CRASH!
I jerked up and swiveled around, listening for someone, anyone who might be coming to feed me. Food! I grinned my toothiest grin, salivating over the prospect of tuna! Or chicken! Or maybe some catnip!
But the longer I waited, the hungrier I got. I hopped down and scampered around the corner to the airlock leading to the gangway, but no one appeared.
CRASH!
It came again, and I stuck my furry face in the viewing hatch to look outside. The junkyard was full of noises, as goods came and went from the Fringes.
Sigh.
The war between the Sovereignty and the Resistance raged out in the stars. Or at least I assumed that to be the case. Why else were they absent? I needed them to finish fighting already and come FEED ME!
Maybe I should have come out to speak to the Port Authority Officer after he’d marched the Alphorians away. He’d even returned for me, shouting, “Here kitty, kitty, kitty.” But I hadn’t wanted to be bothered—a cat needs his solitude. Besides, the stars would cease to shine before I answered to anyone. A stubborn speck of dust had assaulted my left paw, and it had taken a good twenty minutes of cleansing fury to ensure it was truly gone. By the time I’d finished banishing every speck of dirt from my fur, the officer had, as they say, left the building.
Now, almost 48 hours later, he had not returned. He should know by now that I, the rightful center of the Universe, would be hungry. I twitched my whiskers in annoyance and sat back down, my stomach rumbling louder and louder. Folding my paws in front of me, I focused my mind again on the food machine. If beings as simple as the Alphorians could operate it, then an elevated being such as myself, with much more highly evolved mental capacity, could certainly do so as well.
I searched for that central light, that spark I could bend and mold to my will, but still I couldn’t find it. Instead I saw only cold, empty darkness. Nothing my mind could control. The lifeless machine sat there, inattentive to my needs..
HIIIISSSSSSSS. I opened my mouth wide, baring my teeth at the infernal thing. I clambered up on all four paws and approached the food machine. Using my highly attuned powers of recall, I swatted at the buttons. The bi-pedal creatures that flew this shuttle always pushed buttons with their many-fingered paws. Maybe it was too simple to even have a mind frequency for me to control.
I batted at the big green button and a light flashed. Forgetting my hunger, I batted a paw at each blip and flash, lights appearing all over the front of the machine. Got you! NO, got YOU! No, you! I darted back and forth chasing the blinking lights, until suddenly, the machine buzzed.
“MROWR!” I started to salivate, visions of all the wonderful things this thing had produced dancing through my head. Salmon. Yogurt. Oooooh, maybe some turkey lunch meat! I danced around, rubbing up against the front of the machine as it buzzed again.
Then it rattled.
A purr started deep in my chest, and I headbutted the doors. I could picture bowl after bowl of delectable treats appearing, one after the other. A full food bowl forever.
With a pop! and a hiss! the doors slid open to reveal...
I sniffed and yowled in disgust...what horrible, liquid poison was this? I sniffed again, the aroma of arabica tickled my whiskers. I stuck out my tongue to lap gingerly at the muddy liquid, just the tip touching. The acidic flavor hit my taste buds and I sneezed, ACHOO!
Was this… Coffee? BLECH! I mewled unhappily.
In times like these, I almost missed the Alphorians. They smelled and left a trail of garbage on every surface, but they kept my food bowl filled. And I could always talk the navigator out of his jellyfish. I hated their mindlessness, but being king of my domain wasn’t nearly as satisfying with no one around to wait on me.
A hunger pang shot through me. No matter how awful, maybe I could stomach enough to stop my poor tummy from consuming itself. I slowly approached the steaming cup, but before I could even attempt another sip of the vile-smelling brew, I heard voices from outside the ship.
I’m saved! Someone to feed me! I chuckled to myself.
I waited.
The noises faded into the distance.
My natural antipathy to all those who do not boy down before me, food bowl in hand, returned. “Someone to feed me?” Yeah, fat chance.
The Port Authority, the Alphorians, everyone had forgotten me. I had a better chance of learning to fly than being fed at this point.
The ship lurched with an ear-splitting SCREECH! Metal stressing and squealing like a stuck pig.
Who is messing with my ship?
This was completely unacceptable.
A rhythmical crunching and thumping met my ears, and a horrible thought crossed my mind. Not the compactor! My yellow eyes opened wide, my heart started to race. Time to hide! I launched myself up onto the counter, squeezing my head and ears into the gap behind the food machine, my body fitting anywhere my head could go. My vision adjusted to the darkness, and I hopped neatly over the rat’s nest of cords and wires running every which way in the space between the walls. Having lived aboard this ship for many years, I was very familiar with all the places the bipeds never went, their big, awkward bodies too large and clumsy for the in-between.
Panting, mouth dry, I climbed along the conduits, knowing instinctively the fastest route between levels that would take me from the food bay to the bridge. More than needing to hide, I needed to see out the wide front window.
Emerging from under the navigation panel, I leapt into the captain’s seat, my throne, and peered forth with all the regal bearing my poor empty belly might permit. Expecting the typical view of the busy port, my eyes were unprepared for the looming starship ass filling the window.
What??? A loud clunk and the ship lurched again, my feet scrabbling for purchase on the slippery dash. At least it wasn’t the compactor, then. Between the all-too-near starship thrusters pervading my view, I spotted the tow bar connected to my hauler. The ship rolled, and my seat shuddered beneath me.
Where are they taking my ship???!!!
Chapter Two
Not another one.
A short, fat, purple Ziqaid squished through the mess hall, pointing all 12 fat fingers around him. “The ship, it is dirty!” he sniffed, the odor of the overflowing trash compactor wafting through the halls.
Since my ship’s relocation from the docks to the junkyard a few days ago, life hadn’t improved. I collapsed on my back, legs splayed, head hanging off the shelf. I blinked at the upside-down world as I meowed out my disgust and unrelenting hunger.
“For 100,000 corona it’s going to be dirty.” The junkyard attendant rolled his eyes, dropping bits of sandwich as he trailed behind the purple interloper. “A bunch of Alphorians owned it. Filthy creatures.”
“The galley, it is ill-equipped.” The Ziqaid snorted in disgust. “Only a single provisioner, not nearly enough storage for long flights.”
“Look dude, take it or leave it.” The junkyard attendant sighed. “You asked for a cargo hauler. We only have two right now; it’s this one, or the one with the bad engine.”
“I’ll leave it. I am sure I can find another that meets my specifications and doesn’t require so much...” He chose his words carefully, “...improvement.” The Ziqaid spun on his pudgy heel and headed for the door. “You ask too much for one in this condition.”
“As you wish Mr. Kabuki.” The bored attendant trailed the pompous Ziqaid as he continued through the winding halls to the exit, peppering the air with insults and complaints.
I watched them go with a sigh of relief and a pang of the now all-too-familiar hunger but gobbled down the crumbs the attendant had left in his wake. They weren’t enough. I was going to eat myself from the inside out if I didn’t find the right aliens to bend to my will soon. I might even have to settle for a fat Ziqaid looking for a ship to smuggle goods to the Resistance, and attempt to train him to my exacting feline standards.
I took my place back high on the shelf to survey my crumbling domain. One furry, ging
er ear twitched violently and I shook my head, the upside-down world-rocking. Harrumph! I stopped to squat, one back leg cocking up and rhythmically scratching at the offending ear. Scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch. Satisfied it would behave, I set my paw down and climbed to my feet, leaping onto the table with what I imagined to be all the grace and agility of a panther. I had seen a holo-vid once, the large, sleek black animals in what the narrator called the jungle. I shook my head again, ears flapping. I should have been born a panther. Space travel just wasn’t what it used to be. This war between the Sovereignty and the Resistance had slowed shipping, creating massive food shortages, and the need for vessels like mine for smuggling.
Landing in a junkyard had not been part of my plan, but apparently the Sovereignty, after seizing the vessel from the Alphorians, had not viewed my ship with the same adoration I did. Instead of pressing this ship into service, they’d relegated it to the scrap yard. That meant, instead of travel and adventures all over the galaxy, I had to suffer a steady stream of irritating interlopers. Since we’d arrived, a constant parade of eager aliens had invaded my ship, interrupting my sleep and annoying me with their noisy, smelly presence.
Another potential buyer had arrived. I could tell by the clicking of their mandibles. They would not do. Not one bit.
Mantids. I do not like Mantids.
“This might work.” A wraithlike, segmented figure, eyes like those of a locust peeking out from under a stiff fabric hood, followed another attendant onto the command deck. “This ship has much cargo space.”
With Mantids, it wasn’t even about the smell. They didn’t stink like the filthy Alphorians, nor did they leave slimy trails behind them like Ziqaid. Task-oriented creatures, they focused on one task, and one task only.
I leaned as far as I could without dropping on their swiveling heads and listened in as they outlined their plans for insect domination of this quadrant. If I was understanding them correctly, their plans included filling the hold with plant matter and supplying their warships enough to feed their troops.
I’d seen them before, during my travels. Back when I had adventures and such. The Mantids simply didn’t care about cats, or any other warm-blooded creature for that matter. Worse yet, their carapace scratched unpleasantly when they mimicked petting with their segmented limbs. Yech! They didn’t even bother to pretend to care for our needs, and never ate anything other than leaves. I hated leaves, unless they were catnip.
“MROWR!” I vocally expressed my distaste. If the Mantids took over the ship, I'd starve. Those soulless creatures would sleep easily as I wasted away to nothing. If they signed a bill of sale, I was as good as dead. It was time to do something, it seemed. Something...undignified.
“ROWRR!” I readied myself, limbs coiled beneath me, muscles bunched, poised to sprint from the top shelf of the storage cabinet just off the main hall and onto the interloper. The door stood slightly ajar, revealing the shapes of the buyer and seller as they stepped into view on their way to the crew areas. Steeling myself, fur bristling with energy, I tracked the two figures with my eyes until they came into range.
With a clatter and a bang, I pushed off my back feet and launched from my shelf. Limbs outstretched, fur standing straight out, I loomed large and menacing as a panther. Death incarnate but invisible to my prey. I screeched and yowled through the air, driving my paws into the Mantid’s head, knocking it sideways, scaring the crap out of the attendant and landing on the floor, a hissing, spitting mess.
Behind me, a veritable cascade of paint, charting tools, moth-eaten crew clothing, and something resembling a half-eaten ration, followed my path like a tidal wave. As this ship’s last intrepid defender, I made my escape, squirreling away into the in-between.
Behind me, the Mantid clambered up from the floor, raising their arm with its jagged tooth-like spines in front of their body. Its mandibles silently gnashed and they shook their head. “You did not tell us. This ship. It is occupied.”
Sticking my nose back out, I slowly emerged to watch. Plopping down next to the pile of past occupants’ disorder, I scratched at an itch behind my ears, benefiting from the world-renowned flexibility of my species. Take that!
The poor attendant, eyes wide and face pale from my stylish entrance, sputtered, tripping over excuses as his head whipped between the Mantid and myself, bewildered and...oh shit. Angry.
“This ship. It does not meet our needs. We cannot use an occupied ship.” The Mantid turned on the now furious attendant, who shook and sputtered, face growing redder and redder. The alien scuttled away, jointed legs clicking as they departed, leaving the overwrought attendant glaring at me.
Stopping mid groom and scrambling to my feet, I dashed around the detritus strewn about the floor, retreating back down the hall, easily dodging the attendant’s swinging foot. Tin cans, papers, and stinking cloth rained around me and my decisive victory.
Pleased with the results of my attack, I surveyed my domain. Hmmm. I hadn’t thought things all the way through, my ship messier than before, and neither Mantid nor attendant had addressed my food bowl. Now who’s going to feed me?
I grumbled as I groomed fresh filth from my fur; the confrontation had kicked up no shortage of dust and who knows what else. No way I was going to let my orange and white fur lose any of the sparkle I prided myself on.
I wanted life to go back to normal, where I permitted bipeds access to my domain in exchange for proper worship. I needed minions.
Right on cue, my stomach gurgled.
Chapter Three
My ribs were starting to show, and no matter how many times I chased the blinking light on the provisioner, it had yet to dispense anything remotely edible.
Desperate though I was, none of the prospective inhabitants over the last few weeks had been anywhere close to acceptable. I resigned myself to take matters into my own paws.
Tail twitching, I dropped from the ceiling into the main entryway of the ship, slipping out on the heels of the latest wraithlike alien I had just chased away; all slimy, fluttery fins and an incessant need for water. In no way would it be a good match for my needs. Can you imagine getting in a bucket of water, ON PURPOSE???!!! The horror! Death would actually be preferable to—what did humans call it?—a bath. I shuddered.
Winding between piles of booster rockets, old warp drive engines, and discarded panels, I crisscrossed the junkyard, careful not to dull my shiny clean fur. It had taken hours to clean up after the water alien dripped saltwater all over the ship.
Rounding a corner on two humans arguing in the middle of the junkyard, I sized them up and down, quickly dismissing the cocky young pilot and the grizzled space marine. I’d had enough of the regimented militaristic troops when I was but a kitten, and cocky young men tend to forget to feed cats, too concerned with their own needs. There had to be someone better. I left the pair to their argument and continued on down to the office. My empty belly spurred me on.
“Fine, I’ll take the damn ship.” My ears perked up and I stopped out front and tuned in to the words falling from the lips of—OH NO! The gross purple blob of Mr. Kabuki, the Ziqaid from earlier, filled the entire front office. “I can strip it down, sell it for parts, and make enough to buy an appropriate vessel.”
Part out my home? Destroy my ship? OVER MY DEAD BODY!
Red filled my vision, my marmalade fur bristling, and I yowled, my frustration dripping from every bared claw. I wailed out my rage, gurgling at the starry yellow sky.
“Awwww, are you the junkyard kitty?” A silky voice stopped me mid-yowl, stripping my anger away and leaving me gaping at a slim green alien. I cocked my head and analyzed her, from the top of her flame-red hair, down her form-fitting jumpsuit, to the tips of her webbed toes, encased in knee-high black combat boots. She knelt down outside the office, offering her hand for me to sniff as she cooed over me.
What? Me? A junkyard kitty? I headbutted her in frustration, rubbing my scent glands against her leg, marking her, my mind spinning with
dismay over the Ziqaid, the imminent loss of my home, and my hunger.
Her hand came down and scratched under my chin. “You like that?” She smiled as I tilted my head back to give her better access. Dammit, she knows my weakness. A steady rumble filled my chest as one fingernail found that perfect itch right at the V of my jawbone. It drove me crazy that bipedal creatures could render me a limp, purring mess with the crook of one finger.
“You’re a sweet one.” My ears swiveled at a new sound. Her laugh. I shook off my euphoria-induced stupor and wound myself around her ankles, back and forth, rubbing my sides against her legs, self-soothing as I relaxed in her presence, better able to concentrate on my problem. “Okay, kitty, I have to leave you now, I gotta go see a man about a ship.”
Wait, what? I wound myself more tightly around her feet, preventing her from leaving. After weeks with no caretakers, I needed a LOT more scratching.
“You know, kitty, if my father was here, he'd say cats carry disease." She shrugged. "If he was here, he'd also tell me girls can't fly.” She stood, brushing her hands off on her pants.
You want a ship? Hmmmm, I stopped to stare up at the prospective minion, my big yellow eyes unblinking as I pondered the situation. She doesn’t smell, she treats cats as she should...I wonder if she’s messy?
Maybe I could talk her into stocking the ship with catnip. Respect for the ship’s owner (ME) was most important, and this young female seemed perfect.
“MROWR.” I yowled, returning her attention to me.
“Are you hungry?” She reached into her waist belt, emerging with something delicious smelling. “It’s not much, but I have some dried fish from my home planet. Do you like fish?”
DO I LIKE FISH? Of course, I like fish. And this fish smelled divine. My mouth watered as she held a hand out again. I craned my neck, pulling my lips back so I did not so much as brush her skin, as my teeth plucked the dried bit of meat from her palm. Heaven. The fishy flavor hit my tongue, the saltiness of the dried fish a balm to my deprived taste buds.
Hellcats: Anthology Page 82
