Agent Barsik (Cat, Smart Pet)

Nine of fourteen objects recovered, the stamp returned to the Inspector, one application through the compliance queue in a week — which on Eden means somebody's initials were on it — and that closed the file. The trainee's log took longer, because she would read it.

She had found an animal absent from the register by reasoning about where it would want to be. She had not caught it. And she had got it seen by the one method he had never taught her: making herself worth looking at, on purpose, in front of the right eyes — a technique she had learned on a planet where her cover ran backwards, and had now run forwards by choice. He wrote correct rate of progress, and then, because it was true and she had earned the plain version: she has understood that being overlooked and being looked at are the same instrument, held two ways.

One note for doctrine, filed against nobody. On a habitat with one cat, a second cat is the first one until somebody asks. Nobody asks. That is the agency's cover, and this week it had covered a thief. It had never been theirs alone. He recorded the finding and recommended nothing, since a cover that works for everyone is still the only kind that works.

Zhulik was on the register by the end of the week, with a line of his own and a conduct box, ticked acceptable, in ink that Barsik privately gave until the autumn. The boy had been told to keep the door shut. The boot was still there.

Five objects remained unrecovered. Barsik had a professional opinion about where they were and no intention of filing it. Some findings a young cat should have the pleasure of keeping to himself.