Pet Noir (19 page)

I looked down at my bowl. I was down to the spiny bits anyway, so I stood up and moved aside.

“Sure. Be my guest.”

Hosehead dived in. I sat down and started washing my face, wondering what Ling-Ling saw in such a useless, funny-looking beast. He had a black, pushed-in schnoz, round brown eyes that watered perpetually, and sandy-colored hair so long it dragged around his paws.

A lot of the time it looked like dreadlocks, but he must have been to the groomer's lately, because today it was fairly tangle-free and the stuff on top of his head was caught up into a stupid blue bow. Over the next few days the bow would loosen and finally fall out, but at the moment it was still tight enough that he could probably actually see.

I glanced up at the holopad, where the
sedonai
story had rolled around to the top again. There were no details I hadn't already caught, so I looked back at Hosehead. Might as well see if I could get some useful bit of information in exchange for my breakfast. I liked to keep tabs on everything going on at Gamma.

“So, Hosehead, buddy. Where's your boss this morning?”

He raised his head, licked the flat place where he ought to have a nose, and sneezed. “Shopping for a big dinner. Fancy catered affair. Important client.”

“Anyone I know?”

He swallowed a mouthful of fish bones. “No. Some doc from off-station. One who did her.” He nodded his round little head in Ling2's direction.

“Oh.”

That made sense. Ling-Ling had probably offered the doc a fancy dinner in exchange for a break on the clone.

“Well, I'll have to go by later to see what she's cooking up.”

I had eaten some of the weirdest stuff by the back door of Ling-Ling's big, industrial kitchen, which was out in the outer ring of the rotunda, surrounded by her other three restaurants. Lightspeed had only a tiny prep kitchen, used to finish cooking food that had been assembled at the main kitchen.

I watched Hosehead finish the last of my fish trimmings and lick up the juice in the bottom of the bowl. Ling2 came to pick up the empty dish, pushing a strand of black hair behind her ear before bending down. She wore a high-necked, long-sleeved top and trousers made of jade-green silk, and smelled like sandalwood.

Hosehead sniffed eagerly at her hands until he figured out she wasn't carrying anything edible, whereupon he waddled off toward the kitchen without so much as a thank-you. Ling2 glanced at me, gave a rueful smile that told me she knew exactly what had transpired, and reached out to stroke my head.

“Nice kitty Tux.”

I gave her a purr. I liked Ling2 better than her boss.

Ling-Ling was too busy for friendly gestures most of the time. She was a tough businesswoman. Not only did she run the most popular food kiosk on station, the other three places were some of the hottest spots in the rotunda, including the five-star Imperial Gardens.

She catered out a lot, too. Anything from kid's birthday parties to elaborate fusion banquets with exotic dishes from all over the galaxy. That was why she'd had herself cloned. It was too much work for one, and Ling2 was the perfect stand-in when she had to be in two places at once.

I felt sorry for Ling2 sometimes, even though I knew she was as well-paid as anyone in the restaurant biz. Being well-paid was small comfort while you were working off a genengineering contract. Technically Ling2 was Ling-Ling's relative, but I'd never seen any sign of affection between them. Must be tough to know you were alive only because the boss needed extra help.

Well, that was sort of my situation as well, come to think of it.

I gave Ling2 a big, wide, golden-eyed gosh-you're-swell look and another purr while she scratched my ruff. Then I stood up and stretched, and she turned back to her customers.

Wash your hands, kid, I thought as I stepped out into the rotunda. You don't want to know what I've been rolling in.

I headed across the rotunda for Customs. Things were a little busier now. Most people had seen the
sedonai
story several times by now and were ready to move on. I threaded my way among the legs of locals rushing to get to their jobs before the shuttle arrived. Just before I reached the tunnel, I heard a “Psst” from between two kiosks.

I stopped and glanced up. Devin was staring at me from between a rack of leather coats and a shelf of polished ice-rock bookends from Ganymede.

He turned away and walked down the service corridor. I rubbed my jaw against the coat rack and glanced around to make sure no one was watching before I casually followed him back to a storeroom full of unopened cargo tubs.

Devin closed the door after I slipped in. He sat down on one of the dull gray tubs and I jumped up on top of two that were stacked, bringing me nearly eye to eye with him.

“You look like hell,” I told him. “Party too hard last night?”

Devin rubbed his unshaven jaw. He was dressed in a null-suit that looked like he'd already worn it a week. I keep telling the guy he needs a wife. At least she could dress him so he resembled a member of the human race.

“No,” he said, and coughed to clear his throat. “For your information, you have me to thank that you weren't dragged out of bed four hours ago.”

I rolled my ears forward. “Oh-five-hundred? What got you up at that hour?”

“That's when those damn birds got nipped. The chief called the whole team in in the minute the news arrived. I told him you'd had a hard day yesterday with that fish oil incident.”

“Oh.”

I was touched by his thoughtfulness, and licked my chest a few times to hide my emotion. Devin might look like a deep-sleaze, but he was actually a decent guy. I was lucky to have him for a partner. There are worse, much worse, on the Gamma Security force.

“Well, thanks,” I said, sitting up straighter and meeting his slightly bloodshot gaze. “So what's the word?”

Devin reached in his pocket and pulled out his hand-held holopad. It wasn't cutting edge, but it was a lot better than the cheap set at Ling-Ling's. He set it in front of me on the tub.

“Play file 2birds.”

The pad threw up the same image of the
sedonai
that had been on the news, but a much better copy. It must have come straight from the aviary, because it was longer and more detailed than what had been on the news.

I leaned forward, mouth open and inhaling intently, memorizing every detail. The birds' scent was unlike that of any avian I had ever encountered. They smelled delicious, to be blunt about it. Kind of spicy, with tangy overtones.

After one full rotation, the still image broke into motion. I reacted instinctively, putting out a paw to snag the smaller, less flashy female. The ghost feathers brushed under my pads, a silky tease. It was that good a holo.

The two birds flittered around each other and gave a few little mournful “towoos,” then the file ended and they vanished. I sat back and gave my chin a lick.

“Intergal thinks there's a good chance they'll come through here,” Devin said. “We're supposed to keep a close watch on all the incoming traffic.” He started to put the holopad back in his pocket, then hesitated. “You got the scent down? Want another review?”

I shook my head. “No. I'll remember it, unless it's heavily masked.”

“There's this, too.”

Devin stashed the holopad and pulled out a small, transparent vac pouch. Inside it were a few red and blue feathers. I pricked my ears forward.

“They let those out of their hands? Jeez, aren't they worth a fortune?”

Devin shook his head, opened the pouch, and scattered the feathers onto his palm, where they lay shimmering. “These are mockups from Cysgee Four's natural history museum. Pretty good, eh?”

I leaned forward, sniffing, then drew back at the stench. “They look great, but they smell like horse glue.”

“Yeah, well, usually they're behind plex.”

“Can I have one?”

“Sure. Take ‘em all, if you want. Everyone else has seen them.”

I reached out and gathered the feathers up, careful not to stick a claw into Dev's hand. I fanned the half-dozen feathers in my paw like a poker hand, then flicked them shut and stashed them in my pouch with my com unit. One of the feather ends poked me in the ribs, and I had to adjust it.

“I'll show them to my buds. Never hurts to have extra eyes watching.”

Devin shrugged. He tended to get deaf whenever I brought up the subject of my feline friends. I considered them teammates, really—especially Butch. they helped me out a lot with certain chores, and I repaid them with choice bits from Ling-Ling's and a selection of the other goodies that came my way. I'd been trying to talk Devin into getting them official status with Security, but he wasn't interested in non-modified quadrupeds.

He didn't offer to lend me the holopad so I could play the file for my pals, and I didn't bother to ask. It was too big for me to carry comfortably anyway, unless I held it in my mouth, and I hate the taste of plastic.

I smoothed my whiskers with a paw. “Any clues about who we might be looking for?”

Devin shrugged. “Whoever it is had access to the aviary. No forced entry, and no alarms tripped. The dogs came up with zilch, which means the perps covered their scent.”

I repressed the urge to sniff. Dogs—some dogs, not Hosehead—have their talents, but for anything requiring brain power, they're useless.

“So you might not smell anything,” Dev went on, “but keep watch anyway, OK?”

“Roger.”

“Time to hit the beat.” Devin got up from the storage tub. “Give me a minute to get to Molly's. I'll see you at the customs gate.”

“Right.”

I jumped down and did a quick inspection of the storeroom's less accessible corners while I waited for Dev to get clear. No mice. Good for Gamma, tough luck for me.

I strolled out and gave the leather kiosk a once-around, rubbing up on all the racks. Along the curve of the rotunda I saw Devin leaning against the counter at Molly's Bar & Grill, talking up the morning girl. For a smart guy, he showed a pretty undiscriminating taste in females. I flicked my tail in disgust and turned away to finish my rounds before heading up the tunnel toward customs.

I poked my head into Steadly's looking for Butch. He wasn't there, so I figured Tammy had roped him into hanging out in the tea shoppe.

He was there, all right, curled up on the red cushion of his stand, looking morose. Next to him was an ornate empty bird cage hanging from its own stand of curlicued wrought iron. Tammy's sick idea of a joke, maybe.

I padded a little way into the tea shoppe. “Psst. Butch.”

Butch's head snapped up and he looked at me, then turned to stare toward the back of the parlor, where three females of different bipedal species, all in snappy travel outfits, were chattering over their tea and scones.

Tammy was nowhere in sight. Butch leaped down from the stand and hurried toward me, a sight that would easily intimidate someone who didn't know him.

“Hey, Leon! Any action?” His eyes were bright green with hope.

“Could be. Let's find a quiet place to talk.”

“Not in the smoking room. Tammy chased me out of there with a broom earlier.”

“Down by the recycle chute, then?”

Butch nodded his massive head, and we made for the service corridor where the nearby kiosks disposed of their garbage. Butch sniffed the floor around the hatch to make sure nothing interesting had been dropped, then sat down and invited me to join him.

“I heard about that thing with the birds,” he said. “Tammy had the news on in the kitchen.”

I nodded. “Good. Did you get a whiff of them?”

“Uh—yeah, sort of.”

“Would you remember if you smelled it again?”

Butch licked his paw and thought about it. “Not sure.”

“Well, see if you can catch the story again, and pay attention. The chief thinks those hot birds might come through here.”

“No kidding?” Butch licked his chops.

“And they're worth a bundle,” I said, frowning, “so whoever recovers them in good condition stands to be amply rewarded.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.”

I reached into my shoulder pouch and took out the faked-up
sedonai
feathers. Fanning them out again, I showed them to Butch.

“This is what the plumage looks like. These are mockups, so the smell is wrong.”

“I'll say.” Butch frowned and wrinkled his nose, then batted at my feathers, knocking one out of my paw.

He pushed it around, trying to turn it over. I put the others away and flipped it for him, exposing the rusty, coppery top surface. The underside was blue-green.

“Pretty flashy,” Butch said.

I wasn't sure if he meant the feather or my thumb-work. I acted like it was the feather.

“Yeah. If you spot the birds, don't try to grab ‘em. Just come get me. Devin and I will handle it.”

Butch gave a last, wistful bat at the feather. “Okay.”

I scooped the feather up again and put it back in my pouch. It wasn't that I didn't trust Butch with it, but he was the sort of tom who might forget and leave it lying around someplace where it might be spotted. I didn't want the perps, if they did come through Gamma, to spot fake
sedonai
feathers on that red velvet stand, say. They'd get suspicious, and I'd get in dutch with the chief.

“Seen Leila this morning?” I asked Butch as we started back.

He gave a snort. “I wish. You know she don't mix with the masses much.”

“Yeah, I know. Her human brings her to Tammy's now and then though, doesn't she?”

He shrugged. “It's been a while.”

“Well, if you see her, give her the scoop. I want everyone keeping an eye out.”

“Okay.”

We arrived back in front of Tammy's and Steadly's. Butch cast a wistful glance at the smoking room, where a holographic fire flickered invitingly on the hearth between two leather chairs. Then he turned toward the tea shoppe with a sigh of resignation.