If he had any doubts that the pinnacle was orbit-rated, Locklear lost them as he watched Gomulka at work. Parker sat with the captive though Lee, beside Gomulka, faced a console. The three pirates negotiated a three-way bet on how much time would pass before Locklear begged to be picked up. His comm set, roughly shoved into his ear with its button switch, had fresh batteries but Lee reminded him again that they would be returning only once to bail him out. The pinnacle, a lovely little craft, arced up to orbital height and, with only its transparent canopy between him and hard vac, Locklear found real fear added to his pretense. After pitchover, tiny bursts of light at the wingtips steadied the pinnacle as it began its re-entry over the saffron jungles of Kzersatz.
Because of its different schedule, the tiny programmed sunlet of Kzersatz was only an hour into its morning. "Keep one eye on your sweep screen," Gomulka said as the roar of deceleration died away.
I am," Lee replied grimly. "Locklear, if we get jumped by a tabby ship I'll put a burst right into your guts, first thing."
As Locklear made a show of moaning and straining at his bonds, Gomulka banked the pinnacle for its mapping sweep. Presently, Lee's infrared scanners flashed an overlay on his screen and Gomulka nodded, but finished the sweep. Then, by manual control, he slowed the little craft and brought it at a leisurely pace to the I R blips, a mile or so above the alien veldt. Lee brought the screen's video to high magnification. Anse Parker saw what Locklear saw. "Only a few tabbies, huh? And you took care of'em, huh? You son of a bitch!" He glared at the scene, where a dozen Kzinti moved unaware amid half-submerged huts and cooking fires, and swatted Locklear across the back of his head with an open hand. "Looks like they've gone native," Parker went on. "Hey, Gomulka: they'll be candy for us."
"I noticed," Gomulka replied. "You know what? If we bag'em now, we're helping this little shit. We can come back any time we like, maybe have ourselves a tabby-hunt."
"Yeah; show'em what it's like," Lee snickered, "after they've had their manhunt."
Locklear groaned for effect. A village ready-made in only a few months! Scarface didn't waste any time getting his own primitives out of stasis. I hope to God he doesn't show up looking glad to see me. To avoid that possibility he pleaded, "Aren't you going to give me a running chance?" "Sure we are," Gomulka laughed. "Tabbies will pick up your scent anyway. Be on you like flies on a turd." The pinnacle flew on, unseen from far below, Lee bringing up the video now and then. Once he said, "Can't figure out what they're hunting in that field. If I didn't know Kzinti were strict carnivores I'd say they were farming."
Locklear knew that primitive Kzinti ate vegetables as well, and so did their meat animals; but he kept his silence. It hadn't even occurred to these piratical deserters that the Kzinti below might be as prehistoric as Neanderthalers. Good; let them think they understood the Kzinti! But nobody knows 'ern like I do, he thought. It was an arrogance he would recall with bitterness very, very soon.
Gomulka set the pinnacle down with practiced ease behind a stone escarpment and Parker, his gaze nervously sweeping the jungle, used his gunbarrel to urge Locklear out of the craft.
Soichiro Lee's gentle smile did not match his final words: "If you manage to hide out here, just remember we'll pick up your little girlfriend before long. Probably a better piece of snatch than the Manaus machine," he went on, despite a sudden glare from Gomulka. "How long do you want us to use her, asshole? Think about it," he winked, and the canopy's "thunk" muffled the guffaws of Anse Parker.
Locklear raced away as the pinnacle lifted, making it look good. They had tossed Bre'r Rabbit into his personal briar patch, never suspecting he might have friends here.
He was thankful that the village lay downhill as he began his one athletic specialty, long-distance jogging, because he could once again feel the synthetic gravity of Kzersatz tugging at his body. He judged that he was a two-hour trot from the village and paced himself carefully, walking and resting now and then. And planning.
As soon as Scarface learned the facts, they could set a trap for the returning pinnacle. And then, with captives of his own, Locklear could negotiate with Stockton. It was clear by now that Curt Stockton considered himself a leader of virtue-because he was a man of ideas. David Gomulka was a man of action without many important ideas, the perfect model of a playground bully long after graduation.
And Stockton? He would've been the kind of clever kid who decided early that violence was an inferior way to do things, because he wasn't very good at it himself. Instead, he'd enlist a Gomulka to stand nearby while the clever kid tried to beat you up with words; debate you to death. And if that finally failed, he could always sigh, and walk away leaving the bully to do his dirty work, and imagine that his own hands were clean.
But Kzersatz was a whole 'nother playground, with different rules. Locklear smiled at the thought and jogged on.
An hour later he heard the beast crashing in panic through orange ferns before he saw it, and realized that it was pursued only when he spied a young male flashing with sinuous efficiency behind.
No one ever made friends with a Kzin by interrupting its hunt, so Locklear stood motionless among palmferns and watched. The prey reminded him of a pygmy tyrannosaur, almost the height of a man but with teeth meant for grazing on foliage. The Kzin bounded nearer, disdaining the w'tsai knife at his belt, and screamed only as he leaped for the kill. The prey's armored hide and thrashing tail made the struggle interesting, but the issue was never in doubt. A Kzin warrior was trained to hunt, to kill, and to eat that kill, from kittenhood. The roars of the lizard dwindled to a hissing gurgle; the tail and the powerful legs stilled. Only after the Kzin vented his victory scream and ripped into his prey did Locklear step into the clearing made by flattened ferns.
Hands up and empty, Locklear called in Kzin, "The Kzin is a mighty hunter!” To speak in Kzin, one needed a good falsetto and plenty of spit. Locklear's command was fair, but the young Kzin reacted as though the man had spouted fire and brimstone. He paused only long enough to snatch up his kill, a good hundred kilos, before bounding off at top speed.
Crestfallen, Locklear trotted toward the village again. He wondered now if Scarface and Kit, the mate Locklear had freed for him, had failed to speak of mankind to the ancient Kzin tribe. In any case, they would surely respond to his use of their language until he could get Scarface's help. Perhaps the young male had simply raced away to bring the good news.
And perhaps, he decided a half-hour later, he himself was the biggest fool in Known Space or beyond it. They had ringed him before he knew it, padding silently through foliage the same mottled yellows and oranges as their fur. Then, almost simultaneously, he saw several great tigerish shapes disengage from their camouflage ahead of him, and heard the scream as one leapt upon him from behind.
Bowled over by the rush, feeling hot breath and fangs at his throat, Locklear moved only his eyes. His attacker might have been the same one he surprised while hunting, and he felt needle-tipped claws through his flight suit.
Then Locklear did the only things he could: kept his temper, swallowed his terror, and repeated his first greeting: "The Kzin is a mighty hunter."
He saw, striding forward, an old Kzin with ornate bandolier straps. The oldster called to the others, "It is true, the beast speaks the Hero's Tonguel It is as I prophesied." Then, to the young attacker, "Stand away at the ready," and Locklear felt like breathing again.
I am Locklear, who first waked members of your clan from age-long sleep," he said in that ancient dialect he'd learned from Kit. "I come in friendship. May I rise?"