Fucking Dark Watch. Damn Overseer, with his tyrannical—no, maniacal—vision of the galactic ideal.
“Your bookstore isn’t a shithole. Far from it.” I wanted to reassure her, since I hadn’t been able to defend her. If they’d turned physical, I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself, but apparently, bullying and verbal threats weren’t enough to make me take a risk with myself anymore, and I wasn’t sure I liked what that said.
“No,” she agreed. “But it’s untidy—at least for them.”
Chances were, those goons probably wouldn’t have cared about untidy at some past point in their lives, and maybe they would have even liked it. But anyone who joined the galactic military was eventually brainwashed into believing the Overseer’s jargon and garbage.
“Untidy isn’t the easiest path these days,” I pointed out. Expressing her desire for more personal freedom through mildly subversive means like a riotously disorderly bookshop made Susan a target for fines and intimidation. That took guts.
She still looked shaken, but a sense of pride washed through me. For her. For me. For everyone who consciously drew their own line in the sand and refused to cross it.
“For what it’s worth, I like your form of protest,” I said, finally getting up the nerve to squat down and pat the cat. It immediately turned its small, striped head into my hand and rubbed enthusiastically. Its fur was soft and short, its nose wet, its whiskers wiry. The rumbling sound got louder.
“And for what it’s worth, I like yours,” Susan replied with a significant look, holding up the book I’d shown her and that she’d hidden behind the counter.
I nodded my thanks, knowing that the level of defiance the crew and I embraced wasn’t for everyone. We knew the consequences of our actions. We’d already lived them. We still did.
Susan’s kindred spirits remark came back to me. For some reason, it made me think of a huge web connecting everyone who fought the oppressive regime in whatever way they could, big or small. The image morphed into stars, bright spots of hope and courage winking all over the Dark—one giant constellation, spread out, but strong. Stronger than the Overseer thought.
I scratched under the cat’s chin, where fluffy white fur led down to a slim chest. It seemed to like that and offered me better access, tilting its little head to one side and closing its eyes into contented slits.
I smiled. This little beauty had a small body but a big personality, if I had to guess. I wondered if all cats were like that, or if this one was special and different from the rest.
“What’s that noise?” I asked. “It’s like this cat has an engine inside it. It’s not an android or something, is it?” I’d never heard of robotic cats.
Susan laughed. “He’s quite alive. It’s called purring. It means he likes you.”
I straightened, the feel of the cat’s stiff whiskers lingering on my hand. I rubbed the tickling sensation away. “I thought it was a her.” I hadn’t seen any obvious evidence of himness.
“Oh.” Susan made a snipping motion with her fingers. “Can’t have more cats, you know?”
Ah. Poor little guy. I think I did know.
“He’s yours,” Susan said.
I blinked. “What?”
“He chose you. That much is clear.” She nodded toward the cat at my feet. “Plus, he’s gray, white, and black. All mixed up—just like you wanted.”
Anxiety shot through me. I hadn’t had a clue what she’d been talking about. “I’m not equipped for a cat.”
“Not to worry.” Susan flitted around her living room before coming back to me with a small metallic tray—kind of cat-sized—and a bag of sand.
“The litter renews itself,” she announced. “Very handy. Only needs refreshing once a year or so.”
She shoved everything at me, clearly intending for me to take it. I removed the remaining four books from my bag, set them on the nearby table, and then slipped the tray and litter inside my carrier in their place.
Crap, that was heavy. It seemed I had a cat.
“What’s his name?” I asked.
Susan glanced around her wonderfully disorderly, cat-strewn home. “I don’t really name them anymore. Too many.” She scooped up one of the big, furry, orange ones. It was four times the size of my new companion. “If I want them to come, I say, Here, kitty, kitty, and if I want them to listen, I say, Hey, you!”
In a timely demonstration, she called out, “Hey, you! Get off the table!” and a slinky black cat jumped down with a light thud from apparently the one piece of furniture on which they weren’t allowed.
Susan shook her head. “The paw prints they leave all over that glass top…” She turned back to me, smiling warmly despite the wry resignation in her voice. “I may not like to conform, but I do like a clean place to eat.”
I nodded in agreement. I was enthralled, fascinated, and somehow completely at home, even with all the unfamiliar cats.
“Would you like some tea?” Susan asked.
I wished I could stay, but I still had clothes to buy, and I didn’t want to be gone so long that the crew started to worry about me. I kept both explanations to myself and politely declined.
“Maybe next time, then.” Susan made it feel like a real invitation, one she genuinely meant.
“Thank you.” I’d be back in two days. Maybe I’d take her up on the offer then.
She glanced at my new cat. “You can name him, though.”
My eyes widened. What did you name a cat? “Um…”
She shook her head, making her sunburst hair move. “No, ‘Um’ is too vague. It won’t work.”
It took a second for understanding to sink in, but once it did, I burst out laughing, startling Not-Um into a low crouch. He looked at me a little warily for the first time, his black-tipped ears flattening back.
So, no startling noises for my cat. He was going to love a high-speed, shoot-’em-up, jump-around space chase, for sure.
“I think I’ll name him Bonk,” I finally decided, tilting my head to look at him.
“Bonk?” she asked.
“He spent five minutes bonking his head against my ankles.” And now he was doing it again, bumping and rubbing like my legs were the best things around. “What’s that W on his forehead?” I asked.
“People usually see that as an M. Most tabbies have it.”
I swiveled to see him from the front instead of from above. “I was looking at him the wrong way, I guess.”
Susan picked up Bonk and gently slid him into my bag on top of the cat equipment. He immediately sat and poked his head out. She gave him a final pat.
“Not the wrong way,” she said to me. “I think you just see things from a different angle than most.”
My heart warmed, understanding that for the compliment it was. I had a feeling Susan saw things from a different angle, too, and maybe in brighter colors.
* * *
After leaving Susan with the promise to return in two days’ time with the rest of the books, I went to a couple of the large clothing emporiums I’d seen while walking through Windrow on my way to the bookstore. I didn’t linger, even though personal shopping was a rare treat for me—something I remembered doing with my mother in fancy buildings with beautiful light—and I could hardly feel guilty about using a small part of our dwindling funds to replace some of the essential items I’d lost. The real reason I moved quickly was because I’d had to zip Bonk into my bag to keep him out of sight, and I was scared he’d freak out. Or suffocate.
As it was, he stayed calm—and fine—but I ended up checking on him every minute or two, panicking when I didn’t feel him moving around.
Luckily, I didn’t need much. Having been locked in the closet, my flight suits and spare boots had all survived the hole-in-the-hull carnage, and I really only had to pick up some underthings and a few civilian pants and tops. I’d taken the spare bedding off the never-used cot in the brig but left our four-bunk guest bedroom intact in case we needed the extra beds. We mostly moved food and chose our own missions, but sometimes we were needed to transport rebels between operations, with our orders coming directly from the Fold.