“I have been there! I went to negotiate with their rulers on Earth, in a city called Nyewrrk. In a structure the size of this tower eight-cubed, even eight-to-the-fourth might live.” He gestured out the tower windows. “And from here to the horizon was nothing but more buildings larger still, immensely larger, dwellings stacked like pirtitz on a platter.”
Meerz-Rrit wrinkled his nostrils. “My nose is offended already.”
“You cannot understand, Patriarch!” Stkaa-Emissary fought down the urge to gag at the memory. “They wallow in their own filth. The sky is literally brown with pollutants, and their drinking water reeks of the chemicals they must use to strip their own sewage from it. I could not eat for days. But this is how they live. And from space you can see the lights at night, every continent is a solid mass of light! The entire planet is populated like this.”
“I am convinced of their decadence, Emissary. What is your point?” And what is his aim here? What is the deeper game?
“We are no longer the predators here, we can no longer scream and leap. They breed like vatach, so fast that on Earth they must have reproductive laws to prevent them drowning in the flesh of their offspring. On a colony the population doubles and redoubles as you watch! Unchecked they will inevitably expand into our sphere and overrun us as casually as the zitragor moves to fresh stands of grass. They have no liver for conquest, but their social system makes it inevitable.”
“As does ours.”
“Exactly, Patriarch. One species must be conquered by the other, there is no other way. I am naturally convinced that it should be ours that prevails.”
Meerz-Rrit extended his claws and contemplated them. “Your arguments are compelling, Emissary.”
“The facts speak for themselves, Patriarch.”
“They do. My question is, what facts aren't speaking now?”
“I don't understand.”
“Let me give you the scent. Stkaa Pride has fought this conquest war for generations now and has failed miserably. Cvail Pride seeks your ears.”
“Cvail Pride's ears will swing with ours on the monkey's belt.”
“I understand they have declared skalazaal.”
He knows! Stkaa-Emissary managed to control his reaction. Did the Patriarch know, or merely suspect? “The Honor-War is a pride matter. I cannot speak for my patriarch.”
“Of course not.” Meerz-Rrit quaffed his flagon, inhaling the rich taste of the shasca. The smell masked the subtle hint of fear that had crept into Stkaa-Emissary's scent, but that had already been enough to confirm his theory. Patriarch's Telepath had been correct, and Cvail Pride was at Stkaa Pride's throat. Skalazaal had returned to the Patriarchy. That had serious implications for Rrit Pride. He looked out the windows at the flitting lights in the darkening sky. And if half of what Emissary was saying about the monkeys was true, the Patriarchy faced a dangerous adversary even as its internal frictions rose. I must have Rrit-Conserver's counsel on this, and I must see the monkeys for myself. Soon enough he would meet a monkey, when his brother Yiao-Rrit returned from his own mission to the kz'eerkti patriarch in Nyewrrk, but there was no need for Stkaa-Emissary to know that. He raised his flagon to Emissary. “The shasca is excellent, is it not?”
All warfare is based on deception.
Through the panoramic windows of Distant Trader's bridge the spidery gantries of the Patriarch's Dock loomed vast, scout ships and streamlined lighters gliding past transfer stations like swiftwings in a forest. Raarrgh-Captain and Lead-Pilot muttered back and forth to Docking Control as they slid into position. Behind them, Kchula-Tzaatz watched the scene spin slowly as the freighter gave way to a pair of Hunt class battleships, bulking huge as they cleared the docks, one behind the other. Their armored hulls slid past so close that Kchula could see the gunners in their turret blisters. He repressed the urge to duck; he could not allow himself to show fear in front of inferiors. Kzinhome itself backdropped the scene, a beautiful blue-white sphere looming overhead, new continents coming into view with the ponderous grace of its rotation. Kchula-Tzaatz raked his claws across the vista. Soon, very soon now, it will be mine.
The battleships floated clear of the docking area, hung there for a long, pregnant moment as their navigators confirmed their courses, then vanished to pinpricks, eight-squared gravities of acceleration taking them out of sight in an eyeblink. An instant later they had faded to invisibility, heading for the edge of the system, for hyperspace, for death or glory on some unknown mission at the Patriarch's behest.
Kchula-Tzaatz purred to himself in ill-concealed pleasure. Two less to deal with when the time came, not that it mattered. Ship-to-ship battle against the might of the Rrit fleet was not the way to victory. It was cunning, not strength, that would bring him to power.
And before that could happen, he had to face his enemy. His purr faded and his ears flattened unconsciously. Before he could secure power he would have to face the Patriarch in his own stronghold. Already parts of the scheme were in motion. If any of them failed he would be vulnerable.
“Our arrival is late, Raarrgh-Captain.” Not that it mattered, but upbraiding his subordinate served to relieve his worry.
“My apologies, sire. Traffic is heavy.” Raarrgh-Captain showed a disappointing lack of submission in his reply, concentrated as he was on the docking procedures.
Kchula twitched his tail in ill-suppressed agitation, unable to think of a reason to castigate Lead-Pilot as well. Finally he turned on his heel and strode from the navigation bridge to the command deck.
“Telepath!”
Kchula's Telepath lolled on a low prrstet in a corner, eyes partially unfocused and carrying the yellowish staining characteristic of his addiction to the sthondat lymph extract that brought his powers to life and chained him to a life of statusless servitude.
“Sire!” The bleary eyes struggled to focus.
“What is in the Patriarch's mind?”
The eyes unfocused, and Telepath drifted away long enough for Kchula to become impatient. Eventually he came back to awareness. “Apologies, sire. The range is far too great and my talents are not that strong.”
Kchula snarled. “Don't dishonor yourself with deception. I can tell when your mind is connected.”
“I sense only Patriarch's Telepath, sire. His presence is great even here.”
“Well, what is that sthondat thinking then?”
“I sense only his presence. His mind is too strong to penetrate. He blocks his thoughts from me, and the thoughts of those around him.”
Kchula kicked at the hapless addict. “What use are you?”
“I serve to the best of my abilities, sire.”
“Useless cur!” He aimed another kick at Telepath, who cringed backward.
Ftzaal-Tzaatz moved forward, black fur sleek over lean muscles. He raised a paw to intercede.
“Telepath may yet prove a valuable resource, brother.” His voice was a silky purr. “Perhaps patience is a valid approach here.”
Kchula-Tzaatz slashed the air in annoyance. “You would counsel patience to a stone.” Nevertheless he desisted in his assault on Telepath, who took the opportunity to infuse more sthondat extract. “I lack power. Why do I lack power? Because I am surrounded by incompetents. The Patriarch does not contend with such inadequacies.”