Work Text:
<TMP modem noises>
<Fr3-d1 activates>
<Augustus begins to read >
“Fragmentary song lyric text from 1982 popular music culture, artist unknown.
She didn't know how to live in a town that was rough
It didn't take long before she knew she’d had enough
Walking home in her wrapped up world
She survived, but she's feeling old
And she found all things cold
Strange little girl, where are you going?
Strange little girl, where are you going?
Do you know where you could be going?”
Fragment terminates”
***
Georgie is sitting on a park bench, with a cheese-and-onion-spread sandwich laid out before her. There is no-one else around at all, no traffic noise, no planes, no other people, just her and the suburban park she’s in.
It’s a peaceful vista, there’s a duckpond off in the distance, the trees and bushes look incredibly neat and well maintained, the way you’d imagine them in a picture book entitled “Places We Go…The Park” The grass is very neatly mown… perhaps too neatly, thinks Georgie, is it fake? she stares intently at it, and thinks no, it does look like actual grass, just unusually uniform. Maybe there’s a really obsessive park warden here or something.
As she continues to sit on the bench trying to figure out why this all feels a bit strange, she realises she’s not completely alone after all. Approaching the bench is a large ginger fluffy-haired cat with a whitish-grey patch of fur over one eye.
Its approach gives Georgie a sense of familiarity, although her thoughts are elusive and run away from her when she tries to catch them, like fluttering paper in the breeze.
“Well. Hello, you” says Georgie.
The cat strolls up to her nonchalently, and brushes itself against her trousers. It purrs in apparent recognition, and stays there.
“Um, hi. Bit familiar, aren’t you? I’m sorry, there’s no tuna in this sandwich for you, I’m a vegetarian. And I’m more of a dog person, really…”
Georgie becomes aware that there is a black velvet trimmed collar around the cat’s neck. Attatched to it is what looks like a solid silver disk. She leans forwards and examines it, which the cat seems happy for her to do, while she gives it a few absent-minded head skritches.
On one side is engraved “The Admiral” and on the other side,the initials G.B. and Georgie’s own mobile phone number.
“Okay, now that’s strange. Who exactly ARE you? Oh Lord, I’m talking to a cat. Now I’ve really lost it.”
It occurs to Georgie that maybe this is a weird prank, perhaps there is someone filming her, or watching for her reaction. Her gaze sweeps in a well-practiced wide angle arc, checking all the places such surveillence could be occurring.
Poles with CCTV: none apparent.
Drones: none visible or audible.
Traffic cameras off on the road over there:unlikely from this distance, and no cars passing at all.
Anyone with a mobile phone: nope, no people about, remember?
Spiders in the copious webs on that tree? Don’t be ridiculous, the next step up from that is a homemade tinfoil hat, even I’m not that paranoid…
Georgie looks back at the cat, which is fixing her with a quizzical expression.
“Sooo, you’re the Admiral are you? Sounds very…nautical. And you’re acting like you know me. Why is that exactly?”
The cat purrs as it brushes against her legs again, and then, with an unexpectedly light spring, it jumps onto the bench next to her and places both front paws on her lap.
It stretches in the way of one who knows its own territory, and Georgie realises that with its touch her memory has fired into action and given her flashes of images that don’t match her life. A flat she doesn’t own. A cat she doesn’t have. A thin, exhausted and haunted-looking man she’s been looking after at her place, that Georgie has never seen before, yet she knows him of old and has a feeling of deep, protective affection. She pushes the Admiral back, startled.
“What the hell are you?” she whispers under her breath.
The Admiral sits on the other end of the bench unpeturbed, and licks his paws slowly and deliberately, while continuing to watch her. His gaze isn’t threatening though, just a neutral, calm look that says ah, you’ll understand soon enough. He stands up, jumps off the bench, then takes three steps forward, turns to look back at Georgia and gently yowls.
In her head she feels rather than hears the words “Well, come on. This dream won’t last all day…”
Ah, thinks Georgie, a dream. Well I suppose that explains some of this oddness.
She gets up, and follows The Admiral, who is now padding steadily down the path towards the gates at the edge of the park. She shrugs to herself and follows him.
As they walk down a series of intersecting streets, the Admiral leads by turning just a fraction ahead of Georgie, and she realises he is leading them both back to where her flat should be. He knows where it is, she isn’t quite sure how.
“Cat? Admiral, I mean, if this is a dream, can we have have a conversation about this? How do you know where I live? How did we get here?” The Admiral glances up at her and she gets another feeling “That’s not my way”.
Fair, she reasons. I guess cats do concepts rather than small talk.
They arrive back at Georgie’s flat, She isn’t sure how long the walk took, it’s all kind of blurry when she tries to remember. But this is definitely her street, and she walked to the correct block on automatic mode and thinks it looks the same as usual.
Then as she approaches the outer front door of the building and rummages for her key fob to access the lobby, the whole building frontage seems to glitch, it all shifts just a fraction to the right, and it looks for a second moment as it it is far older than it should be, stone built rather than brick, the red front door has turned green, and it looms at her.
Startled, Georgie blinks, and the red front door is back again. Weird, she thinks, but then again I’m dreaming, so I guess it’s to be expected.
The Admiral seems unfazed, and yowls as he places a paw onto the door. the area his paw connects with turns green again, but Georgie doesn’t seem to notice and beeps the fob to enter.
Georgie is up in her flat. The journey up the stairs and through the front door seems oddly hazy, but she’s here now, so that’s the important thing. It feels strange, as if someone else has been here, or possibly things have been moved around. It’s definitely her flat though, isn’t it?
The Admiral meows, and brushes her legs, then stalks ahead to the kitchen. The clock shows 5 and Georgie realises it’s probably feeding time. What do cats eat? She doesn’t keep tuna in, hopefully she can repurpose some dog food and it won’t mind too much…
She walks past the dresser and realises her picture of Captain Barker isn’t on the side. Instead there is a framed photo of a wiry but muscular looking woman. She has brown bobbed hair with dip-dye blue ends, but it looks as if someone has vandalised the picture with a pair of scissors as her eyes are obliterated by scratch marks on the paper.
Nasty, thinks Georgie and picks up the frame. She gets a jolt and feels an intense and inexplicable rush of love and connection, despite the fact that she most certainly does not know this girl. She peers at the figure, cannot recognise anything about her, and at the same time is aware with an utter certainty that she would do anything at all to protect her. Yes, anything, comes in a rush.
Georgie gives a shiver, and puts the photo frame down. She is lost in thought for a second, until she is brought back by a yowl and a feeling, from a pitifully abandoned and utterly starving cat. Right, okay, kitchen.
Georgie opens the fridge : Next to the tofu and slightly wilting veg assortment, she finds six pouches of premium catfood she didn’t know she owned.
She shrugs, gets out a pouch and feeds the admiral from a mosaic studded cat food bowl that has appeared on the kitchen floor next to a water bowl that has the word “Dog” crossed out and “Cat” written next to it in Sharpie.
Georgie looks at the food but doesn’t really feel hungry. While the Admiral is finishing off the cat food with enthusiasm, she goes over to the front window, pulls opens the curtains and is utterly unsurprised to see the view is obscured by rolling green mist, because of course it is. It seems vaguely threatening, but just reminds her that this place is seperate from the real world, and so it’ssafer in here than out there.
She feels strangely unafraid, and doesn’t quite understand why. The feeling of otherness she has here is peculiar, but it’s not sinister. Maybe it’s the cat, at least he seems to know what he’s doing, she thinks. That’s the thing about animals, they’re quite….grounding.
Georgie sighs. there’s so much she doesn’t understand, but the awful feeling of dread she carries constantly in her head seems strangely absent here which is…good?
She’s washed over by a wave of fatigue, and wonders what everyone else is doing tonight, if they have their own dream respites too. And maybe the woman in the photo, whoever and wherever she is. Georgie yawns widely, and feels her eyes grow heavy. She looks around her living room, with its woven rug and battered throw-covered sofa. It looks just the way she remembers, other than the Admiral being there.
He strolls through from the kitchen as if he owns the place. the feeling I Do is inserted into Georgie’s thoughts, and she almost laughs. Presumptive moggie. Some things are universal, I guess.
The Admiral jumps onto the sofa, pulls a cushion to exactly the position Georgie likes it, turns around three times, purring gently, then pats the cushion, looks at her and curls up on the sofa expectantly.
She smiles wearily. The Admiral’s intent is very clear, and even though this place is but a facsimile of her real home, she does feel inexplicably tired but in some odd way content.
She flops onto the sofa, turns on her side, and puts her head down onto the soft cushion. Whatever’s going on out there, she thinks, right now, we are both where we’re meant to be. I’ll take that.
The Admiral curls up in her lap and with his smooth-breathing purr, she receives a final thought-feeling: Safe. She exhales the breath she didn’t realise she was holding, strokes him gently and they both fall asleep.
***
In the OAIR, all is quiet.
A black velvet cat collar with a silver tag appears looped over the coatstand.
Colin looks furtively about to ensure that the room is empty, then carries in a dusty looking navy blue hockey bag and tucks it rapidly into the corner behind the coatstand. From the way he is handling it, there is something quite long, sizeable and heavy inside, but he doesn’t open it, just walks quickly away and exits the office without looking back.
All that remains is the quiet whirr of the computer’s cooling fans, as the office waits for the team to return to work. It won’t be long now.
***