Trina was at her door even earlier than yesterday. She got up, still tired and aroused from her dream, and opened her door, yawning, "Sorry Trina, just a few more moments."
Trina squeezed in. "Wow, you're more toned than the twins."
"I'm not that"
Trina was not finished. "You look pretty exotic in that uniform. You know what, come with me like this. No grease today, you can learn something about business."
"But Trina, I"
"Come on."
She was stronger than Trina, but still followed her tug, her brain not yet awake enough to organise a resistance.
"Where are we going?" she finally asked.
" Business breakfast in my formal office. I told you about doing business with humans and the six brain-dead assistants?"
"That wasn't a figure of speech?"
She snorted, "You're the most alien cat I've ever met."
She was not sure what to make of that. Literally, it described her only too well on the outside. But was she really that strange?
When the lift arrived, Trina keyed in a long code and let it scan her pad. The fare display went to zero and all intermediate stops were cancelled. They were heading outwards, down to the docking ring. And then, one deck below, the display showed an empty screen.
Since the station got its pseudo-gravity from rotation, the 0.8 g out here was very noticeably stronger than the 0.3 g in her cheap cabin. Still, it was only a little more than the gravity at the planet's surface, and her muscles had not atrophied in six days. Trina's breathing was heavier.
The lift opened onto a brightly lit white corridor with windows on either side and lush alien potted plants between them. The air was warm and damp. She wondered who had come up with this climate, since there was no place anywhere on the planet that even came close, neither in terms of vegetation nor humidity. And temperatures this high could only be reached in summer at noon near the equator. On the other hand, the alien plants were even cheaper to import and might need high humidity. Or maybe this was a legacy from the days of Hopkins II.
But she had no time to ponder this, she had to keep up with Trina, who was walking down the corridor with large strides, despite breathing heavily in the higher gravity. She jogged behind her with her shorter legs. There were three doors at the end of the corridor. Trina turned right and entered without hesitation.
The heavy scent of arousal assaulted them. Five cats were in the room, all nude, two sitting on the laps of two human males, obviously engaged in heavy foreplay, while another two human males were being teased by two other assistants, all fulfilling the racial stereotype of melon-sized, sex-crazed cats in various fur patterns. A fifth grey cat stood forlornly with a tea tray next to a human looking out of the panoramic window at the far end of the room. The human turned.
"Ken?" it escaped her, the brain already half clouded by the raw pheromones here.
Ken smiled a human smile, she remebered the expression from the movies. "Rerra, nice to see you again."
Trina was confused. "Trina from Samul, head of the shipyard." And then he whispered to her, "You knew each other?"
"Chance meeting at the 'Blended Followers'," she whispered back.
The human approached Trina and bowed in a way that showed he was well acquainted with their customs. "Pleased to meet you. Ken Maritowpol. If you do not mind, can we go somewhere else to do business and leave the," he sighed, "fun part to my companions?"
"Of course, please follow." Trina turned on her paws. Her assistant with the tea tray looked pleadingly, begging for guidance. "Send the breakfast to room 2 and then take care of these guests." She dismissed her with a wave of her hand, left the room and turned right. This room was a little smaller but still had a large panoramic window and a square table with four chairs. The air in the room was as fresh as it could be on the station, without any distracting scents. She wondered how Trina had managed to conduct business with so many men in the other room even with a suppressant. She was almost shivering just from the short time in there.
"Choose any seat you like," Trina offered her guest. "Perhaps the one with the window view?"
"Any place is fine if it faces Rerra. So choose your seat first."
"I, um." She wanted to flee, and also to throw herself at him. Her thin fur stood up, her tail went left and right. Even the human must see this.
Trina put a heavy paw on her shoulder and whispered in her ear. "Pull yourself together. Use this, we are cats, this is all we have. Please, for you and me."
She swallowed and chose the seat on the left. Ken immediately sat on the right and Trina in front of the window so she could see the door.
"Welcome to the shipyard office, Ken. I apologise for my overeager assistants, but"
"This is my tenth visit here," Ken waved it off, "so please, they wanted to accompany me for that very reason. What happened to old Truss?"
"She retired last year. I am her successor."
"Great, and Rerra, yesterday you told me you were a worker," he turned to her.
Trina nodded. "She works at the shipyard. She arrived six days ago. Part of her training."
He was still talking to her! Not that she could take her eyes off him. "Rerra, what are you training for?"
"Me? Jump pilot, I've already passed the theoretical exams for C class."
"I thought all pilots were trained and hired by Kerta of Samul?"
Trina interrupted again, clearly uncomfortable with the way this negotiation was going. Or rather not going. "No, there are independent pilots and independent traders, restricted to non-human worlds for their trade. But let's get down to business before the food arrives."
"Business first, I value that. Give me your address." He scanned Trina's pad and then she had to give him hers. A message came up.
"Here is the offer, fourteen coils MK III compatible, seven coils MK II, one non-redundant MK I, two standard fusion cores of 2 GW and 1.8 GW refurbished, four engines Vasimir III, one Vasimir IX, a complete three-engine block with power distributors from a Glokcer XeC, and a Sagan Melorian II in near working condition."
"A Sagan Melorian II?" she blurted out.
"Rerra, do you know that?"
" It is the fastest ship ever built by man, all for speed. Gets up to 5.2 g's during a jump, with 6.7 GW per tonne of unmatched power density. 15.3 metres short, two seats, no shower, no galley. 4.27 cubic metres of cargo space only, Hopkins II had one." She did not add that most of this knowledge came from the favourite card of her childhood spaceship trump game.
Ken nodded. " I am impressed, you have brains too." Then he turned to Trina. " So what is your offer?"
She smiled madly at the thought of having a Sagan Melorian II in the shipyards soon.
Trina was still working. "Give me a moment. I need to go over the coil specs. Ok, Lenny's on it. Hmm, I don't know about the Sagan, but for the rest, 28,000 for the coils, the fusion cores have no further specs, can you add them? If they are good 5000 each. The Vasimir IIIs are almost 160 years out of production, which is close to junk, so maybe 500 each. The Vasimir IX is 12000 and the whole block is 22000. Total 63500?"
"85000 with the Sagan which has a certificate of spaceworthiness. And here are the power ratings from the core tests after refurbishment."
"'Ok, I see. What about 65000. But I can't take your Sagan ship."
"The Sagan has a working coil and a working fusion core, and the spaceworthiness certificate is still valid for four years. Yes, some of it is 200 years out of date, but honestly, you have older stuff flying."
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Trina sighed. "You misunderstood me. I am not allowed to deal with spaceworthy ships. That business is exclusive to Kerta."
"I don't want to deal with her. I would rather have more independent pilots." He grinned suddenly. "Rerra, would you like to buy a Sagan Melorian II? Show me your piloting skills and it is yours for, hm, only 10000."
"What?" She had jumped up and her chair had fallen over, banging noisily in the sudden silence. Even Trina looked shocked.
"What better way to become an independent pilot with your own ship? Show me you can handle her, take the Sagan out for a test run and then decide."
She set up her chair and sat down heavily. Fly a ship. "Yes!" Really. "I want to, yes. But I only have the theoretical exam, and"
"I trust you. I have a class D licence, so I will join and be the official pilot this time. Deal?"
"Deal," she swallowed hard, "I can buy her legally, Trina?"
Trina was not happy. "This must be your private business. I must not know. If Kerta gets wind of this, I will only be cleaning the shipyard's loos for the rest of my life. So no deal with the Sagan. Delete it from the list of offers as well."
"Done, I have absolutely no interest in compromising your standing, sorry. No future deals with working ships."
"Much appreciated. Can we get back to business?"
He nodded, "So you can give me 75,000 without the Sagan?"
"I'll take what you have for 69,000, final offer."
He hesitated for a moment. "Deal."
"My pleasure. Benny, our AI will codify the deal. Please excuse us for a moment."
She nodded, still grinning like mad, and followed Trina outside.
As soon as the door closed, Trina turned. "Can't you control yourself? I understand that this is the first human male you have met. Still, you should know better than to buy an unknown ship for only 10,000. Even a wreck might be worth more."
"But it is a Sagan Melorian II. Only 51 were built, and less than half of them may still exist in the galaxy. Even in run-down condition, this ship is priceless."
"There must be a catch. Humans are not stupid. Especially not this one, even if he is clearly into you. A working fusion core alone is worth 4000, even if it's not a standard one. He priced the Sagan first at 20,000." Trina shook her head. "Please, if you really go through with this, promise me never to mention where you got the ship. We can register it as a wreck at the shipyard, and then you can officially repair it over time. And do you even have 10,000?"
She nodded. "Just about. They were really keen to remove my Samul pedigree."
Trina sighed.
They were distracted by the chime of the lift. The door opened and Trina's grey-furred assistant stepped out, followed by a trolley carrying their business breakfast. It was pushed by a white and black striped tigress, a very rare fur pattern. She was small, not much taller than she was, but she had the bushiest tail she had ever seen. Her body fur was also so thick that she was modest even though she was naked. Trina stared as well. Then she motioned for her assistant to follow her back into the room.
She waited for the tigress and her cart to pass. And then she lingered a little longer, breathing in more of the pheromone-free air. Another deep breath and she was calm enough to go back inside.
The tigress was competent and had already laid out the plates, offering the human a choice of meat or egg dish. There was even a cricket bowl, real Zirkratz from Fallerian, obviously imported. And some greens, again from who knows where, certainly not the planet. Very posh, very much what one would expect from a proper Samul breakfast reception for an important guest.
She wondered how the tigress could serve the food without spilling it on her fur. Or get her hair in the food. For even her fingers were thick with fur, and rather short too. The tigress made her look bald. Too bad she could not steal some of her cat-ness.
"Pleach, enjoy," the tigress said as she placed the beautifully arranged meal on the expensive plates and bowls in front of them. The tigress's broad, long tongue made her pronunciation difficult. Then she bowed and retreated to a corner. In the hot, humid air, she stood with her mouth agape, tongue hanging out, panting for cooling. Definitely too much cat, poor tigress. Ken had not noticed much, though.
"Enjoy," Ken also said, holding up a goblet, "to good business relations."
"Enjoy." She raised her goblet and followed Trina. She could certainly agree.
The contents were bittersweet and stung her eyes. She coughed. "What is it?"
"Chikon wine from Fallerian," Trina replied. "Ah, yes, Clarice was a dry school."
"You are certainly not boss and worker," Ken stated the obvious.
"She's my favourite cousin."
He raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't have guessed. Then you are a Samul too?"
"No, I have renounced all my titles. I'm just Rerra. I don't want any favours."
Ken laughed. "I used to be like you. But it does not work well in business, where you need connections."
Trina nodded. "Tell her, please. And I am sorry as if we had spoken of the devil: my aunt is calling me on urgent business. Enjoy your breakfast. And Rerra, you have the day off. Have fun." But Trina's face was clearly unhappy. She stood up, bowed and left quickly, almost running. It seemed that her aunt was really involved.
The food was excellent. But she was so tense she could not enjoy it. The longer she stayed, the harder it was for her to concentrate.
Ken tried to break the silence, "If I am not mistaken, Samul is one of the five original cat-maids."
Her answer came almost automatically. "Yes, but there are only two families left, Samul and Ketcher."
The tigress spoke quietly from her corner. "Petra chtill echistch."
Oh dear, how arrogant had she been? "I am sorry. Yes, Samul and Ketcher have taken all the power, I mean. The others just have their names. You are from Petra?"
The tigress nodded.
"Come, sit down. No one will know, it's just the three of us." And when she hesitated, "Come, you can enjoy your food too, you brought plenty." She looked at Ken, who seemed relaxed and smiled in a strange way. She wished she could read humans better.
Slowly the tigress walked over and sat down. She moved so elegantly that she would put most of Samul to shame.
"I was Rerra of Samul, the 14th in line. Now just Rerra. What's your name?"
"Eli from Petra, fircht in line."
Oh, and working as catering hostess. Well, it only underlined her earlier statement about the other founding clans.
"Ken, businessman. So, Rerra, you are the only cat I know who has renounced her title. I mean, humans only trade through Samul. So why did you forego this advantage?"
He seemed genuinely interested in talking. Meanwhile, her body was screaming at her, 'There's a male! Interested in you!' The stress poured into her answer. "It was never an advantage. I just missed their expectations by becoming like this when I grew up, my thin adult fur almost white instead of silver grey like Trina's, and with breasts barely the size of my hand. Not to mention the human-like hands and feet. And too clever to be content with a pointless job and weekly visits to the courtesans. They showed their dismay, and if they had not encouraged the bullying at school, they were certainly happy with it, hoping it would break me. Well, I went to the gym and took up some martial arts. I still passed the highest exams at Clarice, which was no real challenge if one really studied. And Samul? They wanted to give me a high position in a dark office, no real work and no one would ever see me. Good riddance, I studied for a spaceflight licence outside school and got up to C, only theoretically of course. And now I am only six days in space and..." She breathed heavily, had almost shouted out the last words when she stood up. Her thin fur stood up, showing even more skin.
Eli, the catering cat, looked frightened.
"How old are you?" asked Ken, "I'm 43 for reference."
That did the trick. "17," she almost whispered. She was instantly embarrassed for no reason, but her fur smoothed.
"Yes, it would be nice to be young again," he sighed, "My colleagues would call me crazy, chatting here with a cute 17-year-old and another exotic cat, both from foundation families, I mean clans." He laughed. "Their loss."
"You're not a typical human. You feel no urges?" she asked slowly, tilting her head in his direction and running her fingers through her head fur. She was about to jump into his lap.
"Of course, but I have a wife and two children whom I love and who are only two days away," he took a deep breath, "and you are not helping by sending mixed signals."
She froze. Just mixed signals?
"When did you take your last chuprechantch?" Eli asked.
"What's that?" asked Ken, "some kind of drug?"
"Suppressant. Keeps you rational in front of males," she answered, sparing Eli another lisp. "I have never needed it until today. Who would come after me?" She shivered.
"You're lucky. Every day I have to cater for VIP and chere are alwaych chome malech. I couldn't do it wichout chem."
Ken nodded. " I am sorry, I did not know. You really intend to throw yourself at me?"
She looked down. "Yes, but I am in control of my body. You still smell very attractive."
"And even Trina would want to?"
"Any cat would, it's not by choice. But Trina has her 'six brain dead assistants' for this part of the negotiations. Which I'm not going to join." She was sweating, even in her gym uniform.
"You mean this isn't just a carefully maintained myth."
"Look, you know why our race came into existence? To serve Hopkins II. And you know that our main export is adult entertainment and services?"
"Of course, but I thought they agreed," he trailed off.
"Yes, but not entirely of their choosing. We were created as nymphomaniacs."
"I am really sorry. Are you feeling better now?"
She wished she could read the human’s face better. "Yes, yes, I'm fine."
Eli put a paw on her shoulder. "Chorry, maybe you chould take a break outchide?"
The fur on her shoulder felt so soft that she squirmed. She was so sensitive right now, and Eli's soft fur was too much to resist, that she had to ask. "Eli, may I stroke your fur? And Rerra asks, not a customer."
"Only if you let me trache you chtomach muchlech."
She nodded, that was fair.
They stood and faced each other. Her fur was so soft. "I wish I had that much fur."
"Too hot," Eli panted, sticking out her tongue to prove her point. And then she ran her claws over her belly, tracing the muscles she had flexed for her. She found it hard not to laugh at the tickle. "I'd racher be chat chtrong."
Ken breathed heavily. "Please, stop making out, please!"
They both pulled their paws away and looked guiltily down at their sides.
"Well, I think we better call it a day before things really get out of control. I guess you do not make suppressants for men?"
They both laugh hard. "No, just the other way round. Too many cats for too few males.
"I will message you later." With that Ken fled the room, and with him went the strong male smell.
Only then did her mind clear a little. But they were both still wired.
"Come!" Eli had placed green chumberries on each of her four claws. "Come and eat."
She tilted her head back and one by one Eli pulled back a claw and a chumberry fell into Rerra's mouth. Chummy, indeed.
"Can you lift me?"
She lifted Eli under her shoulders and nearly fell backwards. "You're so light, wait." She threw her in the air, caught her by the hips, spun her around and set her down again.
They giggled madly, stroked each other playfully and chased each other around the room until an alarm went off on the trolley. Eli had to get ready for the next event. They both stood for a few moments to recover. Still giggling, they exchanged addresses.
Then she helped Eli to put the dirty dishes on the lower trays of the trolley. There was also a large stash of wet wipes, Eli's secret for keeping her shiny white paws clean, especially after dirty plates. When everything was stowed away, she walked Eli to the lift and waved goodbye. Still smiling and full of energy.