“That’s ridiculous.”
“That’s politics,” he waved a dismissing hand as if they’ve talked enough nonsense and it was time for business. “The truth is we need that ship and everyone is too afraid to go and get it.”
“I agree.” Although not about joining the rest of humanity. Not yet anyway.
“Excellent!” Delmar handed him a tablet scrolling with information and displaying a red elliptical line spiraling through their system.
“Is this the warship’s current position and its projected circuit toward our sun?”
“Correct. As the leader of Hem, I would like to extend our full support if you decide to mount an expedition to this ship. We can’t provide you with shuttles, of course; my hands are tied as you witnessed back at the House, but I can give you data and will run interference with those two.”
“If I don’t have access to a shuttle, how can I get to the ship?”
“I was hoping you could use your name and connections to Raoneer elite.”
If Dan possessed the flexible ears of a kzin, they’d be beating. Got you.
Shrawl’ta, Raoneer
Dan tore over the hourglass-shaped landmass at a roaring mach 5. The vantage point always gave him a healthy sense of perspective. From up here, the rambling megalopolis of Harp and the adjoining green and gold agricultural fields seemed a tiny freckle on the plum-colored rain forests that dominated Angel’s Tome.
The original colonists, being severely traumatized by their hideous encounters with kzinti, decided that cohabitation would be too much for them. So the commanding personnel of Angel’s Pencil and Gutting Claw’s rogue telepath agreed to divide the large Panunguis continent between the two species: humans took the subtropical and tropical southern bulb because its fertile jungles provided excellent soil for farming and the kzinti had taken the colder, northern bulb with a wide open steppe teeming with therapsidlike creatures to hunt.
He zoomed above the volcanic mountain range of the connecting land bridge. Dan found it appropriate that the two bulbs, once separate islands, were being ground together by unhurried geological processes. After a century of mutual segregation, the two species had begun to mingle: industry, education, sport, tourism had all blurred the hard isolating line.
After a couple hours of contemplative driving, his onboard computer jolted him, “You are now crossing the border into Raoneer. Your passport has automatically been stamped. Welcome home, Daneel Guthlac.” The cool mauve tundra that hugged the open plains of Raoneer greeted him like a stern and proud father. His car spooked large herds of iguanalope and sent them racing across open territory. His pride had been part of Raoneer from the start. His grandmother, Selina Guthlac, had decided to stay with the kzinti and help build Shrawl’ta. Of course, she did her part for the human population of the planet as well, having children from the genetic stock frozen aboard Angel’s Pencil. She even got the ship’s geneticist to clone four kzinti kittens from the bodies salvaged from the Tracker, including Tracker’s Telepath, and raised them along with her biological children.
From the air, Shrawl’ta looked more like a colossal star fort on the shores of a great lake than a proper city. Its tall stone and steel walls surrounded the squat settlement. The highest structures were massive gun turrets emerging from each star point, and Ceezarr’s mansion, the Hall of Harmonious Dominance. The estate was the largest living space in Raoneer, a square edifice the color of sun-burnt gold rising some thirty meters above all other surrounding buildings except for the laser towers. It was the practical and ceremonial center of kzinti power on Sheathclaws. Dan had grown up in its shadow.
He landed his car in the plaza near Healer’s gravcar. His old friend paced fretfully.
“Did you get anything useful?” he asked, as Dan exited his car.
“I got all the data captured by the sensor swarm, courtesy of the Triumvir of Hem. Now all we need is a ship.” The frigid breeze of his native Raoneer stung Dan’s nose and burned his lungs. He went back into the car for a leather jacket.
“Let’s go see my father.” Healer-of-Hunter’s fur flattened on his muscular body, as if expecting a fight.
They walked up to the wide, red arched entrance of the Hall of Harmonious Dominance. The head of a lion, its mane blazing like the sun, was carved into the keystone. Two full-grown alliogs snapped and clawed at each other while chained on either side of the gate. The sparsely furred reptiles looked a lot like alligators with the fast frames of wolves. The result was something like prehistoric pristerognathus, although all Earth analogies failed to match the truly alien biology of these creatures.
They crossed a spacious, echoing vestibule. The interior of the Hall was no less lavish than Triumvirate House but it was warmer, less airy, like a medieval castle. The hide and heads of worthy game and rivals hung from the walls. They paused respectfully before the crystal sarcophagi that enshrined the remains of Selina Guthlac and Shadow.
“They died too young,” Healer said, noticing his ancestor’s small, frail body. Selina too was rather young despite the gray in her blond curly locks.
“Shadow had one foot in the grave, even before he got to Sheathclaws, and his rapport with my grandmother was much too strong. When he died, she simply faded away. Do you think our remains will rest in this great hall?”
Healer slapped a large paw across Dan’s back, breaking the reverie. “Oh, I assure you we will rest in this hall; the question is will we be honored relics or trophies?”
They continued on their way to Ceezarr’s office and passed an elderly orange and white kzinrett who gave Healer an affectionate lick from chin to cheek. On any other world, she would be severely disciplined for showing a kzintosh such tenderness in front of a human. Healer nuzzled her head. “Grandmother-aunt, Rilla, please make sure my stubborn father takes full advantage of the autodoc after our discussion is over.”
“I will,” she purred in her limited Interworld.
“Autodoc?” Dan looked to Healer nervously, but before he got an answer, Healer pushed open the heavy double-doors that led to Ceezarr’s private den.
The office was a simple and elegant affair of polished cherry wood and dark leather furniture. Four kzinti pelts hung from the red brick walls, mockingly referred to as the senate, trophies from his unification of Shadow’s competing heirs. He chose the Name Ceezarr after that battle and built the Hall of Harmonious Dominance.
“If it isn’t my first-born son, the bush doctor!” Ceezarr roared, his luxuriant black-striped, ochre fur showing distinguished silver streaks that Healer didn’t remember from before. How long had it been? He studied them as a geologist might examine the ancient bands of sedimentary layers in exposed rock. Ceezarr poured vodka into the coagulated blood of an alliog and gave it a quick stir. “Want a drink?”
“I don’t drink,” Healer snarled, thin membranous ears flattening on his head. The essay he had written back in med school postulating that the early human settlers had intentionally introduced alcohol to the kzinti in order to keep them docile (and the interspecies controversy it caused) had been one of the major ideological wedges between them.
The older kzintosh took a hearty swig. “What do you want, Healer-of-Hunters?” He ignored the human in the room.
“Honored Ceezarr, I know about the kzinti warship that suddenly appeared at the edge of our system.”
“It’s dead. The robotic sentries around the system aren’t detecting any active signatures. I say give them the fiery end these brave Heroes deserve.” Dan understood that the Great Ceezarr wanted absolutely nothing to do with the Patriarchy. He was as eager to be rid of this ship as the leaders of Angel’s Tome.