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

said grimly. Then the voice broke into a howl of woe.

"Not until we get you to help. This would happen while Hans and Tyra are away with the medkit . . . that'll be the closest place. You can lean on one of the mules, I can catch them. I think."

My sibling attacked him dishonorably, yet he will forego revenge to save my life, Spots thought. I am ashamed.

"First," he said aloud, "you'll have to get this out of me."

Jonah blanched as he looked down at the knifeblade. The stub of it moved with every breath.

* * *

"We really should get under way," Tyra urged, with a sigh.

"Yep. Figure we should."

Hans smiled beatifically, and leaned back in the hammock. His was strung between two orange trees, and a few blossoms had fallen across his grizzled face. He brushed them aside and took another sip of the drink in his hollowed-out pineapple. There was rum in it, and cherries and cream and a few other things—passionfruit, for example—and it helped to make the warmth quite tolerable. So did the tinkling stream which flowed down the narrow valley under the overhanging cliff, and the shade of the palm trees. Hans Shwartz had been a grown man when the kzinti came; he was into his second century now, and even with good medical care your bones appreciated the warmth after so much hard work. The air buzzed with bees, scented with flowers.

"Thank you, sweetling," he said, as a girl handed him a platter of fried chicken; it had fresh bread on the side, and a little woven bowl of hot sauce for dipping. The girl smiled at him, teeth and green eyes and blond hair all bright against her tanned skin. Someone who looked like her twin sister was cutting open a watermelon for them. Not far away in a paddock grazed six horses, three for him and three for Tyra, and they had been turning down gifts of pigs and sheep and household tools for a solid day now.

"These are sweet people," Tyra said, as the girl handed her a plate as well.

"No argument," Hans said, gesturing with a drumstick. The batter on it was cornmeal, delicately spiced; he bit into the hot fragrant meat with appreciation. "They need some help, though. Someone to guide them through the next few years, getting back into contact with things. Otherwise they'll be taken advantage of."

"True enough," Tyra said, more somberly. "I was surprised at you, the way you diagnosed those children and managed the treatment." Her young eyes were guileless, but shrewd. "What did you do before the conquest, Freeman Shwartz?"

"This and that, this and that," Hans said, repelling her curiosity with mild firmness. The youngsters were all up and about, although they would need further therapy. Unfortunately, that would cost; it would be some time before Wunderland could afford planetary health insurance again.

"And we should get going; I'm worried about Jona—about Freeman Matthieson, alone with those kzin."

Hans suppressed a smile. His tolerant amusement turned to concern as the headman of the village dashed up, sweating, his eyes wide.

"Your friend," he gasped out. "Your young friend—and one of the accursed ratcats—they are here. They are hurt!"

Hans tossed his plate and drink aside, yelling for his medkit as he landed running down the pathway. Tyra was ahead of him, her long slim legs flashing through the borrowed sarong.

* * *

"Finagle, there is a heaven after all," Jonah murmured.

The cool cloth sponged at his face and neck as he looked up through matted lashes at Tyra's face. Sheer relief made him limp for long moments, his head lolling in her lap. A man could get used to this, he thought.

Then: "Spots!"

"He's all right," Tyra said. "In better shape than you, actually. The locals were a bit leery of having him in the village, but they put up a shelter for him and Hans has been working on him."

"Speak of der teufel," Hans said, ducking through the doorway of bamboo sections on string. "Aren't you sitting pretty, young feller," he added. Tyra blushed slightly and set Jonah's head back on the pillow.

"Your furry friend is fine, as far as I can tell," the old man went on. "Growling and muttering about that brother of his."

"Who nearly killed both of us," Jonah said grimly.

He felt at the side of his face; the swellings were gone, and his fingers slid over the slickness of spray-skin. From the slightly distant feel from within, he was on painblockers, but not too heavily.

"He would have killed me, if Spots hadn't jumped him." Jonah shook his head. "I'm surprised. Usually, if a kzin swears a formal oath, they'll follow it come core-collapse or memory dump; look at the way Spots stood up for me. I can see Bigs challenging me, but to try and kill me in my sleep—"

"Temptation can do funny things to a mind, human or non," Hans said shrewdly. "Seem to remember one feller who wouldn't believe there was a fuzzball under a rock, on account of temptation."

Jonah flushed, conscious of Tyra's curiosity "When will I be ready to ride?" he said.

"Not for a week at least," Tyra said firmly.

Hans tugged at his whiskers. "Funny you should ask; Spots said the same thing, more or less." His button blue eyes appraised the younger man. "Neither of you was infected." Wunderland bacteria were not much of a threat to humans; the native biochemistry lacked some elements essential to Terrestrial life, and vice versa. "He's healing real fast, seems to be natural for him. You're dehydrated, and those cuts shouldn't be put under much strain, sprayskin or no. Say three days, minimum."

"One," Jonah said grimly. He held up a hand at Tyra, stopping her before the words left her lips. "It's not just what we—Montferrat—could do with the knowledge. It's what that tnuctipun could do, once it's out of its bottle. I think we badly underestimated it. I believe it's controlling Bigs, somehow. Control, hypnosis. Maybe what the Thrintun do for all