Man-Kzin Wars XII Larry Niven (list of ebook readers .TXT) 📖

around his feet. "I'm able to follow your train of thought," he clarified.

"This stuff has improved your filters?" Gay guessed.

Telepath shook his head. "If anything they're weaker. It's just destroyed my sense of criticism. Everything's great."

"What do we do now?" Richard said.

"I already said. Eat."

"I meant about our situation."

"So do I. You'll think better."

That was undoubtedly true. They got meals from the dispenser. Gay said, "This doesn't bother you?"

"Right now I can hear three Heroes trying to eat textiles. Reconstituted vegetables are a decided improvement."

While they ate Telepath sat quietly, aside from an occasional soft rumble. His eyes narrowed briefly each time he exhaled, which when Shebee had done it indicated great comfort. It was something only done at home.

When Richard realized this, Telepath focused on him, leaned forward a bit, and gave a sleepy-looking blink: a gesture of abiding fondness. "This room and your company have been a good time in my life," Telepath said. "And no, pity does not offend me. It is many steps up from fear and contempt." The comment made Richard acutely self-conscious, and Telepath added, "There is truly no need to reply to everything I say. I spoke to clarify: I feel good. Eat."

As he finished, Richard realized who Telepath was making him think of. "Gay, remember Steve Rhee?"

"Richard," she reproved.

"I am not offended," Telepath said. "But thank you for your concern."

Steve Rhee was a Jinxian immigrant who had settled outside Auslandburg and started a farm, a café, a bakery, a music shop, and a furrier's, in that order. The fur business was successful. Through all his business failures he had never lost his cheerful attitude, due to his intrinsic good nature, his enjoyment of living under a third of the gravity he was accustomed to, and his careful selective breeding of a staggeringly powerful strain of hemp on his homestead plot. The fact that smoking hemp never caught on with Wunderlanders was not a problem; his own consumption of the stuff was vast, and what he didn't smoke, stray Morlocks, living in deep woods now that there were no uncollapsed caves in the region, came out and ate all night. He would go out among the stupefied creatures in the morning and snap their necks, which was where he got so many pelts.

"So he brought the hemp with him?" Telepath remarked.

"No, Wunderlanders have grown it for cheap cordage for a long time," Gay said. "It's pretty strong, for a natural fiber. And it makes wonderful toys." She looked at Richard suddenly.

"Shebee," he agreed, not catching on yet. Gay stood and started to examine the dispenser settings. Telepath began chuckling. "What have I missed?" Richard said, and got it. "Oh." Then he began laughing too.

"This may just get us into the control room," she said, and tapped switches.

After the dispenser had worked for a minute or so, Telepath said, "First Engineer is sneaking up the corridor outside."

"Do tell," said Gay. She stopped the dispenser, took out what it had made so far, and handed it to Richard before restarting. "Care to do the honors?"

"Sure." Richard unlocked, opened the door manually, tossed out the fist-sized fuzzy ball of twine, and sealed the door again.

They waited.

Shortly there was a thump from the wall.

It was followed, after a pause, by several more in quick succession. An intermittent series of further thumps moved off down the corridor over the next couple of minutes. All three listeners kept as quiet as possible. At one point Gay shifted her head as if to speak, but Telepath softly placed a fingertip against her lips. Then he took it away, gave her a sidelong look, and, while Gay tried desperately to keep her helpless laughter silent, wiped his perfectly dry finger repeatedly on his fur.

By and by Telepath said, "He's out of earshot."

"What was that about?" Richard said, pointing at Telepath's hand.

Gay was still shaking, and made as if to grab something with her mouth. Telepath said, "She had a sudden urge to nibble on my finger. I believe the term is contact high. I think I had better block you two out for the duration; there appears to be feedback."

Richard finally figured out something that had been bothering him on a subliminal level, and found he couldn't think of a courteous way to bring it up: Telepath was talking a lot more clearly.

"I'm less self-conscious," Telepath said. "And I can detect the way you use your own vocal apparatus. I think perhaps sthondat lymph may not be an amplifier at all, but a tranquilizer—my mind is wandering. We will need Slaverexpert."

"We will?" Richard said.

"I cannot fly a ship."

"He can?" said Richard, just as Gay said, "Can't you read the others?"

"He can. I can read the others readily, if all I want to do is chase my tuft. First Engineer is currently the most rational of them."

"Oh great," Richard said. "Telepath, Slaverexpert must have gotten the biggest dose of all!"

"He can control his biological responses."

"I thought you couldn't read his mind."

"I can't. But nobody will duel with him."

That was indicative, all right. Modern kzinti wouldn't fight unless they had a chance of winning. "Okay, how do we get to him?"

"We need to isolate the others. Charrgh-Captain first, so I only have to change the security codes once." Telepath stopped talking, and suddenly his ears waggled as he turned to look at Gay. "I think that could work," he said.

The procession started with a short figure in a pressure suit, followed by a larger figure in a similar suit, followed by a smallish kzin whose tail was generously decorated with silver ribbons tied into bows. A bell was tied to the tuft. In one hand the lead figure carried an object like a drumhead, with miniature cymbals set into the rim. This was shaken continuously except when it was struck with the other hand.

The procession set out from the observers' quarters. Progress was slow, as there were evidently rules concerning the length and rhythm of the paces taken: They were short, and often