Man-Kzin Wars IV by Larry Niven (best novels to read for students txt) 📕

Fangs—or any kzinti vessel, for that matter—smelled of death. It aroused in a human the deepest and most primordial fears. Imagine a neolithic hunter, trapped in a tiger’s cave, surrounded by the stench of big cats and dead, decaying prey—and that was how the behind-the-scenes Halloran felt.

Fixer-of-Weapons salivated at the smells of food, but trembled at the same time.

“You are not well?” the escorting Aide-to-Commanders asked hopefully; Fixer’s presence on the battleship could mean much disruption. The kzin’s thoughts were quite clear to Fixer: Why did Kfraksha-Admiral allow this one aboard? He smells of confinement … and…

Fixer did not worry about these insights, which might be expected of a pitiful telepath; he would use whatever information was available to re-establish his rank and position. He lifted his lip at the subordinate, lowest of ranks aboard the battleship, a servant and licker-of-others’-fur. Aide-to-Commanders shrank back, spreading his ears and curling his thick, unscarred pink tail to signify non-aggression.

“Do not forget yourself,” Fixer reminded him. “Kfraksha-Admiral is my ally. He chose to rescue me.”

“So it is,” Aide-to-Commanders acknowledged. He led Fixer down a steep corridor, with no corners for hiding would-be assailants, and straightened before the hatch to Kfraksha-Admiral’s quarters. “I obey the instructions of the Dominant One.”

That the commander did not allow Fixer to groom or eat before debriefing signified in how little regard he was held. Any survivor of a warship lost to animals carried much if not all the disgrace that would adhere to a surviving commander.

Kfraksha-Admiral bade him enter and growled to Aide-to-Commanders that they would be alone. This was how the kzin commander maintained his position without losing respect, by never exhibiting weakness or fear. Loss of respect could mean constant challenge, once they were out of a combat zone with its restrictions. As a kzin without rank, Fixer might be especially volatile; perhaps deranged by long confinement in a tiny lifeship, he might attack the commander in a foolish effort to regain and then better his status with one combat. But Kfraksha-Admiral apparently ignored all this, spider inviting spider into a very attractive parlor.

“Is your shame bearable?” Kfraksha-Admiral asked, a rhetorical question since Fixer was here, and not immediately contemplating suicide.

“I am not responsible for the actions of the commander of War Loot, Dominant One,” Fixer replied.

“Yes, but you advised Kufcha-Captain of alien technologies, did you not?”

“I now advise you. Your advantage that I am here, and able to tell you what the animals can do.”

Kfraksha-Admiral regarded Fixer with undisguised contempt and mild interest. “Animals destroyed your home. How did this happen?”

This is why I am aboard, Fixer thought. Kfraksha-Admiral overcomes his disgust to learn things that will give him an edge.

“They did not engage War Loot or any of our sortie. There is still no evidence that they have armed their worlds, no signs of an industry preparing for manufacture of offensive weapons—”

“They defeated you without weapons?”

“They have laser-propulsion systems of enormous strength. You recall, in our first meetings, the animals used their fusion drives against our vessels—”

“And allowed us to track their spoor back to their home worlds. The Patriarchy is grateful for such uneven exchanges. How might we balance this loss?”

Fixer puzzled over his reluctance to tell Kfraksha-Admiral everything. Then: My knowledge is my life.

“I am of no use to the fleet,” Fixer said, with the slightest undertone of menace. He was gratified to feel—but not see—Kfraksha-Admiral tense his muscles. Fixer could measure the commander’s resolve with ease.

“I do not believe that,” Kfraksha-Admiral said. “But it is true that if you are no use to me, you are of no use to anybody … and not welcome.”

Fixer pretended to think this over, and then showed signs of submission. “I am without position,” he said sadly. “I might as well be dead.”

“You have position as long as you are useful to me,” Kfraksha-Admiral said. “I will allow you to groom and feed … if you can demonstrate how useful you might be.”

Fixer cocked his fan-shaped ears forward in reluctant obeisance. These maneuvers were delicate—he could not concede too much, or Kfraksha-Admiral would come to believe he had no knowledge. “The humans must be skipping industrialization for offensive weapons. They are converting peaceful—”

Kfraksha-Admiral showed irritation at that word, not commonly used by kzinti.

“—propulsion systems into defensive weapons.”

“This contradicts reports of their weakness,” Kfraksha-Admiral said. “Our telepaths have reported the animals are reluctant to fight.”

“They are adaptable,” Fixer said.

“So much can be deduced. Is this all that you know?”

“I learned the positions from which two of the Propulsion beams were fired. It should be easy to calculate their present location…”

Kfraksha-Admiral spread his fingers before him unsheathing long, black and highly polished claws. Now it was Fixer’s turn to tense.

“You are my subordinate,” the commander said. “You will pass these facts on to me alone.”

“What is my position?” Fixer asked.

“Fleet records of your accomplishments have been relayed to me. Your fitness for position is acceptable.” The days when mere prowess in personal combat decided rank were long gone, of course; qualifications had to be met before challenges could be made. “You will replace the Alien Technologies Officer on this ship.”

“By combat?” A commander could grant permission … which was tantamount to an order to fight. Another means of intimidating subordinates.

“By my command. There will be no combat. Your presence here will not be disruptive, so do not become too ambitious, or you will face me … on unequal terms.”

“And the present officer?”

“I have a new position he will not be unhappy with. That is not your concern. Now stand and receive my mark.”

Halloran-Fixer could not anticipate what the commander intended quickly enough to respond with anything more than compliance. Kfraksha-Admiral lilted his powerful leg and swiftly, humiliatingly, peed on Halloran-Fixer, distinctly marking him as the commander’s charge. Then Kfraksha-Admiral sat on a broad curving bench and regarded him coldly.

Deeply ashamed but docile—what else could he be?—Fixer studied the commander intently. It would not be so difficult to … what?

That thought was swept away even before it took