by Paul Chafe
Not the required words. Voortman stiffened. “May I ask the nature of your mission?”
“It's need-to-know only information in the UNF, sir. Our very presence here is secret.” Would the UN have warned Wunderland to look out for Valiant? If it had our reception would have been very different.
Voortman nodded, relaxing slightly. “I understand your concerns, but I have my duty to carry out. The UN is jealous of Alpha Centauri's independence. We don't need to provoke discord by falsifying reports.”
Tskombe nodded. “All I can ask is that you consider that our very presence here is secret within the UN hierarchy. A lot is at stake.”
“I'll do that.” Voortman bowed, polite but formal. “Your distress call interrupted us in the middle of an exercise. My medics will look after you.”
He left and the medics took him to the battleship's small but well-equipped med station. Trina and Curvy were already there. Trina hugged him fiercely; the dolphin chirped and twirled in her suspensor belt and came over to nose him affectionately. They fed him while the medics fussed over him, and finally let him sleep. They didn't get a chance to talk alone.
He didn't get a chance to talk to them in the morning either. On first watch the next ship cycle there was a service for Virenze and Khalsa on the hangar deck, and Tskombe watched impassively as the bodies were ceremoniously loaded into the airlock. Two crewmen in immaculate dress uniform took the sky blue UN flag from the coffins, while Captain Voortman said the eulogy. Tskombe didn't really hear it. How many times have I said those words myself? Perhaps it would have meant more if Curvy had said it. The sentiments were heartfelt, but ultimately meaningless. Words would not give life back to the dead. The loudspeaker played some somber bugle call as the heavy airlock door swung shut. As the mournful trumpet faded away there was a faint shudder in the deck as the bodies were jettisoned into space. He saluted at the right time, and turned to go with Trina and Curvy.
There were no fighters in the hangar deck. Almost all the available space had been given over to four pairs of tremendous fusion generators. He asked Captain Voortman about them idly on the way out.
“Very observant, Colonel.” Voortman hesitated, then seemed to reach a decision. “I am going to exercise my discretionary power as captain, Colonel Tskombe, and allow you to see something no one in the UN knows about. You're about to enjoy the unique privilege of seeing this ship prove its full capabilities for the first time.”
“I'm honored, I'm sure.” Tskombe didn't know what else to say. Voortman took him up to the bridge. Why he was invited while Trina and Curvy were not he didn't ask. The bridge itself was spacious, even luxurious, in stark contrast to Valiant's cramped cockpit, even in comparison to Crusader's ample control spaces. Oorwinnig was a battleship, an expression not only of Alpha Centauri's power but of the system's pride and independence as well. There was room in her design for more than lethal functionality.
“See that?” Voortman pointed through the wrap-around transpax panels to an irregular blob against the starfield, about the size of the full moon but barely a quarter as bright. “That's Echo Delta 1272, a trivial chunk of this system's Kuiper belt, more rock than ice, twenty kilometers by fifteen, and a thousand kilometers distant. It's been unremarkable for the last five billion years, but it's about to become part of history.”
“What…”
Voortman held up a hand to cut off the question. “Indulge me please, and watch.” He turned to an officer behind him. “Weapons free, engage at will.”
“Aye, sir.”
At first nothing happened, but then Tskombe noticed faint fountains of dust erupting from either end of the asteroid, as though twin meteors had struck it on opposite sides. Faint, but they must have been kilometers big already to be visible at this distance, and they grew as he watched. For long seconds that was all there was, but then the impact zones began to glow red. The red points expanded into circles and their centers ran up the spectrum to white hot and then to actinic blue. The transpax automatically darkened, then darkened again until the body of the asteroid was invisible except where it was incandescent, until Tskombe could feel the heat coming through the screen despite the damping and at a distance of a thousand kilometers. To make its heat tangible at that range, whatever they were hitting ED1272 with had the energy of a small star. He saw red through his eyelids and had to turn away, waited until he felt the heat fade from the side of his face to look back. The transpax had undarkened and there was an expanding orange halo where the asteroid had been, hazy like a streetlight seen through fog, still expanding and fading back to red as he watched.
Conversion weapons. A gigatonne warhead could vaporize an asteroid that big, but a conversion attack was over in a single flash, and the destruction had commenced at most a few seconds after Voortman had given the order. No launcher, no missile was fast enough to cross a thousand kilometers in that time. What he had seen looked like a pair of beam weapon hits, but the energy output! No ship-mounted laser put out a fraction of a percent of the power required to do what he'd just seen done, and the inescapably low energy transport efficiency of laser beams guaranteed that none ever would. Not even the huge fusion generators that had taken over Oorwinnig's hangar deck would provide enough power.
So either this was a carefully staged demonstration or the Wunderlanders had something very new. And given the complete accident of our presence here, this isn't being staged.
“We call it the Treatymaker” — Voortman answered his unspoken question—“and it is this ship's primary weapon.” The tall Viking smirked. “It's based on a kzinti invention called a charge suppressor. As you'd expect it suppresses electric charges; to be exact it uses a monopole beam to interfere with the mediation particles of the electrostatic force. They use it for climate control, preventing charge separation in the upper atmosphere to keep clouds from forming. It's derived from a Thrintun device, although we suspect it was actually developed by the Tnuctipun, back when life on Earth was limited to algae. They used it as a weapon, at short ranges. As you can see we've made improvements.”
“That's…” Tskombe groped for words. “That's incredible.”
“Impressive little toy, yes?” Voortman smiled in grim satisfaction. “A single beam literally tears matter apart as the atoms repel each other, but the trick is to use two beams, one positive and one negative. That creates a current flow between the contact points. Beam power requirements are tremendous of course, but all of it is delivered to the target and the zone of destruction can be controlled with fine accuracy. Unlike lasers the atmospheric degradation is trivial. Unlike conversion warheads there is no possibility of intercept. Power coupling approaches one hundred percent. It is a tremendously efficient weapon. The ratcats are about to learn a painful lesson.”
Tskombe looked at him in shock. “You can't be intending to use it.”
Voortman raised an eyebrow. “And why not?”
“It would start another war.”
The captain snorted. “The war has already begun, or didn't you notice? Secretary General Ravalla has wasted no time making his intentions clear. Wunderland is offering full cooperation and support, of course. We have our differences with Earth, but we recognize our common enemies.”
Ravalla was moving with tremendous speed. Not a good sign. Tskombe controlled his reaction. “Do you know how soon the war is going to turn hot?”
“Not long. It will take some time to gather forces, and then we strike, with the full strength of the human race combined. The timing is perfect, with this new weapon coming on line. Wunderland lacks the strength to attack by itself, but Ravalla is a man of action. With the UN beside us, we can rid ourselves of the ratcats once and for all.”
Tskombe felt sick in the pit of his stomach. “Using this weapon on a world… It would be nothing short of genocide.” Ayla is on Kzinhome.
The tall man laughed bitterly. “You are a Flatlander, Colonel Tskombe. Your world was never occupied.”
“But still…�
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“Don't pretend to be shocked, you are a soldier.” Voortman's voice was hard. “Ten generations of my family have known only war with the kzinti, and there are no records before that because Earth chose to use relativistic weapons to prevent what was happening here from happening there. I lost ancestors then, though I'll never know their names.” He turned to look out through the transpax to the still expanding incandescence that had been Echo Delta 1272. “This is war, Colonel. This is another war with the goddamned ratcats. My mother was crippled fighting them, my father was killed before I was born.” He turned back to face Tskombe, his eyes blazing. “I swear upon the cross that Christ died on my children will grow up in peace, and if I must sterilize a thousand worlds to buy that for them I will consider the price cheap.”
“You invite the kzinti to do the same in return. Would you see Wunderland razed?”
“Wunderland has been razed, Colonel, and by humans, not kzinti. Go look at Thor's Crater and then give me a Flatlander's moralizing on genocide. But the kzinti will not have the chance to retaliate. You speak of genocide as if it were a bad thing, Colonel. In fact, genocide is the plan.” The captain's words were hard edged with anger. Tskombe had been to Thor's Crater on Wunderland, where metric-ton slugs sent at nearly lightspeed from Earth had punched through the planet's crust with impacts measured in tens of gigatonnes. Millions of Wunderlanders had died in that attack. Tskombe found it wiser to say nothing.
Voortman was still talking, his voice slightly less intense. “Ironically enough that was when we learned of the charge suppressor. The kzinti used it to clear the impact dust out of the skies and forestall environmental collapse. For that at least we owe them. And now that we have duplicated their technology, they will be repaid for everything.” The captain smiled a smile as lethal as any kzin's. “In full.”
Beware the hidden blade.
— Si-Rrit
“They are called czrav, brother.” Ftzaal-Tzaatz looked out windows of the Patriarch's Tower, watching the landers coming and going from the distant spaceport. His thigh still ached where the Chief Surgeon had repaired the wound the tuskvor had given him. “And they represent a grave danger.”
“A bunch of primitives cowering in the jungle? Don't be a fool.” Kchula-Tzaatz reclined on his prrstet, stroking the ears of a young kzinrette.
Ftzaal ignored the insult and kept his voice level. “I do not believe they are primitive.”
“You just told me they were.” Kchula keyed his vocom and spoke into it. “Slave Handler, send food to the Patriarch's tower.”
“At once, sire.”
“Fresh zianya, Ftzaal?” Kchula ran his hand down the kzinrette's sleek flanks, and she purred and nuzzled him in response.
My brother distracts himself with luxuries. Ftzaal lashed his tail in annoyance and went on with his point. “Even the cvari nomads who hunt the savannah call them primitive, but they never penetrate the deep jungle. They see the czrav only when the czrav choose to be seen. I think theirs is a world hidden in the very heart of the Patriarchy, a world we do not control.”
“So they hide in the jungle. Let them. We have nothing to fear. We went to the jungle to find First-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit. Both Ktronaz-Commander's experience and your own shows us that, even if it was he who we tracked to the jungle verge, he cannot have survived.”
“This is my point, brother. Even the cvari who live next to the jungle shun it; only a few of the Lesser Pride nobility will hunt the fringes, more for the honor than the sport. They go well equipped and they do not stay long, and even then the jungle claims enough of them. No one returns from the deep jungle. No one. I lost three Ftz'yeer just tracking First-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit, plus Telepath, and Ktronaz-Commander's attack force was destroyed.”
“Ktronaz-Commander.” Kchula snorted. “His competence is marginal.”
“He is unimaginative, brother, but not incompetent, and my Ftz'yeer fared no better.” Ftzaal's lips twitched over his fangs. “I hope you are not questioning my competence as well.”
“No, brother, but…”
“But nothing! We can barely survive a night in the jungle with all the equipment we can bring to bear on the problem, and yet the czrav live their lives there. First-Son fled there quite deliberately. What does he know that we do not?”
“It is irrelevant. Even if he has found safety with these… these czrav, what of it? Soon his very existence will be forgotten. It is the Patriarchy that is important. The attacks on our Heroes have dropped drastically, the Lesser Prides of Kzinhome accept our rule, and so do the kzintzag. Even the Great Prides bow to my commands now.”
“Do they?” Ftzaal-Tzaatz's ears fanned up and forward. “This is a new development.”
“They obey without question.” Kchula's tail stood straight up in aggressive satisfaction. “Cvail Pride is supporting Stkaa against the kz'eerkti. Stkaa's raiders are already probing the monkey defenses. Vdar Pride's fleet is in hyperspace by now, the rest are not far behind. Throughout the Patriarchy the shipyards are in full production.” He slashed at the air with his talons. “A final resolution of the monkey problem is a popular cause. Once more around the seasons and I will leap at their throats with the greatest fleet ever assembled in this galaxy.”
“This is an old galaxy, brother, and a big one. The odds do not favor our fleet being the largest in its history.”
“Bah. You remind me of that prattling Rrit-Conserver.”
“Hrrr.” Ftzaal turned a paw over. “Rrit-Conserver should have died the day we took the Citadel. I don't like that he sits at our councils.”
“And you claim to be worried about rebellion! Kzin-Conserver has ordered it! What do you think would happen with the kzintzag if I denied his order?” Kchula snorted in derision. “That old fool won't last long, and then we can be rid of Rrit-Conserver as well. In the meantime he serves his purpose in legitimizing our rule.”
“Scrral-Rrit is sufficient for that purpose, and far easier to control. And had Rrit-Conserver died on the day we struck we could have called it a tragic accident made in the heat of battle. Now we have no such option, and who do you think will take Kzin-Conserver's place if not Rrit-Conserver?”
“And what will he do then? First-Son is gone, Scrral-Rrit is ours, and his sister is carrying my kits. Our control is absolute, Ftzaal.”
“Except for the czrav.”
“Do you not tire of that topic?” Kchula snarled the words, getting close to the edge of his temper.
“We are both newcomers to Kzinhome, brother. It does not concern me that I have no knowledge of the czrav; it concerns me that even the Lesser Prides and the kzintzag know nothing about them. Even among those who live next to them there are few who have ever met a czrav. They are called primitives, but primitives do not use hunt cloaks and broad spectrum goggles. A factor we do not control or even understand cannot help but be dangerous, brother.”
“We have no evidence they use either.”
“I know what I saw.”
“In the dark, while dodging a herd charge.”
“Ktronaz-Commander's patrols were wiped out to the last one. My own Ftz'yeer were hunted down by those tuskvor.”
“You were herd charged, it was bad luck. Only a fool hunts tuskvor, even nursing kittens on Jotok know this.”
“Only a fool believes herding herbivores will hunt on their own. I saw the czrav riding the beasts.” Ftzaal stood and paced.
“You saw something. Even you admit you didn't see clearly.”
“You explain it then. This was not a herd charge. Herd animals don't split. We were watched from the moment we set down in that valley, and when we were in too deep to escape we were ambushed. It was a carefully laid trap.”
“This is not Jotok. What do you know of Kzinhome's beasts? Your vaunted Ftz'yeer were wiped out, and so it must have been a trap, is that it?” Kchula-Tzaatz snorted. “You saw a blur on the beast's back, and it must be a czrav with a hunt cloak. They followed you at night, so the riders must have had ni
ght goggles. These are speculations, not proof-before-the-pride-circle. What is a fact is I lose more strakh with the kzintzag every day, and this does not help.”
“They vanished without trace. We went back in daylight and they were gone. Does that not arouse your curiosity?”
“Perhaps you killed them all.”
“We found no bodies.”
“Destroyed by the fire, or perhaps they didn't exist at all.”
Ftzaal stopped pacing and rounded on Kchula. “Brother, do not mock me. We found their den, emptied in a single night. There were cables left behind, scraps of equipment. They are not so primitive as we might like to think.”
“Maybe not, but they are irrelevant. We have larger game to stalk, Ftzaal.” The door chimed and Kchula waved a paw to command the AI to unlock it. “Enter.”
“Telepath saw First-Son alive, and with the czrav.” Ftzaal turned a paw over. This is a subject more likely to engage my brother's interest. Four Pierin slaves came in, the first two carrying a trussed and struggling zianya. The third carried a long sk'ceri knife for the sacrifice, and the fourth carried two bowls, one full of pungent tunuska sauce, the other empty to catch the blood.
“First-Son is gone; that is all that matters. He is no longer any threat to my rule.” Kchula inhaled deeply to enjoy the strong fear scent of the helpless zianya. “As for Telepath, do not remind me of what you have cost me. We require another one.”
“We do, but even that carries risk. I feel our control over the telepaths is slipping too.”
“On what evidence?” The sk'ceri blade rose and fell. There was a single, anguished squeal and then the zianya's blood was spilling into the sacrificial bowl.
