Back on the frigate their Wunderland kzinti specialist wasn’t optimistic about a translation. He had worked in the kzinti bureaucracy most of his adult life. “It’s technicalese. Even the technicalese of a standardized scientific language like English is hard to decode if you’re just a linguist. This is the Hero’s Tongue all right, and I can get the words and the dates and the sense of it—but the content of it is another matter. The chemical symbolism is all there—but we don’t really understand how they think about biochemistry. It’s like trying to read a scientific paper from Newton’s time. But the mere fact that we know it is chemistry and medicine gives us a leg up. We’ll figure out something. Don’t know how far we’ll get.”
The initial analysis did reveal that they were dealing with experiments on many different humans; one of them was Lieutenant Nora Argamentine. Her genetic makeup was on her military records—and whoever this kzin was he had been entering in his experiments genetic codes that belonged uniquely to Argamentine.
“Can you tell what he’s been trying to do to her?”
“Yeah, but I had to check it. Grow hair.”
“What?”
“He was adjusting her body to grow a full coat of fur. Don’t know the full outcome. The record ends suddenly, maybe when they left for Hssin.”
Yankee wasn’t ready for the surface just yet. The evidence was that kzin and slaves had abandoned ship for residence on Hssin, and Yankee needed to know all he could find before having to stalk them through the wreckage of a dead city. If Nora was still alive down there he didn’t want her killed as a hostage just because of failed preparations.
Yankee let Hwass-Hwasschoaw loose in the Bitch—with a marine and a robo-ant escort. And with an explosive charge attached to Hwass’s spinal cord at the point on his back which a kzin couldn’t reach with his hands. Some of Yankee’s men gently chided their boss for being paranoia “Better paranoid than destroyed,” was his motto. He was honest with the kzin. “I don’t trust you.”
The kzin accepted such directness graciously. He had made an open bargain with Clandeboye that he was keeping faithfully. Yankee was under no illusions; he suspected that his kzin had an agenda beyond any bargain—Hwass was as much interested in the fate of the hypershunt motor as was the UNSN, though the subject was never mentioned. They talked about Nora Argamentine, a screen to cover their mutual interest in the Shark’s fate.
In his report Hwass claimed to have put together the sequence of events which had brought the Nesting-Slashtooth-Bitch to Hssin, though the logs no longer existed. Yankee was surprised at the competence of the kzin’s observations. They were on a level that made him dangerous. The report was thorough, but the damn ratcat was assuming too much, Hwass seemed to be having a hard time with the idea of a slave revolt. Yankee was just having a hard time with the idea of five-limbed slaves.
He did some research. The ARM’s database didn’t have much on the Jotok.
They were born the size of minnows. The race lacked any kind of sexual conflict because when five minnow-arms wedded during their pond phase they were always of different sexes. Divorce to a fused Jotok was as unthinkable as divorcing a heart or a liver. During childhood they were scurrying, unthinking animals of no great bulk, surviving in their forested habitat more by the laws of large numbers than by their wits—like toads or fish, the prey of carnivores. Only adolescence brought on an endocrinal sea-change in their nervous system. Half-grown, they now had the bulk and the digestive capacity to support the development of their five networked brains. (At this point Yankee noted wryly that human intelligence was limited by the pelvic size of the human female; until not so long ago the mother of a super-genius died in childbirth.) The Jotoki had no such limitation.
Left in the wild they never learned to talk but became very clever. The wild, unparented Jotok made a cunning forest foe and a tasty meal and for that reason was widely stocked in kzinti hunting parks. To talk they needed to be adopted by a speaking adult. How had it been in the eons before they became slaves of the kzin? Had an adult Jotok taken a walk in the forest and picked out a ripe teenager to become his bond servant? Was there still a free Jotok world out there among the stars? Within the Patriarchy it was only an adult kzin who was allowed to adopt a maturing Jotok.
The ARM researcher had left an open question at the end of his essay. Full-named kzin, who had their harems and their sons to raise, told glowing tales of Jotok hunts, how cleverly this animal evaded pursuit and how dangerous he could be. There were poems to the taste of fresh-caught Jotok. But these animals were plainly thought to make vicious, unreliable slaves. Yet kzinti who had been denied harems by their more aggressive rivals, who could afford not even a single female, were the ones who adopted and raised Jotoki as slaves, praising their virtues.
Yankee called upon Hwass for clarifications to his summary of events. This kzin’s command of English sometimes lacked clarity. He took for granted things that Yankee did not know. And perhaps he was being evasive about fine points.
“Let’s go over it from the beginning so that I can be sure I have it straight. We’ll concentrate on Nora and the slave revolt.”
Hwass began his exposition from an oblique angle, too shocked by his own discoveries to be direct. “Yess. I iss deduce captive Argamentine iss first kept in cages.”
“You kzin seem to have a cavalier way of treating your prisoners of war!” Yankee was angry but he was diplomat enough not to mention the torture or the experiments.
“She iss animal,” explained Hwass.
“She is an intelligent being, not an animal!” snapped Yankee, his rage getting the better of him.
“Many animal iss intelligent. Not right criterion. God iss created many kinds animals. Dumb animals. Smart animals. Foolish animals. Food animals. Unclean animals. Dishonest animals. All iss got place in God’s universe.”
“And you’re not an animal?”
“No.”
“We’ll agree to disagree. Let’s get back on track. Nora is in the cages. What then? What you’ve dug up looks like a mutiny to me.”
“There iss major fight battle inside Bitch at Wunderland. You iss not notice the spoor. Clever cleanup.” He went over his documentation of the erased dents, the electronic equipment which had been rigged and then derigged, including a control room network tap. “Evidence toolroom jigs iss hasty set to shape-out weapons not good for any use except fight inside ship.” Hwass was able to reconstruct the battle almost from the original dormitory gassings to the final killings in the corridors.
“Jotoki against ratcat?”
Hwass obviously had difficulty with Yankee’s phrasing. “Slave against master,” he corrected stiffly.
“Does that happen often?”
Hwass smiled at the insult, waiting to calm himself before he continued. “Never. Iss work of ruthless traitor, Trainer-of-Slaves. Death penalty by chopped-liver for what he iss do.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“You iss must understand. Dominance/dominated roles established iss what make war profitable. Sometimes produce conundrum puzzle.
“Number one conundrum: Trainer-of-Slaves iss ordered to battle. Iss his heroic duty. As dominated-one, he sees himself make glorious obedience. All piece of puzzles fit right action. Iss good approvable solution. Thus conundrum puzzle complete.
“But Hwakkss! He iss notice piece protrude. Many ways to put conundrum back together—but iss only one way with no piece protrude. Hwakkss, this sticking-out-piece iss battle loss of important captive and all special knowledge!
“Number two: Trainer-of-Slaves iss has other excellent duty. Captive gifted to Patriarch so her big knowledge iss war profit. Such good aftermath iss golden desire. But conundrum puzzle completed new way iss has new piece sticking out.
“Hwakkss! New sticking-out-piece iss mean must break dominance bond/word/honor—run from battle—kill warriors who iss trekking duty bound. Bad smell.
“Puzzle put together one way, Trainer-of-Slaves iss traitor. Pu
zzle put together other way, Trainer-of-Slaves iss traitor. What iss your monkey idiom: rock and hard place?”
“Sounds like a recipe for mutiny,” said Yankee. “That I understand.” But he wasn’t convinced. “So this Trainer-of-Slaves waves his wtsai in the air and his slaves swarm over the ship, killing kzin?” Put that way it didn’t even sound likely.
Hwass was pained. It wasn’t that simple.
First he had to explain the peculiar nature of the slaves commanded by Trainer-of-Slaves. No Jotok could or would revolt. (Hwass was absolutely sure of that.) Any Jotok, he explained, was a hopeless strategist because it was an animal with five minds. These spiderlike vegetarians were subject to five-way internal arguments. Each mind had absolute control over only one arm and one eye though each could grant control to another mind. Depending upon which minds were awake and which were asleep, a Jotok went through a kaleidoscope of daily personality changes. He could not create orders—but a properly trained Jotok would obey orders!
“I’ve been led to understand that many kzin refuse to own Jotoki because they can be vicious and unpredictable. That doesn’t sound like obeying orders to me.”
“You iss must understand the mystical order that God iss place upon His creations. When you know God’s mind all iss revealed. The secret of Jotoki loyalty iss simple. Never buy a Jotok. He iss will serve you well or maybe not—but he iss be loyal to his trainer. Never to accept Jotok as gift. He iss will work hard—but he iss be loyal only to his trainer.” Hwass thumped his tail. It was irritating to have to explain such elementary realities to an animal. “Trainer-of-Slaves iss have no sons to raise. He iss have time to train Jotoki. The worst he sells, the best he keeps. You iss understand now?”
“Not really.”
Hwass continued his impatient lecture. He had deduced the only possible scenario. When Trainer-of-Slaves learned that the Nesting-Slashtooth-Bitch was to be committed to a deadly battle he laid out a plan of action for his disciplined corps of Jotoki slaves before being arrested for insubordination and confined to hibernation. All they had to do was carry out his brilliant plan.
“Trainer-of-Slaves iss master strategist.”
First the deadly gas attack on the dormitory to kill all sleeping kzin. Hwass was unaware of the nature of the gas but was certain that Trainer knew enough chemistry to manufacture it. Then the failed attack directly at the command center which had sent the now alert kzin scurrying to battle stations. This had set up a cascade of killing traps, each one propelling the surviving kzinti into the next.
“If he’s such a brilliant strategist, why was he so afraid of Lieutenant Argamentine?”
“Trainer-of-Slaves iss known coward. Mocking name iss ‘Eater-of-Grass.’ Lieutenant-Observer iss once escape. Iss try kill Trainer.” Hwass’s ears were wiggling in mirth. “Trainer pisses vegetable broth. Iss has made big mistake. Was assume female human iss feminine.”
“He got that right.”
“Iss wrong. Human females is all dyke.” Hwass’s ears were wiggling again.
“You’re asking to be spaced.”
“Iss joke,” said Hwass, grinning. “Spacing me iss breaking honorable contract.”
“Take it easy. I’m just being sarcastic. You’ve earned your passage back to Kzin.”
“Twice,” growled Hwass.
It might be a good idea to space him, thought Yankee, contract be damned. He knew too much. But it didn’t really matter. If the Shark had been repaired, the Patriarch already knew, and if it hadn’t made it, learning that Trainer had failed wasn’t going to help the Patriarch. And Hwass would be carrying a peace message from Commissioner Markham.
“My word is good,” he said.
“Contract iss not finish yet. You iss need guide to Hssin.”
The ratcat was thinking that the Shark might be down there. “Suppose we found the ship down there? What would you do?”
“Iss interesting hypothetical question.”
Later Yankee grumbled about Hwasschoaw when he was discussing the details of the coming Hssin landing party with their captain. “Every time I talk to him he gives me the heebie-jeebies. He’s planning to kill us all.”
“Of course. He’s a kzin. But he can’t.”
“I didn’t like the way he was looking at my air-conditioning grille. He had a glint in his eye when he talked about how Trainer had gassed the crew of the Bitch. Why did he notice that detail? It was on his mind.”
“We’ve got eight separate life-support systems on this ship. The air conditioners lock up the second they sense fire or toxic gas.”
“I think I’m going to keep at least two men in suits at all times.”
“What about food poisoning?” the captain teased.
“I’ll think about it.”
“We billet him in what amounts to a cage. When he’s out, he’s under guard.”
“He’ll escape. He’s going to try to kill us all and steal the ship.”
The captain laughed. “Not a chance.”
“Don’t count on it.”
•
Chapter 12
(2437 A.D.)
Grraf-Nig’s plan to steal the Shark and escape to Kzin was proceeding without a flaw. His team of W’kkai engineers had rebuilt the Shark to his specifications, saving the internal structures he was sure were necessary for the hyperfield build-up, replacing the rest with a kzinti design that was far in advance of any standard kzin technology. He’d been in maintenance at Wunderland, adept at implementing illegal ship modifications in fighters; he knew he had at his disposal the most deadly small fighting craft ever fielded by the kzinti. It would be able to outmaneuver any ship of the old W’kkai Standard Spec Attack Fleet. If it was in operational condition.
Cautious testing had uncovered only minor problems. Of course, there had, as yet, been no tests of the hyperdrive in the new configuration—all experimentation outside the singularity had to be carefully hidden from UNSN patrol surveillance. But the Shark’s new hyperspace performance did not really worry Grraf-Nig; he had spent thirteen years overhauling its motor. This particular hypershunt had brought him from Hssin to W’kkai and had never showed any of the instabilities of the W’kkai copies which were giving them so much trouble.
In the early tests of the modified Shark he’d always had an overdressed W’kkai warrior with him as test pilot. For this “final” test (which was only number three in a series of eight-plus-one) he had managed to arrive early, by priority shuttle, bringing with him his Jotok slave, Long-Reach, “for a special pre-flight installation.” Some officer would be skinned alive for not noticing the irregularity.
The Shark was now loaded and flight-checked, minus only its perfumed Ship-Tester, who had been conveniently delayed on W’kkai but who was probably already puzzled by the special priority shuttle that had preceded him to the test craft. He would not yet be alarmed. The test sequence commands were to be delivered electromagnetically by the research station and could be overridden only by Ship-Tester and only in an emergency. So everyone thought.
By the time Ship-Tester was on his way, the five arms of Long-Reach had rewired the controls. It was too late to stop the escape.
Grraf-Nig turned his attention to the space around him. The research station was only a glint in the sky, but W’kkai was still a large disk. W’kkaisun was so large at a hundred light-seconds that it had to be blotted out by the sunscreens. He and Long-Reach had a lengthy maneuver ahead of them. Because the singularity around W’kkaisun extended out for three light hours it would take at least a day at maximum gravitic polarizer acceleration before they could disappear via hypershunt. They had a good chance to beat pursuit. A sphere three light hours in radius was an enormous volume to defend, and the W’kkai navy was of necessity deployed to defend priority installations, not to prevent defections.
The worst danger came from the fleet close to W’kkai, who would get their pursuit orders immediately with a minimum of light-lag delay. The improved Shark still had a twelve-g accelerati
on edge on the best of the Screams-of-Vengeance fighters available to intercept them. Grraf-Nig glanced warily at the brilliant point of light that was cold Hrotish, six times as massive as W’kkai with its important W’kkai-sized moon. There was a fleet there, too, and they were only six light minutes away.
Several “cones of escape” looked very good, though the desperado was not underestimating the risks. The Fanged God threw his bones carelessly. Grraf-Nig recalled the biggest coincidence of his lifetime—how he came to be testing illegal modifications of Kr-Captain’s Scream-of-Vengeance fighter at just the right time and place. Chance alone had placed them at a location from which they were able to destroy the human ramscoop Yamamoto as it passed through the Alpha Centauri system. Luck might be with them now—and it might not.
Briefly he relished his memories of Grraf-Hromfi, the greatest strategist he had ever known, the warrior he had honored by taking half his name. “Look before you leap,” reminded the master constantly. Grraf-Nig had programmed a randomly curving path through the cone of escape so that W’kkai sensors, handicapped by light-lag, would give an ever less accurate prediction of his real position.
A wary Hero scanned his instruments. He looked at the glint of the research station and looked straight at Hrotish before he grinned—and leaped. A rebuilt Shark shot off at an acceleration that human technology could not match.
Missile attack would be the best way to stop him, but he doubted that they would use it against their only reliably operational hypershunt motor. If they did, he had beam-armament and a very good “Weapons-Officer” in Long-Reach who had always played that part while they were illegally modifying fighter craft for the Fifth-Fleet’s Black Pride at Centauri. To call his slave “Weapons-Officer?” aloud would not do—but he could think it. Long-Reach’s five networked brains made him the fastest Weapons-Officer Grraf-Nig had ever met.
Beam attack was another danger but he did not doubt that he could sidestep any offensive beam-weapon launched against him, never having met a W’kkai warrior who understood beam evasion. He understood. He had been trained by Grraf-Hromfi, who had been trained by Chuut-Riit. Beam-weapons were a favorite of the humans, who had used them in ingenious fashions while defending themselves at Man-sun. Never one to overlook details, Chuut-Riit analyzed their monkey-tricks and formalized a defensive dance against them. The weakness of beam weapons was the light-lag. They were useful against fixed targets. They were useful for a long-distance surprise assault. They were useful for light-second infighting. Otherwise they could be defended against.