She took a very short shower, but drying her new fur took much longer. By now it was longer than her thumb, twice as long as before. And the shower had washed away the itching: she was ready to explore the ship, and especially to find something to eat.
However, there was one thing she had to do first. She was now in the most private of environments. And so she went to her cabin and opened the special package she had received at the Ketcher clinic. Its contents were rather a letdown, clothes. And very retro clothes, cave-cat retro style: five leather triangles with short brown fur on the outside and a leather strip at each end to go under her armpits and fasten to her back without any support; and five leather squares with a wider leather strip in the middle band to act as a loincloth. And a belt made of six leather straps holding a short knife in a leather sheath. 'Compulsory uniform, to be worn at all times', the instructions read. At least the leather strings were partly fake, with memory plastic inside that curled up into a fake knot on her back upon touch. Looking at herself, she really wondered who had decided that cats flying a spaceship should walk around as if they were eagerly awaiting the invention of the wheel. It was not paranoid security, for the knife in the leather sheath was real, a very sharp ceramic blade imitating black flint. She sighed and put her other clothes away. At least her new, longer fur was better suited to this outfit. The evenings in the den had been good preparation for this outfit, as she was only technically not naked. Before Petra, she had only worn her sports uniform for washing. But even now that she was used to showing more fur, this still felt wrong, especially to the coming strangers. She took a selfie and sent it to Penny, 'the contents of the secret package'. Screw the secret.
Ok, now she needed to find some food to go with her medicine. She went down one deck to the passenger deck. The ship was a medium-sized freighter in its main function, but it had five passenger cabins, two with two bunks and four with three. A big mess table, two showers of the same type as the one on the crew deck. But empty fridges. No food had been delivered. So she went back to the cabin, ate an emergency bar, stowed away her useless civilian clothes and took the hazmat suit down two decks to a locker in the workshop, near the airlock, to access the hard vacuum section with the fusion core and drives.
"Rerra, the other pilot has arrived," the AI announced.
"Cyclone, thank you."
She walked up the two decks and then up the stairs to the cockpit. A cat lay in the pilot's hammock but turned on her not-so-quiet entrance. Stupid noisy feet. The cat looked a lot like a twenty years younger Penny, dressed very fashionably. And she had of course the Ketcher's ocelot fur pattern. Normal height, not overendowed. She got out of the hammock quickly. The pilot looked like a fit, normal cat, very different from the Ketcher hostesses.
"Hello, you, I mean, I am, Rerra," she stammered, still distracted, "Rerra from Petra."
The other cat looked at her intensely before she finally spoke. "Chatee from Ketcher. Is that the new uniform? I am harmless and clueless?"
"Eh?" They were not working from the same script.
The pilot still looked at her, "And you are really from Petra?"
She swallowed, "Adopted. And this is a mod." She tore her fur. "You know, this is actually my first interstellar journey."
"Ok, planet dweller, please leave the cockpit, I need to prepare."
She was so confused that her tail lashed out. A second later she had herself and her tail under control again. "Hey, wait a minute. I am the second pilot."
"And I'm a ballet dancer." Chatee's retort dripped with sarcasm.
"Hey, I know I'm young and," she almost shouted and then took a breath, "anyway, the ship is yours. I am from the shipyard. I am here in case something happens and because I am not a member of Samul and have a class C licence."
"And just by chance, a super muscular small cat from Petra with a Ketcher fur mod? Tell that to my clanmother."
"So, if I am not from the shipyard, then what am I?"
Chatee hesitated for the first time. "You're not from the special forces?"
"Me?" She stared at her, speechless. Special forces? Then she could not hold it in any longer and burst into laughter, tears running down her face. She held on to the ropes of the pilot's bunk to keep from falling to the floor. Special forces! That was where Chatee's cold attitude came from! "Special forces, huh, sorry, no, I'm actually the youngest technician in the shipyard. And I passed Class C theory half a year ago and made two in-system jumps. If you get sick, I can pilot the ship."
"Ok, but that's not even close to Class C."
"Right, I got my provisional class C licence to come on this ship. I am from the shipyard, the only one not from Samul with some pilot experience. Because two days ago this freighter did not have a working second fusion core."
"Oh no, one of those," the pilot cursed, "but this is the first time they come with service."
" Hold your horses. We are six technicians and two AIs for the whole shipyard. Everyone wants to jump and no one wants to repair ships. We try our best, but we have neither the time nor the right spare parts to finish all the jobs on time." She was on the verge of shouting again and took another deep breath to calm herself. "Actually, three of us are retired pilots, so be a little nicer to your former colleagues who keep your ships flying as good as they can." Chatee's tail had dropped, showing a little guilt. Before Chatee could interrupt her, she continued, "And this job was given to us with this ridiculously short timeframe of two days for a fusion core exchange. Ordered from the very top."
"Yes, from Fiyul," Chatee began. But she did not let her continue.
"Even with overnight work, it is impossible to fully test such a repair. The mechanical connections take almost a whole day, the superconductors need another 4000 to cool down. And the replacement core isn't a new one, of course, it's a 32-year-old refurbished one, downgraded to 80%. Fusion core 1 is not downrated, but I strongly recommend not running it above 80% for long periods. Two coolant pumps still have old bearings, I had no time for them because of this stupid fur mod."
Chatee looked straight at her again. "Sorry, it seems we got off on the wrong paw. I see, you are from the shipyard and really want to help. Sorry again. But, uh, you really do look like special ops, and," Chatee licked her lips. "Well, and this cave-cat chique ... "
"You didn't get a package 'to be opened in private'?"
She looked at her in surprise. "And you are surely not from the special forces?"
"Just change before the higher-ups come," she sighed, "it's almost 9000."
* * *
Chatee was soon back in the cave-cat outfit. Even though her chest fur triangle had more support, the pilot was visibly embarrassed. "'Ok, let's start again. I am Chatee from Ketcher, D class, 29."
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"Rerra of Petra, provisional C class, 17. And you look younger."
"Thanks, but I also had a session at Ketcher - but no mods. And I must say that the cave-cat look works better for you than for me. Can you fight like that?"
She showed her hands, pointing to her feet. "Went to school at Clarice's. All kittens from old clans. With my human hands and feet, well, massive bullying from parents and classmates. So I took up martial arts and gym training. Left the planet the day I graduated."
"Wow, that sounds like a long story."
"Some other time. Let's get the ship ready. Do you have a destination?"
Chatee shook her head. "No, but I have been given a 9000 departure."
"Same for me. We are probably in for a long journey, we have a wet cargo hold, 64 tons of hydrogen. More than 50 days worth of 0.75 g. I guess the ground dwellers need to be kept in their comfort zone, no matter what the engine load."
Chatee nodded, "Sorry for calling you one."
She waved it away. "I've run all the checks I could without a destination. But please check again, as I said, this is the first time I have done this outside of a simulator. Would you like the cockpit to yourself?"
"No, stay, it is nice not to fly alone. Besides, I wonder how many passengers there are. I guess more than five, since we are two pilots."
"Cyclone, make Chatee now first pilot, thanks."
"Thank you, Rerra. I look forward to working with you, Chatee," the ship said.
* * *
It was 9114 when the main party finally approached. They went down to the small passenger airlock and waited on the ship's side. The late-night traffic on the other side of the docking ring suddenly stopped and a cordon of ten big cats from Ketcher in riot gear cleared the way. The two cats who followed them were also wearing their cave-cat uniforms. Even through the fur, she could see their bulging muscles and their long black claws clicking on the ground. Looking at them, no one would have mistaken her for special forces. The two hulk-cats stood guard on either side of the entrance to the ship on the docking ring side.
She straightened involuntarily as well.
Next came two cats, also dressed in cave-cat style, but more fashionable and with some jewellery. They were clearly the heads of the delegation. One was quite old, possibly a clanmother, and the other was not much older than she was. Although with Ketcher's rejuvenation services, she was no longer sure of anyone's age. Both were far from the super-feminine ideal, which meant they were probably showing their real bodies. Their entourage, however, were all tall, big-breasted and otherwise well-proportioned, like the stereotypical cats in an adult video. They were quite similar in shape, just different faces and tails, so she suspected that they had all had a makeover. She counted twelve, so it would be very crowded on the ship.
The old cat turned to Chatee. "Show us to our cabin," she said and padded off.
After a few moments, Chatee was running after the old cat in her fluid way.
The young cat was still standing in the entrance and turned to her. "You, what are you?" she demanded.
"Second Pilot, Rerra of Petra." She swallowed and bowed formally. "Welcome to the Cyclone."
That was not what the cat expected to hear or see, as she hesitated for a split second before resuming her arrogant stance. "Show us the ship!"
"Please follow." She pointed to the stairs off to the side.
The cat turned to her retinue. "Continue with the loading!" she said and then walked forward.
She walked a little behind. She knew from Samul that this was her position as the youngest and lowest ranking. She led the other cats through the mess to the stairs, not wanting to disturb the old cat's briefing with Chatee. They went to the workshop and the food store first.
"There are five empty, freely programmable storage units here. Otherwise, it is mostly repair and maintenance tools. Behind this airlock is the engine section with radiation and hard vacuum."
"Can we see outside?"
"There are windows in the cockpit, but"
"Take me there."
"Then up these stairs and up the next stairs, too."
The young cat's jewellery jingled with every step upwards. There were even rings on her tail. She climbed the stairs quickly and gracefully but jingling. And then even faster up the stairs to the cockpit.
She had just entered. "Why are the windows black?"
"The shutters are closed. Cyclone, open the cockpit shutters."
The shutters opened, revealing a close-up view of the station, the bow in the recess above the docking port, locked to the cargo hold. Only the moving shadows told of the station's rotation.
"Where are the stars?"
"Behind us. Cyclone, aft camera live feed on screen 3."
"No stars?" She was clearly disappointed.
"Not until we leave the station, sorry. Cyclone, do we have any other optical ports looking aft?"
"Not in the pressurised section."
"Please call me as soon as there are stars."
"Sorry, madam, I am only the second pilot. Only the first pilot can allow that."
"I see. Can you take me to my cabin?"
"Yes, two steps down again."
They were on the second flight of stairs when the lights flickered. "Cyclone, status!"
"Short circuit in the galley in the cooking area."
Great, and she was so hungry. "Cyclone, cut all power to that section."
She quickly took the young cat to one of the twin cabins on the passenger deck. As she entered she bowed. "Sorry, madam, I must leave for repairs."
"Please, tell me when I can see the stairs, second pilot Rerra of Petra."
"Yes, Madam." She bowed and then turned. It was nice to be addressed by full name by this important cat. Still, the cat did not bother to give her name, probably assuming that everyone knew who she was. Well, the galley first. Two of the gorgeous cats from the entourage were trying to get the steamer and oven working. The stench of burnt insulation was there too.
"Don't bother, short circuit. I will fix it, I'll just get my tools."
She returned quickly with the electrical toolbox and some ccables and unscrewed the floor tiles in front of the oven. The stench of burnt plastic almost turned her empty stomach. The further in the back, the thicker the layer of soot. She sighed, she had to go all in.
So she put on her utility belt, strapped a flashlight to a headband and climbed into the floor on her back. Just a finger's breadth above her breasts were the spants supporting the floor. Behind the oven, she could clearly see that the main power cable from the bus bar to the top was charred. She removed the connections and robbed backwards until she could get out again.
Five pairs of expectant eyes stared at her.
"Not finished, the main cable needs to be replaced."
They looked disappointed. She climbed up the oven by the handles, removed the four screws from the ceiling panel and let it hang by its wires. With a quick push, she was in the ceiling. There was more space here, as there was nothing on the crew deck in this area. Unfortunately, there was also more soot.
And then she saw the mess. Someone had rewired the stove to the steamer using half a strand of the original cable. But whoever did this had not used ferrules, and over time the strands had oxidised, increasing their resistance. Until one day, the resistance heated the cable so much that it had carbonised the wire insulation where the two phases laid on top of each other. So both the oven and the steamer needed new power connections. She could still unscrew the nuts at the steamer and oven, so far so good. She quickly got out, ignoring the increased number of spectators, measured out two lengths of matching two-phase cable and crimped ferrules onto each end. Jumping back up into the ceiling, she wiped the soot off all the contacts she could reach, then rasped the cupper nuts back to shine and connected the two cables to the top of the steamer and the oven.
Once out and back in the floor, she could finally remove the broken wires, shorten the new ones, crimp them and connect them to the bus bar. The ohmmeter showed low readings here too.
She climbed out, "Cyclone, power the galley bus bar."
"Power is on."
Everyone cheered as the panel next to the oven and steamer lit up.
"Attention, this is the first pilot. We are ready for take-off."
She did not wait and climbed up the oven to reattach the ceiling panel. There was a small jolt and a slight sideways component. Chatee had de-docked under power so that the gravity would gradually disappear.
She quickly screwed the bottom panel in place, then coiled up the stinking and burnt cables and placed them on the toolbox. She opened the door to the mess room and went to the stairs to the workshop. The old cat was staring at her.
"What's that filthy cat doing here? Throw her off."
"I was repairing the galley, madam. And we have just left the station." She still bowed, then walked past her towards the stairs.
No one said anything, no one tried to stop her. The onlookers stopped at the top of the stairs. "Where's my dinner?" the old cat shouted. The other cats went back quickly.
In the workshop, she took off her utility belt. The yellow plastic was very dark, and where the belt had been, she now had a bright ring in her soot-darkened fur. She placed the cables in a rubbish bag and secured everything. "Chatee, the galley repairs are done. And I urgently need a shower."
"We have strict instructions never to drop below 0.3 g for this voyage. Enjoy your shower, you've certainly deserve it."
She ran up through the mess to the other side of the stairs, but the old cat was no longer there.