Ben looked into the eyes of the cat—sparkling green with a slight cast of yellow—the hypnotizing orbs of a magnificent creature. They danced back and forth in observation of the shuttlecraft and the prisoners disembarking. His penetration was keen and denoted a superior intelligence. His mouth was closed, and two long fangs could be seen running vertically from the upper jaw down the sides of his lower mandible and piercing the air three inches below. His fur was a dark golden color, but wherever the shadows played across it, hues of reddish brown in the subdued light created an eerie three-dimensional projection of disproportionate features. (Obviously Nature's way of frightening his enemy, as if he weren't already frightening enough). His claws were at least three inches long in accordance with the size of his huge paws. And, as Ben thought back, he realized that (with the exception of the long saber-toothed-like teeth) here was an Ancient-Earth mountain lion, only three times bigger. From the ground to the top of his ears he stood six feet tall.
Ben stepped off the shuttlecraft ramp and onto the plastic spaceport landing area wondering if at any moment someone was going to run up to him and yell, "Surprise," and then explain to him that the whole damn thing was a joke. But he knew it wasn't going to happen. By some quirk of fate he had gotten pulled into a political usurpation, which would probably result in his death. He felt quite lucky that it hadn’t already happened, because he knew Hurd wanted it.
Off to the right and in front of him was a raised platform on which three men and the cat were standing. They were a crew to wring angered mirth from Ben's mind. Two of them were stern looking, as if they were born at the age of forty and had always had hard lines creasing their faces. It was like the people he had met once in awhile whom he couldn't imagine as children. The other man, the one in the middle, was fat, not as obese as a Monsorian farm pig, but fat nevertheless. He had jowls hanging from his face and a large stomach bulging against his body suit. His chubby little hands were attached to his fat little arms, and sloping down behind his waist protruded his fat butt. But in contrast to his fat torso and upper extremities were his two little toothpick legs. How do they keep him from toppling over? Ben wondered.
"Put your toes on the white line and face the warden," commanded the guard who was standing in front of them. He was pointing at a line painted on the landing area about ten yards from the shuttle. It ran parallel to the platform on which the cast of fools were standing (or were the prisoners the cast of fools?).
Reluctantly, Ben moved forward and did as the guard had told them. From the corner of his eye he could see the young attractive woman, who had sat across from him on the shuttle, stepping off the ramp and moving toward the line. Her long brown hair hung behind her shoulders. Her large bosom projected firmly against her white body suit. She was short in stature, but he could tell by her motions that she had class. How the hell did she get here? he wondered.
Next to the young woman was another prisoner which Ben had taken note of—not because of his golden colored skin, his coal black hair, nor his unusual facial features—Ben knew of several planets in the Federation which had societies of people with these physical characteristics, and even though he had never seen them in person, he had seen them on the viewer. Some of the top models came from these planets. No. It wasn’t because of his looks, it was because of his aura of fierceness. Ben knew this man was a courageous warrior. He was a man Ben would never want as an enemy.
Ben faced the front and noticed about a hundred yards to his left, parked on a raised landing area, there were two G15 Federation destroyers sitting peacefully, reflecting weak rays from the sun. They must have brought the Galaef in one of those, he thought, and I bet they won' t leave until they have taken care of him.
Standing there and looking around, Ben found himself thinking about the horrible stories the Newusians had told him about the prison pit. It wasn't a good remembrance considering the outcome. Many of the prisoners were dying of starvation, which came on quickly because they were worked sixteen hours a day with very little food. But some of the others died when they were whipped to death by some terrible monstrosity which had been imported from another planet. The stories were probably grossly exaggerated, but he had no doubt that death came quickly in this prison.
The next prisoner to step off the ramp was Em. That vacant look was still there. He walked almost mechanically as though living in a dream world. He was unable to sense the meaning of life. He always did what he was told. He listened. He watched. He felt. Ben was sure he could taste and smell, but for some reason his brain couldn't put it together. What had gone wrong? Why hadn't this man recovered from suspended animation? Must have something to do with the length of time he was in the casket. Ben watched as the hulk of the man moved toward the line. If this man were truly a link with the past, he could be invaluable for the advancement of science. What was Thorne thinking? No one had ever undergone suspended animation for more than forty years and survived.
I don't know why I'm worried about it, thought Ben. I'll probably be dead within a couple of months, or sooner. Looking straight ahead Ben was forced to look at the cat. He noticed that the cat's tail began to move quickly from side to side, and now Ben was more interested in the cat than thinking about his forth-coming doom. From what Ben could remember about cats, tail wagging was a sign of anger or excitement.
Without the notice of the three men on the platform, the cat crouched down until his belly almost touched the black-formed plastic. At first it looked as though he were going to lie down, but then his large claws, as thick as Ben's fingers and tapered into razor sharp points, snaked out of their sheathes and dug into the platform. In one graceful leap he bounded over the railing, landed on the pavement, and headed straight for the prisoners.
The fat man's look was one of shock, and he started stuttering as he tried to say something. One of the men standing next to him leaned forward and grasped the railing with both hands. There was a look of consternation turned to horror on his face.
The good-looking woman prisoner, who was standing two spaces down the line, gasped in fear. She must have felt death was coming.
Another bound and the cat was in front of the prisoners. He walked slowly down the line all the while staring intently at the Aeolian Master. His manner gave no clue as to his intent.
Ben spun around to watch. By the Zorgs of Zozorstra, thought Ben, what's going on here? The cat emitted a loud rasping noise. Ben, at first, thought that the low rumble being emitted from the cat's throat was a growl, and at that moment, he anticipated the worst, but as the cat started rubbing his head across the front of Em's chest and shoulders, he realized the cat was purring.
The cat rubbed Em so vehemently he almost knocked him off his feet.
Regaining his balance, Em reached up and started stroking the cat's neck. He scratched him behind the ears and then rubbed his cheek on the cat's furry face. It almost looked as if Em was going to smile.
And the cat, seemingly in Nirvana, acted as though he had finally found his long lost companion. He continued to rub his body against that of Em's, and the base purr rumbled like a song of joy from his throat—so strong and deep it almost shook the ground.
Just then Ben heard an angry, trembling voice from the platform. He turned his head in time to see the fat man, with chubby cheeks—red from furry, stomping his foot on the black-plastic platform. His words sputtered like a clicking ratchet and fine droplets of spittle sprayed from between his fat lips. "Get back here!" he finally yelled audibly. "Get back here. You, you, you, you're making a fool of yourself."
The cat ignored him and continued to revel in his new found friend. He opened his mouth and a long, red tongue lashed out licking Em's neck and face. He raised his right paw and placed it on Em's shoulder and then licked him again.
The fat man became angrier. And as his fat stomach jiggled up and down from the stomping of his foot on the platform, it seemed to Ben that this absurd show, as comical as it was, was merely a performance be
ing put on for the benefit of the new prisoners. But then the fat man exploded with wrath. He grabbed his phasor from its holster and with a scowl on his face he took careful aim. He shot a blue bolt, which struck near the cat's hind paws.
Startled from the unexpected shot the cat jumped from the side of the Aeolian Master into a low crouch. His eyes glared resentfully at the fat man, and his claws gripped the surface in readiness.
The fat man's face whitened, and he reholstered his stunner. "Please come back," he said in a low, nervous tone.
The cat rose from his crouched position and leisurely walked back to the platform. He crawled under the railing, turned, and laid down facing Ben. He started preening himself. His red tongue protruded in a licking motion as he washed his furry paw. Why are you staring at me? he asked Ben.
Ben ruminated for a moment, then scowled and looked around to see if the cat was talking to someone else.
"Stand at attention!" yelled a guard from behind.
Ben said something derogatory under his breath and turned to face straight ahead. He tried to look the cat in the eyes, but the cat was still preening himself. "Are you talking to me?" asked Ben audibly.
"Of course I'm talking to you!" yelled the guard. He walked up behind Ben and thumped him on the head with his bully stick. "Another outburst like that and you'll be working extra hours. Now shut up and stand at attention."
Ben was tempted to take the guy's toy away from him and shove it someplace undignified, but he knew better; so instead he sucked in his stomach, stuck our his chest, and raised his head a little higher.
You don't have to speak out loud, said the cat. He laid his chin on his paws, blinked his eyes a couple of times and then closed them.
Just say it in your mind.
Mental telepathy? asked Ben silently, but speaking it with his mind. He was surprised that he could hear the cat. He thought for a moment. Telephore Six was the only planet in the Galactic Empire upon which a quadruped intelligence had evolved. It was the only civilization, on a whole, that used mental telepathy for communication. But I thought, said Ben mentally, only psychics could tune to a cat's telepathy. This could be very interesting. Ben wanted to sit down, relax, sip on a drink, and have a long chat with this cat, but it wasn't going to happen, not now anyway, and maybe never.
Only thossse with whom I choossse to speak can hear me, said the cat. He grinned mentally.
How many others are there? asked Ben. His feet started to hurt from standing in one spot so long.
Only you and one other, said the cat nonchalantly.
Only me and one other? asked Ben. He was surprised, yet he felt a certain amount of pride that the cat had selected him.
And your friend, added the cat pointing mentally at Em. But hisss mind isss confused. It'sss difficult to communicate with him.
Ben acknowledged the fact that Em's mind was confused, and then changed the subject. Must be quite tranquil, said Ben, not having to talk to anyone.
Yesss, replied the cat. It's a happy placcce.
But do you understand people when they speak out loud? asked Ben.
Oh yesss, said the cat. If it's Komotu. He curled his long, golden tail beside him. But it'sss easy to ignore them, even asss you are now ignoring the warden.
Ben suddenly realized that the fat man had started talking to the prisoners. Ben had been so engrossed in his conversation with the cat that he couldn't bring to mind the warden's first words.
You can relax now, said the cat affably. The warden commanded the prisonersss to be at eassse.
Ben looked around and noticed the other prisoners were standing in a relaxed manner. Only one of them was even looking at the warden. The rest of them were scrutinizing the space station or the cat or the other two men on the platform.
Ben folded his arms in front and repositioned his feet.
". . . and I want you to look upon me as your father," said the warden. Saliva appeared in the corner of his mouth while he was talking and started to run down his fat chin. He reached up with the back of his hand and wiped it away. "I am here to look out for you, to protect you as if you were my children." He smacked his lips together. "Yes, you are my children," he said in a fatherly tone.
The cat opened his eyes half way and looked at Ben. It'sss the same speech every time, he said. He raised his head and started licking the small patch of white fur centered in the middle of his chest.
"I want you to be happy as long as you stay here with me in my home." His fat little hands stubbed out at the surroundings.
Absurd, said the cat calmly licking his fur, nobody ever leavesss here, unlessss it'sss in a plastic box headed for the incinerator.
Has anyone ever escaped? asked Ben knowing what the answer would be, but hoping for the opposite.
Not yet, said the cat. He stretched out a paw and began licking his upper arm.
Might as well try, said Ben. There's nothing to lose, except that which we're going to lose anyway, our lives.
"And I will make every effort to see that you are happy," said the warden. He stretched his arms out interlocking his fingers and resting his hands on his stomach. "But if you're naughty," he unlocked his hands and pointed a finger in shame, "then I must punish you." He locked his fingers again and hung his head in sorrow.
And now he'll tell you how, commented the cat.
The warden unfolded his hands and gestured toward one of the guards standing near the platform. "My guards carry whips," he said. "And they use them to spank bad little boys and girls." He nodded at the guard. "Show them Lachish."
The guard raised a short, synthetic leather whip into the air and brought it down hard on the surface with a loud cracking sound.
The warden winced. His fat jowls quivered back and forth. "Or if my children are lazy and won't do their chores, the guards must use their stinging sticks." He nodded to the same guard. "Show them Lachish," he said.
The guard raised a long slender electric prod in the air so that all the prisoners could see it.
"And I won't tolerate my children becoming rebellious." The warden became angry at the thought of it. His mouth drew tight against his jowls. "If they do, then I must use the burning lights." The warden paused. "My assistant will explain," he said as he pointed to the man on his left.
The man stepped forward and glared down at the prisoners. "We have phasors located every twenty feet on the wall above the prisoner yard and the pit." He stopped talking a moment as he pointed toward a thirty-foot wall in back of the platform. "Inside the prison yard and connected to the outer wall, there's a fifty foot tower which is manned by five guards twenty four hours a day. His hand darted out indicating the prisoners. "If there is any trouble or rebellious action which constitutes an emergency, the guards in the tower will switch on the phasors. The phasors will automatically fire random shots into the prison yard." The man stepped back.
"And then, of course, we have Roqford." The warden pointed at the huge cat lying next to him. "On order he will kill any naughty child."
The woman two spaces down shuddered as she looked at the cat.
Roqford opened his huge eyes and casually glanced at the prisoners. The only naughty child I would ever kill, said Roqford, isss the fat one standing next to me. He started licking his other paw.
Ben became curious. If you're not here to serve the warden, why are you here?
The cat's mental smile was languid and leisurely. I'm a prisoner like you, he replied. Three yearsss ago I was convicted of cat slaughter on Telephore Six, my home planet. I was sent to one of the Galactic prison planetsss.
Ben noted Roqford's unusual indifference toward the story. Did you kill the other cat? he asked.
Only in self defenssse. He stretched his neck out and laid his head on his paws again.
Ben shifted the weight to his other foot. How did you get here? he asked. Somehow, he thought the cat's luck had been diminished along the way.
The warden had heard I
wasss on the prison planet, and he sent for me. Roqford mentally made a clicking sound as if quickly forcing the air from between his cheeks and his teeth. He thought it would be cunning to ussse me asss a scare tactic for the prisonersss. He threatensss to send me back to my small cage if I don't cooperate, or if I get out of line. Roqford smiled sardonically. But he won't.
"Now that we have dispensed with the unpleasantries, my children," continued the warden, "I shall explain what you have to look forward to." He smiled benignly. "Unlike the last warden," he said in a serious tone, "who made his children work sixteen hours a day," an expression of being appalled swept across his face, "I will let you work only fourteen."
There never was another warden, said Roqford in the middle of a huge yawn.
He's lying? asked Ben.
Quite frequently, said Roqford taking the time to lick the back of his paws and clean his whiskers. He'sss afraid of a prisoner uprising.
He must be paranoid, said Ben. This place appears to be guarded like the Crystal Palace of Geord.
He'sss just naturally nervousss, replied Roqford.
"And once a week," the warden went on, "all my children will get a complete day of rest."
Running out of workersss, said Roqford in a weary tone. So, they just recently started the day of rest.
"And once every six months you will all receive a new body suit."
Never happensss, said Roqford. He stood up on four paws. The speech isss finished, he said. He jumped off the platform and began to walk toward one of the crossover tubes that led to the other hemi dome.
The warden didn't pay any attention to the cat. Instead, with his right hand extended, he indicated the man on his left. "This is Kenley," said the warden. "His official title is 'Warden's assistant.'"
Kenley took a step forward.
"He will now give you a tour of our home and then you will have the rest of the day off, time to get moved in and make yourselves comfortable." He turned toward the steps, but hesitated and then turned again to the prisoners. "Oh," he said, "if you should have any complaints give them to Kenley, and he'll do what he can to take care of them."
He'll take care of them alright, said Roqford half way down the tube.
Chapter Forty-One