| 'Cats Don't | 
| |
| Cry' | by Myra Howerd, June 1992 | |
| Copywrite held by Claudia Klaus, P.O. Box 5102, Mackay M.C., QLD 4741, Australia |
| 'Cats Don't |
| |
| Cry' | by Myra Howerd, June 1992 | |
| Copywrite held by Claudia Klaus, P.O. Box 5102, Mackay M.C., QLD 4741, Australia |
Hungry. The matter was becoming urgent, so Myra decided to attach herself to one of the soldiers and wait for food. That intention established, she opted for the pilot as the best bet since she knew he hadn't eaten yet. His tent was next to the Sergeant's, in keeping with his higher status, presumably having been erected by one or more of the ordinary footsoldiers while he'd been busy back in the shuttle.
The girl ducked in and found her alien in deep conversation with another she instantly assumed to be the Sergeant, the rumbling basso of their voices echoing strangely in her head. It wasn't too hard to guess what the subject was, for in front of her unwitting benefactor was the strange box-like shape, now partly swathed in a soft cloth, the first non-leather material Myra had seen so far.
Without hesitation the girl entered the gloomy tent and went straight up to the box, reaching out to touch it, but an enormous alien hand intercepted her and pulled her past it to a leathery lap.
Myra squirmed, not too hard; she still needed food and besides, the box would still be there afterwards. Now that she was so near to it she could sense it directly, feel it as a warm, radiant source akin to a gently glowing hearth. It was so unexpected she even forgot her echoing hunger for a moment, fascinated with its aliveness.
The alien hand relaxed a little as the girl turned away from the strange box and instead inspected the lap she was confined to. As far as she could tell the material was identical to that of the Sergeant's, having the same texture and sweaty fragrance. As she fitted herself to the more comfortable thigh muscle she wondered briefly if the nominal human-ness of these aliens extended to all the less obvious details hidden by the long trouser-like clothing...
The discussion was almost over, that much was soon apparent as the other massive hand reached out to cover the strange artefact and place it reverently to one side of the tent. By now the Earth-girl could recognise the essential colouration of the words and could tell when a question was being asked or an order given. The conversation she was hearing now held none of these elements, having instead an even patter that soon became monotonous.
It was rapidly becoming darker inside the tent and she wasn't at all surprised when the pilot reached up to a device hanging on the central support and with some manipulation caused a soft blue light to shine from it. A lamp. Normal.
She decided to order dinner. Abruptly standing, she looked up at the perpetually sad alien features above her and spoke in firm tones.
"Hey! When's dinner served around here? Don't you guys ever quit yakking long enough to eat?"
Both sets of alien eyes fastened on her for a second before their owners resumed their conversation.
"Can you hear me? I know you can! Why can't you see I'm as intelligent as you are, that I'm trying to talk to you? Are you insensitive or just plain stupid... it's a wonder you guys ever survived space travel, you're supposed to have xeno-biologists... specialists of every kind! For all you know I could belong to a superior race..."
None of her prattle seemed to have any effect beyond a reflexive movement of her captor's other hand which came down to rub her head.
"Hey! Quit that, you're making a hell of a mess of my hair...!"
At that moment another guttural voice sounded from outside the tent, and after receiving a reply from the pilot the new alien pushed aside the flap to enter, two steaming bowls in his hands.
Myra immediately forgot the indignities she was suffering and fixed her gaze on the food. The pilot and the Sergeant each took a bowl and shifted to new positions in the tent before preparing to eat, placing the girl gently to one side where she watched as the second container was lifted up past her towards the alien visage.
Now that she was closer to it the food wasn't quite as attractive. It had a somewhat heavy odour vaguely reminiscent of old hay being spread on the garden... In spite of that the girl was willing to try it, for surely it would have some food value. She watched the two giants ladling it into their mouths with the alien version of spoons and wondered what it was. Soup?
'All foodstocks are of rehydrated vegetable matter.'
The thought was as cold and impersonally informative as before, but here in the tent, with her! Myra's mouth hung open in shock and involuntarily her eyes went to the flap-door of the tent. It was the very same... personality... that had answered her during the abortive ship repairs, the mental chill unmistakable. It was the ship, it had to be the ship! She moistened her lips, her hunger pushed aside with this new interest, this new impossibility. Carefully she formulated a question in her mind.
'Is the alien food edible for humans?' she silently projected.
'Insufficient data. Specify planet of origin.'
Myra paused in reflection. Was this a good idea...?
'Planet of origin is Earth,' she finally admitted.
'No record of planet Earth. No record of Alpha Centauri system. Terminating'
There was a distinct feeling of withdrawal, as if the source of the communication was going away, then there was nothing and the girl knew that she was alone once more.
What was this... this thing that spoke to her from the ship? How far could it reach, would it continue to communicate even though the ship had obviously been powered down, virtually abandoned? It must be capable of it, she realised.
What about the aliens, could they hear the exchange or were they getting similar contacts? Certainly they hadn't even twitched during the mental touch, continuing their slurping of their 'rehydrated vegetable matter'. Soup.
There was a mystery here, a random element that she couldn't pin down, a factor she could only guess the shape of but couldn't actually identify. She smiled as she realised the thing, whatever it was, had taken her earlier ranting at face value. Alpha Centauri indeed! It was a small comfort to know that she knew something it didn't...
The thought of soup tore her away from her puzzle, her stomach persistently reminding her of the immediate need. Food.
Once again she stood up and addressed the pilot.
"Hey mister, leave some for me..." She reached up and tugged at the long bony arm holding the spoon and the alien looked down at her in surprise, making another comment to his companion who rumbled back between his own spoonfuls.
Suddenly the bowl was put down on the fabric of the tent floor beside her and she leaned over to peer inside. Most of the contents was gone, but there was a residue that still steamed warmly. She looked up at the alien once more and found both faces staring down at her.
'At least they've noticed me!' she thought to herself wryly as she clambered across the immense lap to the food. Hesitantly she reached down and dipped a finger in before tasting. Ugh! Salty! The taste wasn't quite as bad as the smell so she quickly cupped both hands to scoop the liquid up. The bowl was nearly half a meter across, made of some dull metal dented and battered by dozens of similar camp meals. Myra had to lean over the lip to reach the centre where most of the soup lay, but she didn't mind. It was food.
When her sensibilities finally overcame her appetite she leaned back against the nearest alien leg to lick and suck the residue off her hands and arms. Anyone else might have been aghast at the thought of eating leftovers, especially leftovers of an alien meal, but Myra was a very practical girl far less concerned with appearances than any so-called normal person. Her upbringing with her twin Kelly had left her with an indifference to the mores of the 'outside' world, leaving her sister to absorb the tribal rules she herself considered irrelevant.
The result was something akin to a peasant girl of the Middle Ages, an ill-mannered brat ignorant of social mores but sharp with intelligence and wit and awareness of life. She was perfectly suited to the situation she now found herself in.
After the meal the aliens talked once more. This time the girl tried to concentrate on the sounds, to try to identify words and phrases, but it was difficult. That they were indeed words and that they made up a verbal language she didn't doubt, but most of the sounds were so deep she couldn't hear them properly, let alone assign speech values to them. Her head ached with the effort and it wasn't long before she admitted she wasn't winning.
How was she to communicate then? That she had to was perfectly plain; she had to find out so many things, things she couldn't afford to wait around to see the answers. Time was running out... somewhere...
How much time really had passed? Was Kelly still alive? Myra didn't know. Her own, subjective time-lapse was about twelve Earth hours, by her estimate. If they'd worked the changes out correctly at the start and if it maintained the nine-to-one ratio she and Kelly had determined at that time, then her sister had spent something less than two hours alone so far. Too many ifs...
As she mused the girl looked around the tent, still quite gloomy in spite of the soft radiance coming from way above her head. To one side a sleeping bag was laid out. She presumed it was such, for it had a lining and the correct shape. It seemed so... so normal she was surprised at first, but then she thought about it and decided that it wasn't all that odd. There couldn't be all that many ways for humanoids to keep warm when they sleep, assuming they did have to recharge, Earth-style.
On the other side of the floor was the utility kitbag identical to the ones each other soldier had worn. Remembering her earlier curiosity the girl shuffled across and inspected it more closely.
It was made of some coarsely woven material quite similar to the canvas she knew from Earth, with sundry metal buckles and fittings designed for different means of mounting.
With the tent up and most of the home comforts unpacked from it the bag was nearly empty now, but it did contain what the girl was looking for, the second container that had the endless capacity. She recognised the creamy colour first, in the dull blue-ness of the strange light she could no longer see the bright flashes that she'd glimpsed in the daylight. It wasn't very big, even by her standards, with a leather drawstring at the top. It seemed barely as large as she was and certainly not capable of accepting all the myriad items she knew had come from it.
The two aliens ignored her as she reached out and quietly lifted one side to peer in. Nothing but darkness. Carefully she put her hand in, then her arm, letting her fingers follow the inner surface of the fabric.
To her surprise she found the cloth curved away from the mouth of the bag and back in towards her. She finally put her whole arm in shoulder deep until she could feel the strangely slick material against her breast. It still felt the same.
It was as if she was passing her arm back through her own body!
What was this... this impossibility? A bag that was bigger inside than it was outside? At least that explained how it could hold so much, but what about the mass of the goods? Surely it still got heavy...?
She puzzled about it for some time, fingering the silk slippery material and thinking again of how useful that would be back on Earth. Imagine a handbag made of stuff like this!
When she let the mouth of the bag down she found that the real ground asserted itself in a perfectly normal way, forcing both the internal and external surfaces to conform to the planetary form. That gave her an idea, and without hesitation she wriggled her legs and body into the opening and lay down with her head outside and her body in the strange sack. Immediately she felt warmer and wondered what it was made of, this bag-bed of hers.
'The object you refer to has no material form.'
The impersonal presence was with her once more, hovering, waiting.
Myra thought furiously. It appeared that this... this thing was her only source of information and if she asked the right question...
'Why, then, is it visible?' she projected.
'You are observing the intersection of one space with another. Merely an interference pattern.'
'Interference patterns cannot be manipulated, they aren't physical objects, they can't warm people!' Myra felt indignation creep in.
'It is true they are not physical, but their form can be manipulated in spite of this. An optical lens manipulates light to present a particular interference pattern to the eye. A holographic display does the same without the benefit of the lens. In the present case two elements combine to cause the apparent physical features of the container. Local gravity distorts the original form, itself generated by a psi-field.'
A certain pedantry was creeping into the thought now as it attempted to explain the 'anything-bag' to the Earth-girl in terms she could accept.
'A psi-field? You mean they were literally dreamed into existence?' she projected incredulously.
'Correct.' Now that she seemed to get the picture the presence reverted to its monosyllabic character. This time it didn't withdraw but stayed... hovered in her awareness, as if waiting for something.
Myra concentrated fiercely on maintaining some form of insulation from it, trying to shield her whirling thoughts. What determined a successful barrier she had no idea, but she was sure there would be some logic to this... this genie she seemed to have inherited. Surely its makers had a means of shutting it out? Abruptly she had a brainwave.
'How do I shield my mind from you and others like you?' she asked bluntly. For the first time the cool thoughts hesitated, as if searching for a suitable answer and finding none.
'I am unable to penetrate mind, I can only respond to requests, queries and commands from authorised entities.' was the eventual answer.
'Am I an authorised entity?' Myra shot back, holding her breath. There was an even longer pause.
'Insufficient data.' As the meaning settled in her brain she once more felt the withdrawal, the removal of the chilly presence that seemed to have all the answers. Well, almost all, she thought with grim satisfaction.
Soon she found herself dozing, head on arms, as the monotony of the droning voices above lulled her to sleep. When she next awoke it was dark in the tent and it took some minutes for her eyes to adjust enough to see the pilot had inserted himself in his bag and was likewise asleep.
Myra's body was giving her warning signals that couldn't be ignored. Hastily she scrambled out of her strange bed and scuttled for the door flap, slipping out into cool soft darkness.
The trees. It would have to be the trees! Stumbling in the dark she swiftly made her way to the nearest trunk and when safely behind it faced up to the new reality.
Her system didn't like alien food.
As she shivered and squatted she looked up at the strange night sky and tried to recognise something. It wasn't all that different from the sky at home as far as she could remember it, but there was no Orion and no Pleiades. It simply wasn't the same sky. Either she was so far from Earth that her new viewpoint had shifted the constellations into unrecognisable shapes, or it wasn't her universe. There were no other options...
At last the cramps subsided to where she could consider returning to the tent, but then she remembered there was a new method... Thoughtfully she looked around her and memorised the spot for future purposes, then carefully assembled a picture of the dark interior of the tent...
...pause...
...and found herself standing alongside her anything bed. Swiftly she crawled in and managed to feel pleased with herself just before the cobwebs filled her mind once more.