by Larry Niven
I’d been through this once, but much worse. I clutched the ribbon handholds in a death grip. I howled.
It only lasted seconds, but the terror remained. One of the Kzinti pointed at me and both laughed with their teeth showing.
Packer made his way to the shower/toilet. The other, Envoy, stayed at the board to look for tidal damage.
Fly-By-Night took handholds, subtly braced, ears spread wide. His eye caught mine. I said, “Paradoxical, now.”
Paradoxical splayed itself like a starfish across the wall of the refuge, just next to the opening. It disgorged the handle of the w’tsai.
I pulled the wrapped blade from its gullet and stripped off the casing. Clutched the blade against me, exhaled hard, opened the zipper all in one sweep, smooth as silk. Pressure popped me out into the cabin, straight toward Envoy’s back, screaming to empty my lungs before they exploded.
Push the blade in, pull out, feel the vibration.
I had thought to recoil off a wall and slice Fly-By-Night free. That wasn’t going to work. The Kzin diplomat saw my shadow and spun around. I slashed, aiming to behead him, and shifted the blade to catch the cat-quick sweep of his arm.
He swept his arm through the blade and whacked me under the jaw.
That was a powerful blow. I spun dizzily away. His arm spun too, cut along a diagonal plane, spraying blood. Attached, it would have ripped my head off.
I caught myself against a wall and leapt.
The seat web still held Envoy. His right arm and sleeve sprayed blood and air. Envoy smashed left-handed at the controls, then hit the seat web and leapt out of my path. I got his foot! The knife was hellishly sharp. My ears were roaring, my sight was going, but vacuum tore at him too as his arm and ankle jetted blood and air. His balance was all off as he recoiled from the dome and came at me. He kicked. My angle was wrong and he grazed me.
Spinning, spinning, I starfished out so that the wall caught my momentum and killed my spin. I tried to find him.
The roar continued. My sight was foggy…no. The cabin was thick with fog. Fly-By-Night clawed his refuge wall, which had gone slack. We had air!
I still didn’t have time to free Fly-By-Night because—there he was! Envoy was back at the controls. I was braced to leap when a white glare blazed from his hand.
He had the gun.
I changed my jump. It took me behind the cannon. Two projectiles punched into the wall behind me. I swiped the w’tsai in a wide slash across Fly-By-Night’s vacuum refuge, and continued falling toward the shower/toilet. Packer couldn’t ignore Ragnarok forever.
The door opened in my face and I chopped vertically. Packer was naked. His left hand was on the door lock so I changed the cut, right to catch his free hand, his claws and the iron w’tsai he’d been holding. He whacked me hard but the blow was blunt. I spun once and crashed into Envoy and slashed.
Glimpsed Paradoxical behind him, braced myself and slashed. Paradoxical was firing anesthetic needles. The Kzin wasn’t fighting back. I didn’t see the implication so I kept slashing.
“Mart! LE Mart! Beowulf!”
I screamed, “What?” Disturbing me now could…what? Before me was a drifting cloud of blood and butchered meat. Paradoxical had stopped firing needles into it. Behind me, Fly-By-Night was on Packer’s back, gnawing Packer’s ear and fending off the hand that still had claws. Packer beat him with the blunted hand. They both looked trapped. Packer couldn’t reach Fly-By-Night, but Fly-By-Night dared not let go.
I approached with care. Packer’s arms were busy so he kicked to disembowel me. I chopped off what I could reach. Kick/slash, kick/slash. When he slowed down I killed him.
The air was thick with blood globules and red fog. We were breathing that futz. I got a cloth across my face. Fly-By-Night was snorting and sneezing. Paradoxical had placed meteor patches where Envoy had fired at me, but now he floated limp, maybe dying. I put him into the refuge and got him to zip it.
Fly-By-Night went to the controls. Minutes later we had gravity. All the scarlet goo settled to the floor and we could breathe.
I had gone berserk. Never happened before. My mind was slow coming back. Why was there air?
Air. Think now: I slashed Envoy’s suit open. He pressurized the cabin to save his life. Paradoxical must have come out then. The Jotok’s needles knocked Envoy out despite pressure armor…why? Because Paradoxical was putting needles into flesh wherever I’d slashed away the Kzin’s armor. And of course I hadn’t got around to releasing Fly-By-Night until late—
I safed the blade. “Fly-By-Night? I believe this is yours.”
He took it gingerly. “No witness would have guessed that,” he said, and handed it back. “Clean it in the waterfall.”
Kzinti custom: never borrow a w’tsai. If you do, return it clean. Waterfall?
He meant the big box. The word was a joke. I found a big blanket made of sponge, a tube attached. When I wrapped it around the w’tsai, it left the blade clean. I tried it on myself. The blanket flooded me with soapy water, then clean water, then sucked me dry. Weird sensation, but I came out clean.
The toilet looked like an oval box of sand with foot- and handholds around it, though the sand stayed put. Later.
A pressure suit was splayed like a pelt against the wall for easy access.
There was a status display. I couldn’t read the glowing dots-and-commas, but the display must have told Packer there was air outside, and he’d come charging out—
I was starting to shake.
I emerged from the waterfall box into a howling gale. The blood was all gone. I couldn’t even smell it. Fly-By-Night and Paradoxical were at the kitchen wall feeding butchered meat into the hopper.
“This kind of thing must be normal on Patriarchy spacecraft,” Fly-By-Night said cheerfully. “Holes in walls and machinery, blood and corpses everywhere, no problem. This hopper would hold a Great Dane…a big dog, Mart. The cleanup subsystem is running smooth as a human’s arse.” He saw my shivering. “You have killed. You should feed. Must your meat be cooked? I don’t know that we have a heat source.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I must. I’m hungry!” Fly-By-Night smiled widely. “You wouldn’t like me hungry, would you?”
“Futz, no!” A Sheathclaws local joke? I tried to laugh. Shivering.
Paradoxical was crawling over one of the control panels. “This kitchen was mounted separately. It is of Shashter manufacture, perhaps connected to the orange underground. It will feed slaves.” It tapped at a surface, and foamy green stuff spilled into a plastic bag. Pond scum? It tapped again and the wall generated a joint of bloody meat. Again: it hummed and disgorged a layered brick.
A handmeal. While Paradoxical sucked at his bag of pond scum and Fly-By-Night devoured hot raw meat, I ate three handmeal bricks. They never tasted that good again.
Fly-By-Night had kept Packer’s ears, one intact and one chewed to a nub, and Envoy’s, both intact. These last he offered to me. “Your kill. Mart, I can dispose of—”
I took them. My kill.
We had taken the boat. Now what?
Fly-By-Night said, “The hard part will be persuading Meebrlee-Riit that all is well here.” His voice changed. “Dominant One, all runs as planned but for the Telepath’s behavior. Cowed by fear, he has soiled his refuge. Shall we clean him? It might be a trick—”
Funny stuff. I was still shivering. “That’s very good, I can’t tell the difference, but Meebrlee-Riit or Tech might.”
“Guide me.”
“I can’t find the hologram stage.”
Fly-By-Night touched something. This whole side of the main weapon became a window, floor to dome, a gaudy panorama across orange veldt into a city of massive towers. We’d been prisoned on the other side of it.
I said, “Tanj! He’ll see every hair follicle. All right, I’m still thrashing around here. We’ve got Packer’s pressure suit. The orders were to leave the, ah, prisoners in vacuum and falling. Try this—
&
nbsp; “Whenever Meebrlee-Riit calls, Packer is in the waterfall room.” We hadn’t heard enough of Packer’s speech to imitate Packer. “LE Fly-By-Night, you’re Envoy. You’re in the pressure suit, we’re in the vac refuges. We’ll have to change the markings on the suit. I’d say Envoy’s move is to wait patiently for his Alpha Officer to call.” I didn’t like the taste of this. “He could catch us by surprise.”
“I should find an excuse to call him.”
“Anything goes wrong, you give us air instantly. Paradoxical, have you found an emergency air switch?”
“Here, then here.”
“Stet. Envoy, what’s wrong with your voice?”
“Nothing,” said Fly-By-Night.
“Well, there had better be.”
“Stet,” the Kzin said. “And we don’t really want vacuum, do we? Let’s try this instead. I’m calling because we’re not in vacuum, and my voice—”
And his tale was better than mine, so we worked on that.
We spent some time looking those controls over, trying a few things. We found air pressure, air mix, emergency pressure, cabin gravity, thrust. Weapons would be harder to test. There were controls you could hit by accident without killing anyone, and that was done with virtual control panels. Weapons and defenses were hardwired buttons and switches, a few of them under locked cages, all stiff enough but big enough that I could turn them on or off by jabbing with the heel of my hand. Paradoxical couldn’t move those at all.
The hologram wall was the telescope screen too. Paradoxical got us a magnificent view back into the Nursery Nebula, all curdles and whorls of colored light. It found Odysseus a light-hour behind us, under spin and falling free with no sign of motive power, only a chain of corridor lights and the brighter glow of the lobby. That didn’t tell us if they still had hyperdrive. They couldn’t use it yet.
Ahead was nothing but distant stars. We had to be approaching flat space, where Stealthy-Mating could jump to hyperdrive.
Fly-By-Night was wearing Envoy’s pressure suit. The markings were right. He would keep the right sleeve hidden. We had cut off part of the helmet, raggedly, to obscure his features. Now Fly-By-Night tapped at the kitchen wall. It disgorged a soft, squishy, dark red organ that might have been a misshapen human liver. He smeared blood over his face and chest, then into the exposed ear.
My shivering became a violent shudder. Fly-By-Night looked at me in consternation. “LE Mart? What’s wrong?”
“Too much killing.”
“Two enemies is too much? Get out of camera view, then. Are we ready?”
“Go.”
Meebrlee-Riit snarled, “Envoy, this had best be of great interest. We prepare for hyperdrive.”
“Dominant One, the timing was not of my choosing,” Fly-By-Night bellowed into the oversized face. “The human attacked while Packer was visiting the waterfall. I have killed the telepath’s slave—”
“The Jotok is dead?”
Fly-By-Night cringed. “No, Dominant One, no! Only the man. The Jotok lives. Telepath lives.”
“The man is nothing. Telepath did not purchase the man! Is Packer functional, and are you?”
“Packer is well. I have nosebleeds, lost lung function, lost hearing. The man had a projectile weapon, a toy, but he damaged my helmet. I managed to put the cabin under pressure. Packer keeps watch on Telepath. Shall I return the cabin to vacuum? One of us would have to remain in the waterfall.”
“Set Packer at the controls. What can he ruin while there is nothing to fly? Maintain free fall. You and Packer trained for free fall, our prisoner did not. You, Envoy, talk to Telepath. Learn what he desires, what he fears.”
Cringe. “Dominant One, I shall.”
Again we faced an electromagnetic cannon. I said, “Good. Really good.”
Space around me winked like an eye. I caught it happening and looked at the floor. Fly-By-Night looked up, and blinked at the distortion. “Mart, I don’t think…Mart? I’m blind.”
Paradoxical was in a knot, his arms covering all of his eyes. I said, “Maybe you’d better take Paradoxical into the waterfall and stay there.”
“Lost! Confused! Blind! How do you survive this?” the Jotok demanded. “How does any LE?”
“They’ll close off the windows on Stealthy-Mating. I don’t see how to do that in here. I guess they leave the boat empty if they can. Fly-By-Night, lower your head. Look at the floor. See the floor? Hold that pose.”
“Stet.”
I got under Paradoxical and he wrapped himself around me, sixty pounds of dry-skinned octopus. I eased him onto Fly-By-Night’s shoulders until he clung. “Gravity’s on, right? Just crawl on around to the waterfall. Don’t look up.”
In hyperdrive something unmeasurable happens to electromagnetic phenomena, or else to organs that perceive them: eyes, optic nerves, brains. A view of hyperspace is like being born sightless. The Blind Spot, we call it.
In the waterfall room we straightened up and stretched. Fly-By-Night said, “None of us can fly—”
“No. We’re passengers. Stowaways. Relax and let them do the flying.”
Paradoxical asked, “How can any mind guide a ship through this?”
I said, “There are species that can’t tolerate it. Jotoki can’t. Maybe puppeteers can’t; most of them never leave their home system. Humans can use a mass pointer, a psionics device to find our way through hyperspace, as long as we don’t look into the Blind Spot directly. But that’s…well, part of a psionics device is the operator’s mind. Computers don’t see anything. Kzinti don’t either. There are just a few freaky Kzinti who can steer through the Blind Spot directly.”
“It is the Patriarch’s blood line,” Paradoxical said. “After the first War with Men, when Kzinti acquired hyperdrive, they learned that most cannot astrogate through hyperspace. Some few can. The Patriarch paid with names and worlds to add their sisters and daughters to his harem. Today the -Riits can fly hyperspace.”
Fly-By-Night said, “Really?”
“It happened long after your folk were cut off. LE Graynor, I did research on more than just you. Of course you see the implications? Meebrlee-Riit must fly Stealthy-Mating. He will be under some strain, possibly at the edge of his sanity. Tech must see him in that embarrassing state. Envoy and Packer need not, and no prisoner should.”
“He won’t call?” I made it a question.
“He would not expect answer. Packer and Envoy would be hiding in the Waterfall,” Paradoxical said.
That satisfied us. We were tired.
For three days we lived in the waterfall room.
One Kzin would have crowded the waterfall. With a man and a Jotok it was just that much more crowded. The smell of an angry Kzin made me jumpy. I couldn’t sleep that way, so a high wind was kept blowing at all times.
We used the sandpatch in full view of each other. There were ribald comments. The Jotok was very neat. Fly-By-Night covered his dung using gloved feet and expected me to do the same, but it wasn’t needed. The magnetized “sand” churned and swallowed it to the recycler.
Somebody had to come out for food. It developed that nobody could do that but me.
Our talk ranged widely.
Fly-By-Night never told us how he had reached Fafnir, nor even how he had passed through Customs. He did tell us something about the two who had come with him on their name quests. “I left Nazi Killer still collecting computer games and I set out to buy a Jotok—”
“What kind of name is ‘Nazi Killer’?”
“It’s an illicit game. Our First Sires’ children found it among exercise programs in Angel’s Pencil. Nazi Killer is very good at it. On Shasht he bought improved games and modern computers and waldo gloves for Kzinti hands, thinking these would earn his name.”
“Go on.”
“Maybe he’s already home. Maybe the Longest War caught him. He would not have survived that. As for me, I wasted time searching out medical techniques to heal my broken bones. Such practice has only evolved for Humans!
Kzinti still keep their scars. Customs differ.
“But Grass Burner got what he wanted. Kittens!”
“Kittens?”
“Yes, six unrelated, a breeding set. On Sheathclaws there are only photos and holos of cats, and a library of tales of fantasy cats, and children who offer a Kzin kit a ball of yarn just because it makes their parents angry, nobody remembers why. Cats will get Grass Burner his name. But we remember Jotoks too. Paradoxical, if two species are smarter than one, three should be smarter yet. You will earn my name, if we can reach Sheathclaws.”
I snapped out of a nightmare calling, “What was its name? Stealthy-Mating?”
“We were asleep,” Paradoxical complained. “We love sleeping in free fall. Back in the lake. But we wake and are still a self.”
“Sorry.” I almost remembered the dream. A lake of boiling blood, Kzinti patrolling the shores, wonderfully desirable human women in the shadows beyond. I was trying to swim. The pain was stunning, but I was afraid to come out.
Broken blood vessels were everywhere on my body. It hurt enough to ruin my sleep.
It was our fourth morning in hyperdrive.
“Sraff-zisht,” said Paradoxical.
“Pleasemadam, seek interstellar spacecraft local to Fafnir, Kzinti crew, Heroes’ Tongue name Sraff-zisht. Run it.”
Fly-By-Night woke. He said, “Make a meat run, Mart.”
When I went out for food, we detached the shower blanket so I could use it as a shield. Meebrlee-Riit had ordered us to keep the boat in free fall. No way could we be really sure he wouldn’t call. I had to use handholds. I’d made a net for the food.
My computer dinged while we were eating. We listened:
Sraff-zisht was known to the Shasht markets, and to Wunderland too. The ship carried red meat to Fafnir and lifted seafood. At Wunderland, the reverse. Crew turnover was high. They usually stayed awhile. This trip they’d lifted light and early.
“Sraff-zisht is not armed,” I said. I’d hoped it was true, but now I knew it. “Wunderland customs is careful. If they never found weapons or mounts for weapons, they’re not there. We have the only gun!”
“Yes!” Fly-By-Night’s fully extended claws could stop a man’s heart without touching him.
