by Larry Niven
"If anything goes wrong," Paradoxical said, "they would never come."
"No, it's worse than that! If everything goes right for them, there's no good reason to go back unless it's to fill the food lockers! The Covenants only apply when you're caught. My family is one hundred percent dead if we can't change that."
"Envoy's word may be good. No! Bad gamble. We should study the pot odds. Beowulf, have you evolved a plan?"
"I don't know enough."
The three crew were awake now, watching us as we watched them, though mostly they watched Fly-By-Night.
Paradoxical's talker burst to life. My translator said, "Tell us of the fight that injured you."
Fly-By-Night was slow to answer. "Sheathclaws folk are fond of hang gliding. We make much bigger hang gliders for Kzinti, and not so many of us fly. I was near grown, seeking a name. My intent was to fly from Blood Park to Touchdown, three hundred klicks along rocky shore and then inland, at night. Land in Offcentral Park. Startle humans into fits."
Packer snarled, "Startling humans is no fit way to earn a name!" and the unnamed Kzin asked, "Wouldn't the thermals be different at night?"
Fly-By-Night said, "Very different."
"Your second naming quest brought you here," Envoy stated.
"Yes. I hoped that a scarred Kzin might pass among other Kzinti. Challenge would be less likely. Any lapse in knowledge might be due to head injury. I might pass more easily on a world part Kzin and part human, like Shasht-Fafnir."
"You dance lightly over an important matter. Who lifted you from your world?"
"Where would be my honor if I told you that?"
"Smugglers? Bandits? What species? You will give us that too, Nameless." We heard the click: communication severed.
One of the Kzinti stood up. Another slashed the vacuum, a mere wrist gesture, but the first sat down again. The stars wheeled . . . and something that was not a star came into view, brilliant in pure laser colors: Stealthy-Mating's riding lights.
I said, "We're about to dock. If anything happens, you keep the needle sprayer, I want the blade. Closing the zipper turns on the air, so don't lose that."
"No fear," said Paradoxical.
Gravity went away. We floated. The ships danced about each other. I would have docked less recklessly. I'm not a Kzin.
"They know too much about us," I said.
Paradoxical asked, "In what context?"
"They knew our manifest. They knew our position—"
"Finding another ship in interstellar space is not a thing they could plan, Beowulf."
"LE Graynor to you. Look at it this way," I said. "The only way to get here, falling through the Tao Gap in Einstein space, is to be going from Fafnir to Home. Stealthy-Mating got our route somehow. They started later with a faster ship. They might catch us approaching Home during deceleration . . . track our graviton wake . . . or snatch you and Fly-By-Night after you got through Customs. They could not possibly have expected to find Odysseus here. Catching us here was a fluke, an opportunity. They grabbed it."
"As you say."
"I like it."
Paradoxical stared. "Do you? Why?"
"Clients, overlords, allies, any kind of support would have to be told that Stealthy-Mating is en route to Home. Any rendezvous with Stealthy-Mating is at Home. When could they change that? They're still headed for Home!"
"Very speculative."
"I know."
Stealthy-Mating's cargo bay was bigger than the boat's, under doors that opened like wings.
The boat released the cargo modules. Two Kzinti went out and began moving them. Envoy stayed behind. He watched the action in space, ignoring us.
"Not yet," Paradoxical said. I nodded. Fly-By-Night floated half curled up. He seemed to be asleep, but his ears kept flicking open like little fans.
I ate my handmeal. Paradoxical averted its eyes.
Packer and the nameless third crewperson set the modules moving one by one, and juggled them as they approached Stealthy-Mating. Waldo arms reached up to pull them into the bay and lock them. It seemed to take forever, but I'd have moved those masses one at a time. They were in a hurry. Rounding a point mass would scatter this loose stuff all across the sky.
Turnpoint Star must be near.
The cargo doors closed. Stealthy-Mating rotated, and the boat was pulled down against the hull. Now we were all one mass.
The hatch in the floor opened. Three Kzinti came through in pressure suits to join Envoy. The newcomer's chest and back showed a Kzinti snarl done in gaudy orange dots-and-commas. He spared a glance for me and Paradoxical, then turned to Fly-By-Night.
My translator said, "I am Meebrlee-Ritt."
"Futz!" Fly-By-Night exclaimed in Interworld.
"Your concern is noted. Yes, I am of the Patriarch's line. Your First Sire was Gutting Claw's Telepath, who betrayed the Patriarch Rrowrreet-Ritt and showed prey how to destroy his own ship!"
"And he never even went back for the ears. Then again, they were inside a hot plasma," Fly-By-Night said.
To Envoy Meebrlee-Ritt said, "This one was to be tamed."
Envoy cringed, ears flat. Even I could hear the change in his voice, the whine. "Dominant One, this fool crippled himself for a failed joke, and that joke was his name quest! A lesser male he must be, never mated. His arrogance is bluff or insanity, or else life among humans has made him quite alien! But let Tech give us air pressure, release the telepath, and the stench of your rage will cow him soon enough!"
"Let us expend less effort than that." Meebrlee-Ritt turned back to Fly-By-Night. "Telepath, your life may be taken by any who happen upon you."
"Did you need my consent for this?"
"No!"
"Or my First Sire's confession? That may be summoned by any Sheathclaws' school program. Then what shall we discuss? Tell us how you gained your name."
"I was born to it, of course. Let us discuss your future."
"I have a future?"
"Your blood line may be forgiven. You may keep your slaves, such as they are, and a harem of my choosing—"
"Yours? Dominant One, forgive my interruption, please continue."
Even if he was familiar with human sarcasm, it wasn't likely Meebrlee-Ritt had been getting it from Kzinti! I'd read that Kzinti telepaths were flighty, not terribly bright. Meebrlee-Ritt spoke more slowly. "Yes, my choosing! You may live your life in honor and luxury, or you may die shredded by my hands."
"Meebrlee-Ritt, you would not expect me to leap into so difficult a decision. Will you bargain for the lives of your hostages?"
"Submissive and unarmed Humans." Meebrlee-Ritt sneezed his contempt. "But what would you bargain with? Your world?"
"Only my genes. Consider," said Fly-By-Night. In the Heroes' Tongue his speech was a long snarl, but the translation sounded placid enough. "He who is obeyed, who fights best, who mates is the alpha, the dominant one. You command that I mate? How will you persuade me that I am dominant? Submit to this one easy demand. Rescue my erstwhile hosts. Release them at Home."
"Why would I want you in rut? There are no females aboard Sraff-zisht. Packer, Envoy, you remain. Leave the gravity off. Tech, with me. Turnpoint Star is near."
Two Kzinti went through the hatch. Two took their seats. Their hands were idle. Now the boat rode Stealthy-Mating like a parasite.
I asked, "Can you see Turnpoint Star?"
"At point six kilometers across? You flatter me. I surmise it may be centered in that curdle," said Paradoxical.
Curdle? The tight little knot of glowing gas? I watched, watched . . . A red point blew up into a blue-white sun and I fell into it. The stars wheeled. The balloons that housed us rippled as if batted by invisible children. My body rippled too.
I'd been through this once, but much worse. I clutched the ribbon handholds in a death grip. I howled.
It only lasted seconds, but the terror remained. One of the Kzinti pointed at me and both laughed with their teeth showing.
Packer made h
is way to the shower/toilet. The other, Envoy, stayed at the board to look for tidal damage.
Fly-By-Night took handholds, subtly braced, ears spread wide. His eye caught mine. I said, "Paradoxical, now."
Paradoxical splayed itself like a starfish across the wall of the refuge, just next to the opening. It disgorged the handle of the w'tsai.
I pulled the wrapped blade from its gullet and stripped off the casing. Clutched the blade against me, exhaled hard, opened the zipper all in one sweep, smooth as silk. Pressure popped me out into the cabin, straight toward Envoy's back, screaming to empty my lungs before they exploded.
Push the blade in, pull out, feel the vibration.
I had thought to recoil off a wall and slice Fly-By-Night free. That wasn't going to work. The Kzin diplomat saw my shadow and spun around. I slashed, aiming to behead him, and shifted the blade to catch the cat-quick sweep of his arm.
He swept his arm through the blade and whacked me under the jaw.
That was a powerful blow. I spun dizzily away. His arm spun too, cut along a diagonal plane, spraying blood. Attached, it would have ripped my head off.
I caught myself against a wall and leapt.
The seat web still held Envoy. His right arm and sleeve sprayed blood and air. Envoy smashed left-handed at the controls, then hit the seat web and leapt out of my path. I got his foot! The knife was hellishly sharp. My ears were roaring, my sight was going, but vacuum tore at him too as his arm and ankle jetted blood and air. His balance was all off as he recoiled from the dome and came at me. He kicked. My angle was wrong and he grazed me.
Spinning, spinning, I starfished out so that the wall caught my momentum and killed my spin. I tried to find him.
The roar continued. My sight was foggy . . . no. The cabin was thick with fog. Fly-By-Night clawed his refuge wall, which had gone slack. We had air!
I still didn't have time to free Fly-By-Night because—there he was! Envoy was back at the controls. I was braced to leap when a white glare blazed from his hand.
He had the gun.
I changed my jump. It took me behind the cannon. Two projectiles punched into the wall behind me. I swiped the w'tsai in a wide slash across Fly-By-Night's vacuum refuge, and continued falling toward the shower/toilet. Packer couldn't ignore Ragnarok forever.
The door opened in my face and I chopped vertically. Packer was naked. His left hand was on the doorlock so I changed the cut, right to catch his free hand, his claws and the iron w'tsai he'd been holding. He whacked me hard but the blow was blunt. I spun once and crashed into Envoy and slashed.
Glimpsed Paradoxical behind him, braced myself and slashed. Paradoxical was firing anaesthetic needles. The Kzin wasn't fighting back. I didn't see the implication so I kept slashing.
"Mart! LE Mart! Beowulf!"
I screamed, "What?" Disturbing me now could . . . what? Before me was a drifting cloud of blood and butchered meat. Paradoxical had stopped firing needles into it. Behind me, Fly-By-Night was on Packer's back, gnawing Packer's ear and fending off the hand that still had claws. Packer beat him with the blunted hand. They both looked trapped. Packer couldn't reach Fly-By-Night, but Fly-By-Night dared not let go.
I approached with care. Packer's arms were busy so he kicked to disembowel me. I chopped off what I could reach. Kick/slash, kick/slash. When he slowed down I killed him.
The air was thick with blood globules and red fog. We were breathing that futz. I got a cloth across my face. Fly-By-Night was snorting and sneezing. Paradoxical had placed meteor patches where Envoy had fired at me, but now he floated limp, maybe dying. I put him into the refuge and got him to zip it.
Fly-By-Night went to the controls. Minutes later we had gravity. All the scarlet goo settled to the floor and we could breathe.
I had gone berserk. Never happened before. My mind was slow coming back. Why was there air?
Air. Think now: I slashed Envoy's suit open. He pressurized the cabin to save his life. Paradoxical must have come out then. The Jotok's needles knocked Envoy out despite pressure armor . . . why? Because Paradoxical was putting needles into flesh wherever I'd slashed away the Kzin's armor. And of course I hadn't got around to releasing Fly-By-Night until late—
I safed the blade. "Fly-By-Night? I believe this is yours."
He took it gingerly. "No witness would have guessed that," he said, and handed it back. "Clean it in the waterfall."
Kzinti custom: never borrow a w'tsai. If you do, return it clean. Waterfall?
He meant the big box. The word was a joke. I found a big blanket made of sponge, a tube attached. When I wrapped it around the w'tsai, it left the blade clean. I tried it on myself. The blanket flooded me with soapy water, then clean water, then sucked me dry. Weird sensation, but I came out clean.
The toilet looked like an oval box of sand with foot- and handholds around it, though the sand stayed put. Later.
A pressure suit was splayed like a pelt against the wall for easy access.
There was a status display. I couldn't read the glowing dots-and-commas, but the display must have told Packer there was air outside, and he'd come charging out—
I was starting to shake.
I emerged from the waterfall box into a howling gale. The blood was all gone. I couldn't even smell it. Fly-By-Night and Paradoxical were at the kitchen wall feeding butchered meat into the hopper.
"This kind of thing must be normal on Patriarchy spacecraft," Fly-By-Night said cheerfully. "Holes in walls and machinery, blood and corpses everywhere, no problem. This hopper would hold a Great Dane . . . a big dog, Mart. The cleanup subsystem is running smooth as a human's arse." He saw my shivering. "You have killed. You should feed. Must your meat be cooked? I don't know that we have a heat source."
"Don't worry about it."
"I must. I'm hungry!" Fly-By-Night smiled widely. "You wouldn't like me hungry, would you?"
"Futz, no!" A Sheathclaws local joke? I tried to laugh. Shivering.
Paradoxical was crawling over one of the control panels. "This kitchen was mounted separately. It is of Shashter manufacture, perhaps connected to the orange underground. It will feed slaves." It tapped at a surface, and foamy green stuff spilled into a plastic bag. Pond scum? It tapped again and the wall generated a joint of bloody meat. Again: it hummed and disgorged a layered brick.
A handmeal. While Paradoxical sucked at his bag of pond scum and Fly-By-Night devoured hot raw meat, I ate three handmeal bricks. They never tasted that good again.
Fly-By-Night had kept Packer's ears, one intact and one chewed to a nub, and Envoy's, both intact. These last he offered to me. "Your kill. Mart, I can dispose of—"
I took them. My kill.
We had taken the boat. Now what?
Fly-By-Night said, "The hard part will be persuading Meebrlee-Ritt that all is well here." His voice changed. "Dominant One, all runs as planned but for the Telepath's behavior. Cowed by fear, he has soiled his refuge. Shall we clean him? It might be a trick—"
Funny stuff. I was still shivering. "That's very good, I can't tell the difference, but Meebrlee-Ritt or Tech might."
"Guide me."
"I can't find the hologram stage."
Fly-By-Night touched something. This whole side of the main weapon became a window, floor to dome, a gaudy panorama across orange veldt into a city of massive towers. We'd been prisoned on the other side of it.
I said, "Tanj! He'll see every hair follicle. All right, I'm still thrashing around here. We've got Packer's pressure suit. The orders were to leave the, ah, prisoners in vacuum and falling. Try this—
"Whenever Meebrlee-Ritt calls, Packer is in the waterfall room." We hadn't heard enough of Packer's speech to imitate Packer. "LE Fly-By-Night, you're Envoy. You're in the pressure suit, we're in the vac refuges. We'll have to change the markings on the suit. I'd say Envoy's move is to wait patiently for his Alpha Officer to call." I didn't like the taste of this. "He could catch us by surprise."
"I should find an excus
e to call him."
"Anything goes wrong, you give us air instantly. Paradoxical, have you found an emergency air switch?"
"Here, then here."
"Stet. Envoy, what's wrong with your voice?"
"Nothing," said Fly-By-Night.
"Well, there had better be."
"Stet," the Kzin said. "And we don't really want vacuum, do we? Let's try this instead. I'm calling because we're not in vacuum, and my voice—"
And his tale was better than mine, so we worked on that.
We spent some time looking those controls over, trying a few things. We found air pressure, air mix, emergency pressure, cabin gravity, thrust. Weapons would be harder to test. There were controls you could hit by accident without killing anyone, and that was done with virtual control panels. Weapons and defenses were hardwired buttons and switches, a few of them under locked cages, all stiff enough but big enough that I could turn them on or off by jabbing with the heel of my hand. Paradoxical couldn't move those at all.
The hologram wall was the telescope screen too. Paradoxical got us a magnificent view back into the Nursery Nebula, all curdles and whorls of colored light. It found Odysseus a light-hour behind us, under spin and falling free with no sign of motive power, only a chain of corridor lights and the brighter glow of the lobby. That didn't tell us if they still had hyperdrive. They couldn't use it yet.
Ahead was nothing but distant stars. We had to be approaching flat space, where Stealthy-Mating could jump to hyperdrive.
Fly-By-Night was wearing Envoy's pressure suit. The markings were right. He would keep the right sleeve hidden. We had cut off part of the helmet, raggedly, to obscure his features. Now Fly-By-Night tapped at the kitchen wall. It disgorged a soft, squishy, dark red organ that might have been a misshapen human liver. He smeared blood over his face and chest, then into the exposed ear.