'Indeed. It does sound like the same sect as his. Some time after we parted I understand he resumed a worship of death.'
'I wonder what happened,' Richard said absently, noticing something at the edge of the globe.
Slaverexpert was silent for a moment, then said, 'I suppose you could call it an epiphany-'
'I think we're there,' said Richard. He pointed, then remembered and said, 'Sorry.'
'As long as you're correct,' said Slaverexpert. 'Take us to the edge and we'll drop out and look.'
Richard was no daredevil, but he was very intent on getting home. He let the line get almost to the shell before shutting down the motor, then lit the viewscreens.
Slaverexpert studied the dome, altered the perspective twice, then pointed. 'That's the Axe, and that's the Puffball,' he said, indicating stars which suggested nothing to Richard, but were presumably grouped into constellations to the eye of a native of Kzin. 'Well done, Richard Guthlac. Turn the Returning Vessel beacon to the fifth setting and pull twice.'
'I remember.' That was for Medical Assistance, Nonlethal. 'What happened to the rest of your crew?'
'All but one are dead now,' Slaverexpert said, starting deceleration. 'The last is a Patriarch's Counselor.'
'Wow.'
'What? Where?'
'No no, sorry, 'wow' is a human expression of admiration. I'm sorry.' Wow was also a kzinti exclamation, usually used when something was broken or lost.
Slaverexpert waved a hand in a very human gesture. 'I'll live.' He began preparing a message giving details of their situation.
After far too many unpleasant surprises, only the latest of which had been the Wallaby incident, the kzinti were taking no chances. The lead team of the boarding party was four telepaths in powered armor, each with a fusion bomb and his own gravity generator. They flew through the Cunning Stalker's corridors on a swift initial survey and found them apparently clear. Three then stood guard while the fourth took out rescue bubbles, enclosed the four acting crew one by one, and linked them to retrieval lines that drew them to the intercept ship.
A judicious mixture of friendly persuasion and stunners got the other ten kzinti bagged and delivered. The telepaths packaged the items from the stasis box, followed by personal keepsakes, and sent those after the personnel. Then they flooded the Cunning Stalker with ozone, set off radiation flash bombs, let the atmosphere out, and did another inspection in vacuum. No green-scaled corpses were found, and they returned to the Excessive Force, which took the exploration vessel in tow.
The ARM general was keeping his voice and hands under control, but his body language would have started a fight in any bar on Kzin-aga. Probably on Earth, for that matter. 'Our legal position is unassailable,' he insisted. 'The Guthlacs were working as employees of the UN, and any bonuses due for their performance belong to the ARM.'
Charrgh-Uft replied cheerfully, 'After five centuries of dealing with humans, the kzinti are well-qualified to state that no position is unassailable. You, personally, insisted on their military rank being officially acknowledged in all particulars for this mission. That makes them crew. They get prize shares.'
'If these things are as good as they look it's going to leave two people owning half a dozen of the biggest industries in human space!'
Charrgh-Uft was growing tired of the argument, and he played the trump the Patriarch had told him he could if necessary: 'This is a matter of the Patriarch's honor.'
The gray-bristled human froze in place. The First War had dragged on well after it was lost, killing over a million kzinti, before a way was found for the then-Patriarch to surrender with honor. Weakly, he said, 'All they wanted was enough money to start a farm.'
'They'll be able to afford quite a large one, I should think,' said Charrgh-Uft. 'If I recall the invasion analysis correctly, there is an equatorial highland on Wunderland's second continent which could benefit from irrigation.'
'It's the size of France! A bubble asteroid would cost less to make!'
'Good idea. Every landowner should have a vacation home as well,' Charrgh-Uft said reasonably.
The Guthlacs had been given all the privacy they wanted, and had made enthusiastic use of it. After a week or so the pace slowed, and they began wearing clothing now and then, for meals and such.
'Slaverexpert must have some real pull to get us left alone like this,' Richard said at the end of one meal. 'I'd have thought someone would have been giving us a very thorough debriefing.' He saw Gay's grin, and laughed, 'Besides each other.'
The computer's message light came on, for the first time since they were given their quarters. Gay was closer, and lit the screen. It said:
'Lord Krosp requests the honor of your company at the receiving platform of his landing shuttle, sometime prior to sunset of the day after tomorrow, when he will be departing for his estate on Kzrral.'
'Who's Lord Krosp?' Richard said.
'He must be awfully important to get through to us,' Gay said. 'And you did say you were getting a little sore.'
'Aren't you?'
'Yes, but you admitted it first.'
They got there the morning of the second day, after spending some time in a fruitless search for the whereabouts of Slaverexpert. Charrgh-Uft had contacted them briefly to let them know he would be fully occupied socially (translation: looking over the daughters that various nobles were offering him), but thanked them for their help and assured them of fair treatment. He signed off before explaining that last.
The attitude of the kzin they'd asked for directions had altered from barely-tolerant to deeply impressed when the Name Krosp was mentioned: 'You know him? I will tell my sons that I met you!'
Gay murmured, 'Who is this 'tosh?'-Wunderkzin equivalent of 'guy.'
Lord Krosp's shuttle was a converted troop lander, and it had a place all to itself on the landing field. When their groundcar stopped, four kzinti formed an honor guard beside their path, and drew claws before their faces in salute as the Guthlacs got out.
Slaverstudent, in steel-studded harness with equipment pouches attached, marched out and said, 'Welcome, Richard Guthlac and Gay Guthlac!'
'You're Lord Krosp?' Gay exclaimed.
'Hardly. I am his aide-de-camp. Hospitality!' he called out to the ship, and a dozen elegantly decorated Jotoki wearing Freed insignia deployed seats, table, dispensers, canopy, and windscreens.
Lord Krosp, resplendent in weapons belt and governor's sash, stepped out and declared, 'My friends, and authors of my good fortune, be welcome!'
It was Telepath.
Naturally they were eaten alive by curiosity, but the manners they were raised with required him to bring it up first. Krosp knew it, and cheerfully tormented them by seating them and plying them with food and drink before sitting down himself. 'I trust you have not been disturbed since we got back? I was most specific.'
'That was you? Thanks!' Richard said.
'I hope you made good use of the time-' Krosp jumped a trifle, then went on, 'I see. It is well my family is in the shuttle and not the main ship.' He turned his head as a human would to ease a stiff neck, then said, 'I wanted to thank you for your kindness, and inform you that should you ever visit Kzrral the governor's hospitality is open to you.'
'How did you get appointed governor?' Gay burst out, finally unable to restrain her curiosity.
'It was entirely due to the vivid and enthusiastic praise of my accomplishments, given me by my crewmates from the Cunning Stalker-Ah, this will be Weapons Officer,' he said, indicating a groundcar that was just approaching.
There was no honor guard for Weapons Officer, and Krosp did not get up. Ears mostly folded (and bats tattooed on his tail), Weapons Officer came up with a parcel and stood at attention.
'Relax. It is good to see you,' Telepath said in Hero. 'I was just discussing our trip with the Guthlacs, who like the rest of us are going to be very rich from the salvage we brought back. Is that a gift?'
'Yes, sir,' said Weapons Officer, and held out the parcel. 'It was my grandsire's.'
