by Larry Niven
"It's not on an intercept course, Captain." Sraowl-Navigator's voice was hushed, as though the Terran's sensors would register a louder tone. "They are firing blind, hoping to make us betray ourselves. If they had located us they would use lasers." Chraz-Captain was calm, in control. "Back plot its trajectory and give me a targeting point. Senior Gunner, soft-launch a four-spread on those parameters, passive seekers only.”
Seconds later Sraowl-Navigator had a firing solution punched through to the combat computer. The lights went down and the purr of the lifesystem stopped as Senior Gunner drew power to his launch coils. No need to risk increasing their generator output for the few extra minutes it would take to charge them on minimum power. Of course the enemy might detect the emission spike when the coils discharged but that risk had to be taken. The particle fog was thinning as it expanded, but it should still be thick enough to hide so small a pulse. Chraz-Captain didn't dwell on what would happen if it was not.
A series of thumps reverberated through the ship. Simultaneously the missiles appeared on Chraz-Captain's battle plot. With engines off they crawled along their trajectory lines with painful slowness. No matter, time was on his side and now he too had his claws extended. Let the humans give chase and he'd have their ears on his belt. He watched the plot with his own ears swiveled forward and his pupils dilated, a predator watching prey wander into striking distance.
"Missile has locked on, sir! Drive emissions changing aspect!" The line on Sensor Operators screen was pulsing faster, the peaks higher and sharper. Chraz-Captain felt a spike of attack/panic run through his system, his ears whipped flat against his skull, fur bristling. Then self-control reasserted itself and he watched the flashing symbol. The missile had passed them before locking on. It would need to decelerate before it could start tracking them, giving him the precious seconds he needed to scent the wind. Perhaps they had been acquired, perhaps this was another primate trick to flush their quarry. The atmosphere grew thick with hunt-tension and an undertone of fear. Sraowl-Navigator's voice was a muted snarl as he gave commands to the computer. Moments later he reported. "Missile is reversing course, the new vector is not an intercept either." The relief was evident in his voice.
Chraz-Captain relaxed, slightly. His eyes were still glued to the battle plot, watching the vector line of the searching enemy missile and the slow, silent progress of his own. His liver held but two desires, to see the symbol for the human ship appear and to see Silent Prowler slide across the frustratingly close line that marked the edge of Sol's singularity. At full acceleration they could cross the gap in minutes, but the destroyer would detect their drive spoor and her lasers would not miss. Had he more of the kzreeoowtz-fog-throwers he could escape behind a redensified haze screen. The monkeys would be left stalking shadows. He abandoned that line of thought. One might wish for one's tree to grow meat, but it was better to watch for prey. Silent Prowler's sensors were extensive and powerful, her mission demanded it. They were a small target while the destroyer was large and Advanced Sensor Operator was thoroughly familiar with the dynamics of the particle haze where the man-monkeys had to grope blindly for the band gaps where the interference was less intense. If the humans crept too close he would surely spot them first. Then, with their target's speed and trajectory known for certain and the range so short...
"Missile detected and locked on!" Sensor Operator yelled, clearly taken by surprise. "We're in its search cone." The air-plant, running on minimum, had barely cleared the fight/fear scent from the control room. Now the atmosphere thickened again. Sraowl-Navigator's screens danced as he calculated the weapon's acceleration vector. "It's got us." His voice was clipped, in control, but his pheromones told another story.
Chraz-Captain screamed a curse and yelled. "Get us out of here, emergency speed, full evasive action. Senior Gunner, target that missile and launch! Command-detonate the current spread, and as soon as that destroyer shows herself, launch another!”
He felt his weight build up as Chief Engineer pushed the gravity polarizers past the point where they could compensate. The deck thumped and the lights dimmed as Senior Gunner fired. The missile streaked away under full acceleration. White spheres blossomed on his plot board as the other spread went off. The cover they gave would last for seconds at most. Perhaps that would be enough. The lights flickered briefly before going down again as the distant whine of the power plant rose to a scream. Chief Engineer was pouring every last erg into the drive coils. Inexorably his weight increased. A ship symbol appeared on the plot and the deck thumped again as Senior Gunner punched out his last three missiles. Without warning a series of massive hammerblows struck the ship. Alarm klaxons sounded and half the lights on the damage-control panel came on but the crushing acceleration continued so Chraz-Captain ignored them, his attention focused on the plot board, his hand poised over the Jump button. Ever faster Silent Prowler sped towards freedom. His very weight stole his breath but still he screamed for more speed. The pain was immense, his vision dimmed and brightened in pulses. The line was very close now, just a few more seconds.
The universe roared and flared searing white, then faded to silent darkness. On Chraz-Captain's plot board Silent Prowler's symbol slid over the singularity line. Then it too flickered and went out.
The scoutship tumbled end over end, spinning slowly about its long axis. It was a mess. Blast pitting marred her prow, though Excalibur had gotten no missile hits. The kzin captain must have ridden right through the shock pulse of his first covering salvo. The destroyers lasers had cut massive gouges through the ablative armor and in many places had melted the hullmetal underneath. A major penetration, probably the fatal one, had occurred in the drive section and a secondary explosion had blown most of it off. The sensor dome was ruptured, spilling cables and electronics into space like entrails. Reports from the boarding party told a similar story. Three kzinti dead on the bridge, then-combat armor riddled with metal droplets sprayed from the hull by a beam that didn't quite get through. Another crushed by a failed support beam in the weapons bay. The realities of victory were sobering. Mace could feel no hatred for her enemies, only a sense of loss. Flatlander propaganda pictured the kzinti as soulless predators but she felt more kinship with her victims than Earth's teeming, ground-bound billions. They too had known the soul-searing grandeur of the void, the ultimate emptiness which made fragile life so much more precious. They had undertaken a dangerous mission and when it went wrong they had fought well against long odds rather than surrender. She only hoped she would go down as bravely when her time came.
The commlink jolted her out of her reverie. "Commander, we've got a survivor.”
The fleet support ship Andromeda was immense, dwarfing even the massive attack carrier that floated beneath her, swaddled in scaffolding. On Excalibur's bridge Elizabeth Mace held absolute authority, backed by traditions extending through captains of space and air and sea to before recorded history. Waiting in a debriefing room aboard Andromeda she was just another cog in the military machine. Perhaps some people could acknowledge the difference and ignore it, but Elizabeth found it oppressive. The same initiative and spirit that had driven her to command made her uncomfortable in the armed forces bureaucracy. Taking orders from officers with Ph.D.s in systems analysis and no combat experience was annoying. Of course they too served a purpose, but it was hard to respect a superior who had been promoted for exceptional logistics planning while she was out getting shot at.
The door slid open and Admiral Tskala came in, followed by a ground-force major wearing intelligence insignia. Mace rose and saluted crisply. Tskala was no paper pusher. His first command was the depressurized bridge of the cruiser Hermes as the sole surviving officer. He had brought her through the battle with three quarters of the crew dead or disabled. Now he commanded the defense of the entire solar system. His position gave him enormous power, military and political, and the responsibilities to go with it, but he still kept in close contact with his line officers. She had no difficult
y respecting him.
He returned her salute and offered his hand. "Congratulations, Captain," he said as she shook it. He handed her a small box containing the badges of her new rank, smiling at her surprised expression. "There'll be an official notice soon enough, but I wanted to be the first to tell you." He noted the concern in her eyes and added, "Don't worry, we won't hide you behind a desk.”
"Thank you, sir," she said, pleased and relieved at the same time.
Tskala gestured to the intelligence officer. "This is Major Long," he said. "He'll be interrogating your prisoner, but first he has some questions for you. When you're done here let me know and we'll get the paperwork out of the way. In the meantime I'll leave you in his capable hands." He waved her into her seat before she could salute, thumbed the door and left. Long sat down opposite her, putting a vocoder on the table and switching it on.
"What can I help you with, Major?" Mace smiled. The intelligence officer stood in stark contrast to Tskala's energy and authority. There were no service stars on his uniform and his manner lacked the blend of caution and confidence that marked the veteran. He was clearly a civilian pressed into service as a fleet staffer. Andromeda's debriefing rooms were probably the closest he'd ever been to combat. On the other hand he didn't have the air of defensive self-importance that most of the rear-echelon specialists seemed to develop. She decided to reserve judgment and see how he performed.
Long adjusted the vocoder before starting. "I have your official report, Captain, but I'd like to hear your thoughts on the engagement." His tone was relaxed and unhurried.
"We were lucky, that's all. We had all the aces on our side and they damn near got away and they damn near blew us up into the bargain. I would have liked to meet that pussycat." There was a trace of regret in her voice as she said it. She pushed her feelings aside and continued.
"They did ninety-eight Gs in their final dash. Prowler class are nominally rated at eighty. Their tactics were sound given their capabilities. They surprised us with the haze screen and took the initiative away It was more than I hoped for to get a lock-on with a blind spread the way we did. Their captain did everything he could to maximize his advantages and minimize ours, and he did a good job. On our side I think we reacted well to the unexpected, taking the best available course at each stage. Perhaps the kzinti were counting on that and used it to their advantage. My crew performed extremely well, particularly the weapons section. It isn't easy to hit a ninety-eight-g target at a light-second even with a laser beam. Perhaps in retrospect I should have plotted the interception point deeper into the singularity, but I wanted to ensure the safety of my ship and crew in case the intelligence appraisal turned out to be wrong." She didn't add that she rarely found intelligence appraisals to be right.
"Very wise, of course, Captain." Long smiled. "Did you learn anything from the wreckage?”
"We sent a boarding party over. Damage was extensive. The computer core destruct functioned, so we weren't able to get anything there. On an assignment like this it probably only contained mission-critical information anyway. All torpedoes had been fired. The sensor suite was impressive and I would expect it represents their current state of the art. It was badly damaged but I expect we can learn a lot from it. The drives were completely wrecked, but I would assume they'd been modified or updated judging by their performance. Perhaps the salvage crew can get something out of them. The captain’s cabin had been set up for two kzinti. That's where we found our prisoner.”
"What can you tell me about him?" The intelligence officers voice was still relaxed, but the way he sat up to listen to her answer betrayed his interest. The battle and the ship were background material. The kzin was the reason Long was involved.
"He was wearing space armor and had been knocked unconscious. The normal complement of a Prowler class is five. We found four at their combat stations, so he's the fifth. However, the engineer presumably went out when the drive section got spaced. It doesn't make sense that he would be anywhere else in battle.”
"Did you get anything out of him when he woke up?”
"Nothing really, just that he wanted food. I don't speak the Hero's Tongue very well, and he wasn't interested in speaking at all.”
Long smiled. He'd heard Mace's single transmission to the scoutship when Tskala showed him the reconstruction of the battle. Excalibur translated as 'Holy Sword of the Island Empire's Mythical Patriarch' and she'd nearly dislocated her jaw getting it out. "Was he defiant or despondent in any way? What was his reaction to his situation?”
"He was very quiet. We kept him on a police web. If I had to nail it down I would say he was wary, watchful. Every time someone went through the room he would track them with his eyes. It was kind of unsettling.”
"What do you think his job was on board?”
Mace considered carefully before answering. "I don't think he was the engineer; the engineer went out with the drive. The captain's cabin had definitely been set up to take an extra body and that's our prisoner, otherwise he wouldn't have been there. What his job was is anybody's guess. My own would be a telepath. That was a reconnaissance ship, on a mission like this the only thing they can be after is strategic intelligence. How better to gather it than out of the minds of the planners?”
"Good point, Captain. Thank you for your time." Long stood up, ending the interview. Mace was somewhat disconcerted — she'd just become comfortable with the rapid questions and answers. She wondered if his abruptness was an interrogator's reflex, keeping his subject off-balance, or simply a specialist's indifference to someone who could provide no more clues.
"Glad to help, Major." She started to leave, then turned back. "Our prisoner, what's going to happen to him now?”
Long hesitated slightly before answering. "I'll interview him, try to establish a rapport and learn as much as possible. How much that is depends on the individual. Eventually they either collapse from confinement or refuse to go any further. At that point we'll begin sleep and sensory deprivation. As his resistance builds up we'll start introducing hypnotics. It's a proven technique.”
"And after that?”
"There is no after that. Somewhere along the line he'll die. They always die.”
"Oh." Mace turned to go, trying to keep her expression blank. Her captive's fate was ultimately no worse than what his comrades aboard the scoutship had suffered, but at least they'd gone down heads up and fighting. This kzin would die when the drugs finally broke the last strands of his mind.
Long's hand on her arm brought her up short. She didn't want to meet his gaze, but she was too much a commander not to. There was an intensity to his voice that hadn't been there before. "Do you know how I got this job, Captain?”
He continued before she could answer. "I am a cultural historian. I decided to study the kzinti. I learned their language, I traveled to Tiamat, I made friends with them. After that I went to W'kkai and lived there for twelve years. I was Man-Student-of-Kzinti. I had hoped to go to Kzin home itself. They have an advanced and intricate society; I have lifetimes of work ahead of me. And now there is another war coming and I have had to abandon that work and use the knowledge the kzinti gave me to make their prisoners betray their species because I am the best qualified to do it. The fact that kzinti die in captivity does not matter to UNSN Command.”
She became aware of how hard he was gripping her arm. He let her go and sat down wearily. "We both serve our race. Just remember that, Captain.”
Mace hurried back to Excalibur's bridge where the not-war was clear-cut, glad the kzin's fate was not her responsibility. She threw herself into preparations for their next patrol, trying to drown out the little voice in the back of her head. "If you don't feel responsible," it wondered, "why did you ask what would happen to him?”
Andromeda had jail cells, but the prisoner wasn't in one. It was important that he feel as unrestrained as possible. Long's main interrogation room was a rebuilt luxury guest suite. The only concessions to security were a marine guar
dpost outside the door and a thumbplate that was keyed to Long alone. Nothing else was needed. Andromeda's interior walls were built to specifications far more demanding than those needed to confine a kzin. The bathroom had been redone to kzin scale and taste, and holowalls on three sides displayed a tree-dotted savannah. The furnishings were sparse, a table, an oversized desk, an armchair and an oversized kzin prrstet, a firmly padded cross between a couch and hammock. On the shelf were a set of kzin eyegoggles, a playback unit and few dozen virtual adventures stored on datacubes. The desk held a standard data terminal, modified with an additional kzin-style display board. Once a rapport was established Long gave his subjects a computer ident with carefully limited access. Kzinti who would be seriously insulted by a bribe could still be subtly pressured by granting and withdrawing privileges. Doing it through the computer allowed Long to pretend it was out of his control. Eventually the kzin would come to depend on him to straighten out problems with 'higher authority' and accept tacit rewards for cooperation. The suite abutted on a large storage room. Long was trying to get permission to remove the intervening wall and turn the room into an arboretum to make his subjects more comfortable. The longer they remained relaxed the longer he could delay taking them to his other interrogation room, the one with the suspension tank and the hypnodrugs.
The prisoner was alone in the room, spread-eagled on a portable police web. Even hanging like a trophy pelt the kzin was impressive. He certainly wasn't a telepath; he showed no sign of either drug addiction or withdrawal. He was well over two and a half meters tall and dark orange. Black tiger stripes zigzagged around his flanks to the lighter fur of his belly. His ears, paws and the tip of his tail were also black. The effect would have been cute on a housecat but was simply striking here. His lips raised slightly, exposing the edges of his fangs, and his eyes contracted to narrow slits as they followed Long around the room. His ears were raised and swivelled forward in hunting posture. That was good, had they been laid flat with fear or anger Long's job would have been impossible. On the other hand the kzin's current expression made him feel like a prey animal. Captain Mace's feelings were not unwarranted.