Peggy turned to the young man. “How are they? Are they alive? The government didn’t do, you know, what they did to ET, did they?” Laughing, Ralph threw himself onto the couch and put his hands behind his head.
“Honey, you didn’t have anything to worry about. Somebody who can go through walls isn’t going to stick around for someone to dissect him,” Ralph pointed out.
“No, indeed,” Scott said. “NASA ran those little guys through every kind of test you can imagine, blood, tissue, stress, endurance, and they got through them all just fine. They have got blood, by the way. It’s green. They’d do anything the testers wanted, as long as someone showed them what they wanted them to do. Very obliging. Those little guys are pretty strong, got the Little Green Men’s version of the Right Stuff.”
“At least one of them was female,” Peggy said, defensively.
“How did you know that?” Ralph asked, in amazement. Peggy borrowed the bronze plaque from Shalimar and showed it to them. Scott looked at it, and gawked. “You’d better not let anyone know you kept that,” he said. He put it back out of sight under a cushion in the cat basket. Shalimar turned over and settled her furry tail across the place where it was hidden.
“How will anyone know?” Peggy said, watching him curiously. “I’ll never see them again. Need to know, right? National security.”
“I’m getting to that,” Scott said, scratching the cat between her ears. “We have every major linguistics researcher in the country working on their language, but they haven’t gotten very far yet. All they’ve figured out is that the visitors are peaceful. They’re here as ambassadors.”
“I could have told them that,” Peggy said, impatiently. “I’m so glad they’re safe.”
“Better than safe. The President asked to meet them! The Secret Service brought the visitors to the White House and tried to explain to them in sign language that the President is the most important man in the world, but they don’t buy it. The linguists get the idea that the aliens think the White House is too low to be important, if you know what I mean. The highest spot in Washington is the Monument. That may be why they came here in the first place. High place, high people. Maybe it’s like that on their planet.”
“Yes,” Peggy said, with perfect understanding. “And so?”
“And so,” Ralph continued, “the aliens showed the President your picture and Shalimar’s. The President introduced them to his cat, and they went over and bowed down to it. The visitors seem to feel that showing respect for our deities will please us. Scotty thinks they think cats are our gods. They figured if the President had a cat, he was a decent, religious man. In a way, they’re right thinking cats are sacred, considering what I spend on that animal.”
“Oh, Ralph,” Peggy chided him. “Well?”
“Well,” Scott said. “After that, they got downright friendly with the President, but they still weren’t convinced that he’s in charge. They think you are.” Peggy’s mouth dropped open. He grinned at her expression of shock. “Well, you live in the highest place on the planet. That seems to have impressed them.”
“So, what do they need from us?” Peggy asked, astonished.
“We want you to go to Washington,” Scott said. “You and your cat.”
”Us? Why?”
Scott raised his eyebrows and his hands. “So you and Shalimar can fix things up for him with the aliens. In the interest of national security. He can’t go on CNN and say that aliens have landed, but they won’t negotiate with him because he lives too close to the ground. In exchange, you have a standing invitation to stay at the White House, any time you like. What do you say?”
“Well, if our country needs us, of course we’ll come,” Peggy said, looking at Shalimar. “She has a travel cage. When?”
“Now,” Scott said, promptly. “That’s our helicopter on the roof. We’ll take it to the airport. My plane is waiting. Will you come? The president will be very grateful.”
“Of course we’ll come,” Peggy said, elated. “I’ll be thrilled to see them again, both the president and the visitors.”
* * *
She could hardly say a word during the helicopter ride. Shalimar’s travel cage was bundled up in quilts to protect her sensitive ears from the noise. The short trip to Washington in an official government jet left her speechless with awe. Ralph sat beside her, holding the hand that wasn’t holding onto Shalimar’s coop.
They transferred to another helicopter that dropped them off on the White House lawn. The president met them with a strong handshake and his trademarked smile.
“Glad you could come, Peggy.”
“I’m happy to help, Mr. President,” she said, shifting the heavy carrier on her hip.
Behind him, surrounded by Secret Service agents and armed servicemen, were Peggy’s three alien visitors. Their brown eyes brightened when they saw her, and they began to jabber. Inside her coop, Shalimar heard familiar voices, and let out a chirrup. Peggy put the coop down and took the cat out into her arms. At once, the aliens broke away from their guards and came to surround the two of them, talking and bowing. She crouched down among them. It was funny: she’d only seen them once, when they’d scared the stuffing out of her, yet she felt responsible for them.
“I’m so glad to see all of you.” Their chatter sounded fond, too, as if they were greeting an old friend. They made many soft comments that had Shalimar purring like an engine.
Scott whispered in Peggy’s ear. “If you could take care of that situation right now?”
“Of course!” Peggy said. Beckoning the aliens over to the president, she pointed at him. “You know me. I came from the place high up. Do you understand? This man is the leader of my country. The most important man.” She held her free hand as high over her head as she could reach. “See? Him. High up.” An inspiration hit her. She turned to the president and made the knees-out bow the little aliens had made to her. It was awkward and undignified, and she hoped no one had a camera. “He’s the big boss. Get it?”
It seemed they did. They gathered around the president with their little cameras pinging away, chattering in their own language. The linguists moved in to surround them, and the small aliens were lost from view. Peggy, holding Shalimar in her arms, moved back out of the way, escorted by Ralph, and a triumphant Scott.
* * *
Hundreds of newsmen crowded the White House lawn as the president made a momentous presentation to the world. The small aliens stood on a high platform beside the raft of microphones so they could be seen all the way at the back of the mob. More news vans arrived, and men in dark suits and dark glasses patrolled the lawn with dogs.
“We are most honored to welcome these visitors from another world,” the president said, holding up his hands for silence. “We are honored that they have chosen this nation to begin their acquaintance with this world, and I hasten to assure our fellow nations of Earth that they will have equal access to our visitors and any information we glean about them.
“We hope that our relationship will be peaceful, leading us toward a future where we will walk among our neighbors from the stars. I want to thank everyone who has been responsible in helping to make this happen.”
Standing amid the crowd of White House aides, Ralph nudged Peggy in the side. She cuddled Shalimar close and gave her a kiss on the top of the head. Shalimar, wary of the Secret Service dogs, crouched low in Peggy’s arms.
“It seems that we already have much in common with our visitors,” the president continued, giving his big smile to the news cameras. “It appears that they like cats, and any species who admires cats is all right with me.”
Hearing the word ‘cats’, Shalimar perked up and let out a trill.
“Shh, precious!” Peggy bent her head over her pet. She stroked the soft neck and looked down lovingly into the cat’s lazy green eyes. “He can have all the headlines. But we both know wh
o’s really the most important being in the world, don’t we?”
“We need volunteers,” the video memo blaring in the IATA employee cafeteria stated, “to crew an exciting but potentially hazardous and rewarding expedition featuring the latest in Drebian/Terran technology. If you are interested in being one of the few, the brave, call extension 6508.”
That brief message had begun a dizzying odyssey for Balin Jurgieniewski. He had been with the Intergalactic Assay and Trade Association for a mere five years, four months. His dream of becoming a trade ship captain had been heretofore laughed at, let alone unfulfilled. Men and women with four times his seniority were still without commands of their own. Everyone wanted to be a captain, sailing the stars in the command chair of a powerful vessel, or even one that had the training wheels off. Still, ‘potentially hazardous’ didn’t sound nearly as interesting as ‘rewarding.’ It wouldn’t hurt to find out if their idea of rewarding matched his. He applied for the job.
As the personnel director explained it to him and the two other people who ‘made the cut’ (Jurgieniewski’s suspicion was that they were the only ones who applied), Humanity’s newest ally and trading partner, the strange, bloblike Drebs, were seeking to pay their debt for goods and services tendered to them by the Terran government by offering it their space travel technology, which lay far beyond its current reach. Naturally, every single company which had ever launched a charge into space was interested. The government threw open the rights at auction.
IATA had been the winner of the sealed bid seeking to gain and manufacture the Drebian starship electronics. The Drebs duly signed, or rather smeared, their symbols on contracts, and the deal was done. All this had been beamed all over the news for months. At last, the first machinery off the line was finished and ready for testing. Jurgieniewski’s first command would be the double shakedown cruise of a newly-refitted vessel, the Marylou. The flight to Argylenia was intended at first only to test the new superfast space drive, but IATA’s board of directors, had, at the last minute, decided to add the Drebs’ interactive computer electronics system to the Marylou. This had not been leaked to the press, or as far as Jurgieniewski could remember, throughout the rest of IATA’s personnel.
Because the knowledge was irreplaceable and the ship wasn’t, IATA loaded up three volunteers, chosen only from its rank of junior officers, and sent them on a trading mission to Argylenia, a textile supplier orbiting a blue-white star in Leo Sector.
So if it was potentially a one way trip, why take it? Jurgieniewski had to admit he knew the answers: the money, and the prestige. There was trip pay to be earned, recording fees, specialist fees, and the big one: hazard pay. It was tough for anyone with less than ten years experience to pull down that much credit or accrue the instant seniority that they’d earn for bringing the Marylou back successfully. It might, it was hinted to him, get him at least exec officer status, if not a full command, if he, the crew, and the Marylou made it back in their several pieces.
Getting to know the ship with her reconstructed innards was a piece of cake. The sky-blue-and-pink blob scientists guided them one by one into the fold-out booth that attached to the left side of the control unit.
“It reads your personality and intellect,” the chief Dreb burbled through his translator, “thereby saving time between command and execution. This is particularly of use during a crisis.”
As the newly promoted commander, Jurgieniewski went first. At twenty-six, he was the youngest of the three crew members. The whole process consisted of a lot of lights flashing into his eyes, and probes poking into his ears and against his scalp, but beyond slightly disorienting him, didn’t feel like much. He shrugged to the other two as he came out. With a wary expression on her face, Diani Marius followed. She was the ship’s helm and navigation officer. Okabe Thomas, went last. Thomas, the old man of the crew at thirty four, was known as a trade specialist and diplomat, beside his talents as an engineer. None of them had been with the company more than seven years, and none had immediate family. IATA was taking no chances with survivor benefits or suits for wrongful death.
All three of them acted with great solemnity during the departure ceremony, in which the Drebs and the Humans praised the spirit of cooperation and one another. Carrying the ship’s cat, IATA’s traditional mascot of good luck that went on every vessel it sent out, they filed on board with the floodlights of the media recorders following them into the Marylou’s hatch. They all waved goodbye to the press and their employers. Jurgieniewski felt his heart sink. Fladium Base wasn’t much, but it had been his home for years. He might never see it again.
Not everyone shared his anxiety. As soon as the white enameled doors sealed behind them, Thomas let out a whoop and slapped his hands together.
“Oh, friends, is this going to be a blast!” he cried, grabbing his shipmates in a three-and-a-half way hug. Kelvin, a black and white female mixed breed cat, protested and demanded to be put down.
Marius rescued Kelvin from the crush, and put her on the deck. “What are you so thrilled about, Thomas? This thing could blow up on us. We could all die!”
“Not a chance, Helm. Ship?” Thomas said, addressing the air. “Or can I call you Marylou?”
“Working,” the computer’s pleasant though burbly voice responded.
“Crank this sucker up, and let’s get out of here.”
“Destination?”
Marius dashed for her console and ran up the coordinates for Argylenia. “Twenty-seven degrees, fifty minutes, right ascendancy -15,” she read off.
“Understood. On the command?”
Marius looked at Jurgieniewski. “Given,” he said, with some surprise.
Lights on the console shifted from red to green, and gradually up to white. The ship moved under their feet, but so gently that the crewmembers had no trouble getting to their assigned crash couches before the Marylou attained acceleration. Jurgieniewski grabbed the cat and stuffed her into her crashbox under the console before he sat down. The huge screen which took up the entire front of the pilot’s compartment warmed up to show the field of stars and the stars surrounding Fladium’s sun.
“Destination will be reached within thirty-seven days,” the Marylou’s voice assured them, as they strapped in.
“That’s impossible,” Marius protested. “It should take at least sixty-two, even at maxiumum acceleration.”
Thomas winked at her. “Marylou, honey, give the doubting member of our crew the details of the journey.”
Unerringly, the red sensor lights of the Drebian personality monitor went on in front of Marius. Her personal screen filled with mathematical formulae and star maps, reflections of which shone on her face, the expression slowly gaining in enlightenment. “Hot damn, I didn’t think a ship this size could do that.” She looked up at the others. “Do you mean that’s all I have to do?”
Jurgieniewski grinned broadly at his crew, and settled in with his hands tucked behind his head. “I think I’m going to like this ship. She’s worth every credit they paid for her.”
The galaxy on the big screen streaked into a shock of white, and then all light vanished as the ship bounced into her first jump. When there was nothing more to look at, Jurgieniewski cleared his throat.
“Um, well,” he began. “Since we’ve got five weeks, I want us all to bone up on the features of this ship. We’ve got reports to send back at regular intervals, and I don’t want them to catch us out on a single detail.” He tapped the insignia the shoulder of his dark-blue coverall hopefully. “I want real ones of these when I get home.”
“If we get home,” Marius said gloomily.
“What are you talking about?” Thomas asked, with his customary cheerful mien. “The Marylou will take good care of us. Won’t you sweetheart?” he said to the air.
“Working,” the computer voice said. “Affirmative. Honeycakes.”
Jurgieniewski poin
ted toward one of the speakers. “Did you tell her to call you that?” he asked Thomas.
“Naw, but she’s picking up on the things I usually say.” Thomas thought about it a moment. “I don’t think I’ve said ‘honeycakes’ yet, though. Not in the computer’s presence. I guess the Drebs told the truth when they said that the box reads your mind.”
“This is still an experimental vessel,” Marius pointed out, resuming the previous argument.
“That’s why I want us to know everything there is to know about the Marylou,” Jurgieniewski assented. “Engine capability, clearance under bridges, armaments...”
“Yes, why are we armed?” Thomas said. “We’re only going to Argylenia. That’s right through well-established, well-patrolled throughways.”
“Not this time,” Marius said, showing him her terminal. “Marylou’s redirected us. We go right through a corner of Smoot territory. Computer, put it on the big screen?”
The diagrams appeared, greatly enlarged, with the ship’s flight path indicated by a dashed line in red. The Smoot were another bloblike race that Humanity had discovered, but had entirely failed to befriend. The Smoot seemed to be offended by the presence in the universe of a race of vertebrates, which they saw as an offense against their Creator, to be exterminated whenever possible. Thomas’s smoky complexion drained to ash, and he swallowed. “Maybe we won’t meet any of them.”
“Working,” Marylou said. Thomas’s own screen lit up suddenly with another array of formulae, this time referring to the schematics of two powerful, sidemounted laser cannon, and a nose-mounted plasma torpedo launcher. The screen blanked, only to fill again with a list of evasive maneuvers of which the Marylou was capable of executing, with diagrams, followed by a flashing cursor, and the legend, in block print, “YOUR CHOICE?”
“Whew!” Thomas whistled, and patted the console. “You sure know how to make a fellow feel welcome, honey.”
Cats Triumphant Page 14
