Destiny's Forge

by Larry Niven

  “The kz’zeerkti will be our slaves. I swear it by the Fanged God.”

  “And yet Warhead is destroyed. Stkaa Pride’s fleet is in ruins. What will the other Great Prides do when they learn these things?”

  “You mock my honor!”

  “I state a fact.”

  “And we will have vengeance for it. We will fight this war in kz’zeerkti style. Earth will burn for its temerity and its colonies will be helpless. We will make the survivors of the race our slaves.”

  “You will violate the traditions!” Kzin-Conserver’s voice was stern.

  “The conquest of slave races is our oldest tradition.”

  “So is honor in warfare. How will you burn Earth save with untrammeled use of conversion weapons?”

  Kchula’s tail lashed angrily. “You have seen the evidence. The monkeys do not trouble themselves with such concerns.”

  “They are animals, what do they know of the Hero’s Way, or of honor? Will you lower yourself to be like them?”

  “Bah. We are speaking of the survival of the Patriarchy here. The monkeys must be subjugated.”

  “You will conquer nothing but ashes. Of what worth are sterile worlds?”

  “Do not obstruct my path, Kzin-Conserver. I will do whatever it takes to forge the whole Patriarchy into my sword, and I will strike down any who stand in my way.”

  “If you violate tradition, I will declare you honorless. The Great Circle will hound you from this fortress and your conquest war will go nowhere.”

  “Your threat is empty. The Great Circle are behind me in conquest leap.”

  “Not so much behind you as you might like to think. I have one more piece of news for you. Kdari Pride has just leapt on Vearow Pride.”

  “What?” Kchula stood up, ears up and tail stiff.

  “I thought you might not have heard. Skalazaal is still a game of stealth, and neither Pride has anything to gain by letting you know the situation. It seems your leadership hasn’t prevented pride-war after all.”

  “How long have you known about this?”

  “Just a Traveler’s Moon, since Kdari-Conserver asked me for a fine interpretation of the Dueling Traditions. Today Vearow-Conserver is asking me the same question of interpretation. That will be in response to an unpleasant surprise provided by Kdari Pride. The spoor is clear enough. I expect there will be more direct news of it shortly.”

  “What was the point you ruled on? Am I vulnerable to it?”

  “It is of little consequence now. Suffice to say the precedent set by your rapsari left me little choice but to allow Kdari Pride’s interpretation.”

  “Bah. Neither Kdari Pride nor Vearow are of any great consequence.”

  “You think that is the end of it? There are more ripples in the grass. Another trip around the seasons and half the Patriarchy will be at each other’s throats.”

  “They sap our strength when we could be stripping the meat from the carcass of the kz’zeerkti.”

  “The Pride-Patriarchs listened more closely to Meerz-Rrit than you did, Kchula. They know the danger in attacking the monkeys. They see each other as easier prey now.”

  “The monkeys are attacking anyway! They are fools.”

  “Kchula, you are the fool. The monkeys came to negotiate peace, and with Meerz-Rrit they had it. You sent their emissaries fleeing into the night with your attack. What result did you expect?”

  “How was I to know what negotiations Meerz-Rrit had underway?”

  “There was nothing secret about Yiao-Rrit’s journey to Earth. The kz’zeerkti question was a primary item of discussion for the Great Pride Circle. Had you not been so intent on conquest you might have learned this.”

  Kchula opened his mouth and closed it, then started pacing. “How the problem occurred is irrelevant. We need to face the kz’zeerkti united.”

  “It is up you to unite them, Kchula.”

  “I am not Patriarch, Scrral-Rrit is.”

  Kzin-Conserver rippled his ears. “How quickly we abandon our responsibilities when leadership becomes difficult. Scrral-Rrit remains a puppet. You are the one to make him dance.” Across the room Ftzaal-Tzaatz turned once more to look out the window in silence. His tail lashed once and was still.

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Immediate surrender.”

  Kchula spat. “And you say I lack honor.”

  “You do lack honor, which is why I recommend surrender to you. Had you the honor of Meerz-Rrit the Great Prides would leap at your command, and the kz’zeerkti would be a slave species. Meerz-Rrit would die in battle before accepting defeat. You will merely watch others die in battle in the hopes they might buy you victory. The Great Prides are not following you, Kchula, because they have no faith you will lead them to triumph. They have easier spoils in each other than in a poorly led conquest war.”

  “I will not surrender.”

  “Then you must leap at once to avenge Cvail and Stkaa together. It is the only way open now.”

  “With what? Eight-cubed ships! Not even the Rrit Fleet commands eight-cubed ships!”

  “Honor doesn’t count ships, Kchula.”

  “And this new weapon? What do they hope to gain by razing the whole planet? Spoils of rubble and carbon. This makes no sense.”

  Ftzaal-Tzaatz turned around from the window again. “I think they seek conquest, Conserver.”

  “No.” Kzin-Conserver rose to leave. “We have fought five wars with the kz’zeerkti. Each time it was we who leapt against them. This time they have leapt first.” He turned a paw over and then turned it back. “Perhaps this is a conquest leap, but I think it is more than that. This is something we have not seen before. They intend to exterminate us. This is total war.”

  WISDOM OF THE CONSERVERS

  Grasp all, seize nothing.

  Plan with care, act with courage.

  There is nothing impossible to a willing mind.

  A scribe is judged by words, a warrior by deeds.

  Fair weather follows the storm as night the day.

  Rise with the Hunter’s Moon and sleep with a full belly.

  Hunger leads the hunt.

  A poor craftsman carries poor tools.

  Lead speech with thought.

  Idle time is wasted life.

  Even the grlor fear the v’pren.

  If you host a warrior, you host his pride.

  Boldness makes Heroes, caution makes warriors, both make victory.

  Better wise than strong.

  Only the scribe can fill his belly with words.

  A puddle is a strezka’s [beetle’s] ocean.

  If you want no kstel [large slothlike scavenger] in your house, build it with a small door.

  If the hunter gnaws bones, what does he bring home to the pride?

  The teller’s cloak makes no difference to the tale.

  The warrior’s first victory is over fear.

  The best proverb holds no wisdom for a fool.

  The Traveler’s Moon will be home before the traveler tonight.

  A wise Patriarch seeks wise counsel.

  Education cures ignorance, but nothing cures a fool.

  No sword is sharper than honor.

  The noble earns hatred through envy, the outcast through contempt.

  Only a fool does not learn from his own mistakes, but it is a wise [sentient] who learns from someone else’s.

  Test the water with one foot only.

  A wise leader serves first his warriors.

  Only a fool stalks tuskvor.

  Anyone can catch grashi in mating season.

  Rain falls the same on noble and outcast.

  Kits are life’s reward.

  Stalk not the hunter on his home ground.

  Sleep is the brother of death.

  No thief may steal honor, nor wear it if he did.

  When honor and shame balance on a needle, who holds the needle?

  He who fights with his mind carries few scars.

  THE FURNACE />
  Here the hammer and anvil wait

  While broad shouldered Hephaistos stokes the fire high

  Soon the red steel will be forged to the blade

  And Achilles will march out to win or to die.

  —Unknown

  Hero’s Square had changed since last time Tskombe saw it. He hadn’t had time then to note details, but he remembered it had been bustling with life and commerce. Now even the kzinti seemed subdued, and the slaves scurried from place to place, narrowly focused on their errands to avoid the wrath of their masters. The mood was due to the rapsar-mounted Tzaatz patrols, but the patrols themselves weren’t acting like triumphant conquerors. Their manner was tense, even nervous, and their tempers short. Their tension translated to the general populace. It made the environment dangerous, and Tskombe wasn’t happy about that.

  Not that he could do anything about it. He was on a slave’s leash, pushing a float cart laden with boxes, and Night Pilot was leading him through stalls and markets. It might have been better if he’d bought a Kdatlyno to do the leading for him, but Night Pilot lacked strakh enough on Kzinhome, and he wasn’t about to put in the time and effort to earn it. The disguise was effective enough, and though a few inquisitive noses sniffed at the distinctive scent of human, none questioned his presence.

  All they had to do was find Provider’s grashi stall but, unlike the disguise, their search strategy wasn’t working. They were systematically quartering Hero’s Square, trying to find a landmark that would orient him to the path he’d taken as he’d fled behind Pouncer in what now seemed like another lifetime. It was slow going in the crowd, especially since all of the kzinti and most of the slaves were taller than he was, making it difficult to orient himself. The slaves, at least, gave way without question, but other kzinti had to be given respect and space. For a kzin, Night Pilot was surprisingly calm about the inevitable frustrations the process engendered. Which is to say, Tskombe was reasonably sure he wouldn’t simply decide to eat him when they got back to the ship. The upside was that he’d expanded his kzinti vocabulary considerably. He remained unsure of the exact meaning of most of the words, but he was confident they were all obscenities.

  And it wasn’t as if he’d been paying a lot of attention to the details of their route while they’d been fleeing. Pouncer had been leading the way, he’d just been following, unsure of the situation, concerned only with keeping up and staying concealed. And now they were on perhaps the tenth attempt to find Provider’s stall since they’d come through the ancient walls of Hero’s Square. There were a limited number of such startpoints. In theory it shouldn’t have been hard to find the right one, but the details were blurred in his memory, and he’d already convinced himself that several possibilities were in fact the place, only to later rescind that judgment.

  A sudden commotion spiked adrenaline through his system. Across the square a Tzaatz patrol on rapsari raiders had netgunned a spotted adolescent. He spat curses and clawed at the net as they hauled him away. Tskombe breathed out, trying not to smell afraid. He had missed whatever had triggered the incident. It didn’t matter, it hadn’t been anything to do with him. Night Pilot tugged his leash, as any kzinti master would do to a recalcitrant slave, and Tskombe gritted his teeth and went back to his search.

  There. A stone tunnel, vendors’ wooden stalls; were those barrels there before? They could have been moved there later. He looked around, saw a set of stairs running up the side of a crafter’s shed.

  He turned to Night Pilot. “This is it, we go right here.”

  Night Pilot’s lips twitched over his fangs. “Are you sure?”

  “As sure as I can be.”

  “You have said so before.”

  “And I’ve been sure before, and wrong before. I’m doing my best.”

  Night Pilot just snarled and kept walking. Tskombe led him along a row of stalls, trying hard to verify each decision he made with memory’s uncertain record. The sun was going down, and once it did they’d have to go back to the spaceport to spend another night on the ship. He wasn’t looking forward to another day of searching, and while they searched for Provider, Contradictory was seeking out a cargo, spending his days talking to the Jotoki slaves of the major shippers for an inside track on a transshipment bid. When Black Saber got a cargo, Tskombe would be on his own.

  And there it was, a busy stall on a lane branching from the main square. “This is it. Possibly…”

  “Stay here.” It was bad manners to take a slave to a transaction. Night Pilot went up to the stall and Tskombe clicked on the vocom on his beltcomp to listen.

  “I am Night Pilot. I search for a grashi vendor, Provider-who-was-Tank-Leader.”

  “He is gone.” Tskombe didn’t recognize the other’s voice over the crowd noise.

  “When will he return?”

  “He is dead. I am his son, Far Hunter. What service may I give you?” Tskombe breathed out in relief and despair at once. He had found what he was looking for, but Provider was dead. There was the chance that Far Hunter might be able to help him. It was all he could hope for.

  “I have a delivery for you.” Night Pilot went on.

  “What is it?”

  “This kz’zeerkti.” Night Pilot pointed at Tskombe.

  Far Hunter’s eyes followed the gesture. “Bring it to the back.” His snarl showed sudden concern. Night Pilot motioned for Tskombe to come, but he was already moving, relief flooding his system. At last.

  A minute later Tskombe came into the back of the stall.

  “Tskombe-kz’zeerkti!” Far Hunter’s ears swiveled up. “I never dreamed you would return.”

  “Far Hunter.” Tskombe claw-raked. “I have come back for my companion.”

  “Of course. You are true to your honor. You fought well at the spaceport.”

  “As you did.” Tskombe took a deep breath. Far Hunter would help him, he was sure of that now.

  “Hrrr.” Far Hunter’s snarl became deeper. “My father was killed by the Tzaatz. I managed to escape with my life. These misbred mongrels squeeze the kzintzag while the Lesser Prides do nothing.”

  “And Pouncer?”

  “First-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit is gone. His brother still holds the Patriarchy, in name at least, though he dances for Kchula-Tzaatz.”

  “Gone where?”

  “I don’t know. We were separated in the fight, and I couldn’t get to them. They stole a gravlifter.”

  “You were wounded.” Tskombe gestured to the thin white lines on Far Hunter’s chest that marked fur growing from scar tissue.

  “A raider rapsar, that day at the spaceport. Since then I have had vengeance, for father and myself.” His paw went to the sheaf of ears at his belt and his fangs showed. “I will have more.”

  “He lost his life helping us. I am sorry…” Tskombe found himself at a loss for words.

  “He lost his life living up to his name, and the fault is not yours but that of the Tzaatz.”

  Tskombe nodded. “And my companions, what happened to them?” Unconsciously he held his breath. This is the key question.

  “I saw them, with Pouncer. The larger one, Kefan-Brasseur, was dead, or very badly injured. I couldn’t join them, there were Tzaatz between us. Cherenkova-Captain was alive when I saw her last.”

  Relief. “Where did they escape to?”

  “I don’t know. There are rumors that the Tzaatz found the loader abandoned high in the Long Range mountains. There are rumors First-Son fights the Tzaatz. Whether they are true…” Far Hunter turned both paws over. “I don’t know. None of us who do fight the Tzaatz have seen him.”

  “Far Hunter…” Tskombe paused. How to ask for this favor, to an alien enemy who had already paid too high a price to help him? “I need to find Cherenkova-Captain. She is my mate.”

  “Hrrr. I hunt the Mooncatchers, I know the mountains. I know others who have sources of information. We can find the loader, perhaps, if it is there at all.”

  “I have to try.”

 
“Of course you do. I need to trap more grashi. We will see what we can learn.”

  “Who will mind your stall?”

  “My half-uncle’s son trains as my assistant. He is diligent and intelligent, if not yet wise.” Far Hunter raised his voice. “Apprentice!”

  “Sire!” A young kzintosh appeared from the front section of the stall, his coat still dappled with the spots of youth.

  “I will be going hunting, for the Hunter’s Moon at least. The stall is yours until I return. Be thrifty, industrious, and courteous. You have the opportunity here to earn much strakh, both for our pride and yourself.”

  The youngster claw-raked. “I will strive to be worthy of your trust, Senior Cousin.”

  Tskombe turned to Night Pilot. “Black Saber’s sensors may be helpful here.”

  “They can be.” Night Pilot turned a paw over. “It will cost fuel. Your retainer is too thin, Tskombe-kz’zeerkti.”

  “Retainer? What is that?” Far Hunter was puzzled.

  “It is…” Tskombe paused. The word for money in the Hero’s Tongue was k’rna, a phonetic translation of kroner, stolen from Wunderland’s North European argot, with its use confined to the kzinti who had to trade with humans. There was another word that meant exchange token, but it didn’t encompass the nuances of invisible credit that were attached to modern funds. How to explain that to Far Hunter? When it came down to it, money was just a recognized store of value. It was alien on Kzinhome, where value was stored in your status and the universal recognition of it by the entire society. The system of strakh worked, so far as he could see, only because kzinti lived and died by their honor. As an economic working fluid it was only a small step up from barter. Electronic funds transfers, digital money, stocks, futures, the miracle of compound interest and all the rest of the working machinery of an advanced economy were impossible to them. A human trader could take over the markets of Hero’s Square in a month by streamlining trade, except a human would be eaten first, for insulting a Hero with the suggestion that next month he would have to pay back more than he had borrowed today.