“Long-Reach, now you try.”
“Long-Reach, try.” The Jotok didn’t succeed. It wailed in consternation, but wouldn’t return the knife to Eater-of-Grass, demanding the right to continue to try. Half a day later it was still trying, by then more pleased with itself. The stake was sharp, if very short.
The kzin youth became delighted with the absurdity of their relationship. He found himself struggling up trees, which sometimes tottered under his weight, to gather delicacies for his Long-Reach, while Long-Reach got tangled in the underbrush chasing rodents for him. He no longer thought of Long-Reach as a meal, or even as an “it.” What he appreciated most was that Long-Reach never slept—at least one arm was always awake, watching for danger.
There were dangers. The wild Jotoki, who had passed through the transitional phase without being adopted, were antisocial beasts, protective of their territory, and, though hunter-shy in the daytime, were vicious at night. They had no language or learning, but were quite capable of inventing tools and devising intricate revenges for remembered transgressions. They knew that the kzinti were their enemies. They backtracked to deceive, they laid traps, they played jokes.
Of course, the worst danger was the kzin hunting parties.
Eater-of-Grass was amazed at how well Long-Reach knew the Jotok Run and how quickly he could take them away from danger. He was a very useful companion.
CHAPTER 6
(2392 A.D.)
Thumbs were pulling at his fur. He did not mind because Long-Reach was fascinated by his hairiness. The thumbs grew more insistent. They pulled his eyelids open. “Hunters, hunters, hunters,” the arms whispered, sometimes interrupting each other.
Eater-of-Grass was on his feet instantly, soundlessly moving. But it was soon evident that they were being tracked by experts. They hiked from the tall trees under the domes, ducking through tunnels, wading across dark swamps, climbing over blasted rock faces, squirming down through a crevasse to the treetops of the level below. Mostly Long-Reach chose their route. But evasions didn’t shake their pursuers for long. All the while the desperate kzin youth gauged the hunting party, sniffing the wind, sometimes sending out a circumspect Long-Reach to reconnoiter through the rainforest’s canopy.
The fugitives were being tracked by three Jotoki scouting among the branches and one kzin on the ground, in an unhurried manner but diligently.
The final backtrack was a mistake. They fell into the center of the Jotok shepherds, and the triangle moved with them—no matter where they turned. Pinned. He caught a flash of yellow livery in the trees—and knew who was hunting them.
“Long-Reach, we won’t escape. Stop.”
His Jotok slave did not fully understand. Arms waving, the beast ran ahead on three wrists, returned in confusion, ran up and down trees, and finally stopped close by, primed to run on five wrists, swaying with fear.
Eater-of-Grass waited, death resignation on him at the same time that his mind was trying out various phrases of flattery. Eventually the giant kzin appeared in the copse below, his age showing in his lame pace. He approached the youngling.
“Ah, you,” he said.
“I had no place else to go, honored warrior,” explained Eater-of-Grass sullenly.
This excuse for his crime was ignored. “You no longer have the youth-name of the house of Chiirr-Nig. How shall I address you?” asked Jotok-Tender.
“Eater-of-Grass,” replied the ostracized kzin, defiantly.
“An inappropriate name,” growled Jotok-Tender. “Names must bear on the day’s truth. Have you been eating grass? I think not—you’ve been hunting and eating my Jotoki, and various small warm creatures. Eater-of-Ferocious-Jotoki might be a better name.” He glanced down at Long-Reach.
“We run!” said Long-Reach. “Now!” admonished another of the arms, but the beast stood its ground.
The giant reached down gently to pop an eyeball out of its armor as far as it would go, examining the lubrication petals. Then he took one of Long-Reach’s arms and examined the thumbs. “Exactly the right age. You will have an absolutely loyal slave if you train him as I shall instruct you. You didn’t frighten him away?”
“Honored oldster, I had some recent experience with Jotoki at the shipyard. I speak the appropriate patois. Long-Reach, here, found me more than I found him.”
“Perhaps we could call you Trainer-of-Slaves. A good trade-name that. Does it suit you?”
“Better than Eater-of-Grass.”
“Never use that name in front of me!” snarled Jotok-Tender. “I asked you a civil question. Answer! Does it suit you?”
“Trainer-of-Slaves at your service, honored half-ear!” He paused. “Am I being offered employment?”
“A slaver like me offering employment? Perhaps I could give food and shelter in exchange for unquestioned service.”
“I am loyal to the warrior who gives honest leadership!”
“Said well for a recidivist.” He let his ears flap for effect. “We can’t parade you around, of course, but I can keep you busy and out of sight. We have mutual needs. Are your ears erect? Have you been in contact?”
“In hiding one is deaf.”
“The startling news, then. By lightbeam, Hssin has had advance warning of a small armada coming through, long on its way, ruled by High Conquest Commander Chuut-Riit of the Kzin Admiralty. He will be stripping Hssin of Heroes and warships, including all the Jotoki slaves we can provide. His Conquest Campaign against the monkey-worlds has been authorized by the Patriarchy itself. The Patriarch!
“I have already received my advance demands, and dare not be lax in meeting them. Who knows how this Chuut-Riit deals with failure? I am not of a mind to find out. I will be busy and I need help. No one will begrudge me your services. As for those moralists who would have you wasted, a mere wave of Chuut-Riit’s orders before the noses of such kit-eaters will lay flat their pompous fur.”
“Chuut-Riit?”
“Obviously a member of the Patriarch’s family. Other than that we know nothing.”
“Coming here?”
“In truth, we don’t see much of the Patriarchy in these dismal regions, and do quite well without it, but evidently news of our contact with the monkeys seems to have filtered inward and given our wealthier Heroes Long-Journey fever. The families of Ka’ashi”—he gave the Kzin name for Wunderland—“will not be pleased.”
“Not
