Destiny's Forge

by Larry Niven

  He sensed the open space as they came to the machinery room, felt along the wall for the ladder that led up to the vent shaft. It got easier when he found it, the rungs providing the stable reference point that the floor had been unable to. Slowly he climbed, and his Heroes climbed after him. At the top a faint patch of light showed. Air flowed past in a quiet, steady rush. They need not fear making noise, so long as nobody spoke or fell. Their scent was a larger concern, but the Citadel had seen its share of blood, rage, and fear today; the Tzaatz shouldn’t scent them until it was too late.

  And then he was there, peering through a mesh grill into the computer core. Pierin slaves worked there, obedient to their new masters, showing five-armed Tzaatz-liveried Jotoki the workings of the system. A full sword of Tzaatz were on guard. The computer core was one of the most vital objectives in the Citadel and they knew it. But only two of them were truly alert, those at the door, and they were facing the wrong way.

  He twitched hunt-signs with his tail to let the others know what he saw, unsure if Gunner behind him could see them in the dim light. It didn’t matter; the plan had been set before they entered the maintenance tunnel. He, First Section Commander, and Gunner would take on the Tzaatz while Communicator and Demolitions Expert set the charges that would destroy the computer core and rob the Tzaatz of that invaluable prize. They had relied on stealth up to now, but once he burst through the grating that would be over. Then it would be up to him to spread chaos long enough for the others to clamber up and leap through.

  He climbed higher, checking carefully to see how the grating was attached. If it were bolted in place it would be difficult, although he could cut his way in with his variable sword if he had to. Better, though, to leap right through the panel.

  His paw pads moved carefully, found clips, tested them. He was in luck: a solid shove would take out the grating, and he would be leaping right behind it. Unconsciously his jaws gaped into a fanged smile and he breathed deeper, faster, priming his body for the combat to come. He twitched his tail again to prepare his comrades…four…three…two…one…

  Leap! And the grating exploded outward as his killscream echoed from the walls. Tzaatz and slaves alike scattered in shock, and as he landed he had already cut in half a Tzaatz who had taken off his mag armor. A second drew his variable sword, but Kdar-Leader cut off his arm before he could bring it around, and his second stroke decapitated his enemy. A second scream and Gunner was beside him, disemboweling a third guard. The panicked slaves were running for the door, preventing the two Tzaatz there from entering the fray. The three still in the room were on their guard now, variable swords drawn and ready. Two of them advanced on Kdar and Gunner while the third circled to take Kdar from the flank. He fell back a pace to cover his side—where was Section Commander? The first swung, then the second and Kdar fell back again as he parried them both. Then another scream and Section Commander was beside him, sword blurring as he waded into the flanking Tzaatz. The other fell back, and Kdar gained back the ground he had given. They had momentum now, and the last Pierin was running out the door on its spidery limbs. The Tzaatz guards there had been pushed halfway down the access corridor by the exodus of slaves, but in heartbeats they would be back in the fray and tip the balance.

  “Push them to the door!” Even as he said it Kdar took another pace forward, leading with a thrust, cut, thrust combination that forced his opponent back. At the door the battle would be two on two and the Tzaatz weight of numbers wouldn’t matter, not for the time it would take to set the charges at least. Section Commander made a quick lunge and pushed his opponent back a pace, then two, then three. Kdar’s opponent was forced to fall back as well or leave his vulnerable side exposed to Section Commander.

  One of the guards who was blocked out in the corridor drew his wtsai and threw it in one fluid motion. It spun past Kdar’s ears in a whirling blur and thunked into something behind him. There was a gurgling scream. He risked a glance backward and saw Communicator go down, clawing at the blade lodged in his throat. Neither he nor Demolitions Expert had mag armor, which was why they were setting the charges rather than fighting. Motion flashed in the corner of his eye and he raised his arm to block a blow that would have cut him in half if he’d let himself be distracted an instant longer.

  “Push!” He screamed the word and all three zitalyi stepped into the attack. The Tzaatz fell back, and then suddenly Section Commander was down, blood gushing from his severed sword arm. He was beyond saving, a few heartbeats from death as his dying heart spurted out his life’s blood through the arteries in his shoulder, but he swung his other arm around to pull his opponent off his feet. The Tzaatz who had killed him jumped clear, then went down to finish the job. The move left him open to Gunner, who slid his slicewire between the other’s articulated shoulder plates, killing him instantly. It was two on two now, and the surviving Tzaatz had been backed to the door. If Section Commander had died an instant earlier the Tzaatz now caught in the corridor would have been able to flank them and the battle would have been over already.

  As it was, it was just a matter of time. The alarm must have been raised already; more Tzaatz would come. An image from his kittenhood flashed through his mind, he and his older brother standing off eight of the sons of Kdar-Zraft at once. But then they had been a team, and their adversaries individuals. The Tzaatz would not be so foolish. Those facing him had a coherent guard, matching their strokes and parries to expose neither of them to Kdar or Gunner. It was a standoff, one the Tzaatz thought they would win because they could count on reinforcement, but one that Kdar knew he would win, because he did not intend to survive the fight.

  He had only to buy enough time for Demolitions Expert. That could not be long now, but even as he realized that, Gunner missed a stroke and overextended. The Tzaatz facing him might have jerked back at the thrust, but instead he slid his slicewire down and underneath, catching Gunner in the gaps of his breastplate articulation. The big warrior went down bubbling blood, and suddenly Kdar had to face two adversaries at once.

  He knew how to do that, fall back a space and put his sword into a blurring series of combinations that kept both his opponents fully engaged. Thrust, parry, thrust, parry, thrust, parry. The Tzaatz could not break his guard, but he would tire rapidly—already fatigue was setting in, and when it did he would slow, and when he slowed he would die.

  “Expert! Work quickly!” The words nearly cost him his life. The breath they took left an opening, and a slicewire glanced from the front of his breastplate. He fell back another pace, and that was where he had to stand. Any farther and the Tzaatz behind would be into the room and he would die at that instant. His arms felt like lead. The Tzaatz behind licked their chops, sensing his coming exhaustion. He got in a solid blow, felt his sword dig in, saw a chunk of metal flying away from his opponent’s shoulder plate. The Tzaatz’s mag armor had failed or had never been turned on. There was a weakness there he could exploit, if he could set up an opening…

  Then suddenly a body filled the space beside him, the Rrit killscream deafening even through his laid-flat ears. It was Demolitions Expert, fresh and full of fight juices. That could only mean the fuses were set. The battle was over, if they could hold out heartbeats longer. The enemy fell back at the new attack, and there was the opening. Kdar swung his variable sword around and brought it down with all his strength, cleaving through the Tzaatz warrior’s depowered mag armor as though it weren’t there. The move left him open, as he knew it would. It didn’t matter. One of the Tzaatz in the corridor had advanced over his comrade’s body. Already Demolitions Expert had died, sliced in half by a blow that armor would easily have stopped. The Tzaatz in front of him kept his sword moving, forcing Kdar to stay engaged, while his companion leapt through the gap Expert had left to take him from the flank.

  It didn’t matter. They were too late and he knew it. “I serve the Rrit!” He screamed the words in triumph as the second Tzaatz moved in for the kill. The blast slammed Kdar-Leader into
the wall. It was a death of honor.

  It is easier to seize power than to wield it, easier to wield power than to hold it.

  —Si-Rrit

  Kchula-Tzaatz admired the view from the Patriarch’s Tower, stretching out his arms to take in the whole of the plain of Stgrat. “It is mine, Ftzaal.” He couldn’t keep the gloating from his voice. In the distance a continuous stream of cargo landers was falling into Sea-of-Stars spaceport, almost all of them ferrying in Tzaatz occupation forces. “All mine.”

  “Now we must hold it, brother.” Behind him Ftzaal-Tzaatz was intently studying an intricate Kdatlyno touch-sculpture. He kept his voice carefully even.

  Kchula whirled to face him. “Hold it? Who will take it from us?”

  “We have shown that Kzinhome can be taken. What Pride-Patriarch does not now covet our success?”

  Kchula twitched his tail. “None will dare stand against our rapsari.”

  “Our losses in the attack were serious.” Ftzaal turned to face his brother. “We are tremendously vulnerable.”

  “No! We are victorious!” Kchula-Tzaatz raked the air with his claws. “The Great Prides do not see the resources thrown into this conquest. They see only that the Patriarchy itself has fallen to the Tzaatz!”

  “A development which is sure to raise their fears.”

  “None are poised to leap. By the time any are, our position will be consolidated.”

  “How do we know none are ready to leap? There could be a fleet falling in from the singularity this instant.”

  “Your role is intelligence, zar’ameer.” Kchula turned to fix his gaze on his brother. “Have you failed me?”

  Ftzaal waved a paw dismissively. “Our resources have been aimed almost exclusively at the Rrit. Any other pride considering such a leap would have concealed their preparations as carefully as we. The Fanged God would be favorable indeed if we were to learn what the Rrit so clearly have not.”

  “Kitten’s fears!”

  “It is my function to consider the possible.”

  “And it is mine to lead the Pride.” Kchula turned back to the window. “Today is a day of victory, and the Great Pride Circle is here to witness it. We shall not betray our weakness through overcaution.”

  “As you wish, brother.”

  Kchula let Ftzaal’s acquiescence hang in the air for a while, watching the distant stream of landers as they decelerated for touchdown, considering how to broach a more delicate subject. His brother was useful, but required careful handling. “We have another matter to consider. Rrit-Conserver.”

  “He must die.” Ftzaal-Tzaatz’s voice was suddenly harsh.

  Kchula turned to face him. “You are hasty to throw away the spoils of our victory. We have already lost Patriarch’s Telepath. Rrit-Conserver possesses the finest strategic mind in the Patriarchy.”

  “I remind you that mind is opposed to our own goals.”

  Kchula raised his ears. “Do you doubt that it could be turned to support them?”

  “I am certain it cannot.” Again Ftzaal’s voice was harsh.

  “Why is that?” And what is his real objection?

  “His loyalty remains with the Rrit.” Ftzaal drew his variable sword and took up the resting guard stance, then moved to attack crouch and back, a standard drill of the single combat form.

  “He owes fealty to Second-Son, and we control Second-Son.”

  “He owes fealty to the Patriarchy, and First-Son is the rightful heir.”

  “First-Son is dead.” Kchula snapped the words, as if that could make them true.

  “We have not confirmed that, and until we do the question is enough to prevent Rrit-Conserver’s honor from binding him to our puppet.” Ftzaal-Tzaatz’s voice was again neutral and controlled. “Where the road of honor forks, a Hero may take either path with pride.”

  “First-Son is dead. Dead or a fugitive unworthy of a name, fleeing in cowardice. We will let that be known, and Rrit-Conserver’s fealty will fall to us.”

  Ftzaal turned a paw over, considering. “Until we see his body First-Son is not dead. We may brand him a coward, but until that is proven our words will not suffice to command Rrit-Conserver’s honor either.”

  “Hrrr. Do not give me problems!” Kchula turned away angrily. He objects because he feels his position threatened. I must not allow this one to gain too much power, and Rrit-Conserver is an excellent tool for that task.

  “Then do not seek problems out. Rrit-Conserver is a consummate strategist, but he is not the only strategist. Alive he is dangerous, no matter what holds we may put on him. The dead are no one’s enemy.”

  “Don’t be a fool. The Great Prides will take taming. The name of Rrit-Conserver will go far to convince them of the legitimacy of our puppet.”

  “Brother, I must say again, it is too dangerous.” Ftzaal changed his practice to left blocks and right blocks, his slicewire hissing as it cut the air.

  “What steps must we take to control him?”

  “None I can think of will be sufficient.”

  Kchula’s tail lashed unconsciously. “You lack imagination.”

  “I serve Tzaatz Pride to the best of my ability, brother.”

  “Do you? Perhaps Rrit-Conserver is more of a threat to your position than to my rule.”

  Ftzaal-Tzaatz’s eyes narrowed. “You mock my honor.”

  “The enmity of the Black Priests and the Conservers is no secret. Prove me wrong.”

  “Such proof is impossible.” Ftzaal’s self-control reasserted itself. “Judge my actions. I am your blood, zar’ameer to your rule. My plan has delivered Kzinhome and the Patriarchy into your hands. Decide for yourself my honor and loyalty.”

  Kchula’s whiskers twitched. “And yet you do not wish to see Rrit-Conserver’s mind applied in Battle Circle.”

  “Any plan he gives us will contain a hidden trap. You can depend upon it.”

  “By so doing he would betray his fealty to the Rrit.”

  “Only if we can show him the body of First-Son.”

  “So we will show him that body.”

  Ftzaal’s ears fanned up in concern and he retracted his slicewire, returning his variable sword pommel to his belt. “Such deception treads on the edge of honor, brother.”

  “And the rest of this has not? I have heard enough!” Kchula raked the air with his claws. “This is not about honor. This is about power.”

  “Without at least the appearance of honor there is no victory. The power will slip through your grasp.”

  “Do not try my patience, Ftzaal.” Kchula turned and strode out of the room, slamming the heavy door open as he passed.

  Ftzaal-Tzaatz watched him go, then after a long moment turned to look out the window as his brother had, watching the stream of landers in-falling to the spaceport. Sea-of-Stars had become the nexus from which Tzaatz power was spreading to seize control. Rarely had such power had been seen in the history of the Patriarchy. Not since Hrrahr-Chruul, eight-cubed generations ago, had a Rrit been overthrown, and Hrrahr-Chruul’s dynasty had lasted just three inheritances before Kdar-Rrit rallied the Spinward Prides to reclaim Kzinhome. Three inheritances was just enough time for Kdar’s sublight fleet to make the journey from the spinward edge of the Patriarchy to Kzinhome. Loyalty to the Rrit ran strong through the Patriarchy, so strong that if Ftzaal didn’t know better he might have thought it etched in the very genes of the species. Not that there weren’t already enough alleles that needed to be weeded from the genome. What price will the Patriarchy pay for the Black Priest secret? The Succession War had been long and bloody, and the Dueling Traditions had not always been followed. Kdar-Rrit had ended Hrrahr-Chruul’s line, and three other Great Prides had been destroyed in that conquest. Even today the descendants of the Spinward warriors held worlds that had once been another pride’s, the spoils of conquest liberally dispensed by victorious Kdar. The Patriarchy had been seriously weakened by that conflict, but it had not mattered then; there had been no other species to pose the slightes
t threat to even the weakest border colony.

  Only the slightest quiver of his whiskers betrayed Ftzaal’s concern as his mind quite automatically ran over the forces at play, assessing potential strategies and calculating possible outcomes. The situation was drastically different today. The dangers that Meerz-Rrit had laid before the Great Pride Circle were no less real because it was a Rrit who brought them forward. The Patriarchy was at critical point in its history, and the ripples of the Tzaatz conquest would persist for generations to come. Quite certainly they would outlast the Tzaatz dynasty, however many inheritances that was. Unconsciously Ftzaal’s tail twitched. Their position was far from solid; the loss of the Citadel’s computer core to zitalyi holdouts just one in a chain of incidents that the Tzaatz had so far been unable to prevent. Much depended on the next few days. They had to consolidate their victory immediately, or the other Great Prides would sense weakness, and then…It was quite possible the Tzaatz dynasty would go down in the Pride Saga with no inheritances at all.

  In the time-before-time Chraz-Rrit-First-Patriarch led his pride against that of Mror-Vdar, and Mror-Vdar commanded the magic of fire and so slew eight-to-the-fifth Rrit warriors in a single heartbeat, and Chraz-Rrit was left alone on the battlefield. He might have fled then, but instead he challenged Mror-Vdar to single combat, claw to claw, fang to fang, with the victor to claim everything and the vanquished to be czrav, to wander prideless forever. So Mror-Vdar laid aside wtsai and wtzal, but he did not lay aside his magic, for no one could see that he kept it. They dueled in the morning, and the Fanged God himself was watching to see who would triumph. And so it happened that Chraz-Rrit’s fangs found Mror-Vdar’s throat, and to save himself Mror-Vdar used his magic and Chraz-Rrit was burned deep and leapt away. The Fanged God stopped the fight then, and decreed that magic had no place in a duel of honor. Chraz-Rrit was ready to fight on, but Mror-Vdar refused to lay aside his power. Three times the Fanged God commanded him to, and three times he refused, so the Fanged God declared him honorless and czrav and banished Vdar to live in the jungle, and gave victory to Chraz-Rrit. And ever since then kzinti have dueled with their own strength and nothing more.