“Silence! You distinctly said ‘dreams’ when I asked you to determine the leakage of secret information.”
“Leaks. First Fixer-of-Weapons was leaking. He is strong. He leaks. I run from him but I cannot hide in sleep. Such shame. Now more are leaking. The officers dream of the Ghost Star. Ancestors who died without honor haunt it … their hands reach up to drag us down to nameless rot. One feels it. All feel it—”
“Silence! Silence!” Kfraksha-Admiral roared, striking open-handed. Even then he retained enough control not to use his claws; this thing was the last Telepath in the fleet, after all, even if insanity was reducing its usefulness.
And even such a sorry excuse for a kzin shouldn’t be much harmed by being beaten unconscious.
* * *
“You find time to groom?” Kfraksha-Admiral asked sullenly.
Finagle, Halloran swore inwardly, drawing the Fixer persona more tightly around him. The last sleep-cycle had seen a drastic deterioration in everyone’s grooming, except his memorized projection. The commander’s pelt was not quite matted; it would be a long time before he looked as miserable as Telepath—Finagle alone knew what Telepath looked like now, he seemed to have vanished—but he was definitely scruffy. The entire bridge crew looked peaked, and several were absent, their places taken by younger, less-scarred understudies. Some of those understudies had new bandages, evidence that their superiors’ usefulness had deteriorated to the point where the commander would allow self-promotion. The human’s talent told him the dark cavern of the command deck smelled of fear and throttled rage and bewilderment; the skin crawled down his spine as he sensed it.
Kzinti did not respond well to frustration. They also did not expect answers to rhetorical questions.
Kfraksha-Admiral turned to Chrung-Fleet-Communications Officer. “Summarize.”
“Hero’s Lair still does not report,” that kzin said dully.
That was the first of the troop-transports, going in on a trajectory that would leave them “behind” the cruisers, dreadnoughts, and stingship carriers when the fleet finally made its out-of-ecliptic slingshot approach to Earth. Kfraksha-Admiral had calculated that Earth was probably the softest major human target, and less likely to be alert. Go in undetected, take out major defenses and space-industrial centers, land the surface-troops; the witless hordes of humankind’s fifteen billions would be hostages against counterattack.
If things go well, Halloran thought, easing a delicate tendril into the commander’s consciousness. Murphy rules the kzin, as well as humans. Wearily: When do things ever go well?
—and the long silky grass blew in the dry cool wind, that was infinitely clean and empty. His Sire and the other grown males were grouped around the carcass, replete, lapping at drinks in shallow, beautifully fashioned silver cups. He and the other kits were round-stomached and content, play-sparring lazily, and he lay on his back batting at the bright-winged insect that hovered over his nose, until Sire put a hand on his chest and leaned over to rasp a roughly loving tongue across his ears—
“It is well, it is well,” Kfraksha-Admiral crooned softly, almost inaudibly. Then he came to himself with a start, looking around as heads turned toward him.
Finagle, I set him off on a memory-fugue! Halloran thought, feeling the kzin’s panic and rising anger, the tinge of suspicion beneath that.
“All must admire Kfraksha-Admiral’s strategic sense,” Halloran-Fixer said hastily. “Light losses, for a strategic gain of the size this operation promises.”
Kfraksha-Admiral signed curt assent, turning his attention from the worthless sycophant. Behind Fixer’s mask, Halloran’s human face contorted in a savage grin. Manipulating Kfraksha-Admiral’s subconscious was more fun than haunting the other kzin. Even for a ratcat, he’s a son-of-a … pussy, I suppose. Singleminded, too. Relatively easy to keep from wondering what was causing all this—I wish I knew—and tightly, tightly focus on getting through the next few hours. Closest approach soon.
And it was all so easy. He was unstoppable…
Scabs broke and he tasted the salt of blood. I’m not going to make it. He ground his jaws and felt the loosening teeth wobble in their sockets. Death was a bitterness, no glory in it, only this foul decay. Maybe I shouldn’t make it. I’m too dangerous. His face had been pockmarked with open sores, the last time he looked. Maybe that was how he looked inside.
So easy, sucking the kzinti crews down into a cycle of waking nightmare. As if they were doing it to themselves. Fixer howled laughter from within his soul.
* * *
“I have the information by the throat, but I still do not understand,” Physicist said, staring around wildly. He was making the chiruu-chiruu sounds of kzinti distress. Dealer-With-Very-Small-and-Large was a better translation of his name/title. “I do not understand!”
Most of the bridge equipment was closed down. Ventilation still functioned, internal fields, all based on simple feedback systems. Computers, weapons, communications, all had grown too erratic to trust. A few lasers still linked the functioning units of the fleet.
Outside, the stars shone with jeering brightness. Of the Ghost Star there was no trace; no visible light, no occlusion of the background … and instruments more sophisticated had given out hours ago. Many of the bridge crew still stayed at their posts, but their scent had soured; the steel wtsai knives at their belts attracted fingers like unconscious lures.
“Explain,” Kfraksha-Admiral rasped.
“The values, the records just say that physical law in the shadow-matter realm is unlike kzinti timespace … and there is crossover this close! The effect increases exponentially as we approach the center of mass; we must be within the radius the object occupies in the other continuum. The cosmological constants are varying. Quantum effects. The U/R threshold of quantum probability functions itself is increasing, that is why all electronic equipment becomes unreliable—probability cascades are approaching the macrocosmic level.”
Kfraksha-Admiral’s tail was quivering-rigid, and he panted until thin threads of spittle drooled down from the corners of his mouth.
“Then we shall win! We are nearly at point of closest approach. Our course is purely ballistic. Systems will regain their integrity as we recede from the area of singularity.”
Murphy wins again, Halloran thought wearily, slumping back against the metal wall.
