by Larry Niven
Stockton said it was necessary, and appointed Lee acting corporal at the cabin as he filled most of the pinnace’s jumpseats with himself, Locklear, Agostinho, Gomulka, and the lank Parker. The little craft sat on downsloping delta wings that ordinarily nested against the Wayne’s hull, and had intakes for gas-reactor jets. “Newest piece of hardware we have,” Stockton said, patting the pilot’s console. It was Gomulka, however, who took the controls.
Locklear suggested that they approach very slowly, with hands visibly up and empty, as they settled the pinnace near the beginnings of a new gentles campsite. The gentles, including their women, all rushed for primitive lances but did not flee, and Anse Parker was the only one carrying an obvious weapon as the pinnace’s canopy swung back. Locklear stepped forward, talking and smiling, with Parker at their backs. He saw Ruth waiting for old Gimp, and said he was much happy to see her, which was an understatement. Minuteman, too, had survived the firing on their village.
Cloud had not. Ruth told him so immediately. “Locklear make many deaths to gentles,” she accused. Behind her, some of the gentles stared with faces that were anything but gentle. “Gentles not like talk to Locklear, he says. Go now. Please,” she added, one of the last words he’d taught her, and she said it with urgency. Her glance toward Grace Agostinho was interested, not hostile but perhaps pitying.
Locklear moved away from the others, farther from the glaring Gimp. “More new people come,” he called from a distance, pleading. “Think gentles big, bad animals. Stop when they see gentles; much much sorry. Locklear say not hurt gentles more.”
With her head cocked sideways, Ruth seemed to be testing his mind for lies. She spoke with Gimp, whose face registered a deep sadness and, perhaps, some confusion as well. Locklear could hear a buzz of low conversation between Stockton nearby and Gomulka, who still sat at the pinnace controls.
“Locklear think good, but bad things happen,” Ruth said at last. “Kill Cloud, many more. Gentles not like fight. Locklear know this,” she said, almost crying now. “Please go!”
Gomulka came out of the pinnace with his sidearm drawn, and Locklear turned toward him, aghast. “No shooting! You promised,” he reminded Stockton.
But: “We’ll have to bring the ape-woman with the old man,” Stockton said grimly, not liking it but determined. Gomulka stood quietly, the big sloping shoulders hunched.
Stockton said, “This is an explosive situation, Locklear. We must take those two for interrogation. Have the woman tell them we won’t hurt them unless their people try to hunt us.”
Then, as Locklear froze in horrified anger, Gomulka bellowed, “Tell ’em!”
Locklear did it and Ruth began to call in their language to the assembled throng. Then, at Gomulka’s command, Parker ran forward to grasp the pathetic old Gimp by the arm, standing more than a head taller than the Neanderthal. That was the moment when Minuteman, who must have understood only a little of their parley, leaped weaponless at the big belter.
Parker swept a contemptuous arm at the little fellow’s reach, but let out a howl as Minuteman, with those blacksmith arms of his, wrenched that arm as one would wave a stick.
The report was shattering, with echoes slapping off the lake, and Locklear whirled to see Gomulka’s two-handed aim with the projectile sidearm. “No! Goddammit, these are human beings,” he screamed, rushing toward the fallen Minuteman, falling on his knees, placing one hand over the little fellow’s breast as if to stop the blood that was pumping from it. The gentles panicked at the thunder from Gomulka’s weapon, and began to run.
Minuteman’s throat pulse still throbbed, but he was in deep shock from the heavy projectile and his pulse died as Locklear watched helpless. Parker was already clubbing old Gimp with his rifle-butt and Gomulka, his sidearm out of sight, grabbed Ruth as she tried to interfere. The big man might as well have walked into a train wreck while the train was still moving.
Grace Agostinho seemed to know she was no fighter, retreating into the pinnace. Stockton, whipping the ornamental braid from his epaulets, began to fashion nooses as he moved to help Parker, whose left arm was half-useless. Locklear came to his feet, saw Gomulka’s big fist smash at Ruth’s temple, and dived into the fray with one arm locked around Gomulka’s bull neck, trying to haul him off-balance. Both of Ruth’s hands grappled with Gomulka’s now, and Locklear saw that she was slowly overpowering him while her big teeth sought his throat, only the whites of her eyes showing. It was the last thing Locklear would see for awhile, as someone raced up behind him.
He awoke to a gentle touch and the chill of antiseptic spray behind his right ear, and focused on the real concern mirrored on Stockton’s face. He lay in the room he had built for Loli, Soichiro Lee kneeling beside him, while Ruth and Gimp huddled as far as they could get into a corner. Stockton held a standard issue parabellum, arms folded, not pointing the weapon but keeping it in evidence. “Only a mild concussion,” Lee murmured to the commander.
“You with us again, Locklear?” Stockton got a nod in response, motioned for Lee to leave, and sighed. “I’m truly sorry about all this, but you were interfering with a military operation. Gomulka is—he has a lot of experience, and a good commander would be stupid to ignore his suggestions.”
Locklear was barely wise enough to avoid saying that Gomulka did more commanding than Stockton did. Pushing himself up, blinking from the headache that split his skull like an axe, he said, “I need some air.”
“You’ll have to get it right here,” Stockton said, “because I can’t—won’t let you out. Consider yourself under arrest. Behave yourself and that could change.” With that, he shouldered the woven mat aside and his slow footsteps echoed down the connecting corridor to the other room.
Without a door directly to the outside, he would have to run down that corridor where armed yahoos waited. Digging out would make noise and might take hours. Locklear slid down against the cabin wall, head in hands. When he opened them again he saw that poor old Gimp seemed comatose, but Ruth was looking at him intently. “I wanted to be friend of all gentles,” he sighed.
“Yes. Gentles know,” she replied softly. “New people with gentles not good. Stok-Tun not want hurt, but others not care about gentles. Ruth hear in head,” she added, with a palm against the top of her head.
“Ruth must not tell,” Locklear insisted. “New people maybe kill if they know gentles hear that way.”
She gave him a very modern nod, and even in that hopelessly homely face, her shy smile held a certain beauty. “Locklear help Ruth fight. Ruth like Locklear much, much; even if Locklear is—new.”
“Ruth, ‘new’ means ‘ugly,’ doesn’t it? New, new,” he repeated, screwing his face into a hideous caricature, making claws of his hands, snarling in exaggerated mimicry.
He heard voices raised in muffled excitement in the other room, and Ruth’s head was cocked again momentarily. “Ugly?” She made faces, too. “Part yes. New means not same as before but also ugly, maybe bad.”
“All the gentles considered me the ugly man. Yes?”
“Yes,” she replied sadly. “Ruth not care. Like ugly man if good man, too.”
“And you knew I thought you were, uh…”
“Ugly? Yes. Ruth try and fix before.”
“I know,” he said, miserable. “Locklear like Ruth for that and many, many more things.”
Quickly, as boots stamped in the corridor, she said, “Big problem. New people not think Locklear tell truth. New woman—”
Schmidt’s rifle barrel moved the mat aside and he let it do his gesturing to Locklear. “On your feet, buddy, you’ve got some explaining to do.”
Locklear got up carefully so his head would not roll off his shoulders. Stumbling toward the doorway he said to Ruth: “What about new woman?”
“Much, much new in head. Ruth feel sorry,” she called as Locklear moved toward the other room.
They were all crowded in, and seven pairs of eyes were intent on Locklear. Grace’s gaze held a liquid warmt
h but he saw nothing warmer than icicles in any other face. Gomulka and Stockton sat on the benches facing him across his crude table like judges at a trial. Locklear did not have to be told to stand before them.
Gomulka reached down at his own feet and grunted with effort, and the toolbox crashed down on the table. His voice was not its usual command timbre but menacingly soft. “Gazho noticed this was all tabby stuff,” he said.
“Part of an honorable trade,” Locklear said, dry-mouthed. “I could have killed a Kzin and didn’t.”
“They trade you a fucking LIFEBOAT, too?”
Those goddamn pinnace sorties of his! The light of righteous fury snapped in the big man’s face, but Locklear stared back. “Matter of fact, yes. The Kzin is a cat of his word, sergeant.”
“Enough of your bullshit, I want the truth!”
Now Locklear shifted his gaze to Stockton. “I’m telling it. Enough of your bullshit, too. How did your bunch of bozos get out of the brig, Stockton?”
Parker blurted, “How the hell did—” before Gomulka spun on his bench with a silent glare. Parker blushed and swallowed.
“We’re asking the questions, Locklear. The tabbies must’ve left you a girlfriend, too,” Stockton said quietly. “Lee and Schmidt both saw some little hotsy queen of the jungle out near the perimeter while we were gone. Make no mistake, they’ll hunt her down and there’s nothing I can say to stop them.”
“Why not, if you’re a commander?”
Stockton flushed angrily, with a glance at Gomulka that was not kind. “That’s my problem, not yours. Look, you want some straight talk, and here it is: Agostinho has seen the goddamned translations from a tabby dreadnaught, and there is something on this godforsaken place they think is important, and we were in this Rim sector when—when we got into some problems, and she told me. I’m an officer, I really am, believe what you like. But we have to find whatever the hell there is on Zoo.”
“So you can plea-bargain after your mutiny?”
“That’s ENOUGH,” Gomulka bellowed. “You’re a little too cute for your own good, Locklear. But if you’re ever gonna get off this ball of dirt, it’ll be after you help us find what the tabbies are after.”
“It’s me,” Locklear said simply. “I’ve already told you.”
Silent consternation, followed by disbelief. “And what the fuck are you,” Gomulka spat.
“Not much, I admit. But as I told you, they captured me and got the idea I knew more about the Rim sectors than I do.”
“How much Kzinshit do you think I’ll swallow?” Gomulka was standing, now, advancing around the table toward his captive. Curt Stockton shut his eyes and sighed his helplessness.
Locklear was wondering if he could grab anything from the toolbox when a voice of sweet reason stopped Gomulka. “Brutality hasn’t solved anything here yet,” said Grace Agostinho. “I’d like to talk to Locklear alone.” Gomulka stopped, glared at her, then back at Locklear. “I can’t do any worse than you have, David,” she added to the fuming sergeant.
Beckoning, she walked to the doorway and Gazho made sure his rifle muzzle grated on Locklear’s ribs as the ethologist followed her outside. She said, “Do I have your honorable parole? Bear in mind that even if you try to run, they’ll soon have you and the girl who’s running loose, too. They’ve already destroyed some kind of flying raft; yours, I take it,” she smiled.
Damn, hell, shit, and blast! “Mine. I won’t run, Grace. Besides, you’ve got a parabellum.”
“Remember that,” she said, and began to stroll toward the trees while the cabin erupted with argument. Locklear vented more silent damns and hells; she wasn’t leading him anywhere near his hidden Kzin sidearm.
Grace Agostinho, surprisingly, first asked about Loli. She seemed amused to learn he had waked the girl first, and that he’d regretted it at his leisure. Gradually, her questions segued to answers. “Discipline on a warship can be vicious,” she mused as if to herself. “Curt Stockton was—is a career officer, but it’s his view that there must be limits to discipline. His own commander was a hard man, and—”
“Jesus Christ; you’re saying he mutinied like Fletcher Christian?”
“That’s not entirely wrong,” she said, now very feminine as they moved into a glade, out of sight of the cabin. “David Gomulka is a rougher sort, a man of some limited ideas but more of action. I’m afraid Curt filled David with ideas that, ah,…”
“Stockton started a boulder downhill and can’t stop it,” Locklear said. “Not the first time a man of ideas has started something he can’t control. How’d you get into this mess?”
“An affair of the heart; I’d rather not talk about it. When I’m drawn to a man,…well, I tend to show it,” she said, and preened her hair for him as she leaned against a fallen tree. “You must tell them what they want to know, my dear. These are desperate men, in desperate trouble.”
Locklear saw the promise in those huge dark eyes and gazed into them. “I swear to you, the Kzinti thought I was some kind of Interworld agent, but they dropped me on Zoo for safekeeping.”
“And were you?” Softly, softly, catchee monkey…
“Good God, no! I’m an—”
“Ethologist. I heard it. But the Kzin suspicion does seem reasonable, doesn’t it?”
“I guess, if you’re paranoid.” God, but this is one seductive lieutenant.
“Which means that David and Curt could sell you to the Kzinti for safe passage, if I let them,” she said, moving toward him, her hands pulling apart the closures on his flight suit. “But I don’t think that’s the secret, and I don’t think you think so. You’re a fascinating man, and I don’t know when I’ve been so attracted to anyone. Is this so awful of me?”
He knew damned well how powerfully persuasive a woman like Grace could be with that voluptuous willowy sexuality of hers. And he remembered Ruth’s warning, and believed it. But he would rather drown in honey than in vinegar, and when she turned her face upward, he found her mouth with his, and willingly let her lust kindle his own.
Presently, lying on forest humus and watching Grace comb her hair clean with her fingers, Locklear’s breathing slowed. He inventoried her charms as she shrugged into her flight suit again; returned her impudent smile; began to readjust his togs. “If this be torture,” he declaimed like an actor, “make the most of it.”
“Up to the standards of your local ladies?”
“Oh yes,” he said fervently, knowing it was only a small lie. “But I’m not sure I understand why you offered.”
She squatted becomingly on her knees, brushing at his clothing. “You’re very attractive,” she said. “And mysterious. And if you’ll help us, Locklear, I promise to plumb your mysteries as much as you like—and vice-versa.”
“An offer I can’t refuse, Grace. But I don’t know how I can do more than I have already.”
Her frown held little anger; more of perplexity. “But I’ve told you, my dear: we must have that Kzin secret.”
“And you didn’t believe what I said.”
Her secret smile again, teasing: “Really, darling, you must give me some credit. I am in the intelligence corps.”
He did see a flash of irritation cross her face this time as he laughed. “Grace, this is crazy,” he said, still grinning. “It may be absurd that the Kzinti thought I was an agent, but it’s true. I think the planet itself is a mind-boggling discovery, and I said so first thing off. Other than that, what can I say?”
“I’m sorry you’re going to be this way about it,” she said with the pout of a nubile teen-ager, then hitched up the sidearm on her belt as if to remind him of it.
She’s sure something, he thought as they strode back to his clearing. If I had any secret to hide, could she get it out of me with this kind of attention? Maybe—but she’s all technique and no real passion. Exactly the girl you want to bring home to your friendly regimental combat team…
Grace motioned him into the cabin without a word and, as Schmidt sent him into
the room with Ruth and the old man, he saw both Gomulka and Stockton leave the cabin with Grace. I don’t think she has affairs of the heart, he reflected with a wry smile. Affairs of the glands beyond counting, but maybe no heart to lose. Or no character?
He sat down near Ruth, who was sitting with Gimp’s head in her lap, and sighed. “Ruth much smart about new woman. Locklear see now,” he said and, gently, kissed the homely face.
The crew had a late lunch but brought none for their captives, and Locklear was taken to his judges in the afternoon. He saw hammocks slung in his room, evidence that the crew intended to stay awhile. Stockton, as usual, began as pleasantly as he could. “Locklear, since you’re not on Agostinho’s list of known intelligence assets in the Rim sectors, then maybe we’ve been peering at the wrong side of the coin.”
“That’s what I told the tabbies,” Locklear said.
“Now we’re getting somewhere. Actually, you’re a Kzin agent; right?”
Locklear stared, then tried not to laugh. “Oh, Jesus, Stockton! Why would they drop me here, in that case?”
Evidently, Stockton’s pleasant side was loosely attached under trying circumstances. He flushed angrily. “You tell us.”
“You can find out damned fast by turning me over to Interworld authorities,” Locklear reminded him.
“And if you turn out to be a plugged nickel,” Gomulka snarled, “you’re home free and we’re in deep shit. No, I don’t think we will, little man. We’ll do anything we have to do to get the facts out of you. If it takes shooting hostages, we will.”
Locklear switched his gaze to the bedeviled Stockton and saw no help there. At this point, a few lies might help the gentles. “A real officer, are you? Shoot these poor savages? Go ahead, actually you might be doing me a favor. You can see they hate my guts! The only reason they didn’t kill me today is that they think I’m one of you, and they’re scared to. Every one you knock off, or chase off, is just one less who’s out to tan my hide.”
Gomulka, slyly: “So how’d you say you got that tabby ship?”