“Acknowledge!” the radio snapped.
“Message received,” he said around an acid lump in his gorge. “What do you want? We’re here legitimately. Our races are at peace.” Yah, sure, sure.
“Oh, God, Bob,” Dorcas choked while the beam winged yonder. “The call was the first sign I had. She may have emerged a long distance away. If we’d spotted her approaching—”
He squeezed her arm. “We didn’t keep an alert, sweetheart. We didn’t. The bunch of us. What reason had we to fear anything like this?”
“Weoch-Captain of Hero vessel Swordbeak, speaking for the Patriarchy.” Now, behind the synthetic human tones, were audible the growls and spits of kzinti. “You trespass on our property, you violate our secrets, and I believe that in the past you have been guilty of worse. Identify yourself.”
Saxtorph stalled. “Why do you ask that? According to you, no human has a real name.”
Can we cut and run for it? he wondered. No. The question shows how kicked in the gut I am. She can outboost us by a factor of five, at least. Not that she’d need to. Even at this remove, her lasers can probably cripple us. A missile can cross the gap in a few minutes, and we’ve nothing to fend it off. (Grab it with our grapnel, no, too slow, and anyway, there’d be a second or a third missile, or a multiple warhead, or—) She herself, at her acceleration, she’ll be here in half an hour. But how can I think about flight? Carita and Pete are down at the black hole.
It had flashed through him in the short seconds of transmission lag. “Do as you are told, monkey! Give me your designation.”
No sense in provoking the kzin further by a refusal. He’d soon be able to read the name, jaunty across these bows. “Freighter Rover of Leyport, Luna. I repeat, our intentions are entirely honest and we can’t imagine what we may have done that you could call wrong.”
Silence crackled. Dorcas sat stiff, fists clenched.
“Rover. Harrgh! Saxtorph-Captain, is it? Give me video.”
Huh? The man sat numbed. The woman did the obedience.
Weoch-Captain evidently chose to make it mutual. His tiger head slanted forward in the screen, as if he peered out of his den at prey. “So that is what you look like,” he rumbled. Eyes narrowed, tongue ran over fangs. “How I hoped that mine would be this pleasure.”
“What do you mean?” Dorcas cried.
Silence. The heart drubbed in Saxtorph’s breast.
“You know full well,” said Weoch-Captain. “You killed the Heroes and destroyed their works at the red sun.”
So the story had reached Kzin. Not too surprising, as spectacular as it was. Saxtorph had been assured that the Alpha Centaurian and Solar governments had avoided being very specific in their official communications thus far. They wanted to test ratcat reactions an item at a time. But spacefarers, especially nonhuman spacefarers with less of a grudge or none, traveling from Wunderland to neutral planets, might well have passed details on to their kzin counterparts in the course of meetings.
“Through my whole long voyage, I hoped I would find you,” Weoch-Captain purred. His flattened ears lifted and spread. “A formidable opponent, a worthy one. If you behave yourselves and do as you are told, I promise you deaths quick and painless . . . No, not quite that for you, Saxtorph. I think you and I shall have single combat. Afterward I will take your body for my exclusive eating, fit nourishment for a Hero, and give your head a place among my trophies.”
Saxtorph braced himself. “You do us great honor, Weoch-Captain,” he croaked. “We thank you. We praise your large spirit.” What else could I say? Keep them happy. Kzinti don’t normally torture for fun, but if this one got vengeful enough he might take it out on Tyra, Dorcas, Kam, Carita, Peter. At the least, he might bring them, us, back with him. Unless we kill ourselves first.
In the magnifying viewport the Raptor had perceptibly gained size, eclipsing more and more stars.
Weoch-Captain flexed claws out, in, out again. “Good,” he said. “But I still will not talk at length to a monkey. Stand by. You will receive your final instructions when I arrive.”
The screen blanked.
“Bob, darling, darling.” Dorcas twisted about in her seat to cast her arms around him.
He hugged her. As always in crisis, confronting the worst, he had grown cool, watchful but half detached, a survival machine. Not that he saw any prospect of living onward, but— “We should bring the others up,” he reminded her. “We can have a short time together.” Before the kzinti arrive.
“Yes.” He felt how she quelled her shuddering. Steady as he, she turned to the communicator and directed a broad beam at the sphere. “Carita, Peter, get straight back to the ship,” she said crisply.
“Was ist—what is bad?” sounded Nordbo’s hoarse bass.
“Never mind now. Move, I tell you!”
“Jawohl.” And: “Aye, aye, ma’am, we’re off,” from Carita.
Dorcas cut transmission. “I want to spare them while they flit,” she explained. “They’ll worry, but if they don’t happen to make the enemy out in the sky, they won’t be in shock.”
“Until we meet again,” Saxtorph agreed. “What about . . . Tyra and Kam? Shall we keep them waiting too?”
“We may as well, or better.”
“No. Maybe you weren’t being kind after all. I think Tyra would want to know right away, so she can, well, she can—” kiss me goodbye?—“prepare herself, and meet the end with her eyes wide open. She’s like that.”
Dorcas bit her lip. “I can’t stop you if you insist.” Her words quivered a little. “But I thought you and I, these fifteen minutes or so we have left before we must tell them—”
He grinned, doubtless rather horribly. “ ’Fraid I couldn’t manage a quickie.”
She achieved a laugh. “Down, boy.” Soberly: “Not to get maudlin either. But let me say I love you, and thank you for everything.”
“Aw, now, the thanks are all due you, my lady.” He
