"I don't think they are necessary here," said Vaemar. "This scenery is sad."
"You feel it too?"
"Of course." Then he added: "You were sorry when we found the dead kitten."
"Of course. We all were."
"I thought so. Our kinds are still killing one another in space, you know, and on other planets."
"But not here."
"So it seems. I hope you are right . . . You do not hate kzinti?"
"The abbot says we should be grateful to you for a number of things. He said it was thanks to you that we rediscovered the whole moral universe that we had been in danger of forgetting—courage, sacrifice, faith . . . And you know I do not hate you, Vaemar."
"Fear us, then?"
"Why do you ask? Are you trying to understand us?"
"Yes. I think I make some progress."
"Should I help you understand humans? I think of a human politician I once heard of: 'He worked tirelessly to promote greater understanding between nations that understood one another only too well already.'"
"That seems to me a very human thought . . . And you can think a little like one of my kind . . . But I am your fellow-student accepted into the university. I am also your superior officer in the ROTC. Further, I am younger than you. Is it not seemly to instruct the young?"
She might laugh, but she did not smile at him. Not smiling at kzinti, not showing the teeth in the kzin challenge for battle, was still, ten years after Liberation, a conditioned reflex for humans.
"I was ten years old at Liberation. By then my family farmed in the high country northeast of the Hohe Kalkstein. We seldom saw kzinti. I, for myself, as a child, did not really understand hate. Kzinti were above and beyond my hate. But fear, yes, and yes. A lucky human family was one with but a few dead to mourn. My family were unusually lucky, I know now, or rather my grandfather was foresighted to get us away. Near the towns, even in Gerning, things were very different. We paid our taxes, and the local Herrenman had the task of representing us to the kzinti. We had strong rules for survival by then. I knew no different life.
"One thing I remember. Kzin words were starting to creep into our language from the slaves' patois. Once, my parents caught me using some new kzin word, or a word derived from the Heroes' Tongue. My mother wanted to punish me, but my father said: 'No, she must learn it. That is the future.' That day I ran away. I was in the forest for a day and a night until a search party found me. My father's words were echoing in my mind. 'That is the future.'"
"There are plenty of human words invading the kzin tongues on Wunderland now," Vaemar said.
"Our little farm was not much," Anne went on. "There were few of our old possessions left—a few pieces of china and crystal from old Neue Dresden, a few old paper books. Things like that. An old woman taught us children in a one-roomed school, and her work was increasing, for there was no way to repair our computers. Our robots had begun to fail and some of the farms near us were ploughing again with animals. Our culture was little enough, but I knew fear then, for somehow I was old enough to understand what my father meant. To see it all going, soon all gone. All, all, all . . ."
"I see," said Vaemar. "Like the Jotok. Like most conquered races . . . I would have said like all conquered races, if I had not begun studying Earth history, and . . . if I had not certain thoughts . . ."
"I know little of the Jotok but the name. A name that was an omen of fear for some among us, as I discovered later when I began higher studies. An indication of what we would become. Once your allies?"
"Once our . . . employers. How could a culture like ours have developed a science of spaceflight? When we reached the stars we found we were the only culture of warrior carnivores that leapt and hunted there. We did find a few other sapient carnivores, some of which had got up to knives and spears, and they gave us good sport on their own planets. We found alien spacefaring races, but they were scientific and civilized and cooperative, and when we met them and enslaved them as the Fanged God had decreed they could hardly put up the ghost of a fight . . . All but the last one, of course . . .
"The Jotok had hired us as mercenaries and security guards for their trade empire . . . I do not know how many powers of eights of years ago. On the worlds of the Kzin Patriarchy they are our slaves and prey, and hardly a trace of their civilization remains except in our naval equipment—and words like 'navy,' I suppose. You must have noticed that for cats our spacefaring has an incongruously nautical vocabulary: we had little to do with the sea on our Homeworld. I guess the Jotok began as seafarers. They live in water when they are young. There is a legend that a few of them escaped at the end of that war when our long-sires turned on them and removed their flesh, a legend of a Free Jotok Fleet, waiting and vengeful somewhere in space, but I do not believe it feasible. Too much time has passed and we have seen no sign of it. It may be one of those . . . urrr . . . necessary legends, like the old prophecies of Kdarka-Riit. You know of them?"
"A little."
"There is one he composed when relaxing replete with the
