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thought, and energy in trying to devise scientific tests to prove the matter, one way or the other. They
were unsuccessful.
The flat cat did not care; it was warm, it was well fed, it was happy. It had numerous friends all willing to
take time off to reward its tremendous and undiscriminating capacity for affection. Only one incident
marred its voyage.
Roger Stone was strapped to his pilot's chair, blocking out so he said a chapter in his book. If so,
the snores may have helped. Fuzzy Britches was cruising along about its lawful occasions, all three eyes
open and merry. It saw one of its friends; good maneuvering or a random air current enabled it to make a
perfect landing on Captain Stone's face.
Roger came out of the chair with a yell, clutching at his face. He bounced against the safety belt,
recovered, and pitched the flat cat away from him. Fuzzy Britches, offended but not hurt, flipped itself flat
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to its progress, air-checked and made another landing on the far wall.
Roger Stone used several other words, then shouted, 'Who put that animated toupee on my face?'
But the room was otherwise empty. Dr Stone appeared at the hatch and said, 'What is it, dear?'
'Oh, nothing nothing important. Look, dear, would you return this tailend offspring of a dying planet
to Buster? I'm trying to think.'
'Of course, dear.' She took it aft and gave it to Lowell, who promptly forgot it, being busy working out a
complicated gambit against Hazel. The flat cat was not one to hold a grudge; there was not a mean bone
in its body, had it had bones, which it did not. The only emotion it could feel wholeheartedly was love. It
got back to Roger just as he had again fallen asleep.
It again settled on his face, purring happily.
Captain Stone proved himself a mature man. Knowing this time what it was, he detached it gently and
himself returned it to Lowell. 'Keep it,' he said. 'Don't let go of it' He was careful to close the door behind
him.
He was equally careful that night to close the door of the stateroom he shared with his wife. TheRolling
Stone , being a small private ship, did not have screens guarding her ventilation ducts; they of course had
to be left open at all times. The flat cat found them a broad highway. Roger Stone had a nightmare in
which he was suffocating, before his wife woke him and removed Fuzzy Britches from his face. He used
some more words.
'It's all right, dear,' she answered soothingly. 'Go back to sleep.' She cuddled it in her arms and Fuzzy
Britches settled for that.
The ship's normal routine was disturbed the next day while everyone who could handle a wrench or a
spot welder installed screens in the ducts.
Thirty-seven days out Fuzzy Britches had eight golden little kittens, exactly like their parent but only a
couple of inches across when flat, marble-sized when contracted. Everyone, including Captain Stone
thought they were cute; everyone enjoying petting them, stroking them with a gentle forefinger and
listening carefully for the tiny purr, so high as to be almost beyond human ear range. Everyone enjoyed
feeding them and they seemed to be hungry all the time.
Sixty-four days later the kittens had kittens, eight each. Sixty-four days after that, the one hundred and
forty-sixth day after Phobos departure, the kittens' kittens had kittens; that made five hundred and
thirteen.
'This,' said Captain Stone, 'has got to stop!'
'Yes, dear.'
'I mean it At this rate we'll run out of food before we get there, including the stuff the twins hope to sell.
Besides that we'll be suffocated under a mass of buzzing fur mats. What's eight times five hundred and
twelve? Then what's eight times that?'
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'Too many, I'm sure.'
'My dear, that's the most masterly understatement since the death of Mercutio. And I don't think I've
figured it properly anyway; its an exponential expansion, not a geometric provided we don't all starve
first'
'Roger.'
'I think we should Eh? What?'
'I believe there is a simple solution. These are Martian creatures; they hibernate in cold weather.'
'Yes?'
'We'll put them in the hold fortunately there is room.'
'I agree with all but the "fortunately."'
'And we'll keep it cold.'
'I wouldn't want to kill the little things. I can't manage to hate them. Drat it, they're too cute.'
'We'll hold it about a hundred below, about like a normal Martian winter night. Or perhaps warmer will
do.'
'We certainly will. Get a shovel. Get a net. Get a barrel.' He began snagging flat cats out of the air.
'You aren't going to freeze Fuzzy Britches!' Lowell was floating in the stateroom door behind them,
clutching an adult flat cat to his small chest. It may or may not have been Fuzzy Britches; none of the
others could tell the adults apart and naming had been dropped after the first litter. But Lowell was quite
sure and it did not seem to matter whether or not he was right. The twins had discussed slipping in a
ringer on him while he was asleep, but they had been overheard and the project forbidden. Lowell was
content and his mother did not wish him disturbed in his belief.
'Dear, we aren't going to hurt your pet'
'You better not! You do and I'll I'll space you!'
'Oh, dear, he's been helping Hazel with her serial!' Dr Stone got face to face with her son. 'Lowell,
Mother has never lied to you, has she?'
'Uh, I guess not'
'We aren't going to hurt Fuzzy Britches. We aren't going to hurt any of the flat kitties. But we haven't got
room for all of them. You can keep Fuzzy Britches, but the other kittens, are going for a long nap. They'll
be perfectly safe; I promise.
'By the code of the Galaxy?'
'By the code of the Galaxy.'
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Lowell left, still guarding his pet. Roger said, 'Edith, we've got to put a stop to that collaboration.'
'Don't worry dear; it won't harm him.' She frowned. 'But I'm afraid I will have to disappoint him on
another score.'
'Such as?'
'Roger, I didn't have much time to study the fauna of Mars and I certainly didn't study flat cats,
beyond making sure that they were harmless.'
'Harmless!' He batted a couple of them out of the way. 'Woman, I'm drowning.'
'But Martian fauna have certain definite patterns, survival adaptations. Except for the water-seekers,
which probably aren't Martian in origin anyhow, their methods are both passive and persistent. Take the
flat cat '
'You take it!' He removed one gently from his chest.
'It is defenseless. It can't even seek its own food very well. I understand that in its native state it is a
benign parasite attaching itself to some more mobile animal '
'If only they would quit attaching to me! And you look as if you were wearing a fur coat Let's put 'em in [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]