A cat's rage is beautiful, burning with pure cat flame, all its hair standing up and crackling blue sparks, eyes blazing and sputtering.
-William S. Burroughs-
There are some advantages to being planet-born and raised. A denser bone and muscle structure is the main one. Actually the increased density is about the only one. Station born have a higher resistance to radiation, live longer lives, and can handle the lower oxygen content of the Station's eternally recycled atmosphere. The are also far more adept at handling, and even taking advantage of, the various gravity levels throughout the various levels of the hub.
The last one is where Singer had me. He had moved with such fluidity that I couldn't have caught him if I had seen him. This place was his fishbowl.
Oh, and that oxygen thing? Under normal circumstances, I was handling it without a mask, but only barely. Any amount of exertion winded me, and as I was now discovering, I couldn't really handle having my meager supply cut off for any length of time. I was starting to see spots, and tunnel vision, that lovely precursor to asphyxiation, was beginning to cut through my peripheral vision.
Of course I was clawing at the belt, but lack of air weakened my efforts considerably. I tried to pitch forward to dislodge him against the wall, but as my lack of luck would have it, I launched us towards the bed. I was now face down in the malodorous blankets, with Singer on my neck forcing it further in. Looks like Leena was going to have to find herself, because I was checking out.
It's not like I forget he's there. I know he is, it is just that he is so disinterested in what is going on around him that I don't take him into consideration. He is free with his opinions, mind you, but what cat isn't. I just don't think of him as a cat of action. I was wrong, again.
As best as I can piece it together (I was unconscious by this time), during our little tussle Darwin had climbed to the ceiling and performed his aerial acrobatics once again. This time, his target was not the center of the bed, but Singer's head.
If you have ever been attacked by a cat, or even if you have pet a cat one more time than he had decided was necessary, you may think you have an idea what this was like. You would be wrong. Cats very rarely fully engage in a fight, they always leave something in reserve in order turn and fight another day. They have a consciousness of their size that most of us humans lack. Darwin did not that sense of reserve.
Darwin found his target, but instead of digging his claws into Singers back or head, he had reached around and anchored his surprisingly long claws into my assailant's face. I don't think it was accidental that Darwin had wrapped around and sunk himself into Singers eyes and cheeks.
It is a little more difficult to piece together what happened next, but from the carnage and blood, and the disarray of the room, I think I can make an educated guess. From the evidence, I could extrapolate the past, following the stream of cause and effect to the point I lost consciousness.
With a cat now firmly attached to his head, Singer released the belt immediately as his hands went automatically to his face in a vain attempt to protect his eyes. By this time, Darwin was gone of course, having bounded onto the bed, if I read the bloody paw prints correctly. Singer must have reached over his head to tear the now absent cat away, thus exposing his neck. Darwin then leapt again and tore out Singers jugular vein.
It is an unfortunate design flaw in the human anatomy that such an important and sensitive feature should be so near the surface of the skin. A relatively small cut could expose a person to a quick and messy death.
Darwin, however, did not make a small cut. He must have been in full hunting mode, because if the bite on the left side of Singer's neck would have failed, the claws slicing through the layers of skin and tendon on the right would have taken care of it.
At least, that is what I think happened, based on the wash of blood that covered me when I regained consciousness. Even though the injuries to the throat would have led to his death in a matter of minutes, I don't believe they were the killing blow.
Blinded, bleeding and desperate, Singer tried to escape this horror, probably aiming for the door from memory. Darwin then did what cats have been doing for millenia. You might think it is cute, or a sign of affection, but a cat rubbing himself around your legs is doing so for one reason only. He is trying to bring you down to his size.
Darwin, completely invisible to the blinded assassin, wove himself around Singer's feet, and given the momentum of trying to reach the door, brought him down like a felled tree.
Singer might have instinctively thrown his hands forward to protect himself, but they splayed out on either side of the chair, allowing the chair back to rush up and catch him on the throat. His neck broke from that, as evidenced by the unusual angle his head was facing when I woke. You know that spot between your shoulder blades that you can never see, no matter how you twist and turn. Well, Singer had apparently figured out how to do it.
I came to slowly with a burning throat. The metallic smell of blood filled my nostrils and I hoped that it wasn't mine. I lay still, waiting for sounds, but all I could hear was the roaring of some engine close by. My perspective shifted me into full consciousness as I placed the sound. It was Darwin, purring contentedly not 6 inches from my face. I risked opening an eye and could see nothing but black fur.
It might have been a few hours before I woke up, judging by the viscosity of the blood on the bed and on me. Darwin was spotless of course, have cleaned himself thoroughly. I took a quick look about the room and made all of the deductions I have already listed above.
Darwin leaned forward and licked my face. Obsessively. I probably should have mentioned that Darwin has some issues.
I once let him continue to lick one spot on my arm until he tired of it, just to see who would break first. It turns out my skin did, as he had cleared away several layers. My blood began to seep through the abrasion, which slowed his constant licking not at all. I half suspect that is what he was up to. Savage.
I sat up slowly. After years of Finding, I have become used to waking up in strange places and positions, and I have learned that slow and steady reveals breaks and bruises before my own movements aggravated them further. I already had a share of cuts and bruises from the last attempt on my life and it would seem that I would survive this encounter with another inept assassin as well. To be fair, this one was a good actor and quick on his feet, and might have actually succeeded had it not been for my partner. I reached over and scratched his head, which he leaned into with conviction.
"Thanks," I said to him. "You saved my life... again." He looked back at me with a steady gaze. He doesn't speak, I know that. Cats don't speak. But I swear to you he said, in some way I can't yet figure out, 'You saved mine.' But that is a story for later.
Rubbing my neck, I felt the sticky remains of Darwin's dispatching of our assailant. I was already covered, so I ignored the blood that glued my shirt to my back and surveyed the room. I have already told you what I saw. I decided that it was time to continue my interrogation, so I went to wall to flip open the wash basin. All of the rooms amenities were built into the walls to prevent someone from accidentally catching themselves in the event of a failure of gravity. Instead there were strategically placed hand rails on all the surfaces, though they were currently recessed into the floor.
I carefully peeled off my shirt, watching to see if any of my old wounds had opened up. The cut on my upper arm had split again, so I pressed a bloodied finger against the Healing Station panel on the wall. The cupboard flipped open and I noticed that it was half empty. Apparently the resupply to this room had been skipped. I fished through the remains and found a few undersized binding strips and peeled them open with my teeth. I then anchored one end above the cut and pulled the gap closed, securing the lower end through the trickle of blood. I repeated the process two more times to make sure that the cut would have time to heal. I applied some disinfectant again, hoping that the struggle hadn't admitted some Station based bacteria for which I had no defence.
I rinsed my face a little, and washed some of the blood from my neck to inspect it for serious damage. It felt ok, and there was some residual marking from the belt, but a high collar would hide that, if I cared to hide it at all. At this point, my accumulated bumps and bruises were definitely giving me what they called a 'rugged' look in the vids, but actually felt more like having the pulp beat out of me.
I pulled on a clean shirt, the grabbed another cloth from the dispenser and wet it thoroughly. Time to find out who this guy was, and if I was lucky, who had sent him. Maybe this was the lead to Leena I had been looking for.