Ivan Cat - The Burning Heart of Night

How come they so old and others not? Tengen asked, again in reference to the ancients.

Rusty wobbled his head, the equivalent of a human shrug. Ancients are immune to Scourge. Scientists study them lots, study their blood lots, but nobody knows why.

How come? ? Tengen began.

Tengen, Rusty interrupted distractedly. More how-comes later. Okay? Rusty answer then. Yes?

Yes, Tengen agreed sheepishly.

Rusty kept an eye on Tesla, who was showing a lot of smiley teeth at the amount of ferment that they were serving. Rusty didn't think that was a good sign.

The feast proceeded. Course upon course of fine food made its way from kitchens hidden behind the alcove exits to the table. Then came the main course. All dishes were removed and wide platters placed under the now brick-red seedpods. At a signal from Bronte, each domestic lined up along the table and simultaneously injected a bit more venom into the waxy stalks behind the pods. Even the most wary Consuls were enraptured as the seedpods unwound like flowers. Puffs of aromatic steam unveiled clusters of red nodules. Translucent sauce dripped onto the platters. This was the pièce de résistance, grown to order while the humans supped.

The humans attacked the nodules with long, narrow forks.

"Is this not superb?" asked a plump man three chairs down on Tesla's right. The man's face pinched with ecstasy as he chewed a morsel. "I find it quite superb."

Tesla responded cautiously, "A simpler diet suits me better, Dr. Bigelow." Tesla obviously did not like Consul Dr. Clarence Bigelow. Bigelow bulged from a Consul uniform big enough for any three other colonists, but Tesla always acted deferential; as Bronte was constantly telling the other domestics, Bigelow was very smart and his position as chief physicist in charge of the Enclave's energy production made him an important human in the Chamber of the Body.

"I applaud it," said Bigelow; he shot a smile in Bronte's direction. "I applaud this entire affair."

Tesla looked disgruntled, but said nothing.

Bigelow continued. "The problem with this colony? " Bigelow always said colony and not Enclave, which seemed to annoy Tesla further, "? is that no one has any sense of style." Bigelow flourished a hand festooned with metal rings. "This hand-to-mouth existence rubs it out of us. It's not good for the soul. I ask you, Prime Consul, why did we come to this planet if not for passion and vision?" Bigelow was one of the last few dozen or so humans who had come from off-planet, and whose ages now ranged from twenty-four to twenty-nine. They had arrived by fugueship, precious berths that might have been filled by breeding-age colonists allotted to young children in order to secure the participation of parents deemed absolutely necessary for the survival of the colony. Initially considered a waste, these juvenile colonists had turned out to be a blessing now that all the other adults were dead. Bigelow and his kind comprised most of the members of the Chamber of the Body.

Another delicacy disappeared into Bigelow's cavernous mouth. Fat lips sucked pudgy fingers. "I for one will not go quietly, into mediocrity but rage, rage against the dying of the light."

Tesla grunted, unable to disagree with the sentiment, and ventured to taste the feastplant.

Look, look! Rusty flickered in furtive tones. More pattern!

What? Where? asked the younger domestics.

Tesla eats only one bite.

So?

Look other Tesla plates. Only one bite of each.

True, true.

That mean Tesla's stomach nervous. Tesla stomach only nervous when Tesla have big surprise.

Maybe coincidence?

No. Look.

Toby had also noticed Tesla's dislike of the food and, anxious to please lest he feel his master's wrath, hurried over to Bronte. Bring Tesla good food! he demanded.

Bronte does bring good food, the smaller domestic flashed, offended.

Bring special good food, Toby growled.

Bronte relented, scurrying off submissively. She returned a few minutes later with a covered dish, which Toby snatched from her and placed before the Prime Consul. Tesla eyed it suspiciously, but lifted the lid, revealing a plate of boiled flat-grains with no salt. When no other humans were looking, Tesla patted Toby on the head.

"Good boy, Toby."

Tesla ate his flat grains. Toby flushed violet from the praise, then turned to the other domestics who were standing around watching. Serve more droobleberry! More!

The domestics scurried back to their places around the table.

Rusty right, Rusty right, they conceded after seeing the plate of flat-grains. Tesla has bad surprise.

What do now?

A group of humans burst into raucous laughter.

Not serve any more ferment, Patton said forcefully.

Many foolish humans were intoxicated, and even some of the scientists. Intoxicated humans did not fare well against Tesla's surprises.

Is okay, flashed Rusty.

Okay? Not possible, Patton contradicted.

Is, is, Rusty insisted. When Rusty and Tengen refill flasks, Rusty adds water to ferment.

Rrrg. But humans still acting silly.

Humans drank too much before.

So what do, what do? the others asked.

Rusty shook and jerked his head, and then spit a bunch of red spheroids from pouches in his throat into a forepaw. He took one and handed the rest off. Take one, pass others along.

Firehead seeds! flashed Crash. That makes headaches!

Shshsh! cautioned Rusty. Also takes away intoxications.

As they refilled the humans' drinks, the domestics palmed firehead seeds into the droobleberry spirits along with the regular garnishes. Only Consul Trurl noticed. "Hey, where's my red berry" he complained, slurring his words. "Don't I get a red berry, too?" The domestics gave him one before he could make a fuss, but they would have preferred to leave Trurl drunk. Trurl always said what Tesla wanted him to say, and did what Tesla wanted him to do.

Dessert followed the main course. Then more servings of spirits. Tesla continued to show smiley teeth.

The evening drew to a close. Thinking the end was near, even the most paranoid of the humans began to relax.

That's when Tesla drew an official stimpaper from the breast pocket in his daysuit.

Oh, oh, said Rusty.

"Before you go," Tesla began, "there is a small matter that requires the attention of the Body."

"What's up?" Consul Trurl drunkenly quipped. "Going to declare war?"

There were a few sniggers.

"In a manner of speaking," Tesla continued. "It has become necessary to call up the Reserves."

A gasp swept along the table. Many Consuls went white. "The Reserves! Now? Impossible!"

"It is possible," said Tesla, "and absolutely essential."

"H-how many?" asked Consul Prahara Luca, the head of Administration.

"As many as are necessary," Tesla replied.

Luca nervously reached for a water goblet, but did not push the issue. Administration always sided with Tesla; many of Luca's people owed their positions to his influence. The buzz around the table increased. None of the humans wanted to see the Reserves called. There were few enough humans to fill posts as it was; the tasks of those left would be made that much harder. And then there was the fear of imminent conflict that went along with calling the Reserves.

"On what grounds?" asked Dr. Bigelow, who had not consumed as much droobleberry spirits as the others.

"On the grounds that this Enclave stands at a crossroads. It must expand or perish." Tesla spoke slowly and forcefully to let his words sink in. "This tiny island's resources are stretched to the limit. There is no room to grow."

No humans argued with that. It was true.

"The sink-hole at the center of our island continues to expand," Tesla went on, "Usable land decreases. Raw materials are nonexistent. Production is stymied. Hydroponics works around the clock and conventional agriculture is capped at current harvest levels for fear of draining too much water from