’ll send her into space."
"But, why?"
"They won’t tell us why. I think USARIC just want to be the first to put a cat in space."
Jamie mulled over his mother’s response, "But why would you want to be a cat in space, mom?"
"I really don’t know, poppet. But they pay a lot of money," Emily took a mouthful of champagne and swished it around her mouth, "And, anyway, Jelly will be perfectly safe. They’ve been sending people to the moon and other planets for over a hundred years, now."
"Yes, but they are all human people."
"Exactly. So a little cat shouldn’t be too much of a problem, right?"
"Hmm."
Jamie turned to his right and looked out of his window. The clouds drifted slowly under the curvature of what seemed like the end of the planet. Looking up, he could make out the edge of the dark, bleakness of space that hung above.
"Mom?"
Emily sighed and pressed the side of her face against her headrest, trying to relax. She closed her eyes, "Yes, poppet. What is it?"
"Space is really high in the sky, isn’t it?"
Jamie looked past his reflection in the window and pressed his nose against the glass. His mother didn’t answer.
"It’s like, really high…"
He turned around for a response, only to find his mother had fallen asleep in something of a drunken stupor…
USARIC’s The One Arena
Cape Claudius
South Texas: South-eastern Peninsula
(One hundred miles north of Corpus Christi)
"You join us here at Cape Claudius on a bright and sunny day for what should prove to be the mother of all finals…"
The news reporter, a feisty young lady named Dreenagh Remix, stood in front of thousands of people lined up at the entrance to The One arena.
A road split the crowd in two sections, barricaded by signage advertising the Star Cat Trials - a black canvas with a silhouette of a cat looking up at the stars.
Heavily armed guards adorned the entrance to the arena. Flashing lights from various personal handsets took pictures.
Fans of the show took selfies. They tried to catch Dreenagh’s attention as she reported to the floating camera drone in front of her.
"As you can see, the event has drawn quite an impressive crowd. Indivimedia has gone off the charts," Dreenagh inspected her forearm. The black ink-like substance showed on screen, spinning numbers around at a furious rate, "It seems half the planet’s population is tuning in to see just who will win today’s spectacular event. Over to the data-glaze now for the odds-on favorites here, today, at Cape Claudius."
The screen flashed and buzzed, revealing the betting odds for the finalists.
Soozie Q-Two (USA) - 20/1
J. Anderson (UK) - 12/1
Bisoubisou (Russia) - 6/1
(all other contestants 25/1 bar)
A black limousine pulled up along the road to a deafening cho
rus of approval from the insatiable crowd.
Dreenagh approached a little girl cheering behind the railings. She held her wrist to the girl’s face, "Hey, there, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"
"Yes, it’s okay," the girl said, keeping her attention on the limousine.
"Who’s your favorite to win the finals today?" Dreenagh asked over the roars from the crowd.
"I like Bisoubisou, the Russian Blue cat," the girl said, pulling out her personal handset. She enlarged a picture of a particularly striking gray face and whiskers. The cat’s yellow eyes perfected the determined look, "She’s got the agility and fight in her. I think she’ll beat everyone else."
The limousine crept to a halt.
Two security guards opened the back passenger door and allowed the couple out.
A woman in her forties stepped out from the passenger side, dressed in an expensive dress and shade-wear. The crowd whistled and whooped as she posed for several hovering drones, all hungry for her image.
The woman kept the door open for her five-year-old son. He clutched a medium-sized cage in his hands and waved at the crowd as the car door shut behind him. Like his mother, he sported expensive shade-wear. He removed them so the crowd could get a decent look at his smug, over-confident face.
"Look, there he is. Remy Gagarin," the little girl squealed, unable to contain her excitement, "Remy! I love you!"
Remy couldn’t hear his fan’s screams of adulation. He walked along the carpet with his mother, who threatened to steal the thunder with her incredible beauty.
"One has to wonder," Dreenagh commented over the scene, "If Remy Gagarin’s mother, Elena, isn’t trying to vie for some commercial work. She looks absolutely stunning as she makes her way with her son over to the arena."
The Manuel
Individimedia and the future of communication
Pg 301,133
(exposition dump #109/3b)
Those of you who were born in the middle of the last century may remember something called Social Media. A concept noble in intent and, for a short while, rather successful.
It began in earnest at the turn of the twenty-first century. Several “websites” (i.e. pages on the internet connected by computers and “modems”) were set up. Some failed, and others succeeded. The intention of social media was to connect people together.
And connect, it did.
Family, friends, acquaintances, and strangers-in-law.
What the investors of Social Media could not have foreseen was the temerity of the people who used their service. In order for it to be free they had to give up their privacy.
Around twenty years after its inception, people realized quite quickly that other people “sucked” (an outmoded term for “not being much use.”)
The irony of social media was that, in trying to get users to socialize, it had the complete opposite effect. So used to utilizing these platforms were the users that they forgot how to operate as human beings. Particularly when it came to interpersonal relations.
Marriages broke up.
Some humans forgot how to speak.
Interaction with others grew into an art form.
ADD (Attention Deficit Disorders, and it’s High Definition variant, ADHD) became common place.
The Social Media war lasted ten days. It claimed over twenty million casualties - all over one idiotic comment a user left on someone’s video of their dog jumping from a roof into a paddling pool.
In 2068, Social Media was outlawed in a desperate bid to reverse the damage.
Popular “video” streaming sites were closed down.
People were forced to physically interact once again.
It was absolute chaos.
The events that followed the prohibition of Social Media gave rise to the vastly superior concept of Individimedia.
Harnessing the same connectivity, Individimedia was an altogether different beast. Some experts argue that it went right where its predecessor went wrong.
Individmedia, simply put, espoused the virtues of individual broadcast and fame. It did not include the ability to comment or interact via those channels.
The result was a return to physical interaction. Today, Individimedia is installed on the left forearm of all human beings born after the year 2070.
It’s powered by micro pulses from the user’s brain. No need for batteries.
A simple tap on your skin, and the universe’s database of knowledge is at your disposal.
You can also broadcast yourself to others.
In the early part of the twenty-first century, the same people would have owned ridiculous devices such as “smart” phones (#irony, as the same imbeciles might have joked at the time - “smart”) and ghastly contraptions called tablets. Rectangular pieces of junk that rarely operated properly, if ever.
Thankfully, the only “tablets” users have today are the ones needed to quell their anxiety. We have to thank for Large Pharma for that.
God bless Large Pharma.
And God bless Individimedia.
***
Jamie and Emily sat in the back of their limousine as it made its way to the arena.
The back passenger window displayed a news reporter; a smartly-dressed man with a powerful voice named Santiago Sibald, in the middle of an Individimedia newscast.
“Tensions between the United States and Russia escalated earlier today when foreign diplomat minister, Viktor Rabinovich, was rushed to hospital after taking ill in a restaurant in Minneapolis Two.”
Shaky camera footage showed medicians operating a stretcher drone into the back of an air ambulance. Viktor lay unconscious on it with breathing apparatus over his face. The medicians slid their patient into the helicopter and flew away from the concerned onlookers.
“Unconfirmed reports speculate that Rabinovich had been poisoned with a toxic nerve agent,” Santiago continued as the footage wiped away to reveal his face, “If these assertions prove to be true, it could spell disaster for diplomacy between the United States and Russia, and unravel all attempts at peace. For more on this story, make sure you link up to my Individimedia channel. This is Santiago Sibald.”
“Poppet,’ Emily swiped the screen off, “Pay attention. We’re nearly here.”
Jelly sat in her cage and toyed with the bars.
"Mom, look," Jamie pointed at the windshield. The arena, and surrounding fuss, crept into view. "There it is."
"Oh, wow," Emily leaned forward and suddenly felt the enormity of the ordeal thunder through her body, "There are thousands of them."
Remy and his mother reached the doors to the arena and turned around for a final wave.
"Bisoubisou, Bisoubisou," the crowd chanted the clear favorite contender of the day.
Remy held up the cage for the crowd. Most couldn’t see what lay behind the bars. Only those in the first few rows caught a glimpse of the gray, petrified cat wanting to be whisked away from the commotion.
"Hey," a blue-haired man shouted from the railings, "Cease this cruelty right now."
"Oh my," Dreenagh said to her camera-drone, "What’s going on here? Looks like someone is making a go for Remy."
The blue-haired man ushered his gang through the crowd and hopped over the railings, waving his placard at them.
“Is that who I think it is?” Dreenagh asked. “It looks like Handax Skill. We’re in trouble, now.”
"Bring that animal back here,” Handax threatened Remy.
"No," the kid shouted in his thick Russian accent, "Leave us alone."
The crowd went silent as the man held up his placard. The sign on the front contained a picture of the USARIC logo with a red strike through it. Underneath it in big, bold letters read:
P.A.A.C.
People Against Animal Cruelty
The crowd choked with silence as the man reached into his jacket.
"This is an outrage," Handax shot Dreenagh a look of evil and turned to his gang, "We will not lie down until USARIC reverses its decisio
n to use animals for space exploration."
"Death to human scum who practice inhumane treatment of animals," screamed a female PAAC member.
She threw her placard to the ground and removed her denim jacket, revealing a vest stuffed with dynamite and wires tightened around her waist, "Good people, we cannot allow this corporate terriful practice to affect animals. Free the animals."
The audience froze still, afraid to move. The armed security detail pointed their weapons at them. "Person! Raise your arms in the air and slowly lower yourself to your knees."
"No," the girl gripped her utility chain and threatened to yank it, "We demand satisfaction. Remy Gagarin, you have the facility and audience to do the right thing. In front of all Indivimedia, open the cage and let your pet free. Do the right thing."
Remy, not knowing how to react, turned to his mother for a response. She spat at the floor and lowered her shade-wear down the bridge of her nose.
"Remy, do not listen to them. They are imbeciles."
Contrary to his mother’s command, Remy set the cage to the floor. He didn’t want to die in a terrorist attack.
"That’s right," the girl said with a smile, "Now open the cage—"
"—Person," the main security guard roared, "I repeat, release the chain and put your arms in the air."
Dreenagh’s drone zoomed over to the commotion and joined dozens of others.
Jamie slid his thumb across the back passenger window, activating it.
"Individimedia Zero-Five," Jamie said.
The sheen on the glass sparked and displayed a live feed from the drone. The ticker-tape underneath read "Live From The One Arena, Cape Claudius. Terrorist Siege Underway."
"Mom, look!" Jamie pointed at the screen, sending his mother into a fit of anxiety, “It’s that man with the blue hair who gave us Jelly.”
"Driver?" Emily asked.
"Yes?"
"Look at your feed."
"Oh, no. Not them again." The driver slammed on the brakes and caught the live feed in the corner of his rear view mirror, “They’re always causing trouble.”