Nothing To Lose

"What's this?" Mitchum asked pointing to the burnt out
remains of the spacefield control tower. It was a rhetorical
question. Nobody else was listening. Nobody else was even
there. The madness that had struck the colony had spread
rapidly throughout the ship, once they had landed. Despite
every precaution, the infection had taken hold and only he
had survived. He suspected that it was due to his sound mind
and firm grip on reality. He had a good imagination as well,
which was probably what saved him. About five hundred yards
away the hulk that was the Persephone lay on one side, the
explosion from the engines having rolled her completely off
of the landing cradle and onto the pitted and scarred blast
apron beneath. "Why am I still alive?" He repeated, almost as if
speaking just for the sake of it. He had to hear his own
voice. It was freezing and though he had worn gloves, the cold
was
even now biting in to his fingers making them numb.
The first plan of action was to find shelter, then get
some heat and food together. He walked past the control
tower towards one of the hangars. Maybe there would be
something he could use inside the hangars. A chill wind blew
across the space field and made him shiver.

The hangar doors were locked. He studied the mechanism. It
was a simple keypad panel. He had to type in the right
combination to open the access door. Of course he had no
idea of the combination so he just guessed. With a loud
groan, like a giant letting out a sigh, the access door
opened inwards. It was dark inside. From his pocket he
produced a small flashlight, and clicked the beam on. The
hangar was cavernous. He shone the torch rapidly about.
There was fuel tank marked "GASOLINE - FLAMMABLE" to one
side. To the other was a huge Atlas class armoured
freighter. He made out the name, the Hawk, and then shone
the torch up into the cockpit. Something or someone moved
away from the Plexiglas bubble. He stopped, switched the
torch off. He wasn't even sure if what he saw was human. It
could be a native. The planet had been inhabited once, he
knew.
"Stay where you are!" A voice amplified, echoed around
the hangar. The sound rebounded from the walls. Immediately
the hangar lights went on, and Captain John Mitchum was
looking directly at a blaster gun mounted on the chin turret
below the bubble. He dropped the torch to the ground. It
bounced once and rolled away from him. He raised his hands
above his head, as it seemed the right thing to do.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" The voiced
boomed. It reminded him of the great and powerful Oz from a
film his grandfather had once lent him to watch from his
collection of 20th century esoterica. That was many years
ago now. His grandfather had disappeared while on a survey
mission to an unknown planet. He wondered what happened to
him...
"I said, who are you?" Again the booming voice echoed
around the hangar.
"My name is Mitchum, I'm from Earth," he said eventually,
once the reverberations had quietened. "I'm unarmed, if
that's what you are worried about." The voice said nothing
for a while, as in thought.
"You haven't asked my second question," the voice boomed.
"No, I haven't, have I? Look, if it's the same to you,
could I come aboard? It's freezing out here, and I think my
feet are going to sleep with the cold."
"You are from Earth?"
"Apparently. I was the last time I looked." Mitchum
dropped his arms and then felt in his pockets for a
cigarette."
"What are you doing?" the voice roared. The blaster gun
made a whining sound as if being brought up to charge.
Mitchum removed his hands and waved the pack of cigarettes
and his lighter.
"I thought I would have a cigarette while you decide what
to do with me. This could go on all afternoon."
"You have cigarettes?" The voice questioned, as if in
disbelief.
"Yes, a couple of packs, that's all I could grab before
my ship blew up out there." He waved a hand towards the
door.
"Wait there!"
The blaster gun stopped its whining and the cannon
themselves retracted into the fuselage of the freighter. A
few minutes later the main access hatch opened and the down
ramp lowered to the floor of the hangar. A girl dressed in
the red uniform of a technician, carrying a hand blaster and
wearing goggles so that Mitchum couldn't see her face
properly, strode hurriedly down the ramp and over to where
Mitchum stood. He offered the open pack to her. She took a
cigarette and then pulled the goggles down. She was quite
beautiful, except her mouth was a little too wide and her
nose a little too long. She had blue eyes and long blonde
hair caught in a roughly arranged chignon. She took
Mitchum's lighter and lit the cigarette.
"So you're from Earth?" She asked, blowing out smoke
though her mouth. Then she coughed politely. "Not used to
it, see? Haven't had a smoke since...say, you are quite tall
for an Earthman. I heard that none of you were over five
foot six."
"Just a vicious rumour, put about by our enemies,"
Mitchum replied. "Now, can we go aboard. I haven't eaten
since breakfast, and like I said, I've been in warmer places
than out here."
The girl laughed. She holstered the gun. "Okay, Mitchum,
you look harmless. Follow me." They ascended the ramp side
by side.

The girl handed him a mug of tea. "I guess you are
wondering what I am doing here." She said matter-of-factly.
Mitchum nodded, sipping the tea carefully as it was hot and
the girl had only put in some powdered milk. "That tea okay?
Sorry there's no milk. Sort of run out of milk. And stuff,"
she added.
"Yes, it's fine, just fine. You were saying?"
"I'm Helen Forth. My uncle and I were prospecting for
precious metals, this planet came up high on the scanner for
gold and bellinium, so we landed and had a look see. Except
my uncle went completely mad just after we landed. He ran
about thinking he was an owl, and then. And then..."
She paused, tears formed in her eyes.
"Go on," Mitchum prompted
"Then he disappeared. He went out one morning and never
returned. I moved the Hawk into the hangar two weeks ago,
and I've been holed up here ever since."
"Your radio is broken?" Mitchum asked, finishing his tea
and lighting another cigarette just to keep his hands busy.
"You should have sent out a distress call..."
"I tried. Of course I tried. But out here on the rim it
could be weeks before a passing ship picked up the message.
I can move the ship about on the ground, but I am no pilot.
I can't fly this damn thing."
At this point she burst into tears which went on for a
minute, finishing with some choked sobs. "But I can
navigate," Helen said. "I'm a damn fine navigator."
"Good. Because whilst I am crap at navigation, I can fly
any ship in the registry." Mitchum knew he was lying, but he
wanted to build the girl's confidence in him.
"There is one other problem," Helen said. "The Hawk is
very low on fuel. We need to locate a deposit of bellinium.
No fuel means we cannot take off."
"Well, we'd better look for some fuel then," Mitchum
decided. "The sooner the better. We still have maybe three
hours of light. We could start now..."
"Are you insane?" Helen stood up, and pouted. "If it was
that simple, I would have found it already!" She stormed off
out of the cockpit. A while later he heard the door of a
cabin further into the ship clang shut. Mitchum lit another
cigarette and wondered if the Hawk had any coffee left.
Two hours later, Helen appeared in the cockpit. She had
showered and changed into a pair of work jeans, a blue tee-
shirt with the words "NOTHING TO LOSE" printed on it in
white, and a pair of flying boots. She carried a grey
leather jacket and a sweater. "What do you think, Mitchum? I
made it myself." She waved her hand across the word
"NOTHING" that drew Mitchum's attention to her nice
statistics. He reddened. The girl glanced at him sharply,
then dropped the jacket on the floor and pulled on the
sweater. "It's cold," she said, "even in here, with the
heating on."
"So I noticed," Mitchum said. "Okay, this ship have a
runabout that we can use? We won't get very far on foot."

The gasoline powered jeep ground to a halt just the other
side of the ridge. They had followed a much overgrown
roadway that led from the spacefield towards the town proper
that the colony had established. Mitchum shivered. "How far
now, Helen?" He asked.
"A couple of miles. I think there may be a depot in town.
I was too scared to try looking on my own. Never know what I
might have found. Hate being alone, you see." Mitchum
smiled.
"I get like that sometimes too," he admitted.
"Do you have a wife?" Helen asked.
"Not yet," Mitchum replied a little more quickly than he
had intended.
"Oh, I see." The girl said just as quickly.
"Look, we need to get to the town before nightfall. I
expect one of the houses may still have a generator. It may
even have a depot where we can get fuel for the Hawk."
"Okay, you're the boss," Helen said strangely.
The road led into Main Street. They drove past several
houses built of brick and wood, towards the Town Square. The
place was deserted. They stopped the jeep in the square
after turning it round so it faced the way they had come, in
case they needed to head back that way quickly.
It was getting colder. Mitchum was hungry. They climbed
out of the jeep.
"Look, a shop," Helen said, pointing to what looked like
a supermarket. "They may have canned food in there. I'm
almost out of food on the Hawk. We could get some supplies."
The door creaked open. It was dark inside. Mitchum
switched on his torch, and shone it over the shelves, most
of which were stocked. "Get a basket," he said. "The sooner
we're done, the sooner we are out of here."
Helen grabbed a basket from a stack by the door, and
began putting cans into it. Mitchum helped by shining the
torch at the shelves so that Helen could see what they held.
Most of the cans were tinned meals of some sort. Helen also
grabbed some canned instant coffee and sugar. But there was
no milk. Mitchum hadn't expected there to be any, anyway.
Outside there was a rumble of thunder. "There's a storm
coming up," Mitchum observed. "I noticed the clouds as we
drove over here."
At that moment there was a flash of lightning that lit
the shop from outside. From the depths of the shop there was
a loud meow. Mitchum almost dropped the torch in surprise.
"It's a cat!" He exclaimed. The cat padded up to where
they were standing and began to rub its head against
Mitchum's boots. Helen leant down and made a fuss of the
animal. The cat looked up. Its green eyes seemed to glow. It
was black from whisker to tail, and despite looking thin,
appeared to be well and healthy.
"I wonder what he's been living on?" Helen said.
"Mice, probably," Mitchum said. He leant down and picked
the cat up. "Friendly little chap, isn't he?" There was a
further lightning flash and then the rain began to fall
outside. "Get some cat food, Helen. We can take him with us.
Seems a pity to leave him here alone."
Helen agreed. They found a box at the back of the shop
and piled cat food tins into it. Mitchum didn't think the
cat would like AllDay Breakfast.
They left the shop and hurried back to the jeep.
Fortunately, they had pulled the tarpaulin up so once inside
they were out of the rain. The cat jumped out of Mitchum's
arms and made a place for itself on the back seat of the
jeep. As cats are want to do, he began washing himself,
while Mitchum got the jeep started.
"One house is a good as another," Mitchum said. "We'll
take the one at the end of town."
They drove back down the main street and drew to a halt
outside a promising bungalow, which appeared to be in good
repair from the outside. Helen grabbed a couple of cans and
a tin of CatUlike, and followed Mitchum and the cat towards
the front door of the bungalow.
The door was locked. A keypad similar to the one at the
hangar presented itself for Mitchum's inspection. He tapped
in some numbers at random, and the door opened.
"How do you do that?" Helen asked in amazement.
"I just tapped in whatever seemed right," Mitchum
replied. The cat was already exploring. They went through
the hall to the kitchen. There was just light to see.
Outside the storm continued in earnest with much thunder and
lightning and now high gusts of wind that seemed to almost
shake the house and make the windows rattle. "Generator's
out back, I guess," Mitchum continued. "I'll try to get it
started."
He opened the back door and went round to the bunker that
held the generator. The wind blew the door open and nearly
knocked him off his feet. He shone the torch inside. There
was a control panel and a red coloured lever set to the off
position. He pulled the lever down. The generator coughed a
couple of times, came up to speed. Mitchum checked the
control panel once more and pressed two of the three
buttons. He shut the bunker door and looked back at the
bungalow. All the lights had come on. Helen was standing at
the door, holding one of the cans and the cat was sitting at
the window looking out at him. He came inside shut the back
door, which he bolted. The cat sat there patiently.
"Feed him," Mitchum said. "Then we can sort out something
for ourselves."

The bungalow was now quite warm. Mitchum and Helen had
explored each room, and so had the cat, which was now
ensconced in one of the armchairs in the front room, washing
as usual. Helen had heated up the food in one of the
saucepans she had found in the kitchen cupboards. They had
eaten, and were now sitting in the front room. Mitchum had
taken the other chair, while Helen had sat down on the
patterned rug in front of the artificial fireplace. The
bungalow had a huge water tank built into the roof space.
The tank was full. Mitchum had some doubts about the water
being contaminated, but given that the tank was sealed,
decided to chance it. A meter attached to the tank had told
him it was full.
"It's too late to go back to the spacefield," Mitchum
said. "We'll stay here overnight, and start tomorrow morning
looking for the depot. Assuming there is a depot, of
course."
The cat looked up. He looked at Helen and then at
Mitchum, then said: "And what makes you think there isn't?"
Helen gave a little scream of surprise.
"You can talk?" Mitchum asked, shaking.
"Of course I can talk. Whatever gave you the idea that I
couldn't?"
"Back on Earth, cats don't talk," Mitchum said quickly. "
We didn't know that some cats can."
"A talking cat," Helen said loudly.
"Yes, a talking cat. My name is George, by the way. My
true name you couldn't even begin to say, let alone spell.
Thanks for the supper."
"No problem," Helen said. Then she realised what she was
doing and fell silent.
"Okay, George, where's the depot then?" Mitchum asked,
trying to overcome his natural surprise at conversing in
English with a cat who even had an accent, like a Russian
speaking English. He had an idea.
"Rimsky Korskykov," Mitchum said loudly, waiting for the
cat's reaction.
"Not exactly, but it will do," George the cat replied.
Helen stood up. "More coffee, anyone? Or maybe tea?"
George yawned. "A little tea, weak with no milk, would be
nice," he said.
"Okay. Coffee, Mitchum?"
"Fine, fine, whatever." Mitchum was certain the cat knew
more than he was telling. He intended to find out. Helen
went into the kitchen. Mitchum lit a cigarette. He smiled.
"I hope you don't mind, George, I have had a very weird day
today."
"Not at all, not at all. Just try to avoid blowing smoke
in my direction."
Mitchum smiled, leaned back in the armchair and tried to
relax. His back was aching and he felt curiously
lightheaded.
He heard the back door open. Not sure why, he got up and
went to look see. Helen was standing in the kitchen in front
of her were two more cats. This time one was black with
white patches, or maybe white with black patches, while the
other was grey and wore a small red collar with an identity
tag on it. The grey cat walked forward then sat down.
"George with you, Miss?" the grey cat asked.
"You're talking to me?" Helen asked. Mitchum stepped up
beside her and held her shoulders.
"He's in the front room," Mitchum began.
"He's a damn nuisance," the grey cat said. "Nyssa and I
have just wasted over an hour looking for him. Nyssa was
getting quite worried. We were about to send out a search
party."
George strolled into the kitchen.
"I've eaten all the food," he announced. "But I'm sure
these people can find some more food for you guys in the
jeep out front."
"Exactly how many are there, of you?" Mitchum asked. He
held Helen tighter and she didn't seem to mind.
"Exactly forty two, not including present company,"
Nyssa, the black and white cat said. "Where've you been,
George. I was so worried when you didn't come home."
"Nyssa, my dear, I've been exploring."
"I see. You found these two people, then?"
"No, they found me."
"I'll get some more food," Mitchum said, releasing Helen.
"I've a feeling this is going to go on all night."

Once the cats had eaten and established who was sitting
where, George introduced the grey cat as Sergeant-at-Arms
McArran, and the black and white cat as Nyssa, also his mate
for the time being. Mitchum and Helen listened to George as
he told them where to find the depot. There was indeed a
store of bellinium to be found there. The cats had no use
for it, so it was theirs to take. So Mitchum understood, the
cats were native to the planet, and after the colonists
first got over their initial shock at finding a race of cats
that could talk, they had accepted them as friends. But what
Mitchum wanted to know was what had happened to the
colonists.
McArran yawned, exposing a fine set of fangs. "We are not
exactly sure. George has a theory, which we have all agreed
upon. George is our leader by the way."
"He's very clever," Nyssa said, with a purr.
"It's like this," George began. "About a month ago, a
team of surveyors returned from the Blue Mountains with some
samples. They were very excited about their find, but we
knew better. We had to keep out of the way, go underground,
almost till it was over."
"What was?" Helen asked.
"The madness." George said simply. "It affected
everybody. We are immune, and it appears you both are as
well. I don't know why, just are, I suppose. Must have a
think about that sometime. Now, I suggest we retire, as it
is getting late and we have an early start tomorrow.
McArran, you had better go back. Let the others know I am
here with Nyssa, that sort of thing."
"Yes, George."
Fortunately it had stopped raining, so McArran wouldn't
get his fur wet.
Helen and Mitchum had another cigarette each, much to
George's disgust. There was only one bedroom, and only one
bed. Mitchum grabbed some blankets from the wardrobe in the
bedroom, along with a pillow and went to sleep in the front
room, the cats having found a nice spot by the fire.
Helen lay in bed, unable to sleep. So much had happened
to her today. She had met a man, who looked not unlike her
uncle, except younger. Tall, pleasant and she liked the way
his hair was cut for some reason. But she needed to get to
know him better before things went any further.

The following morning, after an early breakfast, Helen,
Mitchum and the two cats, Nyssa and George got into the
jeep. George sat up front on Helen's lap, as Mitchum was
driving and gave directions to the depot. Nyssa sat on the
back seat and purred. She thought George was so masterful
dealing with these folk, she was sure. The storm had left
its mark on the town. A few trees had blown over and a lot
of tiles were missing from the roofs of some of the
bungalows, but otherwise it was quiet.
The depot was on the other side of town, about fifteen
minutes drive. If they hadn't have stopped by the
supermarket, they would have found it easily as it stood at
the other end of main street. But then they wouldn't have
met the local inhabitants.
The depot gates stood open and George led the way to
where the bellinium pellets were kept. "In that hopper,"
George said. "Pretty fine grade too."
Mitchum had an idea that kept nagging him. It had
bothered him last night, but he was sure he was just
reacting to the situation. Still, he had to know.
"George, a question."
George sat down, licked his whiskers and said: "Shoot."
Mitchum paused for reflection. He felt quite certain now
that George knew the real answer behind the disappearance of
the colonists.
Helen finished loading a crate with the fuel pellets.
"We're done. I said, we're done Mitchum."
He turned to her and smiled. "I think I know what
happened."
George said: "You're sure? About what?"
"Let me put it this way," Mitchum continued. "None of you
can return to Earth, can you? Something about this planet,
isn't it? I have read the files you see."
"Files?" Helen asked. "What files?"
"The leader of the colony was a Russian called George
Rimsky Korskykov. He had a wife. A lady called Nyssa. And
the Head of Security was a Scot called McArran."
"So you know." Nyssa said, quietly. "You know what
happened to the colony."
"It's only an idea. Fantastic I know, but it makes
sense."
"I need a cigarette," Helen said.
"Not here, outside," George said calmly. "There's a lot
of flammables in here."

Mitchum joined Helen outside. They smoked for a while,
then she turned to him and said. "I guess my uncle wouldn't
have fitted in with the cats. Not after becoming an owl I
suppose. Maybe he goes hunting at nights. Maybe not. I don't
know. At least, at least he is safe I suppose."
"This must be a shock to you," Mitchum agreed. "Funny how
we never changed. We stayed the same. Maybe we are immune to
the madness like George said."

They let George out at the bungalow. George had decided
that the bungalow would serve their purposes much better
than the warehouse behind the supermarket. Besides it was
warm. George had some engineers working on a can opener even
now. Then they drove back to the Hawk and went aboard. As
they were unpacking the crate containing the fuel pellets,
they heard a noise. A grey cat appeared at the bottom of the
ramp. It looked like McArran. Another cat was beside him;
this one was very fat and white.
"McArran?" Mitchum asked. McArran yawned, then he said:
"This is Jameson, a fat lazy good for nothing, who, I might
add, has insisted on returning to Earth. Seems he doesn't
quite like the regime of hunting for food. That sort of
thing."
Jameson hissed at McArran. His tail fluffed up to twice
its normal size.
"Nothing personal, old chap," McArran said.
"How did you two get here?" Helen asked, realising that
cats just don't drive, period.
Jameson said. "We found a child's car. One of those
electric things, you know. Took us most of the night to get
over here. Nearly crashed once or twice in the storm. George
is furious. Doesn't want me to go. Says it will lead to all
sorts of problems."
"You know," Mitchum said, "he might be right. Who knows
what will happen once you leave this planet? I think
whatever change has happened to you is because of this
planet, or rather because of whatever was in those samples
you brought back from the Blue Mountains. I think you should
stay."
The cats considered this carefully. McArran spoke at
last: "I agree. Jameson you cannot go."
"I'm not sure that I do now. Besides I think one of the
Siamese has her eye on me. Yes. Makes sense." The two cats
left and after a while Mitchum and Helen were alone again.
In the distance they could hear the buzz of the electric car
gradually dwindle till there was nothing to be heard.

"Ready?" Mitchum asked. Helen nodded. They were sitting
in the cockpit of the Hawk, now moved outside of the hangar
onto the blast apron. "Course laid in, that sort of thing?"
"Of course."
"There's just one thing."
"What's that, Mitchum?" Helen asked, tightening her seat
straps.
"When we get back to Earth, we cannot tell anybody about
what we've seen."
"And heard," Helen added.
"They'll never believe us. Not even if I tried to
explain."
"But would we want to?" Helen asked. "Despite the
fantastic thing that the all the colonists are now talking
cats, is it wise that we let anyone know. A scientific
mission from Earth would be futile. They would all go mad
and we be where we started again."
"True. Helen. True enough. Okay." He leant forward and
started the auxiliaries so that they could manoeuvre away
from the hangar. With some trepidation, Mitchum pressed the
ignition button, and the Hawk ascended into the deep blue
cloudless sky.

Up on the ridge, McArran had stopped the car, which had
flat batteries. Mainly on account of Jameson's immense
weight, McArran surmised. They would have to walk, unless
they could push the car over the crest and then it would be
all downhill from then on. Jameson looked up at the
spacecraft rising into the sky. "They are off then," he said
to McArran, "back to Earth I suppose," he added
dispiritedly. "I wonder if they will fall in love."
"You always were a dreamer, Jameson," McArran snapped
with a snarl. "Now get your back into shifting this car over
the hill. I have no intention of walking home again."
Jameson gave a little sigh of annoyance, and together the
two cats pushed the car over the crest, climbed in and then
the car started rolling down the hill the other side.
McArran steered as best he could and hoped the brakes would
last. Jameson was a poet by profession and was already
working up some ideas for his next piece.

Helen unstrapped her seat straps. "I'm going back to make
us some coffee," she said. Mitchum relaxed, lit a cigarette.
The he heard a cry from back of him. "Mitchum come quick."
He jumped out of the pilot's chair and hurried back to
the galley. Helen was standing in the doorway, shaking.
"What's up. Oh." Mitchum said. He caught hold of Helen's
shoulders again. She leaned back against him. "I might've
expected this," he said. "Despite what I said."
The huge black cat was sitting on the galley counter.
"Hello," he said, after a while. "George is my brother. He
has instructed me to return to Earth and compile a detailed
report on goings on here. Of course you two will be sworn to
secrecy. You may address me as Gregor. I should like a large
tea, preferably with cream and then you can show me where I
shall be sleeping."
Mitchum cuddled Helen tighter and almost without thinking
kissed her head. "Should be an interesting trip home," he
said.