Any fool knows victory requires you to concentrate all effort at the point of decision. It is the art of the commander to know where the point of decision will be.
“As you command, sire.” Ktronaz-Commander toggled the display and the Command Lair's strategic display of the Father Sun's singularity vanished, replaced by a waist-deep terrain holo of the Plain of Stgrat, the data relayed live from eight-cubed sources and integrated to show the best possible real-time map of the unfolding advance. He stood back with Kzin-Conserver and Scrral-Rrit to give Kchula-Tzaatz and his guest an unobstructed view.
Zraa-Churrt leaned close to the highlighted dots that marked the enemy. “What are these beasts they ride?”
“Tuskvor.” Kchula-Tzaatz spat the word.
Zraa-Churrt's ears went up, pink fans against his white fur. “Tuskvor? I thought they were untamable.”
“Evidently the czrav have found a way. It is irrelevant. They will not stand against rapsari.”
“Their force seems formidable.”
“These rabble do not concern me.” Kchula slashed his claw across the tiny images of tuskvor that populated the plain. “I will wipe them aside.”
“Your confidence is commendable.” Zraa-Churrt paused, considering the map. “I hope you will not tell me this citadel is impregnable. You proved yourself it could be taken.”
“With rapsari. Nothing else would have done the job. No other pride in the Patriarchy has an eighth of the growth vat capacity I command on Jotok, not a sixteenth. These herd beasts are big, but they are herbivores, not meant for fighting. When they meet my main defense force this advance will falter and die.”
“And yet you still set the savannah on fire with energy weapons.”
“My brother is a skilled warrior. If he can win without fighting he will. It is within the traditions.” Kchula turned to Kzin-Conserver, who was impassively watching the exchange. “Is it not?”
“It is.” Kzin-Conserver kept his voice carefully neutral. “Although barely.”
“No. This attack is of no consequence.” Kchula made a gesture that dismissed Kzin-Conserver's reservation and the holo at once. “My concern is the kz'eerkti. Ktronaz!” Another gesture from the commander recalled the presentation of the Father Star and its environs out to the singularity's edge. The cryptic symbology of intercept planes, course funnels, orbit curves and spacetime gradients filled the representation. “The monkeys must be destroyed, once and for all.”
“My fleet is here to defend the Patriarchy, as are those of my brothers.”
“Hrrr. It is a pity you could not have brought more ships.”
The white pelted kzin turned a paw over. “My own worlds need defending too.”
“Of course, Zraa-Churrt. Your fealty will be rewarded.”
“Perhaps.”
Kchula looked sharply at the Pride-Patriarch, who returned it calmly. He is insufficiently submissive. When this mess is done with he will need to be taught a lesson. “Ktronaz-Commander, are your plans complete?”
“As we discussed, sire. There are no significant changes.”
“Excellent. Prepare your defensive orders.”
Ktronaz made the gesture-of-obeisance and took control of the display again to plot his battle.
“And Ftzaal-Tzaatz is commanding the ground war against these czrav?” Zraa-Churrt asked the question offhandedly.
“He does.”
“Why isn't he with Ktronaz-Commander then?”
“He leads his Ftz'yeer personally.”
“I see.” Zraa-Churrt turned a paw over. “Shall we return to the others?”
Kchula made a gesture and his guards opened the door to lead the way up from the Command Lair to the Patriarch's Hall where the other Great-Pride-Patriarchs were waiting. The Hall's huge, arching space with its massive ceiling beams was as impressive as it had always been, but now it was echoing and empty, far too large for the eight-and-half-eight Pride-Patriarchs gathered there to speak to him. Not a quorum of the Great Circle, but enough that he could not hope to evade their eyes in anything he did. It was frustrating. The banners draped on the walls, woven with stories of Rrit triumph, seemed to mock his achievements. But I am the first to take this hall from the Rrit. The huge, silent conquest drums waited patiently for their drummers to dance to his victories, the ranks of carved prrstet in exotic fabrics begged to be filled with his fealty bound nobles. When I have defeated the kz'eerkti I will proclaim a feast to my greatness. He looked at the faces watching him now. They were carefully neutral. They are not my allies but my rivals. I must bend them to my use here.
He considered ascending the dais, but decided not to, moving instead to a round table toward the back of the hall. Let them think I see them as equals. Scrral-Rrit and Kzin-Conserver took prrstet to either side of him. They were both simple obstacles to his plans now, but neither could be removed easily.
“Brothers,” he began. “The kz'eerkti are coming. By sunrise tomorrow the battle will be won or lost.”
Kdori-Dcrz fanned his ears up. “What of the challenger, Zree-Rrit?”
“Kchula-Tzaatz feels he is of no consequence,” Zraa-Churrt answered before Kchula could.
“Why is that?”
“Ftzaal-Tzaatz commands the battle.” Again Zraa-Churrt answered.
“Hrrr.” Kdori-Dcrz folded his ears again. “In this case perhaps the challenger is of no consequence.” He looked to Kchula. “Tell us of the kz'eerkti.”
“They are a threat, but we have the power to defeat them here, and we will. Ktronaz-Commander is plotting his intercepts as we speak. We will meet them high in the singularity. Your fleets will follow mine to intercept. Their strategy relies on their carriers, and they will be the priority for attack. We will ignore the covering forces, they are only a distraction, and if any battleships come in range of Kzinhome the orbital fortresses will deal with them.”
Kdori-Dcrz stood. “With respect, brother, and I think I speak for all present, I put forward that it would be better to meet them close in, backed by the weapons of your orbital fortresses.”
Kchula snarled and let his fangs show. “Do you question my orders?”
“Those were orders?” Mtell-Mtell unfurled his ears. “I thought you merely advised the Patriarch.” He gestured to Scrral-Rrit.
Kchula opened his mouth to snarl in rage, closed it again. I cannot antagonize the Pride-Patriarchs. Instead he looked at Scrral-Rrit. “Patriarch, do you so order?” He fingered the medallion controlling his puppet's zzrou.
“I do.” Scrral-Rrit looked more humiliated by having to issue the command than he did by having Kchula do it for him.