Killer Kittens from Outer Space- Chapter Thirty

Ana

“Is this a dream?” Ana salivated, hovering over the glistening, perfectly crusted medium rare slab of beef tenderloin. “It’s just… been so long.”

“Yeah, the fabbed stuff just doesn’t cut it, huh?” Banta quipped. Her steak had arrived before Ana’s, and a second was already on the way; she’d as good as inhaled the first. She rolled her broad shoulders. “It probably doesn’t help that the gravity on this planet is so much higher than standard. I’m always starving by dinnertime, and then again by breakfast. It doesn’t seem to matter how much I eat here, and I’m constantly sore all over.”

“At least you’re stationed indoors most of the time,” Captain Mirai groaned in commiseration. “The hot days get so bad that I’d almost consider requesting an IV drip. It feels like we spend half our time rotating out to eat and drink.” The rest of her crew bobbed their heads in agreement as they shoveled food down. They’d left their pilot and a skeleton crew back on the ship, and the woman had requested several meals to go. From the way that the crew deferred to her, she extended that kind of consideration often. It was easy to respect a leader who looked after her troops.

Ana snorted in amusement around a bite of steak. “Even the planet wants you lot gone,” she said after swallowing, then paused as the table flinched collectively and her brain caught up to what she’d said. She opened her mouth to apologise, then thought better of it. A week ago, she’d never have dreamed of making that joke.

“It… certainly feels that way at times,” Mirai said grimly, and her eyes swept the restaurant, parrying some of the scathing looks that were being leveled their way. “It takes some getting used to.”

Try being the human face of it all, then get back to me, a bitter voice in the back of Ana’s head answered, and she clamped her mouth shut to avoid the words spilling out. She’d been recognized on entering the establishment, the hateful glares she’d received made her certain of that. She was just relieved when Captain Mirai’s scanner hadn’t turned up any biological or chemical contaminants in her meal, though the looks the staff had shot her while she scanned the food had been poisonous enough.

Where before she’d not thought too hard about what people might think of her for joining the Imperium, now she was being forced to come to terms with the fact that working for the other side sucked. And now I’ve sold my soul away a second time, she thought bitterly. What had seemed like a no-brainer at the time could very well come back to bite her on the ass. Still, it might serve to remove her somewhat from the public eye. Just so long as I haven’t traded one life of servitude for two.

Their discussion with the Rear Admiral had been cut abruptly short not long after Shessix had dropped the bombshell about them possibly traveling to the Ulu homeworld. Vrina hadn’t committed in either direction yet. Ana could tell something was bothering her, but all attempts to weedle it out of her had been met with failure.

To make things worse, they hadn’t had a proper opportunity yet to discuss Ana’s newfound status as a ‘retainer’, since both Banta and Vrina were still technically on duty and had been rostered on to guard roles at the consulate for the afternoon. Ana had sent out a request for a television and spent the afternoon bingeing old pre-war dramas and American TV instead.  

Her patience was wearing thin.

“It’s not all bad though,” one of the young crewmembers piped up. “There’s some nice humans around, even if it takes a while to get them to warm up.”

“Still, I’m looking forward to getting out of here as soon as possible,” Mirai said, looking tired more than anything. “Our leave is well overdue and the brass need to cut us loose already. Honestly, I’d take a job ferrying livestock like the bad old days if it meant getting off this rock. No offense,” she glanced up at Ana, who shrugged.

Then a sudden thought struck Ana, and she smiled, eying Vrina out of the corner of her eye. “So, what you’re saying is that you’d take any opportunity to leave?”

Comprehension dawned on the Ulu’s face, and her eyes widened. “Ana…” she said in a low warning.

“You haven’t told me fuck all about shit,” Ana growled back. “And I don’t know about you, but after the past few days I’d be a lot more comfortable traveling with this lot than on any Imperial military ship.”

“It’s not that simple,” Vrina muttered with a sigh. “It’s… I’ll tell you—”

“Later, sure.” Ana grumbled. She turned to Captain Mirai, who gave her a bemused look back. “Leave it with me,” she said. “I might have a way for us all to get what we want,”

“I’ll toast to that,” Mirai shrugged, still glancing curiously at the very much ruffled and fidgety ulu.

Ana grinned. Steak, and now possibly an escape from all the bullshit I’ve managed to fall into here on Earth. Maybe today won’t be a total loss after all. “Well then, how about a bottle of wine for the table?”


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Tommy

Tommy didn’t sleep that night. Every creak of timber or rustle of leaves sent his brain into full panic mode, half expecting a pack of armed men to come bursting through the front door at any moment. As the sun rose, he found himself standing in the living room helping Robert pack bags full of necessities. He’d just finished with the family photo albums when his phone started buzzing. Plucking it from his pocket, he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Seamus’ name.

“I need to get this,” he told Robert, who just nodded. Tommy scurried out, holding the phone like a lifeline.

He picked up as he made his way down the hallway towards the stairs. “Seamus,” he greeted the man. “We’re really freaking out over here. Please tell me you have good news.”

“Clean out your garage.” Seamus’ voice was gruff and flat.

“What?” Tommy asked, bewildered.

“Don’t question it, just do it. That detached garage out the back of your place is going up in smoke tonight. Pull everything out of it and get your family out by mid-afternoon.”

“The fuck!?” Tommy growled down the line, trying to keep his voice low so that his foster family didn’t hear. “You told me you were smoothing things over! The hell do you mean—”

“You listen to me,” Seamus growled, cutting Tommy off. “Your friends, the Kespan ones, they visited the steakhouse again last night. And that’s not all,” he continued as Tommy’s blood ran cold. “They brought that traitor bitch with them, the one from the news who just did a presser with the Imperial army. If I hadn’t called them yesterday, you’d have caught a bullet already. So you’re welcome for that.”

Tommy’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. Seamus wasn’t finished though. “These people don’t forgive and forget, Tommy. As far as they’re concerned, you disrespected them on their turf, and if they don’t make an example of you, they’ll appear weak. A garage is a small price to pay, and you will pay it. I’ve got a buddy in fire rescue, I’ve already given him the heads up.  This way, you keep your brains inside of your skull and the mob saves face, everybody wins.”

“The hell they do,” Tommy stomped his way upstairs and down the corridor to his bedroom, voice quivering with anger. He slammed the door behind him. “What part of this solves my problem? What am I meant to tell my family? ‘Don’t worry, they burned down the garage so I’m sure they’ll leave us alone now?’ They’re already packing, Seamus! If anything goes up in smoke here, they’re never coming back!”

“Tell them whatever you want,” Seamus snapped, loud enough that his voice crackled through the phone line. “If it weren’t for me, you’d all be dead already. Frankly, I don’t give a shit if your family leaves town or not, so long as you stay where you are and get to work on paying me back for all my trouble. Besides,” he paused, “this serves our purposes too.”

Tommy paused, shivering as if an ice cube had run down the nape of his neck. “What do you mean by that? Serves what purpose? Was this your idea?”

Seamus snorted. “No more questions. You’ve brought me nothing but lemons Tommy, and I’m doing my damned best to make lemonade of them. Just empty the garage, get your folks out of the house and I’ll be there around three. You’re on board now, whatever comes next.” The line clicked and the disconnect tone sounded.

Tommy pitched the phone at his pillow and screamed into a closed fist, his teeth leaving indents on the skin of his knuckles. Why the hell does everything I do make things more complicated? He’d been this close to letting go and living his life. And how the hell does Seamus know where I live, anyway?

He cupped his head in his hands. What am I going to tell Rob and Mary?  Downstairs, he could hear his foster mother’s muffled sobs as she tried to hold things together long enough to fill another bag with essentials, and Bridget’s room was conspicuously silent, a far cry from the screaming and wailing of the previous night. He shrunk in on himself. None of this had been either of their faults.

Robert blamed himself. The man had delivered the news to the rest of the family with a stone face, but Tommy had seen the way the man’s fist clenched, and how he hadn’t been able to meet any of their eyes. A small part of Tommy couldn’t help but feel like it was Robert’s fault too. Lunch with the aliens had been a terrible idea.

He took a deep breath. Well, let’s get this over with then. He picked his phone up off the bed and made for the door.

Stepping out into the corridor, he took a few steps towards the staircase when something stopped him. A sound from Bridget’s room; dull, rhythmic, and slow like a tennis ball thumping against a wall. He went to ignore it, but as he walked past her door he realized that it was slightly ajar, and he could hear alongside the thumping a tinny noise that he recognized as music through headphones with the volume turned all the way up.

He sighed, and turned. Raising a hand, he knocked on the door, which swung in slightly, though not far enough for him to see in.

No response. The dull thumps continued.

Pushing the door in with a finger, he peered into her room. Bridget was sitting at her desk, slumped over with a large pair of cans on her head. As he watched, her head lifted from the table and then lightly thudded against the bare acacia wood. Thonk, thonk, thonk.

As usual, strewn about the floor were crumpled up pieces of paper— discarded doodles and snippets of text. Bridget spent most of her alone time with a pencil in her hand. Still standing in the doorway, Tommy bent down and picked up a scrunched-up sheet, then lobbed it overhand at the wall over her desk. When it fell onto the table, she jolted upright, then yanked the headphones from her head and whipped around.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said, her voice flat.

“Sorry, your door was open and I tried knocking,” Tommy said awkwardly. “You wanna talk?”

Bridget rubbed at her temples. She had huge dark rings under both her eyes and hair sticking out in every direction. She looked like a mess. “Not really,” she said. “But if you’re gonna barge in you might as well spill the beans. What the fuck happened? Dad said  you pissed off the wrong people by sitting down with some wrinklies. But you barely talk to humans, let alone the aliens. Was he lying? Why do I have to—” she, battling a sob, then collected herself. “Why do we need to leave?”

“He wasn’t lying,” Tommy said slowly. “And it wasn’t my choice to sit with them, but it might have been a bit my fault.” When his foster sister narrowed her eyes, he sighed, holding his palms up. “They helped us out of a tight spot earlier in the week. I guess Robert thought talking to them would bring me out of my shell a bit. We just chose the wrong place to eat.”

“And that’s it, we’re being run out of town?” A clump of matted brown hair fell across her eyes, but she didn’t move to clear them. Something in Tommy’s ribcage twinged with phantom pain.

“I’m sorry,” he said, soft and low. “And it might only be for a little while. I know some people, gonna try to get this straightened out.”

Bridget looked up, her expression cycling between hope, confusion, and annoyance, then settling on the latter. “You? Know some people? Tommy, no offense, but you’ve barely left your cave of a room ever since… well, you know.”

His chest tightened. “Just trust me,” he said.

She studied him for a moment, through loose strands of hair, then sniffed and looked away. “Whatever,” she said, and picked her headphones back up off her desk. “Just don’t go getting yourself in even more trouble. You know Mum and Dad think of you like a son.”

Tommy flinched. He opened his mouth to respond, but Bridget was already sliding her cans back on, the conversation over. He stepped out of the room, closing the door with a click, then waited. When the thumping didn’t continue, he shrugged and continued downstairs.

When he walked back into the kitchen, the whole place was in chaos. Boxes of trinkets, photos, and foodstuffs were strewn across the dining table alongside old passports and identifying documents from before the invasion. Pots and pans were strewn across the floor, and amongst it all, Mary stood, a roll of bubble wrap in her hands. She was busy wrapping an old photo frame of her father— a man Tommy had never had the opportunity to meet— when he entered, and she looked up, her face gaunt and pale.

“Pack as much as you can fit in your suitcase,” she said, brusquely. “We don’t know when we’ll be back.” Her bottom lip quivered, and Tommy steeled himself.

“I’m not leaving,” he said, and his foster mother’s lips tightened.

“Tommy…”

“I talked to some friends of mine, and they’ve got a place for me to stay…”

“Tommy,” Mary said, more firmly, a stern look coming across her face.

“It’ll be fine, I’ll just wait things out, get a job a few suburbs over, maybe change my hair—”

“Tommy!” Mary whisper-shouted, and he grimaced. “These are really bad people. They had guns! Here, in Australia! I don’t know why you think it’s a good idea to—”

Fine, Tommy grimaced. Time for the big guns. “Mum!” he half-shouted back, and Mary blinked, the wind taken from her sails for just a moment. Moisture sprang to her eyes, and she wiped at her face. Tommy seized the initiative. “I’ll be careful. And I’ve got a job lined up already; one of my online friends has an opening at his store, said he’d hook me up. Besides,” he sighed, then went for the jugular. “I’m eighteen, you can’t make me go.”

“Robert!” Mary called, staring Tommy in the eyes searchingly. Whatever she found there only made her frown deeper as more tears came to her eyes. “Come and tell your boy he’s talking crazy!”

“What’s all this then?” Robert’s tired voice drifted around the corner, and his footsteps approached.

“He wants to stay.” Mary scowled as her husband entered the room.

Robert blinked, and a little colour returned to his cheeks as his eyes sparked to life with a newfound intensity.

“That true mate?” he asked, squaring up to Tommy with crossed arms.

Tommy fought the urge to avoid the questioning stares, and forced himself to meet them instead. “Yep,” he said, shortly. “I talked to a friend of mine and I’ve got a place to stay,” it’s here, but I can’t tell you that, “and a job lined up already. I’m old enough to apply for my own stipend from the Imps— I might as well take their money— so living won’t be an issue.”

“That’s all well and good mate, but why not come with us?” Robert urged. “It’s dangerous to be a man living by himself now, you don’t need to do it all yourself. We’ll set up the business again somewhere else.” His tone turned almost pleading, and Tommy’s chest started to ache hollowly.

He sighed. What he was going to say next made him feel unclean.

“I need to be contactable when they open communications back up with North America,” Tommy said, and the excuse was bitter on his tongue. His foster parents looked at each other with stricken expressions, and Tommy finally averted his eyes. “I don’t know what’s happened back home, or if… whoever’s left is still going to be reachable, but if they know where I am, they can get a hold of me. I don’t want to move cities and maybe lose that chance.”

The room was silent. Robert and Mary looked at each other, and then, almost imperceptibly, Robert shrugged.

Mary gaped at him. “You can’t be serious, Robert! He’s just a boy!”

“He’s eighteen, and he’s made his mind up,” Robert said, looking back at Tommy. “I can tell. There’s no convincing you, is there mate?”

Tommy shook his head, and Mary buried hers in her hands.