by Paul Chafe
It was a horror, built for killing and nothing else. It was half his size but powerfully muscled, moving on its hind legs alone, counterbalanced by a short, heavy tail. Its mouth gaped wide to expose its fangs but it seemed to have no tongue. The eyes were large, black and pupilless, staring from beneath heavy protective brow ridges in a bony domed skull over a short, wrinkled snout that drew long, hissing breaths. Its forelimbs were powerful with dagger-curved claws, and now that it was wounded Pouncer could smell the tangy metallic pungency of its blood.
The searing pain spread up his arm to his shoulder, leaving numbness behind it. He found he could barely move it. Paralytic poison on its talons, he realized. I must finish this now, while I still can. The thing’s fangs were narrow and pointed, designed to penetrate rather than tear flesh. Every battle is to the death. Would they inject poison if it bit him? He couldn’t allow that to happen.
It leapt for him again and again he pivoted aside, but the thing had anticipated the move this time and its foreclaws caught in his sash, yanking him over sideways, and then it was on top of him, fangs questing for his throat. Its breath in his nostrils stank of enzymatic poisons and he could see the oily droplets of venom dripping from the ends of its teeth. Pouncer grabbed at its throat to hold it away, but it sank both its foreclaws into his shoulders and held on. He roared in pain, willing his talons to close, but the strength was fading from his arms as the paralysis seeped through them. In desperation he kicked his legs up to its belly, claws seeking flesh but unable to strike home. His grip began to slip and the thing’s jaws gaped wide, reaching for his throat.
He half rolled, feeling its claws rip from his shoulders, and kicked upward, his own claws finding its belly this time and sinking in. He pushed, digging them in, and it went flying backward. He finished his roll and dropped to attack crouch, streaming blood from both shoulders, both arms numbed and nearly useless. There was an ornamental spear on the wall, part of a display and more decorative than functional. He grabbed it down, tried to level it, but it was all he could do to keep it from simply falling from his unresponsive fingers. Across the room the thing had been disemboweled by his kick, and the landing had fractured a hind leg. It was breathing in bubbling gasps, entrails dragging, obviously dying, but its dark, staring eyes were locked on Pouncer, and incredibly it was staggering forward, lurching on its one good leg to come at him again. Training evaporated and the kill rage swept over him, stronger than fear, stronger than discipline. The rage brought enough strength back to his arms to use them and he screamed and leapt, raising the improvised weapon in midleap. The thing reared back on its good leg as Pouncer’s feet smashed into its muzzle. It fell backward and raked at him but missed, and then Pouncer was on it, slamming its head to the ground and the spearhead down through the top of its brain case.
The blow was ill coordinated and weak, but it had the momentum of his leap behind it and he felt the blade strike the stonewood floor beneath and dig in, pinning the creature there. Even then it scrabbled and fought to free itself, rear limbs kicking in a fruitless attempt to rake him. Exhausted, he fell back as the room started spinning around him. An armspan away the thing tore its own skull apart in its struggle to get at him, but he couldn’t summon the strength to either get away or finish it. The paralysis his rage had held at bay swept over him again, and he collapsed to the floor, losing the struggle to fight it off. How much poison had he received from the thing’s talons? How much was lethal? He needed immediate medical attention. Gathering his will he crawled toward the door and collapsed, breathing heavily. Discipline is mind over body, Rrit-Conserver taught. He remembered when he was a kitten and his mother, M’ress, would groom him with her tongue. Move the mind and the body will follow. But his body would not follow his mind, and his mind would not stay focused. The stonewood was cold beneath him, but he remembered the softness of M’ress’s fur and the comforting scent of her nipples as he suckled with T’suuz, his litter-sister. “K’vin veer ce aros zheer, marli?” he had asked. Will it always be this nice, Mother? “Always,” she had told him. “Always,” and the kittens had cuddled close to her, hoarding her body heat as the darkness fell, as it was falling now, and he felt her warmth engulfing him again as his breathing slowed and his awareness faded. Behind him the creature had finally died, and already its body was beginning to dissolve into foul-smelling slime.
Secretary General, my fellow assemblyists, I ask you, what are the kzinti? They are animals, nothing more. Their technology is produced by their slave races. Without them they would have no more culture than a chimpanzee. I will not hear arguments that they are sentient beings under the Declaration of Rights. I will not hear arguments that they are entitled to Charter protection. They are not only animals but dangerous animals. They are vermin, plague rats, and yet we question what we should do with them. I for one am tired of debating a question with only one answer. The time for words is over. Hear me now! The kzinti must be exterminated!
—Assemblyist Muro Ravalla before the UN General Assembly
“This system was adopted four generations ago. It no longer reflects the realities of today!” Graff-Kdar’s voice echoed down the Great Hall of the Patriarch as Meerz-Rrit listened with half an ear. The Great Hall of the Patriarch was immense and ornate, the ceiling held up by carved marble pillars and the walls paneled with oiled stonewood, and it had heard far too many speeches just like Graff-Kdar’s impassioned declamation against the ruinous and unfair allocation of hyperdrive engines his pride was receiving. The Patriarch scanned the hall again, seeking a familiar face. Where is First-Son? Second-Son was there, showing an uncharacteristic interest in the art of rulership, though the way he was toying idly with his wtsai showed his obvious disinterest in its realities. And why is Second-Son carrying a wtsai? The ceremonial blade was an honor that came with a name, and Second-Son had yet to earn his. I must speak to Rrit-Conserver. It was not the first time Second-Son had shown casual disregard for proper form.
“…there is no honor in this! It weakens us all…”
Today the hall was packed with Pride-Patriarchs from every star system in his empire, each with his own agenda, each with his own speech. The speeches were mere formality of course, the statement for the record of each Pride’s position, what they wanted, what they offered. The real negotiations would take place in small groups behind closed doors far from the hall. Nevertheless, they had to be listened to and considered, or at least appear to be considered. The honor of the final word fell to Meerz-Rrit, and there was nothing Graff-Kdar could say about hyperdrive that could change what he was going to present to the assembly. Where was First-Son? He felt nervous despite himself. The human Kefan-Brasseur was correct of course. If another monkey war was to be avoided he needed to seize the Great Prides by the scruffs of their necks. That needed to be done anyway, before some upstart Pride-Patriarch decided to test his strength against that of the Rrit. Stkaa-Emissary’s proposal was more appetizing. A monkey war would cost high in blood and treasure but, if he led the entire Patriarchy against them, the humans would be enslaved once and for all, and that leadership would secure the Rrit’s position for generations to come. He, Rrit-Conserver, and Yiao-Rrit had spent the entire night in the Command Lair arguing strategy, and even now the best course was not clear. Balancing the present and future was not easy, and the greatest threat to his empire was not obvious. He was growing old for this kind of game, and Graff-Kdar’s lengthy droning did nothing to keep him awake. He stretched to keep the circulation going to his limbs. The seasons would not go around many more times before First-Son would be ready to take his place as Patriarch.
“Patriarch! I appeal to you, as I do to all of my brothers assembled here, correct this injustice before it does irrevocable harm to the very fabric of our Patriarchy.”
Graff-Kdar sat down, obviously pleased with himself, although the roars of approval from the assembly were no more than polite.
It was time. Meerz-Rrit waited for the noise to die down, waited longer,
until the silence stretched out to painful length. Whatever came of this Great Pride Circle, it was ultimately about power. Making the Pride-Patriarchs wait for his words was a palpable demonstration of the power of the Rrit, and it would remind them of their places. That was important. He scanned the assembly slowly, meeting each and every gaze with his own. Where is First-Son? He should be here to witness this, to see how power is exercised. All the fleets in the Patriarchy were insufficient to rule with if you lacked the liver to meet the gaze of your adversaries.
Too late to wait for Pouncer now. He stood, let the silence stretch further, looking down the vast hall. Heavy banners of fine woven hsahk dyed Patriarchal crimson hung down the cut stone walls from the point where the huge and ancient stonewood crossbeams held up the grandly arched ceiling. Gem-set chandeliers hung down over the audience, unnecessary now with the sunlight spilling through the immense windows, arrogantly wide with hand-cut ripple glass. The Hall itself demanded words strong enough to be worthy of its magnificence. He would not fail it.
It was time. “Honored Cousins!” He paused while the word echoed down the length of the hall. “All of you have spoken today. And all of you have listened. And while all of you have raised issues of tremendous importance to the Patriarchy”—he nodded to Graff-Kdar—“I am sure that nothing has seized your livers as strongly as noble Stkaa-Emissary’s call to arms against the kz’zeerkti.”
There were muted whispers from the floor, and he paused to make sure he had their attention. “Before this gathering I spoke at length with honored Stkaa-Emissary. The Great Pride of Stkaa has been on hunt-conquest against the monkeys since before my great-grandsire’s time, and they have suffered serious reverses in that campaign, most recently the loss of Ch’Aakin. W’kkai itself may yet fall.”
He paused again to let that sink in, took in the faces looking at him, studied them. There was no doubt he had their attention now. There was no event in all the Patriarchy larger than the monkey wars.
“Honored Cousins! We are a race of warriors, of predators! Throughout our long history we have had setbacks and losses. Never before have we suffered so serious a defeat.” There was general snarling from the floor and the atmosphere thickened with fight-scent. “There are those who doubt the competence of Stkaa Pride. There are those who doubt their courage and honor, in their failure to subdue a race of herbivores.” He let his gaze fall on Chirr-Cvail, let it rest there a long moment. “I am not one of those. Let us not forget that it is Stkaa Pride who gave us the hyperdrive and opened the entire galaxy to us. Stkaa-Emissary has spoken of the unique danger the monkeys present, and I am convinced he is correct. He has asked me to lead the Great Prides as one against them. He is certain they cannot stand against the combined might of the Patriarchy. I am certain that he is correct.” Again he paused while snarls of agreement rose throughout the chamber. “With the combined might of the Patriarchy devoted to their conquest, the spoils of the monkey worlds are ours for the taking. Who here doubts this?”
There was silence from the assembly, but everywhere ears were up and swiveled forward, the Pride-Patriarchs hanging on Meerz-Rrit’s words. He looked to the high, hidden gallery where the kz’zeerkti delegation watched the assembly in secret. They would be afraid now, as they watched him speak of unrestricted war and saw the eagerness of the Pride-Patriarchs to follow him down that road. Their fear was a necessary thing, for they would carry it back their homeworld, and their overcomplex government would be convinced of kzinti resolve through it. He looked again to the assembled Pride-Patriarchs. I must deal with two audiences here. This would have to be played with both caution and boldness if he was to achieve the result he wanted.
“Who here would stand with me for such a hunt?”
Stkaa-Emissary leapt to his feet. “Stkaa Pride stands with the Patriarch!”
There was a long pause, and Meerz-Rrit held himself calm. Now is the time…
“Cvail Pride stands with the Patriarch!” Chirr-Cvail’s need to demonstrate his loyalty showed in his eagerness.
“Tzaatz Pride stands with the Patriarch!” Kchula-Tzaatz, there was one to watch. The dam broke and tumult of voices filled as the assembly stood almost as one.
“Kreetsa Pride…”
“Prrrtz Pride…”
“Mroaw Pride…”
Meerz-Rrit raised his arms, pleased at the reaction but not allowing himself to relax. His first goal was accomplished; they were committed. The harder task came now. He waited for the commotion to settle, and when he spoke his voice was lower. “I am honored by your loyalty, brothers. I am pleased to see the warrior spirit is alive in the Great Prides.” He paused to meet all their gazes. This is the critical moment; my leadership turns on this instant. He raised his voice. “It is my decision to turn away from this path. It is my command to Stkaa Pride that they seek and maintain peace with the kz’zeerkti.”
There was a stunned silence, then an undertone of snarls as the Pride-Patriarchs confirmed with each other what they had just heard. Stkaa-Emissary leapt onto his desk, challenge in his voice. “The warriors of Stkaa Pride will not stand for such cowardice, Patriarch! We have the obligation of vengeance to our dead. We have suffered grievously in the service of the Patriarchy. The Patriarchy cannot abandon us!”
“Do you doubt my honor, Emissary? Do you call me a coward in my own hall, before this assembly here?” Meerz-Rrit held Emissary’s gaze, daring him to challenge leap.
“Your honor speaks for itself, Patriarch.” Well played, neither a challenge nor an insult that could invite challenge, but nevertheless making his position clear.
“As does your wisdom, Emissary.” And a worthy reply.
Kchula-Tzaatz stood up. “Stkaa Pride has enslaved this species, Patriarch, and to my knowledge they have paid their fealty in full measure. The humans are theirs to conquer as they will.” His voice was smooth in Meerz-Rrit’s ears. What was his game?
“They are a spacefaring race with all the power that implies.” The Patriarch kept his voice even.
“With primitive technology and a pawful of worlds.” Kchula-Tzaatz twitched his tail dismissively.
Meerz-Rrit slammed his clenched paw on the podium, abandoning restraint. “They swarm those worlds at a density of thrice-eight-to-the-eight-and-three! Would you provoke the tuskvor where they can herd-charge the den? Stkaa-Emissary, tell him of the attack on K’Shai.”
Emissary was shaken, being called on to attack his own position. He had been swept up with Meerz-Rrit’s initial proposal, thinking he had won his point. He stood to address the assembly “Patriarch, I stand with…”
“Tell him!”
“Patriarch, this is common knowledge…”
“Tell him!”
Reluctantly, Stkaa-Emissary spoke. “They used kinetic energy missiles from their home world.”
“Arriving at nearly light speed! Continents laid bare, oceans half vaporized. Only strenuous efforts prevented ecological collapse. Am I not correct?”
“The damage was contained…” Emissary’s voice was plaintive.
“And K’Shai was lost! A fraction of their weapons struck home. Had they been more accurate they would have sterilized the planet. And remember, K’Shai was their colony world. Tell him of the attack on Hssin.”
“They ruptured the domes from space.” The defeat was clear in Emissary’s voice.
“And Ch’Aakin?”
“Saturated with conversion weapons, Patriarch.”
Meerz-Rrit raised his paws to the assembly. “Conversion weapons! Used not on ships but on a world! Hear him, Honored Cousins! Hear him and hear the tuskvor thundering toward your kits.”
“W’kkai has not yet fallen.” The desperation was clear in Emissary’s voice “We too possess the power to destroy planets, Meerz-Rrit.”
“Shall we become monkeys and trade conquest for extermination? Shall we abandon our warrior’s honor and slaughter what we fear?”
Emissary raked the air with his claws. “Honor demands ven
geance!”
“And when your honor is satisfied shall I grant you lands on the newly barren Earth? Or would you rather the greater honor of an estate here on Kzinhome? I will have many to give you when the humans have finished stripping the crust in their barbarity.”
“These are herbivores, Patriarch! Where is the honor of a warrior who accepts less than victory over a prey species? Stkaa Pride is loyal. We have suffered grievously. We ask only…”
Meerz-Rrit cut him off with a snarl. “I am not blind to your sacrifice, Stkaa-Emissary, nor to the obligations of fealty. I am stalking bigger game here.”
“Patriarch, I…” Emissary was tense, poised to leap. Perhaps he would challenge after all, but that would not aid the Patriarchy.
“Enough!” Meerz-Rrit’s gaze was hard, his eyes narrowed. If it came to a fight, he had no doubt he would win. For a long moment the tableau held, then, trembling with barely restrained rage, Stkaa-Emissary slowly sank back to his seat. Meerz-Rrit turned back to the assembly, breathing deeply to keep his own anger under control. “Honored Cousins! There are those who will call me a coward behind my back.” And so branded themselves cowards, now that he had made the declaration. “The monkeys we can conquer, though the blood-price will be high. But the monkeys are not the greatest danger facing us. We have made contact now with the Puppeteers, whose technology is so far beyond ours that we have not even theories to explain it. We have met the Outsiders who gave that knowledge to the Puppeteers in the first place. We have learned of the Thrint, whose empire once encompassed the galaxy, and of the Tnuctipun war, which ended the line of every sentient race in all of that vastness.”
