Why do computer games developers hate cats?

Recently I decided to get a hold of the DLC pack Minerva’s Den for Bioshock 2, after hearing such good things about it and being in a Bioshock sort of mentality after finishing the latest game in the series. It really is a great piece of work and a good example of how to do downloadable content packs right. If you have Bioshock 2, I’d heartily recommend it. There is however a tremendously disturbing part to it. Whilst exploring the darker spaces of the Central Processing section of under-water art-deco inspired city, Rapture, I came across a dead cat. In fact I’ve come across three of them. They aren’t just throwaway models that a level designer chucked in to fill space; these are named cats (named after computing and mathematics pioneers Babbage, Lovelace and Turing; in line with the game’s thinking machine theme). They were given a specific name and then deliberately portioned out over the game’s three levels as little Easter eggs for the player to find. These cats had been given a distinct identity in the world and placed in an apparently suitable environment for them; then mercilessly killed before the player even enters Minerva’s Den. This was pre-planned cat-sadism and, unfortunately, it is just another example of catism in an industry that has a clear anti-cat agenda.

            

Perhaps the most shockingly casual instance of cat-sadism that I have come across in my years playing computer games came in the form of an off-hand joke towards the start of Valve’s first person shooter game Half-Life 2. The player, Gordon Freeman, is about to be transported away from danger by friendly (if bumbling) scientist Dr Kleiner and his experimental teleporter. Another character, Barney, expresses his concern about the reliability of the teleporter and says he still has nightmares about “that cat”. This is treated simply as a little joke about Dr Kleiner’s machine and foreshadows the inevitable problem the device encounters when Freeman tries to go through. The fate of the cat is never explained but it is obvious from the lack of any feline entity in the world that the cat probably wishes it hadn’t been used as a test subject in a dangerous quantum entanglement contraption. Indeed, the joke is brought up again later in the game when Barney mentions the cat again. No sympathy is offered towards the cat; instead it is simply a bit of comic relief in an otherwise very dark game. The cat incident in Half-Life 2 is hardly the only example of cat-sadism in games; from the cat silencer in the horrible game Postal 2 to the upcoming cat eugenics game, Mew-Genics, the industry is full of violence and abuse towards cats.

Half-Life 2's Barney and Alyx discuss use of animals in experiments.

            

Game developers seem to continue to go out of their way to put in-game cats in peril or compromising situations. One cat that is consistently punished in games (and in the cartoon spin-off) is Meowth, from ultra-cultural-phenomenon, Pokémon. Not a true cat admittedly, but obviously a cat-inspired cat-like creature that gets a lot of abuse from both its owners and the player/cartoon protagonists. It is unrelentingly catist in nature. So too is the portrayal of cats in classic PC game, Deus Ex. In one section of the game your character, JC Denton, finds himself on a rundown rooftop in Paris. Travel down a few levels in the building and you come across a squatter lady who has a whole herd of cats. She babbles about how one has gone missing and fears the Greasels (green feathered transgenic mutants that got released into the world) got it. The cat is indeed to be found dead later, but the purpose of the missing cat is purely a cheap indicator that danger is nearby and a warning to the player using a game resource that is considered expendable. In a game full of possibilities for emergent gameplay, it’s surprising that no way to help the cat in distress was included. The only way to actually interact with Deus Ex’s cats is to kill them. The squatter lady is portrayed as a rambling mad old woman who lets the cats run rampant in the otherwise abandoned building. The image of the mad old cat lady isn’t a creation of the games industry, certainly, but it does provide developers another weapon in their campaign of anti-cat sentiments. The insinuation is clear; you’d have to be mad to want to have cats in your life.

            

Sometimes cruelty to cats is even used as a method for forwarding the game’s plot. In the point and click adventure Sam & Max Hit the Road by Lucasarts, the freelance police duo are given their mission for the game by a confused looking cat on the streets outside their office. Unfortunately, the cat swallowed their orders to keep them safe, so the only course of action for stoic blue suited dog, Sam, is to use “hyperkinetic rabbity thing” Max on the cat. Max proceeds to pick up the cat and reach down its throat to pull out the papers with their orders on; literally throwing the cat away afterwards. There is no further mention of the discarded cat or remorse inferred by its unfair treatment. The cat was simply singled out by the game’s writers for cruel and unusual punishment for its pragmatic approach to guarding official police messages. This callous attitude towards cats in games is a symptom of games developers’ fundamental mistrust of felines.

Sam and Max demonstrate cat interrogation techniques that are less than ideal.

            

Whereas dogs are considered man’s best friend; a trusted and loyal ally against all odds; cats are viewed as aloof and solitary characters that cannot be trusted to hang around when the going gets tough. An example of this uncertainty about the allegiance of cats is well shown in the Hordes of the Underdark expansion pack to Bioware’s Neverwinter Nights role playing game. In one section, you come across a group of people seemingly in need of help. It turns out to be a trap and these people are in fact Rakshasa. These cat-like creatures are deceitful evil beings out to trick the unwary traveller. Alas, this is not the only time that Bioware have cast aspersions on the trustworthiness of cats. In Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, your character has to go toe to toe with the dark side of The Force as part of their Jedi training. How do you go about this? By facing a fallen Jedi who has betrayed and killed their master and turned to the dark side. This character you must face is a Cathar, a feline bipedal alien with a suspiciously Eastern European accent. The mistrust that Bioware treat this character with is very reminiscent of the mistrust of the USSR during the Cold War. Could it be that the residual mistrust that has gone unfocused since the collapse of communism in Eastern Europe has been transferred onto cats, as we struggle to make sense of an increasingly confusing world by projecting past insecurities onto creatures traditionally viewed as somehow shifty?

            

Bioware continued their own personal anti-cat agenda in their grand role playing fantasy series, Dragon Age. In the expansion pack, Awakenings, we meet Anders. Anders is a cheeky chappy who happens to love cats; which is lovely. During the course of the game, your character can even find a cat to give as a present for Anders. He names this cat Ser Pounce-a-lot; the cat can sit in his inventory and even has its own icon. Anders happens to be a mage though; a user of magic. In the Dragon Age world, magic is not trusted in the slightest and its users are even kept under lock and key their entire lives to protect the outside world from them. Mages are susceptible to being possessed by demons and wrecking havoc. We can only infer that the suggestion is that only a nasty horrible mage, who wouldn’t hesitate to sell their soul to a demon for a bit of extra power, could love a cat. Such is the distain that Bioware seem to treat cats with, they don’t even bother to give Ser pounce-a-lot proper closure to his story; he is simply done away with off-screen between Awakenings and Dragon Age II. In the sequel, we learn that Anders was forced to give up his pet because it made him too soft.

            

Gratuitous use of cat corpses in Deus Ex.

It’s no coincidence that Ser Pounce-a-lot’s fate comes down to cats being seen as a creature for “soft” people. Cats are often considered a pet for women and that any man that keeps cats is somehow emasculated. Just look at the “mad old cat lady” stereotype. Is there a male equivalent? The mad old dog man perhaps? Keeping packs of dogs is more often than not considered a very masculine thing. How often do cat food adverts feature male cat owners? Not often, it is almost always a female owner that the cat slinks up to manipulate into giving them food. The games industry is still seen as a very male dominated industry, no matter how outdated a view that is. With dogs being seen as more masculine in an industry that so often panders to masculine stereotypes, dogs get a free pass and are presented in a much more favourable light. It’s not hard to find games in which dogs star, are heroic figures or trusted friends. The recently unveiled Call of Duty: Ghosts, for example, is making a big deal about the importance of military dogs in the game. Where are the games in which characters get a highly trained special ops cat as a companion? They are rare. Frankly, dogs get a lot more respect in games. Whenever dogs are portrayed in a negative light (such as a guard dog, or a zombie dog for example), they are shown to be a real danger to be treated with caution and handled with care. Dragon Age gave you a dog companion, but lampooned and belittled cats. It seems like a big inequality in dog-cat representation.

            

There is a culture of giving cats a rough deal in computer games. Disgraceful rat led cat killing puzzle game Bad Rats: The Rats’ Revenge centred a whole game on cat-sadism. The Cheshire Cat in American McGee’s Alice was portrayed as an untrustworthy guide to Alice’s return to Wonderland, who talked in riddles and tormented her with platitudes and half truths. He went on to meet a grisly end towards the end of game when he was brutally killed moments after finally being open and not obscuring the truth. Even games that try to let you have a cat friend seem to fall to the same old anti-cat tropes. Lionheart’s god-sim game Black & White had the player take on the role of a god that has a giant animal avatar to help (or smite, depending on the players own penchant for sadism) the people who worship you. You can choose to have a giant tiger as you avatar, but you’ll be lumbered with a dull witted creature that makes learning even the most basic spells a punishing chore.

            

The Cheshire Cat as portrayed in American McGee's Alice.

It’s not all bad for the feline characters in video games however. Some progressive cat-friendly games do exist that give cats the respect they deserve and don’t resort to tired catism and cat-sadism. A game can be said to be cat-friendly if it has two or more living cats in the game that interact with each other without interference or any other influencing by the player’s character or supporting computer characters. Emergent gameplay may sometimes result in the player’s actions harming the cat if they so choose, but if the cat is only there (or referenced) for the designers to implicitly engage in cat-sadism, then the game cannot be said to be cat- friendly. A good example of a progressive cat-friendly game comes in the form of Obsidian Entertainment’s Neverwinter Nights 2; which makes up for the mistakes of its predecessor admirably. In chapter two of the game, your character is granted a fiefdom as reward for your actions in aiding the city of Neverwinter. Crossroads Keep is at first a run down and neglected fortress, but as the game progresses you can upgrade it and make repairs. One sign of how well you are doing in looking after the keep is how many cats appear in the fields outside the keep’s outer walls. The cats do nothing but play around in the fields, they are even named cats. There are also playful cats to be found in the Port Llast town in the game. These cats exist purely for the point of existing and brightening up the game. They get on with their highly important kittening around and the game is richer and more alive feeling because of it. Some classes of player character can also choose to have an animal familiar to aid them in the game’s quests, cats included. This is an example of cat-enrichment game ecology that should be championed more vocally by games developers.

            

Hopefully one day the anti-cat agenda seen in games can be done away with, the suspicion levelled at them lifted and feline characters be given a more equal footing to dogs. The institutional cat hatred must end if the industry is to have any standing in wider popular culture. Cats deserve better from the games industry; it is my sincere hope that one day they can be allowed to rise above the abuse and stereotyping that sadly follows them in the medium.

When I was little I wanted to be a hedgehog

It is with great regret that I say that I didn’t grow up to be a hedgehog. This is a fact that has taken a lot of effort to come to terms with. I am not currently the queen of the hedgehogs nor do I hold any influence in their internal politics. Perhaps this is endemic to our western way of life, where children make grand plans for themselves as they try to picture the path their adult life will take; only for the realities of the world to step in and say “No! You shall not be that which you wish.” I am happy with whom I turned out to be, for better or worse, and I’m currently doing something that I truly enjoy. There is however that little part of me that regrets that I am not, in fact, a hedgehog.

I’m honestly not sure just why I came to like hedgehogs so much. Perhaps it was a mixture of things. I started to collect cuddly toy hedgehogs. I’d try to find one whenever I went on holiday with my family. My first one was a small bobble nosed blob of a thing from a campsite in Cornwall that I called Harold. Original, I know. I picked them up from all over the place. Spikes, from Stadtkyll in Germany. Henrietta, from Castellane in France. Horatio from up North somewhere... Horatio actually moved to London with me when I left home. He is currently sat on my table and is the glamorous model for the picture to this piece.

The 90’s also happened to be a hog-friendly decade, with the emergence of a certain blue speedy dude with an attitude, named Sonic. I never had a games console, but I remember vividly playing a Sonic the Hedgehog game at a friend’s house. It was a revelation; both in terms of my gaming education and my developing hedgehog fascination.

At primary school, the friends I played with all had a favourite animal that they would talk about and play as in grand adventures. Mostly in space. We were space animals. Naturally. Maybe there was peer pressure to pick an animal to be myself; such a terrible stress on a young mind just wanting to fit in after coming late to the school because of only recently returning to the UK after living in Germany for a while. I like cats too, but they were already taken. So what else was a cool animal? It had to be a mammal, because they were relatable and cool and hip in that way that only the early 90’s could manage. Likewise, it had to be an EXTREME animal with totally WICKED special abilities. Hey I know, hedgehogs are covered in spikes and can roll up into a tight ball. If you squint and ignore the colourings (and morphology for that matter) they look just like The Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles (it would be years until I found out that they were ninjas in the rest of the world). Wow, that is so cool! At least, that’s how I imagine now that the Space Hedgehogs were born.

Oh the adventures those space faring critters had! I even managed to get myself a reputation as “that hedgehog kid”. I would hear hushed words full of reverence as I passed by. I was a somebody. I was a hedgehog.

During that time at primary school, hedgehogs became an obsession and they became my identity. At play time I’d pretend to be one. For school projects I’d write about them. I’d write stories about them. I’d try to find them in our garden. Every Bonfire Night I’d pester people to remind them to double check for hibernating hedgehogs under their home bonfires stacks. Then one day, the dream came true. I got to meet living, breathing hedgehogs. On the way back from a family outing, we stopped at a nature sanctuary near our home in Gloucestershire so that I could see the hedgehogs they had there.

It sounds silly to me now just how much of a thrill it was to see some hedgehogs up close. It was during the day and so most of the sanctuary’s hogs were asleep all snuggled up in their hutches. There was one that was still awake (what’s the opposite of a night owl? A day... pigeon?) that we were allowed to see. It came out of its hutch and I was allowed to stroke it. I had no idea that you could stroke a hedgehog. How could something so spinney be stroke-able? It’s said that the English are a nation of animal lovers; I think it was that moment, along with keeping pet cats, which cemented my love of animals.

Towards the end of primary school, my friends and I decided that it was time to stop our pretending and grow up a bit. So the Space Hedgehogs retired from their galactic exploits. For years afterwards, I got the odd bit of teasing for my Space Hedgehogs and my general hog-obsession. The obsession itself began to fade as I moved through the school years, and other kids found new ways to tease me. I still had the British Hedgehog Preservation Society subscription that a kind auntie had taken out for me, but I found myself less inclined to read the newsletters that came in the post.

I still retained my love of nature, but its focus shifted onto dead stuff as I went to study palaeontology at the University of Portsmouth. I almost completely forgot my old hog-obsession as I once again found myself trying to fit in with a new crowd. For a while it was all dinosaurs, sabre-toothed cats (THEY’RE NOT TIGERS!), ammonites and drawing fake graptolites with a pencil on blank chunks of slate to try and con our tutors that we’d found something interesting. Then one night I was walking alone back to my dingy house share after being out at the pub (which makes that I remember the encounter even more special) when I came across an old friend scampering under a bush. I watched that urban hedgehog for a while. It seemed happy to let this silly human gawp at it whilst it rummaged around before taking its leave and going off on its very important hedgehog business. It was a very sweet creature and I was reminded just how adorable they are, and why I liked them in the first place. A loner creature that dosses around in the undergrowth at night with little else concerning it. It’s a very aspirational lifestyle.

I started to get interested in (living) wildlife and nature again, and began to read up on the literature and articles I saw about it. I started to read the BHPS newsletters again (that my parents kindly forwarded on to me in Portsmouth). With the resurgent interest came a greater appreciation for the natural world. The British natural world could seem dull in comparison to the more exotic parts of the planet, but I began to appreciate it more and more too. Reading up on the state of some of the country’s neglected environments did become rather depressing at times however.

I used to see hedgehogs relatively frequently as I walked at night (either home from pubs or work, or just as a boredom fighting walk around town). It was always a pleasant sight to see a hog, or indeed a fox or a badger. As the years went by, seeing a wild hedgehog went from a quite common thing to an infrequent event. The statistics on hedgehog population decline can sound rather bleak. From numbering in the tens of millions in the 1950’s, to a population of barely one million today, the hedgehog has seen a big decline. One million may sound quite a lot, but spread out over the whole country, that makes for a shallow genetic reservoir. Expanding towns, busier roads, increased pesticide usage and loss of woodland habitation is taking its toll on the creatures. The BHPS (together with their partners) estimates a decline of 37% over the last decade; which makes for a worrying drop for any population.

I can actually remember the last time I saw a hedgehog. I was walking back to Boston Manor Underground Station in West London after visiting a friend; I saw a little hedgehog run across the road. A car was speeding along toward it and I couldn’t help but grit my teeth and freeze in anticipation of what I feared was going to happen. Happily, Mr Hedgehog made it to the other side of the road in time and hurried under a bush in someone’s garden. I chided Mr Hedgehog on his recklessness, but I’m not entirely convinced he listened. A few weeks later I visited that friend again; walking down that same street there was, lying by the side of the road, the desiccated body of a hedgehog that had been hit.

That was three years ago. I’ve not seen a living hedgehog since. It’s not for want of trying either. I’ve been in plenty of area at times where, if it had been some years prior, I could’ve reasonably expected to see a friendly hog. I’ve not seen any though. Urban hedgehogs or country hedgehogs. Not for a good three years. That’s rather upsetting given just how important a part of my childhood hedgehogs played. Hedgehogs will survive, but their numbers are declining and I fear that seeing one in the wild may become a rare sight indeed.

I have come to terms with the fact that I never did grow up to be a hedgehog; I’m just not sure I’ve come to terms with how much trouble the hedgehog population is in.

This piece was written as a contribution to Hedgehog Awareness week. Find out more about the British Hedgehog Preservation Society at http://www.britishhedgehogs.org.uk/

Horatio defends the world against the slug menace

It must have rained during the day as the ground felt sticky and cool to touch. Crawling along in the damp mud was tolerable because it usually meant lots of delicious earthworms would come to the surface, and Horatio was very grateful for that. He was a hedgehog that loved to indulge in a bit of an earthworm binge every so often. Sure, some of his hog-colleagues and acquaintances thought he was developing a bit of an earthworm belly, but he found it was a price well worth paying. He didn’t think he had a problem.

Truth be told, it wasn’t just earthworms that Horatio was addicted to. He was rather keen on a variety of creepy crawlies and juicy slimy things that could be uncovered with a good bit of investigative rummaging in the bushes and shrubberies. If it was hedgehog bite sized and somewhat gooey; Horatio was happy to give it a go. That was assuming that a badger didn’t get to it first. The local badger on Horatio’s beat, Bertrum, had an understanding with him and they had a good treaty going regarding who got which patch to harvest in any one night. There was always the possibility of a freelancer barging in on their little system though.

Horatio unfurled fully from his sleeping position hidden under a large pile of damp leaves beneath a hedge. He licked his lips in anticipation of working his allocated turf for tonight’s feasting. On the schedule for tonight was a small road on which Horatio got to take the odd numbered houses. Bertrum worked the even numbered houses in parallel. Horatio felt that he had got the better side of the deal. The lady at his first destination often put food out for any night time visitors. A bowl of cat food would be the perfect tribute to start the night with. He hoped it was turkey flavoured cat food. He liked turkey. He set off through the deep undergrowth of the bushes at the end of the row of houses to his destination for beginning his night’s feasting. Little did he know, he was going to save the neighbourhood from a terrible invader.

At first nothing seemed amiss to the evening. It was a little cold and there was a cat that came a little too close for comfort, but it lost interest after the chubby hedgehog curled up into a ball. It was nothing too out of the ordinary or that he couldn’t handle, but as he got closer to his first garden stop an ever present munching noise seemed to grow. It baffled Horatio, but his thoughts were too busy imagining what treats were in store for him. Maybe trout? He hadn’t had trout for a while. He scurried under the fence into the garden and then it hit him what was wrong.

Slugs! Thousands of them.

Horatio couldn’t believe his eyes. There were so many of them, more slugs than he’d have thought possible. They slipped and slimed all over the garden. Sticky trails of slug goo layered the otherwise pristine lawn. A sea of optical tentacles protruded up from between the green blades of grass; their dark orange host bodies oozed somewhere below, unseen amongst the daisies. The combined slug biomass on that one lawn would be enough to swarm even the burliest of badgers. As delicious as they looked, there was just too many of them to contemplate trying to carry onto the promised land of cat food. He would have to simply skip this garden and move onto the next. He was too late though; a wall of slugs was passing down in his way. A tsunami of gastropods that munched their terrible radulas on all that lay before them.

Horatio found that he was surrounded out in the open of the lawn; he had never felt such a naked hedgehog. He wanted to curl up and wait out the slug horde and hope that they left him alone. He curled up and tried to remain calm in his cosy little spiny ball, but he was distracted by the flutter of the wings of something landing on a tree branch overhanging the garden. Horatio dared to look up. He stared right into the piercing gaze of his owl friend, Octavia. She called out to him.

“Horatio, thank the heavens that you are well. The neighbourhood is lost; slugs rule the realms now. Everywhere is be-slugged!”

“No, it cannot be!”

“Tis true my friend. We must flee whilst we are still able.” Octavia was about to fly off again but Horatio called back to her.

“Wait! What news of Bertrum? Does he yet still walk?”

“Yes, thine eyes hath seen him.”

“Send word, dear herald, tell him to advance up the street and meet me at the end. I shall take this flank, he shall take t’other. Together we will divide their armies and send them back to the slug hell whence they came.” Horatio stood tall and faced the slugs. “This slug menace shall rue the night that they crossed Horatio of the Hedge.” Octavia could scarcely believe the sight. This brave hedgehog was launching a fight back against the invaders.

“Yes sir, I shall take your missive post haste!” She flew off to take the message to Bertrum. Horatio was alone against the surge of invertebrates. He could do this. He charged forth with all the speed he could muster.

The first slug he came to seemed to care little for the spiny hog in its way; it simply tried to squirm over Horatio. Horatio would show it the hubris of such thought. He grabbed the tail end and began to munch his way up to the mantle cavity. It was juicy but bitter; far from the best slug that Horatio had ever tasted. But it was one less slug in their army. He went after the next nearest. Then the next and then the next. The fight back had begun; he had created his beachhead to push out from. The slugs began to give Horatio a wide berth; to give him respect. Buoyed on by good morale and strengthened by the slug energy, Horatio trimmed their numbers considerably over the course of an hour. Now he would have to turn his attention to the next garden.

Under the dividing garden fence and into the allotment environment of the neighbouring house he went. Most of the garden was given over to luscious sticky mud; out of which a cornucopia of root vegetables, stalks and leaves erupted. It was perfect cover from which to launch guerrilla attacks on lone slugs separated from their respective platoons. He stalked and surveyed and eventually singled out his first prey; a straggler of a slug that was greedily attacking a lettuce plant. Horatio crept up to it and began to attack. Something was wrong though; the slug was acting sluggishly and not struggling as much as the others in the previous garden had. The foul taste that Horatio had come accustomed to tasted worse somehow. Horatio mulled it over in his mind and let the flavours linger on his pallet as he tried to identify what was wrong.

Heavens! Poison!

Horatio looked around on the ground and sure enough, he spotted what he feared most. Slug pellets littered the area. The human owner of this garden had booby trapped it; like an ancient pharaoh jealously trapping their tomb of ill gotten gains against tomb liberators. They were no slug pellets were they came from, and directly these invaders arrived, directly they drank and fed, and the slug pellets began to work their overthrow. They were infected and cursed now. Horatio couldn’t eat them for fear of getting sick too. He would have to contain the situation. These slugs were soon to be dead anyway, but they could still do damage before they passed on. He would have to throw himself upon the mercy of the rulers of the deep. The industrious Mole Empire could dig a trench around the infected area and prevent anything from getting in or out.

There was a secret way to summon the Mole Ambassador, Mortimer, whom Horatio had had cause to deal with before. He performed the secret ritual of foot-stamps and howls at the moon next to the nearest molehill in the allotment, and then he waited. After a painful wait as he watched the slugs destroy more of the garden, some claws appeared in the mud, followed by a small snout.

“Who summons the people of The Mole?” it said.

“It is I, Horatio of the Hedge. I come with grave news from the surface world.”

“What troubles the land above?”

“An army of terrible slugs marches, crushing all before it.” Horatio paused to let it sink in. “The slugs have annexed a plague garden and poison...”

“The troubles of your world mean little to us, hog! We wish you well with your predicament but we can do naught to aid you.”

“But it affects you too. Our worlds have a treaty, we are linked! The slugs will poison the very land itself if we do not stop them from getting further. The foulness will seep into all and sundry around us and your people shall suffer too.” Mortimer considered this information.

“What would you have us do, Horatio of the Hedge?” he asked.

“Dig a grand trench around the blighted land; the likes of which even God has never seen. A bulwark against further plague slug encroachment. I shall take care of the slugs in other sectors.”

“Very well, we will do as you ask. We shall dig such a trench that none shall pass. You best leave this place whilst you still can.”

“Thank you Mr Ambassador.”

The next garden was a barren land indeed. Nothing green was to be seen; no cover at all and no soft footing at all. There was only concrete; over which the slugs pressed on as the spread out to other areas of the neighbourhood. Horatio could slow their advance considerably if he worked fast to devour as many as he could before they swamped him with sheer numbers. The first slug was a bitter reminder of the terrible sacrifice he was making, but he persisted and took out slug after slug. The numbers began to thin and the fresh arrivals slowed to a trickle as their armies fell back to a more defensible position. Horatio felt himself moving slower and slower; his reaction time dulled and he began to feel the burn. Even he had never feasted so much in such a short time. So, so many slugs. After a while, only a few stragglers remained; he felt that he could leave the barren yard at last.

He struggled under the fence to the next garden, feeling full and bloated. He looked on with dismay to see the bulk of his foe’s forces that littered the human garden furniture covered lawn; a blanket of slugs. He forced down one slug but stalled on the second, immobilising it but unable to finish the job. He just couldn’t manage it. He couldn’t move and could only roll onto his side. He saw the wave of slugs come at him and he closed his eyes and expected the slimy invaders to trample him at any moment. But then he heard a growl and a crunching. He opened his eyes and saw the hulking frame of Bertrum. He looked heavier than usual and was covered in slime, but he took care of the slugs in the immediate area. Horatio took heart from the sight and got to his feet and found his second wind. He joined the battle and together the two cleared the garden of the slug army. High above them, they heard Octavia shout down to them.

“The slugs are retreating, their ranks broken!” Bertrum turned to face the fat hedgehog.

“It is done.” he said and bowed his head in respect. Horatio did likewise.

“It is. We have defended this land with honour.”

“It is all thanks to you. You organised the resistance and gave us hope, my friend.”

“No, not friend; brother.” said Horatio. The two said nothing but looked towards the east where the first traces of the morning sun were beginning to appear.

“Hark, the sun rises. Our job is done and we can return to our sets and burrows.” said Bertrum.

“For now, yes. But we must remain ever vigilant. For as long as we live, this world is protected.”

Poppet

“Polly Mary Sinclair!” Have you been getting yourself into trouble again?” asked her mother, with one hand on her hip and a raised eyebrow.

                

“I… Err… No!” she replied and dared to peep out from under the table.

                

“Well then young lady, can you explain why Miss Falconer says she had a cheeky little monkey pilfering tomatoes from Hydroponics?”

                

“I only took one!” she protested. Mother sighed and tucked a locket of her long blond hair behind her ear. She knelt down to her daughter’s level. Her daughter fidgeted with her purple corduroy dress.

                

“Yes, and I’m sure that doesn’t seem like much, but you know that we don’t have an unlimited supply of fresh vegetables don’t you? It’ll come out of our allocation.” Mother beckoned for her daughter to come out from under the table. She avoided looking at her mother as she crawled out.

                

“I’m sorry Mummy.” she whispered. Mother smiled warmly and hugged her.

                

“It’s alright Poppet. I’m sure Daddy won’t mind missing out on his tomato at supper call this evening,” Mother whispered conspiratorially, “he doesn’t really like them anyway. But shush, don’t tell Miss Falconer.” Poppet giggled.

                

“I won’t.”

                

“Good girl. Now run along and play, I’ve got reports to write. And stay out of trouble!”

                

“Yes Mummy.” Poppet wasted no time in running out of the small quarters that she and her family had called home for the last three months. Although she had done her best to brighten up the drab metallic walls with some multi-coloured chalk murals, she found it too dull and didn’t like to spend so much time there. Especially if Mother was busy on her work. There was so much of the ship for her to explore. There were still whole areas that she had barely visited; with lots of good hiding spots to go and have some peace in.

               

                

The CSL Albatross was one of the Colonial Star Liner Company’s largest ships; shuttling colonists back and forth across the ever growing network of colonised worlds and frontiers. A few months out in the dark of space, a few months on a colony world and then off again on a new ship to a new place. It was an adventure each time for Poppet. This was her sixth trip. They were only two months more until they reached their next colony destination. She had to think for a moments what the next one was called. Murs? Mors? Mars? Yes, that was it! Mars, she thought and congratulated herself for remembering it. The name meant little to her; she had never been to Mars, or even the system it was in. The grownups seemed to be more and more excited as they got closer. They kept telling her that it was just a short hop away from Earth. The Mother Planet. Of course she had heard about that planet. Everyone had. It sounded nice, but unimaginably busy. How many billion people lived there? To Poppet, a few thousand people was plenty crowded enough; anything more than that was such an abstract idea to her mind that she couldn’t comprehend it. Once being shown a picture of an attractive but busy looking park (Central Park, she seemed to remember it being called) was enough to convince her that she was seeing more people in that one place than she had in her whole life before then. How could anyone get to know all those people?

                

As she skipped down the corridor, people said hello to her and she said hello back; although Miss Falconer seemed a little grumpy towards her. Poppet liked The Albatross; the people on it were nice. Maybe The Goose was a nicer ship; it was smaller though, only meant for short trips to neighbouring worlds. She liked the name goose; it came off the tongue nicely and sounded funny. The Albatross was the largest ship that she had ever been on. With nearly two hundred people on board, it was certainly the busiest. She just wished that there was a kid or two her own age on board too.

                

There were a few much older kids and a couple of babies; children born between worlds to career space faring couples. Spacer kids, just like she was. She liked the babies, their mummies and daddies were nice. She’d sometimes go to Mrs Lashmir’s quarters and play with little Amir after her tutorials with Miss Conner; if Mother and Father were still on shift. Mrs Lashmir was nice; she was always kind to Poppet. On days when she didn’t have tutorials though, Poppet liked to explore the ship. She’d just have to give Hydroponics a wide berth for a while. For that matter, she’d have to steer clear of Engineering too, after being caught by the crew down there whilst exploring the other week. Mother had told her off and noted severely that it wasn’t safe to play down there. Poppet wasn’t convinced; she didn’t imagine that anything that hummed as soothingly as the ship’s drive and support systems could possibly be dangerous. She had promised not to go in without supervision again though. She decided to go and find Father and see what he was doing.

                

“Better alter course then Tayo, just to be on the safe side. I’ll let The Captain know about the correction when he’s back.” Father took a sip from his coffee and grimaced. Something about the supply on this voyage just seemed off. He wouldn’t be sorry to get to Mars, just as it meant he could get a hold of a better blend. “Plot a new course Maggy. Give us as wide a berth as you can.”

                

“Looks like any new course will add a day to our arrival time.” warned Maggy.

                

“I’m sure we’ll live. Mars isn’t going anywhere. It’s a big red dot, hard to lose it.”

                

“Yes sir.” Maggy began to calculate the new trajectory and course they’d need to avoid the worst of the radiation and solar winds from the flare being sent out by the system’s host star. Tayo leaned over to confer with the navigator but got distracted by a new arrival that was curiously watching the stars rush towards them on the main front view port.

                

“Looks like we have a visitor, Reg.” he said and nodded in the direction of the latest tourist to the Flight Deck. Father looked around to see his daughter standing at the back of the room.

                

“Poppet! Hello, what brings you up here?” he asked.

                

“I wanted to come and help you fly the ship.” she said. Tayo and Maggy chuckled slightly, Father smiled.

                

“That’s very helpful of you. Do you want to be in charge of keeping an eye out for Space Squid?” he asked. Poppet’s eyes lit up.

                

“Have you seen any?”

                

“Oh yes, we passed a few earlier. I’m sure if you keep your eyes peeled you’ll see one eventually.” The other two grownups in the room both chuckled again. Father lifted Poppet onto a free stool by a console terminal so that she could get a better view out of the view ports that shimmered with their blue tainted force fields all around the Flight Deck.

                

She spent a good hour looking for Space Squid but was disappointed not to see any. She had never seen one, but Father insisted that they were real. Maggy did give her a couple of biscuits though when she went on a refreshments run for everyone else. That was a nice consolation for not seeing the elusive Space Squid. She pocketed one of the biscuits for later. In the very far distance on the front view port, she could see a faint blue and yellow dot. Father explained that it was a big gas planet that they needed to use to slingshot them closer to the next navigation point. Poppet could almost imagine that it was getting ever so slightly bigger on the view port as she watched. With The Captain off-shift, it was Father’s jobs to make sure the ship ran smoothly, and didn’t go on a crash course with any nearby planets or get battered by solar storms. Or indeed Space Squid. The Flight Deck door beeped as it slid open and Ollie waltzed in. He waved to Poppet but spoke to Father.

                

“Looks like they found a nest of vermin down in Cargo, Reggie.”

                

“Another one?” sighed Father. “I’d hoped we’d got the last of them.”

                

“No such luck. Those buggers will always find a way on board.” Poppet slid of the stool to let Ollie take up his station. He smiled warmly and tussled her blonde hair. She went over to where Father was sat and tugged on his arm.

                

“What’s a ‘vermin’ Daddy?”

                

“Oh, just these little rascals that sneak on board when we’re planet side.”

                

“Are they stowaways?”

                

“Yes Poppet, they are. They’re little pests that steal our food and make the place unhygienic.” Father tutted theatrically. Poppet looked at the floor, remembering the talk Mother had given her after being caught stealing food. She decided that she should go and find this ‘vermin’ and let it know that it shouldn’t go and steal from the rations supply. She said her goodbyes to Father and the others on the Flight Deck and made her way to the Cargo Deck.

                

She wasn’t supposed to go down there, but she knew how to stay out of sight. The vents were cramped, but she was small enough to move about in them. She could just about sit comfortably in them in some of the wider junctions, but otherwise she was happy to crawl. She had a good mental map of the vents on the Cargo Deck. She’d had a lot of practise sneaking and exploring in them. She took the lift down to Cargo and peered out the doors to check if anyone was around to see her and tell her to go away. She could hear some voices but no one was in sight so she darted out the lift and to the side. The large space was full of rows and rows of large of cargo boxes stacked on top of each other until they almost hit the ceiling. She didn’t know how tall it was, but she estimated that it was six Daddies worth tall. Running down the middle was a lane wide enough for the cargo crew’s two forklift trucks to pass by, and between each stack of boxes there was a little gap to walk down. Plenty of space to explore! She knew that behind one stack close to the lifts was a square metal grill panel a few feet across that she could get open easily enough to gain access to the vents. The grills were made to snap in and out for engineers and cleaning bots to have easy access, but most were too stiff for Poppet to prize off.

                

She found her vent cover and, after checking again that there was no one watching, lifted it up and carefully placed it to the side. She crawled backwards into the vent and then reached back out to pull the vent cover back over the opening so that it looked to a casual observer like it had not been opened. She carefully turned around and crept as silently as she could along the vent. It went in a straight line in either direction along the length of the Cargo Deck. At the bay doors end it stopped and went vertical up into the dark. She knew it must go up and join the network on the floor above Cargo, but she wasn’t exactly sure. She had always been very careful to stay in the vents only where there was sufficient light seeping through the grills for her to see. Crawling in the dark was a very silly idea, she had decided very early on in her vent explorations.

                

She crept passed several other vents before stopping at one where she could clearly hear some grownups talking. She stopped to listen in on what was being said.

                

“… in the traps. I think there’s still one left somewhere. Heard something scratching around in A34.”

                

“Seen anything?”

                

“Not yet, but there’s still the odd dropping appearing down there.”

                

“Okay, I’ll put a few new traps out tonight. See if anything bites. In the meantime…” Poppet decided to leave the grownups. She didn’t much care for talk of traps. What did they do with the ‘vermin’ they trapped? She decided she should launch her own investigation of cargo box A34. It was close to the limit of how far she dared go down the Cargo vents. She crawled on until she got to the closest vent cover to her desired aisle; she could see through the grill the aisle number on the floor by the central aisle artery. She wasn’t strong enough to push open the grill covering but tried several times before giving up. She carried on to the next vent grill, hopeful that one sooner or later would come free and she could sneak out to look closer at the suspect stack. She had never gone this far and it was very dark; almost too dark to see through the gloom. She went very slowly and made sure of each hand placement as she moved along.

                

When she reached the vent cover, she tried to open it carefully. She felt it wiggle and so felt bold enough to force it a bit more. The vent cover popped out and she nearly fell forward with it, but managed to steady herself before spilling out onto the floor with a loud clatter. She edged forward, placed the vent cover back over the vent opening and tip toed along the back wall to A34. She found the stack of cargo boxes and began her investigation. Each box was made of plastic and opened at each end, for the cargo crew to access freely. Poppet wasn’t sure what kind of things were in each one, but she imagined that delicious food was in quite a few, along with supplies and things for the colonies. Each box was closed but the back of A34 was ajar slightly where it had been bent and warped during loading planet side. The cargo crew had tried their best to padlock it shut, but there was still a small gap. She tried to peer in but it was too dark inside to see anything. She searched around for the ‘vermin’ droppings but found none; she guessed that they had been cleaned up (she was a little glad about that).

                

She heard footsteps coming her way and was forced to abandon her forensics of the situation and scramble back to the vents to stay out of the way. She whipped open the vent and crawled backwards into it. She got the covering back in place just as the grownup appeared from around the corner of the cargo box. He held a flashlight, a clipboard and a packet of something. He flashed the light into A34 and bent down to look inside. He sprinkled something from the packet just inside the box and chuckled to himself.

                

“A little appetiser for you to start with. Enjoy!” He put the rest of the packet in his pocket and turned away whilst inspecting the list of requested supplies on the clipboard. Poppet stayed still as she watched the grownup slowly amble away. She heard a very faint scrambling noise from somewhere in the vent behind her. She carefully turned and peered into the gloom.

Huddled to the side of the vent was a small brown mouse; its little black eyes peered up to her with an unwavering gaze and its tiny heart pumped fast as it watched the stranger in its home vents. Poppet stopped still and stared back at the mouse, not daring to move in case she scared it off. The mouse twitched its nose but remained still, as though unsure what to do with this kind of first contact. Very slowly, Poppet moved her body and lay down in the vent so that her chin was resting closer to the level of the mouse’s. She hoped this would make her seem less threatening.

“Hello.” she said. The mouse twitched its nose once more. “My name is Polly.” The mouse didn’t respond. “But everyone calls me Poppet. I’m six and I live on the Dormitories Deck. What’s your name?” She didn’t really expect a reply but was thrilled to see the mouse twitch its nose again. “I’m going to call you Miss Twitch. I hope that’s okay.” Miss Twitch took a tentative step forward and raised her head up into the air, rising up on her hind legs briefly. “Everyone is looking for you, Miss Twitch. They think you’re a vermin. You seem very nice though. I won’t tell anyone you’re here but you shouldn’t steal anymore food.”

The two stared at each other for a while longer. Poppet was fascinated by watching Miss Twitch sniffing around the vent and its little heart racing away to a quick beat. She had never seen a real mouse before; she’d seen a picture of one before but animals were a rarity on space ships. There was a cat that lived in The Albatross’s arboretum; a cat named Nova. Poppet had been on a couple of other large ships that had a cat on board; she had heard them be referred to as ‘mouser’ cats. Did that mean that Nova and Miss Twitch would be friends? That would be nice. Poppet carefully reached back into her dress’ pocket and retrieved the emergency biscuit that she had deposited in there. She broke off a crumb and placed it in front of the mouse. Miss Twitch cautiously scrambled over and nibbled on the crumb. Poppet broke off another biscuit piece and placed it in front of her. The mouse twitched slightly but grabbed the crumb, and the next that Poppet offered. Poppet dared to hold out her hand with a crumb on; Miss Twitch carefully climbed up onto her middle finger, sniffed it and paused to decide if the crumb was worth it. The prospect of more crumbs from the biscuit did win out and Miss Twitch climbed fully onto Poppet’s palm for the crumb. Still lying on her belly, Poppet reached up with her other hand and gently rubbed Miss Twitch’s head with a finger. The mouse jerked initially but then seemed to like it and looked up from her feast to look right at the human. Miss Twitch wiggled her nose; Poppet imitated the action and giggled.

“It’s very nice to meet you.”

Poppet went to lengths talking quietly about whatever came to mind to Miss Twitch, who stayed on her palm, being happy to have her head stroked and receive the odd bit of biscuit. Suddenly she stopped talking and looked along the vent. A low rumbling noise was gradually coming their way.

“A cleaning bot!” gasped Poppet. She had come across one before on another deck of the ship, but not whilst actually in a vent. “Oh dear, we should get out of here Miss Twitch.” She grasped the mouse gently to stop her from moving, but not too tightly as to hurt her. She tickled her head once more to put her at ease then wiggled around so she was facing the vent grill again. She glanced back and saw the cleaning bot in the gloom; a metallic bug like object that crawled along on caterpillar tracks, with a rotating head of brushes at the front and a vacuum cleaner nozzle behind. Poppet didn’t fancy it running into them. With her free hand she struggled to pop out the vent grill. The cleaning bot was only a few metres away when she finally got the cover off and had popped her head out to check if the coast was clear. She crawled out and reattached the vent grill as the bot passed by mindlessly behind the covering.

Poppet tickled Miss Twitch’s head and gave her a biscuit crumb. She went to investigate the things the cargo crewman had sprinkled down, wondering if it was food that Miss Twitch would enjoy. It looked like little green pellets; they didn’t look very nice at all.

“Eww, they look revolting! Let’s leave them Miss Twitch.” She heard footsteps come her way and a grownup announcing that they were going to investigate what it was they’d heard. Poppet froze, unsure what to do. She saw the shadow of the grownup from around the cargo boxes. She decided to hide behind a stack of boxes marked A33. She found a dark spot in the shadows and hid. She heard the crewman tut and shout back:

“Just the cleaning bot then Nancy.” There came a reply from elsewhere:

“Yeah, told you so.” Poppet took the chance to dart to the cover of the next stack, A32. She checked if it was safe then tip toed to the next, then the next, until she reached the lift end of the Cargo Deck. She saw that the going down light of the cargo lift was on. Poppet crouched down in a hidden spot with Miss Twitch in her hand, and waited for the cargo lift to open and the coast to be clear once more. The lift opened and a crewman exited pushing along an empty trolley. Poppet waited until she couldn’t hear him anymore and then darted for the crew lift. She stayed out of sight whilst the lift was called then ran in when it arrived. It was only after she had pressed the up button to take her to the Arboretum/Observation Dome at the top of the ship that she realised that it was a lucky thing that it had been an empty lift. She knew that she probably wasn’t allowed to be carrying a mouse around with her; not a fugitive mouse at least. She put Miss Twitch in one of her front dress pocket. Miss Twitch peered out of the top of the pocket and happily took possession of a biscuit chunk that Poppet offered.

“Don’t worry Miss Twitch, I’ll keep you safe.”

The Arboretum/Observation Dome was a large area at the top of the ship that offered stunning views out into the depths of space from the comfort of a specially grown indoor park. It helped in the recycling and filtering of the ship’s air supply, and was designed as a place for the ship’s residents to go and relax and enjoy something approaching a natural environment. It helped ease the psychological stress of a planet side born traveller being out in the vast emptiness of space. Poppet had counted up to twenty five trees of varying size in the dome; the largest of which was a rather grand looking oak tree. She had asked Mother about it once; she had said that it was a specially grown dwarf breed that had been engineered that way and then planted during the construction of the ship in orbital dry dock. Poppet had a hard time imagining it, but was glad that it was there. The arboretum was her favourite place on The Albatross. This was the first ship that she had been on that was large enough to have a proper arboretum space. Nova was usually around although he did sometimes prowl the rest of the ship. Poppet hoped that he would be around; he was a nice cat. She checked on Miss Twitch in her pocket.

“It’s okay Miss Twitch, you can come out now. There’s no one around.” She reached in and picked out the mouse. She seemed happy to be picked up in such a way, especially as she got her head rubbed with a light touch again. The two skipped off into the trees to find the bushiest one to sit under. Under its branches, it gave a good impression of being in an actual forest planet side; only with a view of the stars outside through the leaves. Poppet sat down with her back against the tree’s trunk and rested her new friend on the lap of her dress. She got out the remains of the biscuit and broke off a piece to offer. Miss Twitch settled in.

Poppet talked to Miss Twitch for a while whilst periodically stroking her; the mouse sniffed and scrambled around a bit on her lap. Poppet didn’t know how long it had been, but her attention was drawn to the arrival of Nova. An athletic looking ginger and white cat prowled up to them and meowed lightly at her.

“Hello Nova. How are you today? I found a new friend for us.” She tickled Miss Twitch’s head, she seemed to be frozen still and keeping a low profile on Poppet’s dress. Nova looked at the mouse curiously and Poppet wondered if he hadn’t ever seen a mouse either. He bowed his head and crept forward until he was up to Poppet and had his front paws up on her lap. He sniffed the mouse; Miss Twitch stepped back and squeaked. Poppet was about to tell her that Nova was a friend, but the cat reared back and prodded the mouse with a paw, knocking the little creature over. Poppet quickly scooped her up in her hand whilst mouse’s eyes lit up in fear.

“No Nova! That’s not nice.” The cat tried to reach up to reach Poppet’s hand protecting the mouse, so she stood up and wafted Nova away, and received a plaintiff meow in response. He seemed agitated and circled around her, meowing as he did so. “No Nova, go away. She doesn’t want to play with you.” Despite her protests, the cat continued to harass her. “You’re scaring her!” She put the mouse back in her pocket and decided that maybe it would be wise to leave the arboretum. She had hoped that Nova and Miss Twitch could be friends and they would live there together. She wasn’t so sure that was a good idea now.

Poppet wasn’t sure what to do now. She knew that she wouldn’t be allowed to keep Miss Twitch but she didn’t want to let her loose again. The crew were trapping any mice they found and doing heaven knows what to them. She couldn’t let them get her mouse friend. She decided to take the lift back down to the Recreation Deck below the Arboretum/Observation Dome. She would find a quiet room and think of a plan there. She peered down into her pocket.

“You be good in there. We’ll figure something out.” She gave Miss Twitch the last fragment of the biscuit as they waited in the lift. When the doors opened, she skipped out the way as two off duty crewmen went in. She waved a quick hello when they greeted her, but didn’t hang around. She walked quickly down the corridor, heading in the direction of the activity and meeting rooms; in the hopes that one would be empty.

She turned a corner and walked right into something that knocked her onto her back. A man’s hand quickly came into view to pick her back up.

“I’m so sorry Miss Sinclair. I didn’t see you there.” said Captain Montagu. Poppet took his hand but then saw with horror that Miss Twitch had popped out of her pocket and was scurrying away down the corridor. She gasped at the sight of it and Captain Montagu followed her eyes to see what it was she was watching with such intent. “Goodness, is that a mouse? How in blazes do we always pick them up planet side?” He pulled Poppet up but before he could say anything more she had scooped up the mouse and run off down the corridor with it.

Poppet skidded to a halt when she saw that the cafeteria was empty. She looked back and saw that no one was watching, but could hear heavy footsteps coming her way. She barged through the cafeteria doors and hid under a table away from the entrance and out of view. She held Miss Twitch in her palms and whispered to her.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.” Miss Twitch looked up at Poppet and squeaked. “The grownups won’t let me keep you. They don’t like mice. I think you’re lovely…” She stopped when she heard the cafeteria doors open. She heard footsteps and then a pair of legs appeared at the table. Moments later Captain Montagu’s face appeared as he bent down to see Poppet. He stroked his chin thoughtfully as he eyed the girl and her mouse.

“Now then Miss Sinclair, what’s going on here?” he asked. Poppet closed her hands slightly and moved Miss Twitch away instinctively. She looked at the floor but didn’t speak. “Come now, it is okay, I’m not angry with you. So you found a mouse and then decided to keep it?” Poppet nodded solemnly. “May I ask where you found it?” asked The Captain, his voice quiet and friendly, not dropping its reasonable tone.

"Cargo.” replied Poppet, barely above a whisper.

“I see. Yes, I’d heard they have a vermin infestation down there.” Poppet’s eyes snapped up to meet The Captain’s.

“But she’s not vermin! She’s lovely. I call her Miss Twitch… I… I found her in Cargo… They were going to trap her.” explained Poppet. She could feel her eyes welling up.

“I’m afraid we can’t have little creatures running around the ship.” he explained calmly; Poppet remained quiet. “They get into places they shouldn’t and can be unclean. We’ve got to try to keep the ship clean and free of them.”

“But she’s my friend.” said Poppet as a tear rolled down her cheek.

“I’m sorry. Can I take her please, Miss Sinclair?” Captain Montagu held out his hand under the table.

“My friend…” Poppet reiterated. The Captain pulled back his hand and rubbed his chin again.

“I see she means a lot to you then.” he said eventually. “Well I suppose I could make an exception just this once.” Poppet’s heart began to race.

“You mean…”

“Yes, alright. I’ll let you keep it as a pet. As long as you keep her safe and don’t let her loose again.” Poppet nodded her head enthusiastically. Captain Montagu smiled and offered his hand to her. “Come on then. We still need to ask your parents if it is okay.”

“It seems to get less red each time I see it. I’m almost positive I saw patches of green near the equator.” said Mother as she checked Poppet’s seat belt was secure.

“Yes. Probably won’t be so many years until you can step out into the open air without a suit.” replied Father.

“I think I’m happy to let others go before me.” said Mother. Poppet listened to the conversation closely. Seeing the planet as they orbited it aboard The Albatross had been an experience. She had never seen such a funny looking planet before. She was looking forward to the shuttle touching down and getting a chance to explore the place that would be home for the next year. She tapped the glass box on her lap and poked a finger through one of the air holes on the top, wiggling it about a bit. The mouse emerged from her bundle of tissue paper that she liked to sleep under and looked up to Poppet.

“I think I’m going to like Mars. I’m sure we’ll have lots of fun here, Miss Twitch.”

This story is dedicated to Laurence Montagu OBE, who was the head teacher of St Peter’s High School, Gloucester, for over two decades but sadly died recently. He had a tremendous impact on a great deal of people and was a hugely supportive person. Rest in peace Larry.

Techno Zombie throws a beach party

He often felt that it was something that wasn’t said enough, but the life of a techno-husk was a tough one. Once the Nanorabies plague got a hold of you, you found that almost all of your friends and family are no longer your friends or willing to see you and be there for you. In fact it seemed that once the infection had finished its annexation of your nervous system, very few people wanted to know you at all.

            

Sure he had made some acquaintances through his work with the other members of the horde, but having meaningful conversation with them was a difficult proposition. Whenever he went out on a limb and tried to strike up a conversation, all he got in response was a string of monosyllabic grunts and moans. If he was lucky. He thought it was almost as though he spoke another language to everyone; it’s like no one knew he was alive. The others tolerated him shambling along whenever they hit the town, but he thought it was like none of his fellow infectees had any clue what to do. Were they just all shy, he wondered on a regular basis.

            

To be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure if he was doing himself justice either. Whenever he thought he could break the cultural silence; he got all tongue tied and muddled. He had never been particularly good at making new friends. He wished his companions could try a bit harder though. He knew that his existence before infection had been somewhat interesting and that there were stories and anecdotes he could use to breach the silence, but he couldn’t remember quite what it was. Ever since he had been bitten by the strange rugged looked man with jet black eyes and luminous green flecks running under skin where the veins were; he had struggled to remember much of the... before times.

            

He tried to remain optimistic about things though, and view his exile from mainstream society as an opportunity to make new friends. He was getting to travel quite a bit too; albeit on foot. He did all the things the others in his horde did. He painstakingly rambled along somewhere towards the back of the group, shuffling along with the others (although he suspected that whoever was leading the group had no clear path laid out for them and no idea where to go). He noticed that the others all seemed to be on a mission to give a big friendly bear hug to all the non-infected that they came across, even try to give them a kiss and playfully nibble their necks; he supposed that this was just a normal part of the horde’s cultural exchange program and all entirely platonic in nature. So he joined in. He found it amusing just what peer pressure could make one do. He had little success making friends that way however; the non-infected seemed repulsed by him and ran away, often whilst crying. It was crushing for his self confidence.

            

One day the horde was passing through a beach side town. The letters on the town sign looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite process them. He concluded that it must be a foreign town that he didn’t know of. He was surprised that the horde had walked so far, especially given the sedate pace that they moved. He did sometimes want to hurry them all up and start jogging or even running, but none of the others ever seemed to want to do so too and he was too self-conscious to start it. Besides, his legs were far too tired to run in the first place. He always seemed so tired these days. He could only trust that those at the front of the pack knew what they were doing.

            

It looked to him like the town had recently hosted a party. There was debris in the streets, clouds of smoke billowed from impromptu celebratory fires and there were shops and home windows that had been boarded up. He imagined that they must have had a parade of some description. There was no one to be seen on the streets. He thought he saw the odd face at a higher window, but they were quickly gone when he went to bang on the building’s door and ask how they were. It must still be too early for everyone as they slept off the party.

            

He couldn’t tell if it was his heart soaring or if a conglomerate of nano-particles was clogging up his decaying cardiovascular system, but he felt a surge of something when is feet stumbled on to the sand of the beach. A trail of a hundred infected husks led out down the beach by the town’s pier. He tried his best to follow quickly but stumbled a few times and struggled to get back up. His fears of being alone and cut off from his crowd was allayed somewhat by the sight of a few other stragglers. Something had changed however; he was now the leader. He knew that this was his big chance. He had to take it and do something. He spotted a beach house in the opposite direction to the horde’s tracks. They were slowly moving away, yet were far enough away that any chance of catching them up was a hopeless task. He would have to get them to come to him somehow. He turned and started off towards the beach house; the other stragglers content to follow his lead.

            

The beach house seemed nice. A wooden hut on supports, with a few steps leading up to it and a collection of surf boards resting against the side. It was obviously open house too as some kind soul had left the door open. He climbed the stairs slowly and thoughtfully; not wanting to startle anyone who was inside. Pushing the door open, he was greeted with the sight of a cosy open plan lounge and kitchenette, with a few closed doors leading off to the rest of the house. He uttered a greeting but then realised that being in an apparently foreign place, his greeting would probably sound like a load of moaning gibberish to anyone inside.

            

Sure enough, there were people who responded to his arrival. Two young women appeared, both looking tired and wide eyed at him. They must be recovering from the town party, he thought. One of the women held what he recognised as a cricket bat in a shaking hand and yelled something at him and his fellow stragglers. He couldn’t tell what they were saying, but he wanted to assure them that he meant them no harm and just wanted to wait somewhere for a while whilst he tried to figure out how to attract the rest of the horde. He took a step forward. The women took a step back. His foot scuffed the floor and kicked something that had been left discarded and forgotten in the grime that had collected on the ground. He picked it up and stood staring at it in his hands for several minutes trying to remember what it was. Eventually it came to him. A Frisbee! He remembered these. He remembered playing with one of these with his old four legged furry creature. Now what were those called? As he thought about it, something in him stirred and his instincts took over. He threw the Frisbee at the girl not holding the cricket bat. She caught it and looked surprised. One of the other stragglers entered the house. The girl shrieked and threw the Frisbee at the latest arrival. It tried to catch the plastic disc, but in doing so lost a few fingers as the Frisbee sliced them off. The newest arrival also took a few minutes to examine the object before throwing it back to their leader.

            

Unfortunately he missed the catch, by several seconds, and the Frisbee disappeared off behind a table to the side of the lounge. He went to collect it whilst the rest of the stragglers entered the house. As he searched for the downed Frisbee, he knocked the table and jostled the blocky device that sat on top. A layer of dust, or maybe soot, billowed up from it. Curious, he decided to temporarily abandon his search for the Frisbee and further examine the object on the table. He tried to wipe away more of the residue that had built up on it, but was slightly embarrassed when he only managed to thump it in a rather cack-handed way. A strange pounding rhythm erupted from the device as it lit up upon contact with his fist. It was a banging of something with lots of wheezing and whirring noises that seemed strangely pleasant. Yes, this sounded familiar. Something he recalled from dulled memories of the before times. The stragglers also seemed to have recollection of it. One of them shuffled involuntarily. Its right leg fell off but the straggler continued to shuffle on the floor when he fell over. Gradually the beat resonated around the other stragglers’ turgid synapses and soon they were all shuffling along to it.

            

He found the Frisbee and returned it to the women. Although still looking alarmed and surprised by the arrivals, one of them took the Frisbee. She didn’t seem to know what to do with it. She looked quizzically at her cricket bat wielding friend, who shrugged. He knew that he needed to encourage her to throw it. He tried to say it too, but his nerves got the better of him and he could only moan vaguely. One of his fellows looked up expectantly; the girl twitched and threw the Frisbee at them. His fellow caught it and groaned in pleasure before throwing it back.

            

Slowly, the gloriously bright warm yellow disc in the sky gave way to the pale glowing disc in the darkened sky. One of the girls had gone to check if the house’s back door was locked and boarded up; no doubt to secure it in case of unwanted marauders. Besides that brief interlude the Frisbee antics and pounding beat sounds from the odd object on the table continued apace. One of his fellows managed to knock over a lamp; it blew into life as it hit the floor; beaming out across the lounge and illuminating the bodies of the mini-horde. The nano-particles housed within their cold bodies began to glow green and gently blink, pulsing a sickly green effervescence that radiated around the room. Following the beacon of light and sound, a drip feed of other stragglers began to arrive, followed by the main horde.

            

He was pleased to see that his fellows had come to find them and join the festivities. He was slightly dismayed to see some of them make a pass at hugging the two women, as they would have to other non-infected whilst out on the town under normal circumstances. He could see that the women didn’t appreciate such advances. Apparently it was not their custom and he felt that they should all respect their host’s wishes not to partake in hugging, kissing or playful nibbling by the hoard members. So he kept close by to the women and pushed anyone away that got too close. The girls seemed grateful for it and remained close to him, even when he went to mingle. He was learning that actions can transcend language difficulties and that even the horde’s biggest personalities were beginning to respect the girl’s personal space.

            

The coolness of total darkness enveloped the beach outside the house. Only the lamp and the green glow illuminated the interior. He was pleased to see that so many of his fellow horde members had chosen to join them all, and more were arriving every so often. Groups of them congregated both inside and out, losing themselves in shuffling or playing Frisbee. None of them were particularly good at the game, but all seemed to enjoy it. Suddenly the crowds parted to reveal a group of worried looking non-infected men and women. Some of them were covered in a sticky red substance that looked delicious. He had to stop himself from being rude and investigating the red further. He decided that they must have been body painting or something. That was something the non-infected did wasn’t it? Their culture fascinated him. Had he been like them once? He wasn’t sure. The leader of their small group carefully stepped forward towards the girls in the beach house whilst the rest of them (who all looked like they’d been partying hard themselves) held up what he eventually recognised as baseball bats. They looked liked they’d been painted red too. Were they challenging the horde to a game of baseball? It was no good; he didn’t know how to play and was sure his fellows wouldn’t either.

            

The girls and the non-infected group leader talked briefly in their strange almost-familiar language. The group leader then took the hand of one of the girls and led them both away; out of the house. One of the horde members stood forward to stop them, but he pushed his fellow back again. If it was their time to go, then it was their time to go. There was no point ruining a perfectly nice evening by demanding that their new friends stay longer. Of course he would have liked them, and the rest of them, to stay longer but it seemed that the group of non-infected had come to take the girls to another party. He had enjoyed their company but understood that they’d want some alone time too.

            

And so the horde was left to their own devices in the beach house. It must have been an open time share property that had been passed on to them. He wondered how long they had it for now. The other horde members seemed to understand that they should let their non-infected friends go without pestering them. He got a little tongue tied as usual when he tried to explain why to his fellows, but they comprehended his point. He felt very good about himself because of it. He decided then that when it was next time for the horde to move on to the next town, he’d try to join the leaders at the front of the pack. For now though he wanted this beach party with his friends to go on forever.