Of course, they are, Dan thought, most humans on Sheathclaws resided on the human-controlled part of the continent, Angel’s Tome. “From the city-state of Hem,” Dan added out loud, recognizing their white uniforms. “Hem’s got the largest concentration of Rejoiners and they hate me for not delivering your old warship to them so they can end Sheathclaws’ long seclusion and become part of the growing network of human worlds in Known Space.” He continued to watch the shifting images. Something was off.
“So you think they’re building a launch site?” The kzin asked, scratching the back of his neck, his old wartime training creeping back.
“No, I see no sign of construction. Wait. Are all these images from the same day?”
“No, different days, almost a week in between, why?”
“No one has moved. The lighting changes, the sun rises and falls, the tides come in and withdraw, the pteranobats circle around, but the people never move. You didn’t find this odd?”
Fraaf’kur snorted. “I’m not well versed in primate behavior. You lot always seem to be standing around talking your nonsense.”
“No, this is very strange. We need to find out what’s going on out there.”
“How do you intend to find out?”
“I’m going to need you to purposefully run aground on that island. Then, I’m going to walk up to them and ask for help.”
“You want me to ground my Nautical Devastation?”
“For the Apex, of course. How soon can we go?”
“One of these days, you won’t be able to hide behind your friend, the Apex,” Fraaf’kur rumbled irritably. “We can leave now if you’re ready. You can attempt to take a ketosaurus, and then I can get you to that island.”
“I just need some equipment from my gravcar and we can go.”
Nautical Devastation, the huge catamaran with a copper-colored sail, had been designed by Chief Programmer to navigate the tumultuous coastlines around Raoneer. Despite the old Hero’s qualms about Sheathclaws, the incongruent blend of advanced kzin technology being applied to such an ancient human vessel was in itself a product of Sheathclaws’ mixed culture. The double-hulled boat pitched and yawed rhythmically in heaving waves enlarged by the planet’s weaker gravity. Dan wondered if kzin ever got seasick.
“We’re nearing the beasts’ territory!” shouted Fraaf’kur. “We’ll cut through it on the way to the island. Our opponent hunts by sound, so I’m transmitting the cries of a wounded longneck into the water.”
Dan nodded, but watched his son. The kit had been crackling with nervous energy ever since they’d cast out. He was a thin, orange smear against the vast ocean; his juvenile spots on the verge of elongating into the stripes of an adult. In a year or two, Schro would no longer be a kit, his kit-kzin grow up so fast-and there was so much he wanted to tell him: about his past, his genetic Sire, about his potential, but he feared losing him. Better to wait until he’s older, more sure of himself. Now, he wanted to simply appreciate these moments with his savage little son.
Too bad the mysterious island nagged at him, with its immobile humans standing among the surf and rocks as the scenery changed around them. Dan could now see the outline of the island on the horizon, and all his instincts told him to run.
“I can’t see or smell anything. I can’t hunt out here!” The kit slammed into Dan, knocking the thoughts out of his mind.
“Relax, Schro, I know you feel vulnerable, surrounded by endless blue, your sharp sense of smell blunted by the salt in the air-”
“I’m not scared!”
“I know you are,” Dan kneaded the plush fur on his son’s shoulder. He could feel his fear like whiplashes across his mind. “Lying about it only makes you careless. I’m telling you it’s okay. Recognize that you’re out of your element, understand that you’re only a small morsel of food in this new ecosystem, and be on guard. You have a more powerful sense that surpasses the merely visual and olfactory. Use your ziirgrah. Sweep the waves with it. Be vigilant.”
The kitten dug his claws into the catamaran hull and focused his empathic awareness on the tall and languid waves. Dan did the same, adding to the kit’s range and sharing his perception. It felt like psychic sonar. He was vaguely aware that Chief Programmer-Fraaf’kur-watched them suspiciously from the helm. Dan ignored this and paid attention to his son.
Schro slowly crawled to the bow of the boat, careful not to lose his purchase on the undulating deck. “There’s something out there, father; fish and longnecks and something else, something I’ve sensed before but different. It’s stalking an elderly longneck, keeping to the deeper, colder waters.”
“Fraaf’kur, take us further out in that direction,” Dan shouted, pointing to where his son had indicated. He, too, had caught a mental glimpse of the monster waiting in the depths and, for the first time, doubted his plan with the massive gravbelt would actually work.
“Daneel, the only way to kill this thing is to penetrate its head with chugra. Its back is heavily armored with scales, and hitting it in a flipper will only enrage it. The chugra launcher is kept in the storage compartment in the other hull.” The old dock cat adjusted the sail and hurled his ship toward the hiding beast, the fire of the hunt burning within him.
“This isn’t my kill, it’s Schro’s! Kit, go get the harpoon.”
“How will I kill it?” The juvenile hesitated, but, runt or no, he was a full-blooded kzin and the hunt was beginning to possess him.
“Stun it with your ziirgrah-confuse it-yours is more powerful than most kzinti. Then, when it’s dazed, fire the harpoon into its skull.”
“More powerful? How do you know? Are you sure I can stun something as cunning as a ketosaurus on the hunt?”
“Yes, I can feel your ability through our link,” Dan lied. “You could potentially rival even the founder of Sheathclaws, the rogue telepath Shadow, himself.”
Encouraged, Schro bounded across the trampoline that connected the twin hulls and found the heavy harpoon gun. It was longer than the length of his entire body. Kzin kittens were incredibly strong by human-child standards, but Schro wrestled awkwardly with the immense weapon, and the constant shift of the floor beneath him didn’t help.
“Careful with that! If you drop it into the sea, I’ll toss you in after it!” roared Fraaf’kur.
Dan shot him a livid, protective glare, but the kzin only flapped his ears contemptuously, his mane thrashing in the frosty wind. Dan turned away from the mangy captain and met his son, fighting every fiber in his being to help him carry the heavy gun. “We’re getting closer to it, can you feel it?”
“Yes, and it knows we’re coming. It’s not afraid of us, but it’s really annoyed we’re spooking the longnecks.”
“Very good. You said it felt familiar yet different, how so?”
“I don’t know…its mind feels like the alliogs that roam the steppes of Raoneer, only less jumpy, more confident and patient, like it could kill anything.”
“Good. I’m glad you picked up on that. The ketosaurus is a therapsid-like creature, distantly related to the alliog. It grew massive when it returned to life in the sea.”
“No more lessons! I want to see it.”
Dan laughed at that, but then the water turned black below the Nautical Devastation and the ship’s name suddenly felt like a hollow threat. “Hold on, son!” A row of dark green scales, longer than their boat, sawed through the water then disappeared into the blue.