CatFantastic

  "Kreshta," she said, "I would call them pests; you don't see them out on the streets much, but they are the reason the streets are kept so clean. You'll see them soon enough once we get inside. They're like mice, only worse; fast as lightning—they'll steal food right off your plate. The Lacu'un either can't or won't get rid of them, I can't tell you which. When I asked about them once, my host just rolled his eyes heavenward and said what translates to `it's the will of the gods.' "

  "Insh'allah?" Captain Singh asked.

  "Very like that, yes. I can't tell if they tolerate the pests because it is the gods' will that they must, or if they tolerate them because the gods favor the little monsters. Inside the Fence we have to close the government buildings down once a month, seal them up, and fumigate. We're just lucky they don't breed very fast."

  :Hunt?: SKitty asked hopefully from her perch on Dick's shoulders.

  No! Dick replied hastily. Just look, don't hunt!

  The cat was gaining startled—and Dick thought, appreciative—looks from passersby.

  "Just what is the status value of a totemic animal?" Erica asked curiously.

  "It's the fact that the animal can be tamed at all. Aside from a handful of domestic herbivores, most animal life on Lacu'un has never been tamed. To be able to take a carnivore and train it to the hand implies that the gods are with you in a very powerful way." Vena dimpled. "I'll let you in on a big secret; frankly, Lan and I preferred the record of the Brightwing over the other two ships; you seemed to be more sympathetic to the Lacu'un. That's why we told you about the totemic animals, and why we left you until last."

  "It wouldn't have worked without Dick," Captain Singh told her. "SKitty has really bonded to him in a remarkable way; I don't think this presentation would come off half so impressively if he had to keep her on a lead."

  "It wouldn't," Vena replied, directing them around a corner. At the end of a short street was a fifteen foot wall—carved, of course—pierced by an arching entranceway.

  "The palace," she said, rather needlessly.

  ***

  Vena had been right. The kreshta were everywhere.

  Dick could feel SKitty trembling with the eagerness to hunt, but she was managing to keep herself under control. Only the lashing of her tail betrayed her agitation.

  He waited at parade rest, trying not to give in to the temptation to stare, as the Captain and the Negotiator, Grace Vixen, were presented to the five rulers of the Lacu'un in an elaborate ceremony that resembled a stately dance. Behind the low platform holding the five dignitaries in their iridescent robes were five soberly clad retainers, each with one of the "totemic animals." Dick could see now what Vena had meant; the handlers had their creatures under control, but only barely. There was something like a bird, something resembling a small crocodile, something like a snake, but with six very tiny legs, a creature vaguely catlike, but with a feathery coat, and a beast resembling a teddybear with scales. None of the handlers was actually holding his beast, except the bird-handler. All of the animals were on short chains, and all of them punctuated the ceremony with soft growls and hisses.

  So SKitty, perched freely on Dick's shoulders, had drawn no few murmurs of awe from the crowd of Lacu'un in the Audience Hall.

  The presentation glided to a conclusion, and the Lacu'teveras whispered something to Vena behind her fan.

  "With your permission, Captain, the Lacu'teveras would like to know if your totemic beast is actually as tame as she appears?"

  "She is," the Captain replied, speaking directly to the consort, and bowing, exhibiting a charm that had crossed species barriers many times before this.

  It worked its magic again. The Lacu'teveras fluttered her fan and trilled something else at Vena. The audience of courtiers gasped.

  "Would it be possible, she asks, for her to touch it?"

  SKitty? Dick asked quickly, knowing that she was getting the sense of what was going on from his thoughts.

  :Nice,: the cat replied, her attention momentarily distracted from the scurrying hints of movement that were all that could be seen of the kreshta. :Nice lady. Feels good in head, like Dick.:

  Feels good in head? he thought, startled.

  "I don't think that there will be any problem, Captain," Dirk murmured to Singh, deciding that he could worry about it later. "SKitty seems to like the Lacu'un. Maybe they smell right."

  SKitty flowed down off his shoulder and into his arms as he stepped forward to present the cat to the Lacu'teveras. He showed the Lacu'un the cat's favorite spot to be scratched, under the chin. The long talons sported by all Lacu'un were admirably suited to the job of cat-scratching.

  The Lacu'teveras reached forward with one lilac-tipped finger, and hesitantly followed Dick's example. The Audience Hall was utterly silent as she did so, as if the entire assemblage was holding its breath, waiting for disaster to strike. The courtiers gasped at her temerity when the cat stretched out her neck—then gasped again, this time with delight, as SKitty's rumbling purr became audible.

  SKitty's eyes were almost completely closed in sensual delight; Dick glanced up to see that the Lacu'teveras' amber, slit-pupiled eyes were widened with what he judged was an equal delight. She let her other six fingers join the first, tentative one beneath the cat's chin.

  "Such soft—" she said shyly, in musically-accented Standard. "—such nice!"

  "Thank you, High Lady," Dick replied with a smile. "We think so."

  :Verrry nice,: SKitty seconded. :Not head-talk like Dick, but feel good in head, like Dick. Nice lady have kitten soon, too.:

  The Lacu'teveras took her hand away with some reluctance, and signed that Dick should return to his place. SKitty slid back up onto his shoulders and started to settle herself.

  It was then that everything fell apart.

  The next stage in the ceremony called for the rulers to take their seats in their five thrones, and the Captain, Vena, and Grace to assume theirs on stools before the thrones so that each party could present what it wanted out of a possible relationship.

  But the Lacu'teveras, her eyes still wistfully on SKitty, was not looking where she placed her hand. And on the armrest of the throne was a kreshta, frozen into an atypical immobility.

  The Lacu'teveras put her hand—with all of her weight on it—right on top of the kreshta. The evil-looking thing squealed, squirmed, and bit her as hard as it could.

  The Lacu'teveras cried out in pain—the courtiers gasped, the Advisors made warding gestures—and SKitty, roused to sudden and protective rage at this attack by vermin on the nice lady who was with kitten—leapt.

  The kreshta saw her coming, and blurred with speed—but it was not fast enough to evade SKitty, gene-tailored product of one of BioTech's finest labs. Before it could cover even half of the distance between it and safety, SKitty had it. There was a crunch audible all over the Audience Chamber, and the ugly little thing was hanging limp from SKitty's jaws.

  Tail high, in a silence that could have been cut up into bricks and used to build a wall, she carried her prize to the feet of the injured one Lacu'un and laid it there.

  :Fix him!: Dick heard in his mind. :Not hurt nice-one-with-kitten!:

  The Lacu'ara stepped forward, face rigid, every muscle tense.

  Spirits of Space! Dick thought, steeling himself for the worst, that's bloody well torn it—

  But the Lacu'ara, instead of ordering the guards to seize the Terrans, went to one knee and picked up the broken-backed kreshta as if it were a fine jewel.

  Then he brandished it over his head while the entire assemblage of Lacu'un burst into cheers—and the Terrans looked at one another in bewilderment.

  ***

  SKitty preened, accepting the caresses of every Lacu'un that could reach her with the air of one to whom adulation is long due. Whenever an unfortunate kreshta happened to attempt to skitter by, she would turn into a bolt of black lightning, reenacting her kill to the redoubled applause of the Lacu'un.

  Vena was translating as
fast as she could, with the three Advisors all speaking at once. The Lacu'ara was tenderly bandaging the hand of his consort, but occasionally one or the other of them would put in a word too.

  "Apparently they've never been able to exterminate the kreshta; the natural predators on them can't be domesticated and generally take pieces out of anyone trying, traps and poisoned baits don't work because the kreshta won't take them. The only thing they've ever been able to do is what we were doing behind the Fence: close up the building and fumigate periodically. And even that has problems—the Lacu'teveras, for instance, is violently allergic to the residue left when the fumigation is done."

  Vena paused for breath.

  "I take it they'd like to have SKitty around on a permanent basis?" the Captain said, with heavy irony.

  "Spirits of Space, Captain—they think SKitty is a sign from the gods, incarnate! I'm not sure they'll let her leave!"

  Dick heard that with alarm—in a lot of ways, SKitty was the best friend he had—

  To leave her—the thought wasn't bearable!

  SKitty whipped about with alarm when she picked up what he was thinking. With an anguished yowl, she scampered across the slippery stone floor and flung herself through the air to land on Dick's shoulders. There she clung, howling her objections at the idea of being separated at top of her lungs.

  "What in—" Captain Singh exclaimed, turning to see what could be screaming like a damned soul.

  "She doesn't want to leave me, Captain," Dick said defiantly. "And I don't think you're going to be able to get her off my shoulder without breaking her legs or tranking her."

  Captain Singh looked stormy. "Damn it then, get a trank—"

  "I'm afraid I'll have to veto that one, Captain," Erica interrupted apologetically. "The contract with BioTech clearly states that only the designated handler—and that's Dick—or a BioTech representative can treat a shipscat. And furthermore—" she continued, halting the Captain before he could interrupt, "it also states that to leave a shipscat without its designated handler will force BioTech to refuse anymore shipscats to Brightwing for as long as you are the Captain. Now I don't want to sound like a troublemaker, Captain, but I for one will flatly refuse to serve on a ship with no cat. Periodic vacuum purges to kill the vermin do not appeal to me."

  "Well then, I'll order the boy to—"

  "Sir, I am the Brightwing's legal advisor—I hate to say this, but to order Dick to ground is a clear violation of his contract. He hasn't got enough hours spacing yet to qualify him for a ground position."

  The Lacu'teveras had taken Vena aside, Dick saw, and was chattering at her at top speed, waving her bandaged hand in the air.

  "Captain Singh," she said, turning away from the Lacu'un and tugging at his sleeve, "the Lacu'teveras has figured out that something you said or did is upsetting the cat, and she's not very happy with that—"

  Captain Singh looked just about ready to swallow a bucket of heated nails. "Spacer, will you get that feline calmed down before they throw me in the local brig?"

  "I'll—try sir—"

  Come on, old girl—they won't take you away. Erica and the nice lady won't let them, he coaxed. You're making the nice lady unhappy, and that might hurt her kitten—

  SKitty subsided, slowly, but continued to cling to Dick's shoulder as if he was the only rock in a flood. :Not take Dick.:

  Erica won't let them.

  :Nice Erica.:

  A sudden thought occurred to him. SKitty-love, how long would it take before you had your new kittens trained to hunt?

  She pondered the question. :From wean? Three heats,: she said finally.

  About a year, then, from birth to full hunter. "Captain, I may have a solution for you—"

  "I would be overjoyed to hear one," the Captain replied dryly.

  "SKitty's pregnant again—I'm sorry, sir, I just found out today and I didn't have time to report it—but sir, this is going to be to our advantage! If the Lacu'un insisted, we could handle the whole trade deal, couldn't we, Erica? And it should take something like a year to get everything negotiated and set up, shouldn't it?"

  "Up to a year and a half, standard, yes," she confirmed. "And basically, whatever the Lacu'un want, they get, so far as the Company is concerned."

  "Once the kittens are a year old, they'll be hunters just as good as SKitty is—so if you could see your way clear to doing all the set up—and sort-of wait around for us to get done rearing the kittens—"

  Captain Singh burst into laughter. "Boy, do you have any notion just how many credits handling the entire trade negotiations would put in Brightwing's account? Do you have any idea what that would do for my status?"

  "No sir," he admitted.

  "Suffice it to say I could retire if I chose. And—Spirits of Space—kittens? Kittens we could legally sell to the Lacu'un? I don't suppose you have any notion of how many kittens we can expect this time?"

  He sent an inquiring tendril of thought to SKitty. "Uh—I think four, sir."

  "Four! And they were offering us what for just her?" the Captain asked Vena.

  "A more-than-considerable amount," she said dryly. "Exclusive contract on the forcefield applications."

  "How would they feel about bargaining for four to be turned over in about a year?"

  Vena turned to the rulers and translated. The excited answer she got left no doubts in anyone's mind that the Lacu'un were overjoyed at the prospect.

  "Basically, Captain, you've just convinced the Lacu'un that you hung the moon."

  "Well—why don't we settle down to a little serious negotiation, hmm?" the Captain said, nobly refraining from rubbing his hands together with glee. "I think that all our problems for the future are about to be solved in one fell swoop! Get over here, spacer. You and that cat have just received a promotion to Junior Negotiator."

  :Okay?: SKitty asked anxiously.

  Yes, love, Dick replied, taking Erica's place on a negotiator's stool. Very okay!

  The Game of Cat and Rabbit

  by Patricia Shaw Mathews

  There is a wrong smell by the ship. We are docked at Luna City Spaceport; the mass-driver Lady Day, her captain, and her crew. That's me, Smitty, Human Morale Officer and Pest Control Officer. Tail high, I prowl the pressurized backstage area, and sniff suspiciously about the ships and dockers, machines and cargo. I stop to renew my acquaintance with the old tom who runs the spaceport; a sad case. He washed out because he couldn't handle zero-gee. Not every cat can. But he and I have a kitten aboard the Outward Bound; enough to make anyone purr.

  Herself comes and scoops me up into a duffel bag, saying "Sorry, Smitty, old girl" as she lopes along the ramp. Nose to the vents, I yowl my outrage. Doesn't she remember how I hate the cat-bag? She puts the bag in its holder on the crash couch and fastens it down. I know what happens when she does that! Our auxiliary rocket boosters shake and make a loud noise that makes my teeth and bones ache. I feel crushed as if Herself had rolled over me. Then the noise and the heavy feeling stops slowly, Herself zips open the bag, and I sail out into our cabin, as light and fluffy as a kitten in one-tenth gee. That's fun.

  Herself comes to pick me up, as brazenly as if she had never made a loud noise and locked me in a duffel bag and made me feel crushed. Well, one more time. I show her my claws.

  "Poor Smitty," she agrees. "Liftoff is awfully hard on a little cat, isn't it?"

  That's better. With a haughty sniff to let her know I have my pride, I let her tickle me under the chin and along the jawbone where it feels so good.

  Herself is talking again, more to herself than to me. " `Luna to Ceres in an economy orbit, cheap on fuel, risky on micrometeorites and radiation, what can possibly go wrong, Miss Weaver?' Captain Weaver to those landlubbing idiot groundhogs! Well, three circuit failures in eight hours is what!" If she were a cat, her back would be arched and the fur standing up on it.

  I start thinking of the litter box. Liftoff always makes me do that. I wiggle out of her arms and over to the p
lace on the back bulkhead. Something smells wrong, very badly wrong. Herself is still bouncing off first one bulkhead and then the other, very careful not to hit any of the many fine hiding places and exploring places stacked along them. "Another hiss-spit-yowl-meow short circuit!" Herself yowls again. "And not a Great Cat Blasted trace that shows up on any of my instruments."

  This is human business. My business is with the wrong smell that hops around the Lady Day from here to there but never makes itself known.

  My litter box is not real sand. It's a sort of plastic that gives under your paws but doesn't scatter when you dig in. I use it and leave; a little door under the box starts humming and sucks the thing away. It's too small for a cat to explore, and Not A Cat Place anyway. Herself stops to scratch my ears. "Good Smitty," she says. The wrong smell is hopping around under her very own chair, and I have to stop it. Narroweyed, I watch for a while, catching the faintest of movements out of the corner of my eyes: I raise my hindquarters and wind them up, then—let spring. I am right on top of the wrong smell, but oddly enough, I miss. Oh, well, it happens. Vectors are hard to judge when you change gravities so much.

  Daintily I push off one bulkhead, hook a claw into a hammock's webbing, and settle down for a good wash. Pest Control Officer on a vacuum-hopper like the Lady Day is a soft berth. There were no pests imported to either Luna, the Habitats, or the Belt, only pets; and any varmints that sneak aboard are easily dealt with. We space the rats. Without pressure suits. And now I am a pest control cat. A-hunting we will go! Tally ho!

  Herself is annoyed, and spits and yowls some more. She's been poking into the control and instrument boards that line the bulkheads with some odd human detachable claws, and muttering under her breath like an upset cat. I wish I could bring her a nice fat fresh mouse to make her feel better. Whatever she's trying to catch, I can't smell it. Unless she's also trying to catch the wrong smell? But anyone with a nose can tell it's nowhere around where she is now.