Hal Colebatch - Man-Kzin Wars – XIII

“That is a very valid point, Mr. Guthlac,” exclaimed Delmar.

“We’re not here to discuss the theoretical capture of this crippled warship, which I have no intention of voting for,” Triumvir Bhang said, slamming the palm of her hand on the podium. “What I’m interested in is the kzinti reaction to our letting their brethren glide into the sun.”

“The kzinti of Raoneer have no love for the Patriarchy. I don’t know Ceezarr personally, but I was crèchemates with one of his sons.”

Bhang flinched at the outright inhuman term. “So you don’t believe there would be unrest among the kzinti of Sheathclaws?”

“You said so yourself, Ceezarr lost interest when reports of the ship’s state came in. I believe that’s how most kzinti and humans will react, with vast collective indifference.”

“Thank you, Mr. Guthlac for your singular insights on the matter,” said Jibunoh. He knew, in her mind, the discussion was over. “Let’s vote, shall we? All those in favor of letting this ruined craft continue unmolested raise your hand.”

Triumvirs Bhang and Jibunoh stylishly raised their hands. Triumvir Delmar simply shook his head in obvious disgust.

“Wait a minute, that’s it? You’re going to reject an enormous boon for Sheathclaws after one meeting? You’re not going to put it to a popular vote?”

“Our pronouncement may seem swift to you, Mr. Guthlac, but I assure you that we’ve been weighing the issue for a month now. As for a popular vote, you yourself said that the general public would be indifferent to the final fate of the ship.”

“Can I at least have all the information on the ship obtained from the probes? Maybe I can study those and find something useful to us.”

“Absolutely not, Mr. Guthlac. A young, intelligent man such as you could cause all manner trouble with that data. I believe it will remain safely classified.”

Delmar burst out of his chair with explosive frustration and stormed out of the meeting chamber.

Jibunoh turned to Bhang and said, “We can even spin the situation as not wanting to sully this ship out of great respect for the fallen Heroes aboard.”

Dan knew he was already dismissed.

Minutes later, no longer having access to the private elevator, he jogged up the wide marble steps leading to the garage. His mind chewed on the state-of-the-art kzinti ship. The technological treasures that were found on the ones a hundred years ago had taken eights of years for the colonists to decipher. How long would it take him to reverse-engineer this one, a lifetime?

“A word, Mr. Guthlac,” Triumvir Delmar sat on a bench near his car, watching a few leathery pteranobats languidly circle the sapphire-domed spires of Harp. Dan had known he was there.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more convincing,” Dan said in the absence of any real salutation.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, young man. We didn’t summon you to our meeting because of your Raoneer citizenship or your impressive engineering degree. We invited you because of who your grandmother was. Jibunoh and Bhang didn’t want posterity to say they made a crucial world-changing decision without consulting a Guthlac! No, you were there simply so that the record could show that you were there.”

“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.