Pet Noir (3 page)

“Okay, gimme some chewy snacks. Are they tuna?”

He took a packet out of the carryall and looked at it. “Chicken.”

“It'll do.”

He would only give me three, even though I was starving. We argued about that for a while, then he went out to fetch me some water. I tried the door, but he'd locked it and I didn't know how the mechanism worked, so I was stuck. When he came back he smelled like Zip Fix.

“Bring me any fries?” I said dryly.

“Uh, no. Here's your water.”

I drank it, after which we both needed a visit to the all-species lavatory down the hall. The litterbox smelled weird, but served its purpose. Once we were back in our cubicle, the chief settled into a lounge chair and I hopped up on the other one and started kneading it.

“Since we've got some time, why don't I fill you in on the job I have for you on Gamma?” he said.

“Sure,” I said, tugging one paw where a claw had gotten stuck in the upholstery. It came loose with a pop. The chief winced.

“Gamma's a transport hub,” he said, staring at the snag on the seat. “We get a lot of shipping traffic, and a fair amount of passenger traffic on the way to the outer colonies.”

“Really?” Jill had told me Cygsee Four was the butt end of nowhere, but I suppose there were more primitive places even farther out.

“We've been having some trouble with drug trafficking. Enhancers, mostly.”

I nodded. Bioenhancers were the hottest thing on the black market. Stella the Interstellar Investigator had done a show about them. Modifieds like me were still fairly rare, but there were enough of us around that some of the organics were beginning to feel threatened. Bioenhancers enabled them to compete, enhancing their performance in everything from mental function to stamina to strength.

Unfortunately, the drugs had bad side effects. Nausea, headaches, homicidal rages. That sort of thing. They were supposed to be available only by prescription and under close medical supervision, so naturally people wanted them under the table. The knock-off stuff that sold on the black market was even more dangerous and unpredictable than the legit stuff.

“Someone's been running illegal enhancers out to the extraction colonies at the Fringe,” said the chief. “They're going through Gamma. We've spotted a few shipments, but most slip by.”

“You need a dog,” I said.

“We've tried dogs. They sniffed out one shipment, then the next three got by. The smugglers are masking the scent somehow. They're too clever for the dogs.”

I nodded. Dogs have their uses, but they've got limited smarts.

“I'm surprised you don't scan every shipment that goes through the station,” I said.

“We don't have the resources. We get hundreds of pass-throughs a day. We do spot checks, but we simply can't scan every item that comes through.”

“Hm. That's tough luck.”

By this time I was losing interest. I hopped down and started chasing an imaginary mouse around the floor, pouncing on the corners of the room.

“That's where you come in, Leon.”

“Hm?”

I pounced again, this time on what I thought was a bug at the bottom of the observation wall. It turned out to be a paperclip. I gave it a bat and sent it skittering along the wall.

“We need you to go undercover. You'll work in the customs section.”

“Right. Lot of cats working there, I won't be conspicuous.”

“You'll be the warehouse cat, but that'll just be your cover. Really you'll be there to listen in on the shippers coming in and out. We're hoping you'll overhear something they wouldn't say if a human was around.”

“Why not just bug the place?”

“We've tried. They've got bug detectors or something, electronic sensors. We're not sure what, but we've never picked up anything that way.”

“Maybe it's because they're not saying anything about their illegal activities.”

I jumped on the paperclip, then batted it across the room. It bounced off the far wall and spun, and I jumped on it again, whapping it to keep it moving.

“Yes, well. That's another reason we want your help. If you can act, you know, friendly, and maybe get them to like you, you could follow them around the station and listen to their conversations.”

I left off the paper clip and sat down to look at the chief. “You know, I'm only four weeks old, but this sounds like a cheesebrain solution to me.”

The chief cleared his throat. “Well, we've tried just about everything else. We got close by putting an agent in Molly's Bar and Grill. He actually overheard the beginning of a conversation that might have been significant, but they moved away from him and when he tried to get closer they shut up.”

I hopped up on the chair again. “This Molly's place. What do they serve?”

“Burgers, beer, booze. It's a typical bar, a little on the seedy side. There are classier places on Gamma, of course,” he added, straightening the cuff of his clingsuit. “Molly's is where the transport workers hang out. It's right on the rotunda, where all the shops are. A good place for girl watching.”

“They serve fries?”

“Yes.”

“Popcorn shrimp?”

“Ah—not sure. They have fish and chips, I think.”

“Hm.”

“There's a Zip Fix a couple of doors down.”

I perked up my ears. “Tell you what, Chief. Why don't I stake out this Molly's place for you, instead of the warehouse? Seems like it would be more productive.”

He gave me a skeptical look, but then rubbed his chin like he was thinking about it. “Maybe we'll set you up as a partner with our agent. He's posing as a transport engineer, and he goes to Molly's during his ‘off-duty' time.”

I would have preferred just hanging out at Molly's, but I figured I could arrange to spend most of my time there. “Okay,” I said. “I'll give it a try.”

“Great! Thanks, Leon.” The chief checked his com strap, a silver-gray wristband that matched his clingsuit. “Time to go catch our flight.”

We ran through the back-in-the-box routine again. This time I could tell when he was about to get physical, and avoided getting grabbed by ducking under my chair. He yelled a bit, and I decided to take pity on him. I got in the carrier.

The flight to Gamma was a lot longer, and mostly in zero gee. I was actually glad to be in the carrier because it gave me a limited space to float around in, and I could pretty much always reach a surface to push against. For a while I was afraid I'd get sick again, but I managed to keep down my chewy snacks. I spent most of the flight napping, with occasional breaks for complaining to the chief.

I was asleep when we docked at Gamma. I woke up when the back of the carrier hit me in the rump as the chief pulled it out from under his seat. I rolled over and set myself up to push against the floor with all four paws when it came up to me. Worked pretty well. I didn't love zero gee, but I was already getting used to it.

“Remember, no talking,” the chief said in a low voice as he drifted into the aisle.

“Right,” I said.

“Leon?”

“Meow.”

He was pretty good at moving around in zero gee. Made smooth pushoffs, not too much bumping around. He carried me off the ship and through a short passage into the hub of Gamma Station. I expected more of the sort of color and noise I'd seen back on Sabaa 6 and at Orion Depot, but it was all pretty dull. Gray walls with a green stripe along the middle. Utilitarian light panels. No windows.

We went down a corridor and bobbed our way into a cylindrical room along with a bunch of other passengers from our flight. The chief turned on the static panels in the soles of his clingsuit and clamped them to the floor. The door of the room slid shut, and we started to move floorward. I felt weight returning as I drifted to the bottom of the carrier. Relieved, I groomed my tail a bit, getting ready for Gamma Station where I would say hasta la vista to the puke-box.

When the door slid open again, there was all the color and noise I could have wanted. We moved forward toward some flashing red lights, where the other passengers were getting into lines to go through customs inspection. The chief headed for a guard station to one side.

“Heya, Chief!” boomed a happy, male voice. “Welcome back!”

“Thanks, Lou. Got a pet for you to check. Here's his stats.”

A fat sausage of a finger poked through the mesh of the cage door, startling me. Beyond, a large round face grinned at me.

“Hi, kitty kitty. Ain't you a cutie?”

I really, really wanted to tell him how offensive I found that. Remembering my cover, I settled for hissing.

“What's her name?” asked the customs guy.

“His,” said the chief. “It's Leon.”

“Hi, Leon!”

The finger waggled. I resisted the urge to take a swipe at it. The chief distracted the guy by talking to him while he checked my credentials. I learned later that I had two sets—one that included my modification specs, another that indicated I was an ordinary cat. It was the latter the chief showed at customs. He was the only one on Gamma Station who knew who I really was.

Once through customs, we went out into Rotunda B of the station. It's a big, round, plex-ceilinged atrium at the top of Habitat B, curled around one end of the station's transport shaft. The rotunda and its twin at the other end of the station, Rotunda A, are pretty much the social hubs of Gamma. Most of the shopping and eating out goes on there. Kiosks for food, clothes, souvenirs and so on go all around the edges, with benches and trees and the occasional fountain in the middle. Purple stripes adorn the walls of B (red stripes in A, so you can tell which one you're in). There's purple bordering the walkways, and along the bottom edge of the space-view windows overhead.

As the chief carried me into the rotunda I perked up. A familiar smell had come to my attention. I meowed. The chief kept on walking, so I meowed again, louder, and kept it up until he paused and lifted the carrier up to look in at me.

“What's the matter?” he said, sounding annoyed.

“Popcorn shrimp,” I whispered.

He rolled his eyes and started walking again. I meowed once more, just to show him I meant it.

He turned aside at a kiosk that was enwreathed in the heavenly scent of fat-fried fish. I sat in the carrier enjoying the smell while he ordered popcorn shrimp to go. He didn't give me any right away, not even when I yowled some more. Not until we had reached the station security center on the outside ring of the rotunda and gone into the chief's private office did he let me out. I left the puke-box and shook out my fur, then sat down and looked up at the chief.

“I'm starving.”

“Here you go,” he said, pouring some shrimp out onto a fiber plate he set on his desk. “Try not to get crumbs everywhere, okay?”

“Mmph,” I said through a mouthful of crunchy crustacean.

The chief checked his messages while I worked my way through my snack. He made a couple of calls. I didn't pay much attention, but when I finished the last shrimp on the plate he looked at me.

“I've called Devin in to come meet you.”

“Oh, good. Can I have some water, please?”

“Sure, um … I think all I have to put it in is a coffee cup.”

“That's fine. Just fill it full. I won't slop.”

He got up to round up the water, and while he was busy I opened the shrimp bag he'd left on the desk and took out a couple more, then folded it shut again.

Thumbs are a handy thing, that's for sure. I don't know how ordinary cats get along without them.

“Now remember, Leon,” the chief said as he came back with a cup full of water. He hesitated, looking suspiciously at me. I was grooming my face at the time. He put the water on the floor, and after giving him a glance that expressed my disappointment, I jumped down for a drink.

“You can't talk to Devin out in public, or your cover will be blown.”

“Right.”

“Don't ever talk when there's anyone besides me or Devin around, okay? Even here in HQ.”

“Got it. What's HQ mean?”

“I keep forgetting. You're young. You probably haven't had time to watch any war movies.”

I raised my head, water dripping from my whiskers. “Are you kidding? I love that old stuff! Hope and Crosby were the best—”

“Why don't you look through the file on the enhancer smuggling case while we're waiting for Devin?”

He slid a datafilm into his com station and turned it to face the side table next to his desk. I hopped up there and watched while I washed my face. The case briefing wasn't that enlightening. The chief had already given me most of the details. I started dozing off a bit.

Next thing I know the chief is nudging me. “Leon. Wake up.”

“Hm?”

“Glad to know you're so enthusiastic about the case.”

“Hey, I've got a full belly and it's been a stressful day. What did you expect?”

“Devin just flashed. He's on his way over.”

“Oh good.” I yawned, then got up and stretched. “Got any more of those shrimp?”

The chief glanced up from his screen and cocked an eyebrow. “I thought you were full.”

“I'm a growing kitten. I could tuck in a couple more.”

He shook his head, but dumped the rest of the shrimp on the grease-stained plate. I was just finishing the last of them when the door slid open and a guy, presumably Devin, sauntered in.

My first impression was not favorable. The guy wore a warehouse one-all, stained and floppy, the tabs hanging open at his neck and his wrists. He slouched, and his dark eyes were half-hidden by lazy lids beneath the chiseled brows. Dark brown hair in a ruffed-up mess, and a good heavy stubble of beard over the square jaw. He looked like a slob.

The chief stood up, sticking out a hand. “Devin, thanks for coming. I want you to meet your new partner.”