by Larry Niven
“No.” Tskombe shook his head. “The Tzaatz will use lasers from orbit to restart the fire in our path, no matter which path we take.”
“What do you suggest then?”
“Counterburning. We start our own fires along the route we want, burn everything we can, and advance over the ashes.” Tskombe looked to the sky. “Black Saber can do that for us.” He paused, realizing the dangers inherent in his strategy. “And then we pray for rain.”
Pouncer turned a paw over, considering. “I concur.” He turned to Battle Captain. “You heard?”
“Yes, sire.”
“Give the order to Black Saber. We remain on the primary route.”
“As you command.” Battle Captain keyed his console and spoke into it, then looked up. “Sire? Black Saber is targeting now. Night Pilot sends a message.”
Pouncer fanned his ears up. “What is it.”
“Scoutships falling in from the singularity. The kz’zeerkti fleet has arrived.”
“Hrrr.” He traded a glance with Tskombe. “We may yet die at the moment of victory.”
“I can talk to them, get them to wait until we can finish our battle. They might even land troops to support us.”
“No!” Pouncer slashed his claws in the air. “This is skalazaal. I will not give the Tzaatz excuse to accuse me of using a prey species in battle. You may talk to them after we win, not before.”
Tskombe looked at him. Prey species…He let the point go, mentally calculating drop time from the singularity’s edge. We’ll only get one chance to win. After that the human fleet would attack in their now well rehearsed pattern, and the globe shaking detonations of conversion warheads would erase civilization on Kzinhome. And I will die, and Ayla…That was a thought he didn’t want to think.
A brilliant blue-green line stabbed out of the sky ahead of them, the colors almost too pure to be real, the visible signature of an invisible gamma ray laser beam fired from orbit, powerful enough to strip the electrons from the oxygen and nitrogen in its path to produce the ionization glow. Dirt fountained where the beam touched the ground, ringed by flame and followed half a second later by a thunderclap report as the superheated column of ions shocked the quiet air around it. Tskombe blinked, the dazzling afterimage of the laser burned onto his retina. For an instant he thought Night Pilot had misunderstood and Black Saber was firing on them, but no mere freighter could mount weapons that could hit like that from orbit. The beams were the main armament of an orbital fortress. The Tzaatz had grown impatient. The dry savannah crackled as the fire took hold and the flames rose up. More beams stabbed downward and the flames grew and merged, until they were a wall of fire ten meters high. He swallowed hard. A direct hit by one of those beams would vaporize a tuskvor, and the Tzaatz could, if they chose, drag their target lines through the vast herd as easily as a child could fingerpaint. Thick black smoke swirled up, choking him and stinging his eyes, and their tuskvor bellowed. Others answered it throughout the herd as C’mell struggled with the tiller bar and snarled a stream of unintelligible curses as she tried to keep the beast on course. The Tzaatz might have hoped to stop the herd with the vast grass fires set ahead of its advance; now they were trying to destroy it outright by setting the fires all around them. They’re getting closer to the edge of honor. We have them scared. That was a less reassuring thought than it might have been.
More beams stabbed down and the fires grew around them. Any other herd animal would have panicked and stampeded, but the Tzaatz hadn’t reckoned with the power of the tuskvor’s migration instinct. The heat grew intense, even high up on the tsvasztet, but the advance continued, the booming bellows of the herd rising up over the crackle of flame. Their own tuskvor snorted and bucked as it charged through a wall of flame that roared up in front of them like a living thing bent on consuming them whole. Tskombe threw himself flat on the floor of the tsvasztet and held his breath while flame licked around their sides, and then they were through. C’mell, her fur singed black in patches, was still hanging on to the tiller bar while Pouncer, Z’slee and Swift-Claw had leapt to extinguish half a dozen minor fires that had started on the tsvasztet itself. Something big crashed into the platform and it jolted sideways, almost spilling him to the burning ground. Another tuskvor, blinded by flames and bellowing in pain, had collided with theirs. The tsvasztet on its back was an inferno, and as he watched a kzin leapt from it, his fur burning hard enough to turn him into a living fireball. The kzin landed hard, and badly, rolling and screaming in pain, an unearthly wail that penetrated straight to Tskombe’s hindbrain. The injured tuskvor lurched back the other way and fell sideways, crushing the critically wounded warrior and cutting off the sound. The massive beast thrashed its limbs, bellowing as the fire swept around it, but it wasn’t going to be getting up. Tskombe grabbed the rail of the tsvasztet and looked around, breathed out in relief to see the surging armada emerge from the smoke and flames, despite the new gaps in the ranks.
He suddenly became aware of an absence. Trina! He looked around frantically and didn’t see her. Her luck has failed. He cursed himself for relying on such an ephemeral shield as statistical improbability, his throat tightening in response to feelings he couldn’t afford to show in battle.
Two hands, and she was clambering over the edge of the travel platform. His eyes met hers, traveled over the edge to where a burned-through securing line was retied. If she hadn’t done that, the whole platform might have slid off the tuskvor’s back on the next severe jolt. His gaze went back to hers, gratitude expressed with a glance. On the horizon ahead more flames glowed as the counter fires set by Black Saber’s beams surged against the firestorm ignited by the Tzaatz. A vast wall of smoke stretched up into the sky, the convection triggering cumulus clouds which built higher and higher as they rode inexorably toward a scene that looked like some medieval version of the gates of hell. The beam strikes from heaven stopped as suddenly as they had begun.
“Tell Vlorz Pride to shift to the northern route. They will come down on the far side of the Quickwater. Dziit Pride is to move to the reserve position.” Pouncer was beside Ferlitz, again commanding the battle, ignoring the danger they had just come through.
Tskombe searched the skies, knowing with an old soldier’s instincts that the pause was only the harbinger of another form of attack. Within minutes a squadron of gravcars swept over in close formation. These were armed with heavier, longer-ranged ballista. They concentrated their fire on a single tuskvor. Most of the shafts bounced off its mag-armored flanks, but a few found their way into gaps in the articulation. The huge beast bellowed in pain and fell, writhing, crushing its tsvasztet and throwing its occupants to the ground. Some of the scurrying figures escaped, perhaps to be picked up by a following tuskvor; some were struck down as the tuskvor shuddered through its death agony. Answering bolts flew up from the czrav, dragging down more attackers with their monofilament nets, but the Tzaatz were willing to fight now, as they had not been before, and the battle broke up into a dozen or more skirmishes. The fighting lasted an hour and cost them four tuskvor that Quacy could see, many more that he could not, according to the reports flowing in through Ferlitz-Telepath.
More gravcars appeared, combat carriers and tanks with polarizers too powerful to be overloaded with the boulder laden nets, and the rain of arrows intensified. Tskombe could only watch, powerless as tuskvor after tuskvor inexorably fell. The rules of honor would have allowed him to carry an energy weapon, and a magrifle like the one he had carried in the escape from the Citadel so long ago would serve admirably to engage the gravcars, but he didn’t have one. Neither the Tzaatz nor the orbiting ships that served as witness to the conduct of the Honor-war would know the fire came from an alien exempt from the rules, and he had no wish to provide the enemy with an excuse to bring their vastly superior firepower to bear. The advance swept on, but the gaps in the ranks were getting larger. Ferlitz-Telepath was in the mind-trance continually now. Pouncer consulted Battle Captain’s plot board, updated now with intelligence Fe
rlitz had gleaned from the minds of the enemy commanders.
“Tell Kralar Pride there are positions in front of him. He is to engage and fall back, pin them in place. The remainder of the force is to follow Vlorz Pride.”
Ferlitz echoed the words in a whisper. The entire force changed course now, following the northern route now being swept by Vlorz Pride, avoiding a series of rapsar-reinforced defensive positions that Ferlitz had discovered in the minds of the warriors waiting to spring the trap. The trap would be inverted now: the forces the Tzaatz had committed to ambush would be tied down and useless for the main defense of the Citadel.
Something flashed overhead, and Tskombe looked up in time to see a gravcar. Trina turned at the same instant and a crystal iron ballista shaft flew past her ear. Tskombe had a momentary flashback to the time he’d thrown the nyalzeri egg at her. Behind her, Ferlitz-Telepath was on his back, very still, pinned to the floor with the shaft through his temple. He would know no more minds. Tskombe saw Trina’s eyes widen with fear at what had nearly happened, and he went to her, took her to the front of the travel platform to look forward.
Behind them Pouncer knelt by the body, going through the motions of emergency first aid, but there was no hope. He looked up in despair. My communications are severed at the critical moment. The advancing army was changing formation, and vulnerable in that moment without his direction. The Tzaatz would be reacting to the change, and he needed to know the minds of their commanders. He lashed his tail, angry at himself. I was a fool to take just one telepath. But keeping two for himself would have meant depriving one of his other commanders of one, a decision that could be equally dangerous in a different set of circumstances.
He looked around at his army, saw the orders he needed to issue. There is one way. He went to Ferlitz-Telepath’s travelpack, drew out a small, clear vial full of black, oily fluid. The sthondat extract. I am full brother to Patriarch’s Telepath. The Gift is latent in my genes. He opened the vial. The extract smelled bitter, and Pouncer contemplated it a long time as the battle around him seemed to slow down, time compressing until the moment contained only the vial and himself and the decision he was about to make. I cannot be Patriarch if I am a slave to the extract. The telepaths of the czrav managed to avoid addiction through sparing use of the drug, usually. But I am not a telepath. I will need more, much more. There was danger there, and he remembered his brother’s wasted body on its gravlifted prrstet. Death was a better fate than sthondat addiction. He looked up to survey the advancing tuskvor. I have come so far, am I to lose in this moment? He looked back to the vial, its acrid smell penetrating the back of his brain, harsh and yet somehow alluring. This moment is the reason Patriarch’s Telepath tested me. Did he foresee it somehow? I passed his test through self-discipline. I can pass this test the same way. Rrit-Conserver had taught that self-discipline was the fundamental underpinning of all that made a warrior. Now it was time to prove himself worthy of the training he had been given. He tipped the vial backward, felt the liquid slide onto his tongue. Immediately he began to feel strange, more aware of his heartbeat, a curious tingle, not unpleasant, began in his paw pads. It became difficult to focus his vision, and he felt his knees buckling. He gripped the railing of the tsvasztet, trying to hold himself up. I must not lose myself to the mind-trance. Blackness enveloped him, the same ultimate emptiness that had nearly cost him his sanity when Patriarch’s Telepath had tested him in the Citadel’s puzzle garden. His grip loosened on the rail and it fell away in extreme slow motion. Reality slipped away with it and the fear again rose in him, counterbalanced by the kill rage, and the universe was dark and empty and he was utterly alone in it.
Any fool knows victory requires you to concentrate all effort at the point of decision. It is the art of the commander to know where the point of decision will be.
—Si-Rrit
“As you command, sire.” Ktronaz-Commander toggled the display and the Command Lair’s strategic display of the Father Sun’s singularity vanished, replaced by a waist-deep terrain holo of the Plain of Stgrat, the data relayed live from eight-cubed sources and integrated to show the best possible real-time map of the unfolding advance. He stood back with Kzin-Conserver and Scrral-Rrit to give Kchula-Tzaatz and his guest an unobstructed view.
Zraa-Churrt leaned close to the highlighted dots that marked the enemy. “What are these beasts they ride?”
“Tuskvor.” Kchula-Tzaatz spat the word.
Zraa-Churrt’s ears went up, pink fans against his white fur. “Tuskvor? I thought they were untamable.”
“Evidently the czrav have found a way. It is irrelevant. They will not stand against rapsari.”
“Their force seems formidable.”
“These rabble do not concern me.” Kchula slashed his claw across the tiny images of tuskvor that populated the plain. “I will wipe them aside.”
“Your confidence is commendable.” Zraa-Churrt paused, considering the map. “I hope you will not tell me this citadel is impregnable. You proved yourself it could be taken.”
“With rapsari. Nothing else would have done the job. No other pride in the Patriarchy has an eighth of the growth vat capacity I command on Jotok, not a sixteenth. These herd beasts are big, but they are herbivores, not meant for fighting. When they meet my main defense force this advance will falter and die.”
“And yet you still set the savannah on fire with energy weapons.”
“My brother is a skilled warrior. If he can win without fighting he will. It is within the traditions.” Kchula turned to Kzin-Conserver, who was impassively watching the exchange. “Is it not?”
“It is.” Kzin-Conserver kept his voice carefully neutral. “Although barely.”
“No. This attack is of no consequence.” Kchula made a gesture that dismissed Kzin-Conserver’s reservation and the holo at once. “My concern is the kz’zeerkti. Ktronaz!” Another gesture from the commander recalled the presentation of the Father Star and its environs out to the singularity’s edge. The cryptic symbology of intercept planes, course funnels, orbit curves and spacetime gradients filled the representation. “The monkeys must be destroyed, once and for all.”
“My fleet is here to defend the Patriarchy, as are those of my brothers.”
“Hrrr. It is a pity you could not have brought more ships.”
The white pelted kzin turned a paw over. “My own worlds need defending too.”
“Of course, Zraa-Churrt. Your fealty will be rewarded.”
“Perhaps.”
Kchula looked sharply at the Pride-Patriarch, who returned it calmly. He is insufficiently submissive. When this mess is done with he will need to be taught a lesson. “Ktronaz-Commander, are your plans complete?”
“As we discussed, sire. There are no significant changes.”
“Excellent. Prepare your defensive orders.”
Ktronaz made the gesture-of-obeisance and took control of the display again to plot his battle.
“And Ftzaal-Tzaatz is commanding the ground war against these czrav?” Zraa-Churrt asked the question offhandedly.
“He does.”
“Why isn’t he with Ktronaz-Commander then?”
“He leads his Ftz’yeer personally.”
“I see.” Zraa-Churrt turned a paw over. “Shall we return to the others?”
Kchula made a gesture and his guards opened the door to lead the way up from the Command Lair to the Patriarch’s Hall where the other Great-Pride-Patriarchs were waiting. The Hall’s huge, arching space with its massive ceiling beams was as impressive as it had always been, but now it was echoing and empty, far too large for the eight-and-half-eight Pride-Patriarchs gathered there to speak to him. Not a quorum of the Great Circle, but enough that he could not hope to evade their eyes in anything he did. It was frustrating. The banners draped on the walls, woven with stories of Rrit triumph, seemed to mock his achievements. But I am the first to take this hall from the Rrit. The huge, silent conquest drums waited patiently for their drummers to d
ance to his victories, the ranks of carved prrstet in exotic fabrics begged to be filled with his fealty bound nobles. When I have defeated the kz’zeerkti I will proclaim a feast to my greatness. He looked at the faces watching him now. They were carefully neutral. They are not my allies but my rivals. I must bend them to my use here.
He considered ascending the dais, but decided not to, moving instead to a round table toward the back of the hall. Let them think I see them as equals. Scrral-Rrit and Kzin-Conserver took prrstet to either side of him. They were both simple obstacles to his plans now, but neither could be removed easily.
“Brothers,” he began. “The kz’zeerkti are coming. By sunrise tomorrow the battle will be won or lost.”
Kdori-Dcrz fanned his ears up. “What of the challenger, Zree-Rrit?”
“Kchula-Tzaatz feels he is of no consequence,” Zraa-Churrt answered before Kchula could.
“Why is that?”
“Ftzaal-Tzaatz commands the battle.” Again Zraa-Churrt answered.
“Hrrr.” Kdori-Dcrz folded his ears again. “In this case perhaps the challenger is of no consequence.” He looked to Kchula. “Tell us of the kz’zeerkti.”
“They are a threat, but we have the power to defeat them here, and we will. Ktronaz-Commander is plotting his intercepts as we speak. We will meet them high in the singularity. Your fleets will follow mine to intercept. Their strategy relies on their carriers, and they will be the priority for attack. We will ignore the covering forces, they are only a distraction, and if any battleships come in range of Kzinhome the orbital fortresses will deal with them.”
Kdori-Dcrz stood. “With respect, brother, and I think I speak for all present, I put forward that it would be better to meet them close in, backed by the weapons of your orbital fortresses.”
Kchula snarled and let his fangs show. “Do you question my orders?”
“Those were orders?” Mtell-Mtell unfurled his ears. “I thought you merely advised the Patriarch.” He gestured to Scrral-Rrit.
