by Larry Niven
“I need you to help me bind this wound, Peter,” she whispered. “It’s urgent. And look to see if you can find the implant in there, I’m frightened.”
Marthar frightened? It wasn’t possible, but I tore off my shirt, ripped it into strips and went to her left arm. The fur had been driven into the flesh and the flesh hung in gobbets, blood streaming out from the slash. I sobbed with relief. It was bad, but to a kzin or even a kzinrett, it would be accounted a minor scratch. I didn’t know what the implant looked like, but there was no sign of it. Marthar looked around frantically. Then she saw something on the ground, a chunk of bloody flesh, and in it something blue and broken. Marthar gave a howl that raised the hackles.
“I’m done, Peter,” she said looking at me with horror in her eyes. “It’s broken and has leaked out. I don’t have my implant anymore.”
“What will happen?” I asked.
“I will turn into an animal, Peter. I will be dead. The friend you had will be gone forever. And my body will house nothing but a mewling beast. I can’t bear it, Peter, I’d rather be dead. Much rather.”
I had tied the bands around her arm, and the bleeding had slowed if not stopped, the bands already sodden with her blood. I knew she would already be healing. At least her body would. Marthar stood.
“I will take a few more before I go, Peter. I want you to remember me as I was. And I want you to know I cared for you, little friend. And I admired you for your strength.” Then she was gone, howling up over the crest of the hollow like an unstoppable wave. Marthar was going out and was going to take as many of the pirates with her as she could.
I took my rifle and stood too. Our people had risen and advanced against the pirates. Orion stood with two rifles held under his arms, his claws on the triggers, and he scored some hits, but mostly misses. The rifles were too small for him to use them properly. Then he threw them down and drew the huge cutlass and his wtsai, and went forward faster than I thought possible. He was ahead of Marthar, and S’maak was by his side. The two of them alone were unstoppable, and the pirates fled. Marthar was disconsolate. Kzin can’t weep or she would have wept. Dying gloriously in a screaming charge is impractical if the enemy has already fled.
We all looked around the field of battle. We had not a single casualty except Marthar, and she was being held firmly by her father. He had inspected the wound and then laughed at it, whereupon Marthar explained to him. I was too far away to hear the words, but I could see the look on his face. He saw me and beckoned me over.
“Peter, you must somehow get Marthar back to the Valiant, and get her into a kzin autodoc. I do not know how any of this is to be done, but it is vital to my daughter’s safety. I think you know why.”
“Yes, sir, if it can be done I shall do it, I promise. But I have no idea how we can get there.”
“Nor I,” he said grimly. “All three landers are down, and none of them is able to lift off, the other two because Valiant grounded them, and ours because it is smashed beyond repair. We must see if S’maak-Captain has any ideas.”
He didn’t, but he took us all back to the lander. “I want the tanks disabled so they can’t try to poison us. It should be enough to confiscate the hoses, but the devils might find an alternative. I still don’t know why they had to go back to the red lander to get this; the green lander would have done.”
“I think that the red lander was damaged on planetfall,” Marthar told him. “I think they have some hope of using the green lander to get off, but the red lander looked as if it had been shot at and taken a laser-beam through the nose. I didn’t get close enough to see much, but it looks as if they will not be able to use it for return to space even if it was not grounded.”
S’maak looked approvingly at her. He bowed. “Most important intelligence, My Lady,” he said. Marthar had moved up several notches since their first meeting. She’d been a bad-mannered kit then; now she was his Lady.
“What I don’t understand is, where is Bengar? He seems to have vanished,” Marthar remarked. I had almost forgotten the marooned pirate.
The tanks were opened and the escaping gas soon burst into flame spontaneously. It seemed a waste, but I don’t suppose fuel was the problem.
“Into the wreck, we are all due for a rest. Tomorrow, ship’s time, we shall have to hunt some food. We are better provided with weapons than with food, though we have little ammunition left. But I think the pirates are less of a threat now. Let us see what tomorrow may bring.”
S’maak set a series of sentries, all kzin. I don’t think he trusted Ursula, the Judge or me, still less the Doctor. He knew that human beings slept for long periods, while kzin could nap with one eye open and one ear ready for anything. Sneaking up on a sleeping Kzin was a waste of time; you might as well come with a big brass band playing.
I lay down to sleep, my mind a blur. Obviously there was nothing wrong with Marthar’s brain yet. How long did we have? I wondered. Then I fell asleep.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
When I awoke, I discovered I’d slept for ten hours. Everybody else was up and some had gone out hunting. Marthar, the Judge and the Doctor were still there, and the Doctor was talking to Marthar. She looked sunken and there was clearly something wrong. The vitality just wasn’t there.
I had slept in my clothes and felt disgusting. There was some water in small containers, but this was precious. There was some which had been taken from the canal; it had been purified by filters and still smelled funny, but I used some for washing and felt almost human again. Then I joined Marthar and the Doctor.
“It’s reversible, my dear, it’s reversible,” the Doctor was saying. “If all else fails, we wait until the next ship comes. It will be some time, but we can all survive, including you. And then we can get you back to your usual bubbling, lively self, I promise. The worst thing is that you’ll have no memories of most of the period. But we shall look after you, won’t we, Peter?”
“With my life, Marthar, I promise.”
She just looked at me, and there was something ancient and indifferent looking out of her eyes, but she said nothing. Whether the mental degeneration she feared so much had already started or whether she was only badly frightened by the prospect I could not tell; but she had declared her fear, which was not a bit like her. She does not have the sense of fear that I have, to her, fear is a stimulant. I suppose the difference was that if a physical threat came, she would rise to the occasion and fight back, but this was something she couldn’t fight, or so she thought. Maybe she was wrong.
“Doctor, is there any way Marthar can fight this thing?” I asked. “What if she were to do calculations or something, or maybe practice talking?”
Doctor Lemoine looked uncomfortable, but he tried gamely to put the best face on it. “There are bound to be some parts she can do little about, the neurotransmitters will dwindle gradually. But yes, doing some reasoning will perhaps help. Anything that exercises the brain will be good.”
“No, it will just use up the neuro things faster,” Marthar spoke slowly as if it took concentration to put the sentences together. The Doctor looked embarrassed.
“Well, perhaps, but there is still a pool of them in your brain, in your blood supply. That will last for a while. And it will be gradual at first. But we will look after you. Your father is deeply concerned for you, you know.”
“I know daddy cares. But there is nothing he can do.”
“You will only make matters worse if you get downhearted, you know,” the Doctor said earnestly. “I shall look to see if there is any alternative, perhaps some local plant life which can help.”
“Chewing plants?” Marthar asked solemnly, as if the prospect was terrible.
“Perhaps an infusion. I must look up my biochemistry and see what I can find,” he told her soothingly, and he got up and left us.
“Marthar, you know I would do anything for you, don’t you?” I asked. I was so angry that she could sense it.
She looked at me again out of those
ancient eyes, like a tiger that has seen everything in the universe and found it too little to be of interest.
“Thank you, Peter. But what I fear most is the shame. I don’t want anyone I know to see me as I am going to be.”
“There is no shame, you idiot,” I told her hotly. She almost looked angry for a moment. I began to see that it was not just fear, she had already lost the ability to sense nuance. She thought I had insulted her. Then she relaxed.
“You do not see it at all, Peter, my friend. If I were to come back from being a…a sort of pet, I should know what others have seen. Nobody could forget what I had been, if only for a time. Nobody could look at me without remembering a mindless beast. That I could not bear.”
“Marthar, you are more than just a smart kzinrett, you have so much more than that. I will love you when you are what you call a mindless beast, and I will love you when you return. I know I will.”
“I want more than love, Peter, much more. I want respect. I want my own respect much more than the respect of others, but when this happens I shall have neither. And without that thing which lies underneath honor, I am nothing.”
There didn’t seem to be anything much to say. I burst into tears and she stroked me and licked me. She’d never done that before. It was wet and raspy, and I can’t say I enjoyed it, but it was meant as affection, so I treasured it anyway.
Sam, Ursula’s husband, and one of the loyal kzin that had been on their lander, had come back. Bringing them up to date on the battle we had survived took only a little time I gather. I didn’t spend any with them. I wanted to be with Marthar. I feared what she would do. She had intended to die in battle, and that didn’t seem to be an option anymore, but I feared that she had some sort of plan to do away with herself before the degeneration got too far advanced, and I was determined to thwart her. If the only thing I could do for her was to keep her alive until the relief ship came, I would do it or die trying.
Others brought back food from the hunt. The humans cooked their share over an open fire outside. There was not much in the lander: a small amount of provisions, some frozen, and a microwave oven. The landers weren’t expected to be used for much more than some exploration of the environment and to check the suitability of landing sites for the mother ship. They had tried to revive our communications but so far there was nothing. The only idea that had been presented was to try and take over the green lander, but no one knew how to do this. There were still a half a dozen kzin inside, as far as we knew. Some had come out to join the other pirates in the attack on us, but they had retreated when the others fled back to the red lander. If we’d been able to get into the green lander, or the red one for that matter, then Marthar or I could try to get in touch with the fraction of the Valiant called Valeria, and maybe call for help. If we could get Marthar back to the Valiant, she would be all right: an hour in the kzin autodoc would see her restored. It was well within its capacity to fill her up with green pills, and perhaps even to construct another implant. Somehow I had to get her back to the Valiant, but how was totally beyond me. I thought of one impractical plan after another. I am sure Orion was doing the same, trying to find a way into the green lander. But they were sealed in and, although we might have damaged the lander enough itself to make her unspaceworthy, that would have done us no good.
I was outside, sitting on the stony ground, when I overheard a conversation between the Doctor and the Judge that I’d have much rather missed.
“Doctor, is there really any chance of keeping Marthar alive without the implant?” the Judge asked him.
“Alive, yes. After a fashion. But there are worse things than death, though I’m not supposed to believe that.”
“What were you thinking of?” the Judge asked slowly. He was smoking a cigar, which was why he had come outside. Ursula wouldn’t let him smoke in the lander.
“The poor female is in adolescence, Judge. Think about it.”
“You mean she’ll go into heat at some point, and if it happens when her mind is gone, she’ll be signaling that she is available and receptive to any male kzin around the place.”
“And it’s against all reason that one or more won’t avail himself of the offer. Kzin are not much given to reflection about consequences.”
“Neither are human beings, doctor. But I take your point. But hell, it’s natural enough, I guess.”
“And when she discovers, when her mind returns, that she is pregnant by one of the pirates or has had offspring and doesn’t even know the father? I think she might take it rather hard. Intelligent kzinretti don’t so much look down on the unintelligent ones, they don’t despise them; rather, their feelings are something between pity, horror and loathing. To carry forever the mark of having been one is something it would be impossible to live with. So if Marthar is to survive this, she needs to be kept in a cage, or all the male kzin on the planet except Orion need to be. It’s hardly practical, is it?”
I crept away feeling sick. I simply hadn’t thought about it, but Marthar would be coming up to an age when intelligent kzinretti thought about marriage. In the old days they’d be bought into a harem and that would be that. I tried not to think about it.
Nothing had been seen of Bengar. I suppose the sight of the kzin around us made him wish to keep well clear of the wreck that we inhabited. He seemed to be good at not being seen. I wondered what he was doing, and if there was any way he could help us. It didn’t seem likely. He hadn’t been able to help himself much.
I think we were all a little frustrated. Orion had said nothing to me, although his eyes flickered over to where I was sitting with Marthar, sometimes stroking her fur in an attempt to comfort her, sometimes having her lick me and run her claws through my hair with great gentleness in an attempt to comfort me. She could feel my feelings with all the acuteness she ever had, and she still cared enough to want to make me happy, although being happy wasn’t something that was going to happen until I had my old Marthar back. I went back to trying to devise a plan.
One of the sentries called out, and S’maak-Captain and Orion went to see what it was. They were careful not to expose themselves, because they half-expected another attack by the pirates. But it was only two kzin. One of them was waving a white flag, and a dirty grey thing it was. The other was Silver. I left Marthar to go and see what he wanted, feeling hatred in my heart. I hated all the pirates, the dead Claws most of all, but Silver next. Between them, they had hurt my Marthar and for that, I would destroy them given even half a chance. I’d never hated anyone or anything before; I thought I had hated S’maak at one point, but found I hadn’t. What I felt as I looked at Silver was building up from underneath into something that might drive me to a suicidal attack, like a kzin in battle fever. I contained it, though; I was going to use it to destroy Silver someday. I didn’t know how, but he was going to die at my hand if I could devise a way.
He looked as amiable and sociable as ever. He wore the green headband which seemed to be some sign of rank among the pirates, while his lieutenant waved the flag.
“Hoy, S’maak-Captain, we come under a flag of truce, will ye respect it?” the one with the flag called out. Flags of truce had been used in the wars, according to my teachers. An idea which the kzin had copied from us though only on rare occasions.
“What do you want?” S’maak-Captain asked, his voice expressionless.
“For Silver-Captain to join ye, to make terms,” the lieutenant replied.
“Silver-Captain? There is no such person,” S’maak answered with only a brief rictus of anger.
Silver answered, almost apologetically. “’Tes me, sir, only Silver, these poor spacers have chosen me captain after your desertion, sir.
“We’re willing to submit, if we can come to terms, and no bones about it,” Silver called. “All I ask, S’maak-Captain, is that ye give your word that I can come up and leave me safe and sound to go back afterwards. One minute to leave before ye shoot, and no attack on me person, or the poor spacer here
wi’ me.”
“I’ve no desire to talk to you. If you wish to talk to me you may come, and I’ll respect your truce until a minute after I have thrown you out. If there’s to be treachery, it will be from your side, and then may the Fanged God help you.”
“That’s enough for me, S’maak-Captain,” Silver cried out cheerfully. “The word of a Named Hero is more than enough for me, and ye may lay to that.”
We could see the flag-waver trying to stop Silver coming closer and, given the coldness of S’maak’s reply, that was not too surprising, but Silver clapped him on the back as if the idea of alarm was absurd. Then he advanced, climbing slowly up the small hill where the lander had fallen over, making heavy weather of it with his limp most pronounced, until he came right up to the half-open door and peered in, past S’maak and Orion. His eye caught mine for a moment and his ears flickered in greeting, but he said nothing. For me, the image of the murder of T’orr was back in my mind. Silver was tricked up in his best, his fur was combed and his belts were clean and neat in their different colors. The Judge held his needler in both hands, pointing it in the air but ready to swing down at a moment’s notice. Orion likewise held his cutlass loosely, playing idly with it and resting it on one broad shoulder.
“Here you are, Hero,” said S’maak, with a slight sneer in the Hero. “You may sit down if you wish.”
“You ain’t going to keep me outside, S’maak-Captain?” He complained. “’Tes not so civil as I would ha’ thought ye’d be.”
“Why, Silver, had you pleased to be an honest kzin, ye’d be tutoring still and have your own tavern to lord it over, so long as ye didn’t make the crew drunk with alcohol. Your situation is your own doing. You’re either tutor to the kits and programmer of the galley, when you were treated handsomely, or ye’re Silver-Captain, a mutineer and a pirate, when you can go to the hot needles.”