Troy wondered how suk Sark enjoyed running his autocratic government of the Sweepers from so far away. The Sweepers in the galaxy as a whole were small fry, a collection of six minor solar systems, and they never ventured too far into the conflicts between the real lords of space. But sometimes even such small organizations had moments when their allegiance or enmity could tip the scales of an uneasy balance of power. Suk Sark was only one of the “powers” who, for one reason or another, made Korwar their residence, apart from their official headquarters.
“You have a family in the Dipple?” Kyger’s abrupt question broke Troy’s line of thought.
“No, Merchant.”
“Would you take contract, for a limit of time?”
“With you. Merchant?”
“With me. Zul will be of little use for a while. I will need an extra pair of hands in his place. Who knows?” Kyger glanced at him and then away. “It may lead to something better, Dippleman.”
“I will take contract, Merchant.” Troy schooled his voice, hoping his elation was not too apparent. Somehow he did not wish this spacer-tumed-merchant to know just how much that offer meant to him.
They lifted from the square of the crash and took the straightest line to the court at the rear of the shop. Troy was told to load the two crates on a runner and put them in the storeroom. Kyger himself remained by the curtained cage once he had returned the accommodation flitter on auto-control to the rental station. So far he made no move to open the cage, and Troy’s desire to see what was inside grew.
“Shall I take this also, Merchant?” Troy asked as he returned and brought the runner to a halt beside the cage.
Kyger turned on him once more the searching stare with which he had measured him at their first meeting that morning. Then the shop owner pulled at some hidden fastening. The padded curtains fell away and Troy looked into a very well-appointed traveling box. The flooring, sides, and roof were padded with plasta- foam, a precaution against the pressure of ship accel- eration, and there were two inset feeding and watering niches. But the occupants were close to the mesh front, sitting on their haunches, their front paws placed neatly together, the tips of their tails folded over those paws.
One was black, a black so deep as to have, in the sunlight, a bluish tinge—or perhaps that was a reflection from its companion’s coat, for the second and slightly smaller animal was blue—or parts of its close, thick fur coat held that shade, muting into a gray that was very dark on head, legs, and tail. And the four eyes of the pair, regarding both men im- partially, were as vividly blue-green as aquamarines.
“Terran,” Kyger announced with a note of pride plain in his voice. “Terran cats!”
Three
Troy studied the animals. Although those blue eyes regarded him squarely, there was no other contact. Yet he was sure it had not been only his imagination that had stirred him earlier.
, Kyger opened the cage. The black cat arose, arched its satin-smooth back, extended forelegs in a luxurious stretch, and then padded out into the courtyard, its blue companion remaining behind while the black scouted with eyes and nose.
“Sooooo—“ Kyger subdued his usual authoritative tone into a coaxing murmur and held out his hand for the black to sniff.
Cats were part of the crew of every spaceship. Troy had seen them about the docks. But centuries of such star voyaging must have radically mutated the strain if these were the parent stock. None of those possessed such sleek length of limb, or the sharply pointed muzzle, large, delicately shaped ears, color and rich beauty of fur. He might have compared his own bony, work- scarred hand to the well-kept fingers of a Korwarian villa dweller.
The black leaped, effortlessly, to the top of the cage, and its smaller mate emerged. From that mouth ringed in dark gray came no soft appeal but a sound closer to the ear-shattering wail that had screeched through the flitter before the crash. Kyger laughed.
“Hungry, eh?” He spoke to one of the yardmen. “Bring me a food packet.”
Troy watched the merchant break open the sealed container and shake a portion of its contents into the bowls he had loosed from the interior of the cage. The stuff—tough, dry-looking as it sifted down—turned moist and puffy in the dishes. The cats sniffed and then ate decorously.
They were to be Kyger’s own charges, Troy discovered, though the shop had a resident staff—two yardmen to tend the cages in the courtyard and some for interior work. Oddly enough, Troy was set to work inside, perhaps taking over some of Zul’s tasks.
His shoulder still ached from the bruising impact of the crash, but he tried to satisfy Kyger as the other guided him around, issuing a stream of orders, which at least were concise and easy to obey.
Of the four cage rooms along the corridor between office and show lounges, the first two were for birds, or flying things that might be roughly classed under that heading. Troy had to snatch observations between filling water containers, spreading out a wealth of seeds, exotic fruits, and even bits of meat and fish. The next two chambers were dissimilar. One was filled with tanks and aquariums holding marine dwellers; Troy merely glanced into that since there was a trained tankman on duty. The other was for small animals.
The cats disappeared into Kyger’s own office and Troy did not see them again. Nor, as he worked about the cages in the animal room, did he again experience that odd, somewhat disturbing sense of invisible contact. All the creatures were friendly enough, many of them clamoring for his attention, reaching out to him with paws, calling in a whole range of sounds. He was amused, intrigued, attracted—but this was not the same.
He ate his noon rations in the courtyard, apart from Kyger’s other employees. C.L. men and subcitizens were never too friendly. And in the midafternoon he witnessed the departure of the Terran cats.
A service robot carried the traveling cage and a food crate at the head of the small procession. Then came a jeweled vision of the hired-companion class, for she swung several small bags on their cords. Next, trailed diffidently by Kyger—if that ex-spacer could ever act a merchant’s deference—was a second woman, her features hard to distinguish under the modish painted design of glitter stars on cheek and forehead, the now ultrafashionable “modesty veil” enwrapping mouth, chin, and the rest of her head. Her long coat and tight undertrousers were smartly severe and as unadorned as her companion’s were ornately embellished.
As she spoke, her voice held the irremediable lisp of the Lydian-born. And it was plain she was delighted with her new pets. Troy ducked into the door of the fish room to let them pass.
He did not understand why he felt that strange prick of irritation. The Gentle Fern San duk Var was almost the wealthiest consort on Korwar, and the cats had been specially ordered to satisfy her whim. Why did he resent their going? Why? He had had his own piece of luck out of this transaction—the chance that Kyger might keep him on the staff, at least until Zul returned.
Kyger, having seen the party off, called Troy to his office. The corn plate on the wall was already activated, and on it was the palm-sized length of white Troy had hardly dared to hope he would ever see.
“Contract”—Kyger was clearly in a hurry to have this done—“to hold a seven-day term. No off-world clause. Suit you, Horan?”
Troy nodded. Even a seven-day contract was to be cherished. He asked only one question. “Renewal for kind?”
“Renewal for kind,” the other agreed without hesi- tation, and Troy’s confidence soared. He crossed the small room, set his right hand flat against that glowing plate. “Troy Horan, Norden, class two, accepts contract for seven days, not off-world, from Kyger’s,” he recited, allowing his hand to remain tight against the heated panel for a full moment before he gave way to Kyger.
The other’s hand, wider, the fingers thicker and blunter at the tips, smacked against the white oblong in turn.
“Kossi Kyger, registered merchant, accepts contract for seven days from Troy Horan, laborer. Record it so.”
The metallic voice of the recorder chattered back at them. “It is so sealed and noted.”
Kyger returned to his eazi-rest. “Shop uniform in the storehouse. Any reason for you to go back to the Dipple tonight?”
Troy paused to shake his head. His few possessions of any value had been thumb-locked into a Dipple safe pocket that morning. And the lock would hold against any touch but his own for ten days. He could pick up the contents of that very small locker any time. Was it imagination again, or did Kyger seem to be relieved?