patrolling warriors. Killing one kzin to save his master had been the most troubling horror of his life. To kill a whole shipload was unthinkable, enough to make his arms disconnect from each other and send him stumbling in an uncoordinated scramble of arm-legs.
Nevertheless, that is what he, himselves, was thinking.
Lieutenant Argamentine knew that her routine had been upset. That bizarre kzin who was called Mellow- Yellow by his five-armed followers disappeared to be replaced by a taciturn kzin who was larger and redder, whose only function seemed to be that of interrogator. He took her from her cage, never very gently, never so roughly that he hurt her. Together they rode a capsule to his tiny torture chamber. He questioned her. He brought her back to the charge of the slaves, forgetting her until the next time he needed to torture her.
She had grown up dealing with difficult people, including her father, and she had long ago developed a facility of manner with intractable personalities but this one fitted none of her patterns. He was disturbingly. He was impatient with chitchat. He was impossible to reason with about anything like her living conditions or the needs of the children. He was interested only in answers and he was impatient with devious answers.
When she did not give him what he wanted he turned immediately to torture, preferring agonizing nerve-slim to mutilation. But she got no feeling that he was interested in torture. He had an uncanny sensitivity, almost as if he was a latent telepath. When she didn't have answers to his questions, he blandly moved on to the next question. But if she did have answers and tried to withhold them, he became ruthlessly persistent.
Desperately, she tried to get an angle on him. He was curious about the strangest things.
“Sea Statue at UN Comparative Cultures Exhibit. You know?”
She knew, but like most flatlanders, she'd never really wanted to know much about the one-eyed Thrintun monster who lived inside, frozen in stasis. It was a story three hundred years old. She was tortured into remembering.
Had the Sea Statue been moved?
Had the Sea Statue been transported to Alpha Centauri?
Had the Sea Statue provided the principles of superluminal flight?
Were the UNSN officers in thrall?
War bred the strangest paranoia’s from its soup of deceptions, misinformation, misdirection, and poor communication. And lack of any cultural basis for understanding.
When she was thrown back into her cage after her last session, the silent children seemed to know that she was hurting and her mind half incoherent. They just held her. They were too numb, and too maltreated themselves, to be able to give her much. Finally the food came.
“You're late. We're starving,” said Lieutenant Argamentine. She wasn't even ready to try to figure out a five-brained spider.
The three children were very quiet around Long-Reach. He fed them but he was also the chief lab technician in a place where they were mere lab animals. She couldn't read Long-Reach's emotions. He had no face. A mottled pot-belly where his face should have been. His eyes and arms were expressive but she didn't know how to read their mobility.
“Bean mash on kzinbones,” said Long-Reach's translator with an appropriately apologetic melody. Short (arm) took umbrage with the vocoder and offered an English translation. “Not kzin bones! Shudder. Groundified bone and marrow, rolled to cracker shape. Bonding heated. Kzin rations for ship. Not kzin bones! Kzin not cannibals except with kits of wrong father.”
Freckled(arm) made an interjection to correct an aspect of short(arm)'s terrible English grammar.
“Are you going to stay around for another English lesson?” asked Nora. She didn't really want this strange creature to go. The torture was demoralizing her.
“No. Must go. Mellow-Yellow in trouble,” lamented Long-Reach. “Bad, bad, bad,” commented three of his arms in a round-robin.
“I haven't seen him for a while.” Was she better off with Mellow-Yellow or Redfur?
A pause while the vocoder sorted out the conversation. “We are all doomed by death,” said its speaker. “A big battle,” kibitzed skinny(arm). “Ship has been recalled to Alpha Centauri,” intoned big(arm).
She decided to exact some intelligence of her own. “Why are they interested in Thrintun slavers?”
“What?” Long-Reach consulted the vocoder and drew a blank.
“One-eyed scaly monsters who take over minds. They died in a war with the tnuctipun billions of years ago. I've just had my memory forcibly refreshed,” she said ruefully.
“Kzin worry about free-will,” said Long-Reach. “All the time, worry. Warrior fetish. Always must be in control. Didn't you feel the wave of intrusion? Myselves went right to the kitchen and made up hot soup for Mellow-Yellow, then wondered why I do this. Pleasant feeling to serve others. Kzin no like.”
Suddenly Nora was remembering an impulse of feeling that had overwhelmed her just days ago. Devotion. An enormous need to help someone. She had supposed it was something Mellow-Yellow had put in her food to make her tack. “There's a Slaver loose down there?”
“Was. Big explosion, hour ago here, days ago there. Don't know what's happening today. Tomorrow we find out. We're all doomed.”
“Are you a slave?” she asked, curious about the creature's response. She found out that his vocoder couldn't translate the word for him, and she couldn't explain it to him. The nearest he could come was the English word 'friend.' As in 'only friend.'
Redfur the Torturer didn't come back. But a delegation of four Jotoki did. They seemed ill at ease in their body motions. It was impossible for her to stop trying to read expressions off the belly-faces that sat on their mouths even though she knew they weren't faces. The shoulder-mounted eyes watched her. They wanted something. They gave her a delicate dish of stuffed leaves that tasted like Greek Dolmades, vine leaves, almost as if it were a ceremony. Another presented her timidly with green and red garters for her elbows and knees.
They were bargaining! “Yes?” she asked, gently, not knowing what to do with her revelation.
“Our master wished to take this ship out of the battle,” intoned their translator, which had been carefully pre-programmed.
“An interesting idea,” replied Nora, warily.
The four were talking among themselves in a spitting language that sounded like a corruption of the Hero's Tongue. Finally the translator spoke again. “Your race and the kzinti are enemies.”
“Perhaps someday…”
The translator wasn't listening to her. It continued. “Men kill kzinti. Kzinti kill men. Is this not so?”
“It's war.”
“You are military man,” said Long-Reach, impatient with the machine. “Your ice cream desire is to kill all kzin. I understand mankind.”
“We work, side together, like many arms.”
What she was hearing sounded like mutiny. It also sounded like they had an exaggerated respect for her powers. A naked woman with garters was a threat to no one. “I have been deranged and you will notice that I am locked behind bars.”
Long-Reach opened the cage and quickly closed it. “Bargain,” he said. “We make bargain.” She could hear the tremor in his voices, and she was sure she could see his arms shaking. He was terrified. She could almost see him running. The tremors came from inhibiting the flight.
“What can I do for you?”
“You kill all kzin, but one. We free Mellow-Yellow. Bargain? Mellow-Yellow live.”
“I'm quite willing to let Mellow-Yellow live,” she lied. She almost saw the four of them relax. “What makes you think I might be able to kill all kzin?”
“Ferocious monkey warriors defeat kzin. We know. Monkey squash kzinships. We repair. We scrape kzin off wall.”
Were they thinking that if they let her out of her cage she might not settle for anything less than the death of all kzin on board? As if she had a hope of hilling even one of the behemoths! It hadn't slipped her notice that her interrogator had two sets of human ears casually attached to his belt.
“Mellow-Yellow live. Bargain?” Long-Reach repeated.
Why were these creatures so bonded to Mellow-Yellow? Why was he different from the others? His name
