by Larry Niven
“We have decided not to rely exclusively on their sweet nature,” the mate declared. “Listen carefully.
“We can launch the boats without them detecting it, if we act soon. They’ll float free while Rover proceeds to rendezvous. When she’s a suitable distance off, nobody looking for any action in this volume of space, they’ll scramble.”
Carita smacked fist in palm. “Hey, terrific!” she cried.
Markham sounded appalled: “Have you gone crazy? How will you survive, let alone return, in two little interplanetary flitters?”
“They’re more than that,” Saxtorph reminded. “They’re rugged and maneuverable and filled to the scuppers with delta v. In either of ‘em I’d undertake to outrace or dodge a tracking missile, and make it tough or impossible to hold a laser beam on her long enough to do much damage. Air and water recycler are in full working order and rations for one man-year are stowed aboard.”
“I, I ate some,” Yoshii stammered. “Carita must have, too.”
“I’ve already replaced it,” Ryan informed them.
“Good thinking!” Saxtorph exclaimed. “Did you expect this tactic?”
“Oh, general principles. Take care of your belly and your belly will take care of you.”
“Stop that schoolboy chatter,” Markham snapped. “What in the cosmos can you hope to do but antagonize the kzinti?”
“How do you tell an antagonized kzin from an unantagonized one?” Saxtorph retorted. “I am dead serious. Nobody has to follow me who doesn’t want to.”
“I certainly do not. Someone has to stay and . . . try to repair the harm your lunacy will have done.”
“I figured you would. But I supposed you, of all people, would have a better hold on kzin psychology than you’re showing. You ought to know they don’t resent an opponent giving them a proper fight. Fighting’s their nature. Whoever surrenders becomes no more than a captured animal in their eyes. Dorcas and I aim to put some high cards in your hand before you sit down at their poker table. A spacecraft on the loose is a weapon. The drive, or the sheer kinetic energy, can wreck things quite as thoroughly as the average nuke. Come worst to worst, we might smash a boat into their base at several thousand k.p.h. The other boat might take out their ship and leave them stranded; I’ve a hunch they’ve kept just a single hyperdrive vessel, as scarce as those must still be among them. Yah, going out like that would be a sight better than going into the stewpot. Kzinti like long pig.”
Yoshii brightened. He and Laurinda exchanged a wonder-smitten look. Carita whooped. Tregennis smiled faintly. Ryan went oddly, abruptly thoughtful.
Markham gnawed his lip a moment, then straightened in his chair and rapped, “Very well. I do not approve, and I ask the crew to refrain from this foolishness of yours, but I cannot stop you. Therefore I must factor your action into my calculations. What terms shall I try to get for us?”
“Freedom to leave, of course,” Dorcas responded. “Let Rover retreat to hyperspacing distance and wait, while the kzinti withdraw too far to intercept our boats. We can verify that on instruments before we come near. We’ll convey any message they want, or even a delegate.”
“There could be a delegation on board, waiting,” Ryan warned.
Tregennis stirred. “I will remain behind,” he said.
Tears sprang into Laurinda’s eyes. “Oh, no!” she pleaded.
He smiled again, at her. “I am too old to go blatting around space like that. I would merely be a burden, and quite likely die on your hands. Not only will I be more comfortable here, I will be an extra witness to the bona fides of the kzinti. Landholder Markham alone could not keep track of everything they might stealthily do.”
“It will show them there are two reasonable human beings in this outfit,” the Wunderlander said. “That might be marginally helpful to me. Anyone else?”
“Speaking,” Ryan answered.
“Huh?” broke from Saxtorph. “Hey, Kam, no. Whatever for?”
“For this,” the quartermaster said calmly. “Haven’t you thought of it yourself? The boats will be on the move, or holed up someplace unknown to the kzinti. They can only be reached by broadcast. Planar broadcast, maybe, but still the signal’s bound to be down in the milliwatts or microwatts when it reaches your receivers—with the sun’s radio background to buck. Nothing but voice transmission will carry worth diddly. Given a little time to record how the humans talk who were left behind, the kzinti can write a computer program to fake it. ‘Sure, come on back, fellows, all is forgiven and they’ve left a case of champagne for us to celebrate with.’ How’re you going to know that’s for real?”
Dorcas frowned. “We did consider it,” she told him. “We’ll use a secret password.”
“Which a telepath of theirs can fish right out of a human skull, maybe given a spot of torture to unsettle the brain first. Nope, I know a trick worth two of that. How well do you remember your Hawaiian, Bob? You picked up a fair amount while we were in the village.” Ryan laughed. “That worked on the girls like butter on a toboggan slope.”
Saxtorph was a long while silent before he answered: “I think, if I practiced for a few days, I think . . . enough of it . . . would come back to me.”
Ryan nodded. “The kzinti have programs for the important human languages in their translators, but I doubt Hawaiian is included. Or Danish.”
Yoshii swallowed. “You’d certify everything is kosher?” he mumbled. “But what if—well—”
“If the kzinti aren’t stupid, they won’t try threatening or torturing me into feeding you a lie,” Ryan responded. “How’d they savvy what I was saying? I assure you, it wouldn’t be complimentary to them.”
“A telepath would know.”
Ryan shrugged. “He’d know I was not going to be their Judas goat, no matter what they did. Therefore they won’t do it.”
Saxtorph’s right hand half reached out. “Kam, old son—” he croaked. The hand dropped.
Dorcas rose and confronted the rest, side by side with her husband. “I’m sorry, but time is rationed for us and you must decide at once,” she said. “If you think you’d better stay, then do. We won’t consider you a coward or anything. You may be right. We can’t be sure at this stage. All we are certain of is that we don’t have time for debate. Who’s going?”
Hands went up, Carita’s, Yoshii’s, and after an instant Laurinda’s.
“Okay,” Dorcas continued. “Now we’re not about to put our bets on a single number. The boats will go separate ways. Which ways, we’ll decide by tight beam once we’re alone in space. You understand, Kam, Arthur, Landholder Markham. What you don’t know, a telepath or a torturer can’t get out of you. Bob and I have already considered the distribution. Carita and Juan will take Fido. We thought Kam would ride with them, but evidently not. Laurinda, you’ll be with Bob and me in Shep.”
“Wait a minute!” Yoshii protested. The girl brought fingertips to open mouth.
“Sorry, my dears,” Dorcas said. “It’s a matter of practicality, as nearly as we could estimate on short notice. Not that we imagine you two would play Romeo and Juliet to the neglect of your duties. However, Juan and Carita are our professional pilots, rockjacks, planetside prospectors. Together they make our strongest possible team. They can pull stunts Bob and I never could. We need that potential, don’t we? Bob and I are no slouches, but we do our best work in tandem. To supply some of what we lack as compared to Juan and Carita, Laurinda has knowledge, including knowledge of how to use instruments we plan to pack along. Don’t forget, more is involved than us. The whole human race needs to know what the kzinti are up to. We must maximize our chances of getting the news home. Agreed?”
Yoshii clenched his free hand into a fist, stared at it, raised his head, and answered, “Aye. And you can take better care of her.”
The Crashlander flushed. “I’m no piece of porcelain!” Immediately contrite, she stroked the Belter’s cheek while she asked unevenly, “How soon do we leave?”
Dorca
s smiled and made a gesture of blessing. “Let’s say an hour. We’ll need that much to stow gear. You two can have most of it to yourselves.”
12
The kzin warship was comparatively small, Prowling Hunter class, but not the less terrifying a sight. Weapon pods, boat bays, sensor booms, control domes studded a spheroid whose red hue, in the light of this sun, became like that of clotted blood. Out of it and across the kilometers between darted small fierce gleams that swelled into space-combat armor enclosing creatures larger than men. They numbered a dozen, and each bore at least two firearms.
Obedient to orders, Ryan operated the main personnel airlock and cycled four of them through. The first grabbed him and slammed him against the bulkhead so hard that it rang. Stunned, he would have slumped to the deck were it not for the bruising grip on his shoulders. The next two crouched with weapons ready. The last one took over the controls and admitted the remaining eight.
At once, ten went off in pairs to ransack the ship. It was incredible how fast they carried the mass of metal upon them. Their footfalls cast booming echoes down the passageways.
Markham and Tregennis, waiting in the saloon, were frisked and put under guard. Presently Ryan was brought to them. “My maiden aunt has better manners than they do,” he muttered, and lurched toward the bar. The kzin used his rifle butt to push him into a chair and gestured for silence. Time passed.
Within an hour, which felt longer to the humans, the boarding party was satisfied that there were no traps. Somebody radioed a report from the airlock; the rest shed their armor and stood at ease outside the saloon. Its air grew full of their wild odor.
A new huge and ruddy-gold form entered. The guard saluted, sweeping claws before his face. Markham jumped up. “For God’s sake, stand,” he whispered. “That’s the captain.”
Tregennis and, painfully, Ryan rose. The kzin’s gaze flickered over them and came back to dwell on Markham, recognizing leadership. The Wunderlander opened his mouth. Noises as of a tiger fight poured forth.
Did the captain register surprise that a man knew his language? He heard it out and spat a reply. Markham tried to continue. The captain interrupted, and Markham went mute. The captain told him something.
Markham turned to his companions. “He forbids me to mangle the Hero’s Tongue any more,” he related wryly. “He grants my request for a private talk—in the communications shack, where our translator is, since I explained that we do have one and it includes the right program. Meanwhile you may talk with each other and move freely about this cabin. If you must relieve yourselves, you may use the sink behind the bar.”
“How gracious of him,” Ryan snorted.
Markham raised brows. “Consider yourselves fortunate. He is being indulgent. Don’t risk provoking him. High-ranking kzinti are even more sensitive about their honor than the average, and he has earned a partial name, Hraou-Captain.”
“We will be careful,” Tregennis promised. “I am sure you will do your best for us.”
The commander went majestically out. Markham trailed. Ryan gusted a sigh, sought the bar, tapped a liter of beer, and drained it in a few gulps. The guard watched enviously but then also left. Discipline had prevented him from shoving the human aside and helping himself. He and a couple of his fellows remained in the passage. They conversed a bit, rumbling and hissing.
“We’ll be here a while,” Ryan sighed. “Care for a round of gin?”
“It would be unwise of us to drink,” Tregennis cautioned. “Best you be content with that mugful you had.”
“I mean gin rummy.”
“What is that, if not a, ah, cocktail?”
“A card game. They don’t play it on Plateau? I can teach you.”
“No, thank you. Perhaps I am too narrow in my interests, but cards bore me.” Tregennis brightened. “However, do you play chess?”
Ryan threw up his hands. “You expect me to concentrate on woodpushing now? Hell, let’s screen a show. Something light and trashy, with plenty of girls in it. Or would you rather seize the chance to at last read War and Peace?”
Tregennis smiled. “Believe it or not, Kamehameha, I have my memories. By all means, girls.”
The comedy was not quite finished when a kzin appeared and jerked an unmistakable gesture. The men followed him. He didn’t bother with a companion or with ever glancing rearward. At the flight deck he proceeded to Saxtorph’s operations cabin, waved them through, and closed the door on them.
Markham sat behind the desk. He was very pale and reeked of the sweat that stained his tunic, but his visage was set in hard lines. Hraou-Captain loomed beside him, too big to use a human’s chair, doubtless tired of being cramped in the comshack and maybe choosing to increase his dominance by sheer height. Another kzin squatted in a far corner of the room, a wretched-looking specimen, fur dull and unkempt, shoulders slumped, eyes turned downward.
“Attention,” rasped Markham. “I wish I did not have to tell you this—I hoped to avoid it—but the commander says I must. He . . . feels deception is pointless and . . . besmirches his honor. His superior on Secunda agrees; we have been in radio contact.”
The newcomers braced themselves.
Nonetheless it was staggering to hear: “For the past five years I have been an agent of the kzinti. Later I will justify myself to you, if your minds are not totally closed. It is not hatred for my species that drove me to this, but love and concern for it, hatred for the decadence that is destroying us. Later, I say. We dare not waste Hraou-Captain’s time with arguments.”
Regarding the faces before him, Markham made his tone dry. “The kzinti never trusted me with specific information, but after I began sending them information about hyperdrive technology, they gave me a general directive. I was to use my position as commissioner to forestall, whenever possible, any exploration beyond the space containing the human-occupied worlds. That naturally gave me an inkling of the reason—to prevent disclosure of their activities—and it became clear to me that some of the most important must be in regions distant from kzin space. When hope was lost of keeping you from this expedition, I decided my duty was to join it and stand by in case of need. Not that I anticipated the need, understand. The star looked so useless. But when you did get those radio indications, I knew better than you what they could mean, and was glad I had provided against the contingency, and beamed a notice of our arrival.”
“Your parents were brothers,” Ryan said.
Markham laid back his ears. “Spare the abuse. Remember, by forewarning the kzinti I saved your lives. If you had simply blundered into detector range—”
“They may be impulsive,” Tregennis said, “but they are not idiotic. I do not accept your assertion that they would reflexively have annihilated us.”
Markham trembled. “Silence. Bear in mind that I am all that stands between you and— It has been a long time since the kzinti in this project tasted fresh meat.”
“What are they doing?” Ryan asked.
“Constructing a naval base. They chose the system precisely because it seemed insignificant—the dimmest star in the whole region, devoid of heavy elements and impoverished in the light—though it does happen to have a ready source of iron and certain other crucial materials, together with a strategic location. They never expected humans to seek it out. They underestimated the curiosity of our species. They are . . . cats, not monkeys.”
“Uh-huh. Not noisy, sloppy, free-swinging monkeys like you despise. Kzinti respect rank. Once they’ve overrun us, they’ll put the niggers back in their proper place. From here they can grab off Beta Hydri, drive a salient way into our space—How many more prongs will there be to the attack? When is the next war scheduled for?”
“Silence!” Markham shouted. “Hold your mouth! One word from me, and—”
“And what? You need us, Art and me, you need us, else we wouldn’t be having this interview. Kill us, and your boss just gets a few meals.”
“Killing can be in due course. I imagine he
would enjoy your testicles for tomorrow’s breakfast.”
Ryan rocked on his feet. Tregennis’ lips squeezed together till they were white.
Markham’s voice softened. “I am warning, not threatening,” he said in a rush. “I’ll save you if I can, unharmed, but if you don’t help me I can promise nothing.”
He leaned forward. “Listen, will you? Obviously you can’t be released to spread the news—not yet—but some years of detention are better than death.” He could not quite hold back the sneer. “In your minds, I suppose. You’re lucky, lucky that I was aboard. Once my status has been verified, the high commandant can let me bring home a convincing tale of disaster. Else he would probably have had to kill us and make our bodies stage props, as Saxtorph suggested. I think he will spare you if I ask; it will cost him little, and kzinti reward faithful service. They also keep their promises. But you must earn your lives.”
“The boats,” Tregennis whispered.
Ryan nodded. “You’ve got a telepath on hand, I see,” he said flat-voiced. “He could make sure that my call in Hawaiian tells how everything is hearts and flowers. Except if he reads my mind, he’ll see that I ain’t gonna do it, no matter what. Or, okay, maybe they can break me, but Bob will hear that in his old pal’s voice.”
“I’ve explained this to Hraou-Captain,” Markham said, cooler now. “It is necessary to neutralize those boats, but they don’t pose any urgent threat, so we will start with methods less time-consuming than . . . interrogation and persuasion. Later, though, when we are on Secunda—that’s where we are going—later your cooperation in working up a plausible disaster for me to return with, that is what will buy you your lives. If you refuse, you’ll die for nothing, because we can always devise some deception which will keep humans away from here. You’ll die for nothing.”
“What the hell can we do about the boats? We don’t know where they’ve gone.”
Markham’s manner became entirely impersonal. “I have explained this to Hraou-Captain. I went on to explain that their actions will not be random. What Captain Saxtorph decides—has decided to do is a multivariate function of the logic of the situation and of his personality. You and he are good friends, Ryan. You can make shrewd guesses as to his behavior. They won’t be certain, of course, but they will eliminate some possibilities and assign rough probabilities to others. Your input may have some value, too, Professor. And even mine—in the course of establishing that I have been telling the truth.