Roci and the skycat

by Carolyn Wada

Copyright CarolynWada 2009

Published by Smashwords

Also by Carolyn Wada, Published by Smashwords:
For Cory's Sake, http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/6483

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this free e-book.  You are welcome to share it with your friends.  This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete unchanged form.  If you enjoyed this book, you may also be interested in its companion, For Cory's Sake, published by the author at Smashwords.com.

* * *

Roci and the skycat

DEEP BROWN EYES LOOKED INTO DEEP GREY ONES

The electric fence was banded thickly, on the inside, with a ring of tall grass. The cat sat motionless in the grass in a ring of his own making, one large paw crossed over the other, hind feet tucked under. Muscular shoulders and haunches framed a broad back; silky blue-grey hair seemed to mirror the clear, cool morning sky.  Two eyes stared unblinkingly ahead from a broad impassive face.

The cat was gazing across a mown field. Human children were darting around about the field, shrieking and laughing. The larger humans were all out of sight.

Most cats were afraid of the compound's humans, and stayed on the other side of the electric fence. The guardian humans were protective of the compound's food, and would kick and chase any animals they saw around their buildings.  The cat race had darker collective memories as well. Human children from the compound had been known to capture cats, and then submit them to tortures unthinkable. Sometimes the children were barely bigger than their victims; but they had hands, and fire, and always great anger. The cats learned to stay away.

Any unusually brave and curious cat still had a great physical barrier before it.  The fence was painful to touch; no animal ever needed to learn this more than once. Only one branch of one tall tree overhung the fence, and the fall from it was so great one might as well be falling from the sky. And then how would one leave? Curiosity alone could not create such courage.

This cat was not curious. Neither was he brave; for that would suggest the overcoming of fear, and there had been no fear. There had been purpose, and the cat watched for its fulfillment, motionless and impassive.

There was a soft, slight rustling in the grass to the east of the cat. The sound drew closer for many slow heartbeats, and then stopped.

The cat rose to his feet, turned to his right and began to move through the grass. The grass rustled with his passing too, and the boy's eyes were searching in his direction when the cat saw the boy. Deep brown eyes looked into deep grey ones. The cat sat belly down upon the ground, and waited.

Slowly, the boy turned through the grass and dropped onto his own belly, one hand folded over the other on the ground. He maintained this pose and his gaze for seconds; the cat held his own. Then slowly, but without hesitation, the boy stretched one arm out towards the cat. The tip of the boy's finger met and began to stroke the second toe on the cat's right paw. The boy's hand was the same size as the paw. The cat did not move.

Hello, said the boy softly.

Hello, said the cat. 

* * *

HE WAS NOT SURPRISED BY THE WONDER

Roci did not know how old he was. He knew about the same number of children were bigger than him as were smaller than him. He'd been told he was too big to cry, was big enough to help clean, but not big enough to mow the lawn.

Roci wasn't sure how he felt about growing bigger. He really did want to mow the lawn, but he knew that soon after he grew that big, a guard would come to take him from the compound.

Roci had heard different things about this future. Most of it he had heard from Niti, always in a high, piercing hurried voice; always when she was frustrated with him.  The guards will whip you every day if you act so dumb; they will beat you very bad if you don't do what you are told.  This future didn't sound much different than the present, but Roci also knew he'd have to work each day for all of the day; and he didn't feel ready for that, yet. 

Roci thought he liked his life right now just fine.  He liked his small cleaning jobs: especially the windows.  He would climb up and down the little ladder and push it around, and squirt the cleaner all over the glass, and then look for the patterns in the streaks before carefully wiping them off.  In the beginning he would get into trouble for using too much cleaner, or staring too long at the streaks, or leaving a few at the top or the bottom or in the corners of the glass.  But he'd done it right every time for a long time, now.

After cleaning the glass, he would always go out into the thick grass, to think.  He would sit in the grass with his legs crossed, and make up stories about the world he'd seen in his streaks.  It was a wispy white world with sharp peaks and cliffs, falling water; and unseen creatures living mysterious lives in its midst.

Roci liked to play with the other children.  He liked to run and yell and help make up games.  But the grass was; the grass was like his portal to endless other worlds.  He'd found so much just pushing through that grass, at different points and at different times.  He was never surprised to find a wonderful surprise on the other side of the tall blades.

So Roci had been surprised to find the beautiful, big cat in the grass; he had been awed by the wonder of it; but he was not surprised by the wonder.  Roci stroked the cat's big soft toe, switching his gaze between it and the compelling deep grey eyes in the broad blue-grey face.  The cat turned its paw slowly over.  Roci tapped the black pads on the underside of the paw.

Did you climb over the fence? he said to the cat. No, said the cat. 

How did you get here?  The cat looked upwards, as did Roci. 

Did you come from the sky?  The cat merely gazed at Roci, who decided it had come from the sky indeed.  It was what Roci wanted to believe, as well.

Tell me a story about the sky.  Please?

* * *

THEY DID NOT FALL AS RAIN FELL, OR AS STARS FELL

The skycat sat high above and overlooking the world.  The skycat was broad; the branch holding him in the sky was broader.  The branch was old; the skycat was older.  Little Brother, round and luminous, was climbing in the sky; the branch and the skycat were higher.

Thin columns of wispy smoke rose out of a hollow, near the far reaches of the skycat's view.  Small round houses were clustered closely in the hollow, yellow light shining softly from their windows.

Little Brother—persistent, reliable, and unhurried—climbed towards the skycat and the branch.  He climbed over, and sat for a while beside the skycat.  Then he moved on, upwards, his pale light reaching softly out into the world below.

The small lights seemed to fall from Little Brother, as he reached and passed the top of the sky.  They did not fall as rain fell, or as stars fell, but consciously and purposefully like a supremely patient bird of prey.

The many white lights and the few red ones descended together in formation, confident and capable.  The skycat watched.  The small lights fell lower, and the broad light from Little Brother struck the space between the lights.  The light was reflected back, and the skycat saw the massive body between the lights.  The body shone too, but very coldly.  A shiver ran down the back and the limbs of the skycat, but otherwise he did not move.

The body with the lights descended down to the ground, coming softly to rest in the field below the skycat.  For a while the body just sat and purred quietly to itself.  The purr rose to a soft whine then quickly died off into silence.  The small lights blinked out, and others, as big as Little Brother but more white, lit up and sent broad bands of light into the sky and onto the ground.

At the base of the body, a mouth opened.  A ridged jaw lowered slowly until it touched the ground.  The skypeople descended on the ridges of the jaw.  They were longer-limbed than the Cory-people who dwelt in the round houses in the hollow.  They moved with a sway and a saunter.  They wore more coverings: more pieces and more colors, covering more of their bodies.  The skycat saw both males and females.

The skypeople turned slowly around upon the ground.  They saw the mountains to the west, and gazed for a while at their grandeur.  But when the first skyperson saw the smoke rising thinly and straight into the sky, to the east, she exclaimed and pointed.  All of the others turned swiftly around.  Hands were waved, voices raised in excitement.  A tall male skyperson ran swiftly back up the jaw.

Another mouth opened, in the side of the cold-shining body.  A smooth jaw lowered slowly until it touched the ground.  A small cold-shining body glided down the smooth jaw; the small body had a purr of its own which grew louder when it was still.  It was still while the skypeople entered it from many openings; and then it was in motion, towards the smoke and the hollow.

* * *

A BEAUTIFUL GAME?

Roci was turning the ball over and over again in his hands.  Occasionally, he would run an index finger over the red ridge on the surface of the ball; following it across the ball, looping back around with it, and following it to the other hemisphere then looping back again.  This ball was white, with only a few grey smudges on it.  In the grass to Roci's left was a small pyramid of balls, in differing shades of brown.

The brynzian kids yell happy when one of them hits the ball over the fence, said Roci.

The cat looked out towards the field beyond the fence.  The Borrynzian children were spread out across the field.  Most of them had their backs to the fence, and the nearest was still some distance away from it.

Roci and the cat watched their pageant of sound and dance.  For some time most of the figures would be mostly still and mostly silent.  Sometimes an individual figure would sway back and forth; sometimes a single shout would pierce the air.  Then there would be a loud crack! and the figures would break into motion: one or some moving with the ball; others flowing towards set points on the field.  Speech noise would accompany the action through its resolution, and then fade out slowly as the figures reset.

There was a crack! and the cat saw the ball shooting like a star right at them.  Roci began to scoot frantically backwards, pushing with his heels against the ground.  Roci pushed himself out from the grass, the grass sprang back in front of him; but it was too late.  The Borrynzian boy who had been chasing the ball shot a suspicious glance at where Roci had been.  As the boy was running back across his field, Roci and the cat heard the words in his shout:

"Creepy slave is watching us again."

The cat turned around and pushed his head through the grass.  Roci was sitting still, in hesitation.  But then a resolute look overtook his face, and he got on his hands and knees and crawled back into the grass.  He seated himself in his original spot, hugging his knees tightly.  Roci and the cat watched the play.  Occasionally the Borrynzian boy would turn around and glare at Roci, and Roci would stare expressionlessly back.

Roci left the grass when the children's dinner horn blew, and ran across the compound's field to the barracks.  The cat continued to gaze across the outside field, occasionally shifting his feet and his pose, which gradually compacted as the chill came down.

The cat's right ear twitched backward when the guard entered the compound.  He turned around, and watched the guard stride with violent quickness across the field.  The guard entered the barracks.  The cat heard only his own heart for a few beats, and then suddenly shrieks and wails and angry shouts erupting from the building.

The guard left the building as violently as he had come.  A few beats later Roci burst from the barracks, and began to run towards where the cat was in the grass.  Roci found and kicked his little pyramid of balls, then began to pick up balls one by one or two by two and fling them angrily into the fence.

The cat backed up a little ways and stayed back until the throwing stopped; but then Roci sat heavily down and the cat rushed towards him and climbed with two paws onto Roci's leg.  Roci wrapped his arms tightly around the cat and whispered his ordeal into its ear: being tied up, and the hard ball smacking into his arm and leg, and not being able to do anything about it.  Roci kept repeating the part about not being able to do anything about it.  The cat let Roci repeat himself, and hug him too tightly, and rock him back and forth and wet his fur with his tears.

I don't like that game anymore, said Roci.  It's a really stupid game.

The cat was silent for a few moments before answering.

Don't let the ugly block out the beauty, he said.

He looked up at the overcast, darkened sky.

Do you think the stars are still there? he asked.

Yes, said Roci.

Do you think they're still beautiful?

Yes. 

When ugly tries to cover the beauty, you have to try to remember the beauty's still there.  Then the ugly will never cover over your heart.

The cat said, I will tell you a story about the skypeople, the game and the stars.

* * *

THIS TIME IT WOULD LAST FOREVER

The skypeople had time and space; they owned these and controlled them.  No fence held back their determination; no horn told them when to stop and then start.  They were free.

Their sky home was for the most part a place of color and light.  Dark blue, then translucent grey; then light blue deepening throughout the day; then fierce fire colors—yellow, red and orange—streaming from the hearth of the sky; then purple and grey before deepening blue; and a sudden fade to black.

The skypeople owned time and space, and the dark of the night did not constrain them.  The skypeople had many small lights in their keep; they would affix these to the purring, cold-shining bodies in which they moved together through the sky.  The skypeople's lights were small and steady, bright and pointed; while down below the lights of the Corypeople swelled big and glowed soft, and waved in a constant capricious dance.

A young skyperson held a small light in his hand.  He was young and had great energy; and he was free.  No force made him stop what he was doing when the dark came down.  He could sit upon his cloud and think of new things to do; and then he could do his thoughts.

The young skyperson suddenly stood up upon his cloud.  He had thought of a new thing to do.  

When the skypeople needed great light at night, light to fill the sky, they used their thundersticks.  They would strike the sticks together, and a blade of light would slice through the sky.  Bright white light would explode from this spark, throwing every house and tree and curve and angle of Cory into sharp relief.

The young skyperson found a single thunderstick.  He was going to make light, and it was going to fill the sky, but this time it would last forever.

The young skyperson tossed the small light from his hand up into the air.  The small light fell back down; the skyperson caught it and tossed it upwards again.  Again and again he tossed the small light.  After the last toss, he did not catch the light again.  Instead, as the light was dropping back down towards the cloud, the skyperson grasped the thunderstick one hand below another.  He brought the thunderstick around in a smooth fast arc from behind to level with to before and below his shoulders.

The stick struck the star, and it skipped in short hops across the sky, and stayed where it stopped.  The skyperson struck another light, this time swinging his stick in an up-tilting plane.  The star cut a beautiful arc through the night sky, coming to rest far beyond the first.

The Corypeople looked up and saw the game.  At first they watched its beauty in breathless silence.

The skyperson tossed and swung again and again, skipping and shooting stars across the sky, spraying them from different angles until the entire grid was saturated with points of light.  In one series he landed three stars close to one another in a row.  The Corypeople clapped and called out in amazement.

The skyperson was moved by the cheers.  He sprang from the cloud with his thunderstick and his bottomless pouch of lights.  He would bring them the beautiful game.  He would bring them joy and joy in their praise.  They would share in mutual delight.

* * *

YOU KNOW ABOUT THE STARS; HERE'S HOW BASEBALL REALLY CAME TO CORY

"This is such an honor," said jacoby.  "Such an honor."

Big Jake did not respond.  He was gazing at the screen on his computer notebook.  Occasionally, a wistful expression would cross his face, evidently triggered by something on his screen.

Jake and jake in the Afternoon was a popular Urtthrian sports talk show.  Jake, jake (called by his full given name in written works, for differentiation) and their production team were holding an important meeting, in preparation for the great honor.

"Play it again," said jacoby to his producer.  "I want to hear it again."

"What are you doing?" he demanded of big Jake, who still had not responded or looked up.

jacoby remotely turned up the sound on Jake's computer.  The soundtrack to American Football Classics swelled through the room.  jacoby affected an exasperated groan. 

"It's so sad," said Jake.  "So sad."

"It is," said jacoby.  "I miss it too.  But that's in the past.  We have a chance to be part of the future here—the future; and you're missing it."

Jake swung his head around and back, as if following a particularly stunning automobile that had just passed his.

"I missed it?" he jested.  "Where did it go?"

"Ha-ha-ha," said jacoby.  "Ha.  Will someone get him up to speed here?"

Let's get up to speed too.

National distinctions did not survive the move to Urtthoo from Earth.  These distinctions had already grown weak, and in the planetary transition people of all Earth nationalities were thrown and shaken together, and then grew where they were planted.  Individuals continued to cherish aspects of their Earth culture, especially as manifested in the visual and culinary arts; but they were no longer surrounded by those who shared the same heritage.

Nations eventually did re-form on Urtthoo and again on Urtthri.  But they were formed for administrative purposes, and no longer featured cultural homogeneity.

Sports and the arts made seamless moves to both planets, mostly.  Symphony halls and stadiums; arenas and museums; aquatic centers and aquariums; courses, courts and galleries sprang up and mostly flourished.

By the time humanity left Earth, basketball and baseball had joined football ("soccer") as fully global team sports.  Each sport established successful leagues on each planet.

American football tried.

Wealthy former Americans formed an American football league on Urtthoo.  They time-shared fields with baseball and world football.  They were never able to fill their rented stands, though, and in their half- to 3/100ths-full venues they could never recapture the pageantry and grandeur, the passion and awe of American football in America.

American football struggled for life on Urtthoo and did not survive the move to Urtthri.  All that was left were digital video archives and less than ten million people who could appreciate the beauty in these relics.

"It's so sad," said Big Jake.  "So much beauty—gone.  An extinct sport."

When the Urtthrians found the Coryans, they were delighted to learn the Coryans already played a ball-kicking sport.  The ball was smaller, not paneled and uni-colored, and there was no net and no head moves; but otherwise it was football.

The Urtthrian Basketball League immediately saw an opportunity in the newly discovered planet.  Basketball invaded Cory before the Urtthrian financial or technological sectors.  The UBL's developmental league was moved to Cory.  Free buses would take the Coryans to D-league arenas, where they would watch the tall Urtthrians run, spin, jump and send each other flying. The average full-grown Coryan male was no bigger than the average early adolescent Urtthrian male, so the UBL lowered the hoop by 1/10th and then established adult training camps and youth outreach programs on Cory.  The outreach was wildly successful.  Coryans paid to see games now; there was a television contract; and in every neighborhood Coryan adults and children could be seen dribbling, shuffling their feet, running, spinning, jumping and sending each other flying.

Urtthrian Baseball had cautiously watched the efforts of the UBL, and was now ready to make its own move into Cory.  Two UBA teams had been drafted for an exhibition in Cory's Central City.  Jake and jake had been tabbed to call the historic game.

"Play it again," said jacoby to his producer.

The producer pushed a button, and a portion of a phone call played back to the production team.

" . . . and we would like Jake and jake to call the game!  They have a real down-to-earth, relatable style, and we think the Coryans will love them.  You could do your show before a live walk-in crowd throughout the week leading up.  We'll be bringing a shipload of Hall of Famers plus you'll have the personnel of both teams at your disposal—enough for months'-worth of interviews . . . "

"Down-to-earth style," laughed jacoby.

"Down-to-cory anyway," said Jake.

"Later on in the conversation he called us Ambassadors of Sport.  Ambassadors of Sport—I could get used to that."

"It is a great honor," agreed Jake.

* * *

Two weeks before the inaugural baseball game, Coryans began to pour into Central City.  The Jake and jake crew set up in a large square, which was cordoned off for the week before the game and entry tickets issued by lottery for each day.  The entire planet tuned in to Jake and jake's broadcasts every morning, and anticipation had built to a fever pitch by the time game day rolled around.

For the three hours before game time, 100,000 Coryans entered the converted football venue through its dozens of entrances.  Coryan fathers carried Coryan babies wearing tiny baseball caps and logoed shirts.  Coryan boys and girls brought their brand-new gloves, and stood in line for autographs; and later for ice cream and soft drinks, chips and nuts.

A rumbling soundtrack played as the PA announcer called out the names of coaches and players.  The teams stood on the baseline for the jet flyover and accompanying raucous applause; then one team broke for the field and the other for their dugout—and the game was on.  The teams were the Dodgers, wearing white; and the Blue Wave, wearing blue.  The Coryans didn't know what a dodger was, but accepted it that that was the name of the baseball team.

The first hit (after the first out) was a line drive smoked behind the pitcher and past second base, falling in shallow center field.  The next play was a double play.  The shortstop picked and flipped in one smooth motion; the second baseman caught and shot in another.  The ball thwacked into the first baseman's glove, the umpire pumped his fist authoritatively, the Coryans gasped in amazement; and the Dodgers ran off the field while the Wave ran on.

Twenty-three Coryans acquired foul ball souvenirs that night.  One got a home run—hit in the bottom of the fifth by a Dodger.  The lone long ball plated three runs.  The Dodgers won the game 5-3.

Urtthrian Baseball won a planet of fans.  The entire planet had tuned in to the action.  Jake and jake were down-to-cory and relatable.  The game was explained graphically during its breaks.  The rhythms and spatial aspects of the game appealed to Coryan sensibilities.  The punctuation of the offense, the speed and grace of the defense—many Coryans fell asleep that night hearing and seeing these things in their heads.  Others would see their laughing wife or husband; their glowing children; their alert and interested and then suddenly and snuggily zonked-out baby.  They knew they would be back.

* * *

ROCI'S THOUGHTS ON FAMILY

That's a family, Roci told the cat.

Roci and the cat sat in the grass near the tall tree.  Their necks were tilted back back back and their faces were tilted upwards as they watched the family in the tree.  A mother bird was feeding her gaping babies in a nest at the base of a branch.

The Mama bird and Papa bird built the house out of little pieces, Roci told the cat.  It took them forever!  Then they sat on their babies so they wouldn't get cold.  Grown birds are warm like you—they have much hair.  But baby birds are naked like people with no clothes.  Now the Mama and Papa bird feed them every day.  Soon they will be fluffy; then they will be half-grown, and will fly away.  I've seen them grow before.

The cat had also seen birds nest before.  He had been watching this particular one from the beginning.  But he had known Roci was watching it too, for a different reason than the cat, and had left it alone.  There were many other birds out in the world; he did not need the caged boy's.

You don't have a family, stated Roci.  No, confirmed the cat.

I don't, said Roci.  I have guardians.  Niti's a guardian, and she said don't get used to it.  She could disappear any day now because only old people get to be guardians, and old people die.  And anyway I will definitely be taken away when I am ten.  I don't know how old I am and Niti doesn't know either, but she says I still have more years.

She says her only jobs is to feed me, clean me and get me ready for the harsh, harsh world.  She says that's why she beats me, and the guards surely beat people much worse.  I know—I hear them from the factory.  Even grown people scream when the guards beat them.

Niti used to have a family, when she was a little girl before the Bomb.  But she said there's no point wanting for what you just can't have.  She said look at Bradley, the owner's son.  The owner hits Bradley and makes him cry—and is that what I want?  I don't know.  The owner takes Bradley places too, and they come back happy and laughing.  I don't know.

I have a family—they are in my head.  I have older brothers who help me against the big boys.  I have a Mama and a Papa.  I don't know if they beat me.  I don't want them to, but should they?

The cat opined that since Roci's Mama and Papa were in his head, if he didn't want them to beat him they shouldn't have to.  Roci thought that made good sense.

Coryans used to have families, said Roci.  Niti had one.

* * *

REMEMBER, SAID PAPA, REMEMBER HARD

It was the smell of frying pancakes that woke Niti that morning.  It was an energizing smell to Niti, and she was bright-eyed when she entered her Mama's kitchen a quarter of an hour later.  A few minutes later, a large stack of cakes was on her plate.  Niti's family lived on a berry farm, where her parents worked.  The workers were given a bountiful berry allowance, and Mama had cooked the berries right into the cakes, and was pouring her award-winning syrup all over Niti's stack.  Niti was big for a Coryan girl.  She ate well and finished her stack in a few minutes.

"Where's my backpack?" she said to Mama.

"You're not going to school today," said Mama.

"Why not?"

"We're waiting for something," said Mama, "and we're going to wait here—together.  Come, let's sit on the couch."

"Can we watch television?"

"No, we're not going to watch television."

Niti sat on the couch next to Mama.  She was surprised when Mama suddenly wrapped both her arms around Niti and squeezed her towards her.

Niti and Mama sat close and silent until Papa entered with Niti's baby brother.  Papa fed the baby, then came with him to the couch and sat down right next to Niti.

"Why are we just sitting?" asked Niti of Papa.  Papa sighed.

"Our Coryan leaders must make a great and frightening decision," said Papa.  "We will wait for it here, together."

"What must they decide?"

"Do you know what freedom is, Niti?"

"No."

"Freedom means if I want to leave the berry farm and work in the jam factory, I probably can.  If I want to try the city, I can.  I control my own self and my own life; what I do and a lot of what happens to me.  And so do you."

Papa's voice broke.  "The Coryan leaders must now choose between life, with no freedom; or all of us being no more."

"No more?"

"Being gone.  All of us.  Forever."

"Where would we go?"

"I mean we would stop.  Our lives would stop, all of them.  They would all be ended."

"How?" asked Niti, breathlessly.

"There has been a Great Threat.  A people on Urtthri have the power to end our world.  They have shown their great power to our leaders.  The leaders told us, and asked what do we want?"

Papa sighed.  "I said I would choose life.  Your Mama said differently.  We are waiting to know what the leaders will choose."

Niti sat silent, absorbing the news.

Mama said, "Niti, if you go on, but not free, remember that you will always control one thing."  Mama tapped Niti on the head.  "This," said Mama.  "You will always control this—what's in here."

"And we want you to put one thing in there right now," said Papa.  "We want you to put in it that we love you.  We want you to lock it up and keep it for as long as you live.  Will you do that right now?"

"Yes," said Niti.  She felt like crying.

"Remember," said Papa.  "Remember hard."  Niti nodded, and leaned hard into Papa's side.  She accidentally leaned against her brother's foot as well.  The baby squawked.

Sixty-two years later, Niti lay on her cot, her eyes wide open.  "I can't remember," she whispered.  "I can't remember my baby brother's name."

* * *

AN UGLY NIGHT

The lights were out in the children's barracks, and had been for three hours, now.  The cat was hunting in an alley between the electric fence and the working slaves' barracks.  He had seen a rat, or thought he had.  He knew he had seen motion—a shadow moving quickly across the dirt near the barracks wall.  Now the cat was crouched down, facing the wall; his chest brushing the dirt, his rear a little higher than his shoulders and his tail a-twitch.

A door, not a rat, squeaked.  The cat lay down flatter upon the dirt, his eyes and his pupils wide and his ears pricked.  A few heartbeats later, he craned his neck around and looked over his right shoulder.  A guard was moving towards the east entrance to the children's field.  The cat followed the guard with his head; as the guard entered the field, crossed the field and entered the children's barracks.

A few more heartbeats and suddenly a feeling of dread overcame the cat.  He did not know what it was; in all his years he had never experienced such a sudden and dark inner void.  It brought him to his feet, and he began to pace in tentative and then semi-frantic circles, whining quietly.

Suddenly, the cat jumped into a run.  He ran to and up his tree and across the overhanging branch.  He leapt from the branch without any slowing of speed, and landed farther into the field than ever before.

Now the cat paused.  He had never before approached the barracks.  He paced a few more circles in hesitation, and then suddenly broke again into a run.  He charged the barracks wall, then began to pace along it near the door the guard had entered.

The cat knew when the guard began his approach to his exit.  The cat posed himself and waited; his chest brushing the dirt, his rear slightly higher than his shoulders and his tail a-twitch.  When the guard's feet passed over the threshold of the door, the cat raked one set of claws swiftly and deep into the back of the guard's right leg, then raced off along the barracks wall towards the mountains.

The cat waited for Roci in the tall grass nearest the mountains.  Roci did not come out after breakfast.  He could not be seen running and playing with the other children.  He did not come out after lunch.  The dinner horn blew, and the children stopped playing and went into the barracks.

Roci came out after dinner.  He walked hesitantly across the field, looking this way and that.  He pushed himself into the middle of the band of grass, so that there was grass all around him when he stopped.

The cat thought Roci looked like one of the ghost boys the cat would see at times in the moonlight.  The paleness, the deadness—the cat looked for the light in Roci's eyes, the sun shining through his face; and felt a churning inside as his searching found only blankness.

But the cat was a cat, and his face was settled and calm as he asked, What happened?

Ugly came last night, answered Roci.  The words were spoken very faintly, but the cat was good at hearing what he must.

Is the guard Ugly?

Yes.

Roci was speaking so very faintly.  The cat was listening very carefully, hoping to understand why his boy felt so bleak.

Is he very ugly, then?

Yes.

The cat saw the lights turn out in the barracks.

Will you get in trouble if you are not back for bedtime?

No; Niti was very nice to me today.  She knows I didn't want to do anything today; and she didn't make me.  She brought me extra food, but I couldn't eat it.  Roci suddenly began to cry.  The cat, still, could not know why.  As a cat he had fought, and he had killed; but he knew nothing of the particular violence that had poisoned his boy.

But he had a child sick with grief, and he had to try to help without understanding.  The cat leaned into the boy, who leaned back into him.  They sat together as the moon came up and the chill came down; the cat warming the boy with his stronger inner furnace, and his concern.

Roci had one strong thought he had to finally share with the cat.  The cat felt the sinking fear as Roci shared his thought, but listened without perceptible reaction.

Tobi, said Roci, says he's going to kill Ugly.  He says he's going to bash his head in.  Niti gets very scared when Tobi says that.  She says he mustn't; that horrible things will happen to us all if he does.  She says the guards own us; and that's why they can do whatever they want, and we can do nothing about it.  She says if we owned ourselves we could fight, but they own us, so we can't.

Muri says it's not right—he says we should own ourselves.  He says every person should own his own self.  It used to be like that, but we can't get us back, because we can't fight.  If we fight, we will lose us forever . . . 

* * *

WHY THEY WILL LOSE THEM FOREVER

The window was wide, offering a panoramic view of the space behind it.  The Coryan leaders stood in a line before the large window.

The Borrynzians had pointed out a planet, out deep in the space behind the large window.  The planet looked small, but the Borrynzians said it was of a similar size to Cory.

"Fire," said the Borrynzian captain, quietly.  The gunner pushed the button initiating the firing sequence.

The Coryans saw a bright white light shoot out into the void.  The light disappeared.  For a few seconds, the Coryans saw only the smooth, small-looking planet; and the stationary stars.

Suddenly, the planet cracked.  Fissures opened up between panels, as between pieces of shell in a well-cracked hard-boiled egg.  The broken pieces began to separate; and then they were flying apart, seemingly propelled by flailing thick tongues of fire.

"Turn around," said the Borrynzian captain.  The ship slowly swung 180 degrees around, and began to move off through space.

The Coryan leaders stood stunned and silent.  The ship had been in motion for some time when it was suddenly jarred from the starboard side.  The Coryan leaders stepped out suddenly to the port side, to keep their balances, lurching and leaning a little until the ship stabilized.

"We didn't move out fast enough," said the Borrynzian captain.

The Coryan prime minister looked at the captain.  His face was pale and his eyes anguished.

"What do you want?"  The words only barely came out.

"Cory and everything on it," said the captain.

"Or—or that?"

"Yes.  Or that."

"Why?" cried out the prime minister.

"Because," answered the captain.  "Because we can."

* * *

Robert Bentler was angrier than he had ever been; angrier than he had ever before thought possible for himself.  Robert Bentler was a vastly wealthy man.  He had created his wealth himself, over eighteen years starting when he was eighteen years old.  He had created his wealth with the power of intelligence backed by the force of a strong personality.

He had become accustomed to people hearing him when he spoke.  He had become accustomed to his carefully chosen words carrying weight.

Now he was stymied, and was unconsciously clenching and unclenching his fist against his powerlessness.  He truly did want to strike the insolent, heedless man before him.  The man was mocking him, gloating and leering at every one of his questions, protestations and demands.

"How is this possible?" said Bentler.  "In this day—how is this possible?"

"We have a monopoly of knowledge," answered the Borrynzian ambassador.  "A certain essential piece of knowledge.  We decided to press our advantage.  Can you stop us?"

"You can't stop us.  You have no allies.  The other Utthrian nations have not spoken a word.  They will not speak a word against us.  They assume the Great Bomb did not coalesce out of thin air.  They assume we have other, less great but still fearsome bombs.  Do you think otherwise?"

"What will you do if we resist?  The Urtthrians who live—who have lived, some of us our entire lives, on Cory.  It is our planet too."

"Hardly.  A few individuals, scattered across the planet?  If you protest, we will ignore you.  If you resist with violence, we will imprison you; and then who will hear you champion your Cory?"

"I want to see the footage," demanded Bentler, again.

"No again," said the ambassador.  "It is proprietary.  You are smarter than the Coryans—you might figure something out.  Doesn't your company do tech?"

"Not this," said Bentler.  "Not this perverted, low, manipulation of powers."

"Words," said the ambassador.  "Not much good against a Great Bomb.  Does it sadden you to know they're all you have to defend your planet with?"

* * *

ROCI PRACTICES BIG WORDS AND GREAT MEANINGS

Do you know what a hero is? Roci asked the cat.

It is not really a cat idea, said the cat.

Cory used to have heroes.  Muri tells stories about them, and then I make them better.  Do you want to hear one?

Very much, said the cat.

Do you see that mountain wall, over there?  It looks like a wall, and you can see there's a big shadow, behind it.  That is where the mountain elves live.  They live in a great valley.  There is a stream in the valley—it comes from way up in the mountain where there is nothing growing there but rock.  The stream comes from great crystals that grow up there; and then they melt down down down into magic water.  The mountain elves drink from the water to make them strong and healthy.

The valley has trees, with big round yellow fruit on the branches.  The fruit shines, like small suns.  The elves climb the trees, then pick the fruit and eat it.  It has sweet juice that dribbles down their chins.  They eat the fruit to make them happy.

The mountain elves have a 'heritance.  The 'heritance is in a cave in the back of the valley.  Leaves on long vines hide the door pretty good, so it looks just like part of the valley!

The 'heritance is treasure.  It is all different colors—purple and red and blue and yellow and green and black and white and all sorts of different colors.  Some are shiny and bright like stars.  Some are deep and makes you stare in like a pool of water at night.  The treasure fills the cave, in the back.  It is the elves 'heritance.

The treasure is what makes the story serious.  Even though the treasure is in the cave.  Even though the cave is covered with leaves, so it looks like the valley.  Some people are always looking for things like that.  Some people are never satisfied.

Outsiders found the valley one day.  They found the elves.  Some way they found the treasure.  They decided they wanted the treasure, and would take the elves too—why not?  The story is very serious now—because of the treasure, and greediness.

But the elves have a dragon . . . 

The elves have a dragon?

Yes.  The dragon protects the valley.  The dragon is red, and skinny, and long like the tree.  She has great sharp teeth, and she flies.  When she flies her long body wiggles like this, [Roci made a snaking forward motion with his hand] very slow and pretty.  She is very pretty.

The dragon is a girl?

Yes, because otherwise if she dies there are no more dragons.  Babies come from girls.

I did know that, said the cat.  So the dragon is the hero?

I don't really think so.  Dragons are born for to protect the elves and the treasure.  They only have one thought in the mind.  It's like they have to do it and just do it because that's what dragons do.

I think to be a hero you have to decide to do the thing.  And it should be a very hard thing.  Doing hard things on purpose is brave.  When you are brave you are a hero.

But she is very loyal, and protects the treasure good, and it was sad when she died.  She died because—because—I'm not sure why she died, but she had to, because that's 'versity.  It's 'versity for the elves, because now they are helpless.  'versity makes a story more serious.  Life is not too happy anymore, but the people must keep trying, and make it better.

But the dragon did leave an egg.  That made them hopeful!  The egg was very pretty.  It was as big as my head, and red; with freckles in it like tiny stars and suns.  If they could stay alright long enough, pretty soon there would be another dragon, and then they would be alright.

But it was getting very cold, up in the mountains.  It is very cold up in the mountains.  Eggs need to be very warm or they crack.  When an egg cracks it is dead, and will never be anything, ever.

The elves have a friend.  He used to be an Outsider, but he decided he liked the elves.  He decided to stay with the elves.  He decided to help the elves.

When the Outsider heard the mama dragon was dead, he ran to the cave.  He picked up the egg and put it in his lap and hugged it between his arms and his [Roci pounded his chest].

The Outsider stayed all night in the cave with the egg.  It was very cold in the cave, and the Outsider shivered, very bad.  He thought he would never stop shaking.  His hands and his toes were very cold, all the time.  But he put his head down, and held his teeth together strong and waited.

Why not take the egg to a house? inquired the cat.

Because the elves do not live in houses.  They don't get cold because they are magic, because they have a strong furnace inside, like you.

Another objection crept into the cat's mind, but he held his tongue.  Roci answered it with his next comment, anyway.

It is important to have sakkyrifices.  That is how you know somebody's a hero.  They have to give something very hard to get something more better.  They make the story more 'portant and gooder.  He is a hero because it's cold, and it's hard, but he wants the elves' baby dragon to live; so he stays with it.

So he stays with the egg, though it's so very very cold in the cave.  He stays with the egg for days and days.  Suddenly, he feels the egg—shake a little; it makes a little jump in his arms.  Then there is a taptaptap, like the baby dragon is knocking, saying, "I'm coming out; I'm coming out; I'm coming out!"

The Outsider looks at the egg with eyes so big, in wonder.  The baby dragon goes taptaptap, taptaptap, taptaptap.  Then her head bursts through the shell of the egg, and she looks at the Outsider.  The baby dragon's eyes are very pretty.  They are blue like the sky, and she looks almost like she's smiling at the Outsider.  The Outsider smiles back, very pleased.

The Outsider carries the dragon in his arms outside the cave.  His feet hurts very much, but he walks slow and steady.  His hands hurt very much, but he holds the dragon high to show the elves it is alright.  The elves clap and cheer.  He hurts inside, all over; but he shouts to the valley, "You have a dragon, again!"

He raises the dragon high once more.  It rises from his hands and begins to circle the valley, very slow and pretty.  She gives them a hopeful feeling.

Then the hero goes to his home, to rest.  He is very tired but is happy.

So the hero has a house, then? asked the cat.

Yes.  He is a man.  Men have houses.

* * *

MORE THOUGHTS ON HEROES

You are like a hero, stated Roci.

I am a cat, said the cat.

When I said, "Stay away!" because they were setting traps for you; because you scratched the guard; you did not stay away.

Roci, said the cat, with some condescension—I have passed through more dangers in my life than even you can imagine.  I am smarter than a trap; and so I do not fear them.  I am not afraid of traps; and so I am not brave.

Roci thought about that thought, for a while.

Besides, continued the cat, I cannot free you.  I cannot stop anything bad from happening to you.  I am a cat, and I do cat things, because I want to.  I like you; and I want you to be happy; and I do what a cat can to help you be as happy as you can.

I'm alright happy.  Sometimes I am very not; but right now I am happy alright.

I think, said Roci, in a low confidential voice—I think there still are heroes out there.  Niti says that's stupid.  She says why would there be—no one cares about us.  She says there's no reason why anyone out there should care about us.

I think there's reasons.  I think if I was out there I would care about us.  I think I would see the little boy and think—he looks so not happy.  Then I think I would think—why is he so not happy?  I know I would try to know, and when I knew I think I would try to do things about it.  I think I would at least try to say—why does he have to be there?  Why can anyone hit him who wants to?  Why can anyone do anything they wants to to him?  Why can't he do anything for him, or things get so worse?

I think I would think that, and say that, and do as much as I could.  I think there must be people out there who can think, and say, and do like that too.

I know you are right, said the cat.  I do know that you are most right.

* * *

I THINK I WOULD THINK

William Bentler was a father of seven, and a writer.  This was how, and the order in which, he identified himself.

William was writing.  Half-an-hour ago, after wiping up toothpaste spray and soapy water from the kiddy sink and mirror, and making sure the lights were out in most of his house, he had entered his study to do his second job.  He had spent about twenty-five minutes thinking and five minutes writing.  William was thinking when a door slam interrupted the process.

A few seconds later, the study door swung open.

"Hi, Dad!" shouted Jeffrey, who had not yet developed an indoor voice.

"Not sleepy, Jeffrey?"

"No.  And Terrence kicked me out again."

"Were you teasing him, again?" asked William, looking seriously at Jeffrey.

"No, I wasn't!  But I wasn't sleepy, and I was talking a little."

William smiled at Jeffrey's "a little."  "Well," he said, "you'd better stay here until you are sleepy, then."  Jeffrey hopped nimbly up onto the study's second chair, and began to spin it.  William looked at his free, uninhibited, confident child, thought about what he had just been thinking about, and felt sad.

"Are you writing?" inquired Jeffrey.

"Yes."

"Are you scared?"

"No."

"When are you going to publish?"

"When I finish.  I've only just begun this one."

"What are you writing about?"

"I'm writing another story about Roci."

"Can you tell me?"

William hesitated.  "This one is—this one is very sad, Jeffrey.  I don't want to make you sad, tonight."

"I'm not a coward," stated Jeffrey.

"Of course you're not," said William, puzzled.  "Why would you be a coward?"

"Kerry says nobody reads your articles because they're cowards.  She says they don't want to know what's going on, because they'd rather be happy and stupid than knowing and sad.  I want to know what's going on.  I want to know about Roci."

William made a mental note to himself, to talk to his daughter about the wisdom of badmouthing humanity to a seven-year-old.

"If I don't know, I can't do anything about it," persisted Jeffrey.

"Why don't you tell me what you already know about Roci," suggested William.

"All right," said Jeffrey.  "I know . . . "

Two hours later, after carrying a sleeping Jeffrey to his room and checking once more for lights, William returned to his story.  It was indeed a very sad story, and William was tired, and suddenly found himself crying a little.  William had a vivid imagination; and he was seeing his son and his story's representative Coryan child side-by-side as he worked.  He saw light, joy and freedom on one side; darkness, fear and helplessness on the other.  He saw that only an accident of birth separated the children, and from there he easily saw Jeffrey in the Coryan child's place, and wept harder and typed faster, far into the night.

* * *

A VERY SAD STORY

Roci grew older.  He began to spend a little less time with the cat and more in his own world with the other children.

Roci grew older.  Over the months, the cat heard him transition from fanciful fairy tales to increasingly realistic stories about more modern heroes or Roci's rounded-out "family members".  He would still come to the cat when particularly interesting stories would reach critical mass, and his head could contain them alone no longer.  

Roci's plotting improved, aided by the cat—though he was still willing to compromise his plotting to satisfy his world-view.  Never compromised were his beliefs regarding: beauty or hopefulness or the need for adversity and sacrifice.

Roci still ran to the cat for relief from trauma.  This happened less often as Roci became one of the "older boys," outgrew Ugly and learned how to not get beatings.  So the cat had not seen Roci for more than a week, and was hunting far out in a field when the shrieking began.

The shrieking was not Roci's—the cat knew his boy's voice, and also Roci didn't shriek any more.  The cries were strangely uniform—each one of the same pitch, duration and small time interval between each.  The shrieks whipped angrily through the air, one after another.  

The cat froze for a few seconds, and then ran—towards the children's barracks.  He ran up the tree and leapt off its branch.  He hesitated at the inner border of the grass, looking towards the barracks.  The shrieks pierced the air, consistently and incessantly.

It was two hours before midnight in a town that turned in early, and the cat could see lights turning on in houses very far away.  A few minutes later, the cat saw a guard approaching the children's field, an angry energy in his posture and stride.  The guard entered the field and strode swiftly across it to the barracks.

Now the shrieks began to build in strength and increase in quickness, accompanied now by many other cries of frightened children and desperate adults.  The cat began to pace and whine.

Long seconds passed.  The primary noise built and built and built, until it seemed strong enough to any moment blow out the stars and overcome the world.  The cat began to paw at the ground; and then suddenly, all sound stopped.

The guard exited the children's barracks with a full plastic garbage bag.  He carried his bag across the children's field, out, and quickly out of sight around the factory.

The cat lay down.  He felt profoundly exhausted, frazzled and despairing.  He would wait for Roci where he was.

Roci came to the cat in the early morning—he could not have eaten breakfast yet.  Roci's eyes were swollen and his face was gaunt.  The cat rushed to Roci and pressed against him side-to-side.

The guard killed somebody, Roci told the cat.

The cat listened hard though he did not want to.

He was only a baby, said Roci despairingly.  He hardly even talked, yet.  That's why he was shrieking—he was mad, and it was the only way he could tell the world how angry he was.

Roci was rocking back and forth.  The guardians tried to make him stop, he said—they tried everything.  They knew the owner's neighbors would complain at him, and the guard would come . . . 

Roci was sobbing beneath his words.  He continued, The guard wouldn't stop.  I tried to yell, "Stop!" but Muri put his hand over my mouth.

Niti was screaming at everybody to shut up.  I closed my eyes, but I could still hear.

He was only a baby, said Roci.  And the guard wouldn't stop until the baby stopped screaming.  And the baby wouldn't stop until he was dead.

Roci had no more words, now.  The cat leaned into Roci as his boy rocked him.  The cat had no words either.

But an idea was bothering Roci, and after waking up with the cat three hours later, Roci told him about it:

Tobi, says Roci, says that the Borrynzians even make more boy slaves than girl slaves because they know they kill more boys.  The boys make more trouble than the girl slaves.  They make more boy slaves so if they are too much trouble they can just kill them.

That's wrong, said Roci, that's not right.  It's not right to make somebody just to kill him when he's too much trouble later.

The cat agreed, silently.

* * *

THE CAT AS FATHER FIGURE

Roci was one of the big boys now.  He grew into a position of power on the playground, with authority to direct games, enforce rules and arbitrate disputes.  In the workforce, he was promoted to the coveted position of lawn mower.

He saw the cat very infrequently now.  Sometimes, when walking the mower along the grass border, Roci would see a flash of blue-grey out of the corner of his eye, and would feel a memory tickle.  But the job would hold his attention—and he would keep on walking and pushing, and go indoors when the job was done.

On the playground, Roci learned that little kids could be very trying to his new maturity.  He found they could be very hard to reason with—sometimes he thought they must have very small brains.

Roci made a unilateral rules decision near the very beginning of one early morning game.  A small boy decided he didn't like Roci's call, somehow, and began to shriek at him incoherently.  His unintelligible argument then devolved, logically, into a refrain of, "You're stupid!  You're so stupid!  You're so stupid!"

Roci took the disrespect for as long as he thought he could; then closed his fist, cocked his elbow back and released a hard punch full into the smaller boy's face.  The boy hit the ground, and Roci looked suddenly and guiltily towards the tall grass.

Roci took the hard whipping from Muri, without a word, and then went looking in the tall grass for the cat.  When Roci found him, the cat turned slowly around and showed his back to Roci.

I'm sorry, Roci told the cat.  I'm sorry.  Muri whipped me really bad; and Muri doesn't even usually whip people.  I got punished really good.

The cat did not turn around.

He was acting really dumb, said Roci.  He was acting really really dumb.

You're dumb, said the cat.

Roci sat down, behind the cat.  He desperately wanted to explain himself to the cat.  Something had been building in him for months—it had been growing in him and scaring him and he had to tell the cat about it, now.

Roci was verbally advanced—had anyone cared about talent in slaves, they might have called him verbally gifted.  For the purpose of telling the cat about himself, Roci gathered all his words and began to align select ones with his formerly confused thoughts and feelings.

Violence, Roci told the cat—it's like a shadow covering the whole world in my stories, now; it fills the whole world here.  Someone is always getting hurt—every day, out here; and every time, in my head.  I can't ever stop thinking about it, any more.  And a great dark nothing grows in me, and I feel like I have to put something big and strong there or the empty will swallow me . . .

The cat turned around.

It is hard, he confirmed to Roci, to control how you feel; it is hard not to think about bad things that are so big.  But you can always control what you do, Roci; and then you will always control who you are.  I expect you to not hurt others, Roci.  I want you to be good.  I will have to leave if you are not good.

Why?

Because you will no longer want me.  You will mock me.  You will think I am stupid.  You will be angry at me and hate me because you will hate everything.  You will have set yourself against the good in the world and will see all of it as your enemy, including me.  It will be hard to find happiness after that—you might never find it after that.  But if you are good it will sometimes find you.  It will surprise you at times—like a star glinting suddenly out of a deeply clouded sky.  And that is what I want for you, Roci.  I want you to always be ready to see light.

I love you, Roci told the cat.

I love you too, said the cat.

* * *

Months later, Roci learned how old he was.  He came to the cat soon after the revelation.  The cat saw Roci's eyes and wondered what his boy was looking at—something invisible to the cat but still too real; something not clearly seen and frightening; something inside the boy as well.  The cat waited for Roci to speak.

I am ten tomorrow, Roci told the cat.  Niti just told me.  The guard is coming for me tomorrow.  I will get the worst beating of my life just to show me that they can.  The guards and even the other slaves will do worse things, too; and I won't be able to do anything, about it.

They will try to break me until all the hope falls out, because . . . I don't know why.  I don't know why they have to do that.  And I can't, I can't do anything about it.

The cat said to Roci, Do you remember the first time you ran to me, after that very bad night, when you couldn't do anything about it?  It was a dark night, but I asked if you thought the stars were still there.  You thought they were, and I knew you were right.  Remember that.  Remember that night.

Remember that it's possible to create hope out of nothing but the desire to have hope.

Remember that you believe in heroes.  Remember that I know you are right.

Remember that you are good; and that no one can take your goodness away from you.

Remember that one being has loved you; and will for as long as he lives.

The beautiful ideas never die, Roci.  They are among the strongest things in the world.  They will protect your [the cat tapped Roci lightly on the side of the head] and then you will always be able to do something about anything; and nothing will have power to destroy You.  Do you believe this?

Roci choked on the word, but said, Yes.

Show me.

Roci thought for a while, and then said, How can I show you?  I will never be able to see you, after.

Then show Yourself, said the cat.  That will be enough for the both of us.

Roci sat with the cat all evening.  He slept beside the cat overnight in the grass.  When the children's meal horn blew, Roci got slowly up and walked slowly across the field to the barracks.

The cat watched the guard's walk from the men's to the children's barracks.  The cat saw Roci emerge from the barracks.  Roci's wrists were fastened together with brown straps, and the guard was leading him by them on a little leash.

The cat saw Roci walk forward across the field as if he meant it; his shoulders as straight as possible and himself as tall as he could be.  His eyes were like still waters; his face as strong and impassive as mountain rock.  But then there was a diamond glint, out of the waters and the rock, as the cat said his last words.

You believe in heroes, said the cat.  And I know that you are right.

* * *

For Cory's Sake, http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/6483