In the Year of the Cat (Queen or Freddie Mercury Fanfic)

Birdman's Eye View: Stuck on the Sidelines

Bip bi bip BEEP BEEP Bip bi bip BEEP BEEP-

Ah! It's about time they called. I waited all day yesterday, keeping the Relic close by the whole time. I even brought it along when we took Robert to see his grandparents yesterday afternoon. We didn't get back into town till late. Bloody London Bridge traffic.

The Relic sits just within arm's reach, on the kitchen counter. I reach over, and push the button on the side. It pops open, revealing the keypad. I love that. It makes me feel a little like a spy about to receive a secret assignment from MI6.

"Hello?" K's voice crackles through once I press the answer button.

"It's Deacon," I murmur playfully. "John Deacon." I'm in a wonderful mood this morning.

The one called Tim sounds just as irascible as ever. "Is Julia nearby?"

I hesitate. "Uh... why?"

"Is it those funny people again?" Veronica asks, sitting at the table with her tea.

"The same," I reply. "Be right back."

Once I'm in my study, I snatch up the list of questions that I made out yesterday. These chaps have a lot of explaining to do.

"I heard a woman's voice," K cries, "was that her?"

"No, that was my wife," I reply.

"Yesterday her tracker came back online," Tim says. "She must be close!"

I dunno, probably, is what I think to myself, but over the phone I bluster, "That she is, guv. So near it would make your head swim."

"Then why do you still have this phone? Get it back to her!"

"Hold on a moment," I say. "Not so fast. First I want answers."

"Answers?"

"I know where she is, and you do not. And we only have a minute or so before we cut out, so we need to make this time count!"

"It's none of your concern-"

"It is if I say it is."

I never expected something as weak as that to have any real effect- but much to my surprise, K buckles. "All right, all right! What do you want to know?"

That was easy.

"Who are you people? Who is Julia? Why did you send her down here?"

"Let me answer that, Steve, you talk too much," Tim steps in. "Now, then, Mr. Deacon. You want to know about Julia?"

"First tell me who you are- and please be honest. Are you spies or something?"

"Actually, yes," Tim sighs. "We're a new secret anti-Communism program that EMI and the BBC started up in order to protect, um- Western music from subliminal Marxist messages- and we've had reports that you guys, Queen, are spreading Soviet propaganda."

"What?" I begin to laugh. "Soviet propaganda? What kind of-"

"It's no laughing matter," Tim interrupts. K tries to cut in but he is rebuffed. "There's been talk that your own 'Bohemian Rhapsody' is actually a modern communist manifesto."

I'm roaring now. This is too much. "What decade are you living in? The fifties?"

But this is Tim's story and he's sticking to it. "Laugh if you want, all you're doing is making it worse for yourself."

"And Julia is your woman in the field, Mr. McCarthy?"

"She sure is! You've seen her with her journal, haven't you? Taking notes, observing you in your natural habitat?"