Spy looked at me and twitched her tail in clear disagreement, but she bounded out of the cab and disappeared, dodging around Mateo’s peg legs.
“Tuffs is not going to be happy you sicced Spy on her,” Mateo said, a hint of laughter in his mech voice.
“Yeah, well, with power comes responsibility. Or something like that.” My Berger chip inserted:With power comes great responsibility. The quote was spoken by Peter Parker’s Uncle Ben, in—
I shut it off. My chip input system needed an update. Usually that required outpatient surgery, but any surgeon or nursing staff who worked on me would likely be infected by my mutated nanobots, and I wasn’t willing to have another thrall stuck to me like duct tape.
Tuffs leaped into the cab and landed on my back, her claws digging in. I yelped, and she jumped to the dash.
“That hurt!” I pulled my shirt out and reached up my back. “I’m bleeding! And why are you mad at me? The decision to not let Spy go was yours, not mine.”
Tuffs arched her back, tortoiseshell hair standing out as if she’d been electrocuted, and she bared her canines.Sisssss, she said, the word and her body language majorly pissed off, leaf-green eyes narrowed. I thought for a moment that she was going to jump me again, but she stuck her head out, as if to say we needed to touch heads to communicate.
“Nuh-uh. No way. I’m not getting near you. I’mbleeding,” I enunciated. And then I realized what had just happened and how it affected the pecking order, in a way that would not benefit anyone. I didn’t get mad often, but I felt a little blood boil at the back of my skull. I dropped my blood-specked shirt and faced the Guardian Cat. Softly, so her people wouldn’t hear me, I said, “Listen very carefully. And think back to before I came. You had to hunt rats and toxic bats to stay alive. Most of your kits died before they reached maturity. Starvation was a predator that followed you everywhere. Your males were dangerous, and the females traveled in gangs, fighting in groups to keep the males in their places. You remember?”
Tuffs narrowed her eyes to slits but closed her mouth. Her back slowly relaxed from its attack-mode arch. Her hair settled.Hhhhah mmm, she said.
“Right. I provide food and water because I want to, not because Ihaveto. This ismyjunkyard. You do not get to chastise me. You do not get to punish me. If you try that again, I’ll never defrost another body for your cats. You do not have opposable thumbs. You cannot do it without me.”
Tuffs eyes went wide again, and her ears went flat. There were still a number of Clarisse’s henchmen and women stored in theSunStar’s freezer, valuable protein for the cats.Orrrowmerow, she said, the sound that meant “this is a bad problem.”
“Yeah. Bad,” I said. I watched as thoughts flittered through her little cat brain. “So, how do you want to play this?”
Tuffs pulled her paws in under her, curling her tail against her feet. The tip twitched in agitation, but she was calmer. “Meep?” she asked, saying she was listening and wanted my attention too.
I tilted my head, catlike. “You scratch me again and there will be consequences.”
“Hhhhah mmm,” she said, agreeing, suddenly acting like a docile housecat.
Gingerly, one arm prepared for defense, I scooted forward in the passenger seat. I met her eyes and eased my head forward almost half the distance.
Tuffs sighed, her whiskers moving. Smoothly, she eased forward and touched my forehead with hers.
In her mind, I saw her love for Spy, her hopes, expectations, needs. Tuffs was old for a feral cat. Spy was from her most favored bloodline, what I understood wasCat of Ours. It was like a title and a complicated concept all in one. The cat part meant sneaky / savvy / smart / fighter / ambush-hunter / tracker / warrior / feline / female / person. The thought “ours” was imbedded with a long series of relationship constraints and successful territory and military maneuvers and a lot of bloodline pride.
Spy was a cat-of-value. Spy was important to both prides. Tuffs sent a query. “Understand Spy?”
Tuffs thought Spy would be the next Guardian Cat.
“Oh,” I said. “You think she can lead, communicate with cat-ESP, and pass along the nanobots. A true queen.” I sent a thought-concept to her about Spy needing to explore the world. To prove herself before the prides as worthy, a warrior of valor.
Tuffs, her whiskers tickling my face, made a soft sound of defeat, “Huuuhhhnnn.”
She sent visions of me protecting Spy, keeping her safe—the visions mostly of my body accepting gunfire and blades as I covered her.
“Yes.” I agreed. “I’ll keep her safe, as much as I’m able. But she’s yours. She won’t sit still or stay safe to make us happy. You know that.”
Tuffs chuffed in disgusted acceptance. She sent me a vision of a clowder of seven cats, counting Spy, all in the cab with us on the road.
“Yeah. Fine. I’ll get more kibble.”
Tuffs backed away until I could focus on her eyes.
I blew out a breath and realized I was sweating bullets, my clothes stuck to me, my new scratches stinging. Taking my life in my hands, I stroked down Tuffs’s back. Tuffs stiffened, then dropped her belly to the overheated dash and lifted her snout in the air in pleasure.
Cupcake appeared at the passenger window, leaning in, her head nearly touching mine. On her shoulder was Spy, who looked at me, one eye blue, one eye green. “Odd eyed,” in Tuffs’s vernacular.
I heard a chuffing sound and saw Tuffs staring at her many-times great granddaughter. “Hhhhah mmm,” Tuffs said. She sent us a vision of Spy on the dash, riding away.
