Man-Kzin Wars XII by Larry Niven (books you have to read .TXT) 📕

"They try to be. If they have fears, only Telepaths know about it, which is one reason Telepaths of the Patriarchy are hated and despised—and short-lived. But big windows are a definite cultural statement. . . . Our footprints in the snow as we came back—there was something odd there too, but I can't get my claws into it. . . . Apart from a few slaves, who did we see as we returned?"

"Other kzinti."

"Yes, and they took you for granted."

"I hadn't thought of that!"

"Human slaves are not rare. Well, that may be understandable. . . . But there was something else. By human standards kzinti culture is pretty uniform, with some local variations, but I get a feeling that there is something different here, something non-kzinti . . ." His voice trailed off.

"Can you be more precise?"

"I'm trying . . . gold . . . there's something . . . You don't really walk like a slave."

"I'm sorry."

"It could be fatal for you on some—probably most—kzinti worlds. But here you hardly rated a glance."

"I didn't realize you were watching like that."

"We must always watch like that! In this job the vigilant and the dead are the only kinds of operatives they are—though sometimes the vigilant are the dead all the same. Anyway, we've used fang paste for five generations and I'm not changing now."

"What if there is a telepath?"

"It would be dishonorable to use one on me unless he can be certain I've lied about something significant. And you may have noticed I've told as few direct lies as possible in case his ziirgrah picks them up. Even the occupation 'slave trader' can, with rationalization, be translated into something approximating the truth, since the Heroes' Tongue has no expression for our particular task."

"And does your own ziirgrah pick up anything?"

"This feeling of oddness, which, no, I can't be more precise about. And that he's keeping a lot back. When I mentioned 'honor'—which was a mistake, by the way; it's slightly bad form to talk about honor to a noble kzin—I felt an odd stiffening. As if he's doing something his own sense of honor is not entirely happy about. I must say that doesn't surprise me much. Any noble kzinti house tends to have plots and secrets, the more subtle and complex because kzinti hardly ever actually lie outright. It makes for certain tensions.

"But I can't see that any plots are remotely likely to be anything to do with us. I don't feel more suspicion emanating from him than kzintoshi usually feel in the presence of strangers like me. But if I feel anything I'll leap it back here and we'll be off. You'd better keep alert in case we have to move quickly."

"Don't you worry about that, I'll not be goofing off. A human doesn't on a kzinti world."

"It would be bad manners—and theft—for anyone else to eat you, unless I get into a duel and lose. Then my property becomes my conqueror's. But we may have to take off in a hurry. By the way, I take it you've noticed these." He pointed to dots of orange light circling the hologram of the planet.

"Orbiting spaceships."

"Yes, they still have a couple of battle wagons, though they look dead. My guess is they're either laid up or have small maintenance crews on board."

"Two ships aren't enough to do much."

"They're big enough to be carriers. And even if not, if they've got weapons systems functioning—and these are kzinti ships we're talking about, so they will have if they're alive at all—they could make any takeoff hairy. If you do have to lift on your own, keep well away from them."

"The alarms are set. All the cloaking devices are ready. And the missiles are armed."

"Good. But I don't think trespassers will be a problem. Now that I've been pissed on I'm formally Warrgh-Churrg's guest . . . though he might send agents to check if I'm telling the truth about the hyperdrive."

"That's a cheery thought. So I'm to wait here tonight listening for the pad of little cat feet while you're partying?"

"Yes. It goes with the territory. Keep your eyes on the sensors and lock yourself in the furthest possible cabin if anything gets in. At discretion, you are to take off. That is an order, by the way, and I'm formally recording it as such. You have your suicide pill if need be. It's unfortunate that buildings here are much closer together than they usually are on kzinti worlds, but you've got a clear field of vision round the ship. . . . I wonder why the architecture is different?"

"Yes, now that you mention it, it looks different even to me."

"But if you think I'm dead, or it seems I can't get back to you, take off fast. I gather they have too few deep-space ships left now to keep many simply sitting around on standby, but the fact we've seen none docked doesn't mean there aren't any—from what he said, they have a few at least—and there are aircraft that could pursue, not to mention beams and missiles, plus whatever war satellites they may have put up in the past. I'm nearly sure those ships they're got in parking orbit are empty, or have only maintenance crews at most." The kzin wrinkled his ears thoughtfully. "But if we do have to run, they will wonder why we affected so much interest in the kz'zeerekti here."

"But they won't know. The kz'zeerekti will be no worse off than they are already."

"That's probably plenty bad enough, Perpetua. I think he'll let me join a hunt. Don't talk to me in English anymore. From now on I've got to think in the Heroes' Tongue."

"Good luck, Ginger."

"A Hero does not need luck. Snarr' grarrch."

"Urr."

III

Sunset had deepened into night. The gravity vehicles halted near a small observation tower.

Ginger, known to these kzinti as Trader, disembarked from the car which Warrgh-Churrg had lent him, and joined Hunt Master, Estate Manager, and the other local gentry, including one with the accouterments of a full-Named noble, grim-eyed, his jaws set in a permanent snarl. A couple of eights of kzinti youngsters, proudly bedecked with the time-honored weapons of the