Catalyst

by Anne McCaffrey

  She shook her head, then amended it. “Not that I know of. No. I’m certain somehow I’d have known.”

  “You don’t have that kind of link with her?”

  Janina loved Chessie very much, but she had no idea what the cat was actually thinking, aside from what she could understand from Chessie’s body language. Janina felt a little cheated. She was the Cat Person, Chessie’s Cat Person. If Chessie had psychic kittens, she should have been the first to know about them—perhaps bond with one herself. On the other hand, even she couldn’t have cared more for a feline friend than Jubal cared about Chester. It hurt to think of how the boy must be feeling now that Chester had been lost to the derelict ship and its peculiar COB.

  Jared took a more scientific approach. “You’re just taking this on faith about your son and the kitten, aren’t you? Is it possible he was misleading you to reinforce his position? Besides, one connection like that wouldn’t mean that all of the exposed cats or even all of Chessie’s kittens—”

  Ponty shook his head. “You can’t kid a kidder, Doc. Besides, it’s not just the two of them. There’s this little guy.” He pointed into the box. “Though, technically speaking, and just between you and me, he isn’t one of the Duchess’s line. She adopted him. But he’s adopted me, for some reason.” He tipped his head backward, toward the passenger section. “How do you think I learned how to catch a rat?”

  Dr. Agneta Wren, DVM, regarded with disdain the creature who should have been cowering before her. He stared at her with huge yellow eyes, coiled and uncoiled his tawny snakelike tail and purred aggressively. The others in the cages had an injured innocence in their stares, as if they couldn’t believe what was happening to them. Of course, the ones she examined had turned into the nasty, hissing, scratching furies she knew them to be before she immobilized them, but this one was different. He was clearly behaving in a shamelessly obsequious manner because he wanted something. Loose, probably.

  “Purr all you want, beast. You’re about to become dogmeat,” she told him. She had no time for evasive feline antics. She had been able to perform only one autopsy, and that was spectacularly inconclusive. Her colleague, the absent Dr. Vlast, had performed exactly zero autopsies since he arrived, and had no findings whatsoever. She wondered if he’d been sacked for slacking off. He was a troublemaker. He refused a direct order to sacrifice a few of the animals for testing, and she suspected that under his instigation other relocated practitioners had done the same. He had failed to contain the specimen beetles, which she spotted scuttling along the walls of the laboratory. His conduct was unprofessional and unscientific, and it would serve the man right if his decision had sacrificed his license and career.

  The tawny cat’s big yellow eyes gazed up at her, no doubt plotting his next move. She had a feeling that if she dropped her own gaze, he’d spring at her quicker than a striking snake, ripping her flesh and biting her as that other cat had done so many years ago.

  Her mother, also a veterinarian, had been much too kind-hearted, and took in all sorts of strays without considering her main responsibility, the welfare of her own child. That last feral cat had seemed tame enough, purred and accepted the milk from her cereal bowl, followed her around and allowed her to touch his fur with her uncoordinated childish hands.

  But a year later, when he was lying on her bed as she started to get dressed, he waited until her shirt was over her head and attacked her with tooth and claw. Surgery had repaired the worst of the outer scars but she still bore internal ones.

  Until lately, focusing her career chiefly on horses and other useful animals, she had even stopped the nightmares. But as she looked into the urine-colored eyes of the devious, cunning beast before her, the old claw marks began to throb. She knew that as soon as she closed her eyes again the nightmares would return.

  She had the needle poised, and broke eye contact long enough to grab the cat’s ruff and pin his struggling haunches.

  The door from the cage room burst open then and Weeks rushed in. His face was stricken and his voice not quite steady as he said, “Dr. Wren, I have something I need to show you.”

  “Not now. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  “I know, and I wouldn’t interrupt, but it’s important. I think I’ve been infected, and you might be too.”

  She lowered the needle but didn’t release her grip on the cat, who hunkered under her hand, though she could feel his muscles tensed to spring. “What makes you think that?”

  “The fairy dust effect. I’ve got it too. I took a specimen. Look!”

  He held out a specimen jar with a lump of shiny yellow phlegm in it. “I’ve had a cold, but since I had to work a double shift today, I haven’t been back to my quarters to pick up my cough medicine.” He hacked, turning his head.

  “Cover your mouth, for goodness’ sake, Weeks, and set the specimen down over there.” She shook her head. This whole assignment had been so badly mismanaged. They were impounding millions of large useful animals all over the galaxy, where her expertise would be truly useful, and they assigned her to temporary duty testing a bunch of cats. And on top of that she had to fill in for colleagues who were not up to the job, and make do with one lame assistant—at least on this watch.

  She pointed at a counter, and Weeks set the specimen down. “You do know how to prepare a slide, don’t you?” she asked.

  “Uh …” his voice trailed off and he shook his head.

  “Where do they find these people?” she muttered to herself.

  “You need another cat to work on?” Weeks asked.

  “Of course not. I haven’t finished with—” She looked back to her hand, now empty. The cat was nowhere to be seen.

  Just then the com buzzed and pandemonium erupted in the cat room.

  CHAPTER 24

  The latch on our cage clicked. I looked up from my own bath, having finished Mother’s, to see a line of the tiniest kefer-ka extending from the latch in all directions to the other cages.

  I watched the latch as carefully as I had once watched the larger, juicier kefer-ka. I couldn’t see very well so I stuck my nose through the wire and tried to look around the front of the cage.

  The smaller kefer-ka crawled into the round lock, clicking faintly. Two of their larger kin tried to pull the lock free. I pulled my nose back, changed position, and stuck a paw out, giving the lock a tap that pulled the heavier bottom part away from the catch. With a nudge of my head, the door swung open.

  Both humans were still in the other room with Pshaw-Ra, I thought. However, as I looked down from my cage I saw a blur of gold fur.

  “Stir yourself, catling. We must free these others now. Do to their cages what you did to your own. I will do likewise.”

  “So we get them loose. Then where do we go? You and I can return to your ship, but how about the others?”

  “All part of my master plan, catling. We take them with us, of course.”

  “How? Have you noticed that there are more cats here than would fit into your vessel? Don’t tell me it’s expandable!”

  I jumped to the floor and released the locks on two of the lower cages. The inhabitants, a white mother and three unweaned kittens in one cage, a solitary female with black and brown markings in the other, looked at me wide-eyed, then, at Pshaw-Ra’s instructions, left their cages to help release other cats on the lower two levels.

  I had to hand it to the old fellow. He had something. Under ordinary circumstances, the feline thing to do would have been to let those strange cats fend for themselves and hightail it out of there.

  Somehow, he was herding the cats. I couldn’t imagine how—or why—but I was impressed by the strength of his personality and will. Cats do not like to be herded.

  The younger, smarter, more flexible cats could free themselves as I had, with a little instruction. The youngest kittens were too small to help, and the mothers-to-be had lost agility, as had the very old or those who had been hurt during the capture. So I left the lower two tiers in the paws
of others who had escaped their own cages, and scaled the wire to the upper tiers to assist our shiny insect liberators.

  Semiliberators. It took a feline paw to finish off the lock, and this I provided. From the outside it was a snap, literally. I had the advantage over other kittens because I had observed closely what the beetles were doing and knew what was required of me to complete the task. I had the advantage over older cats because I was younger and lighter, and could climb the tiers of cages without pulling them down on me and everyone else.

  So it was leap, leap, leap, wait for the beetles to click the lock, then tap it and leap to the next tier, click, tap, unclaw the wire (no mean feat for paws), let go, free-fall, twist in midair, land on my paws and start the process again. All in less time than it takes to tell, mind you, because our captors were only temporarily detained in the other room.

  On the final assault, however, I ran into a small problem. The larger beetles had begun dying from the strain of forcing open the locks. There were none left to release the last cat in the fourth row, a burly orange one-eyed tom who prowled his cage yowling furiously like one of our larger wild cousins. His legs were thick and his paws too massive to poke through the heavy mesh and free himself.

  So there was I, hanging by three paws, while the tiny kefer-ka click-clicked but the lock did not snap open. The larger beetles had twisted the lower, heavier part of each of the other locks to free it from its catch, but I couldn’t make the lock twist with the swipe of a paw. Still, I had to try. The old fellow was frantic, yowling abuse at me and pleading, “Don’t leave me, get me owwwt of here, don’t leave me, don’t leave me, don’t you dare leave me.”

  Pshaw-Ra had snaked open the laboratory door and driven our formerly captive comrades to the steps. I heard my boy’s voice soothing them, along with Sosi’s.

  “Want me to come up and show you how it’s done, little brother?” a voice called from the floor. I looked down to see Bat, his dapper black and white spots as tidy as ever, staring up at me with wide inquisitive eyes, tail flicking back and forth, ready for action.

  I didn’t answer but hooked most of my paw over the back of the twisty part of the lock, keeping my dewclaw in front. I tried to put pressure with it, to twist, as I had seen Jubal do to some of the latches on the farm. But he had a strong practiced thumb, not an untried dewclaw, and though it almost worked, my poor claw hadn’t the necessary strength.

  The cages all around were empty and the last of the tails were disappearing through the door still held open by Pshaw-Ra.

  I heard the tower of cages clatter as below me the wire was caught, held, and released three times before my milk brother leaped up. His claws grazed me and I shifted my grip to the upper part of the cage.

  The entire edifice, empty of stabilizing cat bodies, rocked, tipped, and crashed to the floor. I leaped clear and so did Bat. The old cat screamed as his cage fell and smashed. Many tiny kefer-ka lost their lives in that fall, but the lock broke open and the old cat climbed out of his cell, unhurt.

  It took very little time and made a satisfying amount of noise. The door of doom swung open and stopped, stuck in place by the toppled cages. The white-haired woman barked orders and cursed, but to my surprise I heard Weeks’s voice ask, “All clear now?”

  And Bat replied in his thought voice, with an inner purr of satisfaction, That’s the last of us, Weeksy. You’re not bad for a lab rat.

  Because they were in a GHA vessel, Jared, Ponty, Janina, and their passenger had priority landing privileges and were on the ground when other vessels continued to orbit.

  Jared rose and opened the wire partition to the passenger door, tapping Klinger on the shoulder. Ponty said he was going to let them lead because the kitten, Doc, was raising a fuss and insisted on being carried in the underarm pouch Ponty had rigged for him.

  “Poor little feller,” he told Janina. “He’s worried about his foster mama and those other kitties.”

  “Because they’re caged?” she asked.

  “He knew about that before. No, something’s upset them, and we’re still a little too far to figure out what. They’re in a real lather, from what he can tell.”

  They hopped a flitter to GHA headquarters and Klinger got out ahead of the others. Ponty hung back and avoided contact with their former passenger. Janina knew that Ponty didn’t want Klinger to discover the increasingly agitated kitten and suspect that he was less than he claimed. She feared that would become clear soon enough.

  There was a com on the front door of the GHA building to signal the guard inside. Klinger stepped confidently up to the com, pressed the button and said, “Mr. Phillip Klinger and, er, party—to see Councilman Klinger.”

  The guard came to the door and checked ID. “Councilman Klinger has returned to his office in the Klinger Building to conduct private business, Mr. Klinger,” he said deferentially.

  “Very well, then,” Klinger said, sounding relieved, “we’ll meet him there.”

  While this was playing out, Ponty cornered Janina and turned her so their backs were to the guard and Klinger. “Take the little fellow with you, hon,” he told her. “I have to beard an old lion in his den. Doc understands I’m coming back for him but he’s real anxious to get to where the other cats are.”

  Janina tucked the kitten inside the kitten pocket in her own uniform jacket. All Cat Persons’ uniforms featured two such large deep pockets, one on each side, for carrying kittens who needed extra contact or care. Perhaps Doc smelled the vestiges of his foster mother on her clothing, because he settled warm and purring against her side, a sensation she always found calming.

  She sneaked a hand inside her jacket to touch his fur.

  Leaving Ponty behind, she, Jared, and Klinger climbed back into the flitter and flew at street level along the few city blocks to the fountain and then the Klinger Building, which was to her surprise the building where the laboratory was located.

  They had to overfly it to reach the authorized vehicle docks in the rear.

  A small vessel sat on the roof. Janina recognized it, although it was no longer disguised as a derelict. She had caught a glimpse of the pyramid ship as she’d pulled clear of it after being forced to leave Chester behind.

  Now it seemed that somehow Chester and the strange short-haired tawny cat had come here—perhaps captured and brought into custody?

  In her pocket, she felt the kitten shift and sit up. He pawed her side. She patted him through her jacket and wished she were the one who had the psychic connection so she could warn him to stay still. It didn’t seem to be necessary, though. His little body felt as taut as the string of a violin—didn’t they call those catgut? Horrible thought. But though he was stiffly alert, he didn’t mew or try to climb out of her pocket.

  “No one is supposed to dock there,” Klinger said, pointing at it as they flew over on their way to the building’s private docking bays. “And that is not a GG vessel. It will have to be moved.”

  Jared nodded absently and docked.

  Klinger used his passkey on the lift and they took it to the fifth floor, where the councilman had his private offices.

  Jared had been there before, once, when he’d attempted to present his arguments to the elder Klinger after he first arrived, but the councilman had not had the time to see him.

  The office had no receptionist except for the com. “Uncle Phil, it’s me,” Philly Klinger said. “I’m here with the investigators I told you about.”

  Jared turned away from the com screen, gave Janina a conspiratorial glance, and jerked his head back to the entrance. “Tech Mauer,” he said formally, extracting the envelope containing the smears they’d taken at Klinger’s farm, “please take these to the fourth-floor laboratory for further testing.”

  His eyes dropped to the bulge in her jacket. He didn’t expect the kitten to behave much longer either.

  “Aye aye, Dr. Vlast,” Janina said with the sort of salute hardly anyone ever used on a civilian ship these days except for formal occa
sions. She was fairly certain there would be a video com recording their movements and conversations, however, and she wanted to make everything look official and aboveboard.

  Before she had taken three steps, the door opened and Jared and Philly Klinger were admitted to the councilman’s inner sanctum. As if he knew the coast was clear, the kitten in her pocket hooked his claws into her uniform shirt and pulled himself up and out, then raced past the lifts, to the exit she assumed led to the stairway. He clawed at the door and mewed but she bent down to stroke him and said, “No, little one. You can’t be loose in this building. Come with me now.”

  She pressed the button for the lift and waited. And waited. And waited longer still, trying to coax the kitten to return to her all the while. He danced out of range every time she tried to grab him. Then she heard the sound of feet running in the stairwell, followed by something that sounded almost like the patter of raindrops, except that it was going up.

  The kitten pawed at the door, turning his head to look at her, cuing her to open it, but she didn’t. She had no idea what was happening on the stairs, but this little fellow didn’t need to be in the middle of it. She continued trying to catch him but he zipped under her hand just as she was about to grab him. This cat might not be psychic, as Ponty claimed, but he almost seemed able to teleport.

  Beneath her, in spite of what she was sure was considerable soundproofing, she heard raised voices and then more clearly, voices from the staircase following the pattering.

  The lift dropped from the fourth floor to the first, then suddenly dipped down to docking level.

  The kitten suddenly sprang onto her shoulder and then walked down her chest and burrowed back into her pocket. She decided she was never going to catch the lift and returned to the staircase exit. The voices and the pattering had begun to fade. As soon as she opened the door, the kitten, getting his own way at last, leaped from her pocket and landed sprawling at her feet, then raced up the stairs ahead of her, never looking back.