RE: I am, CouncilTom.
Do you stand by the assertions made within this publication?
RE: I do, CouncilTom.
And do you understand these assertions are in contradiction to the wisdom of the Divine Tome?
RE: I am not a licensed Doctrinal Translator, so do not feel qualified as to what might or might not contradict the Tome.
We are happy you recognize your limitations. However, you do stand by these claims, made by you; that clowderkind developed over a period of time, issuing from a type of proto-felinus into the form we inhabit today?
RE: Over a very long period of time, yes I do CouncilTom.
Despite the fact that the Divine Tome describes how the All-Powerful hawked up the first Sire and Dam from within Her Holy body, and purred life into them?
RE: Again, I am not a Doctrinal Translator, but only report what I have found while performing my duties as a Systemic Classifier. Search as I may, I could not find the events described in the Tome.
Thank you, Tom Tabbyclan. I would suggest you stay close to your burrow awaiting word of a ruling. This Inquiry is closed.
~o0o~
-By studying Brain Damaged cases 3 through 28, I have isolated the region regulating sensitivity to the Pulling Force. None of the subjects, when dropped from a height of thirty paws or more, is able to land on their feet. In fact, simple walking is often interrupted by an episode of Predestarenation. While these poor souls do have the instinct to stop and peer into the immediate future for danger, they are unable even to discern the path a thrown ball will take, and are hit every time. I conclude that Pulling Force and the Predestarenation area of the brain are somehow interrelated-
-As so often happens in science, I have discovered the key by happenstance! The subjects were, in fact, reacting to danger in reverse temporal order of actual events. Without a doubt they were seeing, not into the immediate future, which we all do when threat is imminent, but they were seeing into the PAST, where the threat HAD BEEN-
-The Council has denied both the acquisition of new subjects and further experimentation along these lines. Officially, they express concerns over the welfare of the unfortunates, but when has the council ever been concerned with the disabled? The real reason is an uncomfortable debate taking place as to the lack of "seeing into the past" where The Tome is concerned. The Tome speaks, in several passages, of the gift of Predestarenation, but lacks even a corollary about Post-Destarenation. Once again, politics triumphs over Truth-
-I have been closely monitoring the progress made by Molly Whitesocks Clancrooktail in the field of Pulling Force science. She has discovered, and been able to manipulate, what she has termed 'Attractitrons'. The Council has already created a sub-committee to debate which applications may be Doctrinally safe to spread to the populace at large, and those that may have undesirable impacts on the souls of individuals, as well as the spirit of society. I must decide now before my plans are interdicted-
-By modifying Molly Whitesocks Attractitrons generator, I have managed to create a device that I will apply to myself. Because Council spies are everywhere, I have manufactured a clockwork of gears that slowly and steadily increase the Attractitrons field while I will attach a failsafe to my raised arm. Should I become unconscious, its fall shall interrupt the field. Should I fail to the point of termination, it is my hope that, in some future time, a scientist may find these entries and continue my work-
~o0o~
-There is an addictive quality to studying the past. I have watched our great cities coalesce from small villages and clans, watched two eons where giant ice fields flowed from the poles of the world almost to the equator, and saw even further back to savage times of wandering individuals, hunting and surviving by themselves and coming together only to mate. I am proud how our civilization has advanced, by starts and stops, but my curiosity as to how it all began is overpowering my common sense. I plan to delve into the origins of The Tome-
-I have found NO support for any of the stories and histories as related in The Tome. I must increase the power of the Attractitrons device as I have reached an impasse and must know the truth.
- What small, pathetic creatures from which we come! I almost doubt their intelligence, but with their foreshortened fingers and unarticulated thumbs, it is hard to tell. They were subject to every form of predation and disease, at least until they developed Predestarenation. From where, then, have all the giant, twisted ruins come? There were great pockets of these structures spread across most of the continents, and the proto-cats seem to thrive within their protections, but for a certainty, they did not produce them. I must parallel the sequenced devices and look further back-
-I have lost all faith in the Tome and am left empty by the terrible truths of history. Are the Builders aliens from another Earth? Are they demons, angels, or phantoms from another reality? In all the animal kingdom, there is none like them! Twice as tall as we clowderkind are even now, strangely balancing on their rear legs, and using uncountable mechanisms for their work and their pleasure. And what killed them off so fast? Within a year, they had all succumbed, leaving their great cities to the inheritance of proto-cats and proto-wolves. The proto-wolves, of course, didn't stand a chance in the long run against even the rudimentary supremacy of the Felinus form to come. And how long did this transformation take? I am too tired to calculate, but I am sure it was thousands of thousands of moons at least. It is, however, undeniable that we have sprung from them, and a thousand, thousand lifetimes will not be enough to study this immense Truth-
~o0o~
WARNING: Codex 22817 secured/buried from unauthorized viewing, on penalty of Death: WARNING
Whiskers Tabbyclan, you are found guilty of sedition by thought, word, and deed, and are hereby ordered to be sacked, tied, and drowned until dead. The entirety of your writings, including prefaces, summaries and annotation, are to be either destroyed or archived in the secured/buried vault, access authority to lie with the head of this council in perpetuity. Shame on you. Hsssssss!
///Sentence executed on the fifth day of the third new moon, Year 2205 of the Blessed Revelations///
~o0o~
-Grandsire Whiskers was truly a genius never before seen in this world. I know I have spent too many hours looking back on his extraordinary life, but by following his procedures and inverting the polarity of the Field, in effect, creating anti-attractitrons, I have, indeed, seen possible future events. The Attractitrons side effects of repelling matter and counteracting the Pulling force could be the greatest boon to society ever invented, but which would, no doubt, be warped and controlled by the council if they were to discover the secret.-
-The future has tremendous momentum from the weight of the past, and stubbornly resists attempts to divert it from the path of least resistance. Nevertheless, I have come to recognize those pivotal points where a slight nudge, with the proper timing, can bring even the most tenuous wafts of possible futures into being. Through judicious peeking into individual's pasts, and comparing them to potential futures, I have brought together an unlikely group of ten others who can overturn the current dark age and break the bonds of ignorance and suppression. -
-SUCCESS! The council, along with their vile supporters and servants, have been surgically removed, along with their torture dungeons and secret Attractitron device of destruction. I KNOW to whom I can trust this technology and to whom I can entrust the future leadership of all clowderkind, for I have seen it beyond doubt. I now can retire to a normal life and raise a goodly litter with Greeneyes Clanshorthair. She has, of course, accepted my courtship, and I don't feel even a little guilty for using my grandsire's device in bringing this about. I'm sure he would have approved.-
-This will be my last entry, as well as my good-bye to the attractitron device. I am placing this journal into the old council Secured/Buried vault, where hopefully future generations will find it at least amusing. I must get back as my first litter is due today.-
~o0o~
r />
-Subject recovered at one hundred fifty paws depth, unconscious but now breathing on his own. Healers expect full recuperation within half a moon. All operatives nominal-
~o0o~
You have all exceeded my expectations beyond...beyond...[momentary snuffling] excuse me; it is all so overwhelming. The wisdom and love I have experienced and seen throughout this society is more than could even be dreamed, in my time. And to bring me forward to enjoy the fruits of my meager seeds, it is more than I can express. However, of all the wonders and kindnesses given me, the most emotional and appreciated is the gift of one of the first recovered humans. They have turned out to be the perfect companion, more than just amusing pets, and will be a great comfort in my later years. Thank you all, yes, thank you!
~o0o~
Section 3: Proactive purring as reward and motivation.
Section 6: Flea and odor control for a fur-less mammal.
Section 12: Kennel or bed, pros and cons.
Section 15: Possessiveness and aggression, some simple tips.
Section 22: Discipline, or when all else fails - a firm bop to the nose (claws retracted!).
~end~
Chapter 5: Svengolly
Sergeant Joe snapped to full awareness from a state deeper and somehow more sinister, than sleep. His first thought, as had been drilled into him over countless missions, was of his weapon. His trusty carbine stood in easy reach against the headboard, currently assigned as valet to his cast off blouse and Boonie cap. He automatically felt under the blanket along his leg to confirm his K-bar remained sheathed where it belonged. The standing joke was that he only removed it for two things, but in reality, the blade only came off for bathing, and remained close even then.
Security concerns satisfied, Joe took stock of his immediate surrounds. A bedroom, but definitely not his. The accessories on the massive, round bed were an explosion of softness; a pink theme of atomic intensity continued throughout, sprinkled liberally with colorful faceted beading. Reduced by ninety percent, he might consider the decor feminine, but this was overtly aggressive, shading from Pepto through shocking magenta.
It must have been one heck of a night since he could not remember where, or with whom, he was. Joe assumed his location was either the beginning or the end of a very successful leave. "O.K." Joe thought, falling back once again on his training, "First objective - reconnoiter. Actually, make that second!"
Attempting to locate the head, he poked his into an enormous walk-in closet, astonished at the dozens of frilly party frocks and endless pairs of shoes and handbags. He noticed a couple of smartly tailored suit-pants, but overall this girl appeared to be a professional party animal. "Looks like I still got game." he thought approvingly.
After relieving himself and enjoying a quick Marine bath in the seashell shaped sink, he dressed and performed a few basic warm-up stretches and combat moves, admiring his perfect eight-pack abs and eighteen inch biceps. He quickly inventoried his kit, cinched his utility harness, and checked the action on his sidearm. Squared away and mission ready...but what was the mission?
He made his way down a long hallway, wide oak doors periodically branching off, and at the end chose to descend the spiral staircase rather than explore the next higher floor. The palatial Great-room at the bottom displayed expensive, tacky looking furniture, mostly done in the now nauseating pink motif. Joe pushed a lace window treatment aside and counted nineteen forms of personal transportation haphazardly scattered around a fountain-centered oval driveway, including luxury sport cars, motorbikes, and boats. Someone had plenty of money, if not taste.
At first, everything was quiet, but a thin wail seemed to originate in the back. French doors opened onto an expansive porch, crowded with the latest casual furniture and edging onto a heart-shaped pool and Olympic size Jacuzzi. The wail belonged to a tiny baby, angrily demanding its bottle from within a royally appointed bassinet. Casually draped over a gold chaise lounge, a bikini-clad young woman studiously ignored it.
Rather than the porcelain debutant Joe had assumed from the house and surroundings, he saw a dusky, toned, street tough mamacita with short black hair, facial piercings, and tribal tattoos encircling her whipcord arms. Her too-wide eyes gave an initial impression of innocence, but Joe's combat sense kept him balanced and ready for instant defense as she emanated assured competence.
"Nice place you have here, umm, sorry, I don't remember your name. We seemed to have already made acquaintances."
"Name's Zee, and don't sweat it. My memory's a little fuzzy this morning too. What should I call you?" she asked somewhat bored, sliding mirrored designer shades onto her nose.
"Joe, Sergeant Joe."
"Well, Sergeant Joe, this isn't strictly speaking my place. It belongs to the kid. I just stay here to watch over him. Better than flopping in the streets, and I even have my own pool table. Wanna shove that bottle in his pie hole? Only thing that shuts him up."
Joe walked over, picked up the milk bottle from the ground, and sure enough; the baby went silent soon as it hit his lips. Not knowing what else to say, Joe asked, "Where are his parents?"
"Never met the dad, but mom was torn to pieces, literally by a mad dog. Some say it was murder, but it was never proven." The last she said with just a hint of sarcasm. "This place ain't exactly my scene, but there are some hot wheels out front, and a few other perks besides."
"I saw the closet, pretty high end rags."
"Gag! I wouldn't bury my dog in that sissy crap. There are a few decent high heel kicks though."
Suddenly, without warning, Zee let out a piercing scream of terror; her gaze fixed over Joe's left shoulder. He turned, instinctively drop-and-rolled as a huge, long hairy arm attempted to backhand him. Joe continued his roll to his feet, came up with his pistol and aimed at a...a nine foot tall silverback gorilla! It howled aggressively, beating its chest with resounding thumps while advancing menacingly towards Joe.
The baby picked that moment to roll over and drop his bottle, startling even the gorilla with the power of his outrage. The silverback shuffled sideways and sniffed the baby, picked him up, and disappeared into the forest surrounding the estate.
"Don't just stand there, soldier boy, go get that baby back!"
Sergeant Joe, known for his bravery, was an expert tracker besides...not that anyone could miss the swath of destruction the giant ape caused as it traveled. It seemed to have a destination in mind, sticking to a straight line. Joe decided to follow closely for now, reluctant to fire and possibly hit the crying infant.
They finally reached the edge of a clearing, Joe a scant few yards behind. The gorilla announced himself with a profound bass call resembling a slowed down Tarzan yell and proceeded into the clearing. Joe climbed a tree along the edge, for both concealment and a better view, surveying the situation.
In the center of the clearing stood a large oak tree, its branches festooned with wooden walkways and ladders leading to balconies and lean-toes. Dozens of strange little creatures descended the tree and gathered towards the gorilla, whether for greeting or battle not yet evident.
The not-quite-people stood about waist high to Joe, a disturbing cross between an egg and a thalidomide victim. Their oversized floppy hands and feet attached directly to their torsos, bereft of even rudimentary arms or legs, forcing them to roll from side to side while advancing the opposite foot. They only remained upright due to the low center of gravity caused by their bulbous bottom half.
The Wobblers, as Joe christened them from the indistinct murmur of 'wobble-wobble' that emanated from their round little mouths, gathered around the gorilla, swaying in unison and timing their utterances into a unified chant of "WO-bble, WO-bble". Again, all motion stopped in unison, and silence descended. The gorilla looked around, held the baby above his head, grunted twice, and laid it on the ground. The Wobblers parted, opening a corridor between the forest and the gorilla. Faster than Joe's eyes could follow, it was gone.
The open space surroundin
g the baby collapsed and the Wobblers carried him en masse up the crown of the tree. There was no question that Sergeant Joe had to save the baby, but he was incredibly outnumbered and short on operational intelligence. Best he waited until dark, and they all retire for the night. Joe, known for always having a backup, did not. In his experience, no battle plan ever survived contact with the enemy, so he rummaged through his rucksack and came up with his hand-crank field radio.
"Star Captain Rock...I say again, Star Captain Rock, this is Sergeant Joe requesting air strike support my location at midnight. A child's life hangs on the line, over!"
There was no way to know whether he would show up. Star Captain Rock always maintained operational silence. He had bounties on his head from here to the Crab Nebula, due to his propensity to get the bad guy regardless of law or custom. His motto was 'War is Hell, but Victory is Heaven’. He and Joe had a long past saving each other’s' lives, so Joe knew he would have his back if at all possible.
As darkness fell, the Wobbler village quieted down until the only activity was occasional roving guards encircling the woods in regular patrols. Joe decided to make his move at half ‘till midnight. He wove an impromptu ghillie suit from the surrounding vegetation and methodically wormed his way to the base of the tree. As soon as the latest guards left the tree for the woods, he shimmied up a rope ladder and pulled himself onto a balcony.