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and/or cuddlesome pets scattered about in almost every room of the house. When my mother and her friends had begun talking business I was given the run of the house, something I wasn’t reluctant to accept. The idea of all those animals living together had fascinated me, and I’d wandered from room to room, admiring the comradely peace and calm-until I came to the rule’s exception. A small but beautifully colored bird was flapping around in a frenzy in its large, ornate cage, beating mindlessly against the bars and swings and perches, acting as though it were trying to get away from some horrible menace. I’d looked all around; trying to see what the menace could be, but hadn’t found anything at all to explain the bird’s behavior when a house servant entered the room. The bird’s frenzied flapping caught his immediate attention, and with a sound of annoyance he went straight to an orange and white cat lying quietly near the cage, picked up the animal up, then left the room with it. The bird’s fluttering hysterics had started quieting immediately, but I hadn’t understood why. The cat hadn’t been doing anything but staring at the bird . . .

    I took my face out of the water so that I could sigh deeply, wondering what the hell I was going to do.
    The cat in question wasn’t a housecat but a hunting cat, and the bird wasn’t a cagebird but a mutated hunting hawk. If they ever got down to it in a serious way more than feathers and fur would fly, but the cat didn’t seem prepared to back off, and the bird was beginning to feel her talons flexing in pure reflex.
    If something didn’t happen to establish a truce between them, the upcoming months would not be at all pleasant, but the hawk didn’t want a truce on the cat’s terms. I damned well couldn’t accept a truce on Val’s terms, not and still look myself in the face when I brushed my hair. He could stare until he was blue in the face, but I’d be damned if I’d let it stampede me.
    With which strong-minded resolve I finished my shower, let the air blowers dry me, then marched out of the shower stall. The small exercise room was empty, but when I turned the corner into the salon, I ran smack into the cause of my frenzied fluttering in the flesh.
    “Hey, be careful!” Val said with touching concern, grabbing my arms to keep me from going over backward at the collision. Then he grinned faintly and observed, “Small ship, isn’t it?”
    “Not that small,” I muttered to myself and began to step around him, but suddenly he was in my way again. I looked up at him with what must have been automatic talon flexing, and he immediately held up a conciliatory hand.
    “I’m really not trying to crowd you,” he said. “It’s just that I have a problem, and I need your help with it.”
    I studied his very innocent face for a minute, knowing damned well he was trying to con me, but still said, “What problem?”
    “It’s right this way,” he said, stepping aside and gesturing with one hand. “Come on and I’ll show you.”
    I half expected him to lead the way to his bunk, but his actual destination turned out to be the galley. He led me up to the synthoserver, then turned and gestured at it over his shoulder.
    “I can’t eat what that thing puts out,” he said, the distaste in his expression testifying to the truth of his words. “No matter what color or shape or texture it comes out in, it all tastes the same and I can’t eat it.
    If that’s all this ship has in the way of food, I’m not going to make it to your Federation.”
    He was looking down at me in a strange way, obviously not kidding about the syntho, but at the same time pleased he had found something I couldn’t ignore him about. I was that close to telling him he’d get used to the syntho after a while and if he didn’t he could starve with my blessing, when I suddenly got a better idea. The ship was, after all, a luxury yacht, and I could do with a little luxury.
    “If it’s