The Man-Kzin Wars 01 (25 page)

After his second sleep, Locklear found himself roughly hustled forward in the low-polarity ship's gravity of the Raptor by the nameless Apprentice Engineer. This smallest of the crew had been a kitten not long before and, at two-meter height, was still filling out. The transverse mustard-tin
ted band across his abdominal fu
r identified Apprentice Engineer down the full length of the hull passageway
.

Locklear, his right arm in a sling of bandages, tried to remember all the mental notes he had made since being tossed into that cell. He kept his eyes downcast to avoid a challenging look-and because he did not want his cold fury to show. These orange
furred monstrosities had killed a ship and crew with every semblance of pride in the act. They treated a civilian captive at best like playground bullies treat an urchin, and at worst like food. It was all very well to study animal behavior as a detached ethologist. It was something else when the toughest warriors in the galaxy attached you to their food chain
.

He slouched because that was as far from a military posture as a man could get-and Locklear's personal war could hardly be declared if he valued his own pelt. He would try to learn where hand weapons were kept, but would try to seem stupid. He would
...
he found the last vow impossible to keep with the Grraf-Commander's first question
.

Wheeling in his command chair on the Raptors bridge, the commander faced the captive.
“
I
f you piloted your own monkeyship, then you have some menial skills." It was not a question; more like an accusation.
“
C
an you learn to read meters if it will lengthen your pathetic
l
ife?
”

Ah, there was a question
!
Locklear was on the point of lying, but it took a worried kzin to sing a worried song. If they needed him to read meters, he
might learn much in a short time. Besides, they'd know bloody well if he lied on this matter.
“
I
can try," he said.
“
W
hat's the problem?"

“
T
ell him," spat Grraf-Commander, spinning about again to the holo screen
.

Tzak-Navigator made a gesture of agreement, standing beside Locklear and gazing toward the vast humped shoulders of the fourth kzin. This nameless one was of truly gigantic size. He turned, growling, and Locklear noted the nose scar that seemed very appropriate for a flash-tempered gunner. Tzak
-
Navigator met his gaze and paused, with the characteristic tremor of a kzin who prided himself on physical control.
“
S
hip's Gunner, you are relieved. Adequately done.
With the final phrase, Ship's Gunner relaxed his ear umbrellas and stalked off with a barely creditable salute. Tzak-Navigator pointed to the vacated seat, and Locklear took it.
“
H
e has got us lost," muttered the navigator.

“
B
ut you were the navigator," Locklear said
.

“
W
atch your tongue!
”

“
I
'm just trying to understand crew duties, I asked what the problem was, and Grraf-Commander said to tell me.
”

The tremor became more obvious, but
Tzak-Navigator
knew when he was boxed.
“
W
ith a four
kzin crew, our titles and our duties tend to vary. When I accept duties of executive officer and communications officer as well, another member may prove his mettle at some simple tasks of astrogation." I would think Apprentice Engineer might be good at reading meters," Locklear said carefully
.

“
H
e has enough of them to read in the engine room. Besides, Ship's Gunner has superior time in
grade; to pass him over would have been a deadly insult.
“

“
U
m. And I don't count?
”

“
E
xactly. As a captive, you are a nonperson even if you have skills that a gunner might lack.
”

“
Y
ou said it was adequately done," Locklear pointed out
.

“
F
or a gunner," spat the navigator, and Locklear smiled. A kzin, too proud to lie, could still speak with mental reservations to an underling. The navigator went on:
“
W
e drew first blood with our chance sortie to the galactic West, but Ship's Gunner must verify gravitational blips as we pass in hyperdrive.
”

Locklear listened, and asked, and learned. What he learned initially was fast mental translation of octal numbers to decimal: What he learned eventually was that, counting on the gunner to verify likely blips of known star masses, Grraf-Commander had finally realized that they were monumentally lost, light-years from their intended rendezvous on the rim of known space. And that rendezvous is on the way to the Eridani worlds, Locklear thought. He said, as if to himself but in kzin,
“
O
ut Eridani way, I hear they're always on guard for you guys. You really expect to get out of this alive?
”

“
N
o," said the navigator easily.
“
Y
our life may be extended a little, but you will die with heroes. Soon.
”

“
S
ounds like a suicide run," Locklear said
.

“
W
e are volunteers," the navigator said with lofty arrogance, making no attempt to argue the point, and then continued his instructions. Presently, studying the screen, Locklear said,
“
T
hat gunner has us forty parsecs from anyplace. jump into normal space long enough for an astrogation fix and you've got it.
”

“
D
o not abuse my patience, monkey. Our last
Fleet Command message on hyperwave forbade us to make unnecessary jumps." After a moment, Locklear grinned.
“
A
nd your commander doesn't want to have to tell Fleet Command you're lost.
“

“
W
hat was that thing you did with your face?
”

“
U
h,-just stretching the muscles," Locklear lied, and pointed at one of the meters.
“
T
here; um, that has a field strength of, A hell, three eights and four, right?
”

Tzak-Navigator did not have to tremble because his four-fingered hand was in motion as a blur, punching buttons.
“
Y
es. I have a star mass and," the small screen stuttered its chicken-droppings in Kzinti, "here are the known candidates.
”

Locklear nodded. In this little-known region, some star masses, especially the larger ones, would have been recorded. With several fixes in hyperdrive, he could make a strong guess at their direction with respect to the galactic core. But by the time he had his second group of candidate stars, Locklear also had a scheme.

Locklear asked for his wristcomp, to help him translate octal numbers-his chief motive was less direct-and got it after Apprentice Engineer satisfied himself that it was no energy weapon. The engineer, a suspicious churl quick with his hands and clearly on the make for status, displayed disappointment at his own findings by throwing the instrument in Locklear's face. Locklear decided that the kzin lowest on the scrotum pole was most anxious to advance by any means available. And that, he decided, just might be common in all sentient behavior
.

Two hours later by his wristcomp, when Locklear tried to speak to the commander without prior permission, the navigator backhanded him for his trouble and then explained the proper channels. I will decide whether your message is worth Grraf-Commander's notice," he snarled
.

Trying to stop his nosebleed, Locklear told him.

“
A
transparent ruse," the navigator accused, "to save your own hairless pelt.
”

“
I
t would have that effect," Locklear agreed.
“
M
aybe. But it would also let you locate your position.
“

The navigator looked him up and down.
“
W
hich will aid us in our mission against your own kind. You truly disgust me.
”

In answer, Locklear only shrugged. Tzak-Navigator wheeled and crossed to the commander's vicinity, stiff and proper, and spoke rapidly for a few moments. Presently,
G
rraf-Commander motioned for Locklear to approach. Locklear decided that a military posture might help this time, and tried to hold his body straight despite his pains. The commander eyed him silently, then said,
“
Y
ou offer me a motive to justify jumping into normal space?
”

“
Y
es, Grraf-Commander: to deposit an important captive in a lifeboat around some stellar body.
”

“
A
nd why in the name of the Patriarchy would I want to?
”

“
B
ecause it is almost within the reach of plausibility that the occupants of this ship might not survive this mission," Locklear said with irony that went unnoticed.
“
B
ut en route to your final glory, you can inform Fleet Command where you have placed a vitally important captive, to be retrieved later."

“
Y
ou admit your status at last.
”

“
I
have a certain status," Locklear admitted. It's damned low, and that's certain enough.
“
A
nd while
you were doing that in normal space, a navigator might just happen to determine exactly where you are.

“
Y
ou do not deceive me in your motive. If I did not locate that spot," Tzak-Navigator said, "no Patriarchy ship could find you-and you would soon run out of food and air.
”

“
A
nd you would miss the Eridani mission," Locklear reminded him, "because we aren't getting any blips and you may be getting farther from your rendezvous with every breath.
”

“
A
t the least, you are a traitor to monkeydom," the navigator said.
“
N
o kzin worthy of the name would assist an enemy mission.
”

Locklear favored him with a level gaze.
“
Y
ou've decided to waste all nine lives for glory, Count on me for help.
”

“
M
onkeys are clever where their pelts are concerned," rumbled the commander.
“
I
do not intend to miss rendezvous, and this monkey must be placed in a safe cage. Have the crew provision a lifeboat but disable its drive, Tzak-Navigator. When we locate a stellar mass, I want all in readiness for the jump.
”

The navigator saluted and moved off the bridge.
Locklear
received permission to return to his console, moving slowly, trying to watch the commander's furry digits in preparation for a jump that might be required at any time.
Locklear
punched several notes into the wristcomp's memory; you could never tell when a scholar's notes might come in handy. Locklear was chewing on kzin rations, reconstituted meat which met human teeth like a leather brick and tasted of last week's oysters, when the long
range meter began to register. It was not much of a blip but it got stronger fast, the vernier meter registering by the time Locklear called out. He watched
the commander, alone while the rest of the crew were arranging that lifeboat, and used his wrist
c
omp a few more times before Grraf-Commander's announcement.

Tzak-Navigator, eyeing his console moments after the jump and still light-minutes from that small stellar mass, was at first too intent on his astrogation to notice that there was no nearby solar blaze. But Locklear noticed, and felt a surge of panic
.

“
Y
ou will not perish in solar radiation, at least," said Grraf-Commander in evident pleasure.
“
Y
ou have found yourself a black dwarf, monkey!" Locklear punched a query. He found no candidate stars to match this phenomenon.
“
P
ermission to speak, Tzak-Navigator?
”

The navigator punched in a final instruction and, while his screen flickered, turned to the local viewscreen.
“
W
ait until you have something worth saying," he ordered, and paused, staring at what that screen told him. Then, as if arguing with his screen, he complained,
“
B
ut known space is not old enough for a completely burnt-out star.
”