It was only yesterday that she had graduated. She was not waiting for the ceremony or the parties, on the contrary, she was glad to have avoided them. No, today she was going into space. Oh, how she had looked forward to this day, to fulfil her dreams, to rise above her simple-minded fellow cats more than only figuratively.

She had been surprised that a male had joined them. With only one male for every ten females, males worked as callboys or provided reproductive services for a clan or tribe. If you could call it work. As a member of the ruling Samul tribe, she had the privilege of losing her virginity to one of Samul's three male courtesans on the day she turned 16. It had been great, after all, her race had once been designed for just that.

And now there was even one who would go up with them. His scent alone aroused her. And not only her, which was why the males were shielded from the cats, had their own cars for public transport, their own shopping centres. The other cats took out their inhalers, and soon the cabin air was thick with the medical smell of their suppressants.

The small shuttle accelerated, took off and began a steep ascent. It was a strong acceleration, her personal screen showed 1.9 g, twice the normal gravity - tough but not unbearable. Still, seven of the other nine passengers had passed out. Only the male and an old cat in the front row had stayed awake. She chuckled, her fellow passengers had not needed to inhale their suppressants now being knocked out anyway. She did not have an inhaler. Today she could do without a suppressant; she was going into space! So she focused on the phase of the flight. She had not trained for a D licence but had of course tried surface take-offs in the simulator.

She wished for real windows. All she had was the tiny screen on which the sky went dark and the stars began to appear. Then the acceleration phase was over and they were weightless. According to her screen, it was only 0700 before docking. The flight attendant unbuckled and floated from the pilot's seat through the cabin to check on the passengers. The shuttle was AI-controlled, but a flight attendant was needed, at least after docking, to clean up the space-sickness vomit and to wake the unconscious passengers and help them disembark. Their flight attendant was an old cat who quickly floated from passenger to passenger to check on their condition.

She was fine even in weightlessness, so hopefully she was one of the 30% unaffected by space sickness. She asked the passing flight attendant, "May I unbuckle?"

"The company disclaims all liability if you are not buckled in," the flight attendant replied automatically, adding, "But please try to hold on with both hands at all times. Like me."

Doing somersaults in weightlessness was tempting. But if she was going to be a pilot, she had to show restraint. So she floated slowly forward, holding to every handhold within reach until she was at the front row, next to the only other cat who had not fainted. "Hello, Miss," she bared her teeth in a friendly smile since bowing did not work in weightlessness, "I'm Rerra."

Grey slit pupils watched her critically. The woman's fur had a fair amount of grey between the brown and black dotted fur. And unlike most cats, she was not watermelon-sized. She smiled back, showing her teeth, which were in very good condition considering her age. "Karreta."

"May I ask if you are a Jump Pilot?"

Her question was rhetorical: the insides of her ears were bald, all the fur torn from the drug-laced jump patches to avoid conscious exposure to 4D.

"Yes, I have jumped between stars."

"I'm 17, first time in space, just graduated top of my class at Clarice," she babbled.

"Really?" and then she added, "Sorry, no offence, it's just that you didn't look like a typical Clarice student. And 17?"

She sighed and nodded. Her genes had jumped back almost to the era before the first gen-engineered cat maids. Apart from her head and her almost leg-length fluffy tail, she was more human than cat. Instead of four claws, she even had five fingers with nails. Her breasts, unremarkable for a cat at least, were now hidden under her thick sweater. Which she needed because of her thin white fur. And since she was more than a head shorter than her classmates, she had taken up gymnastics and martial arts to fend off the bullies: She had muscles too. Were it not for her scent, she could pass for a male. "No problem," she sighed again, "I wish at least my adult fur was thicker."

The woman chuckled. "Believe me, fur is overrated in space. It is too cold or too hot almost everywhere out there to protect you. And fur will clog filters and water recyclers, fur will get stuck in every joint, a nightmare when trying to seal joints." She fished out an emergency safety line from under her seat. "Please hook on, there will be for sure the one or other sudden firing to avoid debris."

She clicked the hook into her belt and also grabbed a handle on the side of the seat. "Isn't debris monitored?"

"Oh yes, it is monitored. But cleaning it up? Nobody wants to pay. The ground dwellers don't care, and the factions among the station's Samul tribes? It is a miracle that they keep the station running with the small station tax and their constant bickering." The old cat looked at her again, and she straightened involuntarily. "Why are you going into space?"

"I've always dreamed of being a jump pilot."

"Ah, a young romantic then. Do you have a clear idea beyond travelling the galaxy?"

She sighed again, always the same, everywhere, no one took her seriously. "I have passed the theoretical exams up to class C by studying in my spare time."

"That's impressive, but it's only the first step. You need to bribe a mentor to teach you the practical part." The sharp green-grey eye seemed to be searching her for mistakes.

"Well," she hesitated, "would you? You look very experienced."

"I doubt you can pay me."

"I have some inheritance. I was born of Samul."

"Yes, I worked for them." The cat went cold.

"But I want no privileges. That money was my compensation for renouncing my title. Can we start again? I am Rerra without a clan. And I want to learn as your apprentice."

Now the old cat sighed. "I'll give you that, you are persistent. I don't jump anymore. You should ask your ex-clan. They control almost everything." Another sigh.

"So it's because of Samul."

She shook her head. "What do you think? Hooray, a romantic ex-Samul wants to travel to space. There is a chance that they will make my life miserable if they find out that I am training you while I am on their payroll. But that doesn't matter, I do not own a ship. And you would have to pay me for at least 50 days."

"Well, I can get a ship and pay you, then you would agree."

"Ok, if you can pull this off within five days and without using your privileges, then I think you are worthy enough to risk my slow work until retirement. You can"

"Attention, course correction in progress," the announcement blared as the thrusters already fired, decelerating and tilting the shuttle hard to the right. Her tether tightened, pulling her sideways. But she had a firm grip on the handle and did not hit Karreta. Though she missed her by a hair. Others had not been so lucky, there was screaming at the back.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

"Sorry."

"No problem, you seem to be handling it well enough. Here, my address."

She scanned the code. "I'll be calling back in five days, Karreta."

"There will be more corrections soon," the flight attendant announced, "so please all fasten your seat belts." And more quietly, the flight attendant muttered, "I wish for one injury-free flight". It was obviously too late. The male was bleeding from a head wound. Not too badly, but a small, wobbly red blob of zero g blood covered an area above his left eye. The attendant tended to him.

"I'd better get back."

Karreta just nodded.

She floated quickly to her seat, always with both hands on one of the many handles, and quickly buckled in.

The screen already showed the station and a countdown to the next correction. Now they had to align themselves with the station, match its rotation and then approach it radially. Just as she had done for the theoretical exam in the simulator. Docking at a rotating station was the basic requirement even for B-class. She could even recite the radio communication by heart.

The start of the docking sequence also meant the end of weightlessness. Now they would accelerate until they docked on the outermost station deck at 0.75 g.

The passenger in front of her had used the last moment of weightlessness to vomit. Now the course corrections began and everyone, including the flight attendant, had to buckle up. The foul-smelling liquid ran diagonally up the wall beside her as the acceleration increased with short bursts from the correction thrusters. It dampened the male's scent, the scent of blood and fear from her fellow passengers. But it could not dampen her joy. She might have found a mentor already.

The AI was as grumpy as the flight attendant, jolting the shuttle hard from firing the thrusters for short periods instead of gradually increasing thrust. Matching rotation was a difficult manoeuvre when done manually, but she had done it many times in the simulator and never used such hard corrections. Her eyes followed the numbers on the screen critically. She wished for more data than the passengers were given.

Then the clamps grabbed them with a final jolt. On the simulator, this would have barely been a passing grade.

* * *

Compared to the pungent stench of the shuttle, the air on the station was almost fresh. With the musky male scent gone, her mind felt sharp again.

The first thing she did on the station network was to send a message to Trina, her youngest cousin from the Samul tribe that ruled the station. Trina was two years older, but the only one she really knew well enough on the station. She had, of course, met her aunt, the clanmother Kerta of Samul, after the traditional Ekrerr gatherings on the third day of house visits as part of the House of Samul. But she had heard from Trina that her aunt was a ruthless businesswoman and that her eldest daughter, Yakka, had taken on those traits as she began to take over from her mother. Which sounded a lot like her own tribe. And that meant she could ignore them, having renounced her Samul lineage.

The station was not a favourite place for most aristocrats, which is why all the other cousins except Yakka and Trina had left, using their Samul name for lucrative and easy administrative posts down below. Again familiar, only on the planet they looked for faraway towns where they could do without any interference or control.

Trina was so different. She liked life on the station and often told her about life here in her messages. And like her, she was the youngest of 17 siblings and had no ambitions to rise to a position of power. Much to the chagrin of her clanmother.

Trina replied immediately, she was awake and on station and looking forward to a meeting. The message included a time and address. She deliberately did not use the navigation of her pad: She wanted to use her book knowledge of the station to get there.

It wasn't a total disaster, but she could have avoided two long detours and used another lift to get there in half the time. She made it there anyway.

Trina was already waiting for her.

While they were sisters in spirit, this was where it ended. Trina towered over her almost two heads and Trina's hug nearly suffocated her in the thick fur between her large breasts. And she was only dressed in a tiny bikini and shorts like all the other cats around. Her jumper and trousers stood out. And after the winter on the planet, it was warm on the station.

"Great, you made it into space. How was your flight?"

"Normal, I guess, a head wound and the passenger in front of me threw up just as the acceleration started."

Trina grinned. "Indeed, sounds like a better one. Let's go in."

She followed her into the diner, which had an odd Fallerian name: 'Blended Followers'. The cat at the reception just nodded to Trina and they got a table for four by the window with a real view outside. Since they were not on the docking deck, it showed mostly station structures and only a tiny view of the stars, which moved quickly with the station's rotation.

"Honestly, good to see you. It's been years."

"Yes, the last time I was taller than you."

Trina smiled. "Almost seven years ago. Maybe it's the lower gravity. I mean, sitting, you don't look so err."

"No need to sugarcoat it. Besides, I have human-like feet, so half a head is already lost there."

"At least you used your head. Did you graduate top of your class?"

"As if there was any challenge at Clarice: A bunch of old clan heirs, groomed for administration. Nobody even tried."

"Don't sell yourself short. Did you have a nice graduation ball?"

"No, that would be tomorrow. Good riddance to them all."

"Uh, sorry, I didn't," Trina was surprised, even her ears had flattened out a little.

"It's OK. Being vertically challenged made me their favourite target for bullying. And having brains didn't help either. But I will not complain anymore. In fact, I formally renounced my title from Samul yesterday."

Now Trina looked shocked. "You really went through with it?"

"Being 14th in the order of succession was never going to happen. And look at me, they would have skipped me anyway."

"So this is why you bleached your fur?"

"No Trina, this is my real colour. I dyed it grey back then in the hope of being accepted. It was of course futile. So yes, farewell Clarice and farewell Samul, here is now your es-cousin with her natural white fur."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry, I think it was mutual. They paid well."

"They paid?"

"Yes, getting me out of the linage was to them worth a lot. But that is behind. I hope that money will get me a ship to jump."

"You're a really crazy cat."

"Says the head of the shipyards, as I heard."

"There is only one," Trina sighed, "and yes, but because no one wants the job. It is work and responsibility: I sign the insurance policies. When old Tsurr retired, I guess I had no choice, being young, having a basic knowledge of jump ships and being a Kerta tribe Samul."

"Don't sell yourself short. I know you love space. You would be far away if you were not so responsible." She grinned.

Trina laughed out loud. "Ah, it is so good to have you here."

"Yes, I am happy too. I forgot, here is your present." She took out a box.

"Oh, real giraffe jerky. Wow, thank you." Trina patted her with her tail.

Just then the food arrived: A large piece of grilled meat (probably not from a live animal on this small station) with Krantasauce. The latter was imported from Fallerian, just a jump away.

The meat could be cardboard, all she could taste was the strong bittersweet sauce. "The sauce is really good."

"Yes, my favourite place, great food and an outside view. You know, this table is almost mine. If you ever need to find me and I am not working or sleeping, I will be here. The only outside window on this deck."

She also looked out of the window. "Yes, I wish I could fly already. Actually, do you have a ship I could buy? No favours though, I will pay."

"I doubt you have enough even for a wreck. Sorry, but since our industrial base is laughable, everything is imported and ridiculously expensive. And exporting contract sex workers does not help in negotiations. Unless you sleep with the agent. Ugh."

"You have."

"No, not me. I have a bunch of brain-dead assistants for that." She sighed. "Six of them, to be exact. They're easier to find than a decent technician. Honestly, I'll take any technician. By the way, do you know anything about ship maintenance?"

"Only from books. And there was this one"

Trina cut her sentence short. "My proposal. We'll take a tour of the station and get you settled in. I don't know about your internal clock, but it's almost midnight here. Tomorrow, you come with me to the shipyard. Show me what you can do. I'll hire you and you can choose any wreck you want to work on."

"It'll probably take longer than five days."

Trina almost spat out her food with tears of laughter. "Hu, ha, that's a good one. I think it will take at least fifty days and that's very optimistic. Hey, you are not an airhead."

"It's just that I met a decent jump pilot on the shuttle who agreed to take me on as a mentor. If I can get a ship in five days without calling privileges."

"I think she was just teasing you. Honestly, finding a mentor would be easier than finding a ship. There are a lot of retired pilots. They are replaced by younger, more attractive pilots to facilitate business deals." Her sarcasm was as thick as the Krantasauce. "There are very few independent traders. Regular jump pilots lease their ship from us. That leaves them no choice when the lease is cancelled. In short, there is no shortage of bitter pilots here. Forget the health reasons, that's nonsense. If humans can jump at 70, cats can too."

"Thank you, Trina, your honesty is appreciated."

"Nonsense." Still, she almost teared up. "Actually, it's nice to get that out."

"Let's hug."