After some days had passed, a message came back from Mission Control. The sound of the controller’s voice was punctuated with hoots of hysterical laughter, the response of the ground crew hearing the captain’s plea.
“Roger that, Calliope. Entertainment on the way. Can’t wait to see the vacation photos, folks! Welcome back to Sol!” A steady stream of digital data came in the wake of the reply.
A few weeks after the first message, another squirt from Mission Control came through, and there was awe in the communication officer’s voice. “First sixty terabytes of data received! You’ve got a wow coming from the big brass, Calliope. We’re proud of you. I don’t frigging believe what you’re sending back!”
“It took sacrifices from whole crew,” Captain Thurston said, and he looked straight at Ardway when he said it. “Okay,” he said to the waiting crew. “You saw the receipt. You can dump the redundant scans from the first 60T.” The crew started cheering wildly.
“Mail call,” Polson, the communication officer said, with a grin on his face. “I feel like Santa Claus.” Anyone who was not on duty kicked off for their cabins to hear their messages. Ardway had to wait until shift’s end to download his mail, but he was pleased to see he had received three new uploads, audio and video, from his cat sitter. He thought both Melanie and the cats looked a little older, but they all seemed healthy and happy. A big knot rose in his chest. He missed them so much. And, though he’d never seen it, he missed Boojum. Ardway chose a frame of his cat sitter holding Parky and Blivit on her lap, and left it glowing on the face of his reader beside his bunk when he went to sleep.
* * *
Ardway drifted drowsily halfway between sleep and waking, batting at the buzzing alarm in the bed head. The astrogation program was due for a checkover, although it had been ticking along the whole mission without hiccuping once. He glanced over at the picture on his viewer and smiled.
“Be seeing you soon, kids,” he said. Suddenly, something hard stabbed him in the bladder twice, then struck him in the leg as if it was rolling off the end of his bunk heading toward the door. Ardway threw off the covers and looked around. There was nothing there, but he knew what had happened. Boojum was back!
“Hey, kitty!” he cried. “Wait for me.” He started to roll over to unfasten his net, starting to swim toward the door, when he felt the pounding sensations again, knocking him back against the padded wall. Those footsteps were going in the same direction as the previous ones. Ardway shook his head. There must be a hiccup from the program being downloaded and uploaded again. It was repeating actions. He was going to have to help Johnson to fix it as soon as he had a break. But his virtual cat was back. He was delighted. He couldn’t wait to pet Boojum and welcome him home.
Ardway clambered out of his net, and pulled himself down to his clothing locker. Something thumped against his leg, struggling, and sharp pains lacerated his calf and knee.
“Boojum, stop that!” He bent down to feel what was going on, and his hand was captured and severely beaten up. Ardway swore, hopping around as he pulled on sweat pants while the cannoning body floated around, banging into him occasionally. “Knock it off!”
The familiar shape thudded into his chest. Ardway reached out automatically to catch him, and was rewarded with the deep vibration as the cat’s head scraped against his neck and chest. He stroked the soft, furry body. “Oh, baby, I have missed you!” The purr resonated through the receptors, vibrating deeply. Ardway sighed with delight.
Plaintive stropping at his ankles surprised him so much he flutter-kicked away in the air. He reached out a tentative hand, and felt another feline body, programmed into space just like the first. This one was smaller and slimmer, with shorter fur and larger ears.
Another cat?
It was! Completely at home in zero-gravity, the newcomer walked up his body and snuggled into his arms, shoving Boojum to one side. Ardway felt the contented rumble turn to a growl deep in the first construct’s chest, but it quickly turned to a resigned purr. Two cats! He had two cats!
He kicked across space and hit the intercom.
“Johnson!”
“Hey, Ardway, good morning,” the hearty voice said.
“The program’s back, but it’s got a hiccup. There’s a second cat walking around in here.”
Johnson sounded smug. “Yep, I know. It’s a surprise, kind of a thank you from the crew for pulling so hard when we knew it was killing you. You did good, boy. Even the captain approves. He gave the go-ahead for the extra data space. We’ve been calling the second kitty-cat Snark. Enjoy.” The intercom clicked off.
“Snark, huh?”Ardway said, bringing his hand around the bulge in his arms to scratch the top of the smaller cat’s head. “Hey, baby, nice to meet you.” An approving rumble said he had found just the right spot. The head tilted under his hand until he was massaging a tufted ear and a sharp slash of cheekbone. He wished he could see it, but he imagined Snark to be a female. Maybe a Jellicle cat, with black and white fur and big gold eyes. Boojum wriggled, trying to get at the petting hand, and captured it between two big paws. Ardway shifted so he could stroke both of them at the same time. They all floated in the middle of the cabin, Snark massaging his side with her small paws, and Boojum lying with his head on Ardway’s shoulder.
Two cats! He had never been so happy. There might have been a couple of gas giants circling Gliese 86, but as far as Benny Ardway was concerned, the most important pair of satellites in space were right here.
Horus-Semnet picked his way distastefully through the temple environs, following one of the acolytes to the High Priest’s personal garden. Cats! Everywhere he looked, lounging lazily on the immaculately swept flagstones, sitting in the dappled shade, skipping like dancers, trotting in a businesslike manner toward who knew where, stretching out with tail held high as if they did not care who could see their nether regions, were cats of every color and combination, long-haired, short-haired, big, small and in-between. They wound around his muscular legs, arching their backs luxuriously against his flesh. The big, black-haired man nudged them aside and strode onward. With mental apologies to the Mother Goddess Bastet, he did not much care for the form She had taken on Earth, nor her worshipers.
All the way from the dock where his elegant boat was moored, he had had to fight his way through the drunken crowds who were in Bubastis to celebrate the festival of Bast, on the first day of the month of Tybi. Revelers from all throughout Egypt had come, following the flotilla of priests and priestesses who moored opposite their villages and cities, playing the goddess’s favorite sistrum, chanting and calling out abuse to attract their attention. When they had gathered a crowd on the shore, the women would reveal their bodies and dance to the music of the men piping.
The insanity did not end when they reached Bubastis. Instead, it spread out through the city and temple environs open to the public, and became a downright orgy of beer, song and fornication. Horus-Semnet, a devotee of Ra, found this lack of dignity distressing. Not that Bast starved in his house, no! He had a proper votive statue that he made offerings to, of fish and beer. But he was annoyed. His gold-trimmed sandals were stained where a young man, of some rank by the jewelry he wore, threw up at his feet. He, prince and general in the army of Pharaoh, had to walk on the stink the rest of the way to the temple, with the nobleman apologizing at his heels all the way. Horus-Semnet’s guards kept the man back, at the same time steadying him to keep him from falling on his face. Horus-Semnet was glad when the temple guards shut the man out in the street.
The acolyte took the stained sandals, providing butter-soft slippers of woven silk in their place. “Thy servants will receive hospitality in the guest hall, my lord,” he whispered, and left Horus-Semnet alone in the cool shade.
Well, almost alone. Gleaming, slit-pupiled eyes like paired jewels regarded him from every corner. Horus-Semnet tried to stare down some of the cats, even moving sudde
nly to surprise them, but these animals never flinched. They were serene, beyond surprise. Horus-Semnet knew a hundred courtiers who could take a lesson in deportment from them. He lowered his large form gingerly onto a carved bench, and was pleased to see it held his weight without groaning. One of the cats, an orange one, came up to nose about him. Horus-Semnet offered a thick finger for inspection. The cat sniffed it, then rubbed a soft cheek against it. Its whiskers were as fine as the wiry hairs on the back of his hand.
After a short time the chief priest came to him. The lean man, not above middle height, wore a white cap and kilt of purest white trimmed with gold and malachite, like the eyes of the cats. His pectoral necklace was made of gold and malachite, too, its tiny beads all pointed ovals, arranged in the shape of a huge cat’s eye. It seemed to look at him. Green-gold eyes shone, too, from the priest’s elaborate belt, enameled gold bracelets and even his painted leather sandal straps. Disconcertingly, the shaven-headed priest himself had wide eyes of a pale color in between light brown, gold and green. His lips were not full, but the bow in the center was rather pointed, giving him a wry look.
“Bastet’s blessings be upon you, Prince Horus-Semnet,” the high priest said, bowing his head slightly. “I am Ti-Bast. Forgive me for the delay in greeting you. I have many responsibilities and duties today. It is the goddess’s festival.”
“We have not met before,” the prince said, frowning, “and I did not give my name at the gate.”
“Forgive me,” the high priest said again, with another inclination of his head. “The gracious goddess has vouchsafed a vision of your coming to one of the dreaming priests. Your name was revealed to us, and you were described to perfection, to the feet of your sandals.” He smiled a little as the acolyte who had admitted Horus-Semnet returned, bearing the now-cleaned shoes upon a tray, and bowed before him. Following the pure one were servants bearing pitchers and bowls of fruit and rolls. “A little refreshment, after your long journey? A sherbet, at least, before we get to the heart of your mission?”
Horus-Semnet was glad to accept the cold fruit juice, served in a graciously large gold cup chased with a pattern of kittens pursuing one another around the rim. The cup was a thing of beauty, its use a tribute to his mission, if a little lofty for his rank as a son of one of the previous pharaoh’s minor wives. Or perhaps Ti-Bast was only showing off the temple’s wealth. The cult of Bastet was over two thousand years old. Ancient families had been endowing it with their finest treasures for all that time. Bastet was nurturer and protector, another avatar of the sun like Ra. For two thousand years, she and her war-sister Sekhmet Lion-Headed had guarded the Two Lands, but Bast was also associated with fertility and love. Mothers who had difficulty conceiving or delivering gave offerings to Bast in thanks for her aid. Hers was one of the richest sects in Egypt, a fact that was known across the civilized world.
Once the sweet juice had cleared the journey’s dust from his throat, Horus-Semnet unrolled the papyrus he carried in the pouch at his side and began to read it aloud.
“From his majesty Sheshonk I, Pharaoh and King, Lord of the Two Lands, servant of the gods and master of all Egypt, in his palace in his capital city of Thebes, to Ti-Bast, high priest of Bast in the beloved city of Bubastis, greetings.”
“May all Bastet’s blessings be upon him and his family,” Ti-Bast said, nodding.
Horus-Semnet took his time over the long protocol, not wishing to stumble on any of the words of courtesy. Ti-Bast was a good listener, his wide, hazel eyes patient. The message that followed was more to the point.
Sheshonk I had enjoyed several years of relative peace since ascending to the throne, though he had kept his army sharp by patrolling the realm’s borders. His spies and scouts had lately uncovered information that the Persians were planning to attack the northern reaches of Egypt. “…Therefore do we command and request that you shall make ready to defend our most beloved city and temple against our ancient enemy. This message do we send by the hand of Horus-Semnet, general of our army, in whom we have the greatest of trust.” The scroll, written in the court scribe’s perfect hieroglyphs, was signed with cartouches showing the Pharaoh’s names, both birth and reigning, since he was addressing the priest of his favorite goddess. Horus-Semnet finished reading, rolled it up, and, after a moment, handed it to the priest.
Ti-Bast noticed his hesitation. “Is there more?” he asked.
“I can give you more detail if you wish. The Persians will most likely attack from two quarters, coming up the Nile on ships and across the Sinai by chariot. Our scouts have brought back reports of foreign princes bringing enormous armies to join the Persian force. They are greedy to strip our cities and temples of their riches. We have been prosperous too long. Our navy is massing in the tributaries of the delta.” Horus-Semnet leaned forward. “If the ports fall, Bubastis and all the cities close inland will be in danger. How many men do you have under arms to guard the temple?”
Ti-Bast smiled. “Seven hundred. They are all brave men, among the most puissant warriors in Egypt.”
Horus-Semnet groaned. Too few. In order to protect the city he would have to split the forces he would bring with him from the south. “It is Pharaoh’s wish that the city be fortified and the temple be evacuated. Such a small force will not be able to withstand the ferocity of the barbarian warriors, especially the hairy ones from the north.”
“Now, now,” Ti-Bast said, in a chiding, lazy voice, not at all what Horus-Semnet expected from a grown man, “we do not mind whiskers here, do we?” The priest reached out a hand to stroke a lean, tan cat who stretched up a pair of slender paws to his kilted lap. Ti-Bast caught Horus-Semnet’s expression with an indulgent smile. “Here we serve Bastet and do homage to her. Our mission is to see to the well-being and happiness of her dearest creations on Earth.” He looked down at the cat fondly. “Are they not beautiful?”
Ugh. Then the general reminded himself these were sacred animals, and the priest was only acceding to the will of Bastet. “Yes, of course. About the battle…if matters should go badly, we will send runners. Will you be prepared to evacuate southward? Do you have boats ready?”
“We will not need to go,” Ti-Bast said, still in the sing-songy voice. The cat was now in his lap, purring. “We will stay here.”
“My lord,” Horus-Semnet said, rising to his feet. “You must prepare! The barbarians could be upon you within twenty days!”
The priest’s smooth tan brow wrinkled for a moment, then his face relaxed. “Then we have nothing to fear. It would be a terrible thing for them if they were to try,” he said, easily. “Bast will protect us, especially then. The 20th day of Tybi is our celebration of her going forth, and the 21st is the day upon which she opened her great paws to guard the two lands. If they come in that time they cannot succeed. Bastet will protect us.”
“It is Pharaoh’s will that you be ready to go,” Horus-Semnet said, firmly.
Ti-Bast was just as firm. “And it is the goddess’s that we stay. Who else will sing her songs and fulfill her rituals if we empty the temple on her most sacred days?” The high priest lifted the cat to his shoulder where it hung limp as a pelt as he stroked it. Ti-Bast reached out his free hand to his visitor. “Come. Join our celebration. You have come on a most joyous day. You are our honored guest. There is much to see.”
Grudgingly, Horus-Semnet followed his host.
* * *
He found himself marching in a procession through the packed streets of Bubastis behind a litter carrying a huge statue of the goddess. Ti-Bast went before it with his priests and pure ones, crying out praise.
“How beautiful are your eyes, O Bast! How lovely your ears and whiskers!”
The priests were turn preceded by whirling dancing girls in translucent linen and musicians piping a lively air. Thousands of people lining the route held up small statues and real cats to be blessed by the sight of the great goddess. Solemn acoly
tes bore the great image and many other sacred objects, most of them veiled with white linen cloths. The one nearest him made him curious. A dome shape about the size of a man’s head lay on a platform borne by two acolytes still wearing the sidelock of boyhood. He put his hand on his sword hilt. The goddess’s cult demanded sacrifice, but he’d never heard of her requiring the death of a human being.
“What is that?” he asked the boys.
“The Eye of Bastet,” said the one in front. He looked about ten years old, with large eyes and a very small nose. The one behind shoved the litter into his companion’s back. “Oops. Forgive me, highness. I should not have said.”
Horus-Semnet smiled. “I will not tell,” he promised them. “What comes after this?”
“We return to the sanctuary,” the second boy said. He was taller and thinner than his companion, and was perhaps two years older. “Washing and blessing. Then the feasting. That will be wonderful. Bast provides well for us.”
Following a ritual cleansing, Horus-Semnet and his fellow nobles were admitted to the second holiest of holies. Ti-Bast was there to greet them as thousands chanted praise outside. After the hot sun and sky like blue glass the quiet dimness of the inner temple inspired awe. Around him the incised and painted walls depicted the legendary deeds of Bast: casting forth Set and his minions, killing snakes, her traditional enemy; enfolding Pharaoh in her grace, and accepting the supplication of the priests. Horus-Semnet thought that the priest’s image near the door was that of Ti-Bast.
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