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Everyone else in the lunar base could continue to fluster and fuss over the lack of aeroships from Earth, but I needed to find Mister White Whiskers forthwith. “Where have you gotten yourself to, you silly thing?” My brittle, high voice echoed within the narrow duct. I’d done this job for nigh fifteen years, and this was the first time a cat had vanished in the midst of work.
Easy Prey tried to concentrate, but the music made it hard. The sweet-smelling love songs his coworkers preferred left an acid taste in the back of his throat. He would have used a portable facemask for his own music—Prey liked his songs pungent, with a little more rhythmic savagery in them—but Sharp Salt, his boss, had strictly forbade personal music organisms. Ruins team unity, she said. The data blurred a little in his nostrils.
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