Man-Kzin Wars XIII-ARC (35 page)

The administrator let his jaw sag open again and did not care: the stiff wind of riding in a fast floater was invigorating when it hit his teeth, chilling them, awakening a semblance of the same, sweet ache that Heroes felt in the immediate anticipation of biting a long-elusive prey-animal. However, today’s prey—the humans who had left Shraokh-Lieutenant’s first-born cub earless upon the sward—was more than merely elusive: it was defiant, arrogant, taunting. His lips rippled as he fought to control the fury that brewed down deep in his belly every time he reflected upon the audacity of their actions, and the signal dishonor of having it happen on his own lands.

Worse yet, those lands were, more formally, Chuut-Riit’s lands: Freay’ysh-Administrator was both direct vassal of, and regional overseer for, the Patriarch’s most august offspring. Chuut-Riit did not spend an immense amount of time on his estates near Munchen, but still tarried there enough to be aware of what was transpiring even in this far-flung holding. The Dominant One’s teeth were sure to show over this incident unless Freay’ysh-Administrator found and exterminated the patch-furred vermin who had—

“Freay’ysh-Administrator, Zhveeaor-Captain urgently requests a meeting.”

“There is progress in the hunt?”

“It seems so.”

“Then do not fiddle aimlessly with the controls; fly to a suitable point of rendezvous—at once!”

The floater banked steeply and came around, the waist-gunners leaning into the turn, the pintel-mounted heavy beamers loose in their heat-gloved hands. Freay’ysh-Administrator quickly spotted what had to be Zhveeaor-Captain’s command sled. The flat, angular wedge was making the kind of low-altitude speed that only a comms-and-control chassis could sustain. Down on the ground, small orange faces looked up at its screaming approach: it was the first sign of promising urgency since the hunt had begun almost a week before.

The administrator’s and captain’s vehicles slowed as they drifted toward a bare hillock which was set at the northern end of the Eel’s Spine like the dot of an inverted exclamation point. The command sled’s top hatches popped open, two kzin officers emerged, and Freay’ysh-Administrator felt his ears go back. One of the officers he had expected: Zhveeaor-Captain. But the other was a complete and uncomfortable surprise: Shraokh-Lieutenant himself, the sire of the slain cub. But there was nothing to be done: Freay’ysh-Administrator had summoned Zhveeaor-Captain in all haste, and Shraokh-Lieutenant was one of the captain’s subordinates. The two craft settled onto the sparse grass that tufted the top of the hillock.

Shraokh-Lieutenant was out in a single leap. However, despite his bodily energy, the kzin’s mouth hung slack, his pelt was unkempt, and the air audibly rasped between his teeth: he did not radiate fury so much as a form of savage distraction. Apparently, when the human perpetrators had not been swiftly found and eviscerated, he had lost something even more irreplaceable than his oldest offspring: some essential component of Shraokh-Lieutenant’s reason had been swept away, left behind in the meadows where his first cub had been butchered.

Zhveeaor-Captain followed his subordinate at a brisk but dignified pace and touched noses briefly with the Administrator. He snarled lightly at the lieutenant, who evidently recalled that some sign of fealty and subordination was required of him. Shraokh-Lieutenant leapt up and grazed a sloppy nose across the Administrator’s own. Who resisted the urge to bat the ill-mannered offender, because remonstration would be pointless. Logically, no insult could have been intended, since no thought or attention to decorum seemed to remain in Shraokh-Lieutenant: just a restless, subcognitive monomania to tear apart the murderers of his progeny.
Well, the sooner this is over
—“You have news, Zhveeaor-Captain?”

“I—we—do, Freay’ysh-Administrator. We know where the humans have taken refuge.”

So suddenly? So certainly?
“Their scent is fresh then, their trail clear?”

Zhveeaor-Captain glanced anxiously at his distracted subordinate. “We needed no scent or trail.”

“Truly?”

Zhveeaor-Captain licked his lips as he produced a small, leather pouch, with a flap. “The humans showed us where they are.”

Freay’ysh-Administrator’s ears flicked forward, then snapped back in rage and loathing. “They openly indicated their location? And they still live?”

“Freay’ysh-Administrator, it is not so simple as that. I will explain.”

“You had better. And quickly.”

“We were patrolling at the far northern tip of the search perimeter, coordinating the floater patterns, when two of the crews saw a bright arc against the sky.”

“A weapon discharge?”

“No, Freay’ysh-Administrator. It was a flare. Shortly after it was fired, we approached and our lead unit saw a fire burning: we could not tell if it had been ignited by the flare, or—”

“You investigated, did you not?”

“Yes.”

Freay’ysh-Administrator was tempted to cuff Zhveeaor-Captain for his failure to report quickly and clearly, but rethought that impulse. The captain was his best officer, had attracted the special notice of Chuut-Riit himself, and was the epitome of both ferocity and efficiency. Noticing the quick, measuring glances that he shot at his distracted lieutenant, Freay’ysh-Administrator realized that the captain was either fearful of, or fearful for, his subordinate. But there was no time to untangle interpersonal nuances: duty was duty and there were humans to catch and rend. “Zhveeaor-Captain, what did your investigation reveal?”

“Just the fire, Freay’ysh-Administrator. And this.” He proferred the leather pouch to his superior.

Who crossed his arms and shook his head. “No; you open it.”

With a nervous glance at Shraokh-Lieutenant, the captain undid the clasp. Carefully, as if reaching in to handle a venomous serpent, he removed its contents:

One half of a young kzin’s right ear.

Freay’ysh-Administrator drew in a rapid, surprised breath. Then, suddenly unsure of what reaction this object might provoke, he shot a fast glance at Shraokh-Lieutenant.

Who, eyes unfocused, let slip a long, thin stream of drool; it spattered on his foot. None of the three kzinti moved or made a sound.

After a long moment, Zhveeaor-Captain shrugged a shoulder away from his subordinate, whose downward stare was evidently focused upon the very core of the planet itself. Administrator and captain moved aside, walked to the far rim of the hillock’s crest.

“How long has he been like this?” the Administrator demanded.

“Just since we found his cub’s—since we found this.”

“And you will answer for his behavior?”

Zhveeaor looked as though someone was removing his claws with red-hot iron tongs. “Freay’ysh-Administrator, I must. I do not wish to. But our duty to those whose heads have been beneath our hands must come before our own preferences.”

The administrator rumbled approval deep in his chest; it was clear why Chuut-Riit liked this Hero so much. He spoke and acted as the kzinti of Old. “Very well. Now: you say that this token tells you the location of the humans. How? Was it near a stronghold?”

“No, Administrator: the ear was—well, it was on a threshold.”

“What do you mean? The threshold to what?”

“It was at the very mouth of the Susser Tal.”

Freay’ysh-Administrator leaned back. “They’ve gone in there? Into the swamps of the Sumpfrinne?”

The captain shrugged. “So it would seem. We found their tracks leading that way.”

“And you did not pursue?”

“The trail we found was a false one, Freay’ysh-Administrator, and the swamp was unsafe for a small probe.”

“What do you mean, unsafe?” It sounded like evidence of cowardice to the administrator, and he would have presumed it to be case had the speaker been anyone other than Zhveeaor-Captain.

“Freay’ysh-Administrator, the trail split five times within the first two hundred meters. At that point, the overhead cover from the trees was too thick for aerial reconnaissance, and floaters would have been easy prey for ground fire. And I lost one of my Heroes to a deadfall trap.”

“Set in anticipation of our probe?”

“No, Freay’ysh-Administrator: it was a game trap. And quite old, probably several years. But there were too few of us, the light was failing, and we are entirely unfamiliar with the terrain. Our chances of finding prey whose scent had been lost were slim, at best. Conversely, the chance to suffer further casualties, by enemy action or misadventure or both, was rising rapidly. Seeing that a more concerted effort would be required, it seemed that the best course of action was to bring this—object—back to you as soon as possible, and prepare for a more determined pursuit.”

“And the lieutenant compelled you to bring him along when you made your report?”

“He was insistent, but I was also fearful of his being shunned if I left him behind. His behavior has degraded precipitously. He cannot effectively command, and his demeanor dishonors his rank.”

“Yet you do not relieve him of his command.”

“Freay’ysh-Administrator, with respect, how may I do so? He would impale himself upon our collective claws if we try to remove him from the search: his thirst for his cubslayer’s blood has driven him beyond mere fury into the Unknowing Rage.”

Freay’ysh-Administrator shook his great head sadly: reduced to an animal by incessant, uncontrollable rage. Humans had similar psychological ailments, although rarely so extreme as this: their obsessive-compulsive disorders were more common, but infinitely more benign and passive afflictions. Obversely, losing control by slipping into the Unknowing Rage could not always be cured. And invariably, if a cure was possible, it required the satisfaction of the thwarted vengeance that was usually its cause. “So what do you recommend, Captain?”

Zhveeaor-Captain sighed. “That he be assigned special duty as a lone tracker, and a rogue killer.”

“Do you really believe we should make him a
hseeraa aoshef
? Would that not be suicide for him, pursuing the humans on his own, and in his current state?”

“Perhaps, but better he should have a chance to avenge himself or die trying than being slain by us should he become uncontrollable when removed from his command. Besides, given the prospect to engage his energies and anger in a vengeance hunt, I believe much of his current distraction will be replaced with intense focus.”

Freay’ysh-Administrator nodded sad approval. “Perhaps we can use him as a means of conducting advance reconnaissance into the Susser Tal and its swamps. Shraokh-Lieutenant will no doubt move quickly and range far, disdaining obstacles. If he were to be rigged with an adequate sensor cluster—”

“I have already ordered one be brought up from stores, Freay’ysh-Administrator.”

“Your foresight is admirable, Zhveeaor-Captain, as is your tactical thought. Speaking of which, we have a campaign to plan.”

“Yes, sir: that is why I returned in haste. A successful pursuit now becomes far more involved, and costly.”

Freay’ysh-Administrator let a growl echo in his throat. “Some treasure spent now—teaching the humans that they cannot dishonor us with impunity—is better than whole vaults of it spent later on. Because that is what will be required if the leaf-eaters become emboldened by our lack of resolve in pursuing and punishing the perpetrator of this outrage.”

“My thoughts precisely, Freay’ysh-Administrator. What do you command?”

“First, an assessment of the larger tactical picture. I am not so familiar with these regions.” It galled him to admit it; it galled him even more that the humans had chosen to lose themselves in the hellish morass that were the swamps of the Susser Tal. It was hard to tell whether their choice had been motivated by desperation or inspiration, but either way, it set a further challenge before the kzinti: since the biome was particularly unfriendly to their physiology, they had little experience with the region, and even less interest in it.

That was obviously soon to change. Zhveeaor-Captain had apparently prepared for this eventuality; he commenced what sounded very much like a prepared briefing: “The microclimate of the valley will undoubtedly be our greatest obstacle and adversary. It features the most dramatic shift in temperature and humidity on the entire planet, relative to the surrounding climate zone.” He called up a map on his data slate. “Down here at Munchen, with an elevation of about eighty meters above sea level, average daytime temperatures in the current season range between nineteen and twenty-four degrees centigrade, with humidity of seventy-five percent being considered somewhat high. Moving north eighty kilometers to Neue Ingolstadt, we find modest change. At one-hundred-ninety meters above sea level, average temperatures dip slightly, as does humidity. Then we go sixty kilometers further north, across the plains, and beyond the forest back there”—he pointed to the southeast—“which the humans call the Grunwald. Average temperatures and humidity remain relatively unchanged. Until we get here.” His finger thumped down on a valley mouth that looked like an opening into an eastward-stretching worm’s gut. “This is the entry to the Susser Tal, which, in the first three kilometers, descends over four hundred fifty meters to a valley floor that is nearly two hundred fifty meters below sea level.”

“A drainage ditch without any run-off,” growled Freay’ysh-Administrator in disgust.

“An apt characterization,” agreed Zhveeaor-Captain. “It is bordered on the north by the Grosse Felsbank, a mostly sheer escarpment that climbs rapidly to two thousand meters above sea level, with a few alpine spurs set further back in massif-groupings. The southern extent of the Susser Tal is bordered by a slowly rising upland, which reaches almost six hundred meters above sea level. It is neither very steep, nor very high, but more than enough to make the valley resemble a trench between two highlands.”

Freay’ysh-Administrator traced the swampy trench that was the floor of the Susser Tal back to its narrowing, dead-ended eastern terminus. “A strange place to choose as a refuge. Despite its advantages, the humans have no way out. Unless they can get over these southern hills.”

Zhveeaor-Captain shook his head. “Actually, the southern highland is more impassable than the Grosse Felsbank. It is very jagged and barren, even though the average per-kilometer elevation increase is not so great.”