by Paul Chafe
“Send V'rli with me. They will follow her, and she is smart enough to listen to what I have to say, and to improve on it.”
“V'rli is honored mother, she cannot leave her pride.”
“You are Patriarch now, in all but name. She will go if you tell her to.”
For a second Pouncer's lips curled up to show his teeth. “I will claim no Patriarchy but the one I was born to.” There was a hard edge in his snarl.
“Then let me fight with you for what is yours. Let me be zar'ameer.”
Pouncer's ears flared up. “You are not my brother. You are not even kzinti.”
“Your brother has betrayed you, but you are right, I am not kzinti. I alone on this planet can have not the slightest hope of becoming Patriarch. I alone will never covet your position, not even for an instant. My only goal is to leave your world to go back to my own, and I can only achieve it when you are Patriarch. We have a perfect alignment of interests, and no conflicts at all. Not even C'mell can claim that.”
“C'mell.” Pouncer wrinkled his nose. “Another recalcitrant female. She should be back in the jungle with Mrrsel Pride.”
“She chooses to be by your side.”
“She is heavy with my kits. She takes too much on herself.”
“She is free to choose her own path. Some things even the Patriarch cannot command.”
Pouncer looked up at her sharply. Those are Guardmaster's words, when I desired to overreach myself. Is he speaking through her? Cherenkova met his gaze with her own, giving no sign she knew the deeper significance of what she said. “Hrrrr.” He turned a paw over. “You are persistent, Cherenkova-Captain. I am not surprised your species wins wars.”
“Here's your chance to use that talent for your advantage. You're needed here now, to prepare the forces that will gather, to make sure the tuskvor are armored, that variable swords are produced, to train warriors to the combat forms. You can't go on every raid, and Tzaatz attention needs to be diverted away from our preparations. Let me be your sword.”
“A kz'eerkti zar'ameer.” Pouncer rippled his ears. “If nothing else it will stand out in the Pride Ballad. You win, Cherenkova-Captain. I will give you a force, one large enough to make an impact. I'll expect to see you win with it.”
“I won't disappoint you.” She claw-raked, as tradition demanded, and left. I came to him unconvinced my own idea would work. I'm leaving inspired to ensure its success. He is a natural leader, and he'll make a good Patriarch. Whether that was good for humanity was another question. She found herself surprisingly unconcerned with the answer to that question.
Pouncer meant what he said about a force big enough to make an impact. A Hunter's Moon later she rode out on a tsvasztet atop a huge herd-grandmother at the front of a column of two dozen tuskvor and over two hundred kzinti warriors, well provisioned and equipped to operate independently. As the den receded into the distance and the high forest gave way to the open grasslands, she felt the familiar, half welcome tension that she always felt at the start of an operation. There was the awareness that lives depended on her, as well as military success. There was always the potential for failure. Blood would be shed before she was done, perhaps including her own. It was a sobering thought, but she felt alive. She was no longer a hanger-on, no longer the outsider. She was a war leader at the head of her warriors, taking them into battle, and it didn't matter that those who followed her had once been her sworn enemies.
Her force was hand-picked, almost entirely kzinretti from Ztrak, Dziit and Fvaar Prides, all combat experienced, all volunteers. She had trained them with Pouncer's assistance and within the limits of time available and taken only the best. The very best she had made into her personal guard, a reluctant bow to the reality of her physical vulnerability when faced with kzinti in hand-to-hand combat. Her bodyguard were all from Mrrsel Pride, away on a hunt when the Tzaatz struck. All had lost kits in the attack, and all were sworn to blood vengeance. K'lakri, the kzinrette who led them, became her chief lieutenant. Cherenkova herself carried a beamrifle, her single privilege as an alien.
There were Tzaatz fliers from time to time, and she knew that higher up the cameras on the orbital fortresses searched for them day and night, but the tuskvor skin canopies over their tsvasztet would defeat all but the closest inspections. She had computed the orbital periods of the fortresses on her beltcomp, to ensure that everyone was under cover when they flew over, and the Tzaatz knew too little about the rhythms of Kzinhome's seasons to know the significance of tuskvor moving south at this time of year. The beasts themselves knew better, and they were balky. Their migration urge had passed, but they wanted to be in the jungle fattening up for the next one, and they needed constant urging from their mazourk to stay on course. The mazourk will tire quickly, we need to rotate them. That's something that we haven't yet addressed. There were many things they hadn't addressed, an impromptu war could be fought no other way. Victory would go to the side which was the least disorganized, the least misled about the other's intentions. So far she was on the right side, but the Tzaatz had resources that the czrav didn't. The balance could tip at any moment.
It was a twelve-day ride to her chosen base area, through a pass in the jagged peaks where the Mooncatchers met the Long Range and into the foothills at the edge of the Plain of Stgrat on the other side. It took another three days to find a den that was well hidden from both air and ground, and defendable with the limited force they possessed. The prevailing winds were from behind them, and she realized that the Plain of Stgrat should have been in the rain shadow of the mountains, while the desert should have been rainforest, at least close to the mountains. It was a minor mystery, until K'lakri explained the use of charge suppressors for climate modification. The chain of suppressors prevented water vapor from nucleating into clouds and raindrops as the winds were forced to rise and cool against the mountain chain. Instead the moisture had to rise higher before it could condense, forming the almost permanent cloud deck that trailed from the mountains out over the plain of Stgrat. The extension of the cloud-forming cycle allowed the vital moisture to slip over the mountains to nourish the plain beyond them at the expense of the windward desert. And it protects me from orbiting eyes.
On a reconnaissance with her elite guard on the fourth day she found a suppressor site high on a nameless peak. It was solar powered, its fibercrete mountings so old and worn they looked like natural stone. Cherenkova didn't approach too closely. Presumably the charge suppressor was focused wide, without enough beam power to disintegrate something so solid as herself, but she didn't want to learn the hard way that that presumption was wrong. From their vantage point they could see the wide sweep of the desert to the north, and the fertile green plains to the south. She had a sudden realization, the reason the tuskvor migrated through the desert. The kzinti have been doing this for thousands of years, weather engineering on a vast scale. They have turned the climatic patterns of this whole region upside down. The tuskvor once migrated through jungle and plain all the way from one side of the continent to the other. Now the plains are desert and the jungle reduced to high forest. This project has been going on so long the tuskvor have evolved to cycle through desert for half their lives. She looked at K'lakri with new respect. They have been civilized since before humanity tamed fire.
It was not the first time she had come to that understanding since she arrived on Kzinhome, it would probably not be the last. After a time they moved off to continue learning the ground around their new location. Academic interest could come later. For now she had a war to wage.
Who shares my vengeance today shares my blood, and who shares my blood is my brother.
— Hri-Rrit at the Black Tower
“Zree-Rrit?” Kchula-Tzaatz looked down through the orbital fortress's command bay windows at the majestic curvature of Kzinhome. “Who is this Zree-Rrit?”
Ftzaal-Tzaatz's attention didn't waver from the sword battle drill he was practicing. “I told you before, brother, that a Rrit lea
ds these attacks. I believe it to be First-Son.”
“You saw a striped pelt in the dark, seasons ago. This signifies nothing.”
“The Rrit markings are distinctive, and I have studied First-Son. It was him. Vsar-Chiuu said the Rrit had returned.”
“Vsar-Chiuu. We should have made an example of him.”
“That would have alienated the Lesser Prides even faster.” Ftzaal executed a perfect side-front-side parry combination in slow time, his eyes locked on his reflection overlaid in the command bay window as though it were an opponent.
Kchula growled. “I will not disbelieve you, Ftzaal. Still it signifies nothing. Whoever it is must be destroyed.”
“Of course, but there is a deeper game here. This messenger from Kzin-Conserver that skalazaal has been declared. This constrains us.”
Kchula ignored the point. “Skalazaal already exists, if this is indeed the Rrit. We are no more constrained than before.”
“It exists by no less than three traditions, through inheritance from his father, by his own scream-and-leap, by formal declaration. Why declare it again by Conserver-law?” Ftzaal paused, concentrating on the transition from guard-stance to attack-stance before continuing. “It is so that we know the Rrit has survived, because we could deny the other traditions by avoiding the knowledge of his survival. And more importantly so Kzin-Conserver knows, and the rest of the Great Prides.”
“Kzin-Conserver.” Kchula spat. “What need has he of this knowledge?” Kchula looked out at the fortress docking bay where a badly damaged Hunt-class battleship was being stripped to its frame. Patriarch's Talon had been the pride of the Rrit fleet until he had taken the Patriarchy and the fleet had scattered to the stars to raid the commerce of Tzaatz allies. Stkaa Pride had laid a trap and caught the battleship, and managed to cripple her. Now she was back where she had started, this time as a war prize. Two heavy cruisers floated nearby, each severely battle-scarred and in desperate need of heavy maintenance. They would wait while the stripped hulk took priority. Kchula growled to himself. Patriarch's Talon, you will be my sword of vengeance.
“Zree-Rrit needs him to know.” Ftzaal pivoted and executed a complex reverse block. “His forces are light, he has no space power. We could destroy him overnight if we were not bound by the traditions. I have been ruthless in my search, brother.” Ftzaal completed a thrust, block, thrust combination that ended with him reversed one-hundred-and-eighty degrees. His eyes met Kchula's. “I have come down on the jungle and the high forest like the Fanged God's fist.” His voice was harsh, snarling the words. “And yet he has eluded me, save when he chooses to attack. And he is attacking now, not fleeing, not cowering in the jungle. Now he chooses to formally declare his presence, constraining us and challenging at the same time. His strakh with the Northern Lesser Prides grows, and ours falls.” Ftzaal whirled, his slicewire whistling through the air. “This new declaration shows that he is looking to the time when he will rally the Great Prides against us. He is a danger that needs to be ended. Now.”
“Why have we not already done so then?”
Ftzaal sniffed. “You would not give me the resources, brother, in the time when we could claim not to know we were bound by the traditions. Now Zree-Rrit has made it explicit and we must tread more carefully.”
“I have given you every resource I could spare.”
“And I have located five czrav prides, one in the jungle, four in the high forest, and destroyed them all. I have not been idle, brother. But there are eight-squared or eight-cubed czrav prides. Maybe more, no one knows. If you want Zree-Rrit destroyed I must have more power, especially now. The czrav won't be so easy to eliminate under the traditions.”
“Resources.” Kchula paused, contemplating the world turning slowly beneath him. The battle station was in a polar orbit, and South Continent was giving way to North Continent in his field of view. The Plain of Stgrat was clearly visible, stretching wide and green between the ocean to the south and the mountain ranges and deserts that bordered it to the north and west. To the east it was dark, and on the night side of the terminator a sprinkling of lights marked population centers. On the day side there was little to indicate that the world was inhabited at all.
And down there, somewhere, are my enemies. And not only down on the planet's surface. Kchula turned to face his brother. “While you deal with five prides of primitives the humans have destroyed five worlds. Six now, with the loss of Vz'vzmeer. Skalazaal is epidemic, Kdari Pride wars with Vearow, Stkaa Pride wars with Cvail and now Varalz has leapt on Sceee, and who knows how many more I don't yet know about? Half the Rrit fleet is out raiding our allies. The Patriarchy is falling apart, Ftzaal, and you ask for more forces for your private hunt!”
Ftzaal stood motionless in leaping-stance, his variable sword extended and canted to guard his body, his other arm stretched backward as a counterbalance. “First-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit is a greater danger to your rule. You said yourself you wanted him destroyed. I am merely telling you what it will take to accomplish your goal.”
Kchula growled deep in his throat. “We have less than perfect control over a few Lesser Prides. The kz'eerkti are razing whole planets!”
Ftzaal moved fluidly from leaping-stance to guard-stance and then back, repeating the motion until it was perfect. Only then did he break concentration to speak. “Which is why you have ordered our ships back to Jotok.”
“Jotok is our power base. We can't risk losing it to the kz'eerkti, or to another pride.”
“Without ships you limit my ability to hunt out this Zree-Rrit.”
“You have reconnaissance enough from this fortress and its brothers.”
“Which move on fixed orbits, and the czrav have shown they know when they are being watched. I need tactical surprise, and more warriors, and mobility for those, and more rapsari.”
“Use cargo haulers to move your forces. Use them in your search as well.”
“They lack a warship's instrumentation.” Ftzaal leapt and whirled, his blade splitting the air, until his slicewire stopped a handsbreadth from his brother's nose. Kchula didn't flinch. He was accustomed to his brother's battle drills. “The czrav attack from a new direction, did you know that? From a new stronghold, so my spies tell me. It is claimed a kz'eerkti leads the attacks.”
Kchula spat. “Impossible!”
“Impossible?” Ftzaal retracted his slicewire and hung his variable sword on his belt. “First-Son fled into the jungle with a kz'eerkti. Now one fights with him. How is this impossible?”
“No kzin would follow an alien.”
“There are stranger things. It is said this new army is composed of kzinretti.”
“Shall I say impossible again, Ftzaal?” Kchula snorted. “Give me evidence or leave me in peace.”
“Evidence. There is none, where none of our warriors survive their attacks. These are rumors, but they are unique rumors, which inclines me to believe them. They are at least worth the effort of verification.”
“Then verify them.”
“I need more resources!”
“Where shall I get them, Ftzaal?” Kchula lashed his tail. “From the defenses of our homeworld?”
“If necessary. Jotok is less important now. We have done the impossible, brother, we have dethroned the Rrit. If you want the victory to last you will make peace with the kz'eerkti at whatever price they demand, and concentrate everything here. These czrav spread rebellion like a contagion. Let the Great Prides fight each other, so long as they don't come here.”
“Make peace.” Kchula snorted in contempt. “You have been listening to Kzin-Conserver-who-was-Rrit-Conserver.”
“Conservers are known for their wisdom, brother. We do not have to like his advice to heed it.”
“Making peace smells of dishonor.”
“Don't talk to me of dishonor,” Ftzaal snarled, suddenly angry. “This campaign has cut close enough to the edge of principle already, close enough that we left Tzaatz-Conserver on Jotok. What would he counsel
you?” Ftzaal slashed the air with his sword. “Make peace with the kz'eerkti to free your hand to consolidate what we have here on Kzinhome. Whether this Zree-Rrit is First-Son does not matter, whether he is even Rrit doesn't matter. What matters is, he claims the name, and the kzintzag believe him, and so do the Lesser Prides. They believe him because they desire, more than anything, for it to be true, because they suffer under our rule and they loathe our puppet. They will follow Zree-Rrit, whoever he is, all the way to the gates of your Citadel, and they will take off your head to present it to him.”
“Leaving honor aside, if I do not lead the Great Prides in conquest they will not follow me.”
“They are not following you now! The Patriarchy has become nothing but factions warring over spoils while the monkeys carry out the systematic annihilation of our species. Make peace and give me what I need to kill Zree-Rrit! Make peace and save us all!”
“Victory will reunite the Great Prides, and the monkeys will be destroyed.”
“With what will you achieve victory, brother? The Rrit fleet is scattered, our own is committed to Jotok, and inadequate to defend even that against the monkeys' power. Stkaa Pride is butchered, and Cvail will enjoy their victory only until the kz'eerkti bring forward their world destroyer. The others, they give you a few token ships while they plot conquest on their brothers, those who have not already leapt in skalazaal. To defeat the kz'eerkti you need an organized fleet, but before the Great Prides will give you that fleet you must defeat the kz'eerkti!”
“And yet you want me to siphon from my meager reserves so that you can hunt primitives.”
“Zree-Rrit is First-Son, make no mistake, and he seeks your ears, brother.”
Kchula lashed his tail. “So what if this Zree-Rrit is First-Son? They will never take the Citadel. He's as bound by skalazaal as we are. Even we did it only because we had rapsari, and we are the only ones who can make them.”