by Larry Niven
Chrrrrowwwl! C’mell’s mating call split the night and he stiffened at the sound, sudden desire flushing away the kill rage. She was crouched in front of Kr-Pathfinder now, her haunches raised, flipping her tail for him. Pouncer took a step forward, then another. Kr-Pathfinder didn’t move. His gaze was fixed hard on C’mell, but he wasn’t showing his fangs. What did that mean? M’mewr was alongside him, her left forepaw over his, and her fangs were showing. He came closer, and C’mell began to edge out of the way. As she turned her hindquarters to him a fresh wave of her ripe, fertile scent washed over him, and without thought he leapt for her. She dodged out of the way, but he managed to grab her, rolling her over, the pain from his wounds not registering. He came around on top of her and she struggled madly to get away. With instincts he didn’t know he possessed, his teeth found the nape of her neck. Her haunches came up, opening herself to him, and he mounted her. The mating frenzy took him then, his body spasming beyond his conscious control, and he was aware of her raising herself, her body tensing beneath his. He roared, and her mating scream mixed with his to echo off the cavern walls, and in the universe there was nothing for him but C’mell.
He collapsed then, suddenly aware of the silently watching pride. He found to his surprise that he couldn’t separate himself from her. Awkwardly they moved out of the center. Pouncer started for his old spot on V’rli’s left, but C’mell guided him to lie beside Quicktail, Night-Prowler, and Z’slee. He had been accepted.
V’rli-Ztrak moved to the center of the circle and raised her voice. “Was the fight fair?”
“It was fair, Honored Mother.” The voices rose from around the circle.
V’rli folded her ears and lay down again. Quicktail got up in her place and started a poetry game. Pouncer licked C’mell’s ears affectionately, seeing in her a new beauty he had not known to exist. His testicles contracted with a slow rhythm, inseminating her in steady pulses, gentle echoes of the ecstasy of their first coupling. She was his C’mell, now and always, and she was going to bear his kits. She purred under his tongue, and then licked his wounds in turn. It was painful, but he was too spent even to grimace. He still had news to tell the pride, but it would wait now. There will be a death rite for Sraff-Tracker. That will be the time.
The poetry game lasted half the night, and then there was another story. Finally he and C’mell came apart, to lie close beside each other in the firelight. Eventually the story finished. V’rli rose and went to Sraff-Tracker’s body. C’mell nudged him and murmured in his ear, and Pouncer went to kneel beside his recent rival.
V’rli lashed her tail. “Sraff-Tracker was strong. He brought the avalanche down on the Tzaatz in the battle. I remember Sraff-Tracker.” She went back to her place and lay down.
Night-Prowler stood and went to the body. “Once I ran with Sraff-Tracker to the river trail to catch a tuskvor.” He dropped to attack-crouch, as if to leap. “A herd-mother scented us despite the myewl, and she charged with her daughters.” He stood and spread his arms, to indicate the size and ferocity of the herd. “We fled up a spire tree, but I was slow. Sraff-Tracker pulled me up just in time and saved my life.” He stood straight. “I remember Sraff-Tracker.”
V’veen rose from her place beside Kdtronai-zar’ameer. She walked to the body, removed her ornate ear-bands and tossed them in the fire. Without speaking she turned around to sit down again. The death rite went on, each member of the pride coming in turn to the body while Pouncer held his kneeling position, his head and body held close to the ground.
Finally V’rli-Ztrak stood again. “Sraff-Tracker was strong.” She said. “Sraff-Tracker was the son of Sraff-Ztrak, a strong Patriarch who led us well. Sraff-Tracker was our blood, and remains our blood. Now he is dead.” She waited while the pride growled its approval of the death rite, then turned to Pouncer. “Pouncer was brave,” she intoned. “Pouncer came to us for sanctuary and fought with us as a warrior. He has left our circle and returned. Pouncer was our blood and remains our blood. Now he is dead.” She drew her wtsai from her belt, the blade flashing the light of the roaring fire.
An electric thrill shot through Pouncer at her words and he looked up at her, suddenly ready to fight. I can defeat V’rli alone, but the whole pride will leap then. Am I to die now? He had broken a rule by mating C’mell, and now he would pay for it. What he thought was acceptance was merely patience, as the pride waited for the traditions to play out their ancient pattern.
But no, V’rli was offering the weapon to him, handle first. A wtsai, symbol of acceptance into adulthood, symbol of acceptance into the pride. Their eyes were on him.
“Does Ztrakr Pride know the legend of Zree-Shraft?” he asked. I will be part of this pride; it is important that my name be in their traditions.
“We do.”
He took the weapon and roared until the cavern shook. “I claim the name Zree-Rrit, to follow Zree-Shraft-Who-Walked-Alone in my quest to avenge my father. May the Fanged God test me, I am ready.”
“Zree-Rrit, of Mrrsel Pride blood. It is a good name.” V’rli’s voice was approving. “Your kill was clean, Zree-Rrit. Take the ears.”
Pouncer looked at his blade and considered it. Now is a critical moment. If I am to be Zree-Rrit, if I am to follow the path I have just chosen for myself I must become a leader, and that begins now, in this moment. What was the right course? He put the edge of the blade against his upper arm and, and in a short, sharp jerk that was harder to make than he thought it would be, drew it past, feeling the razor edge burn into his flesh. Blood welled up, and he slid the weapon into his belt.
“No. I do not claim ears. Sraff-Tracker fought well, let him keep them. With respect, take my blood on your blade as my pledge of fealty to Ztrak Pride.”
If the move surprised V’rli she gave no sign. Instead she turned back to the watching hunters. “I show you Zree-Rrit!” And the Pride screamed loud into the night. Pouncer screamed with them. Kr-Pathfinder and Ferlitz-Telepath leapt to throw the body on the pyre, where it sizzled and hissed in the flames. Roars echoed from around the circle, and a scuffle broke out. The tension of the night was about to be released in sparring and feasting and mating.
Pouncer raised his arms. And now is my moment. “Wait! Pridemates!” He waited until he had their attention again. “You sent me from here, and I have traveled to Mrrsel Pride on my namequest. The Tzaatz have killed them all.”
Snarls rose, angry this time, and he raised his paws to quell them. “They used rapsari, and came in force. This means they have tracked the migration, and they are searching out the prides of the czrav. Honored V’rli has taught me of the Telepath War and the story of the line of Vda. Mrrsel Pride’s fate will be all of ours, unless we stop the Tzaatz—not just Ztrak Pride but every pride of the czrav. The Tzaatz who have stolen my birthright are the Tzaatz who will end the Vda line, our line. My mother’s blood is your blood. My son’s blood will be your blood, and my son will be Patriarch. My war is your war. Fight it with me. The day of the line of Vda has come.”
He caught C’mell’s eye across the fire, saw her support there. I am an adult now, accepted into this pride. My place here is secure. If they do not follow me I could accept this as enough. Even as the thought went through his mind he knew it would not be enough. Tradition demanded that the First-Son-of-the-Rrit should ascend to be Patriarch. Honor demanded that his father be avenged. If I must fight alone, I will, but I will only win with allies, and everything hangs on this moment. There was silence as he met the gazes of the assembled pride.
It is easy to draw the sword, harder to sheathe it.
—Si-Rrit
“What do you mean, destroyed?” There were storm clouds over the Plain of Stgrat, distant lightning flaring in the windows of the Patriarch’s tower. The storm they would bring was nothing compared to the rage of Kchula-Tzaatz.
“The kz’zeerkti must have had eight-cubed ships at K’Shai, sire.” Stkaa-Emissary performed the ritual cringe. “Our Heroes fought bravely, but we weren�
��t prepared for such a force.”
“Survivors?”
“A few managed to make it out of the system. Cvail Pride…”
“Give me no excuses based on the failings of Cvail!” Kchula rounded on the hapless Emissary, roaring. “I gave you everything you asked for. K’Shai is the gateway to their homeworld. Every Great Pride in the Patriarchy is leaping at your heels and you have failed me!”
“Patriarch. We need your help…”
“Enough! Leave my sight!” Kchula-Tzaatz raked his claws in the air, his tail stiff with anger, while Emissary scampered out.
“Calm, brother.” Ftzaal-Tzaatz spoke from his prrstet where he had watched the whole exchange.
“Calm.” Kchula turned to face his brother, still angry. “What do you suggest I do, Black Priest?”
“Evaluate. Why did the humans have so many ships at K’Shai? Did they anticipate our attack?”
“If there is a traitor…” Kchula’s tail lashed.
Ftzaal turned a paw over. “I tracked First-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit by having Telepath follow the mind of the kz’zeerkti. Perhaps it is this kz’zeerkti that informs our enemies.”
“How could it have access to our plans? How could it transmit them?”
“I merely suggest the possibility.”
“You are obsessed with this kz’zeerkti, and with First-Son.”
“You underestimate these czrav. I started my search in the eastern jungles, and when we found them they vanished. We searched for moons and found nothing. The savannah primitives told me the czrav vanished every dry season. Finally I thought to track the tuskvor migration. We found a den in the high western forests and attacked in force. We outnumbered them eight to one, and they killed half my force! Not one of them surrendered, even the kzinretti screamed and leapt. Kittens barely past suckling fought to the death! I wanted prisoners, they gave me only bodies. There are more of them than we know, brother, and they hold deep secrets.”
“They are nothing! It is K’Shai that matters! Give me conquest of the kz’zeerkti and First-Son becomes an irrelevancy. Eight-cubed ships! How did they know we were coming?”
“They did not know we were coming. They plan to launch an attack. I believe for the first time they plan conquest.”
Kchula stopped pacing to look at his brother. “How do you know that?”
“Because of what happened on Warhead.”
“Warhead? What is that?”
“A minor base, a small garrison world. It belonged to Cvail Pride.”
“Cvail Pride again. Perhaps this is why they fail to support Stkaa.”
“Perhaps. It is irrelevant now. The kz’zeerkti raided it and destroyed it.”
“Hrrr. They will pay in blood.”
“Let me be clear, brother. They did not stop at destroying Cvail Pride’s base. They sterilized the world.”
“Impossible!”
“Shall I show you the imagery?”
“Don’t waste my time. Tell me how they did it.”
“I don’t know how they did it.” Ftzaal turned a paw over. “The weapon they used gashed the crust halfway through to the mantle.”
“Impossible!”
“You overuse that word, brother.”
“Not even conversion weapons could—”
“And yet something did.”
Kchula slashed the air with his claws. “They fight without honor.”
“They are animals, what do they know of honor?” Ftzaal twitched his whiskers. “It is what they are capable of that concerns me.”
Kchula waved a paw dismissively. “I know how it was done. They used near-lightspeed kinetic missiles, clumsy tools. They did it to K’Shai when we held it, two wars ago, and killed more kz’zeerkti than kzinti.”
“I take no reassurance in the fact that they will slaughter millions of their own just to ensure our destruction.” Ftzaal turned a paw over. “In any event, that does not fit the profile of the attack. They had perhaps eight-squared warships, two battleships and support, enough to deal with the light forces Cvail had there. They fought their way into the system, into close orbit. Kinetic missiles would have to be launched from deep space, and there would be no need to penetrate the system with ships. And again, a scout pilot who escaped said one of the battleships did the damage.”
“If they possess such power, why waste it on an insignificant outpost like Warhead?”
“Hrrr.” Ftzaal turned a paw over, extended his claws to contemplate them. “This attack was a test run, carried out against an isolated target for the purpose of battle evaluation of this new weapon while their main fleet gathered at K’Shai. The kz’zeerkti have not yet put it into mass production. It is experimental, radically so, and therefore expensive, therefore they will have only a few constructed so far, perhaps only the single capital ship. Nevertheless, their test was successful. Cvail Pride, and by extension the Patriarchy, have been dealt a serious blow. We have been given a warning. This will not be the last attack.”
“No ship could carry such a weapon.”
“And yet it seems one does.” The door had slid open before Kchula could reply, revealing a familiar face.
Kchula whirled to face the interloper. “Rrit-Conserver. I thought you’d fled with your tail between your legs. Get out until I send for you.”
“I am no longer Rrit-Conserver.” The dark-robed kzin hopped onto a prrstet and made himself comfortable. “I left because Scrral-Rrit had violated his honor and not through any fear of you, Kchula-Tzaatz. I have returned because I am Kzin-Conserver now, and I will come and go as is my right, and my obligation to the species.” The new Kzin-Conserver fanned one ear up. “Or does Tzaatz Pride no longer hold with the traditions?”
He has become Kzin-Conserver! Kchula stood looking at his erstwhile adversary, stunned. How could I have allowed an enemy to attain such power? He caught Ftzaal’s gaze and knew what he was thinking. We should have killed him when we had the chance. “We hold with the traditions of course, Honored Conserver.” The words came out late and unconvincing. Across the room, Ftzaal turned to look out the window.
“I heard the last of your conversation.” Kzin-Conserver ignored Kchula’s sudden discomfiture. “Eight-cubed ships at K’Shai, this new weapon—there will be more bad news from the monkeys. You have stalked the tuskvor, Kchula-Tzaatz, and now you have caught the herd-charge. May the Fanged God preserve our species from your folly.”
Kchula forced himself to be calm. “If you are Kzin-Conserver, your role is to advise the Patriarch. What advice do you have for me?”
Kzin-Conserver twitched his lips over his fangs. “You are still not Patriarch, Kchula, but I will not waste time pretending that Scrral-Rrit is. There may be a countermeasure to this weapon. First we must learn what it is, in detail. A team must be sent to investigate its effects, to take measurements in this newly melted canyon, and find the wreckage of our own ships to evaluate its function.”
Kchula snorted derisively. “This is obvious. Is this the best you can do?”
“This is the only advice I have that you will take. I have other advice, but you will not follow it.”
“Don’t try my patience, Kzin-Conserver.” A note of warning crept into Kchula’s voice.
“I tire of your threats, Kchula-Tzaatz. Leap if you mean them, abandon them if you do not. Nevertheless I will advise you as I advised Meerz-Rrit, and you may evaluate for yourself the acceptability of my preferred course of action.”
“Out with it!”
“It is simple. Seek peace with the kz’zeerkti, while you still can.”
“Seek peace! Out of the question.”
“I see my judgment was not incorrect.”
“Pah! You are a bigger fool that I thought, Conserver. My grip on the Patriarchy depends upon conquest. What will I now tell Stkaa-Emissary? What will I tell the warriors of Cvail? These prides would be locked in skalazaal even now had I not grabbed the Patriarchy by the scruff!”
“There are worse fates than skalazaal a
mong the Great Prides. Do you remember Meerz-Rrit’s speech before the Great Pride Circle? ‘We shall not incite other species to our extermination in their own self-defense.’” Kzin-Conserver laid his ears flat. “We have not seen the last of this new kz’zeerkti weapon, and they have not advanced nearly half their strength to Wunderland on a whim. Perhaps even now their fleet is in hyperspace to the edge of our singularity. Kzinhome itself may yet share Warhead’s fate.”
Kchula turned to his brother. “Ftzaal, tell him what you told me. The weapon is expensive and experimental. They needed a fleet to protect it. They would not dare bring it here.”
The Black Priest turned back from the window. “That is my assessment, Kzin-Conserver.” He paused. “Still, brother, there is wisdom in what Conserver advises.”
Kzin-Conserver raised his tail. “Today the weapon is experimental, but the monkeys will not leave it that way. I made the mistake myself of underestimating their industrial potential. I will not make that mistake again. When we met them they had left war abandoned for generations. Why were we unable to defeat them then? Two reasons. First, because they are tremendously good at turning other systems into weapons—communications lasers, fusion drives, conversion plants; we learned those lessons the hard way. The second is because there are so many of them. What one innovates eight-to-the-eighth can then produce.”
“We have slaves, technology and worlds at our command. I will be the one who finally subjugates the monkeys.”
“And if you are? We will meet another race more formidable than humans. Did you know the Puppeteers’ ships are invulnerable?”
“No ship is invulnerable.”
“Nevertheless, they are. The Puppeteers can manipulate the hull to admit any segment of the spectrum they like, or deny them all. The hull material itself does not ablate at stellar temperatures. Perhaps there is a weakness they keep secret, but does it matter? The Outsiders gifted the kz’zeerkti with hyperdrive. What if the Puppeteers give them invulnerable ships too?”
