responsibility to underlings who trusted him with their future prosperity, and a kzin who would neglect that would eat grass. 'If we are done, we should join the humans and see to the ship. You may then tell-ftah. At your earliest convenience I would like to hear the rest of what has happened.'
Telepath was gazing at him with a kitten's wonder. He realized it and looked down. 'I meant no intrusion.'
'I do not duel.'
Telepath's ears extended back against his head in the position of utmost curiosity, but he said merely, 'Urr. I believe we are done…Commander.'
'Well, that wasn't too dignified,' Richard said after they'd gotten themselves under control and had been waiting a while.
'In the circumstances I doubt they'll hold it against us,' Gay said.
'Mm, no,' he agreed. 'And there is the formal excuse that we wouldn't want to watch them eat.' Kzinti courtesy was decidedly not human courtesy, but one of the points in common was occasionally pretending not to notice something.
The door opened, and Telepath said in Interworld, 'Good, you're still clothed. We should go to the bridge now.'
Richard opened his mouth, realized that Telepath had never dropped in on them while they were making love or immediately after and therefore knew their habits, and closed his mouth again, attempting to keep some dignity.
It didn't help that Gay giggled all the way to the bridge.
Slaverexpert looked around and said, 'I had hoped you were exaggerating. Start a cleaning robot.'
'Sir,' said Telepath, and obeyed.
'I cannot use a mass detector,' said Slaverexpert, 'so we will need a kzin and a human here at all times. Watches will be…' He thought, and found the word. 'Staggered. Four hours. Which of you is currently less fatigued?'
Richard and Gay looked at each other.
'They need much rest before they can proceed, sir,' Telepath said.
Slaverexpert growled wordlessly, then caught himself. Old habits came back unexpectedly. 'There will be a few days before we enter hyperspace. After that we will all have to make do with solitary…' He found the word. 'Naps.'
The humans left without a word, their postures dismayed.
'They're not getting paid enough,' Telepath said after they had left. 'Each of them thought that.' His ears were twitching just a bit.
'Given that my own household will still be six light-years away once we get back to Kzin-aga, my sympathy is all that it should be. You seem well; how are you able to read them without drugs or pain?'
'The euphoria the roots produce has a remarkable stabilizing effect, sir.'
'But the ship has been decontaminated,' Slaverexpert said.
Telepath stood very still for a long moment. Then he looked toward the door of the Captain's Battle Quarters. Then he said-almost a question-'I still feel good.'
Without hesitation Slaverexpert firmly said, 'Good. What has been done with the rest of the roots?' They represented a tremendously powerful weapon against the Patriarchy.
'Spaced, sir.'
Slaverexpert stared in shock. 'How did you get them to agree to that?'
'It was their idea, sir. They were concerned about the effect on our civilization, sir.'
Slaverexpert contemplated that, and came to the same conclusion he had shortly after he had awakened as a cyborg: Humans were weird. Then he said, 'Telepath, in the circumstances I think it reasonable to regard military discipline as held in abeyance. You don't have to be formal in your address.'
'Thank you. I think I should stay in practice, though.'
Slaverexpert said mildly, 'As executive officer the ship's records are in your keeping, including those of the last three days and those of the events in private cabins. I imagine henceforth you may never have to be formal in your address.'
Telepath looked at him in puzzlement, then visibly realized the implications. His ears stood out, but his voice was controlled as he said, 'I will need instruction in guiding the ship.'
'Of course.' Slaverexpert stepped over the cleaning robot to indicate controls, politely ignoring the faint purring Telepath produced as he contemplated a voyage under the command of a flagrant subversive.
Gay knew that Slaverexpert was being considerate. She also knew that the kzin would never understand that to a human-at least, to a civilized human-there are few things likelier to diminish arousal than a deadline. A kzin would probably be trying to establish a record.
Both the Guthlacs were frustrated and irritable by the time the Cunning Stalker left the system's singularity.
Weeks of watch-and-watch routine did nothing to improve this.
Second Trooper's intermittent brief appearances and immediately disappearances were provoking in the extreme. He still had a chunk of the root, too, so they persisted.
Returning from her second watch of the fifty-first day in hyperspace, having steered the ship around a record four suspicious fuzzy red lines, Gay was passing the door to Second Trooper's quarters when it suddenly opened. She jumped and stared at him.
In response to this perceived aggression, equally surprised, Second Trooper bared his teeth and claws.
Lacking both weapons and patience, Gay stuck her tongue out at him.
Second Trooper's pupils grew huge, his ears curled, and with a faint squeak he leapt back into his quarters and sealed the door.
Astounded, Gay stared at the door for a moment. The kzin had reacted like he was scared to death.
She shook off the momentary paralysis and quickly entered the door's security override, then turned, thinking to go back to the bridge and report the last straggler caught. She refrained. It could wait.
She continued back to their cabin for what sleep she could get.
She was always tired now, though, and never did think to ask what could have prompted the reaction.
Toward the end of hyperspace transit, even Slaverexpert's fatigue override system was under some strain. It manifested as garrulity.
At least he was interesting.
On the seventy-fifth day he was on watch with Richard when he looked up from his screen and said, 'Most of the design changes in this ship are based on human ideas, you know.'
'They are?' Richard said, looking around incredulously. Past the row of little blue globes the humans used to avoid eyestrain, the kzin-scale mechanisms with their deep orange lighting looked not unlike the foundry of the Cyclopes.
'Very much so. Crew posts not facing a common center, for instance, so everyone can see the same view. Far less distracting than my old command.'
'You commanded a ship before?' Richard exclaimed.
'At the start of the Fourth War,' Slaverexpert said, which made him something over three hundred years old-unheard of! 'I had a partial Name then. I gave it up after my injuries were repaired. Having a Name is grounds for killing if it is not used properly, and I had lost the desire to kill.'
'What was it?' Richard had never heard of any kzin giving up a Name, and hadn't known it was possible.
'Richard, I told you: I no longer use it,' he said patiently. 'Twice since then I have been offered one for my competence. Normally the degree of ability adhering to being an Expert carries such an honor. However, one of my crew had been an Expert, so I knew it was done.'
'Why didn't he have one?'
'His behavior was too exotic,' said Slaverexpert. 'I learned much later that he had been raised in an obscure sect which worships death. He had left the faith, though.'
'I may have heard of it,' Richard said, taking another look at the mass detector. 'There were a few incidents after the First War. When kdaptism got started there was a form that adopted crucifixion of humans as a means of prayer. Rare events, but memorable.'
