Man-Kzin Wars IV Larry Niven (ink ebook reader .txt) 📖

few seconds of action. “We love you, Betsy,” said Nora when she couldn’t stand the suspense any more.

“Shut up. Let Prakit work.”

The hyperdrive suddenly went into a vibration that built up over three seconds and then died. Prakit cursed. “She just reset.”

“Plenty of time,” said Lieutenant Argamentine.

“I’m going to take five to make an adjustment. We don’t want Betsy to burp again.”

Charlie was thinking of defensive action now. He rolled the Shark so that the jet of its piggy-back torchship was pointed toward the Screamers.

“It won’t do any good,” said Nora. “Those devils are maneuverable enough to get out of the way of anything.”

Charlie called down to his special forces. “We’re under attack. Get ready to fire the torch. When I call for fire, fire!”

“We’re going to be out of here!” said Prakit.

This time, as the phase-change built up, nobody broke the silence. Nora stared at the engine even while the sight of it started to “peel” the rods off the back of her eyeballs. Go! she prayed. But the Shark stayed suspended, agonizingly. Too long.

Betsy shuddered and reset.

“I should rebuild her,” said Prakit frantically.

“You had all day!” snarled Charlie. “Time?” He was asking Nora how much time they had to live.

“They’re still decelerating. Looks like a boarding. If they decide to take us alive, Betsy will have time. If they decide to make a fast pass, we are dead meat.”

“Suits sealed,” said Charlie. He meant helmets and gloves. They were already wearing airtights under their uniforms.

“Can’t!” Prakit’s voice was frantic. “I can’t afford to be encumbered. I’m taking her up manually. I can shave off minutes that way. I can keep her in the canyon. I’ve done it before. The autoguide has been hitting the walls. Shouldn’t happen.”

They began a third countdown. “Can we do a short tunneling?” Charlie was looking for straws.

“Doesn’t work that way. Don’t talk to me.”

They waited. Again. Finally Charlie could wait no more. “Attention. All crew. I’m arming the self-destruct.” If they got into hyperspace, each officer knew how to deactivate it before it blew. If they didn’t…

They waited. The kzin continued to close.

“Down below. Get your torch primed.” Charlie turned to Nora. “You and I are going to practice keeping our ass aimed at the kzin.”

“There are two bandits coming in. One is doing a boarding maneuver, the other seems to be setting up a fast flyby.” Nora twisted that ringlet of hair with her free hand, then found she needed both hands for her combat duties.

“And the third?”

“Hanging back. He’ll be able to board or kill.”

“We’ll practice wiggling our ass between the two lead Screamers.” The Shark began to oscillate between two points—the aiming precision-controlled by the ship’s computer.

They waited.

“We’re going to make it,” Prakit said, calm certainty in his voice.

“Fire!” screamed Charlie to his torchmen.

Fire blazed out at the dancing kzin, seeking while the Screamers avoided. The countdown continued.

A lurch as the torchship was blown away. Nora saw it cartwheeling across the heavens before it detonated. A moment later the cabin took a hit. She didn’t see Prakit sucked into space, helmetless. Her faceplate was triggering to opaque on cue from the explosive glare while actinic light burned the unshadowed half of her uniform. In the instant of death’s visitation she saw, not the father’s battle doom which had, until now, never left her mind, but a baby sister running toward her with ruffles around the bottoms of her tiny pant…

* * *

The Hssin barbarian had already flashed past. The second Screamer dropped from 60 g’s down to a fraction of a g and was only nudging the alien object as the old warrior jumped out with a backpack into the hole that had been opened for him. He knew what he was looking for, but it took him precious seconds to find it. He slapped the backpack down. Its electro-gravitic vibrators cut a clean hole through the floor and the backpack disappeared at 230 g’s carrying an amputated hunk of the Shark with it. The battle-armored Gunner leapt into the cockpit with two airbags, and in a choreographed economy of gesture the old Hero and his Gunner each stuffed a body into a bag, and then hunkered down, waiting for the explosion.

Chuut-Riit’s warrior was grinning through his faceplate. “Maybe the acceleration killed it.”

But no—the destruct bomb lit up the underside of the Screamer and the wreckage of the Shark.

The engine was intact. Give that wild Hssin barbarian credit—he could shoot straight! While the old warrior was examining the salvage, Hromfi’s son drifted to within hailing distance. The veteran Hero made hand signals to Hromfi’s Son: Where was that laggard, Trainer-of-Slaves?

Double arm motions signaled back: On his way.

The Ztirgor rolled and locked onto the bottom of the old warrior’s Screamer. Its insides had been stripped out to accommodate the autodoc. The body airbags were delivered efficiently and opened. Messy. Trainer-of-Slaves had a choice. There was room for only one prisoner in the autodoc. He chose the man-male because he was a male, then changed his mind because the male was dead, space-boiled blood clotting a neck wound, half his back carbonized to the bone. The female would have to do—after all, the man-females were intelligent and information could be tortured out of them.

He didn’t know if the autodoc could save her. He slashed away the remains of the green UNSN uniform with his claws. He slit, and then peeled off, the airtights. Some of the melted flesh came with it. He didn’t know what to do with the bra, trying various techniques of puzzle-solving to unleash it, then in exasperation cut it off. The rest was easy.

* * *

The first time Lieutenant Argamentine rose out of her dark delirium she was proud that she knew exactly where she was—she was in the womb-like care of an autodoc. She could feel it all around her and, if she moved her right side, she could feel the needles and the jell. But where was the autodoc?

Memories were elusive. When she struggled with their