Destiny's Forge-A Man-Kzin War Novel (man-kzin wars)

by Paul Chafe

He sighed. She shouldn't be here, and here she is. “You're going to have to know the basics.” He touched his nose. “Nose, naughl. Nostril, raughl.”

  She repeated what he'd said, stumbling over the accent, and they began to run through the language. He taught her only the slave's form, to prevent her from getting herself into trouble. It filled the time. By hvlazch'pira — afternoon — she was getting good at the vocabulary, and his appetite had returned enough to eat. Trina boiled him a pair of the eggs while they worked, and then later cooked some of the meat for him. By evening she was stringing together sentences and her accent had improved considerably. She was good at languages. Or just lucky. The hypothesis he'd developed with Curvy seemed almost silly now. But she wins at chess. So how to test the hypothesis?

  He picked up one of the uncooked nyalzeri eggs. It was firm rather than hard, like an oversized chicken's egg with a layer of leather over it, resilient up to its breaking point. He looked it over. Trina was looking at the wall, her eyes distant as she memorized verb conjugations. He hefted the egg, calculating, and without warning threw it at her. She turned to face him, her mouth starting to ask a question. The egg grazed her ear and hit the wall with a splat, leaving a small mess behind.

  “What did you do that for?” Trina looked at him, wide eyed and aggrieved.

  “It was an experiment to see how lucky you are. I'm sorry.”

  “I guess I am lucky.” She smiled, pleased that he'd confirmed her rationale for sneaking aboard Black Saber. “No harm done. I'll clean it up.”

  She hopped up to get a rag, also pleased to demonstrate her usefulness, and Tskombe watched her carefully. She turned at the exact instant necessary to make the egg miss her. So what did that prove? What would it have proven if he'd hit her square on the side of the head? The consequences were too trivial either way. If random luck was actually a non-random psi talent then it couldn't be expected to intervene when survival wasn't at stake. He pursed his lips, thinking about it. The heavy kreera sword he had practiced with last time he had hidden in Provider's house was hanging on the wall. One good swing would cut Trina in half. Unless she has preternatural luck. He looked away. He wasn't convinced enough of the hypothesis to do the experiment.

  Far Hunter was back at dusk, looking like the cat that got the canary. “I have the regions the Tzaatz have been operating in. Night Pilot has them too, and his ship will be boosted by midnight. We can leave at once. He will guide us from orbit as we enter the area.”

  Tskombe nodded, pleased and relieved. Coming to Kzinhome had been the ultimate gamble. So far it was paying off. They began packing Far Hunter's gravcar with pup tents, rappel gear, flash-dried meat rations in foil pouches, emergency supplies. It was the same gravcar that he had taken with Provider to the spaceport, and he wondered how Far Hunter had managed to get it out without being caught.

  Trina helped them load as they put the weapons on board. There were variable swords for each of them, a compound bow as tall as he was, a set of edge-weighted throwing nets of almost invisible filaments in graduated sizes. He watched as she heaved a well-worn magrifle into the back of the vehicle, then struggled to lift a case of its rounds. He remembered the competent way Ayla Cherenkova had handled her oversized beamer and looked away. Trina was untrained, unqualified, inexperienced and, so far as combat and survival went, woefully naïve. There was not a weapon there she could be expected to use effectively. He bent over to pick up a box of grashi traps. I hope she really is lucky. Winning chess games was one thing; taking on an alien planet was another.

  The next day Far Hunter's contacts had gotten the locations of all the Tzaatz movements that might conceivably be involved in a hunt for Pouncer, along with the relevant dates. There were a lot of areas. Night Pilot and Contradictory boosted for low orbit and they were soon downlinking a steady stream of high resolution imagery of the areas where they might, potentially, find a clue. The operational areas Far Hunter had identified were hardly pinpoint precise, but they told the story of a steadily expanding search starting from a canyon at the base of the Long Range. That's where the loader ran out of fuel, if the rumors are true. Black Saber's sensors gave them multispectrum images of the valley, and when the first orbital pass was complete, Tskombe put on a set of data goggles that had belonged to Far Hunter when he was a kitten. They gave him a bird's eye view of the rugged, stony valley floor good enough to resolve individual pebbles. That was a problem. The area was six kilometers long and two wide, and Kzinhome's seasons had changed and changed again since the crash. He'd started with optimism, scanning over the projected terrain images at high speed in the hopes of finding the abandoned loader, the logical search start point for both the Tzaatz and them. He hadn't found it, which might have been because the Tzaatz had hauled it out and might have meant it was never there in the first place because they were searching the wrong valley. He'd gone back at maximum resolution and started again, in the hopes of finding some wreckage, landing skid marks, anything. It was a much slower process. Black Saber had the whole valley mapped in high detail under five minutes, but to examine the images closely enough required picking up some long-degraded trace that Ayla might have left. That meant a slow, thorough search for some tiny ambiguous detail, scanning through the imagery at a speed that would have been a walking pace on the ground. He concentrated first on the watercourses. Anyone traveling the wilderness for any distance wouldn't want to get too far from water.

  Some hours later he took the goggles off. He had sore eyes and no way of knowing if he'd missed the vital clue, or if it wasn't even in this valley. The enormity of the task he'd undertaken began to sink in. When Stanley set out to find Livingstone he at least knew to follow the Nile. I have no such guidance. Still, it was what he had come to do, and he would do it. The UNF doesn't abandon its own, and I will not abandon Ayla.

  Trina came in with a tray of fire-roasted grashi and sauce. He took the dish eagerly, only then aware of how hungry he was. She took the datagoggles in exchange and sat down with them. He'd agreed to let her help with the search when he was done, privately resolving to go over everything she covered himself, just to make sure. She wasn't trained to track and trail, as he was. She could easily miss something subtle, and he wasn't prepared to take that risk.

  “Where should I start?” She was experimentally waving her hands in the air, learning the gesture commands that would pan and zoom the image, her head turning left and right as she searched what for her had become a wide valley in the distant mountains. Tskombe looked up at Far Hunter's wall screen, where the image she was seeing was remoted, along with a moving map display that showed the topographic features of the area, with the viewpoint displayed on the main screen highlighted.

  “Try here.” He pointed to the blue line of the watercourse he'd been searching, and made a sweeping motion with his other hand to command the AI to move the datagoggle viewpoint there.

  “Sure.” She turned her head left and right, searching, twitching her wrist to advance her viewpoint slowly as she looked. Tskombe turned to his grashi. Trina was becoming a good cook.

  “What's this?” He looked up from his meal to see what she meant. On the wallscreen she'd outlined a small pile of rocks in the rough shape of a person.

  Adrenaline surged and it took him a second to find his voice. “It's an inukshuk.”

  “What's that?”

  “It means 'in the form of a man' in Inuktitut. The original cultures in the high Arctic on Earth used them to mark trails, because there were no easy landmarks there.”

  “What does it mean?”

  Tskombe went up to the image, examining the inukshuk in mingled joy and disbelief. “It means Ayla was there. It means she made it out of the spaceport alive.” He noticed something and gestured the image to the right. “There's the remains of a campfire too, just about the right age from the look of it.”

  Trina took off the datagoggles. “I guess we should go here then. The gravcar is packed.”

  Tskombe nodded and look
ed at his beltcomp so she wouldn't catch him staring at her. He'd spent eight hours tediously scanning through the image data for some trace of Ayla, and she'd found exactly what they were looking for almost as soon as she'd put on the goggles. Luck? Evolved luck might or might not trouble itself to save her from a face full of egg, but life was about time, and Trina's luck seemed to see no reason to have her waste her life on tedious searching when what she wanted was right there to be found in the dataset.

  He nodded. “Yes, we should go here.”

  Trina was smiling proudly. “I'm good at finding things.”

  He nodded again and rubbed his sore eyes, wishing his own luck were as good as hers. But she's here, and I might have spent a month searching that valley and missed the inukshuk. He smiled to himself. Luck is a relative term. The important thing was, Ayla was out there somewhere. Now all he had to do was go and find her.

  The greatest commander knows his enemy's thoughts before his enemy thinks them.

  — Si-Rrit

  The Hrungn Valley fell jagged out of the Mooncatcher Mountains to spread into a broad and fertile river basin that opened onto the northern extreme of the vast plain of Stgrat as the Mooncatchers fell away to foothills. From his vantage point Pouncer could see the house of Chiuu Pride, its polished obsidian roof glinting over its rambling vastness in the setting sun, with pennants fluttering from jutting spires. The house was a tangible testament to the pride's wealth and power. Chiuu Pride's fealty to the Rrit was so old it was told of in the legends, and the Hrungn Valley had been theirs for all that time. The cold mountain streams that fed the meandering Hrungn River in its center brought nutrients that fed the soil. In the vast meeflri fields surrounding the great house the Kdatlyno slaves were ending their day. At the change of the seasons the meeflri would be tall and golden, but now the fields were shorn flat, and the Kdatlyno had spread husk mulch to nourish the tiny seedlings while protecting them from the harsh sun of the dry time. Here and there long feeder trays held last year's crop, the heavy seeds ground fine to make tempting fodder for the wild melyar herds that moved through the valley. Hrungn Valley melyar raised on meeflri was prized throughout the Patriarchy for its rich, delicate meat.

  It was an idyllic scene, or should have been. Pouncer's lips twitched over his fangs as he raised his binoptics to his eyes and scanned the valley. Beside the great house was a series of pop-domes, sprouting like excrescences to mar the view from its broad upper windows. A patrol mounted on raider rapsari watched by the gate as the Kdatlyno filed past. Farther north another patrol was heading back from their daily vigil over the tungsten mine dug into the rich veins that had formed when tectonic forces thrust the ancient Mooncatchers up from the plain. The Tzaatz were there in force, extracting strakh which was not theirs, and Vsar-Chiuu's Eldest and Second-Sons had already died in the arena for insisting on their birth-given rights. Vsar-Chiuu himself, too old now to leap in defense of his own honor, bore the enemy presence in humiliated silence to buy the lives of his surviving kits, while the Tzaatz made free with his lands and holdings. It was wrong. Chiuu Pride gave fealty to the Rrit, and the Rrit in turn were sworn to their protection. Pouncer's tail lashed in anger. His father was dead, and his brother, his honorless, nameless brother, was allowing Kchula-Tzaatz to do this in the Rrit name.

  He snarled deep in his throat. No more.

  His tail twitched commands to the warriors behind him, twice-eight-squared of Ztrak Pride, ready now to follow him to death or victory in the Longest War. Dusk and dawn were the best times for hunt cloaks, when eyes were transitioning to night vision, and the rapid change in ground temperature threw up many targets for thermal scanners. He assessed the ground ahead, judging the route forward. I must make this raid a success, inflict damage and withdraw with no casualties. The goal now is not to defeat the enemy but to let the Patriarchy know that I am not defeated. Every one of his party had variable swords, built by the Pride, and most had mag armor, although some disdained it as too bulky and restrictive. I have changed their customs by my very presence. He didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

  To his left Czor-Dziit of Dziit Pride was watching, and how Pouncer handled himself today would determine if Czor threw Dziit Pride's weight in with Ztrak Pride or led his own campaign. The Tzaatz raids on czrav prides in their high forest strongholds had ensured the czrav would fight. Whether they would fight with him was another question. To his left Kdtronai-zar'ameer moved to cover, watching him from a stone's throw away. It was not only Dziit Pride's faith and fealty that hung on his leadership today.

  He moved forward to a gully that led down into the valley. It would be dark in the valley by the time they were there, down in the river bed where the Hrungn's flow had dropped to a trickle in the heat and the burstflower bushes clustered close enough to hide their approach. The most dangerous time was now, when they were exposed on the slopes. Somewhere out there the Tzaatz would have watchers, and they'd already picked up the spoor of rapsar patrols that reached up to the valley rim, but the Tzaatz were sloppy, and he had chosen his route with care, over hard, dry rock that wouldn't hold scent. Only bad luck would get them caught before they reached their objective, and if they were they had the strength to fight and flee before the Tzaatz could bring up reinforcements.

  He looked back. His warriors were flowing like liquid over the forward slope, their hunt cloaks shimmering into the background whenever they stopped moving. He had trained them well. Czor-Dziit would be impressed. The czrav were hard fighters, made tough by their self-imposed exile to the wild lands while the rest of the Patriarchy had grown soft, but they knew little of formations or the tactics of large scale combat, knowledge that Guardmaster had drilled into Pouncer's brain since he'd left his mother's teats. Guardmaster be with me now. This was no training scenario, to be stopped and played back afterward for his mentor to show him the mistake that had cost him the battle. This was real, and his first command in front of experienced warriors inclined to be skeptical of his abilities. V'rli-Ztrak had agreed to let him lead the attack on the main enemy camp, even as her own forces closed on the tungsten mine. It was an opportunity he had won with his own claws. The Tzaatz were about to pay for his father's death, and his sister's, for the slaughter of Mrrsel Pride, for the sons of Vsar-Chiuu and their insults to the Lesser Prides. Pouncer snarled. Kchula's debt was heavy. If he could turn today's opportunity into victory the Tzaatz would be paying it for a long time.

  A distant whine rose in the distance, and he flashed the tail signal for freeze. At once the whole formation went to ground, motionless under their hunt cloaks. The whine grew and a Tzaatz gravcar slid over the ridgeline and then down into the valley. It wasn't patrolling, and it didn't alter course. Pouncer waited until it had settled next to the pop-domes that quartered the Tzaatz, and then started moving again. He was about to signal his forces to move with him when something caught his eye. He dropped to one knee and raised his binoptics, boosting up the zoom to focus on the gravcar. The occupants were dismounting, two Tzaatz guards in full armor and a third with the red-gold sash that carried the Tzaatz sigil. The third had black fur. It could only be Ftzaal-Tzaatz. Pouncer smiled a fanged smile. He had never seen the feared Black Priest before, but his name came up frequently in spy reports. To kill or capture Kchula's brother would transform the raid into a tremendous victory. He waited until the Tzaatz had gone into one of the pop-domes, carefully noting which one it was, then signaled for the advance to continue. In silence his warriors started moving again.

  The bottom of the gully was a tangle of rain-tumbled rocks and the going was hard, but its depth and the vegetation that lined it would give them cover right down to the riverbed. It was deep twilight by the time they made it to the Hrungn, and their progress slowed further. The riverbed was rocky, with treacherous footing in the poor light. The ground was easier close to the bank, but the heavy branches of the dusky burstflower bushes made the going no faster. That was a problem. Their attack was supposed to start at midnig
ht, to coordinate with V'rli's at the tungsten mine. He had planned their move to bring them into position just before that time. Cherenkova-Captain had suggested he leave a larger margin in case of delays, and now he saw the wisdom of her suggestion. Guardmaster would have said the same thing, and I would have listened to him. He resolved not to make the same mistake again, if he ever got a second chance.

  He glanced over to Mind-Seer, who would scan the minds of the Tzaatz leaders before the attack went in to ensure their surprise was complete, and to give warning of the Tzaatz response before the Tzaatz themselves could coordinate it. Ferlitz-Telepath was with V'rli to do the same job for her attack, and to scan Pouncer's mind to be sure his assault was ready before V'rli committed herself.

  Silent communications, completely secure. The entire Patriarchy doesn't have half as many adepts as the czrav, nor half as powerful. Overhead the battle stations would listen in vain for electromagnetic transmission. The czrav have more power than they ever dreamed. Ferlitz would warn V'rli if he wasn't in position, but being late on the start line would jeopardize the entire operation. The only answer was to push forward harder. That risked weakening his force through injury before he even got to the objective. A twisted joint was all it took to render a warrior useless in battle, and the treacherous footing offered plenty of opportunity for that.

  But I have no option. He pushed the pace, using every last glimmer of vanishing daylight to cover as much ground as possible before darkness slowed them down. He was hot and panting by the time he reached the prominent oxbow bend that marked the closest approach of the river course to the Tzaatz positions. His warriors were spread out in the night behind him. This was where rigorous formation drills paid off. They filed into the assembly point in silence, each taking up a preassigned position. There was no wasted time. As soon as the last one was in, he went to the center to meet his element commanders. C'mell led the blocking party, her honor as his mate. He would have rather seen her safe at the high forest den, but three-quarters of the force were kzinretti. Czrav tradition demanded that she lead beside him, and even if it hadn't, C'mell herself would have brooked no such restriction; the kzinretti of the czrav were not the pampered pets of his father's forbidden garden. Kdtronai-zar'ameer led the security teams, who would ensure they had no unpleasant surprises from the flanks as they went in to the attack. Muted snarls, and then Kdtronai led his warriors out. The plan called for them to wait to give the security elements time to secure the area, but they didn't have that much time. As soon as Kdtronai's units were away Pouncer nodded to C'mell. Her force, armed with the lethal czrav short bows, would set up on the road to the main house, the natural escape route for any Tzaatz who made it out of the pop-domes alive. She would make sure there were no survivors. He looked at Mind-Seer, whose eyes were unfocused as he reached out to the thoughts of their enemies. Had we brought sthondat extract we might even know the Black Priest's mind. They hadn't, nor would he ask Mind-Seer to use it if they had. Perhaps Mind-Seer would have volunteered to. Do not dwell on it, it is not an option. Time stretched out, and then the telepath shook himself and flashed a tail signal to Pouncer. Clear!