“This is Nyarowlll,” Emma said, getting the vowels as close as she could to what was essentially a meow.
“Hello, Nyarowlll,” Bill said.
“A doctor is someone who manages the physiology of your people?” Nyarowlll asked, carefully.
“It is also the term for an academic,” Bill pointed out. “I am an academic who is studying the gates.”
“I, too, am an academic,” Nyarowlll said, somewhat excitedly. “I study the physical processes of our world.”
“We’re probably the same sort of academic,” Bill replied with a closed-mouth smile.
“And your Navy, as I understand it, handles combat at sea,” Nyarowlll asked, looking at the chief. “Does it not? But surely this is a situation for land security.”
“I’m a SEAL, ma’am,” Miller replied. “We handle ground combat as well.”
“Oh, yes,” Nyarowlll said, making a strange sidling motion with her head. “I saw a program on them on the Discovery Channel. Very good soldiers.”
Miller decided to let that one pass.
“What can we do for you, Nyarowlll?” Bill asked.
“I am what you would call an ambassador from my world,” Nyarowlll answered. “I have come to this world to establish friendly relations and trade. I would like to meet with your world leadership and, barring that, I would like someone who is capable of establishing communications come to our world to meet with our leadership.”
“Ah,” Bill said, momentarily dumbfounded. “You have to understand that we are somewhat… uncertain about cross-gate contact. The first sentients we have… met from another intelligent society came through fighting.”
“That would be the T!Ch!R!,” Nyarowlll noted, letting out a stream of what was mostly clicks. “We, too, have had experience with them. They are a sort of pest that goes with the gates.”
“Let me call someone and see what I can arrange,” Bill replied, stepping out of the room. He pulled out his cell phone and called the NSA. He had an intermediate control at this point in the Pentagon but this seemed like something that needed a bit more direct approach.
He finally got through to her and explained what he had been told.
“Damn,” the NSA said. “State is going to be all over this like stink and we don’t actually know that she is friendly.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bill said. “I’m wondering what they know about the gates. I’ve seen no sign of high technology about the visitor. But that doesn’t tell us anything about the far side.”
“Would you and Chief Miller be willing to travel to the far side and investigate this society while I do battle with State back here?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Weaver replied, sighing. “If Nyarowlll can survive on this side the converse is probably true.”
“Tell her you’ve contacted your leaders in this government. Then, go through, make contact with their government but don’t promise anything, understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bill replied.
“Good luck.”
“Nyarowlll,” Weaver said. “Or should I call you Dr. Nyarowlll?”
“Nyarowlll will do,” the cat replied.
“I’ve contacted our leaders and told them what is happening. They asked me to go through and contact your leaders in turn. Would that be possible?”
“Certainly,” Nyarowlll said, standing up. “Now?”
“Chief?” Bill said.
“Let me go get my bag,” the SEAL replied, walking out of the room. When he came back in he was carrying an M-4 and wearing a combat harness. “Okay, I’m dressed.”
“Will there be an issue with bringing weapons with us?” Bill asked.
“Not at all,” Nyarowlll replied, walking towards the rear of the house. “It is a justifiable action. However, when you meet the emperor they will have to remain outside.”
Bill mulled that over as they approached the gate. Two SWAT team members were watching it carefully, as if it would start dumping… whatever she’d called them at any time.
Nyarowlll stepped through with total aplomb and Bill followed her into the looking glass.
The far side was a large room, about fifteen meters high, with a concrete floor and walls. The ceiling, which looked to also be concrete, was held up with heavy metal beams that were riveted together. The construction looked vaguely familiar to him but he couldn’t place it. Then he noticed the odor. There was a catlike musk but overlaying it was what he identified as wood and coal smoke. He hadn’t smelled coal smoke in years but it was distinctive. There was also a smell like rotten fish or a salt marsh; the place must be near the ocean. The room was cold, cooler than the Central Florida evening they had left, and there were three small potbelly stoves heating it. One of them was glowing cherry red. The room was lit with a large number of lamps which Bill tentatively identified as oil lamps.
There were about twenty cats in the room, most of them colored like Nyarowlll and almost indistinguishable but a few colored a light tan with brown markings. Some of them wore leather aprons and others bore harnesses made of leather and carried what looked like laser pistols that had been modified for wood stocks. One of the ones wearing an apron came over to Nyarowlll immediately and they carried on a conversation that sounded like a cat fight, meanwhile stroking each other’s ears. After a bit of that Nyarowlll came back over to them and waved to one of the doors.
“We have a transfer device,” she said, opening the low door and waving them through.
Bill had to duck nearly in two and when he reached the far side he saw another gate.
“This gate does not go to another planet but to a linked gate on this planet,” the felinoid said, stepping forward. “It is quite safe.”
Bill looked at the SEAL, then shrugged, following the cat through another looking glass.
In a moment he was standing in another room. It was much smaller with fine wood paneling, a terrazzo inlay floor, and lined with low — low even for the cats — benches that were covered in rich furs of an unusual shade of blue. There were two more of the soldier cats in the room, bigger and beefier than the ones in the gate room. Both carried the laser pistol/rifles and were eying the SEAL warily.
“I’ll be just a moment,” Nyarowlll said. “You’ll have to leave your weapons here.”
Nyarowlll spoke to the soldier cats and then passed through the door with a perfunctory ear wipe to each.
Bill got a more careful look at the weapons the cats bore and reached some conclusions. The body of the weapon was made of what appeared to be plastic or ceramic composite with a barrel that was metal, probably a heavy metal. The shoulder piece, on the other hand, was wood and was connected to the main weapon by metal bands that wrapped around a very strangely curved pistol grip. The ammunition pouches were formed and hardened leather secured by a brass clip. They looked about right for some sort of power pack.
“Doc,” Miller said, glancing around the room. “These guys don’t make those weapons.”
“Yes,” Weaver replied. He glanced over at the SEAL who was looking dyspeptic. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Miller said in a muffled voice. He was looking around at the floor with a pained expression and finally swallowed.
“Couldn’t figure out what to do with your tobacco juice?” Bill said, smiling.
“Always something you can do with it,” the chief growled. He unbuckled his combat harness and laid it on one of the couches, setting the M-4 down on top of it. Then he pulled out a clasp knife from his pocket, a pistol from the back of his trousers and a knife out of his boot. “That had better be here when I come back,” he added, pointing at the pile.
One of the cats made a sinuous head motion then stepped over to the pile, lowering his weapon from high port. He gestured at the rifle in interest.