Choosing Names: Man-Kzin Wars VIII Larry Niven (fantasy novels to read txt) 📖

know what would! A pity they were also hooked into the poison program, but such was life.

She poured herself a drink to celebrate still being alive so far, though it was only a combination of alcohol and a hideous orange drink substitute. She retired to her blankets with it, head blurry as she tried to piece together the molecular structure for a banana daiquiri in her head. When she was done with it, even the cold metal of Dalkey’s watch brought back only good memories. His kindness, his sense of humor . . . the warmth of his touch whenever their fingers met during repair work. Wonder what the rest of him would have felt like? she thought fuzzily. The blankets were firm and warm, but not the way he would have been. She slid into sleep still wanting him.

* * *

Syet sat straight up in his bunk and nearly retched. He didn’t know what to do. This was worse than the time three shipmates had killed each other in a mutual duel.

At first his head had been full of black-and-white thoughts. Maybe the techs were wrong and there was an AI aboard. He didn’t care as long as nobody made him try to read it. Then he’d gotten really confused when the thoughts blurred into whirling, skeletal shapes, and then into the brain of that damned rett. He shuddered at the impact of her lustful impulses. How those flabby, hairless humans found each other attractive was beyond him. Where did those other thoughts come from? The rett’s impressions had been so clear. Was she really imagining her partner?

Maybe she wasn’t. Maybe there was a reason he’d gotten those computer-like thoughts at first.

One of the human crew was still alive! Mostly likely the rett had believed everyone was dead at first. Her grief still burned his soul. What if one of the others had survived in hiding, though? Of course the rett would help him—and naturally the little bitch would demand her reward. The human was undoubtedly plotting mischief.

Syet dug deep for courage and woke Argton Weaponsmaster. The commander was angry at first, then concerned. A human on the loose was dangerous, and might keep them from fulfilling their mission. They both went down to the galley. Syet ducked beneath the low ceiling, while his superior barely had to nod. The rett emerged from her blankets with a squeal. Argton tore them away, in case she was hiding someone in them. They found only a glittering bracelet. The commander broke it in his rage. The rett began crying and gathered up the shining links. Syet didn’t get anything besides terror from her. He couldn’t find clear thoughts of anybody with that wall of emotion she was projecting. Both kzinti tore open the storage bins and lockers in the galley. They found nothing worthy of report. The commander clawed the rett in annoyance, and she collapsed in a corner. Syet was embarrassed. He knew something was going on, but he’d never find out this way.

Weaponsmaster clawed him, too. “You’d better stop drinking so much! Or find yourself a different brand of dreamdust!” he shouted. “I’ll have the ship searched again, just in case. If they don’t find anything, I’ll make you pay for this!” he shouted as he stormed out of the galley.

Syet considered reminding the weaponsmaster that they were still in range of one of his friends on picket. He decided it’d push his superior too far.

There was more than one way to earn a Name. The next time he felt those thought patterns, he’d deal with it himself. A human pelt would convince anybody he was right!

* * *

Marybeth limped to the autodoc, whined and cringed till the kzin on guard let her use it, then slinked back to her lair. With luck she’d convinced Hobbes she wasn’t a menace. Snaggletooth might still be a problem, if she’d interpreted him correctly. Simply staying under cover wasn’t going to keep her safe. She could die at any moment from an alien’s whim.

She thought longingly about her fighting-knife. The odds were slim that she’d take out even one of the aliens, let alone more of them. She wanted them all dead. Marybeth had no idea what course they were on. For all she knew they were headed out of the solar system entirely. Suddenly she didn’t care.

How much time did she have? When the ship had been captured, they were about a month away from rendezvous with the Peregrine. She wasn’t sure how long it’d been since then. She had to assume they were still on course. If they weren’t, it didn’t matter as much. She might as well plan for a worst-case scenario.

She needed more information. She couldn’t sleep now. A grate that led into the air vent system yielded to a mixing spoon handle used as a pry bar. Marybeth quietly made her way through it. One part led to a grate near the weapons locker. It was still guarded, of course, though probably to keep the aliens from killing each other, judging by what she’d seen earlier. She backed away hastily when one of the sentries wrinkled his nose in disgust. Well, she didn’t like their smell, either. She returned to the galley and rested. What was she going to do?

A few days later she cleaned up the spatters from a minor duel—no one died—between two of the kzinti. She took the soaked rag back to the galley and analyzed the blood. She wasn’t sure what was normal, but spotted a high ratio of triglycerides in the blood fats. There was a difference between the aliens and humans, though. There appeared to be more carbons—about one-third more. The computer wasn’t sure where they went. Of course it wasn’t. It was programmed to follow human metabolism as its default template. She went back into the system menu and reset it. The carbons resolved themselves into glorious triples, as did the fats in the kzinti rations.

Of course. Coenzyme A in humans made