The Hipster Who Leapt Through Time (The Hipster Trilogy Book 2) (19 page)

Fearing the kind of tests she’d run, her father never came home with anything more than sweets, paperback novels, and a chemistry set.
 

Having said that …

As Liz held Miss Sam’s hand in her own, as she saw the child-like fear in Miss Sam’s eyes, she recalled the first time she’d met Miss Sam back at the Holloman Air Base. She was as scared then as she was now. Captured and taken from her family in Cameroon, shipped across the world and chucked in a cage with her brother and thirty-eight other chimps. All of them banging on the cage bars. Screeching and snarling. Looking for their first opportunity for escape or revenge.
 

When they opened Miss Sam’s cage, she didn’t run out. She was scared and quiet. She pressed her face into the length of rope they’d chucked in there — a piece of the netting used to capture her. Maybe it reminded her of her family or her home. Whatever it was, seeing that wrinkly munchkin face of hers, burying into the fibres of the green knotted rope, caught Liz’s attention.

As Miss Sam calmed down to a heavy panting, Liz brushed her hand over her face.
 

“Home,” she said again as she caressed her rough skin. Miss Sam touched the back of her hand to her chest. The damp eyes on her dark and rough skin. It was all incredible to Liz. Fascinating even, but it was those eyes that got to her, those damn eyes. Innocent little baubles that possessed all the wisdom of the world — its pain as well as its joy.

There’s a reason that scientists choose chimpanzees for experiments. They’re humanity’s closest living relative. They test on them because they’re so much like themselves. They justify the experiments based on the idea that chimpanzees are so similar them. They train them like humans, dress them up in human clothes, give them names like Miss Sam, and humanise them as much as possible. But then, when the shit hits the fan, something goes wrong, faulty equipment, pain, poor test subjects, the poor Alberts, when the chimps die, it doesn’t matter. The scientists get to go home and drink tea and eat dinner and tell their spouses about their bad day in the office as though it had been a printer jam. They justify using the chimpanzees because as close as they are, chimps are
not
humans. A fine distinction that gives scientists the reasoning to do whatever they want to the poor animals.

“Home,” Liz said again, touching her hand to her chest. “Home.”

Those sweet little eyes, almost life-like,
almost
. She looked up at Liz and she could swear that if Miss Sam had the vocal chords to do so, she would’ve told Liz that she loved her.
 

A call came in a short while later. The inverter had cooled. The mission was a go.
 

This time, Liz strapped Miss Sam into the nosecone herself. She stayed with her knowing that her presence had a calming effect on Miss Sam. She watched as the poor little chimp was hoisted into the nosecone of the rocket, and disappeared into it. She tried to catch a glimpse of her one more time, but she didn’t quite see her. Miss Sam didn’t make a noise. She was calm. She was a good girl. She was ready for her mission.

Moomamu The Thinker

Only a few minutes before and Moomamu felt like all his energy had been sapped. The blood, naturally designed to courier oxygen around the human body, had mostly been spilled out of him. Without the oxygen, his muscles shouldn’t have been able to move, but here he was, running from hundreds of angry cats through the town. The noise they made was of sheer violence. They wanted to rip him apart. They were going to dig those claws of theirs into his flesh, and finish the job that Snuckems had started.

He wheezed as he ran. His lungs weren’t at their optimal standard. This human vessel of his was falling to pieces.

The thing about cats is … they are much better runners than humans. When they run they can access the power of four legs. Moomamu tried for a second to run on all four of his limbs, but he found the whole thing ludicrous and much too slow.

What he needed to do was teleport.
 

He turned a corner as a blade hit the stone wall by his head, sparking as the metal touched the rock.

“Come here,” he heard one of the cats shout. It sounded like Snuckems. “I’m going to rip your fucking head off.”
 

His chest rose and fell with force. The motion hurt. It ached with each breath. He tried to remember how he’d teleported. He’d just thought about being somewhere else, and then there he was. The voice had told him to concentrate. To imagine being there already.
 

Another blade chimed as the metal point slammed into a pan hanging from the roof of a house. Its hot contents poured outwards and splashed against the muddy floor.
 

A nook, a cutaway section to the castle, big enough to hide in. He climbed inside. Pressed his back against the stone wall. Uneven bricks pulled at the cuts on his back. The puddle on the floor made Moomamu think that he was perhaps standing in some sort of excretion point.
 

“It’s fine,” he said to himself. “It’s fine. I’m okay. I’m okay. It doesn’t smell too bad.”
 

A cat, toothless and ginger, emerged from one of the houses. Old and saggy and looking right at Moomamu. The old cat screamed as he ran towards him brandishing a rusty blade, curved like the one the bronze warrior used. Moomamu clamped his eyes shut and inhaled. He heard the blade slice the air by his ear but he didn’t hear it strike the wall behind him. Nor did he feel it sticking inside his body. He screamed anyway until he opened his eyes to see he was staring at a pinkish wall. The smell of the excretion point gone. Replaced with a familiar fruity smell. Bubbles splashed behind him. He turned to see a Babosian, twice his size, looking down at him.

“UIUPOX! *CLAP* SLOCKZ.”

Its many arms slapped against its baggy sides and Moomamu went to mouth a human swear word. One of the really bad ones. He didn’t get the chance, though. Before he could even open his mouth he was back on Othos, standing in the outside toilet next to the castle wall. The old ginger cat was a little further down the pathway, scratching his head, curved blade in his free hand.

Moomamu bent down. He reached past the stinky puddle and grabbed a piece of the castle wall that had come loose. He stepped over the puddle and carefully caught up with the cat.
 

“Sorry,” he said as he slammed the rock down onto the old cat’s right ear.

The cat didn’t fall down. He hardly moved. He just turned and hissed as thick saliva ran down and gathered in the white hairs on his chin.

“Dammit,” Moomamu said as he teleported again.
 

He was stood on a beach. Salty waves brushed his feet. A little cold, but the sun was warm and the sea-breeze was cooling. It was paradise—

Back to Othos.

“What’s wrong with me!” he shouted. “Why do I keep coming here?”
 

He was farther down the road now. The old man was a hundred feet or so away swiping at the air — barely realising that Moomamu had evaded his grasp. That didn’t matter much to Moomamu though as he realised he’d teleported right back into the centre of the town. He’d looped the castle, it seemed. The mauled corpses hanging on the stage by his empty rope. The dispersed horde of town-cats in search of him. Moomamu lifted his rock as he saw Snuckems frantically ripping through the market stalls, throwing the fresh fish and fruit onto the floor. More of the prince’s guards were with him now wearing full body armour and brandishing silver thump-sticks that glistened in the sun.
 

“Down there,” a voice shouted from above. He looked up to see one of the guards, on the viewing platform where the prince was a short while ago. “Oi, Snuckems, screntki pa!”
 

With that, the whole crowd looked to Moomamu and gave chase again.

“You son of a bitch,” Moomamu shouted to the cat on the tower before running again.
 

“Stop panicking,” a voice said. It was the whispering man again. “Calm down and focus on where you want to go.”

“I can’t teleport properly. I keep whizzing about,” Moomamu said through gasps.

“Whizz with purpose then, you idiot.” The whispering voice sighed. Or at least Moomamu thought it was a sigh. It was actually the sound of an arrow flying past his head. It flew through the fabric roofing of one of the houses. He turned right, ran between two of the houses and out through to—

Oh, wait.

Ahead of him, a handful of town-cats and two of the guards blocked off the exit to the town. There was going to be no way he’d make it. The cats were fast. He was in a slow, stupid human vessel that didn’t move properly. Especially now it was all cut up from the clawing. Whizz with purpose. Whizz with purpose.
 

He heard Snuckems and the rest of the crowd catching up behind him. Their bare feet pattering against the floor.
 

He closed his eyes and imagined himself on Earth. No, be more specific. He imagined himself in Luna’s tiny moving machine. No, more specific still. Gary was in the back. Luna was to his right. The machine was rocking gently as it rolled along the even concrete. More. The smell of food from Luna’s machine mixed with her perfume filled his nostrils. The sound of Gary’s soothing vibrations. The soft fabric against his back. A full belly. His fingers twitched and the hairs on his body stood on their ends. Something unseen in his stomach lifting upwards. Readying for a jump.
 

“Fuck you, human,” he heard.
 

The wall of the cats now upon him. He dared not open his eyes in fear of losing his concentration, but he could still feel they were close. Their feet on the muddy dirt growing louder every second. Their panting. The wind moving differently around him as they closed in.
 

He remembered the moving machine.
 

He inhaled.

He jumped.

With that, the sound was gone. Replaced by a calming quiet. Somewhere water was dripping and hitting a stone floor. The sounds of the cats replaced with a peaceful pitter. He wondered where he’d jumped to. What part of the galaxy had he teleported himself to now? What far-off land had he wandered upon? It didn’t
feel
like Luna’s moving machine.
 

He opened his eyes and looked around.

“Oh,” he said as he scrunched up his face. “Well … that didn’t work.”
 

He knew exactly where he was. He’d been there many times. He was back in the prison cell in the castle. The familiar poking holes lined the walls. The familiar sliver of light under the doorway. And the familiar smell of damp and feet and stone. He rubbed his eyes to make sure.
 

Yes, definitely back in prison.
 

“It didn’t work,” he said to the darkness. “It didn’t bloody work, you idiot. A load of good your whizzing with purpose made. Back to square one. Unbelievable.”
 

He dropped to his knees and placed his hands against his face. He didn’t know how long he’d been in that land of cats. Months, years, centuries, or maybe just a few days. He’d not been outside long enough to see the moon rotate around the parent planet. All reference of time had gone.

In the cold, as his adrenaline dissipated, he felt his open wounds sting. All that blood he’d lost. And yet his body was still functioning. He needed food. The thought of survival seemed increasingly pointless to him. How much easier would it be to tell the cats to kill him? Just behead him. Get it over and done with. Screw this living thing.

“What are you doing?” the whispering voice said. “Why are you sitting there?”
 

“I’m stuck,” he said, feeling the tears well in his eyes and the phlegm pour from his nose. “I can’t … I don’t think I can do this anymore. I tried to whizz with purpose, like you said, but I’m just back in this stupid prison cell and I’m pretty sure the cats will soon find me here and will kill me anyway, so … no more. I don’t want to do this. I’ve had a good run, but … time to call it quits.”
 

“The door,” the voice said.
 

“What?” Moomamu said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
 

“Have you tried to open the door?”
 

“Oh,” he stood up and wiped his eyes. He placed his hand on the prison cell door and the thing swung open with such ease he could’ve sneezed it open. “Oh right, I see. Very good.”
 

He stood there for a second longer, not sure what to do next.

“The star-door,” the voice said. The anger was obvious in his voice now. Moomamu was really testing his patience. “Go and
use
the star-door.”

“Right,” Moomamu said with a new vigour. He pointed to the air. He wasn’t sure why. He was recalibrating his thoughts. “The star-door. Yes. Right. Makes sense.”
 

He stepped into the castle, repeating the steps he’d made the night before. As he made his way he definitely
did
hear the whispering voice sigh.
 

JoEl The Engineer

No more collateral. He’d had enough of that the night before. The parents. Keep things clean and easy. That would be the professional way to work, the correct way, the efficient way, but sometimes things don’t work out how you plan them.

The job posting said that there were one hundred and thirty-eight children somewhere within this structure. Where, though, he wasn’t sure. He could ask Tech Admin, but he was already pushing his monthly usage on that.
 

The elevator stopped descending and the doors split down the middle and unveiled a large grey office. Cubicles of glass and partitions. Chairs and desks and phones in row upon row. A plant on the floor by his feet. A single trunk reaching upwards to his waist and spreading into fingers of green. The alarm above his head spun and sang, still whirring after the collateral from upstairs.

He inhaled through his nostrils and the skin on the back of his neck fluttered. The skin was loosening already. He had to get the job done as soon as possible.