The Man-Kzin Wars 02

system's sun, or drop a really large mass into the planetary gravity well.”

The fur of the kzin on the battlewagon's bridge laid flat, sculpting the bone-and-muscle planes of their faces.

“Indeed, Chuut-Riit,” Traat-Admiral said fervently.

“It was only surprise that made the tactic so effective. Counters come readily to mind: a series of polarizer- driven missiles, with laser-cannon boost, deployed ready to destabilize ramscoop fields. In any case, you are ordered to break off action, assist with emergency efforts, detach two units with interstellar capacity to shadow the intruder until it leaves the immediate vicinity. Waste no more Heroes in futility; instead, we must repair the damage, redouble our preparations for the next attack on Sol.”

“As you command, Chuut-Riit, although it shaves my mane to let the leaf-eating monkeys escape, when the Fifth Fleet is so near completion.”

The governor rose, letting his weight forward on hands whose claws slid free. He restrained any further display of impatience. I must teach him to think. To learn to think correctly he must be allowed to make errors.

“Its departure has already been delayed. Will losing further units in fruitless pursuit speed the repairs and modifications which must be made? Attend to your orders!”

“At once, Chuut-Riit!”

The governor held himself impressively immobile until the screen blanked. Then he turned and leaped with a tearing shriek over the nearest wall, out into the unnatural storm and darkness. A half-hour later he returned, meditatively picking bits of hide and bone from between his teeth with a thumb-claw. His pelt was plastered flat with mud, leaves, and blood, and a thorned branch had cut a bleeding trough across his sloping forehead. The screens were still flicking between various disasters, each one worse than the last.

“Any emergency calls?” he asked mildly.

“None at the priority levels you established,” the computer replied.

“Murmeroumph,” he said, opening his mouth wide into the killing gape to get at an irritating fragment between two of the back shearing teeth. “Staff.”

One wall turned to the ordered bustle of the household's management central. “Ah, Henrietta,” he said in Wunderlander. “You have that preliminary summary ready?”

The human swallowed and averted her eyes from the bits of something that the kzin was flicking from his fangs and muzzle. The others behind her were looking drawn and tense as well, but displayed no signs of panic. If I could recognize such signs, the kzin thought. They panic differently. A Hero overcome with terror either fled, striking out at anything in his path, or went into mindless berserker frenzy.

Berserker, he mused thoughtfully. The concept was fascinating; reading of it had convinced him that kzin and human kind were enough alike to cooperate effectively.

“Yes, Chuut-Riit,” she was saying. “Installations Seven, Three, and Twelve in the north polar zone have been effectively destroyed, loss of industrial function in the 75-80% range. Over 90% at Six, the main fusion generator destabilized in the pulse from a near-miss.” Ionization effects had been quite spectacular. “Casualties in the range of five thousand Heroes, thirty thousand humans. Four major orbital facilities hit, but there was less collateral damage there, of course, and more near-misses.” No air to transmit blast in space. “Reports from the asteroid belt still coming in.”

“Merrower,” he said, meditatively. Kzin government was heavily decentralized; the average Hero did not make a good bureaucrat, that was work for slaves and computers. A governor was expected to confine himself to policy decisions. Still… “Have my personal spaceship prepared for lift, I will be doing a tour.”

Henrietta hesitated. “Ah, noble Chuut-Riit, the feral humans will be active, with defense functions thrown out of order.”

She was far too experienced to mistake Chuut-Riit's expression for a smile.

“Markham and his gang? I hope they do, Henrietta, I sincerely hope they do.” He relaxed. “I'll view the reports from here. Send in the groomers, my pelt must be fit to be seen.” A pause. “And replacements for one of the bull buffaloes in the holding pen.”

The kzin threw himself down on the pillow behind his desk, massive head propped with its chin on the stone surface of the workspace. Grooming would help him think, humans were so good at grooming… and blowdryers, blowdryers alone were worth the trouble of conquering them.

“Prepare for separation,” the computer said. The upper field of the Catskinner screen was a crawling slow-motion curve of orange and yellow and darker spots; the battle schematic showed the last few slugs dropping away from the Yamamoto, using the gravity of the sun to whip around and curve out toward targets in a different quarter of the elliptic plane. More than a few were deliberately misaimed, headed for catastrophic destruction in Alpha Centauri's photosphere as camouflage.

It can't be getting hotter, he thought.

“Gottdamn, it's hot,” Ingrid said. “I'm swine sweating.”

Thanks, he thought, refraining from speaking aloud with a savage effort. “Purely psychosomatic,” he grated.

“There's one thing I regret,” Ingrid continued.

“What's that?”

“That we're not going to be able to see what happens when the Catskinner and those slugs make a high-Tau transit of the sun's outer envelope,” she said.

Jonah felt a smile crease the rigid sweat-slick muscles of his face. The consequences had been extrapolated, but only roughly. At the very least, there would be solar-flare effects like nothing this system had ever witnessed before, enough to foul up every receptor pointed this way. “It would be interesting, at that.”

“Prepare for separation,” the computer continued. “Five seconds and counting.”

One. Ingrid had crossed herself just before the field went on. Astonishing. There were worse people to be crammed into a Dart with for a month, even among the more interesting half of the human race.

Two. They were probably going to be closer to an active star than any other human beings had ever been and survived to tell the tale. Provided they survived, of course.

Three. His grandparents had considered emigrating to the Wunderland system; he remembered them complaining about how the Belt had been then, everything regulated and taxed to death, and psychists hovering to re-sanitize your mind as soon as you came in from a prospecting trip. If they'd done it, he might have ended up as a conscript technician with the Fourth Fleet.

Four. Or a guerrilla, the prisoners had mentioned activity by “feral humans.” Jonah barred his teeth in an expression a kzin would have had no trouble at all understanding. I intend to remain very feral indeed. The kzin may have done us a favor; we were well on the way to turning ourselves into sheep when they arrived. If I'm going to be a monkey, I'll be a big, mean baboon, by choice.

Five. Ingrid was right, it was a pity they wouldn't be able to see—

— discontinuity

“Greow-Captain, there is an anomaly in the last projectile!”

“They are all anomalies, Sensor Operator!” The commander did not move his eyes from the schematic before his face, but his tone held conviction that the humans had used irritatingly nonstandard weapons solely to annoy and humiliate him. Behind his back, the other two kzin exchanged glances and moved expressive ears.

The Slasher-class armed scout held three crewkzin in its delta-shaped control chamber, the commander forward and the Sensor and Weapons Operators behind him to either side; three small screens instead of the single larger divisible one a human boat of the same size would have had, and many more manually activated controls. Kzin had broader-range senses than humans, faster reflexes, and they trusted cybernetic systems rather less. They had also had gravity control almost from the beginning of spaceflight; a failure serious enough to immobilize the crew usually destroyed the vessel.

“Simply tell me,” the kzin commander said, “if our particle-beam is driving it down.” The cooling system was whining audibly as it pumped energy into its central tank of degenerate matter, and still the cabin was furnace hot and dry, full of the wild odors of fear and blood that the habitation-system poured out in combat conditions. The ship shuddered and banged as it plunged in a curve that was not quite suicidally close to the outer envelope of the