Could Man-sun, as in right now, be using superluminal craft to deliver weapon supplies for the feral fleet?
Then Traat-Admiral began to send out ominous directives. The messages were fresh, but their source events were two days old.
Grraf-Hromfi ordered an emergency goggle-briefing of all officers of the Third Black Pride. He wasn't waiting for them to reach his lecture room on the Sherrek's Ear, he wasn't even waiting for a quorum of goggle-connects. By the time Trainer-of-Slaves was in link, the chaotic meeting was at full tempest, and though he could not smell it, he could see that the air was redolent of aggression. When Trainer moved his goggled head, he saw no less than five warriors, lips twitching, barely able to repress their fightfever.
His claws extended, almost in self-defense, though he was alone.
Astonishingly, Grraf-Hromfi wasn't analyzing the attack that Man-system had launched with their deadly new weapon. He had gone crazy. He was ranting about mythological warriors who had risen out of the misty past and were attacking the Fifth Fleet along a whole section of the Serpent's Swarm. He was screaming about superkzin mental powers and super technology. He was raving about Wunderkzin Traitors. He was snarling about cyclopean terrors. And he was exhorting warriors to their Final Bravery.
He had already ordered the full Third Black Pride into battle, repositioning all ships down to Alpha Centauri to reinforce Traat-Admiral's fight. Even as Trainer watched through his goggles in awe, Hrith-Master-Officer gave the command for the Nesting-Slashtooth-Bitch to move downstar. It wasn't the way Chuut-Riit had taught them to fight.
They were in mid-leap without a thought in their heads. Pure rage.
Without thought himself, Trainer-of-Slaves ripped off his goggles and raced to the hangar where he requisitioned a Ztirgor from the upper racks. Long-Reach and Joker scampered to unhook it and swing it down to the airlock tracks for release.
"You are agitated, master!"
"Old Smelly Fur is trying to get us all killed! He wants you dead and he wants me dead! And he's willing to claw the Patriarch in the bargain!"
Long-Reach froze in fear at such wrath in Mellow-Yellow.
Trainer-of-Slaves sped across the heavens to the Sherreks Ear which had already abandoned its great antenna to the blackness its antenna, its strength! Calmer now, he checked the Ztirgor into a receiver bay.
Why was Grraf-Hromfi doing this? Think before you leap. Was that his motto because he knew in his liver that he was impulsive, his reflexes faster than thought? Had he needed all these years the constant image of that motto across his eyes to keep his blood in check?
The communications officer knew Trainer-of-Slaves, and knew of his close relationship with Grraf-Hromfi, yet still he tried to discourage Trainer from his call. Trainer insisted, and surprisingly, when Grraf-Hromfi learned he was there, found himself ordered to the Command Center immediately.
"I have a question for you about your captive. Was she behaving like a slave in thrall?"
"Sire! She strikes me as highly feral."
Grraf-Hromfi's eyes were maddeningly bright as they pierced through to Trainer-of-Slaves. "Did you feel the commanding pulse this morning that came with the wallop of a religious revelation driving you to obey?"
"My alarm clock?"
"The Slaver! The scaly green monster with one eye!"
"Sire! I came here because the superluminal drive in the hangar of the Bitch is the only one we've got."
"Yes? And?" growled Hromfi.
Trainer was in a rage that this stupid old fossil couldn't see the obvious. "We are leaping without a thought in our head! Think before you leap!
Remember? We have to get that drive to Kzin-home!"
Grraf-Hromfi bared his fangs and fell into his dangerous fighting crouch. "You mock me!" he threatened. "You mock me with my own words, a son stabbing his father!" At this commotion the Lord's Second Officer turned to watch, almost ready to interfere should Trainer become dangerous. Hromfi was virulent. "You haven't been listening, youngling! What do you know of ancient empire and craft and war? Nothing."
Trainer-of-Slaves was already regretting his insolence and moved into a more propitiative posture. "I could never be so great a student of mythology as you, Dominant One."
"Mythology!" Grraf-Hromfi was now grievously enraged. "Five octal-squared years past, these audacious monkeys who are giving us so much trouble found and revived one of those one-eyed monsters. That is mythology?"
"I am glad that it amuses my Lord to wander among the fairy tale shelves of the Munchen library." Why am I goading him? Trainer-of-Slaves was terrified by the ferocity he had unleashed in his mentor who was now clearly angry as well as insane.
Hromfi was circling Trainer, growling out his words, slowly, threateningly. "They found this horror. They released him out of monkey curiosity and he took over the minds of all the monkey vassals within range. They'd still be in thrall but 'monkey-daffy; monkey lucky.' They tricked him back into his stasis suit and turned it on. And then do you know what those hollow-brains did? They put him in a museum. Their silver Sea Statue."
Grraf-Hromfi spun from the confrontation to calm himself. He dropped into one of the command chairs and growled and spat out his rage at the instrument panels. Then he turned over his shoulder and spoke to Trainer-of-Slaves again.
"You speak to me of that superluminal drive of yours. Where do you think it came from? You've seen monkey technology. You destroyed their pitiful ramscoop. You've refitted their quaint torchships with gravities. You've seen their weapons. Could they have created a superluminal driver for spaceships? Not likely. Impossible. But from evidence on a dozen worlds, students of the ancient mysteries suspect that the Slavers could travel faster than light.
"We are confronted with a W'kkai puzzle. And I have put it together with no protrusions. The monkeys have released their Sea Statue again. The ultimate weapon against the Patriarchy. It was this ancient beast who must have given them their superluminal ships and he is here now, in the Serpent's Swarm, because I felt his mind and my of fleers are with me because they, too, felt that mind which would make slaves of kzinkind! If you hadn't been asleep, you too would believe!"
Trainer-of-Slaves was always awed by Grraf-Hromfi's ability to convince. Still it was foolish to take as true a tale told five lifetimes ago by the member of a race whose individuals were known to lie at every opportunity. Indeed! One eye and green scales!
"Sire! I am here to request permission to take the superluminal drive unit to Kzin-home."
Grraf-Hromfi rose from his chair. He walked over to Trainer-of-Slaves. His nose came to Trainer's forehead and his shoulders were broader. "Permission denied. Do you think you'll get anywhere if we fail to destroy this menace?
His mind will pluck you right out of the sky and bring you whimpering to his feet."
The fear was overpowering. Never in his life had Trainer-of-Slaves defied anyone, not his father, Chirr-Nig, not Puller-of-Noses, not Jotok-Tender, not his friend, Ssis-Captain. He was universally sweet-tempered with his military associates. He had always accommodated Grraf-Hromfi's wishes, and the wish of every officer who held authority above him. His inclination now was to flatter Grraf-Hromfi into letting him disappear into interstellar space with the wreck of the Shark.
"Sire! In your great wisdom you have advocated thinking before leaping…"
Grraf-Hromfi slashed this impudent warrior's vest through to the flesh of his chest beneath. "Do you think that I would let you flee from a battle, Eater-of-Grass? Only Heroes who are eager to die in battle can carry the burden of flight." He gestured to two tall kzin guards. "I cannot kill this coward. Take him back to the Bitch and put him in hibernation. He'll die there in battle, and if we survive… I'll deal with him then."
The Lord Commander of the Black Pride was desperate to eliminate the smell of abject fear from his command room.