by Larry Niven
The bearded man brightened even more. That was pretty much how he felt about liberals.
Vaemar went on. “And if the conservative party shows the way to allowing the kzin to engage in the political life of the world, then they will change the balance here drastically.” Vaemar sounded confident. He was. The knowledge that kzin did not lie was something the committee knew and were busily factoring into their calculations. There was an excited buzz as the panel discussed these interesting points with each other in an undertone. Vaemar thought that it wasn’t necessary to point out that one of the longer-term effects would be to drive more human beings towards the liberals, and to make the liberals more individualistic and less collectivist, until one day some kzin would vote for them. That they could work out for themselves. Or not.
The rest of the questions were formal and nobody was very interested in the answers. The prospect of getting a fair number of new voters on the right side, their side, was absolutely irresistible.
“Thank you, Lord Vaemar, I think we have enough information to be able to come to a decision quite soon. You will be hearing from us within a day or two,” the chairman told him. She even smiled at him until she remembered, but Vaemar didn’t smile back. Nobody had bothered about the effect on human beings of a kzin smile, because when a kzin bared his teeth, it wasn’t because he was amused by something, but because he was preparing to spring. But he didn’t tear her throat out either, he just bowed politely and left.
After Vaemar had gone there were still some worried voices.
“It’s all very well to say that we’ll win even in Munchen if we get the kzin vote. What if every human being votes against any kzin? ‘Dirty ratcat-lovers.’ They could hang that label on us.”
“Who cares? Vaemar’s exploits are well-known. Including the fact that he fought beside the Rykermanns, two of our most respected leaders”—he paused and bowed to them—“and is a friend of Dimity Carmody, or Lilly the Pink, as the old song calls her—‘The savior of the ’uman race.’ Anyway, it will be a long time before we have many more kzin candidates. Just one to show we want to engage with the kzin is all we need. If he does well, it will prove our foresight and wisdom. Also, the Jotok will get the vote when they grow to sentience. It was his expedition that found and saved them—as we will emphasize to them, if he is one of our party.”
“If . . .”
“Hell, it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t even make it, and I can’t see that happening. Not many folk around here will be voting for the liberals.”
“He speaks quite well, don’t you think? Sounds educated, of course. Might go down well in the Bundestag, those bloody libs posture around as if we’re all a load of hicks. And he’s a lord or something.”
“Yeah, but can you see him on the hustings getting through to some of the old-timers who hate the kzin worse than poison? And for Pete’s sake, can you see him kissing babies?”
There was a long silence as this picture went through their minds.
“I can’t imagine many mothers offering their babies to be kissed,” someone said. “They might be unsure of getting the whole baby back.”
“Vaemar’s teacher, Rarrgh who was Rarrgh-Sergeant, saved my life when I nearly drowned in a cave in the Hohe Kalkstein,” said Leonie Rykermann. “He gave me artificial respiration, and, as you can see, he kept his claws sheathed.”
The Rykermanns’ words mattered. Almost the only figures to have fought in the Resistance from the first day to nearly the last, they were Heroes of virtually legendary stature in Wunderland’s mythology.
Opinion was divided. “Perhaps we should ask Nils Rykermann’s opinion?” the abbot suggested quietly. This looked to be an excellent idea, and the committee brightened again.
“Professor Rykermann, do you have any views on the candidacy of Lord Vaemar?” the bearded man asked.
“To reject Vaemar’s candidacy will hardly improve man-kzin relations on this planet,” Nils Rykermann told them. “There are kzin on Wunderland, on Tiamat, and in the asteroids of the Serpent Swarm, who would like to be good, constructive citizens. Some, I am told, worked to rescue humans in the devastation after the UNSN Ramscoop Raid. Already many of them work on human projects, and not a few in positions of trust.”
Leonie interjected. “Rarrgh, Vaemar’s . . .” Leonie could not think of the correct word—major domo seemed faintly ridiculous and few here would know what verderer meant—“chief servant, twice saved my life. The first time he stopped me from drowning, the second time he ran through fire and helped Dimity Carmody give me resuscitation when the traitor Henrietta wounded me.” She had also saved the life of the kitten, its legs broken by the Morlocks and kept for live meat, who grew to be Karan, but modesty prevented her mentioning it.
A murmur ran through the gathering. The name of Dimity Carmody, the genius who deciphered the alien theory behind the first hyperdrive shunt, was a potent one here.
“Where is Dimity now?” someone asked.
“She is Vaemar’s guest, and also his Ph.D. supervisor,” said Leonie. “He has placed a guest-house in his palace at her disposal. She has the use of the laboratory and instruments. I believe ARM is aware of the situation.” And has probably planted something the size of a grain of rice under the skin between her shoulderblades, thought Nils, to track her movements and to detonate if she looks like leaving the planet without permission. Neater than a Zrrow. But it would be tactless to mention that now.
The testimony of the Rykermanns, and the name of Dimity Carmody, had done much to swing the meeting.
“He may need a bit of coaching,” the bearded man said eventually. “But there are quite a few kzin around here, and a helluva lot more spread around the planet. I say we should go for him. And just think of the look on the chancellor’s face when our boy gets up to speak.”
Vaemar and the abbot got out of the air-car and looked at the stockade. “You are sure this is in my electorate?” Vaemar asked. “It’s a long way to the abbey and Grossgeister Swamp.”
“Your electorate is pretty open-ended. I don’t think officialdom knows about this place yet, it’s too far away. But the villagers have been trading gold and precious stones for some months now, and buying all manner of things from horses to newspapers.”
“Will they still hate all kzin, do you think? They must have come here to escape the Occupation in the first place,” Vaemar wanted to know.
“There’s your answer.” The abbot pointed to a tall, bulky figure coming down to the stockade from the hills. It walked lithely and confidently. It saw them and headed straight for them. Vaemar moved in front of the abbot and patted his holster.
“Ho, kzin warrior, what do you here? The kzin is a mighty hunter!” Vaemar asked in the formal tense. The kzin’s eye caught the red fur on Vaemar’s chest, and his ear-tattoos. He began to go down in the prostration until Vaemar stayed him with a gesture. “Dominant One . . .” he began in the old style.
“That is not necessary,” Vaemar reassured him. “We live in modern times now.”
“Greetings, then, Great One and Human. I am Rrhougharrrt, the sheriff of this town. I keep the Judge’s Law.” Ruat showed them his badge with pride.
“I am standing for election for this district,” Vaemar explained. “I would like to talk to the town, if that can be done without alarming the people here.”
Ruat gave a very human shrug, although on rather a large scale. “I know nothing of elections and districts, Great One. I will take you to the judge, who will decide. Follow me.”
They followed him to the gate, which was opened to allow them in by a gatekeeper who addressed Ruat in familiar tones. “Hi, Ruat, got some more visitors to join us?”
“I know not, Hans, but the Hero is of royalty. I take them to the judge.”
Boniface and Vaemar were admitted with a polite nod, and the gate closed behind them. They looked around. It was somewhere halfway between a shantytown and a well-designed minor city. The houses were a bit rough but were i
n the process of being spruced up. Children and kzin kits played together in the streets, the kits with buttons on their claws and Vaemar had seldom seen anything like it: man and kzin living together and a kzin sheriff who seemed to be on good terms with everbody. The kids showed not the slightest fear of him; they seemed to see him as a protector. They waved at him and smiled. And the kzin waved back and flipped an ear at them. Unbelievable.
“Judge, I have found some strangers. They came by aircar, it is outside the wall. The Hero wants to talk to the town, for reasons I know nothing of. You must explain it to me later.” The judge looked up at them. He was sitting on a rocking chair on the porch of his house and smoking a pungent cigar.
“Lord Vaemar-Riit, as I live and breathe! And of course you are the abbot. I have never met you, but I have heard a lot about you. I knew your predecessor. I owed him a debt.”
“But you have met Vaemar before?” the abbot inquired.
“Indeed I have, although under embarrassing circumstances, and with luck he does not recall me.” The Judge was grave, so Vaemar decided not to recognize him formally, although it was not hard to recall the circumstances. Vaemar had been a mere kit at the time, but the events had been, ah, memorable.
“I have been selected as the conservative candidate for the Grossgeister electorate,” Vaemar explained. “I would like to tell your people why it is important to vote for me. It seems a very vulgar thing to do, but I am assured that it is proper.”
“Hey, you’re going into politics? That’s wonderful! Some of the men are out hunting or farming, but they’ll all be back later. Can you wait two hours? We can have the whole town lined up for you by then. Not a whole lot of folk, of course, less than two hundred all up, but we are growing at the expense of some of the other villages further out. We can thank Ruat for that. He found gold and precious stones near here, which means we’re rich now, and the word gets out.”
“You have prospered,” said Vaemar, as the villagers assembled.
“Indeed.” It was obvious to the judge that Vaemar recognized him, despite the years that had passed. “And the sergeant . . . Rarrgh?”
“He heads my household . . . my palace staff.
“You have a palace? Times have indeed changed, O’ Vaemar-Ritt!”
“Only a small one. But I find it is big enough. It is not on the scale of my Honored Sire’s, but I find it is big enough for contentment.”
“Then you are fortunate, as I have been.”
Vaemar didn’t need a soap box to stand on, had such a thing been available and strong enough to bear his weight. He checked with the abbot, who nodded.
“People, Heroes and humans, I am Vaemar-Riit. If you will vote for me next week, then I will represent you. My duty is to do what I can to help you help yourselves. I will do this if I am elected, whether you vote for me or not.
“I will have a say in the making of the laws. I will try to pass laws which I think are good for all this world. I shall exercise my best judgement.”
There were six, no, seven kzin standing at the back, with men and women among them.
“If you want to ask me questions, I will try to answer them. Thank you.”
It was probably the shortest campaign speech on record. It seemed to work. A kzin called out: “What is this voting? I have heard of it, but it meant nothing to me.”
“You will be given a piece of paper with some names on it. There are little spaces after the names. To vote for me, you make a mark with a stylus after my name. If enough of you do this, I will become your representative.”
“And if we have some trouble, we may come and ask your help?” a kzinrett asked.
“Yes.” Vaemar was firm. “It will be my duty to give you help if I can.”
The crowd digested this. “Will you favor the kzin? They are your kind,” a human voice pointed out.
“No, I will do justice. I will be representing all of you, not just the kzin.”
The crowd started discussing this with each other. Vaemar looked at the abbot, who nodded.
“Did I do that properly?” Vaemar asked the abbot on the way back.
“Looked pretty good to me,” Boniface told him comfortably. “Think of it as practice for the rest of the speeches. Some may be a little longer when you’re closer to Grossgeister. Tell them about the swamp.”
“That will be good,” Vaemar agreed. “I thought perhaps I could have spoken more, but could think of nothing to say.”
“Doesn’t stop most politicians,” the abbot said drily. “I found it very refreshing.”
“Ain’t for me t’ tell you how t’ vote, Bill.” The judge yawned.
“But you are gonna vote fer a kzin? I don’t know I want to stay in this town, we got kzin all over the place, and I hate them. I hate them all.”
“That’s your right as a free man an’ a fool, Bill Braun. How you can have strong feelins about a whole bunch of people you never even met is beyond me; I can only hate people I know pretty well, m’self.”
“There you go, callin’ them people. They ain’t people, they’s kzin.”
“Way I see it, if you can have a talk to it, it’s people. Don’t much care about the shape or size or color,” the judge told him. “Ruat is definitely people. He went into the river to fish out that kid was drowning last week, and he don’t like water much at all. Would you still hate him if it had been one of your kids?”
Bill Braun glared at the judge. “We should have a human sheriff, not some goddam ratcat.”
“No human sheriff could have heard the kid from that distance and moved so quickly. A human sheriff, and the kid would have drowned. ’Course, it’s so much better to be fished out dead by a human than alive by a kzin, ain’t it?”
Bill Braun couldn’t think of an answer to that. He wanted to move out. He would have moved out. But his wife had told him that if he went, he went on his own. Damned women were more trouble than the kzin. And you couldn’t beat them these days, even when they were sassy. Last time he’d threatened her, she’d screamed and that damned Ruat had been at his door in two seconds flat. Hadn’t done anything. Just looked and asked if everything was alright. Had then explained that violence was against the Judge’s Law. Except when it was required, as part of the law, of course. That, Ruat had explained, was his job.
The election day came. Vaemar and his mate Karan went around to every public place they could. They took Orlando and Tabitha, who were now nearly four years old, and were zooming around, mostly on all fours but occasionally toddling, and well behaved, all things considered; They also took their brand new kits, Orion and Arwen, who had opened their blue eyes but were still dazed by the world. Children came up to stroke them, because they looked so adorable.
After the count, the abbot could barely contain himself.
“Those two cute little fluff-bundles helped win you the election, Vaemar. You got fifty percent better numbers than your predecessor. The liberal was nowhere. And ten kzinti voted, which is a first. Next stop, the Bundestag.”
Fifteen horses galloped east. The twelve riders carried rifles and side guns and were all in serious need of a shave. It was the better part of a day’s journey to the village, and they had started late in the morning, so it would be nightfall when they got there. The three pack animals were roped to the horse of the last rider, who would have been recognized by the trader as a man who’d do anything to get money except work for it.
“The member for Grossgeister,” intoned the speaker. Vaemar rose. This was his maiden speech, and he hoped it was going to work. The government looked up at him from the front benches, most of them with their mouths open.
“Madam Speaker, ladies and gentlemen. I stand before you as the first kzin member of this house, and as a sign that our two peoples can share this world under the rule of Law.” There were a few “Hear, hear” sounds from behind him. The public gallery was packed, with several massive kzin standing among them. Journalists filled the press gallery.
“It would
be possible for me to disburse platitudes about the fact that I, a kzin, should accept the role of this house, and that in doing so I might encourage other kzinti to engage with the political process, but to do so would be stating the obvious.”
The chancellor turned to the man on his left. “We’re going to have to get one of those damned ratcats in on our side of the house, or we’re buggered,” he whispered savagely. “If all kzinti decide to vote conservative because this one is, we’ll lose everywhere. See to it, fast as you can. I don’t care who he is, or what his politics are. We need a ratcat.” The man nodded and scurried away. This was urgent. Vaemar had won a bye-election, but a general election was not too far off.
“Instead, I want to turn to the last finding of the finance committee. It is chaired by Senator von Höhenheim, who is, of course, of the upper house, and not answerable directly to this house. It is, however, this house which must ultimately determine proper priorities. And there is something which I find most unsatisfactory in this latest report. I hope to persuade both sides of this house that two grievous errors have occurred and that we must put them right.”
Vaemar remembered to take a sip from a glass of water. Timing, proper pauses and the right buildup. Rhetoric was a weapon.
“First, there is the plan to drain Grossgeister Swamp. It is hard to understand how the government side of the house could possibly support this. The region is a complex wetland with a delicate ecology comprised of a huge number of species. That was where we found the Jotok, intelligent beings when developed, and there may yet be many others in their early stages. The dolphins breed there. To drain the swamp would be murder.” That caused a buzz among some who remembered the Occupation. “I could enlarge on the damage which can be done when ecologies are disturbed, damage extending far beyond the immediate locality. If anyone doubts this, then listen to any competent ecologist. I have here some relevant papers which I shall table, and which demonstrate forcefully the serious risk of unexpected and malign consequences following meddling with a system as complex as an ecology.”