Fleet Commander waited, his lips twitching around the edges of his fangs. His gaze demanded an answer but Long took time to collect his thoughts. He had to gain this kzin's trust and keep the conversation moving, not provoke his anger. He'd allowed his curiosity to lead him too deeply into this volatile topic. Caution was called for.
"Our history is a violent one; perhaps that is why we learned to control our instincts. Now we fight only when attacked Perhaps war with the Patriarchy has released those instincts but we are not true warriors as you are." His words flattered the kzin without relinquishing his position. Hopefully they would provide a path towards common ground where Fleet-Commander's temper could be defused without loss of face.
"We are warriors and you are not, and yet we lose, again and again and again. You are an intelligence officer, Major Long. Tell me why you think we lose wars so persistently." The kzin's gaze was unblinking and intense, like a cat watching a mouse for a wrong move, but his temper was back under control. Long took it as a good sign and answered carefully.
"Tactically you're brilliant. Your troops are brave, your commanders are resourceful. Perhaps this very heroism makes victory difficult when attack is not the best strategy.”
Fleet Commander slammed a fist against the desktop, his rage returned in full force. "We scream and leap, isn't that how humans put it? Kzinti are so wildly aggressive they sacrifice victory for attack, Perhaps it has occurred to you to question how a species with countless generations of space combat experience could be so foolish. Perhaps you wonder why a race patient enough to spend twenty years mounting an invasion will not spend another five to ensure its success." He slashed the air with his claws. "Or do you confine yourself to speculating how such a race managed to master space travel at all?”
Long realized he was pushing himself back in his chair, his muscles rigid. The kzin had made no direct threat but the force of his speech had struck home. On Earth the popular media was full of outnumbered but courageous humans beating kzin invaders by exploiting their aggressiveness and stupidity. Some scholars even argued that the Kzin could never have developed their own technology. Long, more than anyone, knew better than that but five minutes earlier he would have said without a second thought that the kzin lost wars because they were overaggressive and understrategic, confident that his view was based solely on the facts. Fleet Commander's words had shaken that confidence. The implications were serious. After six wars humanity was smug, even arrogant in its assurance that it would always triumph. After all, the kzin had demonstrated time and again that they attacked before they'd developed the support needed to win. Debates raged about the morality of exterminating them to prevent future wars, but no one doubted the outcome if one should occur. But if the kzin knew their weak points, perhaps they could compensate for them. The next war might not be a repeat of the last one.
"Few humans ever see a real kzin. Those who do usually meet them in battle. A blind hunter must stalk by nose." The kzin aphorism could mean almost anything. Long had given up trying to control the interview, deciding to simply follow where his subject led.
"Well, eyeless one, I shall show you the scent of kzin blood." Fleet Commander's voice was controlled, holding the rage in check, but his lips curled back in a deadly smile. "Our glorious Patriarch doesn't care if his Heroes conquer or die trying. As long as they leave Kzin and the Inner Sun with dreams of wealth and glory they offer his court no reason to give up their prett and their palace games. Why lead when the fools go willingly for a chance at a half-name beneath a courtier's contempt? But now we must fight for survival rather than conquest and the Heroes are not so eager to go. Soon the Patriarch will have to lead or be killed by a leader. Then, monkey-man, the kzin will fight a war that humans will understand. Pledge your ears you do not survive it!”
The kzin had leaned so far forward he was in a half crouch barely supported by the prrstet behind him. His ears were cocked fully forward, his eyes fixed on Long's. Again Long groped for an answer that would defuse the conversation while keeping it moving.
The door chime interrupted his train of thought. He'd completely forgotten the meal he'd ordered. Perhaps the interlude would help to relieve the tension. He thumbed the keypad and the door slid open, revealing an orderly carrying a tray.
Fleet Commander screamed and leaped, bowling Long over before he could react and yanking the startled orderly inside and on top of Long in one fluid motion. He landed against the wall, cushioning the impact with both feet and one arm while he reached around the door frame with the other. He rebounded and his arm came back dragging the outside guard. The kzin did a neat backflip and completed his return jump upside down, landing on top of the guard against the police web. He flicked the web on with one foot, pushed off and flipped again. Long had managed to untangle himself from the dazed orderly and was reaching for the comm button when the kzin landed in front of him and seized his shirtfront with a massive fist. Fleet Commander picked up the orderly with the other hand, turned and hung them both on the web beside the guard. The kzin was no rougher than he needed to be, but the web's field strength was still set on maximum. It grabbed Longs body in a steel vice and slammed him against the backplate. His head hit the metal too hard. His vision swam and darkness fell.
Consciousness returned slowly, like a bubble rising through syrup. At first his eyes wouldn't open, then he remembered that he was in a police web He could hear the marine and the orderly breathing beside him. His own breathing wasn't restricted, so Fleet Commander must have turned down the field setting. Even so, fighting the sticky resistance was almost more than he could manage. Eventually he got both eyelids up, but there was little improvement. His vision swam, the room lights were painfully bright. The kzin was just an orange blob, bent over the data terminal. Bent over the data terminal! Adrenalin surged and the scene snapped into focus. How had the kzin gained access to the computer? He hadn't yet been given his ident. Datacubes were stacked on the desk and on the floor beside it, kzinti virtual adventures. Why would he stage this attack only to watch a holo? He didn't even have the eyegoggles on. Nothing made sense.
With a shock Long realized where Fleet Commander had obtained a logon code. The kzin must have memorized Long's when he ordered the meal. He wasn't watching the holos, he was overwriting them – with whatever he could download under intelligence authorization. Clearly the kzin felt it was a prize worth violating his word for, although how he intended to get the information off Andromeda was an open question.
Perhaps he could still appeal to his captor's warrior code Shame was a strong motivator among kzinti. "So this is how the warrior honors his promise," he said with as much contempt as he could muster.
The kzin put down a hardcopy he was studying and looked up. No trace of his previous emotion remained in his gaze His ears were at relaxed attention as he studied his prisoner. Eventually he spoke.
"I promised not to harm you, Major Long. I haven't and I won't. However I must ask you not to disturb me or I will have to turn the field strength up to a level you will find uncomfortable." Without waiting for a reply he bent over his work again.
Long shut up. He had nothing useful to say, but if he thought of anything it would be easier to say it without the web field clamping his jaw shut. Instead he turned his head to see his companions. The marine's helmet had been removed, revealing a surprisingly young blond woman. She was either asleep or unconscious but her breathing was steady. Her body blocked his view of the orderly. He spent a moment reflecting ruefully on the kzin's promise. Clearly Fleet Commander didn't feel bruises, sprains or concussions qualified as injury. Perhaps the other Heroes he had interrogated felt the same way, but they had tacitly accepted a human context when they gave their promises. He wondered if Fleet Commander's reservation was deliberate or not. Long decided it was. From the very beginning he had demonstrated his flexibility and resourcefulness. What was the kzin planning to do? He mulled it over, reviewing every aspect of the interview trying to get some angle on the kzin's thought processes. It was hard trying to force thoughts past the throbbing in his temples, but he persevered. There was nothing else to do.