Larry Niven’s Man-Kzin Wars - I

by Larry Niven

  “Yes,” she said. “But what kind of leader would deny happiness to his followers?” Her lowered glance toward Scarface could hardly be misunderstood.

  The ear umbrellas of the big male turned a deeper hue. “I do not wish to dishonor another warrior, Locklear, but—if I am to remain your captive here as you say, um, such females may be impossibly over-stimulating.”

  “Not to me,” Locklear said. “No offense, Kit; I’m half in love with you myself. In fact, I think the best thing for my own sanity would be to seek, uh, females of my own kind.”

  “You intended to take us back to the manworlds, I take it,” said Scarface with some smugness.

  “After a bit more research here, yes. The hell with wars anyhow. There’s a lot about this planet you don’t know about yet. Fascinating!”

  “You will never get back in a lifeboat,” said Scarface, “and the cruiser is now only a memory.”

  “You didn’t!”

  “I assuredly did, Locklear. My first act when you released my bonds was to send the self-destruct signal.”

  Locklear put his head between his hands. “Why didn’t we hear the lifeboat go up?”

  “Because I did not think to set it for destruct. It is not exactly a major asset.”

  “For me it damned well is,” Locklear growled, then went on. “Look here: I won’t release Kit from any pair-bonding to me unless you promise not to sabotage me in any way. And I further promise not to try turning you over to some military bunch, because I’m the, uh, mayor of this frigging planet and I can declare peace on it if I want to. Honor bound, honest injun, whatever the hell that means, and all the rigmarole that goes with it. Goddammit, I could have blown your head off.”

  “But you did not know that.”

  “With the sidearm, then! Don’t ch’r—don’t fiddle me around. Put your honor on the line, mister, and put your big paw against mine if you mean it.”

  After a long look at Kit, the big kzin commander reached out a hand, palm vertical, and Locklear met it with his own. “You are not the man we left here,” said the vanquished kzin, eyeing Locklear without malice. “Brown and tough as dried meat—and older, I would say.”

  “Getting hunted by armed kzinti tends to age a feller,” Locklear chuckled. “I’m glad we found peace with honor.”

  “Was any commander,” the commander asked no one in particular, “ever faced with so many conflicts of honor?”

  “You’ll resolve them,” Locklear predicted. “Think about it: I’m about to make you the head captive of a brand new region that has two newborn babes in it, two intelligent kzinrett at least, and over an eight-squared other kzinti who have been in stasis for longer than you can believe. Wake ’em, or don’t, it’s up to you, just don’t interfere with me because I expect to be here part of the time, and somewhere else at other times. Kit, show him how to use the airboat. If you two can’t figure out how to use the stuff in this Outsider zoo, I miss my—”

  “Outsiders?” Scarface did not seem to like the sound of that.

  “That’s just my guess,” Locklear shrugged. “Maybe they have hidden sensors that tell ’em what happens on the planet Zoo. Maybe they don’t care. What I care about, is exploring the other compounds on Zoo, one especially. I may not find any of my kind on Newduvai, and if I do they might have foreheads a half-inch high, but it bears looking into. For that I need the lifeboat. Any reason why it wouldn’t take me to another compound on Zoo?”

  “No reason.” After a moment of rumination, Scarface put on his best negotiation face again. “If I teach you to be an expert pilot, would you let me disable the hyperwave comm set?”

  Locklear thought hard for a similar time. “Yes, if you swear to leave its local functions intact. Look, fella, we may want to talk to one another with it.”

  “Agreed, then,” said the kzin commander.

  That night, Locklear slept poorly. He lay awake for a time, wondering if Newduvai had its own specimen cave, and whether he could find it if one existed. The fact was that Kzersatz simply lacked the kind of company he had in mind. Not even the right kind of cathouse, he groused silently. He was not enormously heartened by the prospect of wooing a Neanderthal nymphet, either. Well, that was what field research was for. Please, God, at least a few Cro-Magnons! Patience, Locklear, and earplugs, because he could not find sleep for long.

  It was not merely that he was alone, for the embers near his pallet kept him as toasty as kzinrett fur. No, it was the infernal yowling of those cats somewhere below in the ravine.