quarters, done up as closely as might be to a noble's Kzinrett House on Kzin itself. Domed wickerwork structures, the tops waterproof with synthetic in a concession to modernity; there were even gravity polarizers to bring it up to Homeworld weight, nearly twice that of Wunderland.
'Good for the health of the kzinrett and kits,' he mused to himself, and his ears moved in the kzinti equivalent of a grin. It was easy to get used to such luxury, he decided, ducking through the shamboo curtain over the entrance and pacing down the exit corridor; that was open at the sides, roofed in flowering orange vines.
Each dome was set in a broad space of open vegetation, and woe betide the kzinrett who strayed across the low wooden boundaries into her neighbor's claws; female kzinti might be too stupid to talk, but they had a keenly developed sense of territory. There were open spaces, planted in a pleasant mixture of vegetation; orange kzinti, reddish Wunderlander, green from Earth. Traat-Admiral could hear the sounds of young kits at play in the common area, see them running and tumbling and chasing while their mothers lay basking in the weak sunlight or groomed each other. Few of them had noticed the change of males over much, but integrating his own modest harem had been difficult, much fur flying dominance-tussles.
He sighed as he neared the exit-gate. Chuut-Riit's harem was not only of excellent quality, but so well trained that it needed less maintenance than his own had. The females would even let human servants in to keep up the feeding stations, a vast help, since male kzinti who could be trusted in another's harem were not common. They were all well housebroken, and most did not even have to be physically restrained when pregnant, which simplified things immensely; kzinrett had an irresistible urge to dig a birthing tunnel about then, and it created endless problems and damage to the gardens. Through the outer gate, functional warding-fields and robot guns, and a squad of Chuut-Riit's household troopers. They saluted with enthusiasm. Being hereditary servants of the Riit, he had been under no obligation to let them swear to him… although it would have been foolish to discard so useful a cadre.
Would I have thought of this before Chuut-Riit trained me? he thought. Then: He is dead: I live. Enough.
Beyond the gates began the palace proper. The military and administrative sections were largely underground, ship-style; from here you could see only the living quarters, openwork pavilions for the most part, once bases of massive cut stone. Between and around them stretched gardens, stones of pleasing shape, trees whose smooth bark made claws itch. There was a half-acre of zheeretki too, the tantalizing scent calling the passer-by to come roll in its intoxicating blossoms.
Traat-Admiral wiggled his ears in amusement as he settled onto the cushions in the reception pavilion. All this luxury, and no time to enjoy it, he thought. It was well enough, one did not become a Conquest Hero by lolling about on cushions sipping blood.
His eldest son was coming along one of the paths. In a hurry, and running four-foot with the sinuous gait that reminded humans of weasels as much as cats; he wore a sash of office, his first ranking. Ten meters from the pavilion he rose, licked his wrists and smoothed back his cheek fur with them, settled the sash.
'Honored Sire Traat-Admiral, Staff Officer requests audience at your summons,' he said. 'And… the Accursed Ones. They await final judgment. And—'
'Enough, Aide-de-Camp,' Traat-Admiral rumbled.
The young male stood proudly and made an unconscious gesture of adjusting the sash; that garment was a ceremonial survival of a sword-baldric, from the days when Aides were bodyguards as well, entitled to take a duel- challenge on themselves to spare their masters. Looking into the great round eyes of his son, Traat-Admiral realized that that too would be done gladly if it were needed. Unable to restrain himself, he gave the youth's ears a few grooming licks.
'Path-Honored Sire! Please!'
'Hrrrr,' Staff Officer rumbled. 'He was as strong as a terrenki and fester.' Traat-Admiral looked down to see the fresh ears of Ktriir-Supervisor-of-Animals dangling at the other's belt.
'Not quite fast enough,' Traat-Admiral said with genuine admiration. Most kzinti became slightly less quarrelsome past their first youth, but the late Ktriir's notorious temper had gotten worse, if anything. It probably came from having to deal with humans all the time, and high-level collaborators at that. Ktriir should have remembered that reflexes slowed and had to be replaced with cunning and skill born of experience.
'Yes,' he continued, 'I am well pleased.' He paused for three breaths, waiting while Staff Officer's muzzle dipped into the saucer. 'Hroth-Staff-Officer.'
The other kzin gasped, inhaled milk and rolled over, coughing and slapping at his nose, sneezed frantically, and sat back with his eyes watering. Traat-Admiral felt his ears twitch with genial amusement.
'Do not be angry, noble Hroth-Staff-Officer,' he said. 'There is little of humor these days.' It was a system governor's prerogative, to confer a Name. Any field-grade officer could, for certain well-established feats of honor, but a governor could do so at discretion.
'I will strivekercheee-to be worthy of the honor,' the newly-promoted kzin said. 'Little though I have done to deserve it.'
'Nonsense,' Traat-Admiral said. For one thing, you are very diplomatic. Only a kzin with iron self-control could be humble, even under these circumstances. 'For another, you have won… what, six duels in the past month? And a dozen back when Chuut-Riit first came from Homeworld to this system. This will satisfy those who think galactic conquest can be accomplished with teeth and claws. Also, you have been invaluable in keeping the Modernist faction aligned behind me. Many thought Chuut-Riit's heir should be from among his immediate entourage.'
Hroth-Staff-Officer twitched his tail and rippled sections of his pelt. 'None such could enjoy sufficient confidence among the locally-born,' he said. 'If we trusted Chuut-Riit's judgment before he was killed, should we not after he is dead?'
Traat-Admiral sighed, looking out over the exquisite restraint of the gardens. 'I agree. Better a… less worthy successor than infighting beneath one more technically qualified.' His ears spread in irony. 'More infighting than we have had. Chuut-Riit said…' he hesitated, then looked over at the faces of his son and the newly-ennobled Hroth- Staff-Officer, remembered conversations with his mentor. '… he said that humans were either the greatest danger or greatest opportunity kzinti had ever faced. And that he did not know if they came just in time, or just too late.'
His son showed curiosity in the rippling of his pelt, an almost imperceptible movement of his fingertips. Curiosity was a childhood characteristic among kzinti, but one the murdered governor had said should be encouraged.
'We have not faced a challenge to really test our mettle for… a long time,' he said. 'We make easy conquests; empty worlds to colonize, or others where the inhabitants are savages with spears, barbarians with nothing better than chemical-energy weapons. We grow slothful; our energy is spent in quarreling among ourselves, and more and more the work of even maintaining our civilization we turn over to our slaves.'
'Wrrrr,' Hroth-Staff-Officer said. 'But what did the Dominant One mean, that the humans might be too late?'
Traat-Admiral's voice sank slightly. 'I meant that lack of challenge has weakened us. By making us inflexible, brittle. There are other forms of rot than softness; fossilization is another: steel and bone turning to stiff breakable rock. Chuut-Riit saw that as we expand we must eventually meet terrible threats. If the kzinti are to be strong enough to conquer them, first we must be re-forged in the blaze of war.'
'I still don't smell the point, Traat-Admiral,' Hroth-Staff-Officer said. The admiral could see his son hud-died on the cushions, entranced at being able to listen in on such august conversation. Listen well, my son, he thought. You will find it an uncomfortable privilege.
'Are the humans then a challenge which will call forth our strength… or the mad raaairtwo that will shatter us?'
'Wrrrr!' Hroth-Staff-Officer shivered slightly, his fur lying flat. Aide-de-Camp's was plastered to his skin, and his ears had disappeared into their pouches of skin. 'That has the authentic flavor and scent of his… disquieting lectures. I suffered through enough of them.' A pause. 'Still, the raaairtwo may be head-high at the shoulder and weigh fifty times a kzintosh's mass and have a spiked armor ball for a tail, but our ancestors killed them.'
'But not by butting heads with them, Hroth-Staff-Officer.' He turned his head. 'Aide-de-Camp, go to the Accursed Ones, and bring them here. Not immediately; in an hour or so.'
He leaned forward once the youth had leaped up and four-footed away. 'Hroth-Staff-Officer, has it occurred
