Cats in Space and Other Places

by Bill Fawcett

  "We have to consolidate the Empire," Ozenscebo was saying. "We must find a way to bring the worlds closer together."

  Ki edged closer to the group of Envoys. No. The fear scent did not rise from them. From the servants then. It had to be. He turned like a dancer, lightly, on the balls of his feet, ready to change direction with the smallest of notice. His head turned and he sniffed again. A nondescript servant approached the Emperor with a goblet. But there was already a goblet at Ozenscebo's hand, and the servant hid his face. There was a blur of motion that was Ki and a sliding, savage sword that moved into an eerie, dreamlike lack of sound, and the servant's head skipped down among the Envoys, spraying blood among them as it rolled. They stared at it like dumb cattle, the silence holding until some started to scream.

  The Emperor looked away from the ball-shaped object that had been a head and directly at Ki. There was only mild surprise on his jaded face. "Amusing. But why?"

  "I could not permit him to kill." Ki re-sheathed his blade, blood and all, and stooped over the body. From somewhere inside the fashionably full gown that the Emperor had ordered as costume or the day for his servants, Ki removed a high-carbon plastic needle, strong, sharp, and totally invisible to metal detectors. He sniffed the end of the unlikely weapon. "It's been poisoned," he said over his shoulder to the Emperor. "It probably appeared as a stay on the security monitors."

  The Emperor suddenly realized what his danger had been, and his face turned snow white, drained of all color. He looked pasty and sick at the thought of his own death. Ki, realizing that a sick Emperor is not a sight for everyone, took charge, dismissing the Envoys, who were only too happy to go, and calling for Lionmen to clear away the debris. The Emperor, still somewhat dazed, looked down at his irridescent green robes. They were spattered with blood. Ki expected an outburst of some sort, rage at the spoiled finery, and was repulsed and revolted by what he got instead.

  "It's ruined, of course," mumbled Ozenscebo as he fumbled with a golden-green sleeve, "but the blood is such a lovely color. Rich. A lovely color."

  Ki was grateful when the Emperor decided to leave as well. Seeing that everything was as he ordered, Ki wanted nothing so much as to leave the carnage behind. As he walked toward the back of the hall, he noticed that two people remained behind. One was Aubin, the other Ambassador Maaeve. As Ki approached, she bowed to him, deeply, and departed, never having said a word. Aubin stood and stared as if he were some sort of bumpkin who had never seen a Lionman before. Ki began to walk out the door, expecting Aubin to follow, but Aubin only turned his head and continued to stare, unable to absorb what he had seen. Ki retraced his steps, took Aubin by the arm and led him down the corridor until Aubin shook him loose. Aubin did not speak, either. Their course led in no particular direction, but they continued to walk at the pace Ki set.

  At last Ki asked, "Why are you so quiet, my friend?"

  Aubin stumbled slightly, awkward with emotion. "I've walked half my life with you and I never suspected. The man who moved like that is not the man I know."

  Ki sneered, somewhat offended. "You've always known what I am."

  "Yes. But there's knowing and there's seeing."

  "Do you find me distasteful?"

  Though Ki's voice was cold and deadly even, Aubin was certain he heard sadness in the question.

  "No," Aubin answered thoughtfully. "Merely interesting. Interesting times need interesting men."

  "And yet again," Ki mumbled with a grimace.

  They walked on a way in silence, each alone with his thoughts. But they had, by unspoken mutual consent, taken the turn toward Aubin's quarters.

  "I'd like to examine that sword sometime," Aubin said quietly, with a hint of shyness. "It is apparently something I do not understand as well as I should."

  "When it's clean."

  They entered Aubin's apartment, two old friends standing now on shaky ground. Aubin headed for his liquor cabinet while Ki disappeared into the bathroom. While he waited, Aubin looked at himself carefully in the mirrored wall behind the bar. He was getting old. His shoulders were no longer so straight, and his hair, which had once been brown and rich and wavy, was no longer so full or so dark. His sleepy brown eyes reflected his deep weariness and his body sagged with a little excess weight. His hand shook slightly as he raised the glass, reaction to the fear fountaining inside him. This day had been too full. Ki was gone for some time, and Aubin was achingly certain he had lost his friend as well as his youth. The wait was a sad and long one for him, full of interior terrors, and yet he was startled when Ki at last reappeared.

  "It's clean," Ki said of the naked blade he held. He extended it to Aubin, hilt first. "Don't touch the blade. The acid in your skin will etch it, and your fingerprints will become a permanent part of the edge. This hoj has been in my Pride for four generations. See? Each of these stones set here in the pommel represent a man who has kept the blade. Another shanshen will be added for me when the blade goes to Mikal. It was made by the master swordsmith Kaanshaar." He ran his long, thick, slightly pointed nail along the steel, and it hissed in response, sending a chill running down Aubin's human spine. "If you look at the pattern, you will see his handiwork. The wave and ruffle pattern of the folded metal is his signature."

  Aubin was a jumble of emotion and still hesitated to take the proffered sword. He looked at the gleaming steel blue of the killing surface and the hilt covered with grey blue stuff like sharkskin. At last he took it in his hands, awed by the purpose for which it had been used such a short time ago, and found to his surprise that he quickly drifted deeper and deeper into a flow that followed the wave pattern on the edge.

  Very quietly, Ki said, "Usually the only ones who are permitted a close inspection of a hoj are Pride members and those who feel its cutting edge. Please keep this to yourself."

  Ki waited, watching Aubin lose himself in the pattern, seeing the beginnings of real understanding of what the blade meant to Ki dawning in Aubin's face. He flexed his left hand, feeling the lightness that meant the sword was not part of him at the moment. He waited what he felt was a reasonable time, longer than he wanted to, a small eternity, then extended his hand to take the blade back. Aubin released it slowly. In spite of its intended purpose, it was a thing of delicate luster and deep pattern, and Aubin found he was entranced.

  Ki took the blade to himself like a lost lover. He held it quietly for a moment, then slid his thumb along the cutting edge hard enough to draw blood in order to satisfy the steel. It sighed as he replaced it in its scabbard.

  It was very cool and the air was dead still and damp with dew. The trees in the garden and on the ground far below the palace walls sat perfectly still in true wooden fashion, as if carved, waiting for the breeze that would signal the beginning of the day. The dark had begun to fade, but barely. The stars still winked, but Ki could feel that very soon they would dim and disappear.

  This was the only time of day when the entire palace was still. The men on guard were not stirring yet, restless to be relieved. The men who would do the relieving had not yet awakened. The serving staff was still abed as well. And the residents of this place, the cream of society, would not stir until well into the day.

  Every morning without fail, duty permitting, rain, snow or sleet notwithstanding, Ki sat in his garden. He would rise very early and work out, hard, in the gym when he had the place totally to himself. Then he would shower. With his mane still wet, he would come to the garden to listen to it dry. He would get down on his knees, place his swords in front of him within easy reach, sit on his heels and rest his hands on his thighs. It was ritual with him, this time for reflection and peace. The only thing that would change from day to day was the position of his head. At times, if things were well within him, he would watch the sky as the stars died and the sun was born. If he needed to see inside Ki, he would lower his head till his chin touched his breast. Then there was nothing to see but himself.

  This morning, though disturbed by the events of the day be
fore, he watched the sun come up. His mind was too jumbled even to begin a logical process of thought. He would need time to sort through the events and the emotions they evoked in him. There had been the kill. Clean, swift, it should have been satisfying, but it was not. It left too many questions and too few answers. Then there was Aubin. He had seen the hoj, held it naked in his frail human hand, and he did not bear the tattoo of an adult Nidean male of the Lawwnum Pride. Did that mean that Ki, without Pride consent, had conferred member status on Aubin? The way he, Ki, interpreted the legend, it did. His mouth turned up at the corners, smiling at what Mikal would say to that. Then the smile broadened as he tried to picture Aubin wearing Pride tattoos. The smile fled. The Empress. She was tired, so tired that her fragile human beauty was beginning to fade. Her husband's excesses had finally begun to take their toll even on her. And those excesses had moved into the realm of murder. The corners of his mouth turned down all the way into a frown. Seven men died yesterday, only one with cause. They died because Ozenscebo needed revenge for the threat against him, and the perpetrator of the threat was already dead. So he had pointed at six of the servants, quite randomly, and had declared them traitors. Lionmen had executed them as ordered, but it had left a bad taste in everyone's mouth. More than that, it was a waste.

  As the sky began to lighten, faint bands of pink appearing where the sun would soon be, Ki realized that he, too, was tired. He needed Nide and a good rest, something he had denied himself for too long. Perhaps he would invite Aubin to join him there, to instruct him, subtly, of course, in the ways of the Lionmen now that Aubin was an unofficial member of his Pride. It would not hurt that hedonist to toughen up a bit. Vaguely he wondered what the response of his people would be to a Nidean bringing a human home to a planet that did not have a single foreigner anywhere on it outside of the Emperor's embassy compound. Would they resent Aubin as ferociously as only a Nidean could? Would they harass him openly? It was conceivable that they would accept Aubin with open arms while rejecting Ki for enlisting him without Pride consent. He sighed. He needed to go home, with or without Aubin. If only he could talk to Ambassador Maaeve. Her reaction would reflect all the others' . . .

  At last his thoughts drifted off, leaving him in quiet peace. Finally he could lose himself in the sound of the running water, broken only by his own breath. His heart beat loudly in his ears, a drum to accompany the beginning fluting of the birds.

  He left his drifting in the split second it took to recognize the sound. Someone was at his door, the exterior door that joined his apartment to the public hallway. Though he did not appear to have moved, his muscles, which had been slack, were now tensed, ready for whatever came through his door.

  It opened, then shut carefully, quietly. The steps were hesitant, furtive, the culprit obvious and loud in his caution. Ki's right hand edged down his thigh closer to his knee, that much closer to the swords that rested just in front of him. He attempted to catch the scent of the intruder and was frustrated by the ventilation system that kept the air constantly moving out of his quarters to be replenished with fresh. When he finally caught the scent, well known, the hand crept back to its original position. The sounds changed again. The maker was attempting to sneak up on him. The effort at stealth was clumsy at best, but Ki waited.

  "Beautiful sunrise, is it not?" Ki asked the intruder. About three feet behind him, the Princess stamped her foot in disgust. "How? I thought I'd caught you with your back to a door. How did you know it was me?"

  "I heard you, I heard you, I smelled you, I heard you."

  "I beg your pardon?" Natanha said as she came around to sit by his side. "I don't understand."

  "I heard you at the door. Quite noisy. I heard you moving about the room, I suppose attempting to find out where I was. Then I caught your scent. You are quite distinct, you know, different even from your mother. Then I heard you again when you tried to sneak up on me. You are as quiet as a herd of imlowwn."

  Natanha's balled fist hit her leg in a cute little gesture of frustration. "One of these days I'll catch you. One day you'll be dreaming, and I'll catch you."

  He turned his head away from the sunrise and to Natanha for the first time. He studied her face, so much like her mothers, the determination there, and raised an eyebrow. It was the only response such a statement deserved.

  She was about to insist, then changed her mind. "Where's the rock? Did you like it? Did you like it?"

  Ki raised his left hand which caused a glint on the metal and pointed to the water.

  "Where?' she demanded. "I don't see it."

  "It's at the base of the waterfall. The water is polishing it. When the time is right, I'll take it out." Ki was suddenly intensely aware of the similarity of Natanha and her cherished bit of earth. She, too, would be ready for public viewing only after she'd been polished. He only hoped the process would not be too painful.

  "No one can see it at the bottom of the waterfall," she pouted.

  "I know it's there, as do you. Who else needs to?" Natanha subsided, and found herself regarding the sun rising over her fathers capital. In this light, delicate, fragile, none too sharp, the city was wonderful. The tall towers picked up the pinks and yellows of the dawn and threw them back at her. She could not see from here the hovels that had grown up at the edges of the city, filled with squatters who could not pay the land tax. From here it was golden, warm, exciting. She imagined the people beginning to get ready for the day, soon to fill the streets with writhing snakes made of people, patchy snakes with colors from all over the Empire. The low residential districts lost their bone whiteness in this light, becoming fragile pink roses almost lost in the high canes of the skyscrapers. Where the 'scrapers left their shadows, there were dark pools of blue, deep, deep, like the lake that filled Fuji's crater.

  After a time, she found her voice and the courage to speak of what had brought her here.

  "They tried to kill Daddy yesterday."

  "Yes," Ki answered, aware of where this line of questioning was likely to go.

  "Will they try to kill Mama, too?"

  "Probably."

  Natanha paused. This next was the heart of the matter. "Am I going to die?"

  Ki was relieved that she had brought this question to him. He did not want another to answer it, to frighten her, or, worse yet, to lie to her. "Eventually. We all do."

  She was frustrated. "YOU know! Are the rebels going to kill Mama and me?"

  "No."

  "How do you know?"

  Ki opened his right hand, slowly turned it palm up, and extended it gracefully to Natanha. It was answer enough. He would never permit it. She put her small hand in his, feeling safe now, and returned to watching the sunrise.

  "Scarlet and cadmium yellow going into violets contrast nicely with the oranges in the highlights in the blue shadows, right . . . ?" She was showing off for him.

  He turned his face toward her, his eyes open wide, and this time raised both eyebrows. Softly, she withdrew her hand from his.

  "Yes," she sighed. "Mama says I talk too much, too." And, as if Mama had reminded her, she smoothed her skirt in unconscious imitation. Then she looked at Ki. His back was straight, his hands on his thighs, relaxed, his face to the new morning. She shifted her weight, straightened her back, too, and placed her hands. Then she checked Ki again, to see that she'd done it correctly, and went back to watching her father's city come to life.

  Ki smiled indulgently.

  The Ballad of Lost C'mell

  Cordwainer Smith

  She got the which of the what-she-did,

  Hid the bell with a blot, she did,

  But she fell in love with a hominid.

  Where is the which of the what-she-did?

  from The Ballad of Lost C'mell

  She was a girly girl and they were true men, the lords of creation, but she pitted her wits against them and she won. It had never happened before, and it is sure never to happen again, but she did win. She was not even of human extraction.
She was cat-derived, though human in outward shape, which explains the C in front of her name. Her father's name was C'mackintosh and her name C'mell. She won her tricks against the lawful and assembled Lords of the Instrumentality.

  It all happened at Earthport, greatest of buildings, smallest of cities, standing twenty-five kilometers high at the western edge of the Smaller Sea of Earth.

  Jestocost had an office outside the fourth valve.

  1

  Jestocost liked the morning sunshine, while most of the other Lords of Instrumentality did not, so that he had no trouble in keeping the office and the apartments which he had selected. His main office was ninety meters deep, twenty meters high, twenty meters broad. Behind it was the "fourth valve," almost a thousand hectares in extent. It was shaped helically, like an enormous snail. Jestocost's apartment, big as it was, was merely one of the pigeonholes in the muffler on the rim of Earthport. Earthport stood like an enormous wineglass, reaching from the magma to the high atmosphere.

  Earthport had been built during mankind's biggest mechanical splurge. Though men had had nuclear rockets since the beginning of consecutive history, they had used chemical rockets to load the interplanetary ion-drive and nuclear-drive vehicles or to assemble the photonic sail-ships for interstallar cruises. Impatient with the troubles of taking things bit by bit into the sky, they had worked out a billion-ton rocket, only to find that it ruined whatever countryside it touched in landing. The Daimoni-people of Earth extraction, who came back from somewhere beyond the stars—had helped men build it of weatherproof, rustproof, timeproof, stressproof material. Then they had gone away and had never come back.

  Jestocost often looked around his apartment and wondered what it might have been like when white-hot gas, muted to a whisper, surged out of the valve into his own chamber and the sixty-three other chambers like it. Now he had a back wall of heavy timber, and the valve itself was a great hollow cave where a few wild things lived. Nobody needed that much space any more. The chambers were useful, but the valve did nothing. Planoforming ships whispered in from the stars; they landed at Earthport as a matter of legal convenience, but they made no noise and they certainly had no hot gases.