not deign to notice openly the possibility of assassination from either human exterminationists or from kzinti who regarded him as what they called-another new term for the Heroes' Tongue-a kwizzliing, but Vaemar-Riit the leader of the Wunderkzin was obliged to take certain precautions.
There was a small community on the estate. His Step-Sire Raargh and both their respective families lived there, as well as occupants of the old servant's quarters, guard and guest-rooms. Raargh had his own buildings and enjoyed a reasonable-sized harem of traditional kzinretti now, but Vaemar remained monogamous.
This was partly by reason of policy. A first mate several years older then he, as Karan was, would have been by no means unusual previously. To stop so long at one would have been very unusual, when he had almost every kzinret on the planet for the taking. But Vaemar understood and accepted the arguments put to him by Cumpston and others that the old ways could not continue. He had put them to other kzinti and fought more than one death- duel over them: smaller households and harems with females for every male kzin-'families'-would help ensure a more stable Wunderkzin society than the old way of vast harems for the nobles and little or nothing for the rest.
Further, and more important than policy, Karan had let him know in no uncertain terms that other females in his harem would have to be approved by her. So far none had been. He had, of course, a number of kits by various other females but they generally mixed with Raargh's. None save Orlando, his first, and so far only, son by Karan, had been born with the Riit blazon of red on the chest. He accepted fairly philosophically the fact that having a sapient mate brought some restrictions along with advantages.
There was good hunting territory nearby, with tigripards as well as gagrumphers and other large beasts. Here he was much less the graduate student, and much more the kzin prince, though a modern, Wunderkzin prince.
Vaemar landed in his inner courtyard, acknowledged the greetings of his servants (servants, not slaves, and the greetings less than a full prostration in these times), including the hired human Nurse in heavy, Teflon- reinforced apron and gloves, and fended off a mock attack from an excited Orlando. His banner was broken out from a high turret with a blast of horns and roll of drums.
Raargh made his report on the doings of the estates and, as Vaemar had forecast, made pointed comments about the Morlock bites. Vaemar remembered that the human he had studied with much interest called C. Northcote Parkinson had said the motto of retired senior sergeants was: 'There are no excuses for anything!' That, he thought, as the grizzled old veteran gave him a quick grooming lick, summed Raargh up well. Big John, the kzin medical orderly whom Gale had cared for, stumped out. His head, face, hands, feet and spine were largely a complex of metal and regrown tissue, but his new ears were smiling. Raargh and Vaemar-Vaemar-Riit!- had called him 'Hero,' and at Arthur Guthlac's request Vaemar had taken him in. Raargh's now-numerous kittens, and Orlando too, looked upon his extravagant scars and prostheses with respect. His burden of cowardice had been taken from him. He had a mate of his own, for that matter, and a couple of kittens as well, all of which would have been quite beyond his dreams had he lived out his life, even unmutilated, in the old order of things.
Vaemar made a prostration before the worship shrine holding a ceremonial jar, liberated from the quarters of the late Jocelyn van der Straat, which still contained at least a few molecules of the urine of his Honored Sire Chuut-Riit, and a few fragments of bone and hair identified by DNA testing as those of Elder Brother who had died protecting him as a kitten. He killed a yearling bull from the holding pens and ate quickly. Groom plied his blowdryer and talcum powder. Then Vaemar carried the recording brick to his laboratory, and called Arthur Guthlac's headquarters again.
A large hologram of Wunderland stood on the center of Guthlac's control console, a duplicate on Vaemar's. Circular marks on it, like old sores on a body, marked the sites of nuclear explosions. Some were fairly recent, from the Liberation or the intra-Kzin civil war that had so aided the human reconquest, some dated back to the original kzin landings. The oldest sites were quite faded now: the kzinti had blasted any human resistance that became too prolonged, but they had used fairly clean bombs. They were ecologists in their way, and anyway had not wished to destroy the infrastructure of the planet. But the monitors that built up the picture of Wunderland's radioactivity were sensitive. A myriad of lines crossed the northern hemisphere. A far smaller number crossed the less-settled southern hemisphere.
'These are the traces of highly radioactive substances which satellites have recorded in the last year,' Guthlac said. 'From the state of the ground we don't think the stuff's been gone longer than that. Fortunately we can narrow it down further. The signatures you recorded match these-' he pointed to a long lonely line that crossed the Wunderland equator and continued down the globe. 'They've gone to Little Southland. A couple of them have, anyway. As far as we can make out, the bulk of them can't have been moved far, though. You did a good job, Vaemar.'
'The University has routine trips to Little Southland,' said Nils Rykermann. 'Mainly instrument checks. Vaemar can be rostered to do it. If we want to keep this matter quiet…'
'We do. For the moment certainly.'
'Vaemar had better take a look, then. A look and back. He shouldn't be away more than a couple of days at most.'
'What do you have in mind?' asked Cumpston.
'If what you say is on the loose,' said Rykermann, 'then for obvious reasons we don't want humans going after it blindly. Vaemar is better able to look after himself than almost any human and if he can tell us what he sees, then we can at least make our next move with knowledge. Anyway, if all the containers are together, we can at least say they've been gotten away from the Morlocks. Setting aside the question of who took them.'
'It might be-' Cumpston bit off the words. To suggest in Vaemar's electronic presence that it might be dangerous for him would be an insult to test even Vaemar's exceptional self-control.
'The deserted farms?'
'That's bad. We thought the feral gangs were falling apart, but maybe this is their doing.'
'If nothing worse. The thing we fear. We can't keep this secret much longer.'
'The police have some ready-reaction teams,' said Rykermann. 'They're small but they've got good weapons. I'll get them up there now!'
'What about ARM?'
'They're Wunderland police, not ARM, and what they do is not ARM's business. Why do you think we have a police bagpipe band?'
'I always assumed it was to torture kzin prisoners. Or maybe flatlanders.'
'I'll take that up with you later. Our pipers are actually part of an elite reaction force that doesn't care to advertise its presence as such. Band-practice covers a multitude of sins. I've still got plenty of rank in the Wunderland armed forces and I'll get them up to the Hohe Kalkstein now.'
'Are you going to warn them about what they've really got to look out for?'
'Yes, there seems no choice about that now. But they are our best.'
'Do you really think your best is good enough?'
'At the moment we've got no choice, with so much of our forces still tied up in the space war.'
'I will give you full discretion,' Guthlac told Vaemar. 'Take any companions you wish, but lead. Lurk cunningly in the tall grass, scent out the spoor, do not scream and leap at the prey, but return. Knowledge is the prize.'
'I have done the ROTC intelligence course,' Vaemar reminded him, with the barest hint of something else in his voice, and adding after a moment, 'sir.'
'And that, my young Hero, is another reason you are chosen,' Guthlac told him. 'Act at discretion.'
Kzaargh-Commodore paced. Night-Lurker's bridge did not allow him much space, a dozen strides one way, a dozen the other. But Captain, Navigator and the rest of the bridge team kept well out of his way.
One kzin heavy cruiser. With repairs of less than naval dockyard standard. But with claws still capable of seizing Glory on an epic scale. Still with claws capable of devastating a planet or a system.
Eight-and-four Earth-years had passed since, returning with some damage from a hit-and-run raid on the
