by Larry Niven
She scanned the valley. There were a lot of Tzaatz, but guard duty was a boring and unrewarding task that quickly took the edge off even the best troops. More importantly, she couldn’t see her pazpuweejw though she knew they were there, infiltrated into their attack positions like the shadows they took their name from.
Mind-Seer came up beside her, looking faraway as he reached out with his mind. “The attack is ready.”
Ayla nodded, not so much to acknowledge his words as to confirm them to herself. She felt the familiar pre-battle tension growing in her.
“Are we safe? Do the Tzaatz suspect?”
“Meat…the mating…distant home…The sentries are unaware…”
“Good. Tell V’levian to advance.”
Again Mind-Seer’s eyes unfocused. “She moves now.”
Ayla swung her binoptics to focus on the closest Tzaatz guardpost, three of them on raider rapsari at the access road that led to the mine complex. For a moment there was nothing, and then she saw a blur of motion, and the guards and their beasts were down.
“Tell M’telv to go.”
“Yes…” His eyes closed briefly, then shot open. “There are hunters! Coming fast!”
“Alert!” It was K’lakri, running up the slope at the same instant. “The Tzaatz are coming.” Ayla whirled around to see her guard commander pointing skyward. There was a high pitched whine, growing rapidly louder… “Gravcars!” Ayla shouted. “Back to the rally point.” A swarm of assault vehicles were dropping out of the sky onto their position.
Too close for coincidence. It took Ayla half a second to assess the situation. “They know we’re here. Mind-Seer, order the attack aborted, V’levian and M’telv are to withdraw to the rally point under their own command. K’lakri, we’re withdrawing now. They might not have us spotted yet.”
“As you command.” K’lakri flashed tail signals to her warriors while Ayla scrambled back to her sedan chair, but by the time they got there it was too late. The first three gravcars slammed down not a hundred meters away, Tzaatz pouring down the ramps. There were no rapsari, at least, and at K’lakri’s order her pazpuweejw elite guard screamed and leapt as the enemy closed, carving left and right with variable swords. They weren’t as strong as males, but they were faster. Their sex helped; the Tzaatz were slow to understand that the females were attacking them, and they cut down half the Tzaatz in under a minute. She grabbed her beamrifle and looked for targets.
But already the weapons on the cars that hadn’t landed were firing as they made a low pass, pulled up and swung around to come back down. Netguns! Four of her bodyguard were caught and struggling, the rest diving for cover, though there was little enough on the rocky slope. Mind-Seer drew his own variable sword and leapt for a Tzaatz warrior. None of them carried weapons that could engage the cars; all they could do was fall back. Another wave of assault vehicles dropped out of the sky, slamming down in the gravel on the hill. Ayla ran for a small ravine, slid down into it in a shower of stones. Her force needed its commander, and for that she had to survive. She looked around wildly for Mind-Seer but couldn’t see him, or anyone. Heart thumping wildly, she belly crawled under a low bush. Hopefully the Tzaatz wouldn’t be looking for a human. If they found her they might think her a slave. That would be a good thing, as long as they didn’t choose to eat her right then and there. She looked at the beamrifle in her hand. They might not eat her, if they didn’t find her with a weapon. But I won’t abandon my weapon, and I won’t pretend to be a slave to buy my own safety. She would hide, but if they came for her she would shoot her way out or die trying. Minutes dragged by like hours, and her breathing stabilized. She could hear the Tzaatz moving about on the hilltop, snarling back and forth as they secured the area. They seemed to have missed her little gully, but there would be scent trail, and they might have some of their odious rapsar sniffers with them. She pictured the terrain and assessed options. She needed to get a plan together to get her captured warriors back.
Screams of rage and pain came from the hillcrest, two voices, too inarticulate for her to make out the words, but she understood what was happening. Her pazpuweejw were being interrogated. Anger swelled through her and she gripped her beamrifle. She had her rescue plan, and it was right here, right now. She scrambled up the slope she had slid down, came face to face with a surprised Tzaatz and pulled the trigger. His mag armor was depowered and his chest exploded as the beam hit him. She dropped behind his still steaming corpse for cover and started picking targets, pulling the trigger and moving on. For about fifteen seconds she had the advantage with firepower and confusion on her side, and then they spotted her. The Tzaatz warriors weren’t cowards, and they screamed and leapt without regard for their own safety. She snapped the weapon to multifire and swept it across her front, hitting at least three in mid leap, sending the rest diving for cover amid a spray of shrapnel from rocks exploded by beams that missed. She saw one of her pazpuweejw claw her way out of a net and move to free another. A Tzaatz leapt to stop them and she snapped off a shot, catching him in the face. The body dropped, headless, and the two kzinretti vanished over the hillcrest. They will free the others while I cover them, and the Kzinrette Secret will be safe. There was silence while she watched, and again the minutes dragged, then rock clicked on rock to her left flank. She spun, saw a flash of movement and fired, catching a Tzaatz in midleap. His mag armor was on, but her weapon was still on multifire and the beams shredded him. She whirled back to cover her front again but nothing else was moving. Impasse. She became aware of pain, looked down to see that the beamrifle’s charge pack had burned a hole in her shirt sleeve and sizzled the skin beneath. The indicator was way down. She’d gone through over half a charge already.
And I have to move or they’ll get me from both flanks next time. If they managed that the game would be over. Had all her captured warriors escaped? A killscream sounded from above and cut off with a gurgle. That suggested that they had, and the Tzaatz were paying in blood to follow them. It was time to leave. Carefully she slid back down the ravine, then moved across the slope under the cover of some low shrubs, hoping to work her way back up. A gravcar whined over, searching, and she jerked her weapon up to fire. It hadn’t spotted her, a miracle on the sparse terrain, and she let it pass. A beamrifle would do little to a combat vehicle anyway. She was running out of options. If she’d been smart she would have headed back for the rally point, and she listened for the voice in her mind that would be Mind-Seer, feeding her information, but there was nothing. Is he even alive? An unanswerable question. More rock on rock. She swung the rifle again, but there was nothing there. Think fast, monkey. They would stalk her, but as long as she didn’t let them box her in she’d have the initiative. For that she had to keep moving. So that was the plan, fire, fall back, wear them down. Keep to the bushes where they’d have trouble picking her up from the air. They might get her in the end, but she’d make them pay.
She checked the skies for gravcars, spotted one, hanging five hundred meters away, spotted another. They knew generally where she was, and they were waiting for her to break cover. She slid backward carefully, keeping the bushes between them and herself as a screen. They would have sensors that could pick her up, if she exposed herself, but most sensors had limited fields of view. She lay down carefully and waited. There was a small knoll another ten meters back, and she crept around behind it, then slid forward to the crest, put the weapon on her shoulder, clicking it off multifire to conserve what charge she had left. Unbidden, her mind’s eye conjured a view of the scene at Midling base. They ate the survivors. She couldn’t let that happen to her. So concentrate, watch for targets, keep thinking ahead.
She didn’t have long to wait. A Tzaatz moved into her field of view, stopped, and crouched. He was carrying a netgun, and as he scanned the area in front of him he flashed tail signals to those following him. Why aren’t they using energy weapons? They might have thought she was kzinti, but even so she’d broken the rules first. And they have my
scent trail by now. They know who they’re looking for. The gravcars could rake the whole ravine without exposing anyone to her fire. So she would find the answer to that question later; for now she would just be thankful. A second Tzaatz moved up some five meters to the left of the first and knelt, and the first got up to advance again. Ayla shot him right there, firing twice to make sure his mag armor was defeated, then swung the sights to the second and shot him as well. There were snarls and crashes behind them, but she was already sliding back down the knoll, turning to run back another tactical bound. The terrain favored her in a hit and run defense. At least here I’m buying time for the others to escape.
Fifty meters back she spotted a small pile of rocks and a larger slab, just enough room for her to nestle down between them and ambush again. Two each time, there can’t be that many. They were coming too quickly, typical ratcats. If they slowed down enough to set an ambush behind me I’d be done for.
Noises to her front. She scanned left, scanned right, saw nothing. They were slowing down, she’d proven herself too deadly with the beamrifle. Even Heroes didn’t want to die if they didn’t have to. More noises, and it seemed she should have spotted the trackers by now…
A blood curdling scream came from behind her. She rolled, tried to bring the rifle around, but it was too late and a black blur hit her. She saw a taloned claw as big as a pie plate coming down, and then pain exploded, and her world went dark.
Sheathe pride and bare honor.
—Conserver wisdom
Scrral-Rrit, Black-Stripe, Second-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit, none of the names seemed right, and the kzin who bore them sat contemplating a puzzle sculpture in the Citadel’s Puzzle Garden. In the distance he could hear the burbling of the chaotic water clock at the center of the garden’s hedge maze. As the clock’s flows shifted in volume and turbulence its sound changed. Sometimes it rushed and splashed and gurgled so you could hear it anywhere along the hedge maze border, sometimes it simply trickled and dripped, and even if you found your way to its base you couldn’t hear it at all.
I have no name. It would have been better if it were true. Even if none of the names he was called by applied, there was the name he had given himself, though he never spoke it aloud and would have preferred never to think it either. Slave-of-the-Zzrou. The teeth of the poison carrier no longer pained the way they once had, and he would have preferred that reality were different too. They had grown into his flesh, become a part of him, though he could never forget they were there. Pain and death were always just an instant away, to be delivered at the whim of Kchula-Tzaatz. He tried to avoid the conqueror and his savage temper as much as possible. That had become easier lately. His importance to the Tzaatz rule had dwindled, but that was not a good thing either. When his usefulness ended he would become a liability, and death lay down that road too.
Across the Puzzle Garden a robed figure was contemplating another puzzle sculpture. As he watched, the figure moved a segment and then rotated the sculpture on its base until it stopped with a sharp click, clearly audible even at that distance. Rrit-Conserver. No, Kzin-Conserver now. There were differences in the roles, it was important to remember them. There were few in the Citadel who had the patience to even attempt the Higher Sculptures, crafted by the legendary Conundrum Priest Kassriss, eight-squared or more generations ago. Fully half of his sculptures were still unsolved, and those remaining were the hardest. It was quite possible that Kzin-Conserver might solve one, something that hadn’t happened in living memory.
Scrral-Rrit approached and waited. If nothing else, the absolute humiliation of his situation had taught him patience. He waited while the shadows grew long and the light faded, while Kzin-Conserver considered the puzzle, occasionally walking around it, peering into it as though he could somehow divine its inner mechanisms through sufficient staring. Eventually he turned a protruding element and was rewarded with another click. Seemingly satisfied, he turned to face his visitor.
“Scrral-Rrit. You are attentive today.”
“I would seek your counsel, Conserver.”
Kzin-Conserver’s ears swiveled up. “On what?”
“On my future.”
“Your future is beyond my scope.”
“Then advise me on my present.”
“And what is wrong with your present?”
So here it is. He didn’t want to say it, and he found he could not meet Conserver’s gaze. Sheath pride and bare honor. He took a deep breath. “I am ashamed, Kzin-Conserver.”
“As you should be, Black-Stripe.” Conserver’s voice was not harsh, but his words stung sharper than the zzrou’s p’chert toxin.
“I did not…I did not wish this.”
“And yet you chose it.”
“Aaaiii!” Scrral-Rrit looked skyward, as if beseeching the Fanged God to end his misery. “I didn’t know what I was choosing!”
“And what would you change? Would you again be your father’s son, your brother’s zar’ameer? Do you dream of what might have been if you had not chosen to listen the promises of Kchula-Tzaatz?”
“My own humiliation is nothing. The Patriarchy is destroying itself. I am Patriarch, if only in name. I must do something.”
Kzin-Conserver turned a paw over, considering. Such selflessness in Black-Stripe. Is it genuine? There was no deception in the miserable kzin’s eyes. Perhaps it is. He looked to the tiny spots that dotted Scrral-Rrit’s pelt, white fur growing from pinpoints of scar tissue, the marks of the Hot Needle of Inquiry. It was rare to escape the refined agonies of the Hunt Priest’s ritual untransformed. Perhaps he has learned from his ordeal. He chose his words carefully. “The Patriarchy is old, it has survived many trials. It will survive this too.” In some form. He didn’t add the reservation.
Scrral-Rrit furled his ears tight. “It may not survive this. The kz’zeerkti are savage. The Great Prides will not defeat them unless they unite.”
“This is true.”
“What should I do then?”
“If I give you advice, will you take it?”
“I will take it, Conserver. I was ambitious, and proud. I envied my brother. Now look at me. I will never outlive the shame of the zzrou. The Hot Needle…” He shuddered. “I can never undo what I have done to my father and my brother. I can never undo what I have done to myself. Perhaps I can undo what I have done to the Patriarchy.”
“Time’s arrow flies only forward.”
“You told me once, a wise Patriarch seeks wise counsel. Counsel me and I will listen.”
“My advice is this. Wait patiently. You are not without power. Use it carefully, when the opportunity comes.”
“Power?” Scrral-Rrit wrinkled his nose. “What power do I have? I do not even command myself. Kchula punishes me on a whim. He could kill me just as easily.” Reflexively he touched his shoulder blade where the zzrou waited. He controlled another shudder. “I do not dare face the Needle again.” He sat down heavily on a bench by the sculpture.
“No!” Kzin-Conserver barked the words. “Stand up, Son-of-the-Rrit.” Reflexively Second-Son stood. Kzin-Conserver spoke, fast and firmly. “You are always in command of yourself. If you want to take pride in yourself, act with honor. Make your decisions based on what is right. Carry them out without regard to the consequence.”
“What of—”
“No! That is the beginning and the end. You asked my advice, now you have it.”
“This is not advice! How can I reclaim the Patriarchy? How can I stop the war?”
“That is not up to you anymore, nor is it up to me.”
“You are telling me to do nothing!”
“No, I am telling you to act with honor. Honor is not judged by the size of the action but by its rightness.”
“But…”
“No!” Rrit-Conserver slashed the air with his paws. “You overreached yourself when you aspired to be Patriarch. If you wanted to influence the course of the Patriarchy you should have studied hard, worked as your brother did and become his zar’
ameer. It is too late for you to play that role. You have made your choices. Now play the role you have chosen with honor. Do not overreach yourself again.”
“I…” Scrral-Rrit seemed about to shrink, then pulled himself straight. “I will do as you say, Conserver.”
“Good.”
Scrral-Rrit left and Kzin-Conserver watched him go. He has the desire now, but does he have the strength? The answer would become clear in the fullness of time. Kzin-Conserver returned his attention to the puzzle sculpture. The latest move had revealed an inscription, a quotation from the teachings of Meerli. The bronze cylinder that bore the words was scarcely tarnished, in marked contrast to the rest of the statue. It had been a long time since anyone had found this configuration of the puzzle; perhaps no one ever had. It was a clue, but a subtle one. He recited it to himself, bringing up the larger text it was taken from in his mind. The exercise refreshed his memory on the meaning of Meerli’s wisdom, as it was intended to. This lesson has been here for generations waiting to be learned, despite the many eyes that have searched for it. That was a lesson in itself. What other lessons has life hidden around me, waiting for me to find the correct way of viewing them?
Cultivate your allies, lest your enemies do.
—Si-Rrit
Far Hunter took a deep breath, primarily to control his shivering. Zraa-Churrt’s Patriarchal Hall was cold, and when he breathed out again his exhalations condensed into fog. He had experienced this level of cold before, hunting high in the Mooncatchers for premium game for his father’s stall, but he had not expected to find it inside and his thin robe was not protection enough against the chill air.
“Advance, Rrit-Emissary.” Zraa-Churrt himself was not cold. He was large, made larger by his heavy white pelt, eight-cubed-generations adapted to life on the frigid ice-world that was his Patriarchal seat. Carbon dioxide froze at Vraaal’s poles in the winter, and even here at the equator the ice never melted. Only in the salty oceans was water a liquid, and life on the land, such as it was, depended entirely on the ocean food web for subsistence.
