by Paul Chafe
Pouncer started to say something, thought better of it, and stayed silent. With an effort he found his feet. The waiting Whrloo buzzed into the air and Pouncer followed it again. Unlike the route in, the route out past the changed gates was long and convoluted, and the sun was almost down before he made it back to the outer Puzzle Garden. Pouncer was not entirely surprised to find Rrit-Conserver still waiting for him at the maze entrance, for all he could see, in the exact same position he had been in when Pouncer left.
“You knew what was going to happen.” The anger Pouncer had been unable to muster at Telepath spilled over onto his mentor.
“I knew as much as Patriarch's Telepath would tell me.”
“What did he tell you? That he would gut my brain like a prey animal? That I might die in battle with my own mind?”
“He told me you would pass.”
“He told me that himself, afterward.” Pouncer shivered involuntarily. The blackness. “I am not convinced.”
“Rage is death.”
“Rage is…” Pouncer's lips twitched over his fangs and he felt the kill rage coming over him at the platitude, but regained self-control with an effort. He is right. I am acting from anger. I have passed, whether they knew in advance or not, whether I might have died or not, I have passed, I have survived. He breathed deeply and repeated the mantra. Rage is death Fear is death. Telepath's test had been more trying than simple annoyance with Conserver.
After a long moment he spoke, his voice level. “Have you been tested like that yourself, Conserver?”
“Telepaths will not share minds with Conservers.”
“Why is that?”
“It is against the traditions.”
“You taught me that no tradition exists without reason.”
“Hrrr.” Rrit-Conserver looked at First-Son with care. He is gaining wisdom. He will make a good Patriarch. He composed his answer carefully. “They have their reasons, I am sure. They are not well treated by our culture, and we Conservers hold the keys to that culture, we and the Priesthood. They work for the long term, as do we. It is not necessarily the same long term.”
“He said events were overtaking us. What events?” Why was I tested so early?
“The Great Pride Circle is meeting. The Patriarchy is at a turning point. Our growth has been checked by the monkey-humans. Worse, we have gained the hyperdrive…”
“Hyperdrive is not new.”
“Its use throughout the Patriarchy has reached a saturation point. Its reliability approaches absolute, and it is now the dominant means of transport. We cannot continue as we have before.”
“The humans have shown nothing but advantage in possessing it. We now communicate faster than light, mass forces in an instant. How can this fail to aid us?”
Conserver waved a paw hand down, this-does-not-follow. “This technology does not serve us as it serves them.”
“Technology is neutral. It is up to us to find its best application.”
“You must understand the difference between ourselves and humans. We feed at the top of the food chain, and it is very difficult for us to move lower. At the bottom of the chain are photosynthetic plants. They provide the totality of energy available to the system. Every layer above them represents a drop in available energy of nearly eight-squared times. When you eat a grashi burrower you are using energy only one-over-eight-to-the-sixth as efficiently as the plants eaten by the insects that the grashi eat.”
“I fail to see the connection.”
“Each kzin require a tremendous amount of resources. We are large, warm-blooded carnivores. We require a tremendous amount of energy, all of it filtered through several layers of food chain. The sheer physical space required to support that many plants is a major constraint on our population density. We are evolved to live in these low population densities, and so we respond poorly to crowded conditions. The amount of a planet's surface we can use is small compared to the amount humans can use.”
“This is irrelevant to the application of the hyperdrive.”
“It is key!” Conserver held up a paw. “As our population expands we must have more space, or fight each other for what we already have. We were fortunate to gain gravity polarization before population pressure forced us to repeated internal wars. Ever since, the Patriarchy has been stabilized by its ability to expand.”
“So hyperdrive can only aid us in that.”
“No, hyperdrive is tremendously destabilizing.”
“How so?”
“Before hyperdrive, speed-of-light placed serious constraints on communications. The head of a Great Pride bent on conquest had strictly limited information on potential adversaries. Imagine yourself in his position. Ahead of you is the unknown, unexplored worlds, unconquered species. Behind you is the might of the Patriarch, immense fleets patrolling worlds we have already fully populated. Where should you direct your Heroes?”
“Outward, of course.”
“Yes, outward. Our history shows us that we have always conquered as we expand. What fool would take the risk of turning against the Patriarch when external conquest is both easier and more profitable.”
“This is still true.”
“No. The kz'eerkti have shown us that our victory is not inevitable. And with hyperdrive communications the Patriarchy is no longer a vague but immense monolith of power at the backs of the Great Prides. Now the Pride-Patriarchs can gauge our strength with fine accuracy. Now they have the means to communicate among themselves. The Rrit remain more powerful than any single Great Pride, but if four or eight band together the equation changes radically.”
“Would any Pride-Patriarch worthy of his name contemplate such treason?”
“In matters of power honor becomes increasingly flexible. And the rules of skalazaal apply to the Rrit as much as to any Great Pride.”
“Skalazaal! There hasn't been a War-of-Honor since Kzan-Rrit!”
“The tradition exists, the rules are defined. Cvail Pride is making ready to leap on Stkaa Pride.”
Pouncer's ears swung up and forward in surprise. “I haven't heard of this!”
“Stkaa doesn't care to advertise their weakness, nor does Cvail want their ambition made clear.”
“Conserver, this is too much to absorb.”
“Absorb it quickly. You have been tested far too early. Patriarch's Telepath was insistent it be done at once.”
Pouncer cocked an ear. So it was not Rrit-Conserver who had pushed him into the test. That was interesting news. “Why?”
“Hrrr…” Conserver waved a paw. “Many minds come together in Telepath's. With so much information he can judge how events will unfold far better than you or I. He felt it important. That was sufficient for me.”
“He didn't share his reasons?”
“Patriarch's Telepath seldom does.”
“I will sleep with this tonight.”
“Your father wants you at the Great Pride Circle tomorrow.”
“I am his son.” Pouncer made the gesture-of-abasement-to-the-Patriarch-in-his-absence and took his leave, intending to put the day out of his mind. Far too much had happened to deal with at once, but he found he could not push his disquiet away. The Patriarchy is reaching a turning point. Events are overtaking us. If Conserver and Telepath were this concerned he should be too, but he lacked information. That had to be fixed immediately. Tomorrow he would begin research.
The farmer labors long in the field and is bitten by gnats. Each day he bends his weary back to the mud to tend the crop. The builder strains to lift stones and breathes the dust of his hammer; his hands are dirty and cut. The soldier carries great loads slung around his neck, like that of an ass. He thirsts and hungers and is beset by enemies. Be therefore a scribe, and lift nothing heavier than a stylus. The Pharaoh shall seek your advice, and reward you with wealth and slaves.
— Egyptian inscription from the rule of Amenemhet IV of the Twelfth Dynasty of the Middle Kingdom
Kefan Brasseur smiled to himself. The
House of Victory was huge and ancient, framed in black, dense-grained timbers a meter on a side with walls of cut and dressed boulders taller than he was. The furniture in the human delegation's apartment was exquisitely carved, the walls of their rooms covered in pelts and heads and weapons. Kdatlyno touch sculpture, vases from the dynasty of the mighty Si-Rrit, exquisite ply-murals crafted by the legendary Pkrr-Pkrr while humans were still scrawling on cave walls — the opulence was endless. At least ten thousand years of Patriarchal history was laid out on display. Their rooms were high up in the structure, the view through the huge windows showing all the varied architectures of the Middle and Outer Fortresses, and beyond them the sweeping vista of the Plain of Stgrat. He could spend the rest of his career in the House of Victory and never stop learning.
Even the normally impassive Tskombe was impressed, examining ancient weapons and suits of armor with fascination. Only Cherenkova seemed indifferent, her attention focused on her beltcomp. She had grown progressively more withdrawn on the voyage to Kzin, and now that their audience with the Patriarch was about to begin she had lapsed into brooding silence.
“You don't like being here, do you?”
She looked up. “Since you ask, no, this wasn't my choice of assignment.”
Brasseur raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”
“I don't believe there's any point to negotiating with the kzinti.”
“I have to ask again, why not?”
“You might as well negotiate with a polar bear. It isn't that they aren't intelligent, it isn't that they don't have a role to play in the arctic ecosystem. It's just in their nature. Polar bears are the top predator in the food chain. If one gets hungry, it'll eat you. That's what polar bears do.”
“You think that's what kzinti do?”
“I know it is. I've seen it.” Unbidden, the images burned into her brain at Midling research station came into her mind's eye and her jaw clenched as she looked away, not wanting him to see her expression.
“You hate them.”
“They think we're animals. I think they're animals.” Cherenkova spoke with more intensity than she'd meant to.
“Both views are correct. It's a human conceit that we're somehow better than anything else in the galaxy. The kzinti have had a spacefaring civilization for fifteen thousand years at least, maybe fifty thousand. We have a tremendous amount to learn from them. Just consider—”
Cherenkova cut him off. “Have you ever studied ruins, professor? Buried cities, anything like that?”
“Of course. I was an anthropologist before I switched to studying the kzinti.”
“Did you learn a lot from them?”
“Yes…” Brasseur's answer was hesitant; he was unsure where she was leading.
“Well, maybe their civilization needs ruining.” There was venom in her voice. “Just think what you could learn.”
The academic just looked at her and Ayla looked away. I've said too much, let my emotions interfere with my judgment. The silence dragged out to an awkward length. It was relieved by the heavy door swinging ponderously open. Yiao-Rrit came through, halted and gave a claw-rake salute. “I present my brother, Meerz-Rrit, Patriarch of Kzin.”
Behind him another kzin entered, this one wearing a deep blue cloak with a scarlet sash bearing the sigil of the Patriarchy. Yiao-Rrit stepped aside to allow his brother forward. Behind him was a third kzin, this one dressed in Conserver's robes. Brasseur came to attention and returned the salute. “I am Kefan Brasseur of Plateau, representative of humanity.”
Yiao-Rrit made a gesture and half a dozen slaves bustled into the room, carrying trays laden with delicacies. Brasseur recognized three Jotoki and two Kdatlyno, but the sixth was completely alien to him. It was a six-limbed cross between a turtle and a rhinoceros beetle, perhaps a meter high with long eyestalks, flying clumsily on buzzing, translucent wings. It seemed to be in charge, directing the other slaves in their tasks. It must be a Whrloo. He had heard them described in passing, but had never seen so much as a holo of one. He knew they were both rare and prized as slaves and nothing else about them. He watched its heavy, bumbling flight with fascination. It wore a gravbelt to help it fly; its homeworld had to have low gravity in order to allow a creature so heavy to hover, as it was clearly designed to do. Its delicate structure implied the same thing. The gravity was a third more than he was used to on Plateau, not an unbearable strain but enough to make his feet tired at the end of the day. It can't be happy here on Kzinhome. His distraction was short-lived. Meerz-Rrit padded to an immense skin rug by the room's enormous fireplace and reclined, completely relaxed. No human could be in the company of any kzin without being awed by their lethal grace and power, but the Patriarch stood out even among his peers. He had presence.
“Sire, I present the Emissaries of Earth.” Yiao-Rrit spoke in the formal tense, indicating each of the humans in turn. “Kefan-Brasseur-Leader-of-Negotiations, Cherenkova-Captain of the UNSN, and Tskombe-Major, representing the UNF.”
Brasseur went to a prrstet and tried to emulate the Patriarch's quiet, powerful confidence. He was less than successful; the room was too large and the interpersonal distances too great for human social comfort. He glanced at Tskombe and Cherenkova and saw they weren't completely at home either. They had all grown used to kzin-scale furnishings aboard Fanged Victory on the flight from the edge of the singularity, but those were cramped and utilitarian by kzinti standards. The House of Victory was built to be grandiose. I had forgotten this from my time on W'kkai. He would do well to remember quickly.
Meerz-Rrit spoke, his voice a calm rumble. “The situation our races face is dire, Kefan-Brasseur. Worlds may die if war occurs again.”
Brasseur collected himself, very aware he was representing all of humanity in these vital negotiations. “The decision to fight is not ours, Patriarch.”
The Patriarch made a dismissive gesture. “We do not besiege your planet as you besiege W'kkai.”
“Your incursions into our space continue. Ships destroyed. People kidnapped and enslaved.”
“The MacDonald-Rishshi treaty allows this.”
Across the room Cherenkova flushed. “It does not! It specifically states humans may not be enslaved by kzinti!” There was anger in her voice.
Brasseur looked up at her sharply. Clearly something had touched a nerve in her, but top-level diplomatic negotiations were not the place for personal emotions. “My colleague is correct. Kzin violations of the treaty have been constant. War is inevitable if these are not stopped immediately.”
“You question my honor…” The Patriarch's tone was halfway between question and statement. He was giving Brasseur the chance to back away from a breach in protocol.
Brasseur chose his words carefully. To insult the Patriarch would be diplomatically disastrous, if not personally lethal. At the same time, he had to convey the seriousness of the human position, or the negotiations would fail. “Your honor is beyond question, Patriarch. Unfortunately the incidents we have documented are also beyond question. We must find a way to prevent them from recurring.”
“The Passenger liner Freedom…” Cherenkova was reading from her beltcomp, ignoring the ongoing conversation. “…captured by the kzinti cruiser Long Leap. The Hercules deep space research base, raided by an unknown kzinti warship with its personnel enslaved on W'kkai. Belt Resources mining station on the asteroid Persephone at Farstar, raided and pillaged by forces from the attack carrier Chosen of the Fanged God…”
The Patriarch held up a paw and interrupted. “Rrit-Conserver, please clarify the relevant provisions of the MacDonald-Rishshi treaty.”
The robed kzin stood and spoke. “Provision twice-eight-and-five of the MacDonald-Rishshi treaty forbids the use of armed force between the forces of the Patriarch and those of the United Nations. Provision thrice-eight-and-one forbids the enslavement of any legal entity by the forces of the Patriarchy, legal entities defined as follows…”
The Patriarch made a gesture and Rrit-Conserver fell
into silence. “As you can see there is no relationship between the provisions of the treaty and the incidents referred to here.”
Cherenkova stood up, anger in her voice. “All of these incidents are documented, Patriarch. We have statements from survivors, investigators' reports, damage assessments…”
“I am sure your research is thorough, Cherenkova-Captain.” Meerz-Rrit leaned forward, muscles unconsciously tensing to pounce. The time to back away from protocol breaches was rapidly passing.
“If you do not dispute the facts then you must admit your responsibility, Patriarch.”
“Hrrrr. You suggest I dishonor myself. That has no merit.” Meerz-Rrit's lips twitched over his fangs, and Brasseur felt his stomach muscles tightened. The Patriarch was angry, and these negotiations were too important to risk that outcome. He shot a warning glance at Cherenkova, but her own face was flushed, her expression grimly triumphant, and she wasn't looking at him. He held up a hand to speak.
“Perhaps if you could explain your understanding of the treaty, Patriarch.”
The big kzin's eyes bored into Brasseur's. “The intent of the treaty and its wording are both clear. My implementation of it, and that of my warriors, have been comprehensive. There is no meat in leveling these accusations at me.”
“And yet these incursions continue.” Tskombe broke in, his voice flat.
“These are Heroes on conquest, the name-seekers of Stkaa Pride, perhaps even Cvail Pride. They are not the forces of the Patriarchy.”
The tall soldier shrugged elaborately, a gesture almost certainly lost on the kzinti. “They scream and leap in your name.”
“Of course they do. I am Patriarch. This does not imply they act on my commands.”
“The distinction is lost on the UN, Patriarch.”
