The Man-Kzin Wars 01

planner. They would hide and ambush the searchers but he reminded her of their projectile and beam weapons. Very well, they would claim absolute homestead rights accepted by all ancient kzinti clans — but modern kzinti, he insisted, had probably forgotten those ancient immunities.

“You may as well invite them in for breakfast,” he grumbled. “Back on earth, women's weapons included poison. I thought you had some kzinrett weapons.”

“Poisons would take time, Rockear. It takes little time, and not much talent, to set warriors fighting to the death over a female. Surely they would still respond with foolish bravado?”

“I don't know; they've never seen a smart kzinrett. And ship's officers are very disciplined. I don't think they'd get into a free-for-all. Maybe lure them in here and hit 'em while they sleep.”

“As you did to me?”

“Uh no, I— yes!” He was suddenly galvanized by the idea, tantalized by the treasures he had left in the cave. “Kit, the machine I set up to preserve food is exactly the same as the one I placed under you, to make you sleep when I hit a foot switch.” He saw her flash of anger at his earlier duplicity. “An ancient sage once said anything that's advanced enough beyond your understanding is indistinguishable from magic, Kit. But magic can turn on you. Could you get a warrior to sit or lie down by himself?”

“If I cannot, I am no prret,” she purred. “Certainly I can leave one lying by himself. Or two. Or…”

“Okay, don't get graphic on me,” he snapped. “We've got only one stasis unit here. If only I could get more but I can't leave in the airboat without that damned little transmitter! Kit, you'll have to go and get Puss now. I'll promise her anything within reason.”

“She will know we are at a disadvantage. Her demands will be outrageous.”

“We're all at a disadvantage! Tell her about the kzin warship that's hanging over us.”

“Hanging magically over us,” she corrected him. “It is true enough for me.”

Then she was gone, loping away in darkness, leaving him to fumble his way to the meat storage unit he had so recently installed. The memocomp's faint light helped a little, and he was too busy to notice the passage of time until, with its usual sudden blaze, the sunlet of Kzersatz began to shine.

He was hiding the wires from Puss's bed to the foot switch near the little room's single doorway when he heard a distant roll of thunder. No, not thunder: it grew to a crackling howl in the sky, and from the nearest window he saw what he most feared to see. The kzin lifeboat left a thin contrail in its pass, circling just inside the force cylinder of Kzersatz, and its wingtips slid out as it slowed. No doubt of the newcomer now, and it disappeared in the direction of that first landing, so long ago. If only he'd thought to booby-trap that landing zone with stasis units! Well, he might've, given time.

He finished his work in fevered haste, knowing that time was now his enemy, and so were the kzinti in that ship, and so, for all practical purposes, was the traitor Puss. And Kit? How easy it will be for her to switch sides! Those females will make out like bandits wherever they are, and I may learn Kit's decision when these goddamned prongs take a lethal bite in my back. Could be any time now. And then he heard movements in the high grass nearby, and leaped for his longbow.

Kit flashed to the doorway, breathless. “She is coming, Rockear. Have you set your sleeptrap?”

He showed her the rig. “Toe it once for sleep, again for waking, again for sleep,” he said. “Whatever you do, don't get near enough to touch the sleeper, or stand over him, or you'll be in the same fix. I've set it for maximum power.”

“Why did you put it here, instead of our own bed?”

He coughed and shrugged. “Uh, — I don't know. Just seemed like — well, hell, it's our bed, Kit! I… um, didn't like the idea of your using it, ah, the way you'll have to use it.”

“You are an endearing beast,” she said, pinching him lightly at the neck, “to bind me with tenderness.”

They both whirled at Puss's voice from the main doorway: “Bind who with tenderness?”

“I will explain,” said Kit, her face bland. “If you brought those trade goods, display them on your bed.”

“I think not,” said Puss, striding into the room she'd shared with Boots. “But I will show them to you.” With that, she sat on her bed and reached into her apron pocket, drawing out a w'tsai for inspection.

An instant later she was unconscious. Kit, with Locklear kibitzing, used a grass broom to whisk the knife safely away. “I should use it on her throat,” she snarled, but she let Locklear take the weapon.

“She came of her own accord,” he said, “and she's a fighter. We need her, Kit. Hit the switch again.”

A moment later, Puss was blinking, leaping up, then suddenly backing away in fear. “Treachery,” she spat.

In reply, Locklear tossed the knife onto her bed despite Kit's frown. “Just a display, Puss. You need the knife, and I'm your ally. But I've got to have that little gadget that looks like my wristcomp.” He held out his hand.

“I left it at the birthing bower. I knew it was important,” she said with a surly glance as she retrieved the knife. “For its return, I demand our total release from this household. I demand your help to build a manor as large as this, wherever I like. I demand teaching in your magical arts.” She trembled, but stood defiant; a dangerous combination.

“Done, done, and done,” he said. “You want equality, and I'm willing. But we may all be equally dead if that kzin ship finds us. We need a leader. Do you have a good plan?”

Puss swallowed hard. “Yes. Hunt at night, hide until they leave.”

Sighing, Locklear told her that was no plan at all.

He wasted long minutes arguing his case: Puss to steal near the landing site and report on the intruders; the return of his zzrou transmitter so he could try sneaking back to the cave; Kit to remain at the manor preparing food for a siege and to defend the manor through what he termed guile, if necessary.

Puss refused. “My place,” she insisted, “is defending the birthing bower.”

“And you will not have a male as a leader,” Kit said. “Is that not the way of it?”

“Exactly,” Puss growled.

“I have agreed to your demands, Puss,” Locklear reminded her. “But it won't happen if the kzin warriors get me. We've proved we won't abuse you. At least give me back that transmitter. Please,” he added gently.

Too late, he saw Puss's disdain for pleading. “So that is the source of your magic,” she said, her ears lifting in a kzinrett smile. “I shall discover its secrets, Rockear.”

“He will die if you damage it,” Kit said quickly, “or take it far from him. You have done a stupid thing; without this manbeast who knows our enemy well, we will be slaves again. To males,” she added.

Puss sidled along the wall, now holding the knife at ready, menacing Kit until a single bound put her through the doorway into the big room. Pausing at the outer doorway she stuck the w'tsai into her apron. “I will consider what you say,” she growled.

“Wait,” Locklear said in his most commanding tone, the only one that Puss seemed to value. “The kzintosh will be searching for me. They have magic’s that let them see great distances even at night, and a big metal airboat that flies with the sound of thunder.”

“I heard thunder this morning,” Puss admitted.

“You heard their airboat. If they see you, they will probably capture you. You and Boots must be very careful, Puss.”

“And do not hesitate to tempt males into (something) if you can,” Kit put in.

“Now you would teach me my business,” Puss spat at Kit, and set off down the ravine.

Locklear moved to the outer doorway, watching the sky, listening hard. Presently he asked, “Do you think we can lay siege to the birthing bower to get that transmitter back?”

“Boots is a suckling mother, which saps her strength,” Kit replied matter-of-factly. “So Puss would fight like a crazed warrior. The truth is, she is stronger than both of us.”

With a morose shake of his head, Locklear began to fashion more arrows while Kit sharpened his w'tsai into a dagger, arguing tactics, drawing rough conclusions. They must build no fires at the manor, and hope that the searchers spread out for single, arrogant sorties. The lifeboat would hold eight warriors, and others might be waiting in orbit. Live captives might be better for negotiations than dead heroes. “But even as captives, the bastards would eat every scrap of meat in sight,” Locklear admitted.

Kit argued persuasively that any warrior worth his w'tsai would be more likely to