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He’s also been dreaming with the cat on the ship, you aggravating people, I thought at them. Now let’s get out there and see what that cat has to say for himself.

I knew I had won when Kibble picked me up and carried me with her to the shuttle bay. On the way she picked up a packet of my favorite fishie treats, a large bag of cat food, an old-fashioned rattling can opener, and a bizarre-shaped object that turned out, to my disgust, to be a suit and helmet meant for me.

She put it on me, leaving off only the helmet, saying, “You have to, Chester. I have to, too. We can’t live in space or in a ship with depleted oxygen without our survival suits.” While she readied the shuttle, I tried to get used to the suit. Under normal circumstances I would have expressed my displeasure in graphic and disruptive ways that she would find convincing, to say the least, but I desperately wanted—for reasons I did not understand—to accompany her on this mission. The mission included the stupid suit, so instead of spending my time protesting, I practiced moving in it. It was surprisingly flexible, though I couldn’t manage much of a tail lash in it.

And there was always that packet of fishie treats Kibble carried with us. Perhaps they were to be my reward for a mission accomplished? I could hope.

Kibble picked me up and tried to stick me in her pouch but I slipped out of her grasp. This was the first time I’d ridden in a small craft in open space and I wanted to see.

“No, Chester, don’t stand on the instruments,” she scolded when I jumped onto the control panel to look through the viewport at the stars and the derelict ship. I jumped back onto her lap but the slip-periness of our suits dumped me off onto the deck. I tried to wash my paw to show that I didn’t care, that the fall was only part of my master plan, but I got only a tongueful of odorless, tasteless shipsuit.

Once more she lifted me, and this time I allowed her to put me in the pouch on the front of her suit, but kept my front paws on the opening and stuck my head out to watch.

Having fixed the ship and stars in my mind, I turned my attention to Kibble’s hands, which moved over the controls with a bit of hesitation but seemed to be doing the right thing. I hadn’t known she could fly, but then lots of humans on Sherwood seemed to be able to, and as I watched her, I realized suddenly why everyone got in such a lather over me romping across the control panels. Graphs shifted and changed colors and made the shuttle move and make noises with the merest touch on her part, more sensitive than a baby mouse under Mother’s paws. That was good to know.

The derelict ship was very close to ours, held in place by the Molly Daise’s tractor beam.

“Initiate docking procedure,” Indu’s voice told her. “Breaking and Entering Docking Protocol engaged.”

Resuming my pouch-perch topside, I saw the side of the derelict slide open, leaving a great gaping dark square hole, like an open mouth waiting to eat us. And for just a moment I saw, as if beneath a ship-shaped veil, the pyramid vessel I had dreamed during my last nap. Then the veil fell back and our shuttle—quite stupidly, I thought—sailed into the open maw.

I must have given an involuntary hiss because Kibble put a hand on my neck and said, “Shhh, Chester, it’s okay. We can’t very well rescue the other cat if we don’t board his ship, can we?”

It seemed to me that with all of their clever little tricks and technologies, the humans might have come up with some strategy less risky to limb and tail, and I gave her a withering look to convey this attitude, but she was staring ahead and missed the whole thing.

I began to wonder why I had been so keen to come on this mission. That package of fishie treats looked increasingly appealing, and all this excitement had worn me out. I was ready for another nap, just as she seemed about ready to go. Maybe I would just curl up inside the pouch and—

“Time to work, Chester,” Kibble said. “Let’s hook you up and put on your helmet and go