by Hal Colebatch, Mark O Martin, Gregory Benford, Paul Chafe
The commlink jolted her out of her reverie. “Commander, we’ve got a survivor.”
The fleet support ship Andromeda was immense, dwarfing even the massive attack carrier that floated beneath her, swaddled in scaffolding. On Excalibur’s bridge Elizabeth Mace held absolute authority, backed by traditions extending through captains of space and air and sea to before recorded history. Waiting in a debriefing room aboard Andromeda she was just another cog in the military machine. Perhaps some people could acknowledge the difference and ignore it, but Elizabeth found it oppressive. The same initiative and spirit that had driven her to command made her uncomfortable in the armed forces bureaucracy. Taking orders from officers with Ph.D.s in systems analysis and no combat experience was annoying. Of course they too served a purpose, but it was hard to respect a superior who had been promoted for exceptional logistics planning while she was out getting shot at.
The door slid open and Admiral Tskala came in, followed by a ground-force major wearing intelligence insignia. Mace rose and saluted crisply. Tskala was no paper pusher. His first command was the depressurized bridge of the cruiser Hermes as the sole surviving officer. He had brought her through the battle with three quarters of the crew dead or disabled. Now he commanded the defense of the entire solar system. His position gave him enormous power, military and political, and the responsibilities to go with it, but he still kept in close contact with his line officers. She had no difficulty respecting him.
He returned her salute and offered his hand. “Congratulations, Captain,” he said as she shook it. He handed her a small box containing the badges of her new rank, smiling at her surprised expression. “There’ll be an official notice soon enough, but I wanted to be the first to tell you.” He noted the concern in her eyes and added, “Don’t worry, we won’t hide you behind a desk.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said, pleased and relieved at the same time.
Tskala gestured to the intelligence officer. “This is Major Long,” he said. “He’ll be interrogating your prisoner, but first he has some questions for you. When you’re done here let me know and we’ll get the paperwork out of the way. In the meantime I’ll leave you in his capable hands.” He waved her into her seat before she could salute, thumbed the door and left. Long sat down opposite her, putting a vocoder on the table and switching it on.
“What can I help you with, Major?” Mace smiled. The intelligence officer stood in stark contrast to Tskala’s energy and authority. There were no service stars on his uniform and his manner lacked the blend of caution and confidence that marked the veteran. He was clearly a civilian pressed into service as a fleet staffer. Andromeda’s debriefing rooms were probably the closest he’d ever been to combat. On the other hand he didn’t have the air of defensive self-importance that most of the rear-echelon specialists seemed to develop. She decided to reserve judgment and see how he performed.
Long adjusted the vocoder before starting. “I have your official report, Captain, but I’d like to hear your thoughts on the engagement.” His tone was relaxed and unhurried.
“We were lucky, that’s all. We had all the aces on our side and they damn near got away and they damn near blew us up into the bargain. I would have liked to meet that pussycat.” There was a trace of regret in her voice as she said it. She pushed her feelings aside and continued.
“They did ninety-eight Gs in their final dash. Prowler class are nominally rated at eighty. Their tactics were sound given their capabilities. They surprised us with the haze screen and took the initiative away. It was more than I hoped for to get a lock-on with a blind spread the way we did. Their captain did everything he could to maximize his advantages and minimize ours, and he did a good job. On our side I think we reacted well to the unexpected, taking the best available course at each stage. Perhaps the kzinti were counting on that and used it to their advantage. My crew performed extremely well, particularly the weapons section. It isn’t easy to hit a ninety-eight-g target at a light-second even with a laser beam. Perhaps in retrospect I should have plotted the interception point deeper into the singularity, but I wanted to ensure the safety of my ship and crew in case the intelligence appraisal turned out to be wrong.” She didn’t add that she rarely found intelligence appraisals to be right.
“Very wise, of course, Captain.” Long smiled. “Did you learn anything from the wreckage?”
“We sent a boarding party over. Damage was extensive. The computer core destruct functioned, so we weren’t able to get anything there. On an assignment like this it probably only contained mission-critical information anyway. All torpedoes had been fired. The sensor suite was impressive and I would expect it represents their current state of the art. It was badly damaged but I expect we can learn a lot from it. The drives were completely wrecked, but I would assume they’d been modified or updated judging by their performance. Perhaps the salvage crew can get something out of them. The captain’s cabin had been set up for two kzinti. That’s where we found our prisoner.”
“What can you tell me about him?” The intelligence officer’s voice was still relaxed, but the way he sat up to listen to her answer betrayed his interest. The battle and the ship were background material. The kzin was the reason Long was involved.
“He was wearing space armor and had been knocked unconscious. The normal complement of a Prowler class is five. We found four at their combat stations, so he’s the fifth. However, the engineer presumably went out when the drive section got spaced. It doesn’t make sense that he would be anywhere else in battle.”
“Did you get anything out of him when he woke up?”
“Nothing really, just that he wanted food. I don’t speak the Hero’s Tongue very well, and he wasn’t interested in speaking at all.”
Long smiled. He’d heard Mace’s single transmission to the scoutship when Tskala showed him the reconstruction of the battle. Excalibur translated as “Holy Sword of the Island Empire’s Mythical Patriarch” and she’d nearly dislocated her jaw getting it out. “Was he defiant or despondent in any way? What was his reaction to his situation?”
“He was very quiet. We kept him on a police web. If I had to nail it down I would say he was wary, watchful. Every time someone went through the room he would track them with his eyes. It was kind of unsettling.”
“What do you think his job was on board?”
Mace considered carefully before answering. “I don’t think he was the engineer; the engineer went out with the drive. The captain’s cabin had definitely been set up to take an extra body and that’s our prisoner, otherwise he wouldn’t have been there. What his job was is anybody’s guess. My own would be a telepath. That was a reconnaissance ship, on a mission like this the only thing they can be after is strategic intelligence. How better to gather it than out of the minds of the planners?”
“Good point, Captain. Thank you for your time.” Long stood up, ending the interview. Mace was somewhat disconcerted—she’d just become comfortable with the rapid questions and answers. She wondered if his abruptness was an interrogator’s reflex, keeping his subject off-balance, or simply a specialist’s indifference to someone who could provide no more clues.
“Glad to help, Major.” She started to leave, then turned back. “Our prisoner, what’s going to happen to him now?”
Long hesitated slightly before answering. “I’ll interview him, try to establish a rapport and learn as much as possible. How much that is depends on the individual. Eventually they either collapse from confinement or refuse to go any further. At that point we’ll begin sleep and sensory deprivation. As his resistance builds up we’ll start introducing hypnotics. It’s a proven technique.”
“And after that?”
“There is no after that. Somewhere along the line he’ll die. They always die.”
“Oh.” Mace turned to go, trying to keep her expression blank. Her captive’s fate was ultimately no worse than what his comrades aboard the scoutship had suffered, but at least they’d gone down h
eads up and fighting. This kzin would die when the drugs finally broke the last strands of his mind.
Long’s hand on her arm brought her up short. She didn’t want to meet his gaze, but she was too much a commander not to. There was an intensity to his voice that hadn’t been there before. “Do you know how I got this job, Captain?”
He continued before she could answer. “I am a cultural historian. I decided to study the kzinti. I learned their language, I traveled to Tiamat, I made friends with them. After that I went to W’kkai and lived there for twelve years. I was Man-Student-of-Kzinti. I had hoped to go to Kzin home itself. They have an advanced and intricate society; I have lifetimes of work ahead of me. And now there is another war coming and I have had to abandon that work and use the knowledge the kzinti gave me to make their prisoners betray their species because I am the best qualified to do it. The fact that kzinti die in captivity does not matter to UNSN Command.”
She became aware of how hard he was gripping her arm. He let her go and sat down wearily. “We both serve our race. Just remember that, Captain.”
Mace hurried back to Excalibur’s bridge where the not-war was clear-cut, glad the kzin’s fate was not her responsibility. She threw herself into preparations for their next patrol, trying to drown out the little voice in the back of her head. “If you don’t feel responsible,” it wondered, “why did you ask what would happen to him?”
Andromeda had jail cells, but the prisoner wasn’t in one. It was important that he feel as unrestrained as possible. Long’s main interrogation room was a rebuilt luxury guest suite. The only concessions to security were a marine guardpost outside the door and a thumbplate that was keyed to Long alone. Nothing else was needed. Andromeda’s interior walls were built to specifications far more demanding than those needed to confine a kzin. The bathroom had been redone to kzin scale and taste, and holowalls on three sides displayed a tree-dotted savannah. The furnishings were sparse, a table, an oversized desk, an armchair and an oversized kzin prrstet, a firmly padded cross between a couch and hammock. On the shelf were a set of kzin eyegoggles, a playback unit and few dozen virtual adventures stored on datacubes. The desk held a standard data terminal, modified with an additional kzin-style display board. Once a rapport was established Long gave his subjects a computer ident with carefully limited access. Kzinti who would be seriously insulted by a bribe could still be subtly pressured by granting and withdrawing privileges. Doing it through the computer allowed Long to pretend it was out of his control. Eventually the kzin would come to depend on him to straighten out problems with “higher authority” and accept tacit rewards for cooperation. The suite abutted on a large storage room. Long was trying to get permission to remove the intervening wall and turn the room into an arboretum to make his subjects more comfortable. The longer they remained relaxed the longer he could delay taking them to his other interrogation room, the one with the suspension tank and the hypnodrugs.
The prisoner was alone in the room, spread-eagled on a portable police web. Even hanging like a trophy pelt the kzin was impressive. He certainly wasn’t a telepath; he showed no sign of either drug addiction or withdrawal. He was well over two and a half meters tall and dark orange. Black tiger stripes zigzagged around his flanks to the lighter fur of his belly. His ears, paws and the tip of his tail were also black. The effect would have been cute on a housecat but was simply striking here. His lips raised slightly, exposing the edges of his fangs, and his eyes contracted to narrow slits as they followed Long around the room. His ears were raised and swiveled forward in hunting posture. That was good, had they been laid flat with fear or anger Long’s job would have been impossible. On the other hand the kzin’s current expression made him feel like a prey animal. Captain Mace’s feelings were not unwarranted.
Long took a deep breath and addressed the kzin in the Hero’s Tongue. “I am Major Long, intelligence officer. May I ask your name?”
The kzin snarled back, his teeth bared in what looked like a smile. The hostility in his voice was palpable. “I have no name, I am known as Fleet Commander.”
Long was startled. He hoped his self-control and the kzin’s unfamiliarity with human expressions were enough to conceal his surprise. To ask a kzin’s name was not just an introduction, it was a compliment. Only kzinti of high rank or accomplishment had names; the lower orders were simply known by their job description. To find a kzin of such status on a scoutship was unusual. To find a kzin whose rank was Fleet Commander and yet did not bear at least a partial name was unheard of. Further, the kzin’s fang-baring smile showed that he found the question insulting. Whether it was because he didn’t carry a name or because it had been suggested he did was unknowable, neither option made any sense. Still, despite the fangs and bristled fur the kzin wasn’t showing the blind rage or abject depression that most prisoners displayed. That, at least, was a good sign.
“It is a pleasure and an honor to meet you, Fleet Commander.” He clicked his heels together and gave a kzinti salute, raking his hand in front of his face.
The kzin’s deadly smile relaxed as much as the police web would allow. “It is an honor to meet you, Major Long, but it is no pleasure.” He flicked his ears as he said it.
“This room is sealed. If you will give me your word that you will not harm me I will release you.”
“There is no honor in accepting charity from an enemy,” growled the kzin. “But neither is there honor in hanging like a kzraow on a stick.” He flicked his ears again. “I give you my word, Major Long, and I accept your offer.”
“There is no dishonor, Fleet Commander. That web will hold a kzin; you would not have been able to break free.” He hit the release switch. There was no danger. A kzinti warrior’s word was his honor, and his honor was his life. Nevertheless it was unsettling to be alone in the room with a hungry enemy carnivore.
The kzin dropped free of the field and stretched in a quintessentially feline motion, then rubbed his limbs in an incongruously primate gesture. “In truth, Major Long, that web will hold ten kzin. I believe the warrior who put me here found me more fearsome than he had need.” He flicked his ears for a third time. That expression was the kzinti equivalent of a wry smile, given in concert with an ironic comment. Long seemed to have found a kzin with a sense of humor. Under the circumstances, he thought with his own touch of irony, that might be even rarer than a Fleet Commander with no name.
“I apologize for your maltreatment.” Long gestured to the prrstet. “Please make yourself comfortable, we have much to discuss. I am to act as your liaison while you are here.” He settled into the armchair.
The kzin hopped onto the padding with easy grace. He looked completely relaxed, as only a cat can. No trace of his former anger remained. “You speak the Hero’s Tongue well, Major Long. It is music after the way your destroyer captain abused my ears.”
The interview was going better than any Long had conducted before. It usually took days to reach this stage of semiformal banter. Fleet Commander might have well been a W’kkai noble meeting Man-Student-of-Kzinti for the first time, curious, confident and polite almost to a fault. He responded in kind. “Your praise encourages my poor efforts, esteemed warrior.”
Fleet Commander continued. “Tell me, though, what need has a prisoner for a liaison officer?”
“You are not a prisoner, although you must remain here for now. While negotiations for your return continue you will be our guest. We would appreciate any help you could give us.” The hope of release helped kzinti captives to hold on to their sanity longer and gave Long more leverage to pry out information. It was despair that ultimately filled them.
Fleet Commander tensed, his whiskers bristling. “You suggest I would reveal military secrets. It is a poor host who mocks the honor of his guests.”
“No insult is intended, honored guest. We would not ask you for sensitive information. Of course you are free to decline any question. We are not seeking military advantage, but a fuller understanding of the situation
. We hope to prevent another war.”
“Urrrhh.” The big cat relaxed, somewhat mollified. “Under the circumstances I cannot dispute your fairness.” His ears twitched again.
Long felt relieved. An offended kzin whose honor didn’t allow him to adapt to the situation was very difficult to deal with. Establishing the ground rules without antagonizing his subject was the most delicate part of his job. Sensitive questions would be asked, and refused at first. Once Fleet Commander felt at home with the situation his guard would go down and the refusals would come less often. Unsuspected information would be touched on. Whether further answers were forthcoming was irrelevant. What the kzin declined to volunteer would come out later with the hypnotics.
“You must be hungry; I will order food for us. A computer ident is being set up for you so that in future you can do so for yourself. We are also arranging for some prey animals. Meanwhile, I trust you will find fresh meat preferable to shipboard rations.” Long tapped his code into the terminal, keying in a request for a cold dinner—cooked meat would offend the kzin’s sensitive nose—and ten pounds of raw beef.
“I am grateful for your hospitality. While we wait perhaps you could tell me what has become of my comrades aboard Silent Prowler.” The kzin’s carefully neutral expression showed that he expected the answer, but Long still paused before answering. “You were the only survivor. The commander of our destroyer says they fought well. I am sorry for your loss.”
