He didn’t mind delays. Heroic journeys were always delayed by hardship. He belonged to a race that was impulsive at short range but patient over distance. A Hero was made steadfast by the agonies of trial, if he couldn’t carry out his duty, he could pass that duty onto his sons. If his Kdapt revelations reached only clogged noses, his Sons would still be able to smell. But it wasn’t in his nature to deal with the duplicity lying, inefficiency and inconsistency of monkeys to whom he had shown his throat in defeat. They brought out the irrational choleric in him. It displeased him that such creatures should have been given the true form.
There was no help for it. It was God’s way of speaking to kzin in the Dominant Tense. One could only reply in the Dominated Tense. Truth was truth. An earlier generation of kzinti had been equally shocked to discover that Kzinhome was not the center of the universe.
Killing Markham was no solution. He was Dominant. It was God’s challenge to Hwass that he find other means to circumvent this man’s treachery.
The Club-Master approached him. “Hwass, honored Dominance.”
Hwass-Hwasschoaw growled acknowledgment. He was not in a good mood.
“The humans are here.”
“Here? Throw them out!”
“Sire.” Club-Master stood his ground. It was clear that he was not going to obey this impulsive order.
“Then keep them confined below. In the holding room. Who is it this time? That breakable pink pole who would steal our knowledge of gravity? He’s become like a tigripard after the sheep.” Hwass had grown up in the sheep ranching territories of Wunderland.
Club-Master spoke in the most respectful tense. “Not to contradict your Dominance, but they have requested only drink. They are drunk already.”
Hwass swiveled on his attendant “Learn that they lie with their every breath! They are not honest warriors like you and me! They are weak in gravities and seek to improve their skills so that they can kill more kzin. Their ghostships do not operate near the mass of stars and it is only the gravitic superiority of our warcraft that keeps them at bay. They control only interstellar space. We still dominate the stellar realms. I have spoken with this man before.”
“There are two. One is the lean monkey known to you. The other is a Major Yankee Clandeboye.” Club-Master had a hard time with the name because it did not translate properly into the hisses and sibillated snarls of the Hero’s Tongue.
“That one?” Now the play was clear in Hwass. To obtain his freedom he would not only have to deliver a message of peace to Kzinhome, which would cost him nothing (maybe), but he must also act as a hunt guide in the hills of gravity, which would cost him dearly. What else would they demand-his hide for a rug? “Bring them here,” he said reluctantly.
“What shall I offer them to drink?”
“Banana pulp mixed with orange juice!” At this reply, Club-Master’s membranous ears went into shock Hwass remembered that this servant had no sense of humor. “They will take Kailua with cream. Charge them triple.” He tapped his furless tail three times.
When Club-Master departed via the dropway, Hwass surveyed the great room to see that it was in presentable order. Much kzin carousing went on here and it wasn’t always tidy, but the present hour was a quiet one with few celebrants. These simians could be entertained with some propriety. The Hwasschoaw family still retained some of the more elegant manners of the inner worlds, spot-worn like the rugs but serviceable.
He stooped at the entrance to view the room from a dwarf’s height to see it as a kz’eerkt might see it. He straightened the kudlotlin hide rugs, all of which had been imported in the holds of Chuut-Riit’s armada and now showed signs of wear They could not be replaced. There were no furry kudlotlin to hunt on Wunderland-the planet was everywhere too warm for that beast. No matter. How would he seat such midgets? Kits were not allowed in this room of Heroes and so there were no proper sized furnishings. His membranous ears waggled. It would do these monkeys good to look silly with their feet dangling.
When they finally arrived, after Club-Master had delayed them as long as one could possibly delay a Dominant, the tall pole with the pink eyes was his usual disgustingly ingratiating self. The lesser man showed all the signals and smells of monkey fear that Hwass had learned to read from years of owning human slaves. He did not look like the hero of 59 Virginis who had “defeated” a local kzin fleet, but that’s what the records said.
Hwass had carefully researched this major since finding his name on the orders that countermanded those of Markham. “Defeated” was probably the usual primate exaggeration. Humans lied even in their records. Their dishonest officers routinely told their commanders whatever the commander wanted to hear. The record probably meant that Major Clandeboye had “escaped.”
“And how iss that I must serve you?” He was frustrated that he could not put irony in his voice but was relieved that he did not have to speak the Hero’s Tongue- the humiliating circumstances would have required him to use the Dominated Tense. These barbarian human languages were fortunately deficient in the nuances of tense. “Iss you able understand my accent?”
“Major Clandeboye has a pocket device that compensates for the distortions-and I don’t need one.” The white-haired human led them to a table as jibe had built the Club himself, and accepted his Kailua with cream as if he had a full name. His friend behaved like a servant, following, watching Brobding before he acted. He twiddled uncomfortably with his pocket device.
Hwass accepted a Kailua and cream for himself in a kzin-sized cup. He was tempted to push his muzzle close into the major’s space, to play with the fear he smelled there, but such behavior would not advance his cause. He restrained himself admirably and sat down across from the table, rather than next to the major. “You,” he said, “iss the man-thing I am interested in for you iss failed approve my return to Kzin.”
The major seemed startled. “You’re the heroic Hwass-Hwasschoaw?” He glanced up at Brobding Shaeffer in mute appeal, then returned his gaze to the eyes of Hwass before he shuddered and dropped it to the watery ring that his infant’s cup had made. “I apologize for that”
It was the second astonishing apology Hwass had received for this act of human duplicity. They promised you freedom, whacked off your head-and apologized. He gazed at this marvel who could not have survived for a heartbeat without the aid of the Great God who seemed to have a fortress in his liver for sniveling weaklings created in His image. “Continue.”
“I have no desire to abort your journey to Kzin.”
Kzinti nostrils flared. That was the first lie. The next sentence would contain the second lie. The warrior waited.
Major Clandeboye was struggling with the simplified, non-idiomatic grammar used to converse with the kzin. “I have determined that you have information we need and have been looking forward”-he shuddered-”to a friendly conversation.”
“I iss not gravities expert,” Hwass replied curtly. “I fly ships; I not build them.”
“Gravitics is Shaeffer’s concern, not mine. You were in Intelligence?”
“All carnivores iss intelligent,” grumbled Hwass, misunderstanding the statement
“Excuse me. I meant that you are a student of spoor,”
How had the UNSN guessed that? The kzin used his tongue to flip a taste of his drink into his toothy mouth. “Yess, I iss been known to be observant. Iss you expect me betray my Patriarch?”
“No. We are at peace. It is in both our interests to cement the peace with acts of goodwill.”
There they were again-peace and goodwill. Hwass-Hwasschoaw did not quite understand what he was being told. The only translation he had for the human word “peace” was the word from the Hero’s Tongue for “subservience.” The nearest translation he had for “acts of goodwill” was “tribute” He replied carefully. “What information that you wish as tribute to ensure my voyage toward Kzin?”