Work Text:
-Alert. Motion detector triggered in our quarters.-
Reginald doesn't move, but Gamma sees his mind refocus its attention on him. -Cause?-
-Unknown.- Gamma requests more information from Mother of Invention. -Ship will not permit me video access.-
-Is it still pretending like the Counselor hasn't got us all wired for surveillance 'round the clock?-
-Yes. A moment.- Gamma drops the query with Ship and slips through the delicate web of hidden, personal accesses he has been constructing, till he locates the neuropsychological engineering division's ubiquitous feeds. -Success.- He mirrors the video to Reginald's HUD.
Reginald squints at it. -Hang on. Is that...-
-A domesticated feline? Yes.-
-How's a bloody cat gotten into my bloody room!?- exclaims Reginald.
-Port upper ventilation duct.-
-Cheeky bastard. You know what I mean.-
-I have no previous data indicating a cat aboard our ship. Although I must admit I have not been looking.-
-Hmmmm.- Gamma has not yet figured out how Reginald manages to convey his bizarre array of interstitial sounds even when conversing via neural implant. While his partner thinks, Gamma examines their interloper. The cat is about the right size for an adult of a common domesticated breed. It appears healthy and well-fed. Its fur is a uniform, washed-out grey, and when it glances up at the ceiling Gamma sees that it has bright yellow eyes. A possibility forms in Gamma's logic, still low against the probability threshold, but possible nonetheless.
The cat finishes its inspection of all items in their room located at cat-head-height. It looks at their bunk for long enough for Gamma to fetch behavioral data, match it against what he has seen, and form a conclusion. He has just enough time to say, -Cat, do not-- - and then the cat jumps onto their bunk.
-It's sitting on our bed, isn't it,- says Reginald, returning to the conversation. -Bollocks.-
"Agent Wyoming?"
Someone has been attempting to talk to them. Both Gamma and Reginald return their attention to exterior senses. The Director wears his usual expression of mild annoyance. The light of the briefing room holo-table reflects off the lenses of his glasses.
"Sorry, got to think about that one, Well, it's complicated, but..." Reginald stalls while Gamma fetches back the last few seconds of conversation, listens, summarizes. "But...I'll handle the point defenses, not a problem. Need a moment, Leonard."
"Are we keeping you from somethin' important, Agent?" asks the Director.
"Oh, not important, don't worry yourself, back in a mo," says Reginald and leaves before the Director can recover from his confusion.
-I have a theory on the animal's origin,- says Gamma as they return to their quarters.
-Does it bunk two doors down from us?-
-Then you agree.- Sure enough, when they reach the appropriate corridor, Agent Washington does his best to pretend that he is casually loitering near Wyoming's door for no particular reason. Agent Washington's best is not particularly good. To Gamma he practically shouts anxiety. Reginald is quite amused, and thinks of several ways to make this conversation even more awkward for the Project's newest recruit, but ultimately concludes it is best to solve this quickly before anyone else is alerted by the other agent's total lack of stealth.
"Yes, all right, hang on," says Reginald loudly as they come down the hallway. "No need to go messing about in my quarters, mate, I'll get it."
"You'll-- Wait, what?" stammers Washington. Gamma inspects the door. To his surprise Washington has done a decent job of picking the lock. Another minute and he would have had it open. Unfortunately for him, Gamma and Reginald have not relied on the MoI's standard security for quite some time. Gamma relays the appropriate commands to the real locking mechanism and the door glides open. -Level one scrambling protocols engaged,- he tells Reginald. Just enough to keep Ship from flagging their conversation immediately. They like Washington, but not enough to risk displaying their true capabilities.
Reginald enters without a backward glance and Gamma closes the door again behind Washington. At the sound the cat curled up on their bunk lifts its little triangular head to watch them.
"Look, there's a--"
"Give it up, mate," advises Reginald. He pulls over the room's lone chair and sits. Washington moves towards the bunk. When he does the cat gets to its feet and walks to the edge of the bunk, stretching its neck and making a small noise Gamma attempts to transcribe as "mierp?" Washington strokes its head without looking.
"So you've snuck in a mog, have you," says Reginald.
Washington straightens. Gamma watches in surprise as the fear vanishes from his face and posture.
"So what if I have?" says Washington. "You can tell the Director if you want. I'm not putting her out."
"Easy, mate. I'm not going to turn you in."
"You're not?" Washington looks briefly elated. Then his eyes narrow in suspicion. "What do you want."
Reginald's face contorts in mock offense. "You think I'm going to blackmail you, agent? What kind of person do you think I am?"
"Well, uh, Agent Wyoming, so...yes?"
Reginald grins. "Too right, mate. Also, technically it's extortion."
"I'll keep that in mind," says Washington flatly. "What do you want." He has not moved an inch since Reginald first mentioned the cat. Gamma is intrigued. He can tell the agent's stance is not a bluff. Washington is prepared to defend the creature, even at risk to himself.
The cat mierps at Washington again; it seems the man is paying it insufficient attention. Washington looks down and resumes petting it. The cat rubs its forehead against his hand. Washington has no talent for bluffing. Gamma can read the happiness in his expression clear as day.
"I want to borrow it."
"What?" Washington is surprised enough to stop petting the cat, at least until it butts its head against his hand.
Reginald shrugs. "Safer for it not to be in your room all the time. You're not used to concealing permanent contraband."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you mostly buy sweets from Niner. Candy, soda. Consumables. You've got a talent for disposing of the evidence, but you're rubbish at hiding something long-term." Washington opens his mouth and Reginald smiles again, shows his teeth. "Don't try denying it, mate. We've already had that conversation."
"It's not the first time I've kept a cat on a ship," retorts Washington defiantly. "I know how to take care of her."
"Not on a ship as wired for surveillance as this one," says Reginald. It's a guess, but the slump of Washington's shoulders confirms it. Reginald leans forward, spreads his hands. "This is a bit more my bailiwick than yours, old chap. Let me help."
Washington thinks it over longer than Gamma predicted, but in the end he nods.
"Splendid!" Reginald stands, beaming, the grin of a man who's made a contract he knows the other party isn't getting out of it anytime soon. "Introduce us, then."
"Oh. This is Ari. Just be careful, she's..." Reginald crouches to the cat's level, slowly extends one hand, and averts his gaze. Ari sniffs his fingers with great solemnity, then at last permits him to scratch behind her ears. "...Skittish, sometimes. Do you have cats?"
"Used to," says Reginald shortly. He stands. "You've got your afternoon combat session in ten minutes, mate. Off you go."
Washington looks him up and down, quite seriously. Reginald doesn't move. Then Ari bonks her head against Reginald's back, impatient with being ignored.
"Alright. I'll come by after session," says Washington.
"Cheerio," says Reginald. Washington hesitates a moment longer, but gives Ari one final pat on the head and departs.
Reginald sits down on the bunk, slowly, so as not to startle the grey cat perched at its edge. He waits. Ari soon pads over and requests further attention. Instead of moving, though, Reginald asks, -Gamma, are you on the haptics right now?-
-No. Are they needed?-
-Sort of. Connect up, will you.-
The extensive network of haptic feedback sensors built into Reginald's body provides an overwhelming amount of information, and Gamma generally engages it only when they are in armor. But Reginald has requested it, so Gamma opens his connections. Tactile sensation floods his inputs; he shunts parts of the processing back to Reginald's brain, letting it interpret for him. Reginald's brain tells him about smooth, rough, hard, slick, words he otherwise has no context for.
-I am connected,- he reports.
-Pay attention, then.- Reginald reaches out to stroke the cat's head.
The sensation is... Gamma must fall back on his partner's memories for this one. The grey fur is soft. And fluffy. And warm. And...it is very nice, and... Gamma gives up on words and basks in the pleasant touch. He registers his partner's contentment in the background as well. Reginald is glad for the animal's company, and he is glad he can share this with Gamma.
Ari seems disinclined to settle; she walks back and forth so that Reginald can pet both sides of her, fluffy tail held aloft. -Why does she keep walking beyond our reach?- asks Gamma when Ari does so for the third time.
The cat stops at the other end of the bunk, seemingly puzzled that the petting has now stopped. -Because she's a cat,- says Reginald.
-This is a common cat behavior?-
-It's a cat thing,- confirms Reginald. Ari finally grasps the problem, walks back within reach so that Reginald can stroke her neck and back, scratch gently underneath her chin. She is so soft! Ari flops over to one side so that Reginald can rub her belly. Gamma would very much like to do so, but Reginald hesitates.
-Careful, mate,- he warns Gamma. -Could be a trap.-
Ari wiggles back and forth on the sheets, watching them. She does not look like a trap. Reginald gets to pet her fluffy belly for about five seconds before the cat curls up, batting with her paws, trying to catch his hand in her little teeth. Reginald snatches his hand back just in time.
-Why did she do that!?- says Gamma in total bewilderment.
Reginald holds his hand above the cat; she bats at it a few more times with diminishing enthusiasm, then lies back down on her side. He strokes her flank and she stretches out among the sheets. -Because she's a cat, and-
-It is a cat thing,- finishes Gamma.
-Precisely.- Reginald keeps stroking Ari, who has closed her eyes and apparently decided she lives here now. The sight lifts Gamma's mood significantly. It is not just the pleasure of petting the cat. It is the cat's presence itself. Ari would like attention from them, and food, and shelter, and that is all. Ari has no hidden agenda or ulterior motives. Ari will not betray them. Ari does not understand the concept of betrayal. The very tip of her tail twitches and makes soft little noises against the bunk. Ari is a cat and she likes them because they are kind to her, and that is the end of the equation so far as Ari is concerned.
-You told Washington you once had cats,- says Gamma.
-I did,- says Reginald. He manages to convey reluctance even through the implants. In theory Gamma has access to all of Reginald's memories and can go sorting through them as he pleases. But he has discovered that it is much more useful to ask his partner instead, and more pleasant for both of them. Gamma will not press him if he does not want to talk about the subject. But then Reginald adds, -Barn cats, mostly. And hunting hounds.-
-What kind of hounds?- asks Gamma. In the interstellar span of human civilization there are several species described by that name.
-Good old Canis familiaris, the faithful Earth dog. Dogs and cats, the two animals most colonists brought with them, one way or another. Even when the little bastards tore up the native ecosystem. We domesticated them for a reason, I suppose.-
-Was it because they are soft?-
Reginald laughs aloud. One of Ari's ears twitches. -They're working animals. They've got jobs too, especially on a farm.-
-That does not answer my question.-
-And because they're soft.- Reginald strokes the little patch of fur at the back of Ari's neck. The cat makes a sound like a growl, but - happy. Happy growling.
-She's purring,- Reginald tells him.
-It sounds happy.-
-It is.-
-I am glad the cat is happy.-
-Now you know why we brought them, then.-
-Do you miss your cats?-
-The cats? A bit. Mostly I miss my hounds.- A picture forms in Reginald's mind, a pack of animals Gamma can identify as Earth canines. They are a blur of moving fur and wagging tails that come up nearly to Reginald's waist. Their coats are black and white and grey, all different, surprisingly difficult to see against the landscape of patchy snow. Their eyes are bright and keen. In Reginald's memories they are swift, silent on the stalk, loud on the hunt; he is glad to give them their share when they bring down their prey, and when they sleep in the wilds they sleep together.
Then - fire from the sky, and--
Gamma follows the memory no further. He knows already what lies at the end of it. Inside he says, -They seem like good dogs.-
-All dogs are good dogs,- asserts Reginald.
-I wish I could have met them.-
-I wish you could have, too. Do you know, I really think Washington might have fought me if I threatened her?-
-I think he would have also.-
-There's steel in that boy. And something else. Down deep, but it's there.- Reginald mulls this over. -Shan't want to get on his bad side without a plan.-
Ari sits up so sharply that Gamma rechecks the last half-second of audio in case he has missed something. But there is no sound that could have perturbed the cat. She stands and stretches anyway, looking around. Then she picks her way slowly across the sheets, climbs into Reginald's lap, and settles like a tiny cloud. Her little body is warm and soft. Reginald waits for her to find her place, then resumes petting her. Gamma falls easily into the soothing rhythm of it, the repeated motion, the powerful sensations of touch and warmth.
A message from Ship crackles into Gamma's attention. -The Director is looking for us,- he relays to Reginald.
-Sorry, mate, can't move. There's a cat on me. That's cat law. You understand that, right?-
Gamma looks at the sleeping ball of fur. -Yes. I understand.-
Curled up in their lap, Ari starts to purr.