A flashing light indicated an incoming communication.
Haviland Tuf blinked, reached out with calm deliberation, and took the call.
He had expected a face to materialize on the telescreen in front of him. He was disappointed. The caller’s features were hidden by a faceplate of black plasteel, inset into the helmet of a mirror-finish warsuit. A stylized representation of the globe of S’uthlam ornamented the flanged crest upon his forehead. Behind the faceplate, wide-spectra sensors glowed red like two burning eyes. It reminded Haviland Tuf of an unpleasant man he had once known.
“It was unnecessary to dress formally on my account,” Tuf said flatly. “Moreover, while the size of the honor guard you have sent to meet me tickles my vanity somewhat, a much smaller and less prepossessing squadron would have been more than sufficient. The present formation is so large and formidable as to give one pause. A man of a less trusting nature than myself might be tempted to misconstrue its purpose and suspect some intent to intimidate.”
“This is Wald Ober, commander of the Planetary Defense Flotilla of S’uthlam, Wing Seven,” the grim visage on the telescreen announced in a deep, distorted voice.
“Wing Seven,” Tuf repeated. “Indeed. This suggests the possibility of at least six other similarly fearsome squadrons. It would seem that S’uthlamese planetary defenses have been augmented somewhat since my last call.”
Wald Ober wasn’t interested. “Surrender at once, or be destroyed,” he said bluntly.
Tuf blinked. “I fear some grievous misunderstanding.”
“A state of war exists between the Cybernetic Republic of S’uthlam and the so-called alliance of Vandeen, Jazbo, Henry’s World, Skrymir, Roggandor, and the Azure Triune. You have entered a restricted zone. Surrender or be destroyed.”
“You misapprehend me, sir,” Tuf said. “I am a neutral in this unfortunate confrontation, of which I was unaware until this moment. I am part of no faction, cabal, or alliance, and represent only myself, an ecological engineer with the most benign of motives. Please do not take alarm at the size of my ship. Surely in the small space of five standard years the esteemed spinnerets and cybertechs of the Port of S’uthlam cannot entirely have forgotten my previous visits to your most interesting world. I am Haviland—”
“We know who you are, Tuf,” said Wald Ober. “We recognized the Ark as soon as you shifted out of drive. The alliance doesn’t have any dreadnaughts thirty kilometers long, thank life. I have specific orders from the High Council to watch for your appearance.”
“Indeed,” said Haviland Tuf.
“Why do you think the wing is closing on you?” Ober said.
“As a gesture of affectionate welcome, I had hoped,” Tuf said. “As a friendly escort bearing kudos, salutations, and gift baskets of plump, fresh, spiced mushrooms. I see that this assumption was unfounded.”
“This is your third and final warning, Tuf. We’ll be in range in less than four standard minutes. Surrender now or be destroyed.”
“Sir,” said Tuf, “before you make a grievous error, please consult with your superiors. I am certain there has been a lamentable communications error.”
“You have been tried in absentia and found guilty of being a criminal, a heretic, and an enemy of the people of S’uthlam.”
“I have been grossly misperceived,” Tuf protested.
“You escaped the flotilla ten years ago, Tuf. Don’t think to do it again. S’uthlamese technology does not stand still. Our new weaponry will shred those obsolete defensive shields of yours, I promise you that. Our top historians have researched that ponderous EEC derelict of yours. I supervised the simulations myself. Your welcome is all prepared.”
“I have no wish to seem ungracious, but it was unnecessary to go to such lengths,” said Tuf. He glanced at the banks of telescreens that lined the consoles along both sides of the long, narrow room, and studied the phalanx of S’uthlamese warships rapidly closing upon the Ark. “If this unprovoked hostility has its root in my outstanding debt to the Port of S’uthlam, rest assured that I am prepared to render payment in full immediately.”
“Two minutes,” said Wald Ober.
“Furthermore, if S’uthlam is in need of additional ecological engineering, I find myself suddenly inclined to offer you my services at a much reduced price.”
“We’ve had enough of your solutions. One minute.”
“It would seem I am left with but a single viable option,” said Haviland Tuf.
“Then you surrender?” the commander said suspiciously.
“I think not,” said Haviland Tuf. He reached out, brushed long fingers across a series of holographic keys, and raised the Ark’s ancient defensive screens.
Wald Ober’s face was hidden, but he managed to get a sneer into his voice. “Fourth generation imperial screens, triple redundancy, frequency overlapping, all shield phasing coordinated by your ship’s computers. Duralloy plate armor on your hull. I told you we’d done our research.”
“Your hunger for knowledge is to be commended,” Tuf said.
“The next sarcasm you mouth may be your last, trader, so you had better take care to make it a good one. The point is, we know exactly what you’ve got, and we know to the fourteenth decimal how much damage an EEC seedship’s defenses can absorb. We’re prepared to give you more than you can handle.” He turned his head. “Prepare to commence fire,” he snapped at unseen subordinates. When the dark helmeted face swiveled back toward Tuf, Ober added, “We want the Ark and you can’t stop us from taking it. Thirty seconds.”
“I beg to differ,” said Tuf calmly.
“They’ll fire at my command,” Ober said. “If you insist, I’ll count down the final seconds of your life. Twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen . . . ”
“Seldom have I heard such vigorous counting,” said Tuf. “Please do not lose track on account of my distressing news.”
“ . . . Fourteen. Thirteen. Twelve.”
Tuf folded his hands atop his stomach.
“Eleven. Ten. Nine.” Ober looked uneasily to one side, then back at the screen.
“Nine,” announced Tuf. “A fine number. It is customarily followed by eight, thence seven.”
“Six,” Ober said. He hesitated. “Five.”
Tuf waited silently.
“Four. Three.” He stopped. “What distressing news?” he roared at the screen.
“Sir,” said Tuf, “if you must shout, you will only oblige me to adjust the volume on my communications equipment.” He raised a finger. “The distressing news is that the mere act of broaching the Ark’s defensive shields, as I have no doubt you can easily accomplish, will trigger a small thermonuclear device that I have previously secreted within the ship’s cell library, thereby instantaneously destroying the very cloning materials that make the Ark unique, invaluable, and widely coveted.”
There was a long silence. The glowing crimson sensors beneath the darkness of Wald Ober’s faceplate seemed to smoulder as they stared into the screen at Tuf’s blank features. “You’re bluffing,” the commander said at last.
“Indeed,” said Tuf. “You have found me out. How foolish to think I might hoodwink a man of your perspicacity with such a blatant and juvenile deception. And now I fear you will fire upon me, rend my poor obsolete defenses, and demonstrate my lie for good and all. Permit me only a moment to make my farewells to my cats.” He folded his hands neatly atop his great paunch, and waited for the commander to reply. The S’uthlamese flotilla, his instruments avowed, was now well within range.
“I’ll do just that, you damned abortion!” Wald Ober swore.
“I wait with sullen resignation,” said Tuf, unmoving.
“You have twenty seconds,” Ober said.
“I fear my news has confused you. The count previously stood at three. Nonetheless, I shall take shameless advantage of your error and savor each instant remaining to me.”
They stared at each other, face to face and screen to screen, for the longest time. Snug in Tuf’s la
p, Dax began to purr. Haviland Tuf reached down to stroke the cat’s long black fur. Dax purred even more loudly and began kneading Tuf’s knee with his claws.
“Oh, abort it to hell and gone,” said Wald Ober. He pointed at the screen. “You may have us checked for the moment, but I warn you, Tuf, don’t even think about trying to get away. Dead or fled, your cell library would be equally lost to us. And given a choice I’d sooner you be dead.”
“I comprehend your position,” said Haviland Tuf, “though I, of course, would sooner be fled. Yet I do have a debt to pay to the Port of S’uthlam, and therefore could not honorably depart as you fear, so please accept my assurances that you will have every opportunity to ponder my visage, and I your fearsome mask, while we sit locked in this irksome impasse.”
Wald Ober never got the chance to reply. His battle mask vanished abruptly from the screen, and was replaced by a woman’s homely features—a broad crooked mouth, a nose that had been broken more than once, hard leathery skin with the deep blue-black cast that comes from lots of exposure to hard radiation and decades of anti-carcinoma pills, pale bright eyes in a nest of squint-folds, all of it surrounded by a lavish halo of coarse gray hair. “So much for getting tough,” she said. “You win, Tuf. Ober, you’re now an honor guard. Form up and escort him into the web, damn it.”
“How thoughtful,” said Haviland Tuf. “I am pleased to inform you that I am now prepared to tender the final payment due the Port of S’uthlam for the refitting of the Ark.”
“I hope you brought some catfood, too,” Tolly Mune said drily. “That so-called ‘five-year supply’ you left me ran out almost two years ago.” She signed. “I don’t suppose you’d care to retire and sell us the Ark.”
“Indeed not,” said Tuf.
“I didn’t think so. All right, Tuf, break out the beer, I’m coming to talk to you as soon as you reach the web.”
“While I mean no disrespect, I must confess that I am not at the moment in the best frame of mind for entertaining such a distinguished guest as yourself. Commander Ober has recently informed me that I have been adjudged a criminal and heretic, a curious conception, as I am neither a citizen of S’uthlam nor an adherent to its dominant religion, but no less disquieting for all that. I am agog with fear and worry.”
“Oh, that,” she said. “Just an empty formality.”
“Indeed,” Tuf said.
“Puling hell, Tuf, if we’re going to steal your ship we need a good legal excuse, don’t we? We’re a goddamned government. We’re allowed to steal the things we want as long as we put a shiny legal gloss over it.”
“Seldom in my voyaging have I encountered any political functionary as frank as yourself, it must be admitted. The experience is refreshing. Still, as invigorated as I am, what assurance do I have that you will not continue your efforts to seize the Ark once aboard?”
“Who, me?” said Tolly Mune. “Now how could I do a thing like that? Don’t worry, I’ll come alone.” She smiled. “Well, almost alone. You’d have no objections if I brought a cat, would you?”
“Certainly not,” said Tuf. “I am pleased to learn that the felines I left in your custody have thrived in my absence. I shall eagerly anticipate your arrival, Portmaster Mune.”
“That’s First Councillor Mune to you, Tuf,” she said, gruffly, before she wiped the screen.
No one had ever alleged that Haviland Tuf was overly rash; he took up a position twelve kilometers beyond the end of one of the great docking spurs of the orbital community known as the Port of S’uthlam, and he kept his shields up continuously as he waited. Tolly Mune rode out to meet him in the small starship Tuf had given her five years before, on the occasion of his previous visit to S’uthlam.
Tuf opened the shields to let her through, and cracked the great dome on the landing deck so she might set down. Ark’s instrumentation indicated her ship was full of lifeforms, only one of which was human; the rest displayed feline parameters. Tuf set out to meet her, driving a three-wheeled cart with balloon tires, and wearing a deep-green mock-velvet suit belted about his ample middle. On his head was a battered green duckbilled cap decorated with the golden theta of the Ecological Engineering Corps. Dax rode with him, an indolent sprawl of black fur draped across Tuf’s broad knees.
When the airlock opened, Tuf drove with all deliberate speed through the scrapyard of battered spacecraft that he had somehow accumulated over the years, directly to where Tolly Mune, former Portmaster of S’uthlam, was thumping down the ramp of her ship.
A cat walked at her side.
Dax was on his feet in an instant, his dark fur bristling as if his huge, flurry tail had just been plugged into an electric socket. His customary lethargy was suddenly gone; he leapt from Tuf’s lap to the hood of the cart, drew back his ears, and hissed.
“Why, Dax,” Tolly Mune said, “is that any way to greet a goddamned relative?” She grinned, and knelt to pet the huge animal by her side.
“I had expected either Ingratitude or Doubt,” said Haviland Tuf.
“Oh, they’re fine,” she said. “And so are all their goddamned offspring. Several generations’ worth. I should have figured it when you gave me a pair. A fertile male and female. I’ve got . . . ” she frowned, and counted quickly on her fingers, once through and then again. “ . . . let’s see, sixteen, I think. Yes. And two pregnant.” She jerked a thumb at the starship behind her. “My ship has turned into one big cat-house. Most of them don’t care any more for gravity than I do. Born and raised in zero gee. I’ll never understand how they can be so graceful one moment and so hilariously clumsy the next.”
“The feline heritage is rife with contradiction,” said Tuf.
“This is Blackjack.” She picked him up in her arms and rose to her feet. “Damn, he’s heavy. You never realize that in zero gee.”
Dax stared at the other feline, and hissed.
Blackjack, cradled against the chest of Tolly Mune’s old, smelly skinthins, looked down at the huge black tom with disinterested haughtiness.
Haviland Tuf stood two-and-a-half meters tall, with bulk to match, and Dax was just as large, compared to other cats, as Tuf was, compared to other men.
Blackjack was larger.
His hair was long and silky, smoky gray on top, with a lighter silver undercoat. His eyes were silver-gray as well, vast deep pools, serene and somehow eerie. He was the most incredibly beautiful animal ever to dwell in the expanding universe, and he knew it. His manner was that of a princeling born to the royal purple.
Tolly Mune slid awkwardly into the seat beside Tuf. “He’s telepathic, too,” she said cheerfully, “just like yours.”
“Indeed,” said Haviland Tuf. Dax was stiff and angry in his lap. He hissed again.
“Jack here was the way I saved the other cats,” Tolly Mune said. Her homely face took on a look of reproach. “You said you were leaving me five years of catfood.”
“For two cats, madam,” said Tuf. “Obviously, sixteen animals consume more than Doubt and Ingratitude alone.” Dax edged closer, bared his teeth, bristled.
“I had problems when the stuff ran out. Given our food shortfalls, I had to justify wasting calories on vermin.”
“Perhaps you might have considered steps to limit your feline reproduction,” Tuf said. “Such a strategy would undoubtedly have yielded results. Thus your home could have served as an educational and sobering illustration of S’uthlamese problems, in microcosm as it were, and the solutions thereof.”
“Sterilization?” Tolly Mune said. “That’s anti-life, Tuf. Out. I had a better idea. I described Dax to certain friends—biotechs, cybertechs, you know—and they made me a familiar of my own, worked up from cells taken from Ingratitude.”
“How appropriate,” said Tuf.
She smiled. “Blackjack’s almost two years old. He’s been so useful I’ve been given a food allowance for the others. He’s helped my political career no end, too.”
“I have no doubt,” said Tuf. “I note that he does no
t appear discomfitted by gravity.”
“Not Blackjack. These days they need me downstairs a hell of a lot more than I’d like, and Jack goes with me. Everywhere.”
Dax hissed again, and made a low nimbly threatening sound. He darted toward Blackjack, then drew back suddenly and spit disdain at the larger cat.
“You better call him off, Tuf,” Tolly Mune said.
“Felines sometimes demonstrate a biological compulsion to battle in order to establish deference rankings,” Tuf said. “This is particularly true of tomcats. Dax, undoubtedly aided and abetted by his enhanced psionic capabilities, long ago established his supremacy over Chaos and my other cats. Undoubtedly he now feels his position threatened. It is not a matter for serious concern, First Councillor Mune.”
“It is for Dax,” she said, as the black tom crept closer. Blackjack, in her lap, looked up at his rival with vast boredom.
“I fail to grasp your point,” said Tuf.
“Blackjack has those enhanced psionic capabilities, too,” said Tolly Mune. “Plus a few other, ah, advantages. Implanted duralloy claws, sharp as goddamned razors, concealed in special paw sheaths. A subcutaneous net of nonallogenic plasteel mesh that makes him awfully tough to hurt. Reflexes that have been genetically accelerated to make him twice as quick and dextrous as a normal cat. A very high pain threshold. I don’t want to be puling crass about it or anything, but if he gets jumped, Blackjack will slice Dax into little bloody hairballs.”
Haviland Tuf blinked, and shoved the steering stick over toward Tolly Mune. “Perhaps it might be best if you drove.” He reached out, picked up his angry black tomcat by the ruff of the neck, and deposited him, screeching and spitting, in his lap, where he held him very still indeed. “Proceed in that direction,” he said, pointing with a long pale finger.
“It appears,” said Haviland Tuf, steepling his fingers as he regarded her from the depths of a huge wingback armchair, “that circumstances have altered somewhat since I last came to call upon S’uthlam.”
Tolly Mune studied him carefully. His paunch was larger than it had been, and his long face was just as miserly of expression, but without Dax in his lap, Haviland Tuf looked almost naked. Tuf had shut the big black tom up on a lower deck to keep him away from Blackjack. Since the ancient seedship was thirty kilometers long and several of Tuf’s other cats roamed the deck in question, Dax would scarcely lack for space or for companionship, but must be baffled and distraught nonetheless. The psionic tomcat had been Tuf’s constant and inseparable companion for years, had even ridden in Tuf’s ample pockets as a kitten. Tolly Mune felt a little sad about it.
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