“How tall are you, mommy?”
“Five foot six.”
Jelly extended her infinity claws and moved them from her own forehead to Wool’s.
“We’re nearly the same height.”
“That’s what I just said.” Wool experienced a sense of impending dread she’d never felt before. Standing in front of her was someone she’d grown to love. Quite literally. Adjusting to Jelly’s new height, the unthinkable crept through Wool’s mind.
She was smarter, now, but her instincts and attitude remained the same.
Could Jelly be trusted? Who’s to say she wouldn’t turn on her crew? The ramifications of Jelly’s progress – or evolution – were too terrifying to comprehend. None of this was lost on Wool.
“Honey?”
“Yes, mommy?”
“Would you ever hurt me?”
Jelly thought about her answer for a moment. Each second that trundled by perturbed Wool even more. Surely the cat should have said yes in an instant. The delay in answering was too much to bear.
“B-Because, y-you know I’d never—”
“—You’re scared, mommy.”
Jelly hung her paws by her side and took some offense, “Don’t be scared.”
“I j-just need to be able to trust you, honey. We all d-do.”
“Why are you st-stuttering?” Jelly clenched her fists, thinking the woman was making fun of her.
“I’m n-not.”
“Y-Yes, you are,” Jelly turned her back on Wool and made for the door, “Feeding time. Are you c-coming?”
“Yes.”
Jaycee, Tripp, Bonnie, and Wool sat around the central mess hall table eating their stewed dinner from paper plates.
Cups of fresh water and a large, half-full jug took place in the middle of the table.
Dinah Washington’s What A Diff’rence A Day Makes provided the perfect background soundtrack for their dining.
“I miss the taste of real food,” Wool held her hair back as she leaned in to slurp the stew on her spoon, “What is this, anyway?”
“I think it’s essentially some sort of beef,” Tripp took a bite and chewed it around, “Mmm, not bad actually.”
All eyes turned to Jelly at the head of the table, struggling with her spoon. Anyone who hadn’t met her would swear she was eighteen-years-old by this point.
“How are you getting on, Jelly? Gotten used to the spoon, yet?”
“My claws are getting in the way,” she complained and dropped the spoon on the floor. “I don’t like cutlery.”
Jaycee chuckled to himself, “Ha. Well, you can always—”
Jelly pressed her chin to the plate and licked at the chunk of jellied chicken pâté.”
“Or you could do that, instead.”
Wool lifted the jug and poured herself a cup of water, “Leave her alone, Jaycee. She’s had a rough day.”
“Miew,” Jelly’s ears pricked up at Wool’s cup at the edge of the table. Bonnie watched the girl’s infinity claws expand.
“Jelly, what are you--”
“—Meow.”
SWISH-SWIPE!
She knocked the cup of water off the table. The water splashed across the floor.
“Oh, now look what you’ve done,” Wool huffed and tore a piece of towel from the middle of the table, “You know, you should really clean this up.”
“No, I shouldn’t, mommy. You should,” Jelly swung her head left and right, satisfied at having carried out her instinctive objective.
Tor walked into the room and placed his right hand on his hip, “Hey, Jaycee?”
“Huh?” The big man turned to look at him, “What’s up, comrade?”
Tor pointed to the hunk of metal around his neck, “I did what you asked. I taught her as much English as I could. It went well. Now can you please take this damn device off?”
Jaycee lifted his gloved Baldron-hand and threatened to hit the activate button, “How do you want me to retrieve it?”
“How do you think?” Tor whined.
“Either way suits me. Your head attached or detached, your call.”
The rest of the crew giggled to themselves – all except Wool, who didn’t find the taunting especially funny, “Jaycee. Come on, leave him alone.”
“Attached, please,” Tor made his way over to the free chair and reached for a piping hot tray of stew.
“Suit yourself,” Jaycee hit the second button. Tor’s Decapidisc beeped and unbuckled, folding out into a backwards “E” shape.
Tor caught it in his hands and slammed it to the table, “Thank God that’s off me. I never wanna wear that again.”
Jaycee shoveled a spoonful of food into his mouth, “Then don’t be a twit, and you won’t.”
Jelly’s ears flicked out. She looked at Jaycee, “Mommy says you shouldn’t speak with your mouth full.”
“Mmm,” he covered his mouth and spoke through his food, “She’s right. Sorry.”
“That’s okay.”
A moment of respite fell across the room as everyone ate their dinner. No one spoke for once. Dinah Washington’s dulcet tones soothed their ears as they continued to eat.
It was maybe the second time since Opera Beta left Cape Claudius nearly three years ago that they enjoyed each other’s company. They’d been through so much together, after all.
Tripp grabbed his cup of water and held it up, “I’d like to propose a toast.”
“Toast?” Jelly licked her lips, “Like hot bread? I wanna try toast.”
“No, it’s not that kind of toast, honey,” Wool lifted her cup with the others.
Jelly didn’t have a cup to lift – just a saucer of milk next to her plate of jellied chicken.
Tor felt like he couldn’t join in given his history.
“That’s right, Russian,” Jaycee said. “Keep your cup of water on the table.”
“I will,” Tor threw a clump of stew into his mouth and turned away.
“To Space Opera Beta,” Tripp said.
“To Space Opera Beta,” everyone chimed.
“And to Daryl Katz and Haloo Ess. Gone, but never, ever forgotten.”
“To Katz and Ess,” Bonnie, Jaycee, Wool, and Tripp said before taking a gulp of water.
They slammed their cups to the surface of the table and continued eating.
“So, Jelly,” Tripp chewed on his food, “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you this whole time.”
“What?” She lowered her head and nibbled at her chicken.
“Now you can speak, and all. I think I ask for everyone here. Hell, everyone who ever owned a cat. When you were a regular cat, what, uh—”
“—What, uh, what?” Jelly lifted her head and mocked him.
Tripp couldn’t get the question out of his mouth. He’d always planned to ask the question of his own pets if the situation ever arose. Of course, it never did. He couldn’t formulate the question and quit talking.
Wool had a go in his place, “Honey, I think what Tripp wants to ask is… when you were a real cat, what was it… like?”
“What kind of stupid-ass question is that?” Jelly snapped.
“Well,” Tripp interjected with his second futile effort, “What is it like? Being a cat?”
“Are you seriously asking me that?” Jelly huffed and palmed her plate toward the edge of the table, “Billions of years of evolution in two days and you want to know what being a cat was like?”
The crew were stunned at her outburst.
“Idiots,” Jelly continued to lick her chicken.
“Well,” Tripp rolled his shoulders and tried to keep his dignity intact, “What do you think about when you’re a cat?”