Deluge

by Anne McCaffrey

  He snarled and charged at her.

  She had nowhere to go but up. She leapt straight into the air, and when the rat reached the spot where she had been, she landed on his back and snapped his neck with one well-placed bite.

  Her maman had trained her properly in vermin eradication. Although the Piaf had not been plagued by vermin, she kept her skills honed in mock battle with favored crew members, who covered their appendages with padding when they sparred with her.

  She dabbed at the rat with a paw to make sure it was really dead. It was a very large rat, more than she could eat. A fine, fat rat, fit for either a cat or a queen. Zuzu was not especially hungry at the moment, but the rat smelled delicious, far too good to waste. She looked down the dim prison corridor. It was a long, long way to where her best friend was imprisoned, and dragging this huge brute of a rat would be quite a task, but perhaps Adrienne would be more sensible today.

  Taking her kill’s scruff firmly between her teeth as if he were a kitten, she dragged his carcass over the streaked and smelly plascrete floor, keeping to the shadows as much as she could while staying out of reach of anyone in the cells who might steal her prey or grab at her.

  But if anyone saw her, they gave no indication. Her coloring allowed her to disappear into the walls and floor. If anyone saw her darting past, they might mistake her for another rat. No one was looking for a ship’s cat in a prison, so nobody saw her. The guards stayed on the other side of the barred gates at each end of each corridor and often slept or played games. Sometimes they took a prisoner out there to play with, as she might play with a toy mouse.

  Adrienne’s cell was at the end of this corridor, so Zuzu would not have to haul her rat through one of the guard stations. It was heavy work nonetheless. The rat hung down so far beneath her she had trouble getting two opposing paws on the floor at the same time and had to waddle, propelling herself and her prey forward with her left forepaw and hind paw, then her right, while keeping alert for other rats or the guards.

  At last she caught her friend’s scent and dragged the prey through the bars separating them. Adrienne was sleeping. Zuzu laid her prize on the floor where her friend could hardly miss it, then hopped onto her chest, kneading the fabric of the ugly prison coverall and peering into Adrienne’s partly open mouth. Adrienne opened her eyes and let out a little yelp. Before Zuzu found her, Adrienne had been awakened by other creatures, not so friendly or familiar. Now, however, she smiled and reached up to touch Zuzu’s coat. As soon as she did that, Zuzu jumped to the floor and stood by the rat, purring encouragingly.

  Take it, she said silently to her friend, who had grown thin and pale since her imprisonment.

  “Oh, merde!” Adrienne exclaimed, shoving the rat away with her bare foot. Zuzu calmly nudged it back at her.

  Do be sensible and eat something, Zuzu tried to tell her. You need to keep up your strength. I even killed it for you this time, though as I’ve repeatedly tried to tell you, you should start hunting for yourself. You’re a bit slow, but you do have an advantage over them with your size. They’re bigger than I am, but I manage, so you can too, if you’ll only try.

  Adrienne did not touch the food but did lean over to stroke Zuzu’s back. Before the cat could get a good purr rumbling, however, doors clanged open down the corridor and a pair of husky guards marched down it. The normal hum of activity in the cells quieted, making the guards’ footsteps sound unnaturally loud.

  Zuzu zipped beneath Adrienne’s cot and shrank as small as she could in the most shadowy corner.

  Just in time. The guards’ heavy boots stopped outside Adrienne’s cell and a scratchy female voice said, “Okay, Robineau, let’s go.”

  Adrienne was frightened. Zuzu could smell it. She had seen other crew members returned to their cells looking as if they’d been caught in the middle of a dogfight. But Adrienne was angry, as well. If she had been a cat, her fur would have been ridged along her arched back and she’d have spit at the guards. It was all Zuzu could do to keep from hissing, but she kept as still as she did when hunting. The cell door opened and Adrienne stood. “Where are you taking me?”

  “To tea with the commandant, of course,” one woman sneered. “He’s ever so interested to hear all about your former career.”

  “Don’t worry, honey,” the other woman said. “You’re on the small side but sturdy looking. And everyone’s been told not to leave any marks—just in case.”

  “Dammit, Griz, you didn’t have to tell her that. You and your compassionate nature!” The first guard snorted.

  “I know. I know. ’Course, most electrical conversation starters don’t leave marks to speak of. At least nothing that can be detected without an autopsy.”

  Zuzu wanted to leap from her hiding place and claw their eyes out, but she knew the prison well enough now to know she was outnumbered. Best to keep still, stay low, and follow. Possibly there would be something she could do to help if she was close enough. But not too close. These guards were not cat lovers, she just knew it.

  Shortly after Zuzu had slipped into the prison on Dr. Mabo’s heels, she had discovered a secret about it, about where the rats and other vermin came from and why the prison cells were so miserably hot. In spite of the solid look of the tough plascrete and metal bars—all of which gave the impression that the prison had stood there stinking for many years, rising out of the native stone—it was assembled from modular units. This floor contained four ranks of cells, two ranks each flanking the central corridors, which were secured with bars at either end. There were similar floors above and below this one. But where the stony-looking covering had been pried away by rats or eroded by wear and the horrible strong-smelling chemicals used by more manageable prisoners to clean the place, a small cat could also enter and, with a little maneuvering, run in the space behind the abutting cell modules, or slink along the top of the modules on each floor. There was no room for the smallest human, but for a rat-fed cat there was adequate space to follow her human’s tormentors.

  As Adrienne was led away, the other prisoners either jeered or called what encouragement they could, but their attention was diverted from the cell, which suited Zuzu. She squeezed through the bars and inched her way beneath the bars until she came to the nearest rat hole, which gave her access to the space between the floors of Adrienne’s block and the ceilings of the block below. The thumping footsteps of the guards and Adrienne’s lighter ones vibrated the underside of the corridor above her, and she followed them easily. The trick would be finding another opening farther along, so she could come out again.

  Zuzu followed until she heard one of the guards order Adrienne into a room and then heard a door slamming. She crept to a spot right below the center of that room and crouched, waiting, but nothing happened. Her tight little curl of a tail twitched—not with impatience, because she was a supremely patient hunter and stalker, but from anxiety for Adrienne.

  After a few moments she sat up on her haunches and looked around. On her journey from Adrienne’s cell, the cat had kept a lookout for light shining in from more rat holes. There were three, but she didn’t know exactly where the holes were on this side of the bars. Rotating her ears to keep alert for any sound indicating that Adrienne was under interrogation or simply being chatted up, Zuzu cautiously strolled over to the gap between offices and looked down the length of the modules on her side, searching for more crude rat-shaped windows on the outer world.

  Under the next room she heard voices—one familiar and beloved, one hateful and vicious. Her fur bristled at the sound of it, though the vicious voice was speaking so softly she could not make out the words. Madame Marmion, the other speaker, spoke calmly, but the cat sensed the tension underneath. “I do not see what is to be gained by tormenting my crew, Major. We have no secrets and we have done nothing wrong. You cannot keep us here forever, and once we are free, you will be held responsible for any harm that befalls us.”

  “Yes, but some of you will be just as dead, or inconvenienced by th
e absence of certain bodily parts or functions,” the man said. “You overestimate your importance in the galactic scheme of things, Madame. You have more influential enemies than you realize.”

  “And more friends, I trust, than you can fit into this prison.”

  “Your first mate will be paying for your arrogance in a moment. I trust your ringside seat here allowed you to see and hear everything that happened there when the communications officer was questioned.”

  Madame said nothing, but Zuzu sensed her pain and fear. Ears alert, she prowled her way under two more chambers, at last spotting another small hole leading into the corridor. Heading for it, she heard loud voices.

  Zuzu peeked out the hole but could see nothing. The voices were coming from a corridor perpendicular to the one she occupied, around a bend. She could smell something odd, though, something not rat, not human, yet familiar.

  Squeezing through the hole, she crept down the vacant corridor, keeping close to the wall. To her relief, she passed a low grid improperly attached to the wall. It no doubt covered a duct, and it would do for a cat’s bolt-hole if the need arose. She brushed past it, ears pricked.

  “There it goes! Zap it! Zap it!” someone cried.

  A sizzle like a laser blast sounded from farther inside the administration area. “Damn, missed!” the apparent shooter exclaimed.

  “What the hell was that?”

  Claws scrabbled down the corridor.

  “Biggest damn rat I ever saw. Come on, let’s get it!”

  Far down the corridor behind Zuzu, the door to Madame’s chamber slammed open and shut. She hugged the wall. The man who had spoken to Madame stalked forward. “What the frag is going on out there?” he demanded.

  “Sorry, sir. Nagy shot at a rat.”

  Madame’s captor strode past her so closely he almost kicked her. She was very glad she did not have the usual sort of long loose tail for him to step on.

  He marched up to the other men, and very quietly, very slowly, the creature began moving toward her again.

  She heard its slightly labored breath and smelled a strong odor of fish.

  A friend who is not an otter and not a seal!

  Zuzu clearly heard its thoughts, and it didn’t feel rat-shaped. Nevertheless, she hissed in warning. The not-rat ignored her, poking a long brown nose around the corner.

  Zuzu raised a paw to stripe the nose, should it be so impertinent as to venture within her personal space, but before she could attack, the rest of the creature followed the nose, bending its brown self around the corner against the wall’s dark molding and bowling her over in its joy to see her.

  Cat? It was Sky, the otter. She had been too preoccupied to recognize him by his fish-breath, but now his other quite strong parfum was also in overpowering evidence. Much to her relief, he rolled off her.

  Otter! she replied. There is not a moment to waste, mon ami. We must conceal ourselves. Allez.

  She bolted back to the loose grid and squeezed through it, aided by the weight of the otter pushing behind her. With a whip of his long flat tail, he pulled the last of himself in behind her, while outside, Madame’s tormentor and his evil minions stomped down the corridor, searching for their prey.

  “What was it?” the officer demanded.

  “Biggest rat I’ve ever seen, sir. The warden could have mounted the thing’s head on his wall for a trophy.”

  “What was it doing here?” the officer asked. “Rats are not authorized in this section of the building. The warden doesn’t mind them in the cell blocks—says it adds to the ambience—but they don’t belong here. Unsanitary. Catch it.”

  “Be glad to, but where’d the damn thing go?” guard number one said.

  “It disappeared,” number two replied, not without admiration. “They do that, you know. Rats are smart, and that huge sucker had to be the king of all rats.”

  “Didn’t look like a rat to me,” number three insisted.

  “Find it and exterminate it, and all of its little rat friends who can’t stay where they belong,” the officer said. “And be quiet about it. I have prisoners to interrogate.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I know you, cat, the otter told Zuzu. You are the space cat.

  Mais oui, I am Zuzu, advisor to the first mate of the Piaf. And you also are known to me, although as yet we have not made the formal acquaintance.

  I am the sky otter who dens with the river seal twins. We are friends. Friends means relatives who are not otters. You are not an otter but you are pretty and clever. Otters notice these things.

  Zuzu remembered the otter well. For a creature who was not feline, he had a certain je ne sais quoi. It would be good to have a four-legged ally with friends who were the allies of her friends.

  Her welcoming purr was interrupted by a piercing scream.

  Adrienne! she cried, recognizing her human’s voice. It did not sound like pain so much as rage, but she felt that that would soon be altered.

  Sharks? Sky asked anxiously.

  Worse! Zuzu told him. Allez, allez, sky otter. My Adrienne is about to be tortured. But as she tried to run forward, she found that she and the otter were confined within a rectangular tube just big enough for each of them to pass through singly. Alors! We find ourselves in the conduit for the air, she told her companion. This affords us less freedom of movement than I would wish, and is somewhat disorienting, but my sense of direction is very keen, and aboard the Piaf, I have often traveled in narrow places without losing my composure. The chamber de torture lies this way.

  What is torture? Sky asked, his long body rippling along behind hers.

  When people claw and rend other people whose claws are sheathed so they cannot fight back. I saw Monsieur Steve when he had been tortured. He looked like a rat a moment before I am done with it, but they did not finish him with a quick bite to the neck.

  Not sharks, then, Sky said, sounding relieved. Sharks have hundreds of sharp teeth. They kill quick.

  They found the grid covering the opening of the vent into the chamber.

  Within the room, they saw the bound feet of Adrienne being circled by the deliberately slow and taunting footsteps of the interrogation officer. The cruel voice droned on and on, saying dreadful things. The essence of the tormentor’s message was that Adrienne was a bad cat who peed upon upholstery and produced hair balls in inconvenient places, that nobody liked her and she deserved punishment from which she could only redeem herself by cooperating with her captors. Zuzu heard nothing from Adrienne but assumed her poor amie was capable of hearing or the voice would not continue droning.

  That human is no friend, Sky observed.

  The feline had no inclination to discuss the obvious. We must act quickly, otter. But how to make them leave her alone? You saw how they pursued and threatened you, who had done them no harm. They have no respect for those with the correct number of legs. We must send them a message, but they do not speak our language.

  Otters send messages.

  But how? How will you make them understand it? Make them leave?

  They will not understand it because they are not otters and do not know the scent signs. But they will leave. He shook his tail and ripples ran down his sleek body as he expelled what was left in his digestive system.

  The smell was overpowering in the enclosed space. From some central place within the system a fan enhanced the otter’s odiferous efforts. Zuzu set to work augmenting the otterly offerings with her own.

  The man’s voice broke off. He sniffed, he gagged, he coughed, then the door slammed again and he bellowed down the hallway, calling for his underlings, demanding to know what stank so badly.

  Zuzu feared that such bad men would lack the sensitivity to have their evil work disrupted by little more than noisome piles of poo, but as the man stomped into the hall, he called back to Adrienne. “Sit there and choke on the stench, bitch. I’ll deal with you later.”

  Otter, you are a creature of great resourcefulness. Never did I know that o
tter excrement smelled bad enough to drive away evildoers.

  It isn’t just the scat, cat. Otters use scent for messages. I sent the man a very angry message and told him to stop hurting your friend. I do not think he understands otter scent messages, but he seems to have understood that one.

  CHAPTER 10

  WHEN YANA’S TEAM passed the engine room, they shed a member, Rick, who entered the room as if reporting for his shift, going straight to the duty station as they had planned and saluting the man already there. That man returned the salute, made an about-face, and headed gratefully for the crew’s quarters. There would not be a lot going on in the engine room while the ship was docked, and they were counting on the crew being bored and somewhat slack.

  After Rick left, the team had five minutes to reach the bridge. Yana had not been on a troop ship for more than a decade, but she was relieved to find that this was a vintage model that dated back to her days in the Corps. Same dingy beige paint, same sharp corners and textured metal corridors, same gridded stairs. She would have expected to feel right at home here, on the same sort of vessel where she had spent much of her career, but despite the familiarity, she found it oppressive and confining. Her entire cabin on Petaybee would have fit in a small section of the ship’s main corridor, but she’d grown used to windows and a door she could walk through to the outdoors.

  Or maybe it just had to do with the fact that she was no longer on a ship full of comrades. Except for the four people with whom she’d boarded, she was surrounded by enemies. In her experience, that tended to make one feel confined.

  Crew members had passed them without a second look so far, but she knew it was just a matter of time before someone who was looking for distraction from routine duties would realize they were not the people their name tags claimed them to be.

  Pet Chan marched into the security control center, where cameras, monitors, and extra weapons were kept.