Man-Kzin Wars V Larry Niven (e novels to read .txt) 📖

ruddy orange of their fur. Hans was imperturbable as he sucked his pipe to a glowing ember.

"You really don't have much choice but to go through with your agreement, as far as I can see," she went on.

"Oh?" Jonah said, softly. "We didn't bargain to hand over the Secret of the Ages for a pat on the head and a few thousand krona."

Bigs snorted agreement, followed by a low growl. Spots was silent, but the tip of his tongue showed as he panted slightly.

"It's too big," Tyra said. "The ARM would give anything to suppress this—they'll take the tnuctipun back to Earth, put it in the museum next to the Sea Statue, that thrint they bottled up again, and that'll be that. You know them. They have a lot of influence here on Wunderland these days. To make any use of the secret, you'd have to have a powerful patron of your own—or," she added with a gamine chuckle that made her look twelve for a second, "you could take it and sell it to the Outsiders or the Patriarch of Kzin. No offense," she added in the brothers' direction.

Bigs snarled, a sound like ripping canvass, Spots snorted, a flupp sound. "None taken," he said.

"Besides which," she went on, "I know about it, and it's my duty to see that the most responsible authority takes charge of it for the benefit of Wunderland—of everyone, eventually. That means Montferrat. Of course, you could kill me and bury my body." She leaned back against her saddle. "Up to you, mein herren."

Blast, she had to go and say it, Jonah thought. His palms were damp. I'm a—moderately—law abiding type, he mused. And normally, I'd be against offing anyone that good-looking on general principle. But Finagle there's a lot at stake here!

Odd, how ambition struck. He had never been conscious of wealth as something he lacked, before. Enough to be comfortable, yes; the loss of that had been shocking when Early had him railroaded out of the UN Space Navy and then blacklisted. A little more of the gold, yes; independence had looked awfully desirable. The tnuctipun's secrets were more than wealth, they were power. The problem was, they were proportionately risky.

"Ja, Fra Nordbo," Hans said mildly. "Those look to be the alternatives, don't they?" Tyra stiffened; she had not meant to be taken literally. "If you'd let us talk it over in private, for a minute?" He waggled his pipe towards the kzinti; it would be futile to try and run in the dark, with them ready to scent-track as accurately as hounds and with intelligence to boot.

As soon as she had withdrawn, Bigs spoke: "Kill him. I mean her." Kzinti females were mute and subsentient, probably another consequence of genetic engineering, and kzintosh—male kzin—had trouble remembering that sexual dimorphism was not so extreme among the race of Man. The matter was academic to them, of course. "We owe the monke—hrreaheerr, Montferrat-human only money. We can pay him off with gold. The secrets in that craft will make us Patriarchs!"

"Or make us dead," Hans said. "Killing the girl—the Provisional Gendarmerie, they don't worry about trifles like proof. They just shoot you. Can't spend if you're dead. I wish we hadn't found it, I truly do."

"I also," Spots said surprisingly. "But it is done." His breed wasted little time on regrets. "My sibling is right—in potential. Hans-human is also right—as to the risk. I scratch dirt upon the dung of risk . . . but there is no glory in defeat. It is a difficult matter."

"We can't kill Tyra—the girl," Jonah said reasonably.

The two kzin looked at each other. Bigs rolled his eyes toward Jonah and made a complex gesture, involving fingers wiggling at the muzzle, flapping ears, a ripple of the fur and an arch of the back. It meant mating frenzy; also stupidity and madness.

"Hrrrr." Spots lay his chin on his hands and turned his eyes on Jonah. "We must agree, whatever we do. Or else fight each other." He added kindly: "If all agree to kill the female, we will do it; you need not watch. We will even forgo eating it."

"Bleeping hell you—" Jonah forced calm. Breath in. Breath out. Ommmm— "Look, I know it's tempting for you, but I've decided; we really can't do anything but sell to Montferrat. Wunderland's our only market. They won't let us get off planet! Montferrat is the only market on Wunderland that won't slap us in a psychist's chair. And kill you two, by the way."

"I think Fra Nordbo should go," Hans said. He gestured with his pipe as Jonah stared round. "Nothing against her personal. No, seems a nice enough sort. Still, I'm a Wunderlander—commoner, like my parents before me. Don't like the thought that we hand this to the new government; too cozy by half with the Earthers. Don't like the idea of the Herrenmann getting it, either—tired of them running things, and throwing us scraps." He smiled across at the kzin without showing his teeth. "Since you fellers' friends back home can't get it, that don't come into the picture."

Tanjit! Jonah thought. Aloud: "Look, we've had a long day. What say we turn in? She isn't going anywhere. We can consider it in the morning."

"Logic will be the same in the morning," Spots said reasonably. "Also, you will not find the decision easier once you have mated."

"I don't intend to mate!" Jonah snapped. Although Finagle knows I'd like to. Aliens had trouble with the details of human social interaction. "And I say let's think it over in the morning."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Spots-Son of Chotrz-Shaa whimpered softly in his sleep. He was hiding from his father. Chotrz-Shaa had seen the vids from the Fourth Fleet sent against Man-Home. Three elder sons and a brother had sailed with the Fourth Fleet; Ssis-Captain, Second Gunner and Squadron Analyst. Chotrz-Shaa raged through the home complex; the scent of his anger was terrible. In the palazzos of the harem, mothers tucked their kittens into