Man-Kzin Wars 9

by Larry Niven

  “Call me Fly-By-Night if I am expected to answer. Does the Patriarch still make addicts of any who show the talent?”

  “You have hibernated for three centuries? We use advanced medical techniques in this age. Chemical mimic of sthondat lymph, six syllable name, more powerful, few side effects, diet additives to minimize those.”

  A second Kzin voice said, “You need not taste the drug yourself, Telepath, by my alpha officer’s word.”

  “Only my poor kits, then. But how well do Kzinti keep each other’s promises? I know that Odysseus was disabled despite all reassurance.”

  What? Fly-By-Night had no way to know that. I was only guessing, and his vac refuge had floated further from Odysseus than our own.

  But Envoy said, “All follows the Covenants sworn with men at Shasht. That was my assurance, and it is good.”

  “Do those allow you to maroon a Legal Entity ship in deep space?”

  “Summon them. Read them.”

  “My servant carries my computer and disk library.”

  The pilot tapped; we heard a click, then silence.

  Paradoxical turned off his talker. “We can use this to speak to my master, but they may listen. What can you say that those oversized intestinal parasites may hear too?”

  “Right now, nothing. Thrusters were yours first, weren’t they? Called the gravity planer?”

  “Jotoki created gravity planers, yes. Kzinti enslaved us and stole the design. Your folk stole it from Kzinti invaders.”

  “Is there anything you know about thrusters that they don’t? Something that might help?”

  “No. Idiot. What we learned of gravity motors, we learned from Kzinti!”

  “Futz—”

  “I had thought,” Paradoxical said carefully, “that they would not keep their control room in vacuum.”

  “Their hostages are all frozen. Can’t fight. Can’t escape. Maybe they like that? Anything we try now would leave us dying in vacuum. How long can a Jotok stand vacuum?”

  “A few seconds, then death.”

  “Humans can take a few minutes.” Humans had, and survived. It was rare. “I might go blind first. Do you mind if I think out loud for a bit?”

  “Do you talk to yourself to move messages across that narrow structure in your brain, the corpus callosum?”

  “I have no idea.” So I talked across my corpus callosum. “This is bad, but it could be worse. We might have been in a separate cargo hold, still in vacuum and locked out of a flight cabin.”

  “Rejoice.”

  “I thought I wouldn’t have to worry about Odysseus. The ship’s on a free fall course around Turnpoint Star, through the Gap and into free space. They still had hyperdrive and hyperwave and the attitude jets, last I saw. Attitude jets are just fusion reaction motors. That won’t take them anywhere. Hyperdrive only works in flat space, so it won’t get them into a solar system. They could still cross to Home system, call for help and get a tow. Two weeks?”

  “Envoy said all of that to Captain Preiss. Wait—but—stop—didn’t Envoy confess otherwise?”

  “I heard. Futz.” Fly-By-Night had done that very cleverly. But Envoy hadn’t confessed; he had only insisted that he had not violated the Covenants.

  “We’d better assume Packer shot up the control board. That would leave Odysseus as an inert box of hostages. Leave them falling. Retrieve them later.”

  Paradoxical said nothing.

  “Next problem. Fly-By-Night can’t get out of his refuge.”

  “Surely—”

  “No, look, he can’t slash his way out. He’s got only his claws. He can zip it open. All the air spews out, and now he can try to get through the opening. He’s too big. He’d die in vacuum while he was trying to wiggle free with those three laughing at him.”

  “Yes. Less than flexible, human and Kzinti. Are you small enough to get through the collar?”

  “Yes.” I was pretty sure. “Now, we can’t warn Fly-By-Night. Any fighting, I’ll have to start it. You’re dead if I slash the refuge open, so I don’t. I unzip it. Air pressure blows me out, poof. You zip it behind me quick so the refuge re-inflates. I’m in vacuum. I slash Fly-By-Night’s refuge wide open and hand him the w’tsai. We’re both fighting in vacuum against three Kzinti in pressure armor. How does it sound?”

  “Beyond madness.”

  “There’s no point anyway. If we could take the boat, we still couldn’t break lightspeed, because the hyperdrive motor is on the ship. We’d die of old age here in the Nursery Nebula.”

  “You don’t have a plan?”

  I was still feeling it out. “The only way out has us waiting for these bandits to berth the boat to Stealthy-Mating. Maybe it’s a good thing Fly-By-Night doesn’t have his w’tsai. Kzinti self-control is…there’s a word—”

  “Oxymoron. But my master integrates selves well.”

  “They’ll have to move the cargo modules inside the ship. Can’t leave them where they are, they’re blocking the magnets, the docking points. Where does that leave us? Whatever we do, we want the ship and the boat. After they birth the boat, likely enough they’ll still leave the cabin in vacuum and us in these bubbles.”

  “My kind can survive six days without food. Two without water.”

  Two of the Kzinti crew might have been asleep. The third wasn’t doing much.

  One presently stirred—Envoy, by his suit markings—got up and disappeared into the big box with a door in it. Fifteen minutes later he was back.

  Wouldn’t a shower or a toilet have to be under pressure?

  I watched my alien companions and my alien enemies. I watched the magnificent pageant of stars being born. I thought and I read.

  Read everything.

  Covenants of 2505. Commentary, then and recent. Kzinti sociology. Revisions: what constitutes torture…loss of limbs and organs…sensory deprivation. Violations. The right to a speedy trial, to speedy execution, not to be evaded. What is a Legal Entity…

  Male Kzinti were LEs. A computer program was not. Heidi and Nicolaus were not, poor kids, but Kzin kittens weren’t either; it was a matter of maturity as an evolved being. Jotoki and Kdat were LEs unless legitimately enslaved. Entities with forged identities were not. Ice Class passengers were LEs. Good! Was there a rule against lying to hostages? Of course not, but I looked.

  Paradoxical produced a computer from his backpack and went to work. I didn’t ask what he might be learning.

  I did not see Fly-By-Night tearing at his prison. When I caught his eye, I clawed at my own bubble. Our captors might be reassured if they saw some sign of hysterics, of despair.

  He didn’t take the hint.

  Maybe I had him all wrong.

  A telepath born among the Kzinti will be found as a kzitten, conscripted, and addicted to chemicals to bring out his ability. Telepaths detect spies and traitors; they assist in jurisprudence; they gradually go crazy. Alien minds drive them crazy much faster.

  If a telepath feels an opponents’ pain, he can’t easily fight for mates. For generations the Patriarchy discouraged their telepaths from breeding. Then, battling an alien enemy during the Man-Kzin Wars, they burned them out.

  Probably Envoy had spoken truth: what the Kzinti wanted from Fly-By-Night was more telepaths.

  They’d get the location of Sheathclaws out of him. After they had what they wanted, they’d give him a harem. They’d imprison him in luxury. Envoy had said they wouldn’t force the drug on him; it might be true.

  A Kzin might settle for that.

  I could come blasting out of my plastic bottle, screaming my air away, w’tsai swinging…cut him loose, and find myself fighting alone while he blew up another bubble for himself.

  Fly-By-Night floated quite still, very relaxed, ears folded. He might have been asleep. He might have been watching his three captors guide the boat toward Stealthy-Mating.

  I watched their ears. Ears must make it hard for a Kzin to lie. Lying to a hologram might be easier…and they wouldn’t have called
him Envoy for nothing.

  Flick-flick of ears, bass meeping, a touch on the controls. We were flying through a lethal intensity of gamma rays.

  The Jotok’s armtips rippled over his keyboard. His computer was a narrow strip of something stiff; he’d glued or velcroed it to the bubble wall. The keyboard and holoscreen were projections. I knew the make—“Paradoxical? Isn’t that a Gates Quintillian?”

  “Yes. Human-built computers are superior to Patriarchy makes.”

  “Oh, that explains the corks! Fly-By-Night’s fingers are too big for the keyboard, so he puts corks on his nails!”

  The Jotok said, “You are Beowulf Shaeffer.”

  I spasmed like an electrocuted frog, then turned to gawk at him. “How can you possibly…?”

  How can you possibly think that a seven foot tall albino has lost fourteen inches of height and got himself curly black hair and a tan?

  Hair dye and tannin secretion pills, and futz that, we had real trouble. I asked, “Have you spent three hours researching me?”

  “You are the only ally at hand. I need to understand you better. You are wanted by the ARM for conspiracy abduction, four counts.”

  “Four?”

  “Sharrol Janss, Carlos Wu, and two children. Feather Filip is your suspect co-conspirator. ARM interest seems to lie in the lost genes of Carlos Wu, but Sharrol Janss is alleged to be a flat phobe, hence would never have left Earth willingly.”

  “We all ran away together.”

  “My interest lies in your abilities, not your crimes. You were a civilian spacecraft pilot. Were you trained for agility in free fall?”

  “Yes. Any emergency in a spacecraft, gravity is the first thing that goes.”

  “You’re agile if you’ve escaped the ARM thus far. What has your reading gained you?”

  “We have to live. We have to win.”

  “These would be good ideas—”

  “No, you don’t get it.” The Jotok had to understand. “The Covenants of 2505 permit taking of hostages. They only put restrictions on their treatment. I’ve played those futzy documents three times through. Odysseus is hostages-in-a-box, live and frozen. They won’t starve. Envoy can take Fly-By-Night anywhere he likes, however long it takes, then come back and release Odysseus. It’s all in the Covenants.”

  “If anything goes wrong,” Paradoxical said, “they would never come.”

  “No, it’s worse than that! If everything goes right for them, there’s no good reason to go back unless it’s to fill the food lockers! The Covenants only apply when you’re caught. My family is one hundred percent dead if we can’t change that.”

  “Envoy’s word may be good. No! Bad gamble. We should study the pot odds. Beowulf, have you evolved a plan?”

  “I don’t know enough.”

  The three crew were awake now, watching us as we watched them, though mostly they watched Fly-By-Night.

  Paradoxical’s talker burst to life. My translator said, “Tell us of the fight that injured you.”

  Fly-By-Night was slow to answer. “Sheathclaws folk are fond of hang gliding. We make much bigger hang gliders for Kzinti, and not so many of us fly. I was near grown, seeking a name. My intent was to fly from Blood Park to Touchdown, three hundred klicks along rocky shore and then inland, at night. Land in Offcentral Park. Startle humans into fits.”

  Packer snarled, “Startling humans is no fit way to earn a name!” and the unnamed Kzin asked, “Wouldn’t the thermals be different at night?”

  Fly-By-Night said, “Very different.”

  “Your second naming quest brought you here,” Envoy stated.

  “Yes. I hoped that a scarred Kzin might pass among other Kzinti. Challenge would be less likely. Any lapse in knowledge might be due to head injury. I might pass more easily on a world part Kzin and part human, like Shasht-Fafnir.”

  “You dance lightly over an important matter. Who lifted you from your world?”

  “Where would be my honor if I told you that?”

  “Smugglers? Bandits? What species? You will give us that too, Nameless.” We heard the click: communication severed.

  One of the Kzinti stood up. Another slashed the vacuum, a mere wrist gesture, but the first sat down again. The stars wheeled…and something that was not a star came into view, brilliant in pure laser colors: Stealthy-Mating’s riding lights.

  I said, “We’re about to dock. If anything happens, you keep the needle sprayer, I want the blade. Closing the zipper turns on the air, so don’t lose that.”

  “No fear,” said Paradoxical.

  Gravity went away. We floated. The ships danced about each other. I would have docked less recklessly. I’m not a Kzin.

  “They know too much about us,” I said.

  Paradoxical asked, “In what context?”

  “They knew our manifest. They knew our position—”

  “Finding another ship in interstellar space is not a thing they could plan, Beowulf.”

  “LE Graynor to you. Look at it this way,” I said. “The only way to get here, falling through the Tao Gap in Einstein space, is to be going from Fafnir to Home. Stealthy-Mating got our route somehow. They started later with a faster ship. They might catch us approaching Home during deceleration…track our graviton wake…or snatch you and Fly-By-Night after you got through Customs. They could not possibly have expected to find Odysseus here. Catching us here was a fluke, an opportunity. They grabbed it.”

  “As you say.”

  “I like it.”

  Paradoxical stared. “Do you? Why?”

  “Clients, overlords, allies, any kind of support would have to be told that Stealthy-Mating is en route to Home. Any rendezvous with Stealthy-Mating is at Home. When could they change that? They’re still headed for Home!” “Very speculative.”

  “I know.”

  Stealthy-Mating’s cargo bay was bigger than the boat’s, under doors that opened like wings.

  The boat released the cargo modules. Two Kzinti went out and began moving them. Envoy stayed behind. He watched the action in space, ignoring us.

  “Not yet,” Paradoxical said. I nodded. Fly-By-Night floated half curled up. He seemed to be asleep, but his ears kept flicking open like little fans.

  I ate my handmeal. Paradoxical averted its eyes.

  Packer and the nameless third crewperson set the modules moving one by one, and juggled them as they approached Stealthy-Mating. Waldo arms reached up to pull them into the bay and lock them. It seemed to take forever, but I’d have moved those masses one at a time. They were in a hurry. Rounding a point mass would scatter this loose stuff all across the sky.

  Turnpoint Star must be near.

  The cargo doors closed. Stealthy-Mating rotated, and the boat was pulled down against the hull. Now we were all one mass.

  The hatch in the floor opened. Three Kzinti came through in pressure suits to join Envoy. The newcomer’s chest and back showed a Kzinti snarl done in gaudy orange dots-and-commas. He spared a glance for me and Paradoxical, then turned to Fly-By-Night.

  My translator said, “I am Meebrlee-Riit.”

  “Futz!” Fly-By-Night exclaimed in Interworld.

  “Your concern is noted. Yes, I am of the Patriarch’s line. Your First Sire was Gutting Claw’s Telepath, who betrayed the Patriarch Rrowrreet-Riit and showed prey how to destroy his own ship!”

  “And he never even went back for the ears. Then again, they were inside a hot plasma,” Fly-By-Night said.

  To Envoy Meebrlee-Riit said, “This one was to be tamed.”

  Envoy cringed, ears flat. Even I could hear the change in his voice, the whine. “Dominant One, this fool crippled himself for a failed joke, and that joke was his name quest! A lesser male he must be, never mated. His arrogance is bluff or insanity, or else life among humans has made him quite alien! But let Tech give us air pressure, release the telepath, and the stench of your rage will cow him soon enough!”

  “Let us expend less effort than that.” Meebrlee-Riit turned bac
k to Fly-By-Night. “Telepath, your life may be taken by any who happen upon you.”

  “Did you need my consent for this?”

  “No!”

  “Or my First Sire’s confession? That may be summoned by any Sheathclaws’ school program. Then what shall we discuss? Tell us how you gained your name.”

  “I was born to it, of course. Let us discuss your future.”

  “I have a future?”

  “Your blood line may be forgiven. You may keep your slaves, such as they are, and a harem of my choosing—”

  “Yours? Dominant One, forgive my interruption, please continue.”

  Even if he was familiar with human sarcasm, it wasn’t likely Meebrlee-Riit had been getting it from Kzinti! I’d read that Kzinti telepaths were flighty, not terribly bright. Meebrlee-Riit spoke more slowly. “Yes, my choosing! You may live your life in honor and luxury, or you may die shredded by my hands.”

  “Meebrlee-Riit, you would not expect me to leap into so difficult a decision. Will you bargain for the lives of your hostages?”

  “Submissive and unarmed Humans.” Meebrlee-Riit sneezed his contempt. “But what would you bargain with? Your world?”

  “Only my genes. Consider,” said Fly-By-Night. In the Heroes’ Tongue his speech was a long snarl, but the translation sounded placid enough. “He who is obeyed, who fights best, who mates is the alpha, the dominant one. You command that I mate? How will you persuade me that I am dominant? Submit to this one easy demand. Rescue my erstwhile hosts. Release them at Home.”

  “Why would I want you in rut? There are no females aboard Sraff-zisht. Packer, Envoy, you remain. Leave the gravity off. Tech, with me. Turnpoint Star is near.”

  Two Kzinti went through the hatch. Two took their seats. Their hands were idle. Now the boat rode Stealthy-Mating like a parasite.

  I asked, “Can you see Turnpoint Star?”

  “At point six kilometers across? You flatter me. I surmise it may be centered in that curdle,” said Paradoxical.

  Curdle? The tight little knot of glowing gas? I watched, watched…A red point blew up into a blue-white sun and I fell into it. The stars wheeled. The balloons that housed us rippled as if batted by invisible children. My body rippled too.