by Paul Chafe
It is unlikely, but not impossible. He didn’t want to consider the alternative, and then in an alcove he saw something that removed all doubt. It was a small, scaly body, badly mangled. It took him a moment to recognize it, the source of the three-clawed tracks. A harrier rapsar. The Tzaatz had found the den. Sick despair surged in his liver. Mrrsel Pride, his mother’s pride, were dead. He ran then, through rough-hewn passageways and finely appointed chambers, looking for any survivors. Everywhere there were signs of a violent battle, spattered blood, broken furnishings. Nowhere was there even a body. Finally exhausted he staggered to the den entrance and roared, anger welling up in him as the sound echoed from the canyon walls. Kchula-Tzaatz, you will pay for this.
And then sick worry spread through him. The Tzaatz could only have found Mrrsel Pride by tracking the migration. They were searching for him, and they’d kill everything they found until they were sure he was dead. The blood scent was still fresh; the raid had been only a day ago, at most. Soon they would know that he wasn’t among the bodies they’d collected, and they would go looking for another pride. Ztrak Pride, and Cherenkova-Captain…He ran out of the canyon to his tuskvor. He needed Ztrak Pride now, and now that he had left he would have to win his place there as well. He would rather not have returned nameless to the pride that gave him sanctuary, but he had no option. It is not just I who need them now. They need me, to warn them of the Tzaatz. There was no time to waste.
Think, if you like, of the distance we have come, but never let your mind run forward faster than your vessel.
—Captain William Bligh
Quacy Tskombe was watching Trina throw fish for Curvy. It was a game they both loved, and it was like a day at the marine park for him. Curvy would do a trick, and Trina would throw her a fish, or two fish, or three fish, depending on how good she thought it was. Except if Curvy thought her trick was worth more than she got she’d leap up and belly flop to splash Trina, who would try to scramble out of the way, laughing. She never made it, and she was soaked from the start of the game. The fish were a lot smaller than the darting trout that still filled the pool. Curvy was playing for fun, not food, and for Trina. Curvy didn’t have her translator on, so the communication was entirely nonverbal, but that made the playful care she gave the girl all the more effective. Swimming was a luxury Trina hadn’t enjoyed since her mother had died, and the water seemed to cleanse her soul, the layers of tough defiance dissolving to reveal a carefree girl-child hidden deep inside. The dolphin was better therapy than any psychdoc, with a talent for drawing the girl out of herself. In the safe, restricted environment of the UN quarter, Trina was slowly healing.
Tskombe sighed and left the pool deck to go back to his room. It was something that was going to have to stop soon. The UN support people were still pulling out all the stops for them on the basis of Curvy’s high level ident. He hadn’t heard from Sergeant Veers again, but he knew they were on borrowed time. Ravalla’s group on Earth were tying up loose ends in the consolidation of power. One more day to find a ship, and then we’re going to have to take passage to Wunderland. That would be a setback, because the cost of the tickets would eat up enough money that he’d have to get more before he could hire a ship, but it had to be done. They couldn’t locate in Munchen either, because they would need to be on a coast somewhere, so Curvy would have salt water. Away from the capital it would be harder to find work. And my qualifications don’t lend themselves to application outside the UNF. The ability to lead a strike battalion into the attack counted for little in the civilian world.
And Trina would have to go to the Bureau of Displaced Persons. That would be a setback for her as well. Maybe there was a way he could arrange to have Curvy look after her. The Wunderland government should value the dolphin’s skills as highly as the UN did. And maybe that’s the answer to the problem. Curvy was much more marketable than he was, and they could cut a deal. He nodded to himself. He’d book their passage immediately.
He picked up his beltcomp just as it chimed. There was a face in the holocube, a kzin.
At least it wasn’t Veers. He keyed answer. “Good afternoon.”
“You are the human Quacy Tskombe?”
Tskombe nodded. “Do I know you?”
The kzin’s image twitched its whiskers. “You took me to Healer, when I was injured. You have my blood debt.” The kzin didn’t look happy about it.
“You’re welcome.” Tskombe didn’t know what else to say.
“Healer told me you seek a ship with a kzinti pilot.”
Tskombe raised his eyebrows. This might be interesting. “Yes.”
“May I ask why?”
“I need to get to Kzinhome.”
The kzin’s ears swiveled up and forward. “May I ask why again?”
“Why are you interested in what I’m doing?”
“I might be able to get you in contact with a pilot, to repay my debt to you. I need to understand what you will do with the ship.”
Tskombe shrugged. “I was on a diplomatic mission to Kzinhome. The Patriarch was deposed, as you might know, and we were caught in the middle. One of my colleagues is still there, and I want to bring her back.”
The kzin’s lips twitched over his fangs. “I know of this conflict. I was once Grarl-Rrit-Patriarch’s-Voice.”
Tskombe’s eyebrows went up. “You were?”
No-longer-Grarl-Rrit snarled. “Do you doubt my honor, kz’zeerkti?”
“No, please forgive me. I was surprised.”
“I was Third-Son-of-Yiao-Rrit, and cousin to the new Patriarch. Scrral-Rrit has dishonored my line, and I am now outcast.”
“I am…I am sorry.”
“Yes. Now I invite the pity of herbivores. My shame is great. Nevertheless, I will not allow myself to owe blood debt to one.” The kzin wrinkled his nose. “I find your reasons acceptable. Do you wish me to find you a ship?”
“Please. I would appreciate it.”
“It will take some time.” The screen went black. For a kzin who had been Patriarch’s Voice, No-longer-Grarl-Rrit was not big on formality.
The time it took turned out to be two days, long enough for Tskombe to decide they couldn’t delay getting off Tiamat any longer. He was actually in the process of booking tickets when his beltcomp chimed and the kzin appeared, gave him directions to a bar in Tigertown, gave him a time, and told him to go there and wait. Tskombe started to ask who he’d be waiting for, but again the screen went black before he could say anything.
He recognized the place when he got there; it was the same place he’d been thrown out of when he’d started his search for a ship. He took a chair by the bar. It was early yet, and the place was nearly empty. He got a few looks from the kzinti already there and carefully ignored them.
The big kzin who ran the place came over. “You have been told to leave twice already, human.” Proprietor’s lips twitched over his fangs.
“Grarl-Rrit sent me here. I’m waiting for someone.”
“Grarl-Rrit?” Proprietor’s ears swiveled up and forward. “Grarl-Rrit is dead.” The big kzin spat the words with contempt, but he went away and let Tskombe sit where he was unmolested.
Tskombe considered ordering a drink and thought better of it. Proprietor would let him know if he was breaking a social convention. The method of contact wasn’t a question. He was the only human in the place; whoever he was meeting could be watching him right now and he’d be none the wiser. He’d waited long enough to get bored when a large kzin sat down beside him. Proprietor came over and the kzin ordered vodka and ice cream, then turned to Tskombe.
“You are the human the outcast spoke of, yes?”
Tskombe nodded. “I need to get a ship. Grarl…” He caught himself. “The kzin who was once known as Grarl-Rrit thought you could help.”
The kzin raised an ear. “Who are you?”
“Quacy Tskombe, recently of the UNF.”
“Recently…” The kzin looked him up and down. “What are you now?”
“Now I’m no one, I need to find someone.”
“No one looking for someone. Hrrr.” The kzin looked him over again. “You need a pilot, I think. Do you know who I am?”
Tskombe shrugged. “Not a clue.”
“So the outcast said nothing?”
“He said to come here and wait.”
“And you took his word?”
“I had little choice. I came, and you’re here. Who are you?”
“You take risks, taking the word of one like the outcast.”
Tskombe nodded. “I judged he was well connected. I didn’t ask him to help, he offered.”
“He did?” The kzin’s ears fanned up. “Why?”
“I helped him, after a fight. He owed me blood debt, he said.”
“Hrrr. He retains more honor than his cousin, at least.”
Tskombe met the kzin’s gaze. “And who are you, exactly?”
“I am known as Night Pilot. I have my own ship.”
Tskombe’s eyes widened. He’d expected to have to go through more intermediaries. The kzinti dealt directly. “Can I hire you?”
“Perhaps, if you have what I need.”
“What do you need?”
“Money. What else?”
“How much?”
“How much do you have?”
“Enough.” Tskombe shrugged. “Name your price.”
Night Pilot smiled a fanged smile. “One hundred million kroner.”
Tskombe snorted. “You’re not serious.”
“You said name my price. I named it. Perhaps you have not got enough after all.”
“Let’s not play games here. I’ll give you a reasonable fee.”
“Then what is your offer?”
Tskombe avoided the question. “Why are you called Night Pilot? Isn’t it always night in space?”
“The cargoes I carry must frequently be landed when the drop zone is behind the solar terminator.”
“Why?”
Night Pilot turned a paw over. “My clients require the utmost discretion.”
“You’re a smuggler.”
“I am what humans call a freerunner.”
“Is there a difference?”
“Hrrr.” Night Pilot’s lips twitched involuntarily. “I will assume you intend no insult by that. I am a pilot whose clients require discretion and skillful ship command, as you do. I provide that service, and I stand behind both my flight skills and my discretion with my honor. The details of what they ship are no concern of mine. Most independent pilots will not provide such services; few that do are as reliable as I. For this reason I charge premium cargo rates. Does that make it clear? I suspect that the mission you are undertaking will involve considerable risk. My fee must therefore include a risk premium.”
Tskombe nodded. “Money I can give you. Do you not seek strakh as well?”
Night Pilot twitched his whiskers. “I owe no fealty to the Patriarch or any Great Pride. What use have I for strakh?”
And Tskombe could say nothing to that. Kefan Brasseur would have known how to answer, but Kefan was dead. Was Ayla? Please let her be alive.
“What cargo are you shipping?”
“It’s actually another passenger, a cetacean. The cetacean will require a water tank, which you may consider cargo.”
Night Pilot wrinkled his ears. “What is a cetacean?”
“A dolphin, an intelligent marine mammal. This one is a matrix strategist.”
“The tank is for a water environment? How large is it?”
“One thousand cubic meters, approximately, half air and half salt water, with several more cubic meters of environmental control equipment and food.”
“Hrrr. Mass approximately six hundred tonnes then. I can carry that. And the destination?”
“Kzinhome.”
Night Pilot’s ears swiveled up in surprise. “You take an extreme risk to travel there unescorted.”
“I’ve been there before.” If the kzin was further surprised by that news he kept it to himself. Tskombe went on. “I also need a guide on Kzinhome.”
“For what purpose?”
“You have heard there is a new Patriarch.”
“Scrral-Rrit. Everyone has heard.”
“What do you know of him?”
“Little but that he stains his father’s name. The intrigues of the Patriarch’s court are of little import here at K’Shai. We are in no rush to replace the Patriarch’s Voice.”
Tskombe nodded. “I was part of a diplomatic mission to Kzinhome. The new Patriarch took power with the assistance of Tzaatz Pride. In the fighting my colleagues and myself were caught between factions. I managed to escape, but I left someone behind.”
“And you wish to rescue him?”
“Her. I hope to.”
“And the cetacean?”
“She is a matrix strategist. She will accompany us to the surface.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“No. I will not transport the cetacean. My reputation stands on my ability to protect my clientele. Environmental considerations demand that the dolphin will remain on the ship. If I am to guide you I cannot also offer protection to the dolphin. Confined as it will be to its tank, it will be helpless if something goes wrong.”
“She will not be confined to her tank, she has a set of dolphin hands, and an environmental bodysuit with polarizers. She will be mobile, and her advice will be important.”
“This is not a solution on Kzinhome. A water creature will make novel prey, and be unable to defend itself. It will be difficult to protect.”
“I’m sure there are other pilots who will take her.”
“Then find them.” Night Pilot showed his teeth.
Tskombe considered for a moment. And I will have more freedom to operate if I don’t have to worry about Curvy. And Curvy will be here to look after Trina. “Agreed then. The cetacean will remain behind.”
“Hrrr.” The kzin’s fanged smile relaxed. “Now we must discuss the fee.”
“I have no idea how much a trip like that should cost. You have the advantage of me. I’ll trust your honor to give me a fair price.”
“Hrrr.” Night Pilot turned a paw over. “Two million kroner for the voyage, both ways, fuel inclusive. Four thousand kroner each day I spend on the ground as your guide.”
“You can’t be serious. I could get a ticket to Earth for twenty thousand.”
“On a passenger ship the cost is split with the other passengers, but there are no passenger runs to Kzinhome. Here you are hiring the entire ship, and myself and my copilot. Earth is just four light-years away; Kzinhome is nearly eight-squared. Fuel is expensive.”
Tskombe whistled. “You don’t come cheap.”
“That price covers my fuel costs, maintenance costs, time, risk, and opportunity costs for the voyage. It is reasonable in the circumstances. We will have to plan carefully for our actions on Kzinhome; it will be dangerous, for both of us.”
Tskombe nodded, and tapped his beltcomp, waited for his account readout to display. “I’ll give you one million fifty-four thousand kroner, for the ship and for thirty days guiding on Kzinhome.”
“Not enough.”
Tskombe turned his beltcomp around so the kzin could see the readout. “It’s all I have.” Fifteen years accumulated pay and bonuses. I’m taking a tremendous risk here. His gaze didn’t waver from Night Pilot’s. My decision is already made.
“Hrrr.” Night Pilot turned his paw over again, considering. “For this I will take you to Kzinhome, one way, with no time spent guiding.”
Tskombe considered. One way meant he had no route home, but he could cross that bridge when he came to it.
“No, that’s the whole reason I need a kzinti pilot.”
“Hire another kzin to do it for you.”
“I can’t if I give you everything I’ve got. Twenty days guiding then.”
Night Pilot looked away, calculating. “I cannot afford to let my ship stand idle. Operating
expenses do not stop when I do. The price I quote is what my skills and equipment are worth. If I accept your offer I will forgo half my profit, and will have no margin for unexpected fuel costs or repairs. My partner will not agree to this.”
“There must be a way.”
“Hrrr.” Night Pilot considered. “You are flying without cargo, so I will save slightly on fuel. In addition a flight to Kzinhome is attractive, because there is a high probability of finding a lucrative cargo there.” He turned a paw over. “I would be willing to take these risks, if my partner agrees.” He looked back to Tskombe. “In order to make the risk pay off I must find a cargo as soon as we touch down. I cannot spend time guiding.”
“Five days then.”
“Hrrr.” Night Pilot considered further. “I am sorry, but I cannot.” He looked up to meet Tskombe’s eyes. “Unless…”
“Unless…?”
“My partner can find a cargo while I guide you. You must understand that once my cargo is consigned I will have to leave, no matter how much time I have given you.”
“How much time would that be, roughly?”
“I would estimate eight days, roughly, Kzinhome standard. It may vary considerably from that.”
Tskombe nodded. “And the minimum time?”
“It will take a minimum of two days to refuel the ship, check systems and prepare to boost again.”
“I see.” Eight days is not much time; two days won’t be enough. Tskombe considered the kzin. He wasn’t trying to talk up the price, he already knew the full extent of Tskombe’s bank account. He was simply laying out his operating parameters so Tskombe could make a decision as to whether his needs would be met by the deal they could strike. “If you get a cargo your return fuel costs are covered. Can we make it a round trip, my flight to coincide with your next cargo flight?”
