The teenager shrugged. “Perhaps they season the water?”
“That’s exactly the case, honorable guest,” said Sooka Black. “If you’ll excuse me, I must retire. The day has been quite busy and I must deal with several matters.” He waved to a door on the left. “Sleeping areas for each guest and washing stations can be found along this corridor. Attendants will be on duty at all times if you have need of anything.”
Betsy sniffed at an orange slice of raw fish and looked up. “Need anything? I need a marshmallow!”
Sooka Black bowed. “Of course. What is a marshmallow?”
“Please ignore Betsy,” said Amy. “He looks like a normal dog, but actually he can’t eat any food at all, especially marshmallows.”
“He’s far from a normal dog,” said Philip. “I suppose that means he’s abnormal.”
“Hey!” barked the terrier. “I’m right here!”
Sooka Black bowed and touched his furry chin to the floor. “As you wish. Have a pleasant evening and a comfortable sleep.”
The brown cat left the room and slid shut the paneled wooden door.
“Ah,” said Philip. “Here’s one problem: they’ve forgotten the silverware. I don’t see a single fork or spoon.”
Betsy giggled. “Cats don’t use forks.”
Nick bit off a huge chunk of sweet bun. “Yeah, Philly-billy. You should know that!”
“I know that none of the cats and dogs that worked for the Lady used forks or spoons, but I assumed the cats of the Imperial Palace would have more manners.”
“We didn’t use forks because we’re different, not because of manners,” said Betsy. “She changed our insides. All we had to eat were the blue balls of ReCarb, and you don’t need a fork for that. You just need a mouth-hole!”
Amy held up a pair of silver chopsticks. “I bet we use these. You hold them together and pinch the food with the other end.”
Betsy jumped onto a couch. “That’s right! Cats always do things the hard way. It’s like the opposite of how dogs run a planet.”
Nick looked up from the sticky bun, her face and hair smeared with frosting. “Don’t talk about Kapetyn at the dinner table! You’ll make all of us barf like a fire hose.”
Amy had no problems using the metal chopsticks, but Philip grabbed a piece of fish with the metal rods and immediately dropped it on the floor.
Amy patted him on the knee. “Use your hands. I won’t tell anyone.”
“Thank you, Miss Armstrong,” Philip said, and grinned. “It’s always good to have friends.”
Chapter Eight
It was dark, stormy, and cold––three good reasons for Nistra to shrink into the collar of his trench coat. The rain poured over the brim of his hat, streamed from the gutters, and roared down the fire escapes. In the black slice of sky above the stinking alley, lightning flashed and thunder rolled.
Night had come quickly in Tau Ceti, along with the rain. The skies had opened up just after he’d snuck out of the spaceport, but he’d stumbled across an unconscious human lying behind a grocery store, and luckily the filthy rags fit the sauropod. Few similarities linked the giant reptiles and their cat creators, and a wardrobe was definitely not one of them.
He’d tramped halfway across the city to this damp alley that smelled of fish and the graffiti-covered green door lit by a bulb dangling from a chain. Luck had led him here––luck and accidentally glancing at a poster slapped on a dripping concrete wall. Between a concert poster and an advertisement for Slurm stood the smiling but obviously airbrushed face of a brown sauro and a critical message:
“Celebrate Galactic Food at the Toho District Cultural Festival! Sponsored by Rotarians 1443.”
Nistra had pulled the scrap of paper from the wall and held it to his chest like a baby sauropod hugging a freshly stuffed cat.
The Rotarians were an exclusively sauropod organization with a charter to spread lizard culture throughout the galaxy. Laying naked in the sun all day or biting the heads off live poona might sound like Egg Heaven to sauros, but these “cultural” habits never became accepted by most humans, cats, or dogs, despite the Rotarian outreach. The clubs quickly became a place for expatriate sauropods to meet and complain about how bad life was on every planet compared to Kepler Prime, even though all of them knew it was an absolute lie. Life on Kepler Prime was a constant parade of bullies sticking sharp things where you didn’t want them to be stuck.
A foot splashed through a puddle. Nistra watched a huge figure move through the shadows at the opening of the alley, his steps measured and heavy. Rain dripped from his scaly brown head and beaded on the shoulders of his raincoat.
The sauropod stopped and pounded on the green door with a huge fist, and then turned and stared at Nistra with clear yellow eyes until the former prison official looked away. Hinges squealed and a crash of music and boisterous laughter filled the alley. Nistra looked up to see the huge sauropod duck inside the battered entrance. The door slammed and the alley returned to the quiet patter of rain and swish from cat traffic on the street.
Nistra clenched a fist. “Knock on the door,” he whispered to himself. “Just do it!”
The faint sound of lizard singing reached his ear-holes. At first Nistra thought it came from inside the club, but a pair of sauropods appeared at the head of the alley and the singing grew louder.
The pair held each other with arms draped across their shoulders and swayed from side to side, soaked to the bone in their blue nylon track suits––a fashion normally repellant to sauropods, but on a planet of cats few choices were available. Both sauros wore zero-g football caps with the brims turned backwards.
The sauros stopped in front of the battered door and stared at Nistra.
“Hello,” said the one on the left. “Why’s he standing in the rain?”
The sauro on the right hiccuped. “Maybe he’s hungry.”
“What?”
“That’s what I do. When I’m hungry, I go outside and look for something to eat.”
“I need to get inside but I don’t have enough money,” said Nistra. “Actually, I don’t have any money at all.”
“Is that true?” The sauro on the left walked up and put an arm around Nistra, leading him to the door. “Don’t worry about anything. You just come along with old uncle Astra. We’ll set you up.”
“Can’t let a fellow countryman go to waste.” The other sauro bowed and almost fell over. “Whoops!”
“That’s Plastra,” said Astra. “He’s had too much to drink.”
Plastra bared his sharp teeth. “I have not!”
“Do you blame him? It’s horrible, all these cats walking on the streets, driving cars, doing things in their cat buildings. It’s like they own the place!”
“They do own the place,” said Plastra. “Now who’s drunk? That fermented pond water is giving you brain damage.”
“It’s not pond water; it’s cat wine!”
“Same thing.”
The sauro held onto his zero-g ballcap with one claw and thumped on the scratched green metal with the other. The battered door opened a crack and a yellow eye glared out.
“What’s the password?”
Astra shrugged. “Dunno. Let me in or I’ll slice your face off.”
“Correct,” said the eye.
A scaly green claw forced its way out, palm up, and Astra slapped a few crumpled notes into it.
“Three of you, so three hundred mao!” hissed the eye.
“Sorry,” said Astra. He dug through the pockets of his nylon jacket and found another pink bill.
The door swung open and the two sauros pushed Nistra into a maelstrom of sound and smell.
Wide and muscular reptilian bodies packed the club, from the stools at the long wooden bar to the stage at the other end, where a band fronted by a sauro in a black vest and flat-brimmed hat growled a blues-punk tune into a silver microphone. A blue banner embroidered with the symbol of a gear and “Rotarians 1443” waved above the head of the le
ad singer, and framed photos of sauros with their arms around each other were tacked to the walls. The stink of spilled vine juice covered everything, along with the earthy smell of unwashed reptile, the odor of herbal cigarettes, and the ammonia stench of poona urine. The brown, hamster-like creatures scrambled through the wood chips of a terrarium fastened to on the far wall.
“Thanks,” Nistra yelled to Astra and Plastra.
The pair of sauros nodded under the noise from the band, and pushed through the crowd to the terrarium. After paying the barkeep, the sauros each grabbed a poona from the clear enclosure and shoved the wriggling creatures into their mouths.
Nistra peeled off his dripping hat and trench coat and hung them on wall pegs near the door. He’d been stationed at the prison for so long that he’d lost the taste for live creatures. Artificial poona made from soybeans was much better for the digestion, mainly because it didn’t squirm and squeak inside your digestive pouch for two hours.
A huge claw poked him in the shoulder and he turned. The brown sauro he’d seen earlier towered over him.
“We don’t need the stinking army around here,” growled the giant reptile. He fingered the silver insignia on Nistra’s uniform jacket. “Especially not a desk jockey from the prison.”
Nistra pushed the claw away. “Are you telling me to leave?”
The giant sauro grinned, displaying a mouth packed with sharp teeth.
“Yes.”
The band stopped playing and everyone in the club turned to watch.
“Okay,” said Nistra. “I get it.”
He turned toward the door, but quickly lashed out backwards with his right foot, striking the crotch of the imposing sauro. The giant reptile screeched and doubled over. Nistra kneed him in the jaw, then grabbed the sauro’s thick wrist and applied pressure to the nerve.
“Ow! Ow ow ow!”
The giant fell to the floor and tried to squirm away from the pain, but Nistra kept the arm high, increasing the angle of twist.
“Lemmee go!”
“Apologize,” murmured Nistra.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
“Not to me. To the glorious army of the Sauro Republic.”
“I’m sorry for saying bad things! The army is great!”
Nistra dropped the sauro’s arm and straightened his jacket. “Right, and don’t you forget it. Don’t insult officers, especially ones from a prison. We have lots of training in nerve locks, and plenty of criminals for practice.”
“Yes, sir.”
Nistra felt the eyes of everyone in the club on him. He bowed.
“Good evening,” he said. “I am Detention Officer First Class Nistra, formerly of the High-Security Anti-Recidivist Long-term Prison, otherwise known as H.A.L.P.”
A scattering of applause and cheers erupted from the crowd of sauropods.
“Thank you,” said Nistra. “Fellow Keplerites, you don’t know how happy I am to see another scaly face after being trapped on a spaceship with filthy humans, a cat, and a dog.”
The crowd murmured in disgust.
“I’ve come to ask for help.”
Nistra held up the photo of Amy he’d taken from the ship.
“This foul human creature has stolen my planet and is using it to power her own starship. Does she care about the millions of lives she’s putting at risk? Does she lay awake at night, wondering how to free the innocent sauros in her engine room? No! She seeks only her own personal enjoyment.”
The crowd of sauros roared and stomped their feet. The entire bar shook with deafening noise until Nistra held up a hand.
“Treasure and glory await those who will help me attack the ship belonging to this human. I swear on the eternal Egg that I will not sleep until we have destroyed this half-grown pirate and her cowardly cat and dog slaves. Those who join me will forever bring honor to the homeworld!”
The giant sauro climbed to his feet and pumped his scaly fist high. “Let’s destroy it!”
“Kepler Prime?”
“No, the spaceship! Smash it to the size of poona droppings!”
Nistra smiled and gripped the giant’s shoulder. “I have a better idea, my new best friend. We’re going to steal it.”
THE PILLOW vibrated under Amy’s cheek. A few seconds later, the panes of glass in her bedroom window rattled.
She threw off her blankets and ran into a hallway lined with red columns, the wooden floor cold and smooth under her bare feet. The pale light of morning shone through horizontal wooden slats high on the walls.
Doors opened in the hall. Philip, Betsy, and Nick peered out from separate rooms.
“Did you feel that?” asked Amy.
Philip stepped into the hallway. “An explosion, more or less.”
Amy giggled and covered her mouth with both hands. “Are you wearing a nightgown?”
Philip’s sleeveless white garment brushed the floor, an identical copy of the one Amy wore right down to the lace hem and neckline. The tall teenager glanced down and shrugged.
“Is anything wrong?”
“That’s for a girl, not a boy,” said Amy, giggling through her fingers.
Betsy jumped in the air and barked. “I told him but he wouldn’t listen!”
“I’m not about to take sartorial advice from a dog, especially on a cat planet. Where I’m from, it’s perfectly normal for a man to dress like this in the evening.”
Amy walked up to Philip and tugged at his cotton dress. “Dear Philip, this isn’t Victorian London. Where I’m from, this is a nightgown for girls. Do you want to be a girl?”
Wearing a tiny version of the nightgown, Nick flew up to Philip, her wings buzzing.
“That would be so cool! We could be best friends and dress up like princesses!”
The teenager turned red. “I certainly don’t want to change my sex or become a princess in any way, shape, or form. Please excuse me.”
He jumped into his room and slammed the door. It opened a second later.
“It was on my bed, if you wish to know!”
“He’s right,” said Betsy. The terrier scratched behind his ear with a paw. “Maybe the cats want him to be a girl?”
Amy held up a hand. “Changing the subject. What was that boom I just heard?”
Nick shrugged her tiny shoulders. “How are we supposed to know? Ask Furball. Here he comes.”
Roused either by the slammed door or the conversation of his imperial guests, a brilliantly white and outrageously fluffy Persian cat approached from the end of the hallway, his tail waving lazily in the air.
“You can’t call him that,” whispered Amy. “It sounds racist. Or cat-ist.”
Betsy tilted his brown and white head. “But that’s his name.” He raised his voice. “Hey, Furball––move it or lose it!”
The white cat scrambled down the hallway and slid to a stop next to Betsy.
“Yes? How may Furball help the honored guests?”
Amy rubbed her eyes. “I should have known. Furball, what was that sound we heard a few minutes ago?”
The white Persian bowed. “That was me, your honors, and I apologize. I had spicy kribich last night, far too many, and gave myself indigestion. I was a greedy, disgusting cat and the sound must have woken your honors.”
“No, no. I mean the big explosion.”
The cat bowed even lower. “The servant’s litter box was full so I used the imperial closet at the end of the hall. I have damaged my family’s name and will resign immediately. Farewell forever and I hope you never see this stupid and revolting servant again, unless it is to step over my bloated corpse in the street.”
Amy sighed. “Don’t resign or anything like that. I’m talking about the booming sound from outside. Did it come from the sky?”
The cat stared up at her with wide blue eyes. “The sky? Ah, yes! Your honor must be speaking of the atmospheric defenses. Any meteor that is somehow missed by the orbital satellites is targeted and destroyed by high-powered lasers surrounding the city. It is
a common sound for residents of Cheezburger, and that is why I did not think of it at first. I have shamed the Furball family and will resign immediately. Farewell forever and please spit upon my bloated corpse if you––”
“Stop saying you’re going to resign,” said Amy. “You’re doing a great job, and thank you for the information.”
Furball bowed. “I live to serve, your honors.”
Amy knocked on Philip’s door. “It was just an exploding meteor!”
“Thank you, I heard,” came the boy’s muffled voice.
Amy went back to her room and washed up in the small bathroom. Someone had laundered her clothes overnight and placed them in neat triangular bundles at the foot of her bed. While she was changing, a white cat knocked on the door and delivered a tray containing rolls of smoked fish and rice, and a cup of hot green tea.
The cat bowed. “Honored guest, the imperial court will assemble in twenty minutes.”
“Do I have to go?”
The cat’s green eyes bulged. It stammered an incomprehensible reply, then sprinted down the hall, the empty tray clattering on its back.
Philip stuck his head out of his room and grinned at Amy. “I think that means ‘yes.’”
A CROWD OF long-haired white Persians streamed through the imperial quarters, uprooting servants, soldiers, and guests and dragging them along like corn cobs in a flash flood.
Amy and her friends fell in behind a gray tabby in a red cape. The cat began to drone in a deep voice as he led the crowd in a chant.
Sunflower the mighty
Sunflower the great
Lord of the North Star
Leader of the state
He is the chosen one
He wears the crown
Emperor of the flowering pear
To him we bow down
Amy jogged faster and the tails of the cat servants whipped past her skirt. She caught up with Philip and the teenagers linked arms.
“Sunflower’s not going to leave the palace,” she whispered. “Not unless we drag him out by his ears. Would you give up all this if you were King of England?”
Philip shrugged. “As we say, a bed of roses is no place to sleep.”
Empire of the Space Cats (Amy Armstrong Book 2) Page 12