Junkyard Cats - Faith Hunter Page 0,38
that work, but the ones in the crack I’d like to be dead.”
They knew too much. They had seen too much. Everything else was a diversion. Even Harlan was a diversion. They might want me dead, but . . . what they really wanted was the ship. Which they had found out about by currently unknown means.
“Fire at will.”
Jolene said, “That’ll make the toxic crack rats happy. Dinner coming up ratties! Port weapons array, targetin’. Firin’.”
I heard the sound of the shots through the watching cats’ ears. Felt them hunch down in fear, ears pressing close to their skulls, eyes staring at the remaining humans. Who were shouting, leaning over the edge of the crack, slapping their comms equipment.
Back to the vision of Tuffs as seen from behind me. She was sitting on my knees, nose pressed to mine, her front feet in my blood, her nose covered in it. She licked the skin below my nose, and it was a tasting moment, not a bonding moment. That view swung from cat to cat until I knew where each of the other three cats in the SunStar was sitting. All behind me. Most of the visuals coming from Notch.
My visuals swung around from cat to cat as Tuffs touched base with each member of her current clowder and with the other pride leaders outside the SunStar. It was disorienting, more intense than motion sickness, a bilious, queasy, upside-down and backward sensation that made using Mateo’s screens seem like child’s play. She made a soft, “Heh,” breath of amusement.
“You know the cats are eating the man at the front door,” Jagger drawled.
“He’s dead, right?”
“Yeah, so?”
“He’s good protein and moisture for desert predators and scavengers.”
“Long as you don’t expect me to eat him.”
“You won’t be here long enough to get that hungry,” I said, pulling away from Tuffs’ nose. I thought my way back through the screens, to the edge of the crack where the two remaining humans had backed away and were trying to confer with the invaders up front—unsuccessfully, suddenly.
I directed the ARVAC to the front of the property and divided my attention to see a new vehicle out in the road, a massive war machine like a huge Tactical Vehicle—a truck that was brought up on steroids and Devil Milk and growth hormones and then had a growth spurt. That sucker was big. It had to be a late model, heavily modified, Mammoth Tactical Vehicle, with weapons and armor and a crap-ton of shielding. It was pulling the damaged, lighter-weight vehicles free of the tread spikes. If it wasn’t stolen, the MTV was evidence that my attackers had military and Gov. contacts.
To the side of the road a man stood, visible in silhouette, hipshot, sucking on a vape, tiny clouds escaping his nose and mouth as the desert night sucked the heat from the air. This guy was smaller than Bearded Guy had been. Compact. Wiry. Low-light vision showed his hard hands and knobby, swollen joints. Black hair and a full black beard that fell to his chest. A single tuft of white ran through the beard, at the center of his lower lip. Every bit of skin I could see was tattooed including his face, dark blue teardrops under both eyes like dual fountains. Enemies killed on one cheek, enemies hurt on the other. Jagged dark blue lines rose like lightning from his left eyebrow to his hairline. I had no idea what they meant. Red lines ran along the fingers of his left hand.
A slim foot extended from the Mammoth Tac-V. The rest of her slithered out, and she dropped to the ground, a controlled fall down a meter and a half—slightly less than her own her height—to the stone. She landed like a gymnast, knees bent, arms loose, and stood. She strolled over to the tatted Vaper. She took his pipe, put it to her lips, and puffed several times. His body language suggested that he was pleased. They weren’t wearing comms systems, so I couldn’t listen in on their chatter.
“Tuffs. Can you get a cat in there?”
“Say what?” Jagger asked.
Bugger. The office camera was way back, too far for me to have seen the woman.
“Can you see in there? Make out that woman? The one who just jumped from the troop transport?”
“Got a glimpse. How did you see—?”
“You’ve been with OMW a while,” I interrupted. “Tell me you don’t know your enemies, who, I believe, are these people.” I was being less than subtle when