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"What's the smell of your cat's paws?"
Sometimes, I’d get questions in my colleagues' newsletters that I couldn't answer and never would be able to. I’d never had a cat. In the Corporation Rim, that would be a luxury—and like family, a cat would tie you down, tethering you to a place, to a vet, to a hundred things that felt even more binding than a controlling implant. And on Preservation, I hadn’t gotten a pet or a family out of sheer habit. No point in getting attached to something that you might have to leave. I hadn’t planned to leave Preservation for good, but dying in a survey mission was always an option. And the fewer grieving relatives and abandoned pets I left behind, the better.
But I still needed to know the smell of a cat’s paws.
Ratthi had a cat. I could sneak over to Ratthi’s place at night, but for one, Ratthi wasn’t alone tonight, and for another, finding his black cat in the dark—even with my visual augments—was going to be challenging. She’d find me first, probably by leaping from somewhere above. At that point, there’d be no smelling paws. And would Ratthi’s latest fling even believe me if I told them I was conducting nocturnal scientific research in their bedroom?
I tried to lure the cat out from behind the door, but she didn’t even meow in response to my calls.
I was not acquainted with any other cats.
My only option was to delay the experiment until morning or abandon it altogether.
Sighing, I started heading back to my quarters when I noticed that the couch in the common hall wasn’t empty. Sprawled on it, with its long legs draped over the back, was SecUnit. It had its own room with a huge screen and a bed big enough to fit all of us. But it still preferred to hang out in the common area, where it could keep an eye on everyone without drones or cameras (although it always had its drones and cameras). Like a cat, it controlled everything and took up all available space.
And then, the perfect idea hit me, worthy of a true scientist.
SecUnit was in a recharge cycle, which it’d started out of habit after a shower. So, naturally, it wasn’t wearing boots. Its bare metallic chassis was poking out over the couch, the pant legs slid down almost to its knee joints.
I carefully circled the couch. I had to remember that SecUnit never really slept. Even in recharge mode, it could react quickly to any disturbance. I kept an eye on it as I tiptoed closer to the glinting metal of its chassis. From this angle, I could even see the ankle servo up close. Springs, connector tubes, hydraulic systems, and armored casings protecting the electronics. Everything was so sleek, so perfectly fitted that I was unbearably tempted to reach out and confirm how it felt to the touch. Warm or cold?
But touching was out of the question. First, it would definitely "wake" SecUnit up, and second, it would likely make it mad. So, I dared only to lean my nose in toward its chassis and take a few deep breaths, closing my eyes and savoring each scent.
SecUnit’s heels smelled like cleaning solution, unsurprisingly. And a bit of dust, picked up on its way from the shower. And warmth, and the exhaust from the servos. And metal and synthetic. I lingered a bit, memorizing every scent note, then opened my eyes.
And froze. Right in front of my nose hovered a drone, tilting its camera at me in a questioning stare.
"Scientific experiment," I muttered, backing away.
"Eventually this is going to get you killed," said SecUnit, and it sounded like a promise.
Maintaining my dignity, I slowly walked back to my quarters and, pausing by the door, let out a slow breath. The warm smell of metal and synthetic still lingered, tickling my senses.
"Gross," SecUnit called out from the common room.
But it didn’t matter, not in light of this true scientific discovery.