Authors: Anne McCaffrey
Catalyst (18 page)
But sometime in the course of this dream, I realized I was no longer alone. Another presence, not the boy, was with me, watching, listening, feeling what I was feeling. And then suddenly it all turned around and in the way of dreams I was feeling what he was feeling.
Merging with him,
I knew that I was the last survivor. I huddled alone in the tiny space, as I had so often huddled before, sleeping, dreaming of stepped pyramids whose broad sunny slopes were fine to climb and drowse upon, of walls covered with picture writing in which my own shape was a symbol, of open sun-drenched structures devoted to my pleasure. Of cozy passages flled with funny looking cats and strangely dressed humans involved in a wide variety of
tasks. Of a ferocious-looking gigantic cat with a beautiful queen on his head
.
And then, suddenly, I was in exile—banished to drift in space in this small craft, with food stores dwindling, as my will to survive dwindled while I feared rescue might never come. Of being alone and abandoned
.
Of my ears being licked …
I opened an eye and filled my nostrils. Plenty of food and company after all, not like the dream. That was a relief! I stretched and yawned and stretched again.
“Get up, lazy kit. Time to patrol,” Mother said.
I was already up and grooming, pleased to see my tail was growing in length and furriness every day. I could wave it as gracefully as Mother did now.
The watch was somewhat eventful. Mother and I found a pinprick gas leak and we both pointed it out to Kibble with sneezes. She informed the appropriate crew member and it was repaired swiftly.
All during the watch, however, I kept recalling my dream and wondering about the cat whose consciousness I’d shared. He was alone in a ship somewhere, that much I knew, and his own dreams remained vivid in my mind. But where was he now and what did he want? Rescue was the obvious answer, but somehow I felt that lurking behind his implied plea for help was another motive, one I could not understand until the time, if ever, I met him.
A
s it happened, Beulah was also, if not exactly Jubal’s and Sosi’s teacher, their supervisor when they did their lessons on the ship’s computer. In addition to the basics, they took a very broad course called Galactic Studies that gave them an overview of the history, population distributions, and geographies of the known settled worlds and moons.
Sosi was bored with the whole thing, but not Jubal. Now that it looked like he was going to have a chance to see some of these places, at least from a distance, he scanned the charts with new interest.
He recalled the lessons he’d already had on the subject when he was back home on Sherwood. The galaxy had been settled in waves by the governments and companies from old Earth. The six main reasons the Founders began their Intergalactic Expansion program were:
1. Exploration, the “Bear Went Over the Mountain” syndrome, as it was called, although bears had gone extinct long before the first successful colony was settled, back in fairly ancient times.
2. Overpopulation, especially in certain regions where there were no restrictions on the number of children people could have.
3. Depletion of resources on old Earth, including oxygen, as pollution and global warming destroyed much of the essential atmosphere existing populations needed to survive.
4. Economic expansion. As more and more governments found it necessary to develop their own colonies on other worlds, the megacompanies of Earth were the only ones for whom it was profitable or even possible to supply the transport, life support systems, terraforming, and the necessities and amenities the settlers required to live. Not all of these colonies were successful. It took the companies’ big global boo-boos on some of the planets and cost quite a few lives before they got a system down. Once everybody was settled, the profits fell off, so the companies ventured off to new worlds and did what they did
better
, making the new worlds lusher, more comfortable, self-replenishing, and generally desirable, supplying them with well-equipped and-staffed space stations to monitor their needs and see that they were met, and generally oversee their welfare (this was the official version, anyway). Then they sold people on moving from those original, more primitive colonies to the new ones. Most of the old colonized worlds, settled by the same people who had ruined their original homeworld, were pretty well trashed by the time the new ones were ready. Deemed unworthy of refurbishment, the early colony worlds were abandoned by their creators.
5. Resettling refugees from the unceasing wars among people of different persuasions on old Earth. For a time, the entire planet was threatened by governments carrying their quarrels into the space around the Earth. Eventually, wars were avoided or stopped by sending compatible refugees to the less luxuriously appointed worlds, where they were deprived of the resources and equipment necessary to continue their animosities with refugees on neighboring worlds.
6. The nuclear holocaust that finally happened in spite of all of the above measures, finally making Earth totally uninhabitable
for human beings. The survivors were also resettled on other worlds, or their moons, inherited by those with whom they had no previous quarrels.
The Galactic Government, or GG, controlled all of the planets, moons, and space stations in the galaxy. Galipolis, the most galipolitan world of them all, was the hub of company and governmental affairs. Everyone said you could find fantastic stuff in Galipolis not seen anywhere else. Traffic from all over kept the space around Galipolis way busier than Hood Station at festival time.
Jubal couldn’t wait to see it.
Jared had looked Varley’s gift horses in the mouth. Since ascertaining that the glittery residue in the secretions and excretions of the horses—as well as the other animals exhibiting the same phenomenon—were simply the result of ingesting the shiny beetles, and not the symptom of a disease, Jared gave the horses a clean bill of health. Varley sold them.
If he’d sold them to another rancher on Sherwood, things would have been fine for a while longer, but he sold them offworld to a man who was unlucky in his neighbors and in his veterinarian.
The first Jared heard of it was a call from Varley.
“You said those wild pintos were healthy,” the rancher said accusingly.
“They were,” Jared replied evenly, though he had been up half the night operating on a dog who got into a fight with a forklift. “Is there a problem?”
“You’ll find out about it soon enough. I sold them to the son of my old friend Trudeau, who just died. His son inherited his place. I only got enough to cover the shipping costs. Trudeau didn’t leave a lot of money so I sent the boy the pintos at cost to start a new
herd, help get him on his feet. Unfortunately, the Trudeau property abuts a spread owned by the nephew of the secretary of agriculture for the area.
“One of the pintos jumped the fence and on the orders of the secretary’s nephew was shot for trespassing. Young Trudeau, the damn fool, made a fuss, and the local vet—who’s in the nephew’s pocket—did an autopsy and claims to have found something wrong with the horse’s corpse.”
Jared, remembering the gentle and intelligent pintos mooching food during his picnic with Janina, felt a sick sadness in the pit of his stomach for the horse, as well as apprehension. “Those animals were perfectly healthy when they left the station,” he told Varley.
“They’ve called in the GG’s epidemiologists,” the rancher said.
“This is the first I’ve heard of it,” Jared said.
“Yeah, well, I imagine they’re planning to surprise you. Trudeau warned me that they’re on their way here, to investigate my stock and land for this contamination they claim to have found. I expect you to back me up on this, Jared.”
Jared said, “Of course.” But he had a sinking feeling in his stomach.
If the GG epidemiologists decided he had failed to report or overlooked a universal health threat, it would probably mean they’d revoke his license, or at best, demote him and move him to a lesser position on a new post. For Varley and other affected stockmen, it would destroy their livelihoods and probably the lives of all of their animals, both those affected and not.
To Varley, he added, “I don’t think they’ve a leg to stand on, actually. I’ve done autopsies myself on animals with the glitter in their secretions—sorry, there’s no impressive-sounding name for it. The glitter is just a by-product from ingesting those little iridescent insects we have around here. From the evidence I’ve seen, both the insects and their effects are nontoxic. Had I ever had a clue that the insects were harmful, I certainly would have alerted you
earlier myself and I certainly would not have allowed your horses to leave Sherwood, much less the station.”
“Yeah, well, I suppose I knew that. If anyone is toxic, it’s the politicians and officials involved. I may have to put down a few of them myself before this is over.”
Jared grunted agreement and signed off.
The Galactic Health Authority contacted him barely two hours later demanding that he submit his records for Varley’s animals and any others affected with the “fairy dust” syndrome. He told them about the insects and started to explain about the results of his own autopsies when the official cut in: “An impound order is being issued for all animals in the affected area and any beasts they may have come in contact with. A decontamination team is on its way, and the GHA expects your full cooperation with them in this matter, Dr. Vlast.”
The Galactic Government, as ponderously slow as a planet’s rotation around its sun when it came to responding to requests for assistance from its citizens, was moving with what was for them lightning speed. Apparently, from their viewpoint, a manufactured public health crisis was much easier to deal with than a real threat.
He commed Varley but got no response. He wanted to warn the rancher, but realized he’d be foolish to leave any sort of a trail implicating either one of them. He also realized, to his surprise, that he had already decided to disobey Varley’s orders.
It wasn’t until he had made the trip to the surface, located the rancher, and conveyed his message, that he realized just how firmly he intended to resist the role the government was assigning him in this crisis. Varley swore that he would inform the neighbors and they’d take whatever steps they could.
Jared returned to the station. It would be up to him, he realized, to notify any of the ships that had docked at Hood Station that their animals were to be impounded. Including ships’ cats. And
the next time the
Molly Daise
docked, someone would inform them that their animals must also be impounded. Including Janina’s beloved Chessie and her kitten.
Three more watches, three more haunted catnaps later, and my rest was disturbed on that fateful occasion when Captain Vesey called Kibble to the bridge. Mother and I were at her heels and under her feet as she hastened to obey her commander. “Looks like we’ll be launching a rescue mission,” he told her. “But you’re the one who will need to go, so I’d like to consult you about whether or not we respond. As you can see, the COB sign, with that cat outline on it, deviates somewhat from the galactic regulation notification. What do you think?”
A dark and drifting ship loomed in the viewport. The
Molly Daise’s
running lights illuminated it. On the bow was the familiar glowing paint with the universal COB letters, in addition to a simple black line drawing of a cat sitting upright. The writing was the picture writing from my dream. I was certain that this was the ship containing the cat who had been intruding on my naps.
“I don’t recognize it, sir,” Kibble told the captain, “but the sign is clear enough, even if someone did add fanciful artwork and the ship does look derelict. No answer to your hails, I presume?”
He shook his head. “None. It’s quiet as a tomb. You’ve not had to do this before, Janina. Perhaps we should just notify the Galactic Guard of its position and give it a miss.”