“It is key!” Conserver held up a paw. “As our population expands we must have more space, or fight each other for what we already have. We were fortunate to gain gravity polarization before population pressure forced us to repeated internal wars. Ever since, the Patriarchy has been stabilized by its ability to expand.”
“So hyperdrive can only aid us in that.”
“No, hyperdrive is tremendously destabilizing.”
“How so?”
“Before hyperdrive, speed-of-light placed serious constraints on communications. The head of a Great Pride bent on conquest had strictly limited information on potential adversaries. Imagine yourself in his position. Ahead of you is the unknown, unexplored worlds, unconquered species. Behind you is the might of the Patriarch, immense fleets patrolling worlds we have already fully populated. Where should you direct your Heroes?”
“Outward, of course.”
“Yes, outward. Our history shows us that we have always conquered as we expand. What fool would take the risk of turning against the Patriarch when external conquest is both easier and more profitable.”
“This is still true.”
“No. The kz'eerkti have shown us that our victory is not inevitable. And with hyperdrive communications the Patriarchy is no longer a vague but immense monolith of power at the backs of the Great Prides. Now the Pride-Patriarchs can gauge our strength with fine accuracy. Now they have the means to communicate among themselves. The Rrit remain more powerful than any single Great Pride, but if four or eight band together the equation changes radically.”
“Would any Pride-Patriarch worthy of his name contemplate such treason?”
“In matters of power honor becomes increasingly flexible. And the rules of skalazaal apply to the Rrit as much as to any Great Pride.”
“Skalazaal! There hasn't been a War-of-Honor since Kzan-Rrit!”
“The tradition exists, the rules are defined. Cvail Pride is making ready to leap on Stkaa Pride.”
Pouncer's ears swung up and forward in surprise. “I haven't heard of this!”
“Stkaa doesn't care to advertise their weakness, nor does Cvail want their ambition made clear.”
“Conserver, this is too much to absorb.”
“Absorb it quickly. You have been tested far too early. Patriarch's Telepath was insistent it be done at once.”
Pouncer cocked an ear. So it was not Rrit-Conserver who had pushed him into the test. That was interesting news. “Why?”
“Hrrr…” Conserver waved a paw. “Many minds come together in Telepath's. With so much information he can judge how events will unfold far better than you or I. He felt it important. That was sufficient for me.”
“He didn't share his reasons?”
“Patriarch's Telepath seldom does.”
“I will sleep with this tonight.”
“Your father wants you at the Great Pride Circle tomorrow.”
“I am his son.” Pouncer made the gesture-of-abasement-to-the-Patriarch-in-his-absence and took his leave, intending to put the day out of his mind. Far too much had happened to deal with at once, but he found he could not push his disquiet away. The Patriarchy is reaching a turning point. Events are overtaking us. If Conserver and Telepath were this concerned he should be too, but he lacked information. That had to be fixed immediately. Tomorrow he would begin research.
The farmer labors long in the field and is bitten by gnats. Each day he bends his weary back to the mud to tend the crop. The builder strains to lift stones and breathes the dust of his hammer; his hands are dirty and cut. The soldier carries great loads slung around his neck, like that of an ass. He thirsts and hungers and is beset by enemies. Be therefore a scribe, and lift nothing heavier than a stylus. The Pharaoh shall seek your advice, and reward you with wealth and slaves.
Kefan Brasseur smiled to himself. The House of Victory was huge and ancient, framed in black, dense-grained timbers a meter on a side with walls of cut and dressed boulders taller than he was. The furniture in the human delegation's apartment was exquisitely carved, the walls of their rooms covered in pelts and heads and weapons. Kdatlyno touch sculpture, vases from the dynasty of the mighty Si-Rrit, exquisite ply-murals crafted by the legendary Pkrr-Pkrr while humans were still scrawling on cave walls — the opulence was endless. At least ten thousand years of Patriarchal history was laid out on display. Their rooms were high up in the structure, the view through the huge windows showing all the varied architectures of the Middle and Outer Fortresses, and beyond them the sweeping vista of the Plain of Stgrat. He could spend the rest of his career in the House of Victory and never stop learning.
Even the normally impassive Tskombe was impressed, examining ancient weapons and suits of armor with fascination. Only Cherenkova seemed indifferent, her attention focused on her beltcomp. She had grown progressively more withdrawn on the voyage to Kzin, and now that their audience with the Patriarch was about to begin she had lapsed into brooding silence.
“You don't like being here, do you?”
She looked up. “Since you ask, no, this wasn't my choice of assignment.”
Brasseur raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”
“I don't believe there's any point to negotiating with the kzinti.”
“I have to ask again, why not?”
“You might as well negotiate with a polar bear. It isn't that they aren't intelligent, it isn't that they don't have a role to play in the arctic ecosystem. It's just in their nature. Polar bears are the top predator in the food chain. If one gets hungry, it'll eat you. That's what polar bears do.”
“You think that's what kzinti do?”
“I know it is. I've seen it.” Unbidden, the images burned into her brain at Midling research station came into her mind's eye and her jaw clenched as she looked away, not wanting him to see her expression.
“You hate them.”
“They think we're animals. I think they're animals.” Cherenkova spoke with more intensity than she'd meant to.
“Both views are correct. It's a human conceit that we're somehow better than anything else in the galaxy. The kzinti have had a spacefaring civilization for fifteen thousand years at least, maybe fifty thousand. We have a tremendous amount to learn from them. Just consider—”
Cherenkova cut him off. “Have you ever studied ruins, professor? Buried cities, anything like that?”
“Of course. I was an anthropologist before I switched to studying the kzinti.”
“Did you learn a lot from them?”
“Yes…” Brasseur's answer was hesitant; he was unsure where she was leading.
“Well, maybe their civilization needs ruining.” There was venom in her voice. “Just think what you could learn.”
The academic just looked at her and Ayla looked away. I've said too much, let my emotions interfere with my judgment. The silence dragged out to an awkward length. It was relieved by the heavy door swinging ponderously open. Yiao-Rrit came through, halted and gave a claw-rake salute. “I present my brother, Meerz-Rrit, Patriarch of Kzin.”
Behind him another kzin entered, this one wearing a deep blue cloak with a scarlet sash bearing the sigil of the Patriarchy. Yiao-Rrit stepped aside to allow his brother forward. Behind him was a third kzin, this one dressed in Conserver's robes. Brasseur came to attention and returned the salute. “I am Kefan Brasseur of Plateau, representative of humanity.”
Yiao-Rrit made a gesture and half a dozen slaves bustled into the room, carrying trays laden with delicacies. Brasseur recognized three Jotoki and two Kdatlyno, but the sixth was completely alien to him. It was a six-limbed cross between a turtle and a rhinoceros beetle, perhaps a meter high with long eyestalks, flying clumsily on buzzing, translucent wings. It seemed to be in charge, directing the other slaves in their tasks. It must be a Whrloo. He had heard them described in passing, but had never seen so much as a holo of one. He knew they were both rare and prized as slaves and nothing else about them. He watched its heavy, bumbling flight with fascination. It wore a gravbelt to help it fly; its homeworld had to have low gravity in order to allow a creature so heavy to hover, as it was clearly designed to do. Its delicate structure implied the same thing. The gravity was a third more than he was used to on Plateau, not an unbearable strain but enough to make his feet tired at the end of the day. It can't be happy here on Kzinhome. His distraction was short-lived. Meerz-Rrit padded to an immense skin rug by the room's enormous fireplace and reclined, completely relaxed. No human could be in the company of any kzin without being awed by their lethal grace and power, but the Patriarch stood out even among his peers. He had presence.