by Pati Nagle
“Don’t suppose you heard those guys’ names,” he said.
“The fish-faced one is called Lou.”
“Yeah, I know—Lou Feeber. I got his name from the paperwork on the shipments. I meant the other two.”
“I think one of them was called Vinnie.”
“Vinnie. Let’s see if we get a hit on that. Aha—Vincent Malone.”
The chunky guy’s head appeared over Devin’s holopad, grinning stupidly as it slowly rotated. I moved closer to see the text at the bottom of the field.
Looked like our man Vinnie was brand new at Stratoma. Devin brought up his employment record, which looked like a patchwork quilt. He’d done a little of everything that required brawn, and not much that required brains.
“New hire,” Devon said. “Interesting. Lemme check if Stratoma’s got any other new guys.”
He keyed in a search command and started zipping through a succession of employee files. I watched the floating heads come and go over the holopad until I spotted one I recognized. It was the wiry guy from the warehouse.
“That’s the other one!” I said.
“Gus Lyman,” Devin read. “OK, Gus, what are you about?”
Gus’s employment was a little steadier than Vinnie’s. He was also new at Stratoma. They’d both been hired a little more than a week ago.
“Why are they sending new guys out on the smuggling run?” Devin mused.
“Maybe the old guys quit,” I suggested.
“Hm. Trouble in paradise?”
I gave him my best blank stare. Like, do I even know or care what makes humans tick? Particularly specimens like Vinny and Gus? No.
Devin brought up both their records side by side and sifted through the data for a while. “No past employers in common. Vinnie was out of work for a while before Stratoma hired him.”
I began grooming my face. Hadn’t really done it since that bite of Devin’s sandwich I’d eaten earlier. Thinking about it made me hungry, which made me mad. I wanted to get out of there. I didn’t want to have to ask Devin, or any human, for food.
We didn’t talk for a while. Devin was absorbed in the data feeds. I hopped down and began sniffing around the floor of his office on the off-chance of finding a crumb of something. Looked like the cleaning crew had been pretty thorough, though.
I caught an interesting whiff from one of the drawers of another desk—peanut butter crackers, I thought—but when I tried to open the drawer it was either locked or too heavy for me. With Devin in the room I really couldn’t put my back into it.
The door slid open and the chief walked in. I was under a desk at the time, and I decided to stay there. I wasn’t really feeling very charitable toward the chief. I sat down to listen and watch.
“Where’s Leon?” he said.
Devin shrugged. “He’s around.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to lose track of him.”
“Yeah, he’s here. Where could he go?”
“Leon?”
Actually, I was sitting about a meter from the chief’s feet. I waited for him to notice this, taking interest in his agitation.
Of course, it wasn’t me he was concerned about. He just wanted to protect his investment. I began to wonder just how much Gamma Security had sunk into my engineering. I wasn’t cheap, that was for sure.
“Leon? Where are you?”
The chief started pacing around the office, looking in the corners. I watched in growing amusement. Devin shot him an annoyed glance, then went back to cruising data.
When the chief picked up a waste basket and started looking through it I decided things had gotten ridiculous enough. I stepped out from beneath the desk and sat down beside his feet. He didn’t notice, so I spoke up.
“Got any cheese danish?”
He jumped. “Leon! Oh, there you are. Good.”
He put down the waste basket. I went over to it and stretched up to look into it, as if wondering what he’d found so interesting. I was just barely tall enough to get my head and paws over the edge.
“No, I don’t have any danish, but if you’re hungry we can go get a bite to eat in the rotunda. How does that sound?”
It sounded better than I wanted to admit. I let go of the wastebasket and sat down again.
“Sure, if you want.”
“OK. Devin, I’ll bring him back later in the morning.
“Fine.”
Devin was still zoned on data. Didn’t seem too concerned about his new, expensively genengineered partner.
The hell with him, then. Cherchez la food.
The chief looked down at me. “Uh, shall I carry you or do you want to walk?”
“I’ll walk, thanks,” I said, standing up and going to the door.
“Good. Great. Stay close, though, OK? You don’t want to get lost.”
Thinks you, I told myself. Getting lost might be one of my best prospects. After breakfast, though.
We strolled out of headquarters together and into the rotunda. Well, the chief strolled—I had to jog to keep up with him. He cruised past Molly’s, which looked pretty dead at this hour, and then past Zip Fix. I was disappointed but I didn’t say anything, deciding to wait and see what he came up with.
There was a gentlemen’s-club-looking place up ahead. I thought the chief was heading for that, but he stopped a door early, at a pink and frilly joint with a sign that said “Tammy’s Tea Shoppe” in curly letters.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I muttered.
“Shh!”
The chief frowned down at me, then without warning picked me up. I squawked. He held me close to his face and stroked my head while he whispered in my ear.
“No talking, Leon. If you blow your cover you won’t be any use to us. I’ll sell your contract to a rat-catching firm. It’ll take a lot longer to work it off that way.”
I shut up. He said it in a pleasant voice, but I knew a genuine threat when I heard it.
Not to mention I didn’t think I was cut out for rat-catching. I’d developed a distinct dislike for the beasts.
Still holding me, he walked into the pink place. It didn’t have tables like a regular restaurant. Instead it had little groupings of three or four comfy chairs around a coffee table, or maybe a couple of chairs and a couch. Lots of crocheted crap and doilies and lacy stuff everywhere.
The place was deserted except for two middle-aged ladies wearing actual dresses, sitting at one of the coffee tables with old-fashioned china teacups and saucers on their knees. On the table between them was a plate of little sandwiches and cookies and cakes.
My stomach growled. Not my favorite, but it would do in a pinch, and maybe there would be tuna in one of those sandwiches.
One of the ladies looked up. “Chief Wright! How nice of you to visit! Will you excuse me a moment, Emma dear?”
She got up and sailed over to us, her massive bosom leading the way, scarlet-painted smile beaming beneath a bouffant hairdo that was an improbable shade of red. She got a look at me and the smile widened.
“What an adorable kitten! Did you just get it?”
“Uh, yeah,” said the chief. “His name’s Leon.”
“Hello, Leon!” She tickled my chin with her long, pink-polished nails. “Puddy, puddy!”
I bristled, but kept my mouth shut and my claws to myself. Well, except for the ones I was using to hang onto the chief’s clingsuit. I couldn’t help it if those poked him a little.
“Ow—ah, ahem,” he said. “I think he’s a little lonely, being away from his family for the first time. I know you’ve got a cat, Mrs. Thompson, so I thought maybe—”
“Oh, yes!” she said. “Bring him on over here! Cuddles,” she sang in a cutesy voice as she led us toward the cash register, “you have a vi-i-i-s-itor!”
Next to the register was a stand about a meter high, with long gold fringe around the edges and a sign that said “Cuddles” in curly script dangling from a little gold chain. On it was a cat bed done up in red velvet cushions, on top of which lay a large
, orange tabby, gently snoring.
Before I knew it the chief put me down on the stand. “Say hi to Cuddles, Leon.”
I froze. His name notwithstanding, this cat looked like he could eat me for breakfast.
He had stopped snoring when my feet hit the stand. Now he opened his huge green eyes, stared at me for a couple of seconds, then hissed, showing acres of teeth. A smell of fish, with a hint of garlic, washed over me.
“Cuddles!” said Mrs. Thompson. “That’s no way to treat a guest!”
My fur was standing on end. My back had arched without my knowing it, my tail had tripled in diameter, and I was standing on my toes, ready to run for it.
“Easy, Leon,” said the chief. He gave me an awkward pat on the head. I tensed.
“Who the hell are you?” demanded Cuddles in a low growl.
“Nobody!” I answered in cat-talk, my voice coming out in a squeak. “Didn’t mean to bother you! This human just put me here.”
The tabby’s eyes narrowed and he glanced up at the chief. “You’re with him?”
“Uh, sort of.”
“What’s he doing in the tea shoppe? Usually he goes in the smoking room.”
“I think he wanted me to meet you, Mr. Cuddles, sir.”
He grimaced and rolled up onto his stomach. “The name’s Butch, kid.”
“Oh, Butch. Sorry.”
He looked me up and down. “Geez, look at you. You’re a mess. Doesn’t your mother groom you?”
That caught me off guard. My voice shook a little as I answered.
“They took me away from my mother. I haven’t seen her since yesterday.”
“Aw, heck. C’mere kid.”
Butch stood up, which made him look even huger. A casual observer might think he was fat, but there were powerful muscles underneath all that orange fur. He came closer to me and I flinched.
“Easy. Let me fix you up a little.”
He licked the rumpled fur behind my right ear. It felt oddly comforting, even though he was a stranger. I found myself lying down, and before I knew it Butch put one big paw on my shoulder to hold me down while he went to town grooming the back of my neck.
“There!” cooed Tammy. “That’s nice!”
I shut my eyes, not wanting to look at the chief while I was in this humiliating position. I became aware that the tip of my tongue was protruding between my fangs, and hastily pulled it in.
“I think they’ll be all right now,” said Tammy. “Would you like a cup of tea, Chief Wright?”
“Oh, ah—well. Sure. Thanks.”
From his voice I got the impression he’d rather chew glass than sit on a frilly chair drinking tea. Probably he wanted to keep an eye on me. I hoped he would hate every minute.
“There you go, kid,” said Butch. “You’re presentable at least.”
He let go and I got up, giving my forepaw a lick. “Thanks, Butch.”
“Don’t mention it. Takes a little practice, learning to get all the hard-to-reach spots. You’re a little young to leave home, aren’tcha?”
I hadn’t thought about it before. I sat there blinking stupidly.
“Well, never mind. You want me to show you the ropes?”
“Ropes?”
“Figure of speech. Show you around the station, I mean. You just got here, right?”
“Y-yesterday.”
“C’mon, then.”
He jumped off the back of the stand, his huge bulk landing silently on the carpeted floor. I glanced toward the humans and saw Tammy happily chattering away, the chief nodding every now and then and looking glazed.
I slipped down after Butch, trying to be as silent as he’d been. He jerked his head for me to follow and slunk behind a couch, heading deeper into the tea shoppe.
He moved from couch to chair to a table so low he had to crouch to get under it, all keeping out of sight of Tammy and company. I padded after him, sticking close.
He paused behind a wing chair covered in floral chintz, the last piece of furniture in the room. A meter-wide gap stood between us and a door which, from the smell of it, seemed to lead to the kitchen.
Butch gave me a warning glance and then stared intently at the humans at the front of the shoppe. I couldn’t tell what he was watching for, but after a minute he muttered “Go!” and launched himself across the gap.
I dashed after him, my heart hammering. I expected a burst of yelling from the chief, but Butch’s plan seemed to have worked. We were clear.
It was indeed a kitchen, full of nice buttery smells. No humans in there at the moment. I glanced hopefully at the counters, but it looked like whoever worked there had done too good a job of cleaning up.
Butch stopped behind a counter and shook himself. “OK, kid. Come on and have a look at the smoking room. It’s a better hangout than the tea shoppe.”
“Does the owner mind your coming in?” I asked, following him toward a door at the far end of the kitchen.
Butch laughed. “You could say she does. She’d rather have me sitting on that stupid stand all day.” He looked over his shoulder at me. “Tammy owns both joints.”
“Oh.”
“Here we are,” he said, his voice ringing with satisfaction as he paused at another doorway. “Steadly’s Smoking Room.”
We went into a room that was dark and cozy. A holographic fire flickered in a fireplace surrounded by a half-circle of overstuffed chairs covered in burgundy leather. One of them was occupied by a guy in a dark, business-style clingsuit, reading the paper while he munched on half a roast beef sandwich.
A plate holding the other half and a pile of French fries sat on a small table next to him. My mouth started watering.
Butch gave me a wink and led the way, following a random path as if exploring the furniture, but working his way steadily over to that sandwich. I followed, practicing my stealthy slink.
Butch had a way of rolling his shoulders as he walked that showed off the power in his limbs while conveying a state of watchful ease. I tried to imitate it, not very successfully.
He came to a stop in front of the guy’s chair and let out one small mew. The human lowered his paper.
“Oh, Cuddles. Shouldn’t you be next door?”
Butch mewed again, giving him the big, green eyes. I put on my cute kitten face, ears perked and eyes wide, and added my mew to Butch’s.
“Well, what have we here?” The guy shoved his newspaper between the seat and the arm of his chair and leaned forward to pet me. “Hiya, little guy. You’re new here, aren’t you?”
I mewed again. He scratched behind my ears and did a reasonably good job, so I purred.
“Heh, heh. Cute. OK, here you go.”
He pulled a scrap of meat out of his sandwich and dangled it over my head. I grabbed at it, and he let it drop to the floor. I pounced and commenced gobbling while Butch upped the urgency of his mewing.
“Yeah, here’s some for you, too, Cuddles.”
Butch gulped down his meat while I was still chewing mine. He returned to the cute cat position and mewed for more.
“Nah, that’s all you get. Now scram.”
The guy pulled his paper out of the chair, rattling it a little as a warning. Butch leaped away.
I hastily gulped the rest of my meat and followed him. Had to stop myself from calling a thank-you over my shoulder.
“He was nice,” I said as we strolled toward the front of the smoking room.
“Albert. Comes in for lunch most days. He’s always good for a bite, but only one.” Butch paused to sniff under a leather couch near the door, then looked at me. “So, what would you like to see?”
“Uh—well, actually, I didn’t get breakfast. Is there any place else we might get some food?”
Butch gave me a quizzical look, then chuckled. “Kid, this is the rotunda. You name it, we can find it.”
My mouth started watering. “Fish?”
“Fish, OK. You got your fish and chips at Molly’s, fancy stuff at the Steakmeister, crawfish a
t Pulsar but that’s up in the warehouse district, junk shrimp at Zip Fix?”
“I kind of like their popcorn shrimp,” I put in.
“If you like shrimp you should try Ling-Ling’s Lightspeed. Or the Imperial Gardens—Ling-Ling runs both places. But it’s easier to get a handout at the kiosk.”
“Let’s try that then,” I said, my stomach growling.
“Right this way.”
He strolled out into the rotunda. For a moment I was scared to follow him. The chief and Devin were my only reliable food source, and I had never been out on my own before.
I had to work up the nerve to walk away from the chief, but Butch’s hulking presence was a comfort. I took a deep breath and stepped out into the world.
4. The Stratoma Strategy
I hadn’t really had a chance to observe the rotunda at my leisure before. I’d always been hurrying after a human, except for the one trip in the puke box. Now, strolling along with Butch, I could take in the smells, the color and constant motion. The rotunda is always busy. It’s where the humans go to eat and play, to see and be seen. Lots of courting activity. Lots of activity, period.
Underneath its starview dome, the rotunda is made up of concentric rings of commercial property between wide walkways landscaped with trees and benches and stuff. There are some tables here and there for people to sit and eat stuff they get at the kiosks, but the main purpose of these areas is to keep the traffic moving.
Butch led me away from the outermost ring, where all the fancy restaurants with starview windows are, inward a couple of rings. The corridors that crossed the rings were smaller and didn’t have any of the trees or furniture, though they were lined with kiosks, most of which didn’t sell food. They sold other stuff instead—clothes and magazines and music and lots of things that were useless but looked pretty. I understood human commerce pretty well, though why they shelled out their credit for the useless-but-pretty stuff I still hadn’t figured out. There was a lot of it for sale in the rotunda, though.
Butch turned onto the third walkway in, and I followed. I could smell food ahead: the greasy spicy fried-corn smell of tacos, a smell of cooked green stuff, bread, melted cheese, mustard. The taco and cheese smells made my mouth water.
