“What was her name?” Marthar asked.
“I can’t pronounce it in Wunderlander,” he said, “but I could see her through the range-finder, and I’ll not forget the sight.”
If it had been a descriptive name, and most on both sides were, he could have found a Wunderlander equivalent easily enough. Wunderlander is very close to the scrambled Earth dialect called Angdeutsch. But he had avoided saying whether the cruiser has been a human or a kzin ship. “Cruiser” was a class designation used by both sides, but more commonly by humans. To have seen the ship by visual sight when the ships were in line ahead strongly suggested that he had been aboard a ship of the opposing fleet, not another in the line behind it, though of course he had perhaps watched it from a slaved drone-camera. Silver was always discreet about what he’d done in the war, but that was understandable, when there were ferocious representatives of both species on board, and when, towards the end, there had been a few telepaths, at least—not that he was anything like a telepath—fighting on the human side. Strange, anyway, to think of him in the uniform of any Navy (Kzin had found uniforms useful and copied them, like talcum powder, blow dryers and toilet paper). We laughed at some of his stories, such as the tale of one old villain of a kzin who, learning long after the war that the monkeys were giving out medals to those who had fought in the siege of Proxima Base, also applied for one, on the grounds that he had also been there, and without him and his pride there would have been no siege and no medals for anyone.
Marthar and I had a row. It started over whether I had said anything sensible to Silver about functions of several complex variables, which is about a million times worse than functions of just one. I said that although I didn’t claim to understand it at all really, I thought that there was something in my ideas, I just needed to work out the details.
“No chance of that, usually that’s my job.”
“Well, that’s because you never have ideas of your own,” I retorted, and we were off. We finished up shouting at each other. I gather that females have these times when they are totally irrational. My father used to complain about it in my mother, and maybe it happens whatever the species; so I suppose I should have just put up with it nobly, but I didn’t feel very noble just then.
Marthar flounced off and left me, probably to have a good sulk, something females of all species do, I expect. So I went back down to the Spy-Glass to talk to Silver, which I thought could be useful. He must know more about kzinretts than I did. Maybe he knew how to manage them when they got mad for no good reason.
When I got there, I knocked on the door and nobody came. Silver must have been out, so I wandered around looking for him. I saw some of the crew loping about on some business of their own, but there was no sign of Silver. I found an empty room with screens and computers; some of the screens showed the other parts of crew territory, but none looked outside the ship, because there was nothing to see. You don’t want too look into hyperspace—you don’t just go instantly (though temporarily) blind; for a long time you forget how to see. And I’m told that for most kzin it’s worse—one reason there hasn’t been another war so far, I guess. We were in deep space and under hyperdrive, and hadn’t actually got any location in the galaxy. I found a heavy metal door and tried to open it. The handle was meant for kzin, so it was a struggle, but eventually I managed to swing the door open and looked through. A blast of cold air greeted me, and I took a step through.
It was a storage room, if pretty big, bigger than Silver’s snug, and there were racks. In fact, I bumped into the first one because it was right next to the door, and as I recovered, the door swung shut behind me. The lights went out, so I fished out my phone and switched the thing on so the screen was bright enough to show me where I was. On the rack were fillets of meat. I realized that I had first got into something like the crew’s rec-room, and then into the place where they kept their snacks. For a moment I panicked at the thought that I would freeze to death, locked in to a freezer, but I realized that Valiant must know where I was. Even if the metal shielding around me prevented her from receiving my RFID transmissions, she would notice that they had suddenly stopped and where, and could easily figure out where I must be, so I shouldn’t have to wait too long. Still, I was glad modern clothes were good insulators, and with the ones we were wearing there were membranes that could be extended to cover hands and head. They could even, in emergencies, be used for a short term as spacesuits. And anyway, one of the crew must be here soon, looking for a snack, and as soon as he opened the door, I would surprise him by popping out. So I stood by the door, waiting to be released. Then I saw, on another rack, a little behind the first one, there was an arm, with dried blood on the floor below it. It was a kzin arm, and furry, although it carried some of the dyed markings that the kzin space-farers used as decoration. And the last time I had seen that arm it had been on first officer Arrow while he was alive. It seemed unlikely that he was alive now.
My brain was working fast and I realized that I was in big trouble. Any crewman finding me here would assume I had seen the body, and the conclusion that the crew had murdered him was forced on me at once. And it had to be a lot of the crew in on the murder, or else they’d have hidden it with some care. And letting me report it would not look like a good idea to the murderers. As these thoughts rushed through my mind, door opened, the lights came on, and the sound of kzin voices growling at each other came loud and clear. One of them was Silver’s.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A kzin arm came around the side of the door and a huge claw reached just above me. I ducked and the claw stabbed at the rack next to me, missed, tried again and snagged a lump of raw meat and then withdrew. The door started to close, but I stopped it just before it slammed shut. I sure didn’t want anybody outside to know I was here, but I didn’t want to be left locked in either, so I put a foot in the way just as short of closing as could be. The voices were still audible, but the speech was in the Heroes’ tongue, and my understanding was not too good. I fished out my phone, set it to translate into text, and with mounting horror, read what came out.
“No, no, not I,” said Silver. “K’zarr was cap’n then, I was quarter-master. Metal leg and all. Not a very modern job, is it? Went in a broadside at Ceres Castle. Missile came through the wall like a wtsai through a man-child, and battle armor meant nothing; slivers o’ silicon everywhere. I was lucky to keep my head; ’twere shielded by a gantry and a counter-missile. That was Raarkar’s Heroes, that was, and served us right for changin’ the ship’s name—Spear in the Gut should ha’ stayed, and K’zarr’s old ship Warrior Beast should never ha’ been changed to Black Flying Predator. ’Twas ill luck came o’ it then and more later. I seen the old Warrior Beast amuck wi’ the blood o’ Heroes from stem t’ stern, mind you, but never so many died as arterwards,”
“Ah,” another voice growled in admiration. “He were the greatest of them all, were K’zarr. No Hero to match him, not from the Patriarch on down.”
“D’vor Argh were a true Hero too, so ’tis said, though I ne’er sailed with him,” Silver said. “First wi’ Raarkar kzin, then wi’ K’zarr, that’s my story; and here now on my own account, in a manner o’ speakin’. An’ it comes from bein’ a savin’ kind o’ kzin, for I laid a million stars by from Raarkar an’ twice as many from K’zarr. All safe in a few banks, an’ earnin’ money from the humans. Not like most o’ Raarkar’s Heroes. Where are they now? And where’s K’zarr’s? Most o’ them on board here and glad to get a berth, that’s the truth of it. An’ look at how they lived! They was like old Gra-Prompyh, who lived like a lord for years wi’ no trace o’ sense, even wi’out his eyes what he left behind on this here treasure planet so-called; until ’e got broke an’ had to go back to beggin’. Well, ’e’s dead now, and wi’ the Fanged God or the Mist Demons, but not long before ’e was starving, so he was, an’ cuttin’ throats o’ human outlaws for a livin’.”
“It ain’t much use then, unless you’re in it for the glory an
d the danger,” another voice broke in.
“’Tain’t no use if yer a fool, and you may lay to that,” Silver growled. “But yer young, and yer smart, so iff ye’ll listen t’ those who done well, ye’ll do well too, see if it ain’t so. There are plenty of fools, ’tes true.
“I was at the Third Battle of Ceres, you know, what we call G’rnazzh-Ra, aboard Kzarr’s ship. At it, I say, not in it. We left the war to fools. We hung around in deep space, watching the Vengeful Slashers go in against the Darts, and when it was over helping ourselves to pickings among the wreckage. Heroes and monkeys had left salvageable loot—monopoles and such—in a spiral stretching out past the cold gas-planet the humans call Neptune, and that little rock-ball they call Pluto. Ho, those were sweet times!
“I remember we boarded the human hospital ship—it was damaged and couldn’t flee. Loaded with medical radioactives. That’s where I got these—the monkey admiral’s and the Chief Medical manrett’s ears! I don’t show ’em to everyone, of course. No sense in risking them being analyzed and recognized. And then there are these . . .”
“But those are . . . Heroes’ ears! With admiral’s tattoos!”
“Aye, and quite a fight he put up to keep them! But his ship was a wreck, and we cut the air supply lines to the last compartments where the survivors of the crew were holed up. We caught a telepath, and made him scramble their brains with his screaming. See! I have the Captain’s ears as well! The Captain would have served us as we served him—as our precious Captain here would serve us now if he knew what was what!
“How we laughed when we heard the monkeys and the Heroes had both put prices on our heads, in between killing each other!
“There was another thing, too. The humans had adapted some of their geriatric drugs to work on kzin and keep them young—to use on telepath traitors, I guess, since they were rare and valuable. We captured a slashing great load of them from the hospital ship. They’ve kept me and a few of the other free-booters young—for I’m older than I look.
“But K’zarr, his liver was a cool one! He had us search the wreckage and all the dead ships for computer parts, especially memory-storage bricks. Some of them were worthless, but some contained battle codes and such like. Do ye know what he did? When we had taken a few things away from certain prisoners to leave them harmless but leaving enough so that they were still alive, he dispatched them with messages to both high commands, offering to sell the codes and everything else to the highest bidder! No narrow-mindedness about old K’zarr, no species prejudice when there were monopoles and crystals to be had—not to mention geriatric drugs and kzinretti and telepaths—they were all included in the price we charged the Patriarch’s armed forces.”
“And they paid?”
“Aye, they paid. What choice did they have? Chuut-Riit, now, when he heard about it, swore vengeance to the death and to the generations. But he paid. He had to kill a couple of so-called Nobles who said No dealing with pirates, and I gather some humans felt likewise. Well. Chuut-Riit’s gone to the Fanged God now, and his grandson is aboard this ship, suspecting nothing, because his Sire is a monkey-pet . . . Aye, I remember after Ceres how the crippled human ships limped back towards Earth, crying for help. ‘Lame ducks’ the humans called them, and sent out ships to assist them. But often enough we had heard their squawking and got there first . . . They didn’t like dealing with us to buy the codes we had captured, none of them did, but what could they do? Both sides had to keep it secret that they were dealing with us. And we had mounted a fine array of battle-lasers and rail-guns by then. Chuut-Riit wouldn’t have lasted so long in his high and mighty palace if the word got about that he, the Patriarch’s nephew his own self, couldn’t even catch a horde of free-booting Heroes. The monkeys, too, were having trouble enough maintaining morale. They were losing the war before they got the hyperdrive.
“Never forget the free-booter’s great ally—the fact that space is big. And the hyperdrive has made it bigger yet. Oh, some called it a disaster for us when man got the hyperdrive. But some of us knew it for an opportunity. We knew then that we’d get it too, sooner or later. One reason we had never researched beyond the gravity-planer was because our theories said nothing could break the light barrier. But once it had been proved others had different theories . . . Now there are plenty of worlds on which to hide. Plenty of bored, landless Heroes we can use to carry out our commissions, and launder our money, as the humans say, when we have the wealth to pay. A fine game it can be. Could be a great start for a smart young Hero like you. End up with your own Name that none dare challenge, some planet far away from the monkeys and the Patriarchy both, with your own harem of kzinretti and hunting preserves, and a couple of ear-rings full of ears . . .”
I felt sick at heart to hear Silver use almost the same sort of flattery on a piratical thug as he had used on me. I think I’d have killed him if I could. Not knowing he was overheard he ran on:
“Skel showed a bit o’ sense, though not enough, an’ he’s gone to where they don’t come back. Now, here it is about kzin warriors o’ fortune: we lives rough, and we risk death and worse, but we eats and drinks like lords, we face danger like Heroes and defy it, and when a cruise is done, why, we ha’ hundreds o’ thousands o’ stars in our pouches instead of a weekly wage of tens if we’re lucky. Now the most goes on rum and a few kzinretti, and then it’s back into space. But that’s not my course. I puts it away, some here an’ some there and none too much anywheres, by reason of suspicion. And once I get back from this cruise I’ll set up as a lordling in earnest.”
There was a silence broken only by the sound of eating.
“Let me tell you how I became a free-booter,” said Silver. “My Sire’s Sire was a junior officer of the Patriarch’s Navy. The very first reports of contacts with humans were starting to come in. My Grand-Sire was in a cruiser, the Hunter’s Moon (the really good names were reserved for capital ships, of course). They were quite near the Ka’ashi system. There was the asteroid belt—what the humans call the Serpent Swarm.
“They detected a human mining operation of one of the bigger asteroids. The telepath reported an intelligent, cooperative, space-faring race, devoted wholly to peace—not a weapon among them apart from kitchen knives. All the promise of a prize to set up every member of the crew for life, plus Names from the Patriarch hisself. Nothing remarkable about that, we had detected and conquered such races in space before.
“Indeed, except for us, and the Jotok so foolishly recruiting and training us, it seemed a necessary condition for achieving spaceflight. To make it even better, the telepath reported they had mined large stockpiles of ores, and also monopoles. Saved the Heroes the trouble.
“The Hunter’s Moon carried two frigates. They landed, with the usual infantry contingents aboard. The human mines and living quarters were under bubble domes. One of the frigates had damaged its take-off and landing gear, and my Grand-Sire was ordered to remain with it and commence repairs if he could, him being a good engineer. The rest attacked the humans.
“Grand-Sire heard what happened over the comlink. Most of the humans were killed, those who had got into spacesuits ran screaming out onto the surface. They had never even seen kzin before—thought they were the only species travelling in space. The Heroes let them go. There was nowhere for them to run. They had a ship, of course, but judging from its size it was only a small shuttle used to communicate periodically with a bigger carrier. They would die on the surface when their oxygen gave out.
“Suddenly, the radio went mad, and died. Grand-Sire saw the human ship taking off, burning a drive like a torch. Then it passed over the second frigate and destroyed it with its exhaust flame. It headed straight for the Hunter’s Moon, that was all unsuspecting, and rammed it! Ever seen two spaceships collide? I have. It’s something to see. Lit up the whole sky like a supernova for a moment.
“Grand-Sire’s frigate was still immobile. He got suited up and ran to the bubble dome. Dead monkeys and dead Heroes everywhe
re. He found the Captain, still just alive. He had his spacesuit on and that had saved him when the dome opened to vacuum. Before he died, he told Grand-Sire what had happened.
“After the weed-eaters had fled, the Heroes had been making an inventory of the loot. They had not bothered to set a guard against the weed-eaters. What was the need?
“Then the humans had counter-attacked. They had cutting torches, signal lasers dialed up, mining tools, everything they had they used as weapons. They were already beaten and they counterattacked—the captain kept saying that, over and over as he died, as if he couldn’t believe it. Then the surviving humans took their ship, destroyed one frigate and then the Hunter’s Moon. I guess they reckoned they had no time to get the other frigate before the Hunter’s Moon deployed its weapons. They only achieved what they did there because most of the crew had been landed, and because of surprise . . . utter surprise.
“Grand-Sire was alone on that asteroid for several weeks, with just the corpses of monkeys and Heroes for company and food, repairing the frigate for takeoff. Then he flew it single-handed to where the fleet was gathering. And the first chance he got, he deserted.
“He had had plenty of time to think. Why had the telepath reported a weaponless, pacifist race? And he hit on the right answer, though others would not believe him and nearly dueled him over it: the monkeys had suppressed their warlike nature deliberately because, freed of inhibitions, they were too savage and warlike. He had found a religious shrine where they had worshipped on the asteroid, and it was dominated by what looked like a stylized sword. Later he found he was wrong, it wasn’t a sword but an instrument of torture, a crucifix, but he’d been following the right spoor. Anyway, he alone guessed that the kzin species was going to be in for the fight of its life, and it would be better to be a live free-booter than a dead Hero. He joined Gutfoot’s Horde, lurking beyond the outliers of the fleet, and started a family tradition.