Ninth Life

Sailors Paradise

Ninth Life

By Robin Scott Johnson

 

 

            Lieutenant Todd Collins of the Battle Cruiser USS Hunt was sitting in his work chair in his quarters when he  noticed the movement. It was one of those things you didn’t realize you saw until the hair on the back of your neck stands on end, because nothing was supposed to be in his quarters except him, and occasionally his bunkmate, Lt. Roger Molokai, who was currently on watch.  So the fact that Todd Collins, who had been peacefully reading during his Quartertime Leave, or QT, suddenly found himself terrified of a ghost hiding under his berth, was quite unexpected indeed.

            Collins shook off the fear and told himself to get a grip on himself, which he promptly did.  His green eyes tried to focus in the dim light to determine whether his mind was playing tricks on him or not.  Even in the inky blackness beneath the bunk he saw a shape.  Getting down on his hands and knees and looked closer, yes, there was something there.  Placing his right thumb against the side of his light ring, which was powered by tiny LEDs, he could now see quite clearly a large black cat cowering and shivering in a huddled mass of unkempt and mattered fur.

            The Lieutenant stood up abruptly and touched a mic-spot on his work desk.

            “Control this is Collins,” he began slowly, “Some cat stowed aboard on our last port stop, could someone come and collect it?”

            “Collins this is Chirac, I’ll be down in a few. I’ve gotta see this.”  The voice on the other end echoed and then there was once again silence inside Lt. Collin’s quarters. 

            How the Hell did a cat get on board? He thought, looking around the room for something to catch it in.  He spotted a box in his closet which was used for souvenirs, and grabbed it, dumping it onto his bed.   Next he got back down on his hands and knees and peered underneath the bed, shining his ring light into the cats yellow eyes.  It sure doesn’t look dangerous, maybe I’ll just reach out and…

            There was a whirlwind of movement and a shriek from the terrified cat, and suddenly Collins felt his hand was wet. He quickly snapped it back and saw blood from eight or nine neatly sliced scratches on the top of his right hand.  Damnit, should have seen that coming. Suddenly there was a chime and the door swung open as Chirac, a low-level engineer entered.  Collins was speechless.

            “What’s the matter Ell Tee, cat got your tongue?” The Engineer joked as he strolled in with a snare clutched tightly in his hand.

            “She’s under there.” Collins sputtered, still clutching is injured hand as Chirac got down and peered under the bed. 

            With one swift motion Chirac had the black cat in the snare, which was attached to a short pole, and dragged the ragged feline out yowling and spitting. 

            “Now, now, puss.” Chirac cooed as he withdrew a small piece of meat from his pocket before relaxing his grip on the snare.  “Are you hungry?”

            “She tried to eat my hand.”

            “Nah, she was just scared, I wonder where she came from.”

            “No doubt she was inside one of the containers we loaded back on Titan.  Do you suppose she’s carrying anything?” Collins asked nervously

            The cat began to relax and sniffed the meat that Chirac had tossed onto the floor.  Chirac let the cat go, as it was clear the cat was hungry.  It walked over to the meet and greedily devoured it in seconds, before returning to Chirac, standing up on his hind legs, and yowling loudly.  The engineer stroked the cats matted fur, and bent over and picked him up.

            “I’ll take it down to medical, have them run some tests, do a scan, you know,” said Chirac, as he turned to carry the cat out of Collins’ quarters. 

            “Right, send me a WIp* of the incident, as well as copy of all of the test results.”

            “Aye, aye.”  He replied, and the engineer was gone.

 

*          *          *          *

            Sailors Paradise was nearly deserted.  Nobody lived on this Waterworld, for there was no land, no government, and no Kevin Costner adventuring on his trimaran.  No, the planet was incorporated into the treaties of a thousand planets, all of whom, had a major financial steak in the Intergalactic Sailing Cup.  So when the Cup was not ongoing, there were only a hundred or so ocean yachts, and spaceboats, cruising its blue, fresh, and warm water.  It had been a couple of months since the end of the last race, since the disappearance of the Uncle Tom, and no further reports of magnetic fog had been reported with the exception of the report from the William Bligh.  Nimba seemed at peace, and hiding her feasting under a cloak of water.

 

*          *          *          *

 

            The USS Hunt powered her thrusters and broke out of Neptune’s orbit, enroute to Earth.  She had been cruising the outer solar system for six years, and it was time to return to home port at the spacedocks at the Moon.  The trip would take eleven months, and would be spent cleaning the vessel, completing tedious drills, tests, revisions, log checks, astronavigation exams, and good old fashion deck scrubbing. The captain that had the unfortunate name of Harold Potter, but whom all of the officers referred to as Harry, took a hard-line when it came to impressing the brass at the tidiness of his ship and the discipline of his crew.  The captain’s record was impressive, and since his crew was highly trained and capable, he occasionally felt guilty, feeling that he would be nowhere without them. 

            Captain Potter sat in the mess hall, sipping a Guinness, and listening to the music from a jukebox on the wall.  It was playing “Song of Yor” by the Journiers, a popular song that had come out a month before.  Suddenly his earpiece’s ringtone interrupted the song.

            “Answer Phone.” He chirped the order. “Captain Potter.  What’s the problem Doctor?”

            A pronounced cockney accent replied,  “Captain, this is a bit irregular, but we have a situation. Could you please come down to my lab?”

            “What’s the situation?” Asked the captain, trying not to slur.

            “I think it’s better if you just come down.  Have you been drinking? Where are you?” 

            “I’ve had a couple of pints,” he lied. “I’ll be right there.

            Potter tilted his head back and poured the remainder of the Irish brew down his throat.  Standing up, steadying himself at the bar, he realized he could walk, and give a reasonable impression of complete sobriety.  Spinning on his heels he made his way to the powerlift and descended four levels to the hospital level.  The doors swooshed open and the captain swaggered down a corridor until he found the door to the lab.  “Open,” he commanded as the door slid open.

            “Ah, Captain.” Said Doctor Johnson, as he quite obviously sniffed the air for any trace of alcohol.  “I’m glad you came down, we have a visitor.”

            “A visitor? Who? How?” 

            “Right down thee,” answered the doctor, pointing to the floor, where a large black cat lapped a bowl of reconstituted milk. 

            “What the hell?  Where did she come from?”

            “Where did he come from?” Johnson corrected. “I’ve done a scan, and apparently, his name is Conoco, and his owner is a Captain Richard Jenkins, of New York, USA.”

            “How in the world did he get here?”

            “That’s the mystery.  I’ve attempted to call Jenkins in New York,  but the message says his earpiece has been disconnected or isn’t in service.. something like that.”

            “Well keep trying, or eject that thing into space.”

            “Oh sir, he’s so nice, and his health check shows he is up to date on all of his shots, has no diseases, anomalies of any kind.  Regulations wouldn’t allow that, under the ah… Cruelty to Animals clause.”

            Captain Potter’s face flushed red, as the doctor quoted him regulation, he should have know. “Are you going to be responsible for him? “

            “No, ah, Chief Chirac said he’d keep him in his office.  He already has a litter box setup.  I just needed your approval Captain before he’s released from quarantine. “

            “You call this quarantine?”  The Captain stammered.

            “Yes, I do.”

            “Very well, tell Chirac not to let him out of his office, under any circumstances. Pets aren’t allowed.. so just tell him to get him off the ship quietly when we get back to Earth.”

            “Aye-Aye Sir.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

            Captain Potter sent out a private communiqué to Earth, asking the UNSBR for the possible whereabouts of Captain Jenkins.  Shortly after, the solar system was rocked by the news that Conoco the cat had reappeared, and the search for the crew of the Uncle Tom was stepped up.

             

 

*WIp: Wireless Internet Paper, corrupted to any smart paper, equipped with a CPU, that can be programmed to display information remotely, but giving most of the appearance of traditional paper.