Man-Kzin Wars IX Larry Niven (grave mercy .txt) 📖

"Contact them, of course," Raden answered. "Explain the situation. That I—we—have no intention of more than a rescue attempt, and we'll lay no salvage claims or anything like that. In fact, I promise to leave whatever kind of black box they have, the data this flight gathered, alone, for them to retrieve. Let me suggest you offer them any other help you can give. That's traditional, after all."

He laughed. "Don't worry about us. We're within our safety factors. Quite an adventure!"

He cut off transmission, pending further reception, rose, looked into Tyra's eyes, and reached for her hands. She withheld them.

His smile was gone. "There will be hazards," he said low. "Aren't there always? I rejoiced to have you along, darling, but now I'd sell my chance of having an immortal soul—no, that's too cheap a price—I'd give everything I own for you to be safely back aboard Freuchen."

Every material thing, maybe, she thought. The bank accounts, the royalties, the vacation home, the sailboat, whatever. But how could you divest yourself of your reputation, your fame? This deed can only add to them.

Her bitterness shocked her. It wasn't reasonable. Was it? "Well, I'm not there," she said, "nor sorry."

As if to reinforce her, the comscreen brought Worning and Bihari back. "Playing the noble knight may be very well, Raden," Worning snapped. "But you're spending the resources of our expedition, and putting critical assets at risk, for no other gain."

"Oh, God, can't you see?" Raden exclaimed. "That's a living, sentient being yonder, maybe two, with a ghastly death ahead of them. Could you stay idle in my circumstances and still call yourself a man? I don't believe that, Captain Worning. I don't believe you would."

This time he left transmission going while he appealed to Tyra. "Nor would you." With a quick, wry grin: "And call yourself a woman. Which you are, incredibly much."

"I think you're confused about the issue," she told him out of the ice within her. "A human being, or a—a dog, yes. Kzinti, no. They're something else."

He seemed appalled. "You can't be serious!"

"Yes, they're as intelligent as we are, in their fashion. Maybe they can feel pain as much, in their fashion. But it doesn't mean the same to them. They have nothing like sympathy, compassion, anything we humans have had such a struggle to keep alive in ourselves. Craig, I've seen what they do. I've lived with it."

Dada-man, snatched away from everyone he loved and who loved him. Mother, dying of grief, unjustly disgraced. Ib, betrayed into dishonor. The endless years of the occupation, friends killed, crushed, hunted down like game animals, eaten. The murderous assault at the black hole . . . And those were merely things she had witnessed or heard of at firsthand. She knew of too many more.

She heard the shock: "But this is racism. The old horror. Jews made booty of, Amerindians massacred, Africans enslaved . . . I grant you, it's a horrible culture, but they can learn better. The Mongols were once the terror of half a world. They became one of the most peaceful people on Earth—"

"If you please," interrupted Bihari, answering Raden's reply to Worning, "I daresay you suppose you're making a goodwill gesture, which will go toward improving relationships. I have my doubts, but since you are on your way and not open to argument, we will communicate with the kzinti, fully and frankly, and stand by to render any assistance we can that they will accept. We will keep you informed. Meanwhile, we shall be on alert status."

"Ja," rumbled Worning. "Good luck. You'll need it."

The images blanked. Neither captain meant to nag, nor would they allow anyone else to stammer best wishes.

"We've got a couple of hours to make ready," Raden said. "First aid, for openers. A very near thing at best. Prepare for unpleasantness, Tyra. A cooked corpse or . . . worse."

"I've known worse."

His expression, stance, voice pleaded. "Do you really feel we're altogether wrong to do this?"

It was not simply that she happened to be with him and got no choice, it was that she was with him, for as long as might be. Maybe for life. "No," she made herself say, and confessed inwardly that he did have a certain logic, that without some forthcomingness—which could only begin on the human side—the hatred and slaughter might well go on until one race or the other went extinct. "I'm with you," and now she took his hands and presently returned his kiss before they got busy.

She refrained from wishing aloud that they had a firearm along.

14

"We have still received no response from the kzinti," Bihari reported. "Among other things, that means we don't have the code for opening any of their airlocks. Since you are closing in, I have ordered a naval 'key' program sent to you. I suppose you know it directs phased currents through your contact module and analyzes the reaction to each set of pulses. A search pattern conducted at electronic speed. It ought to determine the unlocking sequence within a few minutes. The program is classified information, but merely at 'confidential' level, and may be shared in emergency. Instructions will accompany it. Prepare to download."

Raden nodded. "I rather expected this," he told Tyra. "I didn't think the captain would leave us to cut our way in with laser torches. Dangerous, as well as slow. No doubt she'll order the program wiped from our database after we return, but actually, one relies more on interstellar distances and infrequent contacts to keep such things from spreading. All colony worlds have similar tools, civilian as well as military, and many spacecraft carry them. You might need to get into a friendly ship, too—a Crashlander, say—when for some reason the crew couldn't just let you in. Or any of all the other unpredictable situations."

He spoke rapidly, dryly, as if he were lecturing to a class. Tyra listened, though she already knew most of it. This must be a way for him to release some tension. Mainly