"You're not going to change our babies, are you?" she asked. She had four children and two of them were still giving her grandchildren. Aliens hadbetter not start changing babies. "We don't stand for that sort of thing, here."

"No, Emma," Nyarowlll said. Her diction had improved, smoothed out, and if she had an accent it was slightly Midwestern. "We do not change babies. Emma, I think the thing I need to say is: Take me to your leader." She stuck out one paw as if to shake hands.

Emma took the paw carefully, Nyarowlll looked as delicate as a big bird, and shook it, then put her other hand over it and said, gently. "Why don't I just call someone, okay?"

There was a big barrier of police tape around a small ranch house, with two officers sitting on the hood of their squad cars smoking cigarettes, when Weaver and Chief Miller pulled up at the address they had been given. They showed their ID to the officers, then walked to the front door of the house, which was being guarded by a SWAT team sergeant.

Weaver waved at the sergeant and showed his Pentagon ID again.

"I'm Dr. Weaver with the DOD," he said. "This is Command Master Chief Miller with SEAL Team Five.

What do you have?"

"We received a call that a nonhostile alien was visiting this home. The home owner is Mrs. Emma Sand.

When the first officers arrived they found a three-foot-tall . . . cat that walks on its hind legs. The homeowner alleges that the cat had been visiting for two days, watching television. When confronted by the officers the cat demanded to be 'taken to our leaders.'" The SWAT sergeant was visibly sweating.

"Upon investigation we found another gate in the woods behind the caller's home. At that point we contacted the Department of Homeland Security, secured the area and awaited further information. The area is quarantined at this time but by the time we got here quarantine had already been breached."

"Felinoid," Weaver said, gently. "Three-foot-tall felinoid. Looks like a cat but it's from another world so it's notreally a cat. And the other term you're searching for is 'bipedal.' That's walking on two legs. Gotta learn the jargon."

"Yes, sir," the sergeant said.

"We've got it," Miller said, tapping the sergeant on the shoulder. "You don't get this much in Archer, huh?"

"No . . ."

"Command Master Chief."

"No, Command Master Chief, we don't."

"Don't worry," Miller said, tapping him on the shoulder again. "We see it all the time." They walked into the front room where a pleasant-faced older woman was sitting in front of a tea service talking in low tones with, yes, a three-foot-tall bipedal felinoid.

"Hello," Weaver said, nodding at the old lady. "I'm Dr. William Weaver with the Department of Defense and this is Command Master Chief Miller with the Navy. Are you Mrs. Sand?"

"Sands," Emma said, starting to get up and staying in her chair at a wave from Weaver. "Emma May Sands."

"And who is your visitor?" Weaver asked.

"This is Nyarowlll," Emma said, getting the vowels as close as she could to what was essentially a meow.

"Hello, Nyarowlll," Bill said.

"A doctor is someone who manages the physiology of your people?" Nyarowlll asked, carefully.

"It is also the term for an academic," Bill pointed out. "I am an academic who is studying the gates."

"I, too, am an academic," Nyarowlll said, somewhat excitedly. "I study the physical processes of our world."

"We're probably the same sort of academic," Bill replied with a closed-mouth smile.

"And your Navy, as I understand it, handles combat at sea," Nyarowlll asked, looking at the chief.

"Does it not? But surely this is a situation for land security."

"I'm a SEAL, ma'am," Miller replied. "We handle ground combat as well."

"Oh, yes," Nyarowlll said, making a strange sidling motion with her head. "I saw a program on them on the Discovery Channel. Very good soldiers."

Miller decided to let that one pass.

"What can we do for you, Nyarowlll?" Bill asked.

"I am what you would call an ambassador from my world," Nyarowlll answered. "I have come to this world to establish friendly relations and trade. I would like to meet with your world leadership and, barring that, I would like someone who is capable of establishing communications to come to our world to meet with our leadership."

"Ah," Bill said, momentarily dumbfounded. "You have to understand that we are somewhat . . . uncertain about cross-gate contact. The first sentients we have . . . met from another intelligent society came through fighting."

"That would be the T!Ch!R!," Nyarowlll noted, letting out a stream of what was mostly clicks. "We, too, have had experience with them. They are a sort of pest that goes with the gates."

"Let me call someone and see what I can arrange," Bill replied, stepping out of the room. He pulled out his cell phone and called the NSA. He had an intermediate control at this point in the Pentagon but this seemed like something that needed a bit more direct approach. He finally got through to her and explained what he had been told.

"Damn," the NSA said. "State is going to be all over this like stink and wedon't actually know that she is friendly."

"Yes, ma'am," Bill said. "I'm wondering what they know about the gates. I've seen no sign of high technology about the visitor. But that doesn't tell us anything about the far side."

"Would you and Chief Miller be willing to travel to the far side and investigate this society while I do battle with State back here?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Weaver replied, sighing. "If Nyarowlll can survive on this side the converse is probably true."

"Tell her you've contacted your leaders in this government. Then, go through, make contact with their government but don't promiseanything , understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," Bill replied.

"Good luck."

"Nyarowlll," Weaver said. "Or should I call you Dr. Nyarowlll?"

"Nyarowlll will do," the cat replied.

"I've contacted our leaders and told them what is happening. They asked me to go through and contact your leaders in turn. Would that be possible?"

"Certainly," Nyarowlll said, standing up. "Now?"

"Chief?" Bill said.

"Let me go get my bag," the SEAL replied, walking out of the room. When he came back in he was carrying an M-4 and wearing a combat harness. "Okay, I'm dressed."

"Will there be an issue with bringing weapons with us?" Bill asked.

"Not at all," Nyarowlll replied, walking towards the rear of the house. "It is a justifiable action. However, when you meet the emperor they will have to remain outside."

Bill mulled that over as they approached the gate. Two SWAT team members were watching it carefully, as if it would start dumping . . . whatever she'd called them at any time.

Nyarowlll stepped through with total aplomb and Bill followed her into the looking glass.

The far side was a large room, about fifteen meters high, with a concrete floor and walls. The ceiling, which looked to also be concrete, was held up with heavy metal beams that were riveted together. The construction looked vaguely familiar to him but he couldn't place it. Then he noticed the odor. There was a catlike musk but overlaying it was what he identified as wood and coal smoke. He hadn't smelled coal smoke in years but it was distinctive. There was also a smell like rotten fish or a salt marsh; the placemust be near the ocean. The room was cold, cooler than the Central Florida evening they had left, and there were three small potbelly stoves heating it. One of them was glowing cherry red. The room was lit with a large number of lamps which Bill tentatively identified as oil lamps.

There were about twenty cats in the room, most of them colored like Nyarowlll and almost indistinguishable, but a few colored a light tan with brown markings. Some of them wore leather aprons and others bore harnesses made of leather and carried what looked like laser pistols that had been modified for wood stocks. One of the ones wearing an apron came over to Nyarowlll immediately and they carried on a conversation that sounded like a cat fight, meanwhile stroking each other's ears. After a bit of that Nyarowlll came back over to them and waved to one of the doors.

"We have a transfer device," she said, opening the low door and waving them through.

Bill had to duck nearly in two and when he reached the far side he saw another gate.

"This gate does not go to another planet but to a linked gate on this planet," the felinoid said, stepping forward. "It is quite safe."

Bill looked at the SEAL, then shrugged, following the cat through another looking glass.

In a moment he was standing in another room. It was much smaller with fine wood paneling, a terrazzo inlay floor, and lined with low-low even for the cats-benches that were covered in rich furs of an unusual shade of blue. There were two more of the soldier cats in the room, bigger and beefier than the ones in the gate room. Both carried the laser pistol/rifles and were eying the SEAL warily.

"I'll be just a moment," Nyarowlll said. "You'll have to leave your weapons here."

Nyarowlll spoke to the soldier cats and then passed through the door with a perfunctory ear wipe to each.

Bill got a more careful look at the weapons the cats bore and reached some conclusions. The body of the weapon was made of what appeared to be plastic or ceramic composite with a barrel that was metal, probably a heavy metal. The shoulder piece, on the other hand, was wood and was connected to the main weapon by metal bands that wrapped around a very strangely curved pistol grip. The ammunition pouches were formed and hardened leather secured by a brass clip. They looked about right for some sort of power pack.

"Doc," Miller said, glancing around the room. "These guys don't make those weapons."

"Yes," Weaver replied. He glanced over at the SEAL who was looking dyspeptic. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Miller said in a muffled voice. He was looking around at the floor with a pained expression and finally swallowed.

"Couldn't figure out what to do with your tobacco juice?" Bill said, smiling.

"Always something you can do with it," the chief growled. He unbuckled his combat harness and laid it on one of the couches, setting the M-4 down on top of it. Then he pulled out a clasp knife from his pocket, a pistol from the back of his trousers and a knife out of his boot. "That had better be here when I come back," he added, pointing at the pile. One of the cats made a sinuous head motion then stepped over to the pile, lowering his weapon from high port. He gestured at the rifle in interest.

Miller picked up the M-4 and dropped the magazine, then jacked a round out of the chamber and handed the weapon to the cat who, after a moment's hesitation, touched a stud on his own rifle and removed a small, silver oblong and passed the rifle to the chief.

"There's no sights on this thing that I can see," the chief said as the cat hefted the M-4 and then looked at the sights. He said something to his companion who responded with a series of hacks. It might have been disgust, it might have been laughter. The cat lifted the M-4, figured out how to shorten the stock, which made it just about perfect for him, and looked through the sights, keeping his finger away from the trigger.

The pistol grip was too large for him but so was the one on the ray gun.

"I bet one of those guys could handle the kick on an M-4," Weaver noted as the cat lowered the weapon and then examined the cartridges. He pointed out the bullets to his companion again who made a sinuous head motion and spat a couple of times. There was a discussion that sounded like two cats stuck in a barrel going on when the door opened and Nyarowlll, followed by a cat that justlooked older, came through.

"The emperor will see you now," Nyarowlll said, gesturing through the door.

"Don't fiddle with that while I'm gone," Miller said, handing back the ray gun and then accepting his M-4 in return.

There was a short corridor outside the room and another door with two of the "heavy" cats guarding it.

These bore not just the ray guns but short swords that looked oddly ceremonial. The older cat opened the door and they ducked through, it was very low for them although the corridor had been about normal height, into a small office. A cat that looked about Nyarowlll's age was sitting in front of a low desk that was just about covered in paper. On one side of the desk an odd, capped tube jutted up through the floor. Behind him was a large window that was open a crack at the bottom despite the chill. From it came the sounds of a street, if metal wheels on rock and a strange oinking could be called street sounds.

Five more cats were in the room, two heavies, one by the door and one by the window on the far wall and three that were all older than the cat behind the desk. One of them was wearing a combat harness that was missing ammunition pouches but did have some silver embroidery that might have been rank markings. He was an old tom, scarred in quite a few places, one ear nearly torn off, eyepatch over his left eye and missing his right arm from just below the elbow. That had been replaced with a steel metal skeleton that terminated in a hook. Despite all the damage he looked as if he could chew nails and spit them out as Rottweiler killers. Miller took one look at him and saluted.

"General," the SEAL said, holding the salute.

The cat looked at him for a moment, then crossed his arms in front of him, hissing something. Miller dropped the salute and turned back to the cat behind the desk.

"Dr. Weaver, Command Master Chief Miller, may I present His Majesty Mroool, Emperor of All the Mreee," Nyarowlll said.

"Your Majesty," Weaver replied, putting his hand over his heart and bowing slightly. The protocol was probably all fucked up. He probably just said that the U.S. was part of His Majesty's domain or something. But it seemed like the thing to do at the time. "It here is good you visit," the emperor meowed. "Not many words yours. Nyarowlll tell who here."

"Also present," she said, gesturing at the three older cats standing by the wall, "are Secretary Owrrrllll who is something like our Minister of the Interior, General Thrathptttt, commander of our military, and Academic Sreeee, who is the senior minister for intragate affairs, something like your Secretary of State."

Owrrrllll was a tabby as was Sreeee. About half the guards they had seen were female as well.

"Honored, gentlemen," Weaver said, doing a slight bow again. "Ladies."

"Our interest is to open up trade between our two peoples," Nyarowlll said as there was a yowl from the tube by the desk. The emperor uncapped it and spit a phrase into it, slamming it shut. "We have things we can trade with you. Our weapons are far superior to yours and we have the teleportation devices which you do not. I'm not sure what you have to trade with us." She made another of those head tossing gestures as if in dismissal.

"Well," Weaver said, dryly, recognizing a bluff when he saw one, "the first thing that comes to mind is a telephone system."

6.

Miller and Weaver stood outside the palace watching the street scene. It was cold and misty and Weaver was shivering in the thin desert BDUs that he'd been given at the hospital. Miller didn't seem to notice.

The street was crowded with traffic, most of it carts pulled by long, low, beasts that looked something like six-legged, furry hippopotami. Pedestrians wore coats something like trench coats against the mist and many wore hats somewhat like fedoras. And it smelled, strongly, of chemicals, ammonia and others, that seemed to be coming from the manure of the draft-beasts. Weaver noticed for the first time that none of locals, the Mreee, except the guards, seemed to wear shoes. And few of them gave the two humans more than a glance. They didn't seem guarded, however. Just uncurious.

"We need to figure out where the high tech is coming from," Miller announced.

"Agreed," Weaver replied, shaking his head. "This looks to be about 1800s tech. Which doesn't square with them being able to open a gate. I don't even see signs of electricity."

"Something else," Miller noted. "That tom didn't get scarred like that from intracountry wars. Their 'empire' might be like the British empire but they all act as if there aren't other countries. So where'd he get so scarred up? Internal rebellion?"

"Maybe you attain rank by battle." Weaver shrugged. "I gotta get out of this weather, Chief."

"Yep," Miller said. He'd reclaimed his weapons after the meeting with the emperor and now he settled his M-4 on his shoulder. "Let's see how honest we can get Nyarowlll to be." They found a guide who led them to a small room in the bowels of the palace. The building, really series of buildings, was large. The center of it was a massive castle on a hill but buildings had been attached that spread down the hill on every side. The emperor, strangely, had his main office right on the edge, by one of the side streets.

Nyarowlll's office, or the one she was occupying anyway, was closer to the castle, up the hill and partially dug into it; the back wall was gray stone of the hill's bedrock. The room was warmed by a small coal brazier that was attached to a tubular chimney.

"Nyarowlll," Weaver said, taking a seat on the floor instead of one of the spindly benches. "It's pretty obvious that our society has a much higher tech level than yours. And that you don't make those jaunt devices or the guns. Where do they come from?" There was probably some diplomatic way he was supposed to say that but he wasn't a diplomat.

"This is true," Nyarowlll admitted. "We get them from the N!T!Ch! who get them in turn from the @5!Y!.".