Man-Kzin Wars IV by Larry Niven (graded readers .txt) 📗

special liking to Trainer-of-Slaves. They shared an avid interest in Earth. It was he who introduced card-tricks to Trainer’s slaves. The monkeys used a peculiar set of plastic symbols, five plus an octal of cards in a suit, with four suits. The Captain never ceased to flap his ears while Long-Reach did his five-handed shuffle, rotating half the deck clockwise and the other half counterclockwise while sitting on his mouth. He didn’t like to play poker with Long-Reach, though, because the Jotok always took the pot.

On one run in from the A star, Ssis-Captain brought in some Wunderland musical instruments and they put together a combo, a rather cacophonous effort. Creepy managed the twelve string banjo with three hands, Long-Reach played the drums and did harmony with all five lungs, while Joker handled the cymbals and xylophone. Trainer-of-Slaves did his imitations of Heroic Poetry on the kazoo.

“I’ve got to have you animals on the Blood of Heroes! Do you want to pledge honor to my ship? I’ll pledge all of you! We’ve got to be playing together when we march under the Arc de Triomphe in Berlin!”

“The Arc de Triomphe is in Moscow,” corrected Trainer-of-Slaves righteously.

“You must be wrong. The red monkeys got out of that war early. I distinctly remember that the Arc de Triomphe was built by French-beasts to honor the victory of their Kaiser at Berlin. The High French Conquest Commandant Hitler marched under it with his whole army when he defeated the Huns. I’ve seen the daguerreotype!”

On another trip Ssis-Captain smuggled in a kzinrret inside an old polarizer housing. She was a beauty with a luminous red sheen to her fur and streaks of tan in her nose, but she wasn’t at all pleased with the ride and studied them both from sulky, undecided eyes.

“Jriingh, meet your new mounter.”

“My hero,” she purred.

Trainer-of-Slaves was horrified. “You stole an illustrious one’s wife? Or worse, a daughter?”

Ssis-Captain’s ears flapped while he rumbled in his throat. “He gave her to me. She’s a little terror. She spits and hisses at his wives and fights with them. She kept chasing his favorite off into the woods of his estate where he couldn’t find her. She boxes the heads of his daughters and tries to take his sons down under the bridge.”

“An ideal mother for great fighting Heroes!”

“It didn’t work that way. All her sons got killed as kits in rage-fights. Crazy, the lot of them. Her mate backhand-cuffed her often enough, without profit, but he’s too soft-clawed to kill her. I reasoned that you and I could solve his problem.”

“Do you suppose the man-beastesses give their males as much trouble as ours?”

“Worse! A manrret is smart enough to pick the lock on her door!”

Jriingh stepped gracefully from the polarizer housing, haughtily exploring her new abode, sniffing warily. She was half the size of a male kzin and probably twice as agile. She snapped up a baby Jotok that had escaped from its wire run, and swallowed five arms in one bite and then peered into the smelly tank, pondering ways to catch more.

“She’s being boarded on the Blood of Heroes, of course.”

“Against regs. You’ll have to keep her.”

“It’s against regs to keep her here, too.” Trainer-of-Slaves was beginning to feel angry.

“Hr-r, yet you do have the space, a corner somewhere with a lock and key.”

“But I won’t be able to keep her pheromones out of the air!”

“You won’t have to. That’s the whole beauty of this sally.”

“I’m supposed to give this little hissing terror the run of the place?!”

“It’s not a problem. She likes males. She just doesn’t like females. Fix up a room. Give her some nice things. We’ll run a beneath-the-grass pride to keep her happy. Let her keep your feet warm. We need a beneath-the-grass pride out here: card-tricks, music, war stories, ch’rowl. Do you think a Conservor will come here and give you a lecture on the One True Way of Honor and the nature of the Furry God?”

Trainer-of-Slaves settled into himself—giving way just a little. He was not used to such camaraderie and he liked it. Yes, he wanted to conquer Earth with this warrior and own a huge hunting preserve in the Amazon next to France with hundreds of pink, tailless slaves tending to his animals. Of course, Long-Reach would always be his top slave.

* * *

For two years High Conquest Commander Chuut-Riit had been caught in the snare of a painful power struggle. Then the first news from Man-sun burst from the lightbeams, 4.3 years after the fact: the Kzin had dealt a great surprise victory in the first skirmish. The Third Fleet was positioning itself for battle.

Wunderland kzinti forgot all else. Even Chuut-Riit paused. Infighting died. The Radio-Operators became the Heroes of the Moment, drifting in space at the instruments of their huge antennae pointed at Man-sun.

The good news did not last.

By the end of the month the extent of the disaster was evident. Trainer-of-Slaves was outraged at the man-beasts. Kzinti became morose. They grinned more often, thoughts of monkeys on their minds. And Chuut-Riit’s situation changed dramatically. There was no longer any question that he was Governor of Alpha Centauri. There was no longer any opposition to his design for the Fourth Fleet, or to his date of launching.

Trainer put in for a transfer to the Blood of Heroes.

CHAPTER 12

(2402 A.D.)

Ssis-Captain arrived at Fortress Aarku with a new uniform, slightly non-standard. The padded under-armor vest was a too-rich shade of mauve with sapphire blue trimmings. The buttons on his epaulets were Wunderland jade from mines in the Jotun Range. The eight-pointed captain’s star radiated from a real diamond. Pagoda style three-quarter sleeves were of the satin one might find on a kzinrret’s bed. The arcuate leather cuffs of the undershirt, setting for his chronometer/comp, were tooled from high quality kz’eerkt—the tanned hides of Wunderland criminals, selected to be without blemish or lash mark.

“Impressive,” said Trainer-of-Slaves.

“I am determined that you shall have your fleet rating!” Ssis was flicking the tip