Hal Colebatch - Man-Kzin Wars – XIV

We’ve known our world’s position is close the Kzin Empire for millennia, and this planet, with its wide rangelands and big game, is very alluring to them, so we’ve always telepathically guided them away from here. But when your grandmother, Selina Guthlac, and the fugitive kzin telepath, Shadow, set down on this planet, their interspecies telepathic rapport intrigued us. There was only a clutch of us left then, and so we allowed them to stay and we observed them from afar.

And we’ve been watching this uncontrolled experiment in telepath breeding ever since. We theorize that, given a few eons of progress, you could develop into beings like ourselves. Your friend here accuses us of being devolved Slavers? We could very well be highly evolved kzinti.

Dan was struck dumb. He could sense that this had piqued Schro’s interest as well. The grog farthest from them snapped up a passing pteranobat as if this bombshell hadn’t been dropped. Dan stared at the reddish fur of the grogs, the vestigial paws hidden beneath the hair, their appetite…and he was suddenly glad Fraaf’kur couldn’t “hear” their psychic communication or he would have had an aneurism right then and there. Dan looked at his son, who had stopped struggling. The mindless humans backed off.

“Why interfere with us now?” Dan asked the impassive, pointed mass of hair.

We did not interfere with you. It was the humans from Hem, the ones who risk our security and yours with their need to contact the greater universe, who interfered with us. We were content to study you from a safe distance. You believe we have trapped them, but with proximity came a finer focus, and we were the ones who became spellbound by the most intimate details of their minds.

Even as we disagree with their rash actions-and especially now, with new information of these grogs from the planet Down gleaned from Fraaf’kur’s memories-we understand their need to reach out to others like themselves. The three of us have become something like the Rejoiners.

Dan was starting to black out. Violet spots danced in his vision. He forced himself to concentrate. “So then what do you want? You could have easily turned us away and had us forget all of this. Why all the theatrics with the ketosaurus? I’m sorry; you might be too alien for me, because I don’t understand your motivation.” He closed his eyes and let the foreign fractal thoughts form in his mind.

We could have turned all the others away and, in fact, we will. Even your friend here, Fraaf’kur, will have no memory of any of this. We have already implanted the urge in some of his nearby offspring to come here and fetch their father, but as we said, we cannot manipulate you and your child-

“I am not his child!”

You are, Schro. More than you know, for he is all that is left of Righteous Manslaughter ’s telepath. Daneel Guthlac carries the part of him that has found peace here on Sheathclaws. That part, although subtle, is incredibly strong and drove him to create you. Manslaughter ’s telepath did heinous things, but he was not evil. His mind was simply infected with rage, hate and addiction. You are healthy and happy. You are his redemption.

Schro grunted defiantly, but it was all bravado now. His ziirgrah was too sensitive, and he knew the truth, whether he wanted to or not.

Dan opened up to him, and the grogs, and bared the monster he had unwittingly hidden just under the surface. The astral remnant of Manslaughter ’s telepath-really, just a collection of primal needs and sensations-flowed up from the recesses of Dan’s subconscious. It examined the kit with spectral tendrils and recognized its own reflection in the unpolluted pool of Schro’s mind. Content with what it saw, it sunk back down into the dark cerebral abyss from which it came.

You think we used the ketosaurus as a weapon, we did not. We wanted you here, Daneel Guthlac and Schro. We moved through the elementary network of latent kzin telepaths on this planet and rooted the idea to send you here in the Apex’s mind. We used the ketosaurus as a tool to bring out your true potential.

The young kzin said nothing. He turned and stalked away toward the interior of the island.

“Schro!”

You asked us what we want, Daneel Guthlac. We want what you have. Offspring. A second chance. We are all that you see; three adult females moored on this barren island. We are old. Our sessile lifestyle gives us slow metabolisms and long lifespans, but we will most likely not live long enough to see you complete your work on the hyperdrive, and so our new dream to meet the other grogs of the universe will rest in our daughters.

“I don’t have that anymore.”

Give him time. We’re having a parallel conversation with him at the moment and we believe he can be reached. You have raised him well.

“You want us to clone you? You need to give us something for me to even begin to trust you. Free these people. Send them home now.”

Without another word the group of humans marched back to their waiting gravtruck. Dan couldn’t see them go, but he heard their boots tromping on sediment and then, after a moment, the whirl of the gravity motor.

“If I help you with this, what do we get in return?”

The easy, obvious answer is that with greater numbers we will be able to better protect this world from a kzin invasion force. The Patriarchy will never know this colony exists.

The more complex and interesting answer is that one day we hope kzinti and humans will participate in the reconstruction of our glorious thoughtscapes.

The image of a cathedral-like structure, made entirely of stained glass and coral, was superimposed on the hostile reality of the island within Dan’s mind, and he intimately understood that the torpid physical existence of the grogs was only a mere shadow of their rich and vibrant psychological lives.

And with that beautiful image crystallized in his mind, Dan passed out.

Daneel Guthlac awoke to a loud bang, like bone smashing into metal.

He sat in the passenger seat of his gravcar, connected to a portable autodoc. The interior of the car was pleasantly warm, but a dull, throbbing ache stabbed him in the shoulder. His son was in the driver’s seat. Disoriented, Dan looked out the window, but all he could see were heavy rain clouds coasting by. “What happened?”

“I returned with Fraaf’kur to Krazári. He’s got a great story about how we ambushed the Rejoiners, and after a heated battle where you, our trusty human mascot, were severely injured, we sent them packing before they could get started on their transmitter.”

It took Dan a while to process that and remember the events of the last few hours…days? “Why is it that I always end up severely injured when I try to save Sheathclaws?”

“Because humans are delicately built…Anyways, once there, I got your car and went back for you.”

“Thanks and-how do you even know how to fly this thing?”

“Autopilot.” He waved his paws in the air. “I just like moving the wheel. It makes me feel better.” His ears fluttered, but his demeanor was somewhat distant.

Then Dan realized that he couldn’t feel their psychic link any longer and he missed it terribly. It was like having a stranger sitting next to him with the voice and scent of his son. “Hey, are we okay?”

“No.” His son looked at him for a long second, then returned to his senseless driving. “Not yet, anyway. I understand what you did and why you did it, but it still feels shameful to be a copy of someone so disgusting.”

“Try having him burrowing in your head.”

They said nothing for a while. Dan heard that odd organic bang again.