Ivan Cat - The Burning Heart of Night

But Jenette's domestic underground had warned their humans with inconspicuous bumps on their legs or scratches on their feet. Everyone involved had time to put on their secret-hiding faces. The Prime Consul learned nothing from his abrupt, late entrance. Looking disgruntled, he moved to the head of the long table. The other humans followed him to their places. Toby, Tesla's domestic, lead the way, using his large size to intimidate the other domestics.

Out of way. Move. Rrrrrrr.

The other domestics hurried to clear a path? even Patton, who particularly disliked Toby.

Two minutes alone in dark room, Patton grumbled. That all Patton needs.

Guard words! Rusty cautioned, carefully flashing with glowbuds on a side of his body that Toby could not see. Up until then, the domestics had been using the advantage of light-code to converse intimately even though they were scattered around the large room; now they had to be careful. As soon as he could, Rusty also made sure all the other domestics got the warning.

The humans remained standing around the table. When the shuffling and adjusting subsided, Tesla bowed his head and stacked his fists over his heart. All the humans did the same.

Webs spoke again in a formal voice, "Strong is the Body, pure of thought and action."

"Pure is the Body, strong against temptation," Tesla and the others responded.

"As it was on Evermore," Webs continued.

"Never shall it be in the New Ascension," the others solemnly finished.

Tesla sat. The forty Consuls and Subconsuls did the same, Webs with some relief that she had not messed up the invocation. The domestics recognized this as their cue and the small army of quadrupeds disappeared out alcove holes around the dining hall walls. They reappeared moments later bearing an array of foods that humans considered succulent: alemani-hopper forelegs with suckers stripped and replaced with sprigs of pepper-thistle, the beheaded body of a pugg coated in orange sweet-goo, something called a faux-chicken which was cut into thin strips and served over tuber skins.

Weird food, said a domestic named Crash.

Ruined by burning, Patton snorted as he placed a dish before Colonel Halifax.

Not burned, cooked , corrected Bronte, a domestic who had somehow picked up an appreciation for human tastes and was therefore in charge of the feast preparations.

Tengen's muzzle curled as he took a dish to Panya Hedren. Why eat plants? Yuck.

Bronte glared at Tengen. Plants healthy, build strong bones.

Tengen might have said more, but at the last moment realized he was within Panya's field of view and wisely decided not to flash in her presence.

Having placed the dishes, the domestics backed away from the table.

The humans inhaled the sumptuous odors, or licked their lips, but none made a move for the food.

"Please," said Tesla, nodding stiffly, "eat."

They waited as he took the first mouthful, then followed suit. As they ate, Tesla made an effort to set them at ease with conversation and by showing a lot of teeth? something humans did when they were happy, but something Tesla rarely did. As far as the domestics could tell, this did not seem to have the desired effect. However, since Tesla was the most powerful among them, the humans laughed when he laughed and looked concerned when he looked concerned, and did not speak what they really thought, as was proper in human society. But the mood did lighten, slowly, and what did it was not Tesla's stiff attempt to play host, but the glasses and glasses of droobleberry-ferment. After a time, spots of conversation began to break out here and there. Some humans even laughed.

Good to see humans happy, flashed Crash as he served his human, Dr. Deena Marsh, who, along with Burke and Panya, was near the end of the table opposite Tesla.

Yes, good, Rusty agreed as Burke told a peculiar human-reproductive story about an agricultural specialist's female progeny and a roving vendor of manufactured items.

"? so he says, I don't care if you do it with her anymore, just don't use my hairy ass as a score board!" Burke guffawed and elbowed Panya, who turned a lovely shade of pink (one of the few colors humans could produce on their skins).

"Oh Burke! Don't be crude," she said, unable to a repress a grin.

Some of the nearby humans laughed. Some did not; in particular, those who were more inclined to be concerned with rules and proper appearances remained stony-faced. Also, those humans on hormone inhibitors seemed uneasy with the content of the story.

"Indeed, well..." the human sitting at the end of the table opposite Tesla smiled nervously. Dr. Pondur Yll was old like Tesla, but where Tesla had become leaner and harder, Yll had become more wrinkled and infirm; where Tesla's hair was short-cropped and still grew over most of his head, Yll's was long and gathered like a tail, but thin. Yll seemed anxious to find another subject. "And how are you feeling, Madam Hedren?"

All eyes turned Panya's way. "Couldn't be better," she replied, basking in her newfound celebrity. She patted her ripe belly. "And the quads couldn't be better. Oooh!" Panya squealed, feeling an internal kick.

"I think they're getting impatient."

"We've been blessed," Burke said happily.

"Thanks to Dr. Yll," Tesla said, honing in on the dialogue from his end of the table. The Prime Consul held up his glass. "A toast to Dr. Yll and his wonderful fertility drugs."

Yll seemed even more nervous at that toast than Burke's off-color story, but he drank as the rest of

the table drank.

Burke Hedren held up his own glass and said, a little too loudly, "And to Jenette!"

Panya sniffed and rolled her eyes.

"To Jenette Tesla," Jenette's supposed fiancé, Bragg, chimed in from his seat near Tesla.

"To Jenette Tesla," Colonel Halifax, also seated near Tesla, agreed.

Some of the Consuls flinched guiltily and the Prime Consul frowned at the mention of Jenette's name?

his eyes darted to her empty seat? but everyone drank.

The meal proceeded. The domestics gathered up empty droobleberry-ferment flasks.

Why they look funny? Tengen asked of Rusty.

They who?

Tengen nodded at Tesla, Yll, and Halifax. Look like skins not fit right.

Hrrr. They old.

Oh.

Tesla, Yll, and Halifax were the only remaining ancients. Tesla and Yll had changed over the years.

Halifax's stalky frame and leathery, scarred complexion never seemed to change from year to year?

except to become more scarred.

Very old, Rusty added.

How many years?

Rusty's muzzle screwed up as he tried to think. Urrr. More than four-times-four-times-four.

Tengen did the math on his four-thumbed paws.

Oh, that old. How long most other humans' allotted years?

Rusty considered. Not definite. Between four-times-four and four-times-four plus four-and-half-four.

Tengen counted on his thumbs again. His colors took on alarmed hues. That not long!

No, agreed Rusty, also alarmed by the inevitable thought of the end of his human's allotted years.

As Rusty and Tengen exited through the alcoves with empty flasks, Bronte entered.

Going to the long table, she moved methodically up and down each side, attending the feastplant. A seedpod steamed before each seated human. These she sniffed for correct temperature, drawing air over baleen-like nasal furrows in the roof of her mouth. Then, using her long teeth, she injected a tiny amount of immune venom to stimulate the chemical reactions within. Rust spots started to appear on the tightly wrapped leaves. Only when Bronte was satisfied with all the seedpods did she withdraw and allow the next course to be served.

Rusty and Tengen returned to the hall with more flasks of droobleberry-ferment. Tengen's worried coloring had diminished, but not his penchant for questions.