“Come toward me very slowly,” Commander Nagumo said. “Put it down, gently, and come over here. Don’t panic.”

“Why would I panic when I’ve got such a snufflybuns to cuddle with?” said Technician Second Class Mdugu, hefting Tibbles like a fuzzy sack of purring potatoes. “What’s with all you today? You’re acting weird.”

“We are, yes, indeed acting a little weird,” Nagumo said. “Put it down, very calmly and gently, and come over here. Let’s talk about it.”

M’dugu noticed that, as Nagumo spoke, two others were edging around him to either side, partially hidden by the cargo pods in the bay. Chief Cummings on the left, Ensign Donohue to the left, both of them with weapons visibly strapped on.

“Come on, guys,” M’dugu said, giving Tibbles another stroke. “Did you open the arms locker? What gives?”

“We opened it, yeah, and you will be issued a weapon like everyone else, don’t worry,” said Nagumo. “Just gently put it down and come over here.”

Sighing, and with one last squeeze against Tibbles’s soft fur, M’dugu set the cat down. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll step away from this soft, warm, nice cat because you’re being such weirdoes.”

Nagumo, with relief visible on his face, beckoned M’dugu toward him. “Slowly walk over here and we’ll chat, now that you’ve put it down.”

Slowly, suspiciously, M’dugu walked over. “Why do you keep calling the cat ‘it,’ commander?” he said.

Nagumo, his eyes flitting to the growing shadow behind M’dugu, replied with a slow but quavering voice: “It’s not a cat.”

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