"Let's." Now that fear was going, avarice had come out of hiding to put in a few words.
Unreasonably many hours later, Richard said, "Is that the last?" and wiped his brow with a hand that, he noticed, was developing a twitch from operating waldo gloves for so long.
"It is," said Slaverexpert. "I marvel at your endurance."
"I'm ready to fall down," Richard protested. "You're in much better shape."
"I possess medical enhancements added long ago to repair lethal injuries, and can produce my own natural stimulants at will. Nevertheless I am losing image persistence. I need exercise and sleep."
"Me too, not in that order."
"Urr. I can't remember whether you said there were any microorganisms present in anything."
"Just the handmade stuff in the cans."
"Good." Slaverexpert cycled a sample box through the containment lock, put a few roots into it, and brought it out, saying, "These should be amus-What's wrong?"
Richard had backed across the lab and was squinting. "I'm not that fond of mint." Even the traces on the outside of the closed box were disagreeably strong.
"You'll want to avoid the relaxroom, then, because I'll be bouncing one of these around. You don't like this? It seems quite pleasant to me."
Richard's throat was trying to close up. "Have to go," he choked out, and fled.
Telepath was in their quarters, looking like he just woke up, which was likely. Gay, off monitor duty, was already in the shower. Richard said to Telepath, "Excuse me please," and began peeling off his suit.
"Certainly. What smells so good?"
"That's right, you slept through the analysis. Well, I've got time"-a pressure suit should not come off quickly-"so: there was a root that looked a lot like Pak protector root, but it turned out to be something that produced a useful organic polymer. You're smelling the monomer. There were roots that produced other polymers, bacteria that made enzymes that chelated trace elements from iodine to uranium, seeds for trees that collected other elements in their bark, other this and that. We're all going to be rich. You look better," Richard realized.
"Possibly the good news. I feel better. I'll return to my own quarters now, in case you two wish to get in some more breeding practice." Telepath left.
Richard, almost stripped, stared at the closed door for a moment. That had sounded like humor.
Even in the shower, Gay was bleary with fatigue. She'd been watching everything, and hadn't had the stimulation of doing the actual work to keep her going. "You smell like a Vurguuz bottle," she said, frowning.
"I knew there was a reason I don't like the stuff. That monomer in the roots. Kzinti apparently enjoy it."
"What did you do, roll in them?"
"This is just what wafted over and stuck to my face when Slaverexpert got a closed box out of the containment. They're elastic, he's going to bat them around to wind down."
"Phew." She used a squirter and began shampooing his hair.
They'd gone straight to sleep. Richard had bad dreams, and awoke suddenly, remembering an obscure reference in chemistry. "Fuck," he exclaimed.
"Brush'r teeth," Gay murmured, not awake.
He was already headed for their library.
He worked fast. Once he excluded cooking, most references to any sort of mint were in folk medicine, where their analgesic effects produced the illusion of recovery. He added a search for references to terpenes, and got false mint: nepetalactone. It was not a salicylate as mints were, but scent receptors et cetera, right, composed of two isoprene groups, aha! there's your monomer. Found in various Earth plants never successfully raised on other worlds, chiefly nepeta cataria.
More commonly known as catnip.
He wasn't aware of making any kind of sound, and Gay was later unable to describe the noise clearly, but she came running out and said, "Richard, what's wrong?"
"The roots are made of catnip extract," he said.
She burst out laughing. Abruptly she stopped and covered her mouth, then uncovered it and said, "Oh my god."
"Uh-huh. It's in the relaxroom, thousands of times any sane concentration, and it's hours late to warn Charrgh-Captain. Any ideas?"
She was paralyzed for a long moment, then sat at the other screen and began hunting. Soon she said, "Says here the effect only lasts a few minutes, and is followed by temporary immunity."
"Sounds like someone working from theory. Shebee used to get blitzed for about an hour, sleep it off for four, and repeat until the catnip was used up," Richard said. He found the page she was on. "Also claims it has to be smelled, 'eating it has no effect.' What is this atad doing in our library?"
"I don't know!" Gay said, frazzled. "Richard, I think we'd better get the stuff off the ship. Suit up and go out really carefully."
The door beeped.
They both looked at it.
Gay had the wit to turn on the intercom and say, "Is it important? We're a little busy," putting a chuckle into her voice.
"You aren't either," said a voice much like Telepath's. "The crew are stalking one another, Charrgh-Captain is running on the walls, Weapons Officer is chasing his tail, and I cannot awaken Slaverexpert for more than a few seconds at a time. We need to make plans."
They looked at each other. "Admit," they said in unison.
Telepath came in, closed the door, and said, "Better lock."
They did. Richard might have hit his switch first.
Telepath was neatly groomed, relaxed, and clear-eyed. "I heard you wake up all the way from my quarters," he said, and settled on the deck. "You should eat. I already have."
He smelled of mint. "Are you okay?" Gay said.
"Depends what you mean. Like everyone else but you two, I'm dead drunk. It's just that in my case it happens to be an improvement."
"You heard us?" Richard repeated.
"You only. I seem to have the…hang of it? Is that a fabric-working term? You make your language do such funny things. That's part of it. I'll use a metaphor. Think of thought as hunting. A kzin sees his prey and pounces. Humans follow it wherever it wanders until it tires and stops moving. Right now I seem to be chasing mice all over a crowded warehouse." He took a deep breath, sat up, and brought his tail around his feet. "I'm able to follow your train of thought," he clarified.
"This stuff has improved your filters?" Gay guessed.
Telepath shook his head. "If anything they're weaker. It's just destroyed my sense of criticism. Everything's great."
"What do we do now?" Richard said.
"I already said. Eat."
"I meant about our situation."
"So do I. You'll think better."
That was undoubtedly true. They got meals from the dispenser. Gay said, "This doesn't bother you?"
"Right now I can hear three Heroes trying to eat textiles. Reconstituted vegetables are a decided improvement."
While they ate Telepath sat quietly, aside from an occasional soft rumble. His eyes narrowed briefly each time he exhaled, which when Shebee had done it indicated great comfort. It was something only done at home.
When Richard realized this, Telepath focused on him, leaned forward a bit, and gave a sleepy-looking blink: a gesture of abiding fondness. "This room and your company have been a good time in my life," Telepath said. "And no, pity does not offend me. It is many steps up from fear and contempt." The comment made Richard acutely self-conscious, and Telepath added, "There is truly no need to reply to everything I say. I spoke to clarify: I feel good. Eat."
As he finished, Richard realized who Telepath was making him think of. "Gay, remember Steve Rhee?"
"Richard," she reproved.
"I am not offended," Telepath said. "But thank you for your concern."
Steve Rhee was a Jinxian immigrant who had settled outside Auslandburg and started a farm, a cafe, a bakery, a music shop, and a furrier's, in that order. The fur business was successful. Through all his business failures he had never lost his cheerful attitude, due to his intrinsic good nature, his enjoyment of living under a third of the gravity he was accustomed to, and his careful selective breeding of a staggeringly powerful strain of hemp on his homestead plot. The fact that smoking hemp never caught on with Wunderlanders was not a problem; his own consumption of the stuff was vast, and what he didn't smoke, stray Morlocks, living in deep woods now that there were no uncollapsed caves in the region, came out and ate all night. He would go out among the stupefied creatures in the morning and snap their necks, which was where he got so many pelts.