Larry Niven’s Man-Kzin Wars - XI

by Larry Niven

  “That Protector would seem to justify this gnosticism,” said Vaemar. “A being turning into a god.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Dimity. “The kzinti wouldn’t say that, would they?”

  “No. Our souls go to the Fanged God, and are devoured by Him after a good hunt.”

  “And that’s the end? It sounds rather bleak to a human.”

  “No. The souls of cowards are regurgitated into…well, the human word is Hell. The souls of Heroes go on somehow, but as it said we have only hints about that. It is a Mystery. But the hints are enough for us to have fought wars over them.”

  “And I don’t think the abbot would say this is a case of beings turning into gods,” said Dimity. “That thing is not a god, it is just a fast calculating machine…less human than a human, almost incapable of choice, almost without the advantages of limitation and imperfection. Mentally like me, only more so. As impaired as I am.”

  “No, Dimity, not like you.”

  “You are a chess master, Vaemar. Is it not true for you as for me that you come to some point in chess where you no longer seem to be moving the pieces, but rather watching them move.”

  “Yes, the moves become inevitable.”

  “Choice disappears. My life has been like that—watching equations become inevitable. As I think a Protector sees the world. I do not think this Protector sees it in such terms yet. But it will soon.”

  “Was it like that even when you were a cub…a child?”

  “I got a lot of my memories back with being on Wunderland and with the treatments…I can say: especially when I was a cub. I did not speak for the first few years of my life, because there seemed nothing worth saying. Why state the obvious?”

  “Humans often do. And I think it is another habit we are catching from them. I have noticed we Wunderkzin tend to talk more even when we do not need to.”

  “Yes, humans often do. I didn’t. I watched it all happen. The tests, the brain scans. I recorded my parents weeping over me as I looked up at them without expression because there was nothing to express, their whispers about ‘abnormal alpha waves,’ ‘Asperger’s Syndrome,’ ‘moron…’ ‘there are special schools…’ ‘Love and cherish her…’ It was the fritinancy of insects.

  “I sat in a playpen in my father’s study while he worked, watching him at his keyboard, the equations crawling across his computer screen. They put in swings, and made little tunnels for me to explore and there were all sorts of books and toys that lay on the floor. I sat there and heard Father talk with his colleagues. One of them had a son, a very bright little boy to whom Father gave lessons in calculus. Postgraduate students, too—he took some tutorials with the cleverest of them in his house. I listened in my playpen, and later, sitting on my chair. I didn’t do much. I did not speak much but I was puzzled, and eventually angry—why were they so slow? Why did they use such clumsy and incomplete symbols? Why did they not bring down their quarry—tidily, simply, beautifully? At length I decided to find out. That curiosity I had about humanity was the little, vestigial thread I had connecting me to it.

  “One day, when I was seven, Father came in and found me at the keyboard. I remember how his face lit up. That was the first time a human’s emotions had touched me. ‘Who’s a clever little girl then?’ he cried. Then he shouted to Mother: ‘Moira! Moira! Come and look! She’s playing!’ Then I saw him lift his eyes. He saw what was on the screen, and I saw his face change. His mouth began to twist, his hands went up to his mouth, and I knew he was fighting back a scream. By the time Mother arrived, he had stopped shaking.

  “‘We do have a clever little…girl,’ he said, taking Mother’s arm, and pointing. And already I heard him stumble over that word ‘girl.’ Girls are human, you see. They both stared at it for a long time.

  “‘Can it be what I think it is?’ But Mother was no longer looking at the screen when she said that. She was looking at me. It must be hard to have the realization hit you in a second that you have given birth to a monster, a freak. Father printed everything off and looked at it for a long time.

  “‘I think I understand the implications of the simpler equations,’ he said. ‘I think it shatters a principal paradigm of our knowledge of paraphysical forces…One of the paradigms…At least one…’ Then he began to laugh, a strange laugh such as I had never heard before.

  “I was getting bored again by that time, so I gave them a lecture. Rebuked Father for his slowness and stupidity. Told him I was angry at the limitations of the symbols he used. It was hard on my vocal chords because I’d used them so little before and that made me angry, too. Wondered at their tears. Thus began the career of Dimity Carmody. More tests, more brain-scans. The special schools—I told you I’d heard them speak of special schools—and everything else. Lessons in how to choose good clothes, for example. How to do my hair. Looking normal is a big part of being normal. Efforts to socialize the machine, the monster, with chess and music, to teach it to relate to human beings. They strengthened the little, little thread that connected me to normal humanity.”

  “You laugh. You weep, Dimity,” said Vaemar. “I have seen your eyes when you behold a sunrise. I saw you toiling in the cave to keep Leonie alive as shots and flame flew about you. Never say you are a machine. As for a monster…do I look like a monster to you?”

  “No. You are splendidly evolved to be what you are.”

  “A killing machine?”

  “Of course not! Or that is the start. You are a carnivore, a great carnivore, a mighty hunter, top of your food chain. But you, Vaemar, are so much else as well.”

  “Yes. I am, thanks to the successful human reconquest of Wunderland, one of the few surviving examples under any star of an introspective kzin. Monstrous to normal members of my own kind, like Chorth-Captain. But we must not be sorry for ourselves. Would you, Dimity, really be different if you had the choice?”

  “It is difficult to say. But I think not.”

  “Nor I.”

  “The only kzinti I know well are you and your Honored Step-Sire Raargh Hero,” said Dimity. “And I know that Raargh, too, in his gruff old way, is not merely valiant. He can be thoughtful, and chivalrous, as well. I do not forget that I owe him my life, or the pain he got saving me. We are both of species that have a great potential, and a paltry expression of it. But sometimes something shines through.”

  “I know you and I are not machines, merely because we can think, or because we are different to the norm of our respective kinds,” said Vaemar.

  “You have all the abilities of a young male kzin, and something else,” said Dimity. “You are more than kzin. But in some ways I am less than human.”

  “You are no Protector,” said Vaemar. “You have free will. You can choose. You have morality.”

  “In some things. Not when I dance with the equations.”

  Chorth-Captain entered. He carried more restraining tape, and made them bind one another again. Then he removed the locator implants from under the skin of Dimity’s inner arm and from between Vaemar’s shoulders. The size of rice grains, the locators were meant to be removed without too much trouble. His claws were too sharp to cause Dimity much pain, and Vaemar simply looked contemptuous. It was obvious from Chorth-Captain’s manner that he was doing something he should have done some time previously. He’s hoping the Protector won’t realize he’s neglected to do this before, Dimity thought. And I’m hoping somebody’s already traced them and is on their way. But the signal will be very weak. We’ve got a lot of rock around us, and 60,000 miles of space. But Chorth-Captain, whatever he’s been before, has become one inefficient kzin now. He made some show of smashing the locators. Then he released Dimity and left her to release Vaemar.

  Time passed. They had few ways of measuring it.

  “You are crouched in as small a space as possible. Your limbs seem to vibrate spasmodically,” said Vaemar. “Are you sick? You were not hurt badly? You did not bleed for long. But I observe other differences about your body, too.
”

  “I’m cold,” said Dimity.

  “You will burn energy with that vibration. You should rest and conserve your energy.”

  “I can’t. I have done so for as long as I can. But this is cave temperature. Deep-cave. I need clothes. These torn things are quite useless. My boots are all right—” she laughed “—but they don’t keep the rest of me warm.”

  “You may lie against me, if you wish,” said Vaemar. “I will try to warm you. But I warn you seriously not to make any sudden moves. I cannot always control my reflexes.”

  She snuggled against his fur. He wrapped one great arm around her and presently she slept. Vaemar had not moved when the door opened again and Chorth-Captain entered. He looked down at the young kzin with disgust.

  “Are you chrowling that monkey? I expected little enough of you, but this…”

  He turned away. For a male kzin to turn his back on another so might be an expression of trust. But it could also be an expression of fathomless contempt. Vaemar leapt, claws extended, slashing at Chorth-Captain’s neck, then striking with an elbow. His claw came away with blood and orange fur, and a short silver tube.

  Chorth-Captain did not whirl into the counterattack. He staggered dazedly and sat down, hind legs splayed out before him, as old, mad bears that had spent too many years in zoo cages had once looked. Then he slumped on his side. Vaemar went to Dimity and set her on her feet.

  “We were right,” he said. “A zzrou, or its descendant, but capable of controlling behavior as well as action. I have removed it.”

  “Is he dead?”

  “Probably not. Kzinti are much tougher than humans, and this thing has no wires or roots to suggest it was deep in his nerves or spine. As to the quality of life he may expect, that is another matter. He must live with knowledge of what he has allowed himself to become. The door is open. The catspaw is out of action. Now, perhaps, we only have five Protectors to deal with. Or perhaps more.” He picked up Chorth-Captain’s w’tsai. “I feel less naked with this,” he said. Then he dropped it again. “But what use would it be against a Protector? Let him keep it. I will take this, though.” He hefted the beam-weapon. “Now, Dimity-Human,” he said, “you and I have a chance to do deeds fit for a song!”

  “Lead, Hero!” she told him.

  “Obviously, if we can get control of the ship, we should take it. But I do not think we will be allowed. They are surely monitoring us. But come!”

  There was the “ward” with the rows of transforming Morlocks. There were no Protectors to be seen. “Why don’t they try to stop us?” Vaemar asked.

  “They are probably interested in seeing what we do. A practical lesson in our tactics.”

  “That Sinclair field could be a weapon, perhaps. Urrr.”

  “What are they doing with it? Growing more Protectors?”

  “Chorth-Captain said the rest of the tree-of-life agent was still on Wunderland.” Vaemar peered into the field. “It looks like some small-scale industrial process. Some super-strong materials take a long time to grow, and they could be speeding them up. Mountings for hyper-drive motors need super-strong materials. That is what it looks like to me. Getting ready. But you know more of building the hyperdrive than I.”

  “They know of the hyperdrive already?”

  “If our knowledge of Protectors is true they have immense ability to correlate. They could learn from the internet. Not everything, but enough to start work.”

  Dimity too examined what could be seen through the blue radiance of the field. She nodded after a long pause. “Yes. That’s what it looks like.”

  “I agree.”

  “They don’t have the hyperdrive…yet.”

  “Anticipation. They believe they will get it out of your mind. Or if not from you, from another.”

  “You will ensure I do not live to tell them, Vaemar.”

  “If it must be. But it has not come to that yet.”

  Two Protectors leapt out of a passage. Possibly the sight of the naked human female breeder halted the first one for a moment. Too fast for Dimity to follow, Vaemar swung up the beam-weapon and fired. The cantaloupe-head of the Protector exploded, hit between the eyes. The other, far faster than even the young kzin, dodged behind the Sinclair field. Vaemar, keeping his claws retracted, seized Dimity with his free hand and dragged her behind the cover of a metal partition. He raised the beam rifle again, waiting for the Protector to show itself. Then he had a better idea. Firing straight into the Sinclair field, he thought, might well have most spectacular results. It might even wreck the hatch cover and open the compartment to space, which would solve everyone’s problems. Orlando would carry on his line. As he depressed the beamer’s trigger, the lights on its stock died. He pulled the trigger again, harder. Nothing happened. Obviously it was under remote control and had now been deactivated.

  The Protector knew it was safe. It stood up, then leapt, so effortlessly that it seemed to fly, onto what appeared to be the housing of the Sinclair field’s generator.

  Chorth-Captain hit it from behind like a bolt of orange lightning. They fell forward together. Screaming, Chorth-Captain went headfirst into the Sinclair field. His lower body and hind legs, protruding for a moment, convulsed wildly and then went into the blue glow. But the Protector, too, had staggered forward into the field, standing in it up to its thighs.

  The Protector did not seem to accept immediately what had happened. It stayed where it was for a long moment, looking down. It was not their kidnapper but one of the more recently changed ones. Stay there! Stay there! Dimity implored silently. It reached up and touched its ears, as though puzzled. It even pushed a hand down into the field as if testing it. Dimity realized the Protector’s armored skin and relative lack of pain sensitivity could be a handicap to it. Nerve couriers could not tell it so much about its environment. They’re so tough they don’t need pain for an alarm signal. Then it gathered itself and sprang out of the field. It should have sprung precisely on top of them. But tough as the Protector was, it still had a circulatory system. In the field its lower limbs and feet had been deprived of blood, died and had been dead for some time. Its lower leg muscles were gone and it fell short. It landed on its feet, but collapsed as it landed, the bones of lower limbs and feet splintering.

  As the Protector tried to leap again, both legs and one hand dead, Vaemar closed with it, jaws gaping, slashing with his claws. The swing of its remaining hand was still too fast for Dimity to follow, but this time Vaemar caught it, slashed and bit. Dimity heard his fangs clash on bone. He leapt back, out of reach of the Protector’s snapping muzzle. It had two hearts, but its powerful circulatory system was carrying dead and decayed matter into both of them. It continued to stagger towards them on the bony, disintegrating stumps of its legs, its smell alone almost enough to knock a human down as Vaemar grabbed Dimity and dragged her back, springing up and out of the thing’s reach. It made another leap after them, fell again, crawled, collapsed and died.

  Vaemar turned off the field. He and Dimity looked down for a moment at what remained of Chorth-Captain.

  “At least he died a Hero,” said Dimity. “And look! There was more of that control device in him than we knew.”

  “No Hero should have allowed such a thing to happen to him,” said Vaemar. “But I will take his w’tsai now. Perhaps I can do him the service of gaining it new honor. And look further! Here is the key to the ship! But there is something to be done before anything else.” He leapt to the doors, closing them one after another. “We may be thankful this is kzin-derived architecture,” he said. “I think we have locked them out for a time. But they will bypass those locks soon.” He turned to the lines of transforming Morlocks and began rapidly but methodically slashing their throats with his claws and the w’tsai. Already the skin was turning into a leathery armor and it was hard work, but Vaemar was quick and strong.

  Vaemar saw the horror in Dimity’s eyes as he returned to her. He took her hand and touched it against his forearm.


  “Remember,” he said. “Fur, not skin.”

  “I know,” she said.

  “Now we have Protectors whose children I have killed,” he said. “They will not be pleased with us. I think they will be coming soon. I see no escape. Can you think of a solution?”

  “To escape in the ship that brought us. You have the key now.”

  “Yes. Unfortunately the hatch above it is closed. I can perhaps work out how to open it if the Protectors do not override the ship’s controls, but it will take a little time. Unless you can help me?”

  “I have not your practical ability with machinery, kzin-based or otherwise. But there is something.” She took him back to the housing of the Sinclair Field controls. “Can you turn on the field again?”

  “Yes, it is simple. Why?”

  “I think we have a chance of reducing the odds against us. The Protectors are still inexperienced. I am going to stand in the area of the field. When I give the word, turn it on around me.”

  “You will die! You will exhaust the oxygen! One can only live in a Sinclair field with special air supplies, to say nothing of food and water. Urrr.”

  “I can live for a short time, that is why I say…”

  Two Protectors leapt out of the passage. Dimity jumped into the field-area, and screamed, “Now, Vaemar! Now!”

  Vaemar threw the switch. Dimity became a shimmering shape inside the blue dome.

  Whether the Protectors meant to kill or recapture them, Vaemar was unsure. But they meant business. Their expressionless leathery faces with the Morlock eyes now strangely alight with intelligence were also lit with fury. Vaemar wondered if they were keeping him alive for torture. But the reactivated Sinclair field was between him and them. As they advanced, he saw Dimity in the field flashing almost too fast for his superb eyes to follow. Vaemar crouched, waiting a chance to spring, a chance he knew he would not get.

  There were two shattering explosions, so close together they seemed one. One Protector’s upper body disintegrated, then the other. Vaemar, head ringing, jumped back to his feet. He seemed uninjured. He stared in amazement for a second, then saw Dimity halt in her meteor-fast movements, fall and lie still. He leapt to the controls and killed the field. Gently, keeping his claws sheathed, he tried to give her artificial respiration, fearful that he should crush her fragile ribs, fearful she was dead. I care so for a human! The surprised realization flashed through his mind.