It was something of a deja vu, entering a space station through the hard vacuum of space in an open hangar. But this time it was not to repair the ship.

The airlock to the control room could not be vented. No need to vent, there was no air on the other side. The elongated airlock hatch easily swung open to reveal a scene of destruction. A huge and very dead monster cat, bloody and missing one arm, swayed gently in the low gravity next to the door across the room. Nearly twice Rerra's size, with massive claws that had scratched and bent the massive steel hinges of the other door. The cause of death was obvious, the monster cat had tried to get out. "Suffocated." He swallowed bile.

But Rerra was elsewhere. "Rarrar," she called over the radio. She was looking behind the row of scorched displays and controls. Then she dived down, lifting a large, badly mutilated cat from the small space behind the terminals. Her fur may have been grey but she was covered over and over with brown dried blood. Her left forearm was missing, and her right claw had only three fingers, still clutching a bloody rivet gun. And she had blown a hole in her head with it. He turned away.

"By the great Kerrentes, help us!" He was not religious, but with so much death around, the prayer helped to focus.

"Rarrar!" This time Rerra wailed the name. "It was not your time." She banged her hand on the broken screens, many times, until faint wailing was all that came over the radio.

Then he came over, tapped her shoulder and opened his arms. The thinsuits were not that thin. Thus, it was much more symbolic. But Rerra’s shaking stopped. They embraced in complete silence, except for the faint whisper of the airflow from his thinsuit's life support.

"You were close?"

"Coworker," she whispered, ignorantly amplified to normal loudness by the radio.

He ran his gloved hand over her sides as the back had the hard life-support unit. He cursed the stupid thinsuits, he wanted to comfort her. But her sobbing and wailing stopped.

"Thanks." And she pushed him gently away. "Let's find a control terminal."

That certainly distracted her enough. He learnt quite a few swear words while she tried to wake up at least one terminal. So he learned about half of the ungrateful extended family of Hopkins II while they drifted down the row of destroyed terminals and control screens, lit by three lonely overhead strips. The only thing in this room that worked. The deep claw marks made it clear that some of the terminal had been destroyed by the monster.

"I think it tried to stop the venting."

She still had a new one, "Balding idiot. Come."

Before she closed the airlock hatch, she bowed to her dead colleague.

He followed her through the hangar, almost floating in the low-g jumps along the ship to the other side, to another airlock. It was without power and had to be cycled manually. But the cloud forming at the purge exhaust meant there was pressure on the other side.

Rerra went first, after showing him the procedure. Which was unneeded. Any spacer capable of walking could operate an airlock manually. Even without the instructions in five written scripts and the pictograms.

She waited on the other side with her helmet off.

He unlocked it too. The air smelled strange, but then each station had its distinctive aroma and so had Hopkins II. And the air was cold and dry, colder and drier than even in the cockpit. He was grateful for his thinsuit. "Where now?"

"We have to get to the hub!"

It was so good to hear her real voice again unfiltered by the radio.

"Wait!" He hugged her again, at least feeling her muzzle next to his face and ruffling her hair. "You are better?"

After a moment of surprise, she hugged him back forcibly, rubbing her muzzle next to his ear. "No, not," she whispered

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"She was a good cat."

He didn't know what to say. So he just held her. Each of her breaths took longer and longer until she was relaxed again. She lifted her muzzle gently from his neck.

"We continue?"

"I don't know." She sighed and took her pad from her pocket. "No net, not even here. And so much blood in the air."

He sniffed. Blood? If she said so. "Close?"

"No faint, just carried by the life support." She hesitated, shook her head again. "But first we need a terminal with administrative access. There are several places. The main control centre is in the hub. But it's probably sealed off because that's the one everyone knows about. Then there are secondary ones, like the shipyard. Another one is at Flight Control. But Flight Control was probably the first to be taken over or destroyed or they would have answered. This station needs incoming ships."

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

"So where to?"

"Outwards. Let's go to the office first."

* * *

They had to cross the shipyard to get to the office. The lighting was dim, just tiny emergency spots. But otherwise, the shipyard was untouched. It was rather depressing for a shipyard, more reminding him of a shady repair shop on a third-class world outside the main trade lines, where tinfoil and spit were the main ingredients. More than once he had brought ships on their last travel to such places.

Before the office was the long ladder. Twenty metres or more; not much of a physical challenge. But like most spacers, he was not used to being high up in wide spaces with gravity. He preferred to follow her rump in the tight thinsuit, her tail bulging below the suit.

Gratefully, he took her hand and let her lift him into the dark office. No power, the only light coming from the low glow of the emergency lights in the shipyard shining through the large window. It was enough to see the mutilated corpse, skinned and half-eaten.

Rerra stood and sniffed. "No," she whispered.

"Do you know who?"

"Not sure," she whispered again.

Outside in the corridor, most of the lights were on, blinding him. His breath was still making clouds.

"I think it's safe," and she took off her thinsuit, packed it into a small bundle and hooked it to her belt. Just a black t-shirt and shorts, while he froze from breathing the crisp air.

"Let's head for the stairwell."

He followed her steps, keeping to the right side of the corridor. It was divided by a dried bloody trail, sometimes faint, sometimes thicker, which also led to the stairwell. At least it got fainter the closer they got.

The stairs were long. At first, they stopped at each level, listening and Rerra was sniffing. Given the bloodstains, quite some injured people had moved down these stairs. But they never smelled, heard or saw anyone. Every level or two, another trail of blood stains joined the stairs down until there was no way to avoid them. As the stair's floor grew darker, the gravity increased, as if the wounded had been pulled down by it.

He had forgotten the starting floor level. Now they had just passed level 5 and the gravity was already stronger than on Fallerian. "Can we have a break?" he huffed, the fans of his thinsuit working full time despite the cold.

Rerra walked a few more steps before stopping and turning to him. "Just one more level and then we can stop at the den."

"Okay," he huffed and continued even slower. Rerra waited at the door for level 3. Thankfully, the bloody trail continued down and only a few dried drops from this level had joined it. The heavy door was unlocked, but Rerra's muscles still bulged as she tore it open. The corridor on the other side was lit in night mode and empty. She silently closed the door behind him and led him a short way down the corridor to a dark rectangle in the wall, not far from a blood smear on the wall and a dried brown patch on the floor. Cursive writing appeared on the door, a cursive he had never been taught. Rerra tapped her fingers on the door in a pattern and it began to open.

Running could be heard. Her cry, "It's me, Rerra," did not stop it. A cat appeared at the opening door, a long, broad knife in front of her. She was taller than Rerra, but much fluffier and less muscular. Which was hard to miss as she was naked. Even with the blade she did not look threatening. The knife dropped: "Rerra, you really are back! Come, come."

Rerra's strong left hand pulled him inside before he could move. Guiltily, he looked to her who was already introducing him to the fluffy cat. "Good to see you well. This is Marik, my current business partner from Fallerian." Then she turned to him, "Eli from Petra, head of Petra Catering. We challenge you to find a better meal on Hopkins II." She sighed. "I could really use a decent meal."

If the big, fluffy Eli had any bare skin, he was sure she would blush. She glanced back and two more cats emerged from the next room on the left. Both less fluffy, but still with longer fur than Rerra. And taller too, the same height as Eli. They looked younger, and they were naked too. Their knives now properly pointed at the ground. Instead, they all began to smile, their toothy cat smiles. He moved closer to Rerra.

The left cat put her empty left paw on her stomach and bowed. "Human Marik of Fallerian, welcome to Petra den. I am Kit." Now the other cat bowed, "Tab, at your service." Both bowed long and deep, their tails doing a hypnotic dance, clearly wanting to tell him something.

As a tailless creature, he had no idea how to respond. He wasn't even used to bowing. Most Fallerians could not even bow with their exoskeletons. Nor had it been the custom on any of the distant worlds on the other side of the galaxy that he had visited. He leaned forward a little. "Marik, nice to meet you," more a stammer than a proper greeting. He did not want to stare, but these attractive black and white striped cats, very exotic from the tip of their long tails to the rest. He clung to Rerra's upper arm with his left hand. While not the tallest, she was still the strongest cat in the room by a margin.

Eli came closer, took his other hand and put it on her shoulder. It was almost floating on her thick fur. "Clachischter chare everyching," she purred. He hadn't registered her lisp earlier, was that on purpose?

"Eli, here!" Rerra had an inhalator and pressed it into Eli's other paw. "Don't molest Marik, please."

Eli blinked a few times, then took it forcefully so that her claws were exposed and took a deep breath. She let go of his hand and tossed the inhalator to Kit.

"We've got water. You better chower." The stress was palpable in those few words from Eli.

Rerra unceremoniously pushed him away from the other two disappointed looking cats and across the tiny lobby. She opened a drawer and took out a bathrobe. "Put your clothes in the washer and then take a shower."

"Sorry, what?"

"Horny cats without suppressant hit on the human. Will happen again, but the cleaner you are, the less of a problem. So shower, bathroom's next door."

"Oh." He remembered his first encounter with her. If those cats felt the same ...

He quickly undressed and went into the bathroom, only wearing the robe for later. When the lock clicked, he relaxed a little. But the goosebumps in the cold air demanded warm water.

The shower controls were different, and even the warmest setting would send half the native Fallerian population into cold rigor. He kept the shower short and then discovered that the third control started a giant hairdryer. Again on the cool side, but at least warmer than the air in the bathroom. And without any fur, he was dry in moments, enjoying the flow of lukewarm air.