Home Sweet Home

By Minna S. Lunney

Chapter Seven
Nightmare on the Town

Black marker in hand, Wilykat drew an X over the latest date...

...then scribbled furiously over that, rendering the block an ugly mess.

He snickered to himself, stepping back to survey the full effect. He really would have to stop doing that soon; it was late in the month, and the calendar was slowly turning into one big black splotch. It was a nice distraction from the cream and white, though. But Mother— Merra, rather; what a silly habit he had picked up— did not like it. ‘Next month, do try to be neater,’ she had pleaded.

Yeah, we’ll see.

She said that every month. Was he likely to listen this late in the game?

He ripped down the drab calendar suddenly and began flipping through the previous blackened pages. Sweet mother of... uh... oh, right. Sweet mother of Jaga, has it really been this long? he wondered. He supposed it had been; sure seemed that long when he gave it a little more thought. Buy by now it was all a big void in his mind, and he wondered exactly what he had done and when. On what days had he skipped school? On what days had he been in fights? On what days had he been forced to flee from mobs and cameras and nosy reporters? Could they not see that he was doing just fine, thank you very much? If they were so desperate, why did they not just stick cameras all over the place to follow his progress throughout day and night? They could make a huge viewing-screen event out of that one.

Then again, he would probably come to hate that too.

"WILYKAAAT!"

He cringed at the high-pitched cry. "What do you want, Tybus?" he shouted at his closed door.

"Mother and Father want to talk to you!"

"Tell them I’m busy!"

"What?"

"I said, TELL THEM I’M BUSY!"

"Mother! Wilykat’s being rude again!"

"I am not!"

Pristine footsteps crossed the lower foyer. "Wilykat, dear, would you please come downstairs?" Her voice was sweet, but acutely weary.

"Yeah, just hold on."

If they want to see me so bad, they should just turn on the viewing-screen. That never fails.

A few moments later there was a knock upon his door. The kitten held in his annoyance as best as he could. "Who is it?"

"Me."

Satuu. Great. "Hold on." He obligingly rose, tossing his calendar indifferently to the floor, and unlocked the entry to his sanctuary, in which he spent most of his time.

She wrinkled her nose as she stepped past him and he closed it once more. "Why’s it so dark in here?"

"Well," he began snidely, "there are no lights on, and it’s nighttime. You know, planetary rotational period during which our part of the world is turned away from the sun?"

If she was offended, she did not show it. "Why do you like the dark?" He shrugged.

I don’t. I didn’t, anyway.

She took a seat on his bed, crossing her legs slowly. "You’ve been acting strangely for a long while. Is something the matter?"

He gave her an incredulous stare, almost making her doubt her words to him. Then he began to laugh— weakly at first, then intensifying until he could hardly stay on his feet. "Is... is something the... oh, Lord but you’re observant—"

"You’re beginning to frighten me," she spoke bravely through his cackling. Her face began to feel warm, and her confidence waned.

Wilykat stopped abruptly. "I’m sorry," he replied with convincing sincerity. "No. Everything’s just fine."

Satuu peered at him. "What’s that under your eye?"

"Nothing—"

"Let me see." Her assertiveness returning, she seized him by the wrist and forced him down next to her. Pinning him so, she scrutinized his face, fingering the purple skin on the left side of it.

"Hey!" he started, drawing back.

"Another black eye?"

"None of your business!"

"It is so my business!" she snapped back sharply, cupping his face in her hands. "Everything concerning you is my business! Haven’t you learned that by now?"

The kitten began to pull away. "Leave me alone… spoiled rotten—"

She drew back and slapped him forcefully across his already damaged cheek. He winced in spite of himself, doubling over. Satuu grinned in the darkness. "Oh! Oh, Kat! Goodness, what came over me... I am so sorry!" She took him by the shoulders and pulled him up again, then leaned forward forcefully and pressed her lips to his.

In his shock, he could not pull away initially. Even after he began to resist, she eagerly persisted, until finally he thought his lungs would explode. With the strength of one near death, he broke from her, then stood and backed away wildly, heaving air in huge gasps. "What… was that… for?"

He watched— and indeed he could, for he had excellent night-vision— as the stunned dejection in her eyes hardened into a fine rage. "How… dare you! No one refuses me!"

Wordlessly, he strode to the door and opened it wide, forcing a shaft of artificial light upon half her face.

Insulted to the highest degree, Satuu fairly stomped toward him. "You… after all I’ve... You’ll pay for this. I’ll make certain of it!"

"What are you going to do, tell Mother and Father?"

That shut her up quite effectively. She gaped at him a moment or two, faltering a couple of times, before she took her leave in a huff. He watched her leave, then shut and locked the door once again, wiping off his mouth with the back of a hand. That tears it, he thought. I have to get out of here.

Oh sure, he had had the exact same thought about a hundred times before. But this time, he was acting on it. The decision had been made, cleanly, quickly, and with no further deliberation.

But, where will I go?

Well, he could not stay in Barim; that would be suicide. And he could not leave Latcris entirely. There existed no means of transportation that would endure an ocean crossing, and not even the nearby chain of islands was reachable without someone noticing him. He thought back to when he first arrived on the island, to that drive from the border patrol station… there had been a vast meadow. No, of course that would not conceal him for long, and would provide little in the way of food and water. But the forest… the forest between the meadow and the beach… it would take many days to reach, certainly. But he could survive there.

With an eagerness foreign to him those days, Wilykat opened his closet and dragged out the small travel case he had stowed in there so long ago. Out came his ThunderCat uniform, which he donned defiantly, tossing his black outfit and shoes to the ground. He stalked over to his dresser, flinging open the middle drawer. Shoving the deceptive blanket aside, he began removing its contents: several preserved foods and two bottles of water, a hoard he had gradually and carefully amassed for just such an occasion. He took them, and the blanket as well, dumping them on his bed. Then he upended his school satchel over the floor, watching the books and papers tumble out with unwittingly universal satisfaction, and began filling it instead with his rations and blanket. He glanced at his travel case with more than a little regret; it would have held the items a lot better, but it had only a small handle and was quite inflexible, whereas the satchel had a shoulder strap and was constructed from a canvas-like material.

He glanced around the room carefully. Was there anything else he would need? A flashlight would be nice, but he did not have one in his room. He would have to steal one from somewhere. He swallowed uneasily at the thought, disturbed that it had occurred so naturally to him.

"Wilykat! How many times must we call you, lad?"

"I’m sorry!" Despite his anticipation, he was remarkably calm in his reply. "It’s just that I was starting to fall asleep, and—" he faked a yawn "— didn’t hear you the past couple times."

"Oh! I apologize," Merra’s voice drifted up to him. "By all means, get your rest. It can wait until morning."

He looked to himself in the mirror, and grinned. Still got it.

The escape would not be so easy, however. He would have to wait until everyone was asleep until he had half a chance. Then there were the guards all over the Ministry, not to mention the newspersons waiting outside… adrenaline surged through him. It was just like old times.

How he managed to sit around and remain calm while his surrogate family prepared for and then went to bed, he did not know. By the end his patience— and nerves— had worn dangerously thin. It would have probably been to his advantage to sleep during that time; but he was far too excited and fearful that he would not wake up before morning. So he sat against the side of his bed, knees tucked against his chest, rocking and playing back various songs in his head.

When he had waited long enough to ensure that even the most hopeless insomniac among them had drifted off, he stood shakily, flexing his knees. This was it: do-or-die time. He took a last rueful look at the window as he shouldered the satchel and took his leave. It would have been so much easier that way, but with all those Latcrisians and their makeshift homes below, he would not have had a chance to slip away in peace.

His movements were silent and stealthy. He glided down the numerous flights of stairs, disabled the alarm system guarding the front door, and slipped out. Now the brilliant night sky was overhead, faithfully reflected through the Ministry dome. Accordingly, the building was lit dimly if at all. But sentries were everywhere. Wilykat would have to stick to the dark spots, and pray that everyone was especially drowsy that evening.

He raced through corridors and down ramps, the soft, strong material of his boots loyally muffling his movements. At every duck and turn he was successful at avoiding the eyes of night watchmen, and was pleased by his success. Don’t get too confident, he scolded himself. You’re not out of the woods yet.

And though his progress was excellent, there seemed something lacking. He kept glancing behind— not out of paranoia, but the expectation that someone else should have been right there with him. Every now and then he thought he saw the faintest flickering of a playful shadow, which he was quick and yet regretful to attribute to the sporadic lighting.

At long last, he reached the exit he knew to be furthest away from the media village. A pair of men flanked the transparent doors dutifully. The boy cringed inwardly, ducking behind yet another wall. How would he handle this?

Well, his brain countered, how would you have handled it when you were with the ThunderCats and those were Mutants?

Simple: Wilykit would go distract them and—

No, no, that’s no good. What if you had been on your own? What would you have done?

His hand flew instinctively to a pouch on his belt. Thank goodness, it and all the rest of them were still stocked with pellets. And another bit of good fortune that none of them were water-activated. It was he who had made that suggestion to Kit once they had decided on a route over the ocean.

‘Are you thinking straight, Wilykat? Pellets that activate in water would be perfect if we got into trouble along the way!’

‘Yeah, well what if we get into trouble and fall in the water with all those pellets attached to us?’

‘Oh...’

A shiver went through him as he recalled the ages-old conversation. How prophetic he had been... and farsighted, for now he had pellets when he truly needed them— provided that water exposure and disuse had not damaged them. But that was a chance he had to take. He selected one expertly, a grin slowly spreading on his face. No use escaping without a little drama.

He pushed away from the wall and into full view, striding toward the exit in a nonchalant, detached manner. The guards recognized him immediately. "Hey there! Where do you think you’re going?" one of them asked, grabbing his arm as he placed a hand on the door.

"Out." The kitten winked, flipping the pellet to him as though it were a coin. The guard fumbled it, distracted, and Wilykat quickly pulled open the heavy door and scampered away. He could just hear the small capsule exploding, releasing a colorful knockout agent into the sentries’ air supply, as the door clicked shut behind him.

Surging with excitement, he raced down the small stairs and across the secluded square. Far off to his hind-right he could discern his campground of admirers.

Suckers.

Past the fountain, across the street, and several mysterious alleys later, he finally paused to catch his breath. His heart raced, though he felt far from tired. There was a certain rush involved with starting a new life. He had experienced it twice before, but never so strongly. Maybe because it’s really going to be different this time, he reasoned. I’ll be totally on my own, in a new part of Third Earth. If the ThunderCats don’t want me back... well, I’ll still be all right. The best part is, I’ll never have to see another camera or newspaper ever again.

He ambled through the dark alleys for another hour or so, not at all disturbed by the filth and vermin that populated them. From afar he could hear music, and everywhere was the sound of traffic and crowds and climate-control machinery. Wilykat was unsure of how long it would take him to leave the city, and if he was even going the right way. Well, you can only walk into a forest so far before you’re walking out of it. I’ll have to reach that meadow eventually.

After a time his path dumped him into a busy, crowded sector. The music was far louder now, and lighted signs of all colors advertising all sorts of goods and services pervaded his vision. One fortunate thing about the gaudy atmosphere was that every Latcrisian passerby was too distracted— either by the surroundings or other persons— to take notice of him. He slipped right in, marching down the cracked sidewalk pavement with a defiant tilt of his head. The boy passed many a twenty-four-hour newsstand on the avenue, and could make out the headlines on the publications even from his distance:

WILYKAT FAILING SUBJECTS, TEACHERS CONCERNED

CATS LAIR SILENCE REACHES SIXTH MONTH

SNARFS MAY BE INHERENTLY RABID, SPECULATE SCIENTISTS

They were far too commonplace to phase him now. At least these were not so personal as some he had seen previously. Looks like they’re starting to run out of even the made-up stuff.

On he went, past swarms of people of integrity and questionable character alike (certainly more of the latter, he had to admit). Several stopped to buy the newspapers, and several others walked along with their faces buried amidst them, oblivious to anyone or anything else. It was a common phenomenon on Latcris. Once in a while, Wilykat even saw a driver barreling down the street hungrily flipping pages at the same time. Then, whenever these persons reached the place they called home, they would flip on their viewing-screens and see and hear everything that they had read; maybe more if they were lucky. The boy knew it well: the free republic in which everyone’s business, especially those of prominence, was freely shared among all. For some reason, that made good sense to them.

A little later on he entered one of Barim’s famed entertainment sectors: a full city block simply paved and devoid of buildings, in which small troupes or individuals could perform plays, make music, crack jokes, or dazzle onlookers with tricks and illusions. The entertainers’ sole income was the pocket change that was occasionally thrown to them; but as all of them knew, if they had a good act, they could make a decent sum—especially if it managed to attract potential tippers away from competitors.

On this night, someone was doing an exceptionally outstanding job of just that. Practically everyone in the sector had gathered around this spot; virtually all the other entertainers had dejectedly packed up their acts and were en route to the next closest sector in the hopes of finding room, while others of them actually joined the spectators, equally fascinated. Though Wilykat could not afford a hindrance— certainly he would not go missing for long— he simply could not pull his eyes away from the sight. More and more people were rushing over by the second. Whatever it was, it had to be good. He joined the mad rush of newcomers and penetrated the crowd.

The boy snaked through the mob of taller standees, hoping for a view. Even through the Latcrisians’ excited murmurs, the voice of the entertainer in question— for surely no one else would be saying those words— penetrated. "That’s right! Gather ’round, for this is a most marvelous item! Take a good look. Completely authentic! Bid with confidence!"

Bid?

He continued plowing forward until only about four or five rows of people stood before him. Rising as high as possible on the tips of his toes, he bobbed his head around shoulders and excited gestures, hoping to see what all the excitement was about.

"I’ll ask for quiet, ladies and gentlemen, as the auction is about to begin."

Hands returned to their sides. Someone in front folded up his newspaper. Wilykat at last caught a fleeting glance of the center of attention: a stout man on a platform with—

—with Wilykit’s space board?!

"This item that you shall soon have the privilege of bidding on, ladies and gentlemen, is none other than the... uh... raft that conveyed Wilykat and Wilykit themselves to our beloved Latcris. Here you see the fearsome ThunderCat symbol on top as proof. This raft is crafted of a lightweight metallic alloy. It’s sleek, sturdy, and would look wonderful just about anywhere in your home."

Wilykat reeled sickly, his head spinning, and fell to his heels. Two women in front of him spoke quietly.

"Look at that yellow trim. Wouldn’t that go just lovely with the rest of my kitchen?"

"Oh, I agree. And it would be an excellent planter for my garden. I have some vines that reach up about that high."

"But that’s not all, folks! No!"

Oh Jaga, what now? Attracted as though to a car accident, Wilykat reluctantly peeped up once more as excited gasps came from all around, though he felt that if he were not careful, he would end up stumbling into those two women ahead of him.

The auctioneer proudly held aloft a slim box of cardboard material. "To the high bidder, I’ll throw in the uniform of Wilykat’s sister, who sadly, as we all know, is no longer with us."

He did not bother to look as the lid came off and the contents were displayed. It was all he could do to suppress an anguished cry before it rose from his throat and gave him away. How did he get all that— her things?! How dare he thinks he or anyone else has a right to any of it! Just because he waited until she was back at Cats Lair... those are hers! Wilykit’s! My sister’s...

He bit back another cry when he realized how very much he still missed her.

"We’ll start the bidding at five hundred."

"Five hundred here!"

"Six hundred!"

"One thousand!"

"Two thousand!"

He had never been separated from her for that long.

"Twenty-five hundred!"

"Twenty-five hundred? Is that all? Might I remind you that this is the vessel that carried over Latcris’ first immigrants?"

"Three thousand!"

He wondered if she missed him just as fiercely...

"Hah! Mere pennies! I bid ten thousand!"

"Eleven thousand!"

"Oh dear, I think they’ve just moved past my limit."

...if she begged the ThunderCats for his return...

"Fifteen thousand!"

"Fifteen thousand five hundred!"

"Fifteen thousand five hundred! Do I hear sixteen thousand?"

...if she knew what they were doing with her things...

"Going once... going twice..."

...if she knew what they were doing to him.

"Sold!"

He could not help but laugh as another wave of nausea hit him. That just about sums it up, doesn’t it?

The gathering began to break apart. No, no, wait! Anyone got a cup or a bag or something? Wait around until I’m sick enough to vomit into it— then you can bid on that!

That made him laugh even harder. He wanted desperately to sit down and wait for the dizzy-spell to wear off, but had retained enough of his sanity to recognize the danger of being isolated in a crowded area. So off he went, doubled over, sandwiched safely by two large talkative groups of people. When, after about a mile or so, they ambled past an alley, he quickly ducked into it.

Wilykat did not go far before he noticed a feminine trio sitting upon the ground before him. He froze involuntarily. They sat in a row off to one side, the tallest of them sitting in the middle. They were as dirty as the alley, with long, straw-colored hair and frames that were evidently wiry, despite the baggy, disheveled clothing they wore to convince onlookers otherwise. The young ThunderCat had the impression that they were related.

"You’re that foreign kid everyone’s making a big fuss over, aren’t you?" spat the tallest of them: a rather ugly girl, with an angular face and body to match.

"Wilykat, right?"

He had heard the same questions perhaps a thousand times before at school, and they usually preceded a nasty brawl. But for some reason, he did not feel compelled to run away. "Yes."

She shook her head, cracking a crooked grin. "Boy, are you in for some surprises." The two others nodded knowingly.

His eyes narrowed questioningly. "What are you talking about?"

"Think you’re a big deal— that you’re here to stay, huh? Yeah, well, can’t blame you. We all do at first. It’s misleading. They treat you like you’re the greatest thing on two feet, until some trashy little tramp who lip-synchs and lies about her age shows up on the scene. Then they forget you ever existed."

"‘They’ as in the media?"

"Yeah, the media. Who else would I have meant?"

"Well, it sounds as though you want that attention. I sure don’t."

"Hah! Listen to him." Her piercing gaze made him flinch.

"I— I don’t! I hate being followed around and bothered all the time!"

"Well, what a shame. Next time they’re bothering you, do us a favor and let them know we want them back."

"So tell me what to do now, when I want you back," sang the shortest of them under her breath.

She earned a swift slap across her face for her trouble. "Shut up, you traitor! They’re part of the reason we’re here, too!"

The boy peered at them. "Who are you?"

"My name is Isaac. These are my brothers, Taylor and Zachary."

"You mean... you’re boys?" Wilykat had received far too many shocks to his system to retain a little thing like tact.

"Yes! Now go away! You’re just like all of them!"

"All of whom?"

"I don’t care who you are or how important you think you may be. Stop tormenting us with your stupidity! Think for once!"

Oh, think for once, Kat! You know, the opportunity to... to be respected. To make a difference, and be important. To be somebody...

Obediently, he half-jogged down the remainder of the alley with as much dignity as he could muster.

Maybe... maybe we’ll do something to make us famous! Everyone will know our names and we’ll be treated better than royalty. How does that sound?

He wondered if he had even begun to reach the city limits.

Are we there yet?

How many times had he and Wilykit tormented their elders with that running joke?

Why does everything remind me of them?

He reached the end of the narrow street and slumped against one of the walls.

Why can’t I just stop fooling myself?

So he stopped. And waited. Before dawn’s first light had hardly begun to streak across the sky, he had been pointed at, rushed, reported, interrogated, collected, and taken back to the safety of the Ministry.




On to Chapter Eight
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