The Ringworld Engineers

Chapter 28 — The Map Of Kzin

All the lights glowed green. Whatever the medical situation, the autodoc was handling it somehow. Chmeee was alive in there — alive, if not healthy.

But the flight-deck thermometer indicated a temperature of a hundred and sixty degrees Fahrenheit.

The Hindmost said, “Louis, are you ready to cross?”

The Map of Mars was a black dash below the line of hologram “windows,” straight to starboard. The Map of Kzin was a good deal harder to see. Ahead of Mars by several degrees of arc, and fifty thousand miles farther away, Louis made out blue-gray dashed lines against a blue-gray sea.

He said, “We’re not exactly opposite yet.”

“No. The Ringworld’s spin will still impose a velocity difference between Needle and the lander. But the vector is vertical. We can compensate for long enough.”

It took Louis a moment to translate those words into a diagram. Then “You’re going to dive at the ocean from a thousand miles altitude?”

“Yes. No risk is insane now, given the position your insanity has put us in.”

Louis burst out laughing (a puppeteer teaching courage to Louis Wu?) and sobered as suddenly. How else could an ex-Hindmost regain any of his authority? He said, “Good enough. Start your dive.”

He dialed and donned a pair of wooden clogs. He stripped off his falling jumper and rolled it around the impact suit and utility vest, but kept the flashlight-laser in his hand. The empty seascape had begun to expand.

“Ready.”

“Go.”

Louis crossed a hundred and twenty thousand miles in one giant step.

Kzin, twenty years ago:

Louis Wu sprawled on a worn stone fooch and thought well of himself.

These oddly shaped stone couches called foochesth were as ubiquitous as park benches throughout the hunting parks of Kzin. They were almost kidney-shaped, built for a male kzin to lie half curled up. The kzinti hunting parks were half wild and stocked with both predators and meat animals: orange- and-yellow jungle, with the foochesth as the only touch of civilization. With a population in the hundreds of millions, the planet was crowded by kzinti standards. The parks were crowded too.

Louis had been touring the jungle since morning. He was tired. Legs dangling, he watched the populace pass before him.

Within the jungle the orange kzinti were almost invisible. One moment, nothing. The next, a quarter-ton of sentient carnivore hot on the trail of something fast and frightened. The male kzin would jerk to a stop and stare — at Louis’s closed-lip smile (because a kzin shows his teeth in challenge) and at the sign of the Patriarch’s protection on his shoulder (Louis had made sure it showed prominently). The kzin would decide it was none of his business, and leave.

Strange, how that much predator could show only as a sense of presence in the frilly yellow foliage. Watching eyes and playful murder, somewhere. Then a huge adult male and a furry, cuddly adolescent half his height were watching the intruder.

Louis had a tyro’s grasp of the Hero’s Tongue. He understood when the kzin kitten looked up at its parent and asked, “Is it good to eat?”

The adult’s eyes met Louis’s eyes. Louis let his smile widen to show the teeth.

The adult said, “No.”

In the confidence of four Man-Kzin wars plus some “incidents” — all centuries in the past, but all won by men — Louis grinned and nodded. You tell him, Daddy! It’s safer to eat white arsenic than human meat!

Ringworld, twenty years later:

The walls bathed him in heat. He started to sweat. It didn’t bother him. He’d used saunas. One hundred and sixty degrees isn’t hot for a sauna.

The Hindmost’s recorded voice snarled and spat in the Hero’s Tongue, offering sanctuary on the Fleet of Worlds. “Cut that broadcast!” Louis commanded, and it was done.

Upward-streaming flames screened the windows. The cannon-carrying vehicle had been moved away. A pair of distorted kzinti sprinted across the courtyard, placed a canister under the lander, sprinted back to a doorway.

These were not quite kzinti: not as civilized as Chmeee. If they got their paws on Louis Wu — but he should be safe enough here.

Louis squinted down through the flames. There were six of the canisters in place around the lander’s base. Bombs, no doubt. They’d be set off any second now, before the flame could explode them individually.

Louis grinned. His hands poised above the control board while he fought temptation. Then: he tapped in instructions, fast. The buttons were uncomfortably hot. He braced his legs and gripped the chair back, with his falling jumper to pad his hands.

The lander rose from the flames. A ring of fireballs billowed below, and then the castle was a dwindling toy. Louis was still grinning. He felt virtuous; he’d resisted temptation. If he’d taken off on the fusion drive instead of the repulsers, the kzinti would have been amazed at the power of their explosives.

Hail clattered on the hull and windows. Louis looked up, startled, as a dozen winged toys curved down toward him. Then the aircraft were dropping away. Louis pursed his lips; he reset the autopilot to halt his rise at five miles. Maybe he’d want to lose those planes. Maybe not.

He got up and turned for the stairs.

Louis snorted when he read the dials. He called the Hindmost. “Chmeee is fully healed and peacefully asleep in the ‘doc. The ‘doc won’t wake him up and let him out because conditions outside are not habitable.”

“Not habitable?”

“It’s too hot. The autodoc isn’t set to let the patient step out into a fire. Things ought to cool off now that we’re out of the flames!” Louis ran his hand across his forehead; water streamed to his elbow. “It Chmeee gets out, will you tell him the situation? I need a cold shower.”

He was in the shower when the floor dropped under him. Louis snatched for a towel and was wrapping it around his waist as he ran up the stairs. He heard hail rapping on the hull.

Slowly and carefully, as if he still hurt, Chmeee turned from his place at the controls. He squinted oddly. Hair had been shaved away around the eye. Mock skin covered a shaved strip running up his thigh to the groin. He said, “Hello, Louis. I see you survived.”

“Yah. What are you doing?”

“I left pregnant females in the fortress.”

“Are they about to be killed this instant? Or can we hover for a few minutes?”

“Have we something to discuss? I trust you know better than to interfere.”

“The way things stand now, your females will be dead in two years.”

“They may ride home in stasis aboard Hot Needle of Inquiry. I still hope to persuade the Hindmost—”

“Persuade me. I have taken command of Needle.”

Chmeee’s hands moved. The floor surged savagely. Louis grabbed at a chair back and rode it out. A glance at the board told him that Needle’s descent had stopped. The rain of projectiles had stopped too, though a dozen aircraft still circled beyond the windows. The fortress was half a mile below.

Chmeee asked, “How did you arrange that?”

“I made slag out of the hyperdrive motor.”

The kzin moved incredibly fast. Before Louis could do more than flinch, he was wrapped in orange fur. The kzin was pulling Louis against his chest with one arm while the other held four claws against Louis’s