by Paul Chafe
“I'm Sergeant Veers, ARM. You'll need to come with us.”
There was no point in resisting either. Unlike New York, where surveillance was pervasive but he could at least run freely, Tiamat allowed no such options. If he bolted they'd just order the vacuum doors sealed and go pick him up. The tube station he'd arrived at was ARM headquarters. They took him in and put him in a cell, one of only two in the section. As the Swarm Belters had steadily pushed the UN out of their affairs, ARM's role on Tiamat had been reduced from effective autocracy over all civilian affairs to a strictly advisory capacity, with the Swarm Goldskins doing the real police work. He asked questions but they gave no answers. That was to be expected, but their diffident manner and discomfort when he asked them told him all he needed to know. They were acting on orders from Earth to arrest him, but they didn't know why. He could use that, maybe.
“Look,” he said to Veers through the bars. “I'm not entirely sure what's going on here, but there is a serious mistake.”
The other man shrugged. “I have orders to find you and hold you, pending further notice from Earth.”
“I'm not surprised you have orders to find me. I think if you'll read them again you'll see that you're supposed to hold my orders from Earth and go and find me so I can read them, not hold me in anticipation of my orders. I'm expecting a mission.”
“I know what they said.” Veers's voice was dismissive, but he punched keys on his desk. He was checking. Tskombe watched as his eyes flicked over the display. “And they still say that.” There was satisfaction in his tone at being proved right.
“Sergeant.” Tskombe persisted. “Someone has obviously made a serious bureaucratic error. Check my file and you'll see who you're dealing with.”
Veers tapped more keys. “Your file is sealed.” He turned to face Tskombe. “Look, I don't know what the problem is, but I do have my orders. They say to hold you and wait for instructions; I'll hold you and wait for instructions. It'll get straightened out one way or another.”
Tskombe paused. He'd counted on his impressive war record, culminating in the mission to Kzinhome, to convince the ARM that he'd made a mistake. Work with what you've got. “Of course it's sealed. What do you expect of someone conducting classified missions? Now, this problem will be corrected.” Tskombe used the firm but restrained voice he used on subordinates who'd messed up. “And I'm not going to hold you responsible for carrying out your mistaken orders. I will hold you responsible if you don't act to correct them. So you have a choice. Correct the problem yourself and get a commendation for initiative, or hold me here until I miss my mission start and end your career on the spot.”
Veers looked uncertain. “I can send a message to Earth.”
“What's the turnaround for hyperwave to Earth? Twelve days? That's unacceptable, Sergeant.”
“I don't know what you want me to do, sir.” The ARM sounded aggrieved, as though the situation was Tskombe's fault. Which was largely correct.
He's calling me sir. That's a good sign. “You can access my immediate superior here on Tiamat.”
“What's the ident?”
Tskombe suppressed a smirk as he gave Veers Curvy's comcode. The ARM was almost falling over himself now, to absolve himself of responsibility for someone else's error. Bureaucracies never change.
He watched Veers's eyes widen as Curvy's authority status came up on the screen, then widen further as Curvy herself did. He hadn't expected a dolphin. Tskombe couldn't hear the conversation because Veers's desk had switched on its sound damper automatically when it placed the call.
When the call ended he keyed his desk, popping the lock on Tskombe's cell. He was apologetic. “I'm sorry about the confusion, sir.”
“Not at all. You were doing your job right. And you're still doing it right, verifying the correctness of your orders. I'll put that in my report.” Tskombe left the cell, trying hard not to run. The problem was only temporarily solved. There would be follow-on orders from Earth, probably dealing with both him and Curvy and much more explicit than the first set. Ravalla's team must have issued them as soon as the details of his escape from New York came to light and before the whole situation was clear. Veers would not be fooled twice, and on Tiamat there was nowhere to hide. If he wasn't already gone by then, he'd find himself on a ship back to Earth to face court-martial for desertion. It might be smart to get a ship to Wunderland first, where anti-UN sentiment was even higher than in the Serpent Swarm and the environment was a lot looser. The problem with that idea was that by the time he'd gotten himself, Curvy and Trina to the planet he wouldn't have enough money left to hire a ship all the way to Kzinhome. Something was going to have to happen. They were running out of time.
The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our ways — I to die, and you to live. Which is better God only knows.
— Plato, Apology, quoting Socrates
Ayla Cherenkova sat atop the sandstone dome that housed Ztrak Pride's high forest den, watching 61 Ursae Majoris set the sky afire as it slipped toward the red rock spires that marked the western horizon. The forest here was higher and dryer than the triple canopy jungle of the eastern den. The high forest den was another cavern complex, set in one of a series of similar domes rising out of the sandy plateau, rounded into almost perfect teardrops by ancient winds, when the forest had not yet claimed this part of the continent from the desert. In the distance a herd of tuskvor drank from a small river that snaked lazily along the bottom of a flood-cut ravine. Further up, a big male was moving circumspectly toward the group. Ayla raised her binoptics to scan the herd, but they were doing nothing interesting. She lowered them again and yawned.
The caverns below her were spacious, floored in stonewood over sand. There was plenty to eat. The pride had butchered a few of the tuskvor they rode, once they'd cut them out of the main migration stream, yielding hundreds of tons of meat that they cut into slabs and dried in the hot sun atop the dome, where the shade of the tall trees didn't fall. She had been glad to see that Camel, who she'd come to see as her tuskvor, escaped the slaughter. She liked to think it was Camel's winning personality that had saved her, although V'rli-Ztrak had spoken disparagingly of her bulging fat pouches. The kzinti liked leaner meat, and when she saw the tuskvor butchered she understood why. Even a lean tuskvor yielded meat almost too rich to digest this early in the forest season.
She raised the binoptics again. Tuskvor fattened themselves in the jungle but they mated in the high forest, their life rhythms governed by the alternating seasons on opposite ends of Kzinhome's central continent. She had learned that from C'mell, who after the mazourk lessons had taken it upon herself to teach her the ways of the czrav. The huge herd beasts gave birth in the forest too, after a two-year gestation. Mating and birth were vulnerable times when they needed to be away from the grlor and the other jungle predators, but the forest didn't provide the huge volumes of lush fodder that the jungle did. The czrav moved with them for similar reasons.
By the watercourse the herd was moving closer together, responding to the big male's presence. The vast migration had started to break up as they came out of the deep desert dunes into the western grasslands and up into the forest. The herds now wandered aimlessly in mating groups: a huge mature male, a grandmother or two or three, and a couple of dozen mothers with offspring of varying sizes. The younger males wandered around between the herds, being chased away by the harem keepers if they came too close. They fought each other instead of the big males. The winners got a chance to mature and perhaps hold a harem; the losers died, every time. She'd seen it happen several times now. What was going on in her field of view now was a little more interesting. The full sized males fought the grandmothers for the right to mate with the entire harem that surrounded them. If the male was big enough the grandmother would yield after a little shoving. If not, the struggle would be titanic, with the larger mothers, nearing the end of their own bearing years, joining in to drive off the interloper. As she watched, the male came closer
and one of the grandmothers turned to face him. They were evenly matched in size. If a fight transpired it would be sensational.
The male bellowed at the grandmother, but backed off again when she came closer. Cherenkova put the binoptics down again in frustration. Maybe there would be a fight, but it didn't look like it would come before dark. The tuskvor mating ritual was fascinating, it was epic, but it was also slow moving and she was rapidly becoming bored with it. After the first frantic days of butchering and feasting and setting up the den, pride life had fallen into a complacent routine. Everyone had something to do except her. She had earned her place in the pride when the Tzaatz attacked, and learned to handle tuskvor well enough that C'mell and Quicktail had taken to calling her Cherenkova-mazourk. Now those things were past, and once again she felt like a pet. Pouncer had set off on Camel to find Mrrsel Pride's den, his mother's pride, the start of his namequest to gain allies for his cause. It was something he had to do himself, he explained, and it was too dangerous for her to come. She was safe in the den, supposedly, with V'rli-Ztrak standing for her safety, but Sraff-Tracker, in particular, still looked at her like a prey animal. She found it prudent to spend a lot of time outside.
At least avoiding him gave her something to do. She had read hundreds of books on her beltcomp, and its memory held enough to let her read for the rest of her life, but she needed more than that. She needed action, and she wanted to get off the planet. She took to running simulations on the Swiftwing simulator, dreaming of stealing another courier to take her back to human space. The problem with that plan was that it required retracing her steps, and Ztrak Pride wouldn't be leaving the desert until the wet season returned to the jungle. Watching tuskvor mate was a good way to pass the time. She was making notes on it, notes on pride life, notes on the flora and fauna of the desert. I am the reluctant researcher, a kzinologist by circumstance. Kefan Brasseur would have been pleased.
Chrrowwwlll! The cry was mourning, yearnful, and it yanked Ayla from her reverie. Chrrowwwlll! It came again. She had heard it before. Where? Aboard the Fanged Victory, falling in from Crusader to Kzinhome. It was the sound the kzinretti had made in the ritualized mating dance. There was another fact she'd learned from C'mell, though she'd filed the information and forgotten it until the mating call brought it back to mind. The third Hunter's Moon of the year was called the Mating Moon, and while kzinretti could come into fertility at any time of year, there was a seasonal synchronization that brought most of them into heat around that time. She looked up and saw the Hunter's Moon full above her. Was it the third time since they'd left the jungle? She couldn't remember. She'd lost track of how long she'd been on Kzinhome. Too long, and no end in sight.
Chrrowwwlll! Kzinti mating at least would be something different to see. It was getting cooler anyway. She took a last look at the tuskvor herd in the fading light, where the spurned male was shuffling away from the group. She stood up and found the path off the dome down to the den mouth.
The pride circle fire had just been lit, but rather than the usual good-natured banter that went on as the kzinti slowly gathered for the first story, it seemed like the entire pride was already there, watching in intent silence. In the center of the circle the kzinrette Z'slee was crouched with her haunches in the air, flicking her well tufted tail back and forth and howling her need with earsplitting vehemence. The circle was much more structured than it had been before. The males were in their usual places, alone or in pairs or threes, but the females were clustered tighter around them than usual, and they didn't seem to be moving from group to group. The unmated males had one segment of the circle by themselves, each of them alone. Even V'rli was lying close beside Ferlitz-Telepath, in front of her honored rock rather than on it.
As Cherenkova watched, Z'slee rocked back and forth, then circled, growling deep in her throat. Ayla recognized the patterns from the ritual dance on the kzinti battleship on the trip insystem, but Z'slee's movements were raw and primal, unvarnished by the stylistic interpretation of dance-trainers. She was deep in heat. Ayla found a natural rock shelf by the wall where she could sit and see without getting in the way. Every male had their eyes locked unblinkingly on Z'slee. Instinct told her the mating display could turn violent with no warning, and she didn't want to get caught in the middle. It was deep twilight outside the cave, and the scene was made unreal by the flickering of the pride circle fire. She realized she was holding her breath.
Z'slee was on all fours, crawling with her hind legs stiff toward the unmated males. For the first time Ayla noticed the way the pride circle was organized. V'rli's position was the centerpoint with Ferlitz, and to her right were the highest strakh kzinti, the inner circle members first, Kdtronai-zar'ameer with V'veen and three other females, Ztrak-Conserver, Kr-Pathfinder, then the senior hunters like Greow-Czatz and M'mewr, and so on all the way around the circle in descending order of status to youths like Quicktail and the young telepath Mind-Seer, who were on V'rli's left. The medium status males tended to be in groups of two or three, and suddenly Cherenkova understood that status equated to mating success. What mattered was the ratio of male status to female status in the group. Higher status males were with higher status females, and more of them. Lower status males wound up with lower status females, but they could pair up to do better together than either could alone. At tale-telling-time the unmated females drifted from group to group and confused the issue, but now they were all with their mothers, and the pattern was clear. They were watching Z'slee's performance as intently as the males, perhaps judging what they would do when their own fertility arrived.
Z'slee went to Silverstreak, an adolescent not far from the bottom in strakh, twitching her tail and chirruping at him invitingly. He watched her intently but didn't move. She came closer, circling to present her haunches, flexing and arching invitingly. Silverstreak licked his chops and looked like he might respond, but then he looked around the circle and seemed to decide not to. After a few minutes Z'slee moved up the line to Wild-Son-of-Hrell-Hromfi and repeated her performance. Wild-Son showed no hesitation, leaping into the circle and grabbing at her, but surprisingly she snapped her tail down and scampered away. He followed her, leaping to catch her. They tumbled in the sand and struggled as he tried to mount her. He succeeded in forcing her onto her belly, but she lowered her haunches when he mounted her, frustrating his attempt to mate. He snarled and bit at her neck, and she chrowled again, her cry deep and keening. Every male in the circle stiffened at the sound, and she lashed her head back and forth to keep Wild-Son from getting a grip with his teeth. Where an instant before she had been clearly trying to induce him to mate her, now she was struggling to get away. She managed to get turned around enough to bite him on the muzzle, and he howled in pain. The distraction was enough for her to roll and kick. Unbalanced, he lost his footing and she squirmed away. He leapt again, but she dodged, and while he was recovering she ran to Quicktail and again presented her haunches, tail flipping back and forth, and chrowling loudly. Quicktail didn't move, but when Wild-Son turned to come back for Z'slee he locked eyes with him and Wild-Son froze, snarling deep in his throat. The tableau held, Wild-Son's tail lashing angrily. He wanted Z'slee, but in her current posture mounting her would leave his back exposed to Quicktail, whose gaze and bared fangs made his own interest clear. Quicktail was younger and smaller than Wild-Son, and Ayla now realized that before the battle in the jungle he had sat below him in pride-circle rank. Now he wore Tzaatz ears on his belt and was credited with the rescue of Kdtronai-zar'ameer and since they'd arrived at desert den his strakh, and his position in the circle, were much increased.
Z'slee looked back over her shoulder to gauge Quicktail's interest, then slowly, keeping her haunches high, she edged herself out from between the two males. As she turned to pass Wild-Son her hindquarters were exposed to him. He grabbed at her again, and in the same instant Quicktail screamed and leapt, catching the other half-sideways. They went down in a heap of fangs, claws and screamed insults, an
d Z'slee, tail twitching, went on to Night-Prowler, presenting herself to him as she had to Quicktail. Her plaintive chrrrowwwll nearly drowned out the sounds of the fight.
But Night-Prowler didn't move, and Wild-Son and Quicktail tumbled free of each other, each rolling to their feet, breathing hard, each bleeding from half a dozen minor wounds. For a long moment they faced each other, and then Wild-Son leapt. Quicktail stepped sideways and pivoted, lashing out with hind claws as his opponent came past to catch him in his cross-braced ribcage. Wild-Son screamed in pain and rolled. Quicktail leapt after him, only to catch a vicious slash across his muzzle. Blood streamed from the wounds, but then Quicktail was on top and his fangs were at Wild-Son's throat. Wild-Son screamed, kicking out hard to disembowel with his hind claws, but Quicktail arched his back to keep his vitals out of reach without releasing his clenched jaws.
Slowly Wild-Son's struggles subsided. Quicktail shook the limp body with his teeth, like a terrier with a rat, and then released it to fall limp on the floor. Without looking back he turned to Z'slee, still hunched over, twitching her tail for Night-Prowler. Quicktail locked eyes with the other male, breathing hard, blood still streaming from his muzzle, but Night-Prowler didn't move, and his fangs weren't showing. Z'slee looked back at Night-Prowler, tail twitching, then skittered away. Quicktail leapt after her and caught her by the haunches. She struggled, and rolled, but his teeth found the nape of her neck and pulled her over into the mating posture. This time she didn't lower her tail, and when he succeeded in mounting her she raised her haunches higher to give him better access. Quicktail roared at the same instant, his body jerking hard against hers. She screamed, an unearthly sound that made her previous cries seem tame by comparison, and thrashed in his grip, and then they both collapsed.
