Cats in Space and Other Places

by Bill Fawcett

  "You certainly are, Fildin." Ghra's voice was purringly smooth and reassuring. "And if you can get that information for me, it'll be of major importance in our all-out effort to free your planet without any further bloodshed and unpleasantness."

  He gave a snort. "I don't see how knowing what's on the ground now will help."

  "Neither do I," Ghra said, allowing a tinge of resentment creep into her silken tone. "That's for my superiors to decide. But it is the information that is required, which I have risked my life to obtain, so it must be very important. Will you help the Alliance remove the yoke of the oppressor, help you return to your former prestige and comfort?"

  There was a long pause during which I could almost hear the man's brain working.

  "I just need to tell you what's on the ground now?"

  "That's all, but I need to know the types of craft, scout, destroyer, whatever, and how many of each. And would you know if there have been battlecruisers here?"

  "No cruisers," he said in a tone of disgust. "They can't land."

  If colonial transports could land on Bethesda so could Khalian battlecruisers, but he didn't need to know that. What Ghra had to ascertain from him was if there were cruisers or destroyers that could be launched in pursuit of our convoy. Even a scout could blow the whistle on us and get enough of a head start to go FTL right back to Target and fetch in some real trouble. Only the fighters and cruisers escorting the convoy would be able to maneuver adequately to meet a Khalian attack. They would not be able to defend all the slowing bulky transports and most of the supply pods and drones that composed a large portion of the total. And if the supply pods bought it, the convoy could fail. Slowing takes a lot of fuel.

  I took it as a small sliver of good luck that Fildin reported no recent activity. Perhaps this backwater hadn't been armed by its Khalian invaders.

  "Cruisers, destroyers and scouts," Ghra repeated. "How many of each, Fildin, and you will be giving us tremendously vital information."

  "When'll we be freed?"

  "Soon. You won't have long to wait if all goes well."

  "If what goes well?"

  "The less you know the better for you, Fildin."

  "Don't I get paid for risking my hide? Those nerve prods and acid whips ain't a bit funny, you know."

  "What is your monetary exchange element?"

  "A lot of good that would do me," Fildin said disgustedly.

  "What would constitute an adequate recompense for your risks?"

  "Meat. Red meat. They keep us on short rations, and I'd love a decent meal of meat once in a while." I could almost see him salivating. Well, there's no accounting for some tastes. A shacking goo.

  "I think something can be arranged," Ghra said purringly. "I shall meet you here at dusk, good Fildin."

  "Don't let anyone see you come! Or go."

  "No one shall, I can assure you."

  "Hey, where . . . What the eff? Where did it go?"

  I heard Fildin's astonished queries taper off. I also heard Ghra's sharply expelled breath and then a more even, but quickened respiration. Then some thudding, as if she had landed on a hard surface. I heard the shushing of her feet on a soft surface and then, suddenly, nothing.

  "Ghra?" I spoke her name more as an extended gr sound than an audible word.

  "Later," was her cryptic response.

  With that I had to be content that whole day long. Occasionally I could hear her slow breathing. For a spate there in the heat of the afternoon, I could have sworn her breathing had slowed to a sleep rhythm.

  Suddenly, as the sun went down completely, the com- unit erupted with a flurry of activity, bleatings, sounds of chase and struggle, a fierce crump and click as, quite likely, her teeth met in whatever she had been chasing. I heard dragging sounds, an explosive grunt from her and then, for an unnervingly long period, only the slip-slid of her quiet feet as she returned to Fildin Escobat's dwelling.

  "Fardles! How'd you get that? Where did you get that? Oh, fardles, let me grab it before someone sees the effing thing."

  "You asked for red meat, did you not?" Ghra's voice was smooth.

  "Not a whole fardling beast. Where can I hide it?"

  "I thought you wanted to eat it."

  "I can't eat a whole one."

  "Then I'll help!"

  "NO!" Fildin's desperate reply ended in a gasp as he realized that he had inadvertently raised his voice above the hoarse whisper in which most of his conversation had been conducted. "We'll be heard by the neighbors. Can't we talk somewhere else?"

  "After curfew? Stand back from the window."

  "No, no, no, ohhh," and the difference in the sound I now received told me that Ghra had probably jumped through the window, right into his quarters.

  "Don't put it down. It'll bloody the floor. What am I going to do with all this meat." There was both pleasure and dismay at such largesse.

  "Cook what you need then." Ghra was indifferent to his problem, having rendered the requested payment. "Now, what can you report?"

  "Huh? Oh, well," and this had patently been an easier task than accepting his reward, and he rolled off the quantities and types of spacecraft he had seen. I started taping his report at that juncture.

  "No further indication of when the new craft are due in?" Ghra asked.

  "No. Nothing. I did ask. Carefully, you know. I know a couple of guys who're menials in the port but all they knew was that something was due in."

  "Supply ships?"

  "Nah! Don't you know that the Khalia make their subject planets support 'em? They live well here, those fregmekking Weasels. And we get sweetdamall."

  "You'll eat well tonight and for a time, Friend Fildin. And there's no chance that it's troop carriers?"

  "How'd I know? There're already more Khalia on this planet than people."

  Bethesda was a large, virtually unpopulated planet and Alliance High Command had never figured out why the Khalia had suddenly invaded it. Their assault on Bethesda had been as unexpected as it had been quick. Then no more Khalian activity in the area, though there were several habitable but unoccupied planets in nearby systems. High Command was certain that the Khalia intended to increase their dominance in the ASD Sector, eventually invading the three richly endowed Alliance planets; Persuasion for its supplies of copper, vanadium and the now precious, germanium; Persepolis for its inexhaustible marine protein (the Khalia consumed astonishing quantities of sea creatures, preferably raw, a fact which had made their invasion of Bethesda, a relatively "dry" world, all the more unexpected.)

  To send a convoy of this size was unusual in every respect. High Command hoped that the Khalia would not believe the Alliance capable of risking so many ships, materiel and personnel. Admiral Eberhard was staking his career on taking that risk, plus the very clever use of the gravity wells of the nearby star ASD 836/932 and Persuasion to reduce velocity, cutting down the time in "normal space" when the convoy's light ripple cone" was so detectable.

  Those fregmekking Khalia had been enjoying such a run of good luck! It'd better start going our way soon. Maybe Bethesda would come up on our side of the ledger.

  I had screened Het's sector map, trying to figure out from which direction the Khalia might be sending in reinforcements of whatever. If they came through the ASD grid, they'd bisect the emission trail. That was all too likely as they controlled a good portion of the space beyond. But I didn't have more charts, nor any updated information on Khalian movements. The Gormenghast would. It was now imperative for the Admiral to know about those incoming spacecraft. Ghra was as quick.

  "It would be good to know where those ships were coming from," Ghra told Fildin. "Or why they were landing here at all. There seem to be enough ships on hand for immediate defense, and surveillance."

  "How the fardles would I know? And effing sure I can't find out, not a lowly sweeper like me. I done what I said I'd do, exactly what you asked. I can't do more."

  "No, I quite perceive that, Fildin Escobat, but you've bee
n more than helpful. Enjoy your meat!"

  "Hey, come back . . ."

  Fildin's voice dropped away from the com button although I heard no sounds of Ghra's physical exertion. I waited until she would be out of hearing.

  "Ghra? Can you safely talk?"

  "Yes," she replied, and then I could hear the slight noise of her feet and knew she was loping along.

  "What're you up to?"

  "What makes you think I'm up to anything?"

  "Let's call it an educated guess."

  "Then guess." Amusement rippled through her suggestion.

  "To the spaceport to see if you can find out where those spaceships are coming from."

  "Got it in one."

  "Ghra? That's dangerous, foolhardy and quite likely it's putting your life on the line."

  "One life is nothing if it saves the convoy."

  "Heroic of you, but it could also blow the game."

  "I don't think so. There's been a program of infiltrations on any Khalian base we could penetrate. Why make Bethesda an exception? Don't worry, Bil. It'll be simple if I can get into place now in the bad light."

  "Good theory but impractical," I replied sourly. "No trees, bushes or vegetation around that spaceport."

  "But rather a lot of old craters . . ."

  "You are not crater-colored . . ."

  "Enticing mounds of supplies, and some unused repair hangars."

  "Or," I began in a reasonable tone, "we can get out of here, go into a lunar orbit and keep our eyes peeled. All I'd need is enough time to send a squeal and the Admiral will know."

  "Now who's heroic? And not very practical. We're not supposed to be sighted. And we're to try and keep the convoy from being discovered. I think I know how. Besides, Bil, this mission has several facets. One of them is proving that camouflaged Hrrubans can infiltrate Khalian positions and obtain valuable information without detection."

  "Ghra, get back here!"

  "No!"

  There wouldn't be much point of arguing with that particular, pleasant but unalterable brand of obstinacy, so I didn't try. Nor did I bother to threaten. Pulling rank on a free spirit like Ghra would be useless and a tactic I could scarcely support. Also, if she could find out whence came the expected flight, that would be vital information for the Admiral. Crucial for the convoy's safety!

  At least we were now reasonably sure that the Bethesda-based Khalia had not detected those plasma blasts to clear the debris. Now, if only we could also neutralize the threat posed by incoming craft crossing the "light cone!" We needed some Luck!

  "Where are you now, Ghra? Keep talking as long as it's safe and detail everything. Can you analyze what facilities the port has?"

  "From what I can see, Bil, nothing more than the colonists brought with them." Having won her point, Ghra did not sound smug. I hoped that she had as much caution as camouflage.

  Dutifully she described her silent prowl around the perimeter of the space facility, which I taped. Finally she reached the far side of the immense plateau, where some of the foothills had been crudely gouged deep enough to extend the landing grid for the huge colony transports. She had paused once to indulge herself in a long drink, murmuring briefly that the water on the Ocelot was much nicer.

  "Ah," she said suddenly and exhaled in a snort of disgust. "Sensor rigs which the colonists certainly did not bring with them."

  "You can't go through them without detection. Even if you could jump that high."

  "I know that!" She rumbled as she considered.

  "Ghra. Come on. Pack it in and get back to me. We can still do a lunar watch. Under the circumstances, I'd even try a solar hide." Which was one of the trickiest things a scout, even an Ocelot, could attempt. And the situation was just critical enough to make me try. Jockeying to keep just inside a sun's gravity well is a real challenge.

  "You're a brave brain, Bil, but I think I've figured out how to get past the sensors. The natural way."

  "What?"

  "They've even supplied me with the raw materials."

  "What are you talking about, Ghra? Explain!"

  "I'm standing on an undercut ridge of dirt and stone, with some rather respectable boulders. Now if this mass suddenly descended thru the sensor rigs, it'd break the contact."

  "And bring every Khalian from the base, but not before they'd sprayed the area with whatever they have handy, plus launch that scout squadron they've got on the pads."

  "But when they see it is only sticks and stones . . ."

  "Which could break your bones, and how're you going to start it all rolling?"

  "Judiciously, because they really didn't shore this stuff up properly."

  I could near her exerting herself now and felt obliged to remind her of her risks even though I could well visualize what she was trying to do. But if the Khalia entertained even the remotest thought of tampering by unnatural agencies, they'd fling out a search net . . . and catch us both. Full dark was settling, so the time of their twilight myopia was nearly past. If she counted on only that to prevent them seeing her . . .

  I heard the roll, her grunt and then the beginning of a mild roar.

  "Rrrrrow," came from Ghra and she was running, running away from the sound. "There! Told you so!"

  I could also hear the whine of Khalian alert sirens and my external monitors reflected the sudden burst of light on the skyline.

  "Ghra!

  "I'm okay, okay, Bil. I'm a large rock beside two smaller ones and I shan't move a muscle all night."

  I have spent the occasional fretful night now and again but this would be one of the more memorable ones. Just as I had predicted, the Khalia mounted an intensive air and land search. I willingly admit that the camouflage over me was effective. The Ocelot was overflown eight or nine times—those Khalia are nothing if not tenacious when threatened. It was nearly dawn before the search was called off and the brilliant spaceport lights were switched off.

  "Ghra?" I kept my voice low.

  A deep yawn preceded her response. "Bil? You're there, too. Good."

  "Are you still a rock?"

  "Yessss," and the slight sibilance warned me.

  "But not the same rock. Right?"

  "Got me in one."

  "Where are you, Ghra?"

  "Part of the foundation of their command post."

  "Their command post?"

  "Speak one decibel louder, Bil, and their audios will pick you up. It's dawn and I'm not saying anything else all day. Catch you at sunset."

  I didn't have to wait all day for her next words, but it felt like a bloody Jovian year, and at that, I didn't realize that she was whispering to me for the first nano-seconds.

  "They're coming in from the 700 quadrant, Bil. Straight from Target. As if they'd planned to intercept. And they'll be crossing the 800s by noon tomorrow. By all that's holy, there'll be no way they'd miss the ripple cone. You've got to warn the Admiral to scatter the convoy. Now. Get off now." She gave a little chuckle. "Keeping 'em up half the night was a good idea. Most of 'em are asleep. They won't see a thing if you keep it low and easy."

  "Are you daft, Ghra? I can't go now. You can't move until dusk."

  "Don't argue, Bil. There's no time. Even if they detect you, they can't catch you. Go now. You go FTL as soon as you're out of the gravity well and warn the Fleet. Just think of the Admiral s face when he gets a chance to go up Khalian asses for a change. You warn him in time, he can disperse the convoy and call for whatever fighters Persuasion has left. They can refuel from the convoy's pods. What a battle that will be. The Admiral's career is made! And ours. Don't worry about me. After all, I was supposed to subject the camouflage to a real test, wasn't I."

  Her low voice rippled slightly with droll amusement.

  "But . . ."

  "Go!" Her imperative was firm, almost angry. "Or it's all over for that convoy. Go. Now. While they're sleeping."

  She was right. I knew it, but no brain ship leaves a brawn in an exposed and dangerous situation. The co
nvoy was also in an exposed and dangerous situation. The greater duty called. The lives of many superceded the life of one, one who had willingly sacrificed herself.

  I lifted slowly, using the minimum of power the Ocelot needed. She was good like that, you could almost lift her on a feather, and that was all I intended to use. I kept at ground level, which, considering the terrain, meant some tricky piloting, but I also didn't want to go so fast that I lost that camouflage net. If I had to set down suddenly, it might save my skin.

  I'm not used to dawdling, neither is the Ocelot and it needed finesse to do it, and every vestige of skill I possessed. I went back through the gap, over the water, heading toward the oncoming dusk. I'd use sunset to cover my upward thrust because I'd have to use power then. But I'd be far enough away from the big sensors at the spaceport to risk it. Maybe they'd still be snoozing. I willed those weaselly faces to have closed eyes and dulled senses and, as I tilted my nose up to the clear dark night of deep space, the camouflage net rippled down, spread briefly on the water and sank.

  On my onward trajectory, I used Bethesda's two smaller moons as shields, boosting my speed out of the sun's gravity well before I turned on the FTL drive.

  From the moment o.t.s. had mentioned the possibility of an incoming squadron of Khalia I had been computing a variety of courses from Target through the 700 quadrant to Bethesda's system. There was no way the Khalia would miss the convoy's emission trail entering from the 700s, and then they'd climb the tailpipes of the helpless, decelerating ships. I ran some calculations on the eta at the first gravity well maneuver the Admiral had planned and they were almost there. I had to buy them just a bit more time. This Ocelot was going to have to pretend it was advance scout for ships from another direction entirely.

  So I planned to re-enter normal space on a course perpendicular to the logical one that the Khalia would take for Bethesda when they exited FTL space. Their ships would have sensors sensitive enough to pick up my "light cone" and I'd come in well in advance of any traces which the convoy had left. If I handled it right, they'd come after me. It's rare that the Admiral's gig gets such an opportunity as this, to anticipate the enemy, to trigger a naval action which could have a tremendous effect on this everlasting war. It was too good to work out. It had to work out.