by Larry Niven
He sat in a central chair surrounded by an azure, half-moon desk. Facing the three politicians, he quickly scanned them with his weak empathic powers. “Thank you for granting me the honor.”
“The Triumvirate has a tough decision to make and since you called us about this mysterious ship, we thought it natural the only native of Raoneer in Harp should partake in the discussion,” Jibunoh, the spokeswoman told him. “We might benefit from your unique input. Your heritage was also a factor, of course.”
“Thank you again, Triumvir, but there are quite a few people from Raoneer here.”
“Correction, as the only human.” She looked at the unruly specimen before her, as if she didn’t quite believe in his humanity. “What do you know of the matter at hand?”
“Only that what appears to be a damaged kzinti ship penetrated our sensor swarm not too long ago.” Dan’s mind prowled around the three heads-of-state like a predator trying to pick out the lame prey.
“A month ago, to be exact, every sensor in the system began screaming when a Patriarchy warship suddenly appeared in our system’s heliosphere. The three of us and Apex Leader of Raoneer quickly gathered to strategize and ready our defenses, but all subsequent scans show that the ship is indeed badly damaged and currently tumbling toward the sun. Ceezarr lost interest when the chance for battle became remote and returned to Shrawl’ta.”
“You attempted to communicate with it?”
“No. This meeting is precisely to determine our next step. Images of the ship indicate that it’s far more advanced than the ships our founders confronted.”
“They’ve had about a hundred years to improve.”
“Exactly. The question is, do we want those upgrades or do we let the derelict go on its way.”
“There are barbarians at the gates and you talk of trinkets?” murmured Triumvir Bhang. The woman had aged rather well, but her dark almond-shaped eyes were filled with fear. She wanted nothing to do with kzinti, local or otherwise.
“Well, the up-to-date information held in their computers would be incredibly valuable,” he said, ignoring the anxiety of the three leaders. “The fact that the ship just popped up suggests to me as an engineer that they have one of those FTLs we’ve been hearing about for the past twenty years.”
“Are you a Rejoiner, Mr. Guthlac?” Anxiety was suddenly laced with suspicion.
“I don’t subscribe to bipartisan rhetoric. I definitely understand the Separatists’ pragmatic reasons for keeping Sheathclaws hidden. We are uncomfortably close to Patriarchy space.”
The only male Triumvir in the room spoke for the first time. “For the past twenty years, we’ve been bombarded with stray radio signals announcing human victories over the Patriarchy in several wars, because of hyperdrives just like the one that has landed on our doorstep. The time is ripe to regroup with the other human worlds in Known Space!”
“We’ve all heard your arguments, Triumvir Delmar. The one flaw is the word ‘several.’ It’s only a matter of time before another war flares up and if we’ve revealed ourselves we’ll be the first planet conquered! Simply because of proximity!”
Not to mention the value of a planet full of potential kzinti telepaths, Dan thought.
He sensed Triumvir Delmar’s unabashed interest in the ship. The other two minds of the trio were already made up. He needed to delicately appeal to Delmar. “Just because we bring in the ship doesn’t mean we’ll all hop on the next flight for Earth. The information in those computers as well as the FTL would go a long way in strengthening our defenses.”
“That is a very valid point, Mr. Guthlac,” exclaimed Delmar.
“We’re not here to discuss the theoretical capture of this crippled warship, which I have no intention of voting for,” Triumvir Bhang said, slamming the palm of her hand on the podium. “What I’m interested in is the kzinti reaction to our letting their brethren glide into the sun.”
“The kzinti of Raoneer have no love for the Patriarchy. I don’t know Ceezarr personally, but I was crèchemates with one of his sons.”
Bhang flinched at the outright inhuman term. “So you don’t believe there would be unrest among the kzinti of Sheathclaws?”
“You said so yourself, Ceezarr lost interest when reports of the ship’s state came in. I believe that’s how most kzinti and humans will react, with vast collective indifference.”
“Thank you, Mr. Guthlac for your singular insights on the matter,” said Jibunoh. He knew, in her mind, the discussion was over. “Let’s vote, shall we? All those in favor of letting this ruined craft continue unmolested raise your hand.”
Triumvirs Bhang and Jibunoh stylishly raised their hands. Triumvir Delmar simply shook his head in obvious disgust.
“Wait a minute, that’s it? You’re going to reject an enormous boon for Sheathclaws after one meeting? You’re not going to put it to a popular vote?”
“Our pronouncement may seem swift to you, Mr. Guthlac, but I assure you that we’ve been weighing the issue for a month now. As for a popular vote, you yourself said that the general public would be indifferent to the final fate of the ship.”
“Can I at least have all the information on the ship obtained from the probes? Maybe I can study those and find something useful to us.”
“Absolutely not, Mr. Guthlac. A young, intelligent man such as you could cause all manner trouble with that data. I believe it will remain safely classified.”
Delmar burst out of his chair with explosive frustration and stormed out of the meeting chamber.
Jibunoh turned to Bhang and said, “We can even spin the situation as not wanting to sully this ship out of great respect for the fallen Heroes aboard.”
Dan knew he was already dismissed.
Minutes later, no longer having access to the private elevator, he jogged up the wide marble steps leading to the garage. His mind chewed on the state-of-the-art kzinti ship. The technological treasures that were found on the ones a hundred years ago had taken eights of years for the colonists to decipher. How long would it take him to reverse-engineer this one, a lifetime?
“A word, Mr. Guthlac,” Triumvir Delmar sat on a bench near his car, watching a few leathery pteranobats languidly circle the sapphire-domed spires of Harp. Dan had known he was there.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more convincing,” Dan said in the absence of any real salutation.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself, young man. We didn’t summon you to our meeting because of your Raoneer citizenship or your impressive engineering degree. We invited you because of who your grandmother was. Jibunoh and Bhang didn’t want posterity to say they made a crucial world-changing decision without consulting a Guthlac! No, you were there simply so that the record could show that you were there.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“That’s politics,” he waved a dismissing hand as if they’ve talked enough nonsense and it was time for business. “The truth is we need that ship and everyone is too afraid to go and get it.”
“I agree.” Although not about joining the rest of humanity. Not yet anyway.
“Excellent!” Delmar handed him a tablet scrolling with information and displaying a red elliptical line spiraling through their system.
“Is this the warship’s current position and its projected circuit toward our sun?”
“Correct. As the leader of Hem, I would like to extend our full support if you decide to mount an expedition to this ship. We can’t provide you with shuttles, of course; my hands are tied as you witnessed back at the House, but I can give you data and will run interference with those two.”
“If I don’t have access to a shuttle, how can I get to the ship?”
“I was hoping you could use your name and connections to Raoneer elite.”
If Dan possessed the flexible ears of a kzin, they’d be beating. Got you.
Shrawl’ta, Raoneer
Dan tore over the hourglass-shaped landmass at a roaring mach 5. The vantage point always gave him a h
ealthy sense of perspective. From up here, the rambling megalopolis of Harp and the adjoining green and gold agricultural fields seemed a tiny freckle on the plum-colored rain forests that dominated Angel’s Tome.
The original colonists, being severely traumatized by their hideous encounters with kzinti, decided that cohabitation would be too much for them. So the commanding personnel of Angel’s Pencil and Gutting Claw’s rogue telepath agreed to divide the large Panunguis continent between the two species: humans took the subtropical and tropical southern bulb because its fertile jungles provided excellent soil for farming and the kzinti had taken the colder, northern bulb with a wide open steppe teeming with therapsidlike creatures to hunt.
He zoomed above the volcanic mountain range of the connecting land bridge. Dan found it appropriate that the two bulbs, once separate islands, were being ground together by unhurried geological processes. After a century of mutual segregation, the two species had begun to mingle: industry, education, sport, tourism had all blurred the hard isolating line.
After a couple hours of contemplative driving, his onboard computer jolted him, “You are now crossing the border into Raoneer. Your passport has automatically been stamped. Welcome home, Daneel Guthlac.” The cool mauve tundra that hugged the open plains of Raoneer greeted him like a stern and proud father. His car spooked large herds of iguanalope and sent them racing across open territory. His pride had been part of Raoneer from the start. His grandmother, Selina Guthlac, had decided to stay with the kzinti and help build Shrawl’ta. Of course, she did her part for the human population of the planet as well, having children from the genetic stock frozen aboard Angel’s Pencil. She even got the ship’s geneticist to clone four kzinti kittens from the bodies salvaged from the Tracker, including Tracker’s Telepath, and raised them along with her biological children.
From the air, Shrawl’ta looked more like a colossal star fort on the shores of a great lake than a proper city. Its tall stone and steel walls surrounded the squat settlement. The highest structures were massive gun turrets emerging from each star point, and Ceezarr’s mansion, the Hall of Harmonious Dominance. The estate was the largest living space in Raoneer, a square edifice the color of sun-burnt gold rising some thirty meters above all other surrounding buildings except for the laser towers. It was the practical and ceremonial center of kzinti power on Sheathclaws. Dan had grown up in its shadow.
He landed his car in the plaza near Healer’s gravcar. His old friend paced fretfully.
“Did you get anything useful?” he asked, as Dan exited his car.
“I got all the data captured by the sensor swarm, courtesy of the Triumvir of Hem. Now all we need is a ship.” The frigid breeze of his native Raoneer stung Dan’s nose and burned his lungs. He went back into the car for a leather jacket.
“Let’s go see my father.” Healer-of-Hunter’s fur flattened on his muscular body, as if expecting a fight.
They walked up to the wide, red arched entrance of the Hall of Harmonious Dominance. The head of a lion, its mane blazing like the sun, was carved into the keystone. Two full-grown alliogs snapped and clawed at each other while chained on either side of the gate. The sparsely furred reptiles looked a lot like alligators with the fast frames of wolves. The result was something like prehistoric pristerognathus, although all Earth analogies failed to match the truly alien biology of these creatures.
They crossed a spacious, echoing vestibule. The interior of the Hall was no less lavish than Triumvirate House but it was warmer, less airy, like a medieval castle. The hide and heads of worthy game and rivals hung from the walls. They paused respectfully before the crystal sarcophagi that enshrined the remains of Selina Guthlac and Shadow.
“They died too young,” Healer said, noticing his ancestor’s small, frail body. Selina too was rather young despite the gray in her blond curly locks.
“Shadow had one foot in the grave, even before he got to Sheathclaws, and his rapport with my grandmother was much too strong. When he died, she simply faded away. Do you think our remains will rest in this great hall?”
Healer slapped a large paw across Dan’s back, breaking the reverie. “Oh, I assure you we will rest in this hall; the question is will we be honored relics or trophies?”
They continued on their way to Ceezarr’s office and passed an elderly orange and white kzinrett who gave Healer an affectionate lick from chin to cheek. On any other world, she would be severely disciplined for showing a kzintosh such tenderness in front of a human. Healer nuzzled her head. “Grandmother-aunt, Rilla, please make sure my stubborn father takes full advantage of the autodoc after our discussion is over.”
“I will,” she purred in her limited Interworld.
“Autodoc?” Dan looked to Healer nervously, but before he got an answer, Healer pushed open the heavy double-doors that led to Ceezarr’s private den.
The office was a simple and elegant affair of polished cherry wood and dark leather furniture. Four kzinti pelts hung from the red brick walls, mockingly referred to as the senate, trophies from his unification of Shadow’s competing heirs. He chose the Name Ceezarr after that battle and built the Hall of Harmonious Dominance.
“If it isn’t my first-born son, the bush doctor!” Ceezarr roared, his luxuriant black-striped, ochre fur showing distinguished silver streaks that Healer didn’t remember from before. How long had it been? He studied them as a geologist might examine the ancient bands of sedimentary layers in exposed rock. Ceezarr poured vodka into the coagulated blood of an alliog and gave it a quick stir. “Want a drink?”
“I don’t drink,” Healer snarled, thin membranous ears flattening on his head. The essay he had written back in med school postulating that the early human settlers had intentionally introduced alcohol to the kzinti in order to keep them docile (and the interspecies controversy it caused) had been one of the major ideological wedges between them.
The older kzintosh took a hearty swig. “What do you want, Healer-of-Hunters?” He ignored the human in the room.
“Honored Ceezarr, I know about the kzinti warship that suddenly appeared at the edge of our system.”
“It’s dead. The robotic sentries around the system aren’t detecting any active signatures. I say give them the fiery end these brave Heroes deserve.” Dan understood that the Great Ceezarr wanted absolutely nothing to do with the Patriarchy. He was as eager to be rid of this ship as the leaders of Angel’s Tome.
“Those sentries are a hundred years old. They could be faulty!” That came out dangerously close to sounding like the derision tense.
Dan could feel the situation quickly spiraling into fury. He needed to splash some cold reason on these potential fires. “Dominant One, I’ve met with the Triumvirate and I feel they aren’t fit to claim this prey. The Separatists will stifle all research and the Rejoiners will foolishly bound into the jaws of the Patriarchy. I believe this ship would be better off here, in Shrawl’ta, where we will use its secrets to further strengthen Sheathclaws as a whole.”
“Do not presume to dictate to me, boy! You are not your grandmother.” Fear flew off this mighty kzin like cosmic rays from the sun.
Healer hesitated for a second, then leapt into what would surely end up as a word-duel, or worse. “I mean to lead an expedition to the ship. I need Shadow’s Chariot. If I can rescue anyone aboard, my mission would be complete, but if I can bring back much-needed technology to our young civilization—”
“Civilization!” The old kzin gulped the rest of the drink and slammed the glass down on the bar. “Since when does my savage son, the one who abandoned an honorable career as a brilliant doctor to chase down game in the wilds of Raoneer, care about civilization?”
“You know many of my generation, of yours too, chose to live as kzinti should, hunting the brutal creatures of this untamed world. There is no shame in that!”
“No, there isn’t. Normal kzintosh are allowed the luxury of roaming the cold steppes of this world and live as the Maned God intended.”
“No, you are the direct descendant of the Ancestor. You have a duty to Shrawl’ta, the settlement he founded on Raoneer.” He glowered at Dan with ember-colored eyes, “Your ancestor too, boy.”
“Don’t be so proud, Ceezarr! All kzinti on Sheathclaws are descendants of Shadow! The original refugees amounted to barely two eights. We’re already having to abort fetuses with severe health problems! If I can bring back any survivors, we can deepen our gene pool.” Dan sensed the acute single-minded sting of primal emotion springing from Healer. It was almost a biological imperative, like the fundamental passions of pteranobats on their long, arduous journey from one end of the Panungius continent to the other to mate.
“Do not speak of our Ancestor’s blood with such insolence!” The tips of teeth poked out from Ceezarr’s jaw. His ears virtually disappeared.
“Careful father, I believe Shadow would disapprove of your creating a new Patriarchy around his lineage.” Four sicklelike claws raked across Healer’s face as the last syllable rolled out of his mouth. The powerful blow threw him clear across the room. Years of living rough allowed him to quickly recover. He’d been thrown off wombadons too many times. He poised himself, ready to pounce on the graying kzintosh, purple blood dripping on the lavish carpet.
“If you believe you can kill me, leap now and take Shadow’s Chariot!” Ceezarr bent his knees digging his protracted hind claws past the carpeting and well into the floorboards, his thick tail cracking like a whip, an impressive show of dominance. “If not, go back to your miserable hinterland and don’t return until you’ve earned a proper Name!”
The rational part of Healer, telling him that this was his father, receded with his lips leaving behind only a mouth full of sleek pearly teeth. They screamed and leapt. Dan backed away against the wall. It wasn’t the two massive bodies tearing each other and the office apart; it was the raw inhuman emotional emissions coming from the blazing tornado of fur.