Mindworlds by Phyllis Gotlieb

Ungrukh, a mutant version of Earth’s own leopards, were, along with Lyhhrt and Khagodi, one of the three species Galactic Federation depended on when they needed telepaths. But Ungrukh did not like following orders and were not very sociable, even with each other. They worked only to feed themselves on their fierce and rocky world.
    Ned, about to sit down with his squeezer of beer—he had never drunk from the beer goddess—stood watching the Ungrukh. The bar had fallen silent; the drinkers knew this cat and their eyes were on Ned now.
    The Ungrukh woman came straight to Ned, stood on hind feet and clapped her paws on his shoulders.
    She opened her jaws and said in raspingly guttural English: “Harroo Ned Gattsss! You mooff here naow?”
    Some of the drinkers spluttered in their beer, others laughed, and the rest twisted their mouths in disappointment.
    Ned grinned. “Just visiting, Rrengha—what about you, sweetheart?” Her saber-teeth were so close to his face that his breath made her whiskers quiver. He was panting, but he stood quietly and let her finish her little joke. “I wondered what happened when I didn’t see you around the plaza in Miramar.”
    â€œThat’s a long story.” Rrengha relaxed into competent lingua and dropped to the floor. “All because I am trying to get to Khagodis.” She looked up at Spartakos, and then at
the Lyhhrt-as-O’e, and did not mention that she knew what he was.
    But the whole room seemed to be listening now, or perhaps Ned’s uneasiness had become paranoia. He stepped off the razor edge he had been walking on and sat down a little calmer. “Let’s hear it.”
    â€œFirst,”—the bartender himself was approaching with a big bowl brimful of chunked raw meat to set down in front of her—“my dinner.” After she had gulped this down and slurped the last drop of blood she said, “For now I am earning my living as the guardian of peace in this place.” She looked about and found everything peaceful, while Ned took a suck of his beer and left the Lyhhrt to brush away the O’e woman.
    Then Rrengha panned the room with a look and the customers kept their eyes to themselves. “It is some years ago that Galactic Federation tells Ungruwarkh there is a request from Khagodis for consultation with us because both of our species are so strange. Neither one grows out of the life on its world. We originally believe the god Firemaster comes from our volcanoes to make us in the colors of our land and his fire, but now even the most ignorant of us knows that a powerful alien being from the depths of space picks animals off your old world and makes us Ungrukh out of them for his amusement. That is hard to swallow, but we manage.
    â€œThe Khagodi are also not related to any other of their life forms, and they have ten times ten kinds of religions to explain their beginnings. But when they dig up an ancient ship that comes from some other world their scientists and priests want to know the truth and ask us for advice.
    â€œNot so simple. Nobody is offering any money.” She gave a meaty belch as politely as possible for an Ungrukh. “We never have much and there is little to find when all you want to buy is knowledge. And you know we don’t care much about writing our history when it is mostly about old
battles. Khagodis is having trouble with politics and the Ix and the Lyhhrt, and they don’t care what their learned people want.
    â€œGalactic Federation says, what Khagodi want is not our business, but after a lot of arguing they agree to pay one person’s way to Khagodis by whatever route is cheapest. My people say, Rrengha, you are here on Ungruwarkh four times ten, and ten again years, your mate is dead of old age and your cubs have grandchildren, you are not much use around here, so it is your turn to tell those fools on Khagodis what they want to know, and let them pay