GABRIEL - A Cyberpunk-genre Streetcat's Story

G  A  B  R  I  E  L

2022

RL Blackburne

 

DEDICATION  IN  MEMORIAM

For and To;

Brandon Lee.

Much-loved…

…still and always missed.

 

The United Nations no longer exists.

The Third World War devastated the planet’s ecosystems and biosphere. Nuclear and advanced Multi-Cascade EMP weapons damaged or destroyed significant amounts of the global information network as well as related infrastructure.

Despite the war, the Off-World Intrasolar Colonies have steadily flourished, and many now stand on the threshold of self-sufficiency or have achieved such, continuing to steadily and rapidly build on their success while claiming independence. The Off-World Extrasolar Colonies continue to strive toward autonomy with growing populations relying on trade and economic linkage with the O-WIsC’s rather than Earth.

The global population is 9.53 Billion, and falling due to decreasing birth rates and increasing Off-World immigration. The remaining planetary ecosystems continue to steadily degrade and fail on land and in the oceans. Earth has lost over half it’s total species to extinction.

Increased volcanic activity, new and resurgent, due to incidents during WW3 as well as attempts at extremely large-scale experimental resource extraction along with ‘Stalled Glaciation’ has led to a state of ‘volcanic winter’ globally.

With the failure of conventional agriculture and livestock production new farming methods were quickly developed with livestock now raised in small groups for desired genetic traits while livestock produce is handled in-vitro through no-kill production formats.

The evolution of robotics has arrived at the point of being able to create Synthikons. Synthikons are partially-biological androids that are near-totally indistinguishable from Humans without invasive tests, they have filled many niches in the service and labour markets abandoned by Humans.

NOVEMBER: 2082

NORTH AMERICA

Los Angiego

  It was dark-time, chill, loud and frightening from the big things with their bright glaring eyes that travelled in large packs with and through masses of two-leggers she didn’t know and instinct bade her be wary of all around.

  Instinct drove the need to hide, find someplace small, hidden, safe and quiet. Yet, there was another need…

  …One that ran very deep.

  It was far stronger than fear or instinct that which brought her to a small, forgotten graveyard dating back many decades in the past, lost amongst the explosive overgrowth of Los Angiego.

  Slipping through the worn, bent, warped and battered Victorian-style wrought-iron fencework, she slipped quickly across the matted, damp-wet, sickly and stunted grass to one place she knew...

  ...which still yet held the faint lingering scent associated with warmth, safety, food and companionship in a soft lap.

  Slowing, watching all around as she was approaching the hard-flat surface close against the upright hard-thing that gave some slight shelter against chill breezes, she settled down on the hard-flat, curling up tight in a cat-loaf, purring as memories played in her mind of warmth, a smiling face, food, comfort and security.

  Wanting nothing more than to have what-had-been to be once-again.

  Other memories came to her as well...

  ...ones that made her tremble and shake in a way that had nothing to do with cold and hunger;

  Loud noise…the high-pitched scream-sound that sent fear bolt-driving through her…the two-leggers that didn’t belong, that smelled and sounded dangerous, threatening.

  Chaos…the world coming apart as things were thrown around…loud-loud thunder-cracks inside instead of outside and an acrid-tangy smell, choking, nose-stinging and hateful-smelling…

  …and the smell of hot, fresh blood that reeked of deep fear.

  More chaos, strange two-leggers, confusing scents, noise and hands reaching for her that she didn’t know.

  Bolt-dashing, panic, instinct and fear driving her flight away with no thought of where…only the drive to flee.

  Then…

  …outside.

  Chill, wet, frightening and unknown...

 ...noise, motion, big scary things with huge and  scary shining eyes.

  Drowning in scents and sounds that blared and blasted from every direction.

  Flight again, seeking quiet, someplace small, safe.

  She stopped when she found quiet again, then explored from need where she found a small space in a very quiet area that smelled old, like powdered stone and wet dust.

  The space was just big enough to crawl into, dry, and she made it hers.

  Bright-time and dark-time came and went. Out hunting and searching, finding nothing but occasional edible bits here and there close by places that smelled of food, staying away from two-leggers, occasionally chased by them.

  Once, something struck bright-bits off the hard-ground close by her, then was followed by a loud-loud noise. She saw two-leggers, one holding a loud-loud noise-thing she recognized from memory when she’d first heard loud-loud noise and the world had ended in chaos, blood and fear.

  She’d run, driving her legs as hard and as fast as she could, blind-dashing to escape as more things spat bright-spots off the hard-ground around her.

  When she’d stopped, she caught the faintest scent of one she knew, missed and immediately sought the source of;

 Her two-legger that gave safety, warmth and comfort.

  She’d traced it, slowly, losing and re-capturing the trail as breezes shifted their  directions and it misted soft-wettingly from above.

  The trace of the scent led to the hard-hard thing with the upright-thing, and the scent she knew so well was close around.

 So faint, but there…so her two-legger that she knew and missed and sought to return to had to be there or close by.

  She walked around, calling and waiting for her two-legger to come to her, find her and return her to warmth and food and comfort.

 Her two-legger that she knew and missed didn’t come, and she examined the hard-hard thing she stood on, sniffing around it.

  The scent was there.

  Her two-legger must be there.

  She curled up on the hard-hard thing in cat-loaf position, surrounded by the flat-wet grass and shivered, ignoring the deep hunger-hurt, and waited.

  Over alternating bright-time and dark-time changes routine came about and established itself;

  Returning to the dry-place, sleeping, then seeking out what food smells led to what little she could find to satisfy the hunger-hurt, then following the route back to where her two-legger’s scent was, again to call and wait, curled up in a loaf on the hard-hard thing close to the protection of the tall-thing.

  Routine gave some tiny comfort, something which was scarce to find in her life now.

  Then, during a bright-time, there was a two-legger scent close by the entrance of her dry-place, and she edged close to the entrance, cautious, looking out and up.

  The two-legger wasn’t doing anything scary, it was standing still but was focused on investigating something it held in a paw.

  Then, large eyes became visible above the dark thing on it’s face that had been hiding it’s eyes, meeting her own, and she heard; ‘Hello.’ in a tone that offered no threat, nothing to stir a tremor of fear.

 Curiosity arose instead.

  Bright-time, dark-time. The routine again and again; The waiting in the cold chill-wet after calling and sniffing around the hard thing until exhaustion, hunger, chill and the need for safety and dryness drove her to the dry-place.

  Then, as she woke from the ‘Pop-ssscccrrrreeesshh-CH!’ sound of something intensely familiar, the smell of food touched her nose.

 It had been the sound of one of the things her two-legger always opened for her that held food.

  Looking out, close by and just inside the entrance of her dry-place was one such thing, smelling fresh and inviting, where she didn’t need to leave her dry-place to get to it.

  The scent of the new two-legger still strong on it and around.

  Food. Fresh and delicious…enough to fill, satisfy and defeat the ache.

  The routine continued, unabated; Bright-time, dark-time continuing to wait where the faint and weakening scent of her two-legger promised a return to what-was.

  Now and then, the new two-legger came to the dry-place, always quiet, never scary.

  Trust was extended and she'd attempted a cautious approach, it was rewarded with an enjoyable encounter and ears rubbed in just the right way. Food came from the new two-legger as well, randomly and infrequently, but it came and was always welcomed with an appetite, rewarded with a spotlessly-cleaned can.

  The new two-legger was once again at the dry-place, and she came out upon the new two-legger's scent touching her nose, stretching and meowed a greeting, seeing the eyes above the dark thing meeting hers and heard words in a tone that comforted and felt good.

  Standing on back legs, she reached up, light-pricking with claws to get more noticed as the two-legger examined something in it’s paws.

  The two-legger looked down, and began lowering towards her, folding it’s legs a bit as well as she gave the two-legger a questioning chirrup about food and attention…

  …as something spat-shattered bright bits and small fast sting-chunks from the wall close by the new two-legger's head followed by a loud-loud noise.

  She bolted, the loud-loud noise and striking things that sent off bright-bits scared her, instinct screamed of mortal danger as a second and different sounding loud-loud-loud noise erupted behind her, and all was normal-sounding afterwards.

  She stopped and hid.

  Curious, scared, apprehensive about returning but drawn to do so.

  Cautious, careful, using every bit of concealment as she stalked towards her dry-place, watchful and listening.

  It was dark-time when she approached her dry-place, the smell of cold blood around the area.

  She found the cold and unmoving two-legger the blood-scent came from, one that had been scaring her and tormenting her in the past few bright-times, and didn’t see the new two-legger that brought food.

  Yet, inside her dry-place was something new, soft, smelling richly of the new two-legger who brought food and had welcomed her attempt at contact and friendship.

  She sniffed and learned all that the scent that was embedded through it could tell her, then laid down on it.

  The sleep was much more comfortable for the folded t-shirt that was now cushioning her against the flat, cold concrete.

  The routine continued relentlessly, bright-time after dark-time, ceaselessly and with growing misery, loneliness.

  The new two-legger didn’t come around anymore, though scent traces remained at the dry-place in the comforting softness left there against the hard-ground. Food became harder to find, and tidbits lesser and lesser which left her with a constant, gnawing ache, feeling weak...

  ...yet she persisted in visiting the place where the scent of her two-legger still lingered.

  Once and yet again she approached the hard flat in the quiet-place, stepped-up onto it, found the best spot against the sheltering thing and curled up.

  It was colder now, with white bits drifting down now and then, and the fine yet heavy mist falling from above had soaked her fur completely through, leaving her shivering miserably in the breezes that snaked around the sheltering thing.

  Hunger was a dull, badly hurting ache but was ignored as all that mattered was the trace-lingering wisps of the scent of what she’d known, what she wanted to find her way back to.

  She was tired, very cold, and movement took so much effort.

  Remaining still, purring and remembering took less and felt better.

  There was a small sount, and she looked to see two-legger she had gotten to know as it approached, a breeze bringing the scent and while a surge of instinct said; ‘flee’, exhaustion, cold and hunger-ache as well as memory said; ‘stay’.

  “There you are.” She heard, the sounds in a tone that sparked warm and comforting memories of being small, feeling safe and having fun under the big soft thing her two-legger and she slept on during dark-time.

  The two-legger slowed in approaching, stopped close but not too close, came down on it’s folded legs beside the hard-hard thing she was on, close to the upright-thing she had moved up close to so she could escape the breezes as best could be had even as they snaked around it, stealing heat from her through her sodden coat.

  “ ‘Shelly Hutton. Graced this world with her arrival June sixth, twenty-eleven. Taken in senseless tragedy from us November fifth, twenty-eighty-two.’ ” The two-legger said, inhumanly-long, beautifully feminine fingers tracing the deeply etched words.

  She read from the deeply inscribed words on the new-looking tombstone that afforded some small, meager protection for the shivering, damp-wet pure white, long-furred cat against the chill, wet November breezes.

  The mist-rain sodden cat was laying atop the grave’s granite coverstone, tucked as close as she could get against the headstone, shivering and looking tired, weak, miserable and utterly, desolately alone.

  Looking around, she picked out nearby headstones with the same surname, nodded in understanding why there was a fresh grave in an ancient and disused cemetery.

  Understanding came from having seen vids in the past of animals grieving, some like the white-furred cat going to extremes, seeking to find the Humans they’d lost at the gravesites of the deceased.

  “Your Human, that’s why you’re here…where you kept disappearing to. I looked at your lair the last time I left you some food, sure didn’t look lived-in. I’m no expert but even I can figure out a few clues.” She said to the cat, her voice calm, sympathetic and gentle, warm.

  “You’re a smart kitty. I saw how you figured out crossing streets, staying with people on crosswalks. Smart, staying away from ground traffic, but I expect cars must be pretty scary for you. If I try to take you, I have a gut feeling it’d go bad. So, I’ll leave it up to you. I’ll be at the gate, you know me a bit, we get along okay, I’ve been feeding you and you did save my life…so the choice is yours.” She said, the cat glancing up at her, then tucking herself up even tighter in loaf-style.

  Taking a small chance, she reached out, gently stroking the cat’s wet head, feeling the waning heat under the sodden, chill fur. Then, she rose and walked at a casual pace to the gate where she stood, waiting.

  The mist was becoming rain, the chill was getting deeper, and the last traces of her two-legger that her sensitive nose had been able to sense vanished as the rain began to pick up more, mixed with more white bits, the breezes sharper now.

  It hurt to move, weakness, hunger-ache, exhaustion...

  ...and the scent-of-home was gone now.

  There was nothing left to stay for any longer.

  Looking across to the two-legger, there was the sense of trust, of something like what she had in the what-had-been, an eternity of fear long ago.

  She remembered; This two-legger’s scent on food at her dry place, and on the soft thing left inside the dry-place that she’d slept on. Then she remembered the time when she’d reached up in a bid for attention when the two-legger had been standing quietly just outside her dry-place and light-pricked with claws on a leg to get noticed…then the loud-loud noises and now the two-legger had come to her as she began to realize her two-legger wasn’t ever coming back to find her...

  …soft speaking-sounds, a tone that was reassuring, and promised food.

  She remembered when she’d found the cold, unmoving two-legger that had tormented and scared her at times. There was a connection;

  The two-legger that left food and never scared her had killed the scary two-legger.

  She meowed…weakly, as best she could. Plaintive and desperate-calling as she began to move, to struggle in walking towards the two-legger, yet still instinct was primed for a last-burst dashaway if needed.

  Step after step, in the chill-wet dark, the rain and white bits falling and smothering scents...

  ...she continued on, the two-legger waited as she approached.

  At long last, she reached her goal, looked up, placing a paw on the two-legger’s leg, meowing once and softly, inquiring-pleadingly.

  “Good call.” The two legger said and came down, folding it’s legs and scooped her up easily in one inhumanly long-fingered hand.

  The new two-legger was bringing her under the two-legger’s ‘jacket’--she remembered such a thing being called--that it held open then closed snugly over her, shutting out the breezes that had tormented her.

  There was enveloping warmth, scents of intriguing and satisfying strength as well as a small and pleasant variety, a sense of safety…memories came of being small and carry-sheltered securely and comfortably in a same manner by her missed-and-gone two-legger.

  “You really remind me of the cat I saw in this old movie last night, and you need a name…what was it? Oh, right, ’Gabriel’. That’s what the cat was called. Suits you perfectly, too." Her new two-legger said to her as movement started.

  "C’mon, let’s go home.” Her new two-legger said in a tone and voice that felt good, spoke of care, comfort and food.

  There was the comforting sense of what-was-and-was-now-again as she stopped shivering, then began to purr in appreciation.

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