Pet Noir (10 page)

It was shadowy and dark back in there. My hackles rose, but I went on in, slow and cautious. I heard a shuffling noise, then a licking, chewing sound. I smelled fresh blood. The other smell was stronger too and it reminded me of cat, but there was a sour tinge to it. Dirty cat. Something my limited experience hadn't included before.

Caution struggled with curiosity in my brain, but curiosity won out. I crept forward, ready to beat a retreat at any second.

An empty cargo bay opened up on my right and I caught a glimpse of the green light from the console as I passed it, heard the faint beeping of the airlock. The eating sounds were coming from behind the next stack of crates. I slowed down as I got closer, keeping in the shadows as I worked my way toward the corner.

I paused when I got there, listening. Definitely the smacky-crunchy sound of a cat eating. The smell was overpowering now. I held my breath, flattening my ears as I peeked one eye around the corner.

Cat, about twice as big as me which wasn't all that big—Butch would have towered over him. Scruffy. Black with white paws and whiskers. He had almost finished his snack; there was just a tiny mouse tail hanging out of one corner of his mouth, wiggling as he chewed.

Raw mouse, yuck. Having led a sheltered life, I had not acquired a taste for wild cuisine. I fought down a gag and cautiously stuck my whole head out from behind the crate.

That caught his eye. He looked up sharply and hissed, and the mouse tail fell from his mouth, drifting slowly toward the deck. He snatched it and swallowed it whole, then hissed again. Then he sat down and started cleaning his whiskers as if I wasn't there.

I cleared my throat, trying to sound important. “Who are you?”

“Spaz. Ack.” He coughed a couple of times, spat out a bone, then peered at me. One of his eyes was slightly off, making him look like he was constantly glancing to the side.

“Name's Spats. I'm a mouser. Didn't know there was a cat in this warehouse. Not poaching on your grounds, buddy.”

“Oh, no—feel free,” I said. “In fact there's at least one rat around here. You're welcome to have a go at him.”

“Rats, eh? Stinking little buggers. Despicable vermin, oughta be banned, there oughta be a law.” He shook his head and addressed the ground, muttering on in that vein for a minute, then suddenly looked up at me. “You're new, eh?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Maybe you got a line on some kibble?”

I sat down, watching him, trying to figure his angle. “Maybe.”

“I could show you around, give you a few pointers. Done much hunting?”

“Not much, no.”

“Let's go for a stroll.”

Spats stood up, stretched, and started off down the access aisle. I followed, thinking he was an odd duck, but maybe he'd be useful.

His chest and shoulders were narrow, hips rode higher than the shoulders which made his walk a kind of funny ambling roll. Graceful he was not. The tip of his tail, which he carried high, was white and bent off at an angle. Must've been closed in a door at some point.

He led me deep into the warehouse. I noted that the airlock wasn't beeping any more. I didn't hear Devin's voice, or any other sounds of an incoming shipment. Maybe he'd gone out.

Spats made a ninety degree turn up the wall. I followed. There were a lot more open cargo bays on this surface, and the few that were filled held smaller shipments. Most of the tall stacks were either on the floor, where the control console was, or on the opposite surface, which was sort of the ceiling.

We passed some crates that gave off a pungent, spicy smell. I sneezed, and Spats paused to look over his shoulder.

“Doridian dreamwort. Reeks, don't it? Humans go crazy for the stuff.”

“Why?” I asked, trying not to breathe until we were past the bay.

“Search me. OK, see this vent here?”

He stopped beside a round grating set into the wall, about half a meter across. Some of the wires were bent out of shape in one spot at the edge.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Mouse highway.” He tapped the bent wires with a claw.

I looked a little closer and saw that some of them had actually been chewed. The resulting hole was tiny, probably wouldn't be noticed by a casual observer. The rat I'd met would never get through it, but a mouse, maybe.

“Looks kind of slippery in there,” I said, peering through the grate.

“They learn how to bounce. I've seen ‘em at it. This is a good place to check every day.”

“Where does it lead?”

“Dunno. Never been in there myself. They got these grates in all the warehouses, though.”

He ambled off again. I hurried to catch up.

“Where do the mice go in here?”

“Anywhere they smell chow. The Food-O bay's popular.”

Food-O. That was where I had seen the rat. My fur prickled, but I figured we should go there. Maybe Spats would take care of him.

“Let's head over there,” I said, trying to sound braver than I felt.

“OK,” Spats said, and turned right down the next aisle. He made a couple more turns and I started getting disoriented, then suddenly I recognized the chewed corner of a Food-O crate.

It was considerably more chewed than it had been the previous day. Breached, in fact. There was a good-sized hole in it, plenty big enough for a mouse, and a smallish rat could have squeezed through. Some grains of corn had spilled out of it, a spray of color from pale yellow to golden orange.

“I saw the rat here yesterday,” I said.

“Oh, yeah, rats like this shit.” Spats kicked a kernel of corn and it bounced against the crate, then spun off lazily toward the next bay.

I sniffed cautiously at the hole, trying to pick up any rat or mouse scent. Didn't really get anything. Corn was the overwhelming smell here, apart from Spats's smell. There was something else in the mix, but I couldn't pin it down.

“Didn't know they'd broken through,” Spats went on. “They been working on this box a while.”

“Smells funny,” I said, sniffing at the loose stuff.

“What, are you a corn connoisseur? That's cereal!”

“Maybe it's spoiled. It could make the mice who eat it taste weird,” I said, knowing it sounded lame.

Spats scoffed. “You got a problem eating any of the mice around here, you let me know.”

He headed off again and I followed, thinking I might take him up on that. I wasn't sure I was cut out for this warehouse cat work, not if it involved hunting live food. A mouse I could maybe handle, but that rat—brrr. I shook off the thought and concentrated on keeping up with Spats while keeping hold of the carpet.

He showed me a couple more places he said were good for hunting. We didn't see any mice or rats. By this time we were near the airlock, and I could hear Devin talking to someone. Spats peered around the corner of a crate, then slunk along the wall. I followed.

Devin was standing on the surface to our right, chatting with another guy in a similar green warehouse one-all. Spats strolled away from them, then crossed onto a third surface: the small, angled wall that intruded into the warehouse space and held the airlock door, which was open at the moment. He worked his way casually toward it, pausing to sniff at a net-spewing machine that was used to wrap the cargo as it came in. This sat near the door, and Spats used it to keep out of sight of the humans. When I joined him he looked at me and sneezed.

“Well, nice meeting you, buddy. Good luck and all. What'd you say your name was?”

“I didn't. It's Leon.”

“Leon, huh? Good name I guess. If you've ever got kibble to spare I'd appreciate a bite or two. I don't get much support from the bipeds.”

“I'll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, kiddo. Seeya around.”

He ambled off toward the top of the airlock door. Beyond him I could see a little into the airlock, where more doors were set into three other surfaces. A fifth wall consisted entirely of the big docking bay that ships used to access the airlock. All four warehouse doors had to be sealed before a ship could dock and deposit cargo in the lock.

I watched Spats slink through the door, the crooked white tip of his tail disappearing as he climbed up the opposite side of the same wall. A minute later I saw him go through another door into a neighboring warehouse.

The light band around the docking door began flashing yellow and the airlock started to beep again, really loud that close. I flinched and headed for the stacks of cargo, hoping to get some mass between me and the noise. I could hear Devin saying goodbye, then the door into the airlock closed with a massive “chunk” and the beeping was muffled.

“Hey, Leon,” Devin called.

I poked my head out. “Mew?”

He nodded toward the control console at the far end of the warehouse. “Want to hitch a ride?”

He didn't have to ask me twice. I came over and grabbed onto his one-all and he pushed off, taking us across the warehouse in seconds. It would have taken me at least five minutes to walk the same distance.

I hoped we wouldn't be on this job too long. If I was going to spend a lot of time in low gee I really should learn how to bounce around the place, and I really didn't want to.

Devin sat down and got busy at the console. I couldn't tell Dev about the chewed container until we were in private, so I crawled underneath the console, had a drink from my water bulb, and curled up for a nap.

I'd had a busy day, meeting Spats and Butch, learning my way around both the rotunda and the warehouse a little more. For the rest of the shift I mostly slept and thought about what I'd seen.

I did go out a couple of times to make the rounds in the warehouse, visiting the places Spats had pointed out. Didn't see any mice or rats on the first round. I wondered where they hung out when they weren't chewing their way into the cargo. Had trouble believing the mice lived in the ventilation system, but maybe it led to places they could hide.

As for the rat, too big for that hole in the vent screen. It must be living in the warehouse, or in one of the neighboring ones and coming through when the airlock doors were open. I had trouble believing that, though. Usually when the doors were open it was because the humans were doing something in the airlock, and it would be hard for a rat to slip past them. Not to mention dangerous.

Toward the end of the shift I was on my second round when I heard noises coming from the Food-O cargo bay. I approached stealthily, and when I got near I recognized the distinctive gnawing sound I'd heard the day before. I climbed silently up the side of the Food-O stack, clinging to the cargo net, moving slowly and carefully around the side until I could see the corner that had been broken into.

The rat was sitting in front of it, eating corn. He was sitting on the surface directly above my head. He looked humongous—even huger than I remembered—but maybe it was just the angle. I took a deep breath and started climbing toward him.

I was almost on him when one of my claws made a small scraping sound against a crate. The rat looked up and saw me, a kernel of corn in one paw and his mouth hanging open to show those long, yellow front teeth. I launched myself at him.

He was fast, but not fast enough. I caught him around the middle as he was diving for the hole in the crate. His tail was in my face so I bit it and he squealed, trying to kick.

I was lucky none of me was in reach of his legs. He was strong. I could feel the muscles rippling in his back as he squirmed under me, trying to break free.

I got my hind feet on the crate and pushed against it, dragging him out of the hole. My head bumped the wall, then he curled around and suddenly I had those big ugly teeth right in my in my face.

“Back off, stinking feline!”

“No way, corn breath!”

I chomped on his throat before he could get a bite on me, then let go of his back to grapple him. His claws raked at my chest and I gave him back the same with my hinds in his belly, kicking again and again. As we kicked at each other I marveled again at his strength. I had no basis for comparison, but I suspected a rat shouldn't be a match for a cat, even if the cat was me.

I got a better grip on his throat and gave him a shake. He shrieked and struggled harder, got a claw hooked in my skin and raked me open along one leg.

In desperation I unclamped my jaws, spun him around, and bit down hard on the back of his neck. I shook him like a rag doll, back and forth again and again until my own head was spinning. When I paused to catch my breath a little, I realized he'd quit fighting.

I chewed a bit more at his throat, but he'd gone limp. Game over.

With the taste of blood in my mouth, I slowly came out of the fighting frenzy and became aware of my surroundings. Primarily I was aware that I was not touching any surface. I was drifting in midair, clutching a dead rat.

That sucked. A lot.

We were in between the Food-O bay and the next stack of crates over. None of them were in reach. We drifted toward the middle of the warehouse, spinning slowly as we floated between the stacks of cargo.

Eventually the tiny bit of gravity in there would bring us to a surface, but at that rate it could take hours, even days. My only shot at changing my vector, and it was a poor one because I'd never tried it, would be to push off against the rat. I was strangely reluctant to do that. Not that he was much to look at, but he was my first real kill of anything bigger than a bug.

I had killed something. Felt strange acknowledging that. I had also done another first—I'd launched myself into low-gee space when I kicked off to grab the rat, without even thinking of how I'd get back on the ground.

I yowled, a low, mournful yowl, the kind that comes from deep in the soul when you know your life has just taken a turn down the drain.

“Leon?”

Devin's voice sounded far away. I yowled again, adding a note of urgency.

“I'm coming, pal. Keep talking.”