Larry Niven’s Man-Kzin Wars - VII

by Hal Colebatch, Mark O Martin, Gregory Benford, Paul Chafe

  He took a deep breath. “If there’s any blame to bear it belongs to me. He was my responsibility. I failed to—”

  Tskala cut him off. “If there was any negligence involved I’m sure it will come out before the Court of Inquiry. Right now I don’t have time for blame. I need to know what you learned from him, and I need to know what he learned from us.”

  “From us he got about fifty datacubes full.”

  The admiral blanched. “Fifty datacubes! What was on them?”

  “Kzin virtual adventures originally. He copied over them. I’m sure he took the operating manuals for the singleship and anything else he needed for his escape, probably all my interrogation records, beyond that I don’t know, anything he could access with my ident code. If we can’t get the databanks running again…”

  He didn’t go on. As an intelligence officer Long had access to nearly everything but need-to-know secrets. Because of her mission Andromeda’s computer contained vast amounts of sensitive information. Ship schedules, code keys, automanuals for every piece of equipment in the fleet, UNSN operating procedures, hundreds of algorithms, inventories and rosters. The list was endless. A datacube would hold over five thousand automanuals. Fifty datacubes would barely scratch the surface of what was available, but if what was on them couldn’t be determined then everything in the system had to be considered compromised. Millions of hours of work would have to be thrown out to ensure security. Beyond that the losses were staggering. Codes and procedures could be changed, weapon capabilities couldn’t. The kzinti had gained an advantage that might well mean the difference between victory and defeat.

  Tskala composed himself. “What did we get from him?”

  “Nothing of military value, but I think something more important. He was a very unusual kzin. He put a lot of experience into perspective for me.”

  “What did he say?”

  Long took a deep breath. Everything depended on convincing the admiral that he was right, despite the fact that he wasn’t sure himself. “He told me why we win wars. He told me why we might lose the next one.”

  “How so?”

  “Why can a gazelle outrun a leopard? Because the leopard is running for its supper, the gazelle is running for its life. We had to win or die. For the kzinti it was just another conquest. Well, we stopped them, and we kept on stopping them. Now the shoe is on the other foot. Fleet Commander is afraid well destroy his species.”

  Tskala laughed bitterly. “That’s a switch. We aren’t the ones with a dozen slave races that we hunt and eat for fun. What makes him afraid of us?”

  “He’s been studying human history and what he sees is scorched earth and extermination programs. He sees entire civilizations wiped from the globe. He sees a species committed to total war.”

  The admiral laughed again. “What does he think his species has been committed to during the last six invasions? We were pacifists before they attacked us, tanjit!”

  “To us they were total war. To the kzin they were conquests. From the Patriarch’s point of view a small, medium-risk investment offering a good rate of return, with the added advantage of giving hot-blooded young Heroes something to do other than challenge his authority. The kzinti have never fought a total war, it isn’t their style. You need a population willing to submit completely to the group will, and they aren’t socialized enough to do that. They go to war for the honor it brings, for slaves, new resources, wealth, status. You don’t get those things when you exterminate your enemy. Their form of conquest is closer to organized piracy. Fleet Commander was genuinely horrified by the way we fight, and he was right to be. We had absolute peace because the only alternative was total self-destruction.”

  “I don’t scan that. Kzinti are predators born and bred. Sure we had wars before the UN took over, but after that we had as close to paradise as you can get on Earth. We had to learn to fight all over again when they came knocking.”

  “Oh, no? Think about what it took to enforce that paradise. Suppression of any technology that could be used aggressively, which means almost all of it. Every single citizen subjected to intense anti-aggressive conditioning from cradle to grave. The personality types we make into combat commanders today were considered dangerous and unstable. They had to undergo compulsory ‘treatments’ with psychodrugs for their entire lives. Even that level of control wasn’t enough. Ever hear of an organlegger? When transplants were still in use they would kill people and sell them for spare parts, I don’t think the kzinti are any more brutal than that.”

  The admiral smiled wryly. He was, after all, a combat commander. “I’d rather be a brutal free human than a gentle kzinti slave. Still, I don’t see the problem from our point of view. They don’t pose a threat anymore. They’ll attack before they’re ready as they always do. We’ll beat them back and take a few more worlds away from them. Sooner or later they’ll learn that their conquest game costs them too dearly to continue.”

  “That’s the danger point, sir. The kzin culture is expansionist by nature. The Patriarch doesn’t care if the Conquest Heroes win or die trying, as long as they keep moving out from the settled systems. Up until now they’ve been willing, even eager, to do it. There isn’t much opportunity for an ambitious kzin on a settled planet. Joining a conquest isn’t just more glorious, it’s safer, or it was until now.”

  Tskala was puzzled. “I know they’re crazy for combat, but how can going to war be safer than staying at home?”

  “All social carnivores have ways to limit damage. Most threats are bluffs and most fights aren’t serious; those that are, are subject to strict rules. On an established world the only quick way to the top is through serious duels, with the rules rigged against the contender. That serves to preserve their social structure, but it only works if there’s a better alternative for the challenger. That used to be the conquests, but we’ve changed that. I saw a lot more duels in my last year on W’kkai than in my first, duels involving senior kzin. It’s only going to get worse as their population pressure builds up. Kzinti can’t be packed into multiblocks the way humans can; they need a lot of room.”

  “How does that affect us?”

  “Put yourself in the Patriarch’s shoes! Already the first cracks are starting to show—Fleet Commander is proof of that. He’s facing his own death, the destruction of a dynasty that predates human civilization, the dissolution of his society and maybe the extinction of his species. He’s a kzin. Do you want to bet thirty billon lives he won’t decide to learn how total war is fought?” Long paused for breath. His words had come tumbling out almost unaided. The half-formed ideas that had stewed in his brain while he hung on the police web had clicked into place. Now that he was sure of the problem he knew the answer.

  Tskala whistled. “I think I’m beginning to see your point, but what do you propose? Extermination isn’t really an option even in theory, despite the flatlander prattle. We couldn’t take them out fast enough to prevent just the kind of war you’re talking about. We either give up or contain them. I’m not in favor of giving up, and you’re telling me containment won’t work.”

  This was the critical moment. The admiral could make it very easy for him, or impossibly difficult. “I’m not in favor of any of those choices either, but I think there’s a better one. The galaxy is a big place, there’s room for warriors to win honor whatever their species. I think we should form an alliance.” Long held his breath.

  Tskala considered before answering. “What makes you think they’ll agree with that any longer than it takes to mount the next invasion?”

  “I think they don’t have a choice, any more than we do. If something doesn’t change neither race has anything to look forward to but total war and massive devastation, if not extinction. We’re supposed to be the flexible, far-thinking ones. We’ve been lucky so far; let’s do something about it before it’s too late.”

  Tskala snorted. “I don’t think being invaded by the most predatory species in the galaxy is lucky.”

&n
bsp; Long persisted. “Angel’s Pencil encountering a kzin warship in interstellar space and surviving to warn us. Our completely pacifist society surviving the onslaught of technologically superior warriors. A slaver in stasis four billion years being released at just the right place and time to wreck the fifth invasion force. The Outsiders arriving on We Made It and handing us the hyperdrive. That research team stumbling onto a secret kzin base before they could surprise us when they got the hyperdrive too. Maybe we’re even lucky they shook us out of our artificial paradise before the UN became the most unbreakable tyranny ever seen. Every war we’ve fought with them has turned on an impossible coincidence. How much longer can we count on that?”

  Tskala waved an arm, brushing aside his argument. “Good tacticians make their own luck, Major. Coincidences happen all the time—it’s commanders who turn them into victory or defeat. You make a formal report on your findings. I’ll get you a hearing with the High Command. If you can convince them you can talk to the Secretary General.” He stood up, locking eyes with the intelligence officer. “I’m going to back you up on this. I’ll get you in the door. You just make sure they get convinced.”

  Long knew luck when he saw it. There could be only one answer. He stood up and saluted. “Yes, sir!”

  The UNSN cruiser dropped out of hyperdrive beyond Kzin’s larger moon and drifted. A kzin battleship was waiting for her. A shuttle left the massive warcraft’s belly and slid gracefully towards the visitor. Her pilot deftly lined up on the cruiser’s marking lights and glided into the docking bay.

  On the docking bay floor Christopher Long waited, no longer in UNSN gray. He had grown accustomed to the utilitarian uniform and didn’t feel entirely comfortable in the formal red jumpsuit he now wore.

  The shuttle vented white mist as the crew equalized cabin pressure with the atmosphere in the docking bay. The ramp extended and a single kzin strode down, dark orange with zigzag tiger stripes and matching black paws, ears and tail tip. He wore a royal blue robe with the sigil of the Patriarchy on a sash across his chest. Long came to attention and raked his hand across his face. He snarled in the Hero’s Tongue, “I am Christopher Long, emissary to Kzin. May I ask your name?”

  The kzin flicked his ears and twitched his tail, offering his massive paw to Long and striving to smile without baring his teeth. He spoke in English with a Wunderland accent.

  “I have no name. I am known as Ambassador.”