"The immediate report was more than five sixty-fours, Warrgh-Churrg."
Warrgh-Churrg howled red wrath. "Trader, do you wish to go on a hunt?"
"I wasn't expecting to leave my monkey alone that long," Ginger said. "It gets into things… "
"Fine, go to your ship! You, tell my bursar to pay for this!…I'll be using this at once," Warrgh-Churrg said with some satisfaction. He switched off the field, then folded the container and left with it.
The messenger peeked after him when he was gone. Then he looked at Ginger.
And winked.
Slave Instructor was overseeing circuit tests of the new installation when the emergency call came in. He listened to his helmet speaker in growing amazement, then announced to his gang, "Down tools, we're stopping work to go planetside."
A human slave with a welding laser raised his visor. "Master, I've got the gravity planer working well enough to take the ship there directly."
"That hardly matters to me," Slave Instructor said haughtily.
"True," said the human, lowering his visor again.
Slave Instructor just had time to notice the other humans and the Jotoki covering their eyes before the laser flared.
They were in zero gee. Slave Instructor's last sight was an inverted view, of a kzin, in space armor, arms flailing, looking very foolish without a head.
The loading might have been practiced every day. In a sense, it had been; a legionary's life was one of constant drills and exercises, almost all of them (up to now) for things that never did happen.
The Jotoki had maintained piloting skills with tenderly preserved simulators.
The noncombatants-meaning the very young and the crippled, for everyone else fought-had centuries they were attached to, and if some became confused and didn't form up with the troops, they were found. A number of children were found in favorite places they didn't want to leave; but they were all found.
There were others who were normally noncombatants…
Warrgh-Churrg had commanded that he be uninterrupted in the hunt.
The ferals didn't provide much sport, but they displayed astounding destructive capabilities. A favorite tactic was setting a grass fire upwind of a herd of zianya. This had the added effect of overloading the ziirgrah sense, making the humans harder to pay attention to.
The hunt took eleven days. Messengers for him-all kzinti-had been sent back to his palace to await his pleasure.
When Warrgh-Churrg's cargo carrier, bearing tons of fresh meat in stasis, landed in his courtyard, the first thing the Marquis saw on emerging was Trrask-Rarr. The lordling appeared to be sunning himself. Warrgh-Churrg-who had been getting a little twitchy just lately-was too startled to be angry. He ambled over to where his rival lay and said, "What are you doing here?"
"Being courteous," Trrask-Rarr literally purred. "I was certain you wouldn't want to hear this from someone you liked. The humans and Jotoki are gone."
"Have someone round them up," Warrgh-Churrg told Hunt Master.
"They're gone, Warrgh-Churrg," chuckled Trrask-Rarr. "They took the ships you rebuilt for them, and they left. The only ones left on the planet are in your meat locker there."
He was far too pleased for Warrgh-Churrg not to take offense. He took a deep breath and began to crouch, and a voice from the donjon gate called, "Warrgh-Churrg, I have come to guide you on a journey."
He froze, and slowly turned.
Great golden eyes in a face of deepest black confronted him. More golden eyes were tattooed on the ears and the tail.
His tail drooped and lay on the ground. "Holy One, your Name?"
"I am Nabichi," said the Blackfur. "You are called upon to share your wisdom and be instructed in turn."
The Question, and death by torture. "But why?"
"Your plans were revealed earlier, though not in time to prevent the theft of the slaves. We will learn where you have had them taken, be assured."
Warrgh-Churrg sagged all over, and followed the Inquisitor of the Fanged God out the castle gate, to his doom. There was really nothing else he could do.
Trrask-Rarr bounced to his feet and said, "Show me those supplies." When the stasis box was opened, he took a long sniff and said, "Already seasoned. How very thoughtful. Invite the other lords to a feast tonight. I am celebrating the ownership of my new castle."
The ships had to break out of hyperspace periodically to communicate for course adjustments, as Jubilee had the only hyperwave. There were meetings of leaders at those times. During the fifth such stop, Ginger found time to tell Marcus Augustus, "I figured out about the garlic."
"I am impressed."
"Not as impressed as I am. You've had it planned for how long?"
Marcus looked surprised and said, "I don't know." He looked at Kaluseritash.
"About three hundred years," said the Jotoki leader.
"What about the garlic?" Perpetua said.
"They've been eating garlic before going out to fight kzinti," said Ginger, "to get their enemies accustomed to the smell. Their gold ore was combined with tellurium. It's a poisonous metal. One of the symptoms of tellurium poisoning is 'garlic breath,' according to Jubilee's database."
Marcus took over. "It tends to accumulate in the liver. A man can build up a tolerance for it, but it makes his lungs collect fluid." He looked distracted for a moment, then went on. "We had hundreds of volunteers-men and women too old or injured to fight very well or for long, but who wanted to strike one last blow."
"As did we," said Kaluseritash. "Anyone who eats them will suffer massive neural degeneration and circulatory disorders, and if lucky will die."
Perpetua was very wide-eyed. "You had that planned for three hundred years?"
" 'Use any weapon you can make, and make any weapon you can use.' Brutus Leophagus," said Marcus. "I hope it isn't much further to Wunderland. Metal walls disturb me. Are there caverns? It will be some time before we have trees growing properly."
"There are," Ginger said dubiously, "but there are dangerous native creatures in them. We thought we had killed them all, but the caverns stretched further and deeper than we knew. You might want to dig your own with disintegrators."
"Disintegrators? Are these weapons?" Marcus said, interested.
"Not very good ones. Too slow. They're used for digging and large sculpture," said Ginger. "They work by decreasing the charge of atomic particles, positive or negative depending on how they're set."
"What happens when you have one of each kind side by side?" said Marcus.
Ginger looked at Perpetua. Perpetua looked at Ginger.
"I think you'll be very welcome when the next war starts," said Perpetua.
The Trooper and the Triangle
Hal Colebatch
Wunderland, 2382 AD
Although Trooper Number Eight knew how to lie up in ambush, he also knew that he was not a very good soldier. He knew this with special force at the most terrible moment of his life, as he stared down at the furry white creatures spurting digestive acid over long-dead kzin and human tissue, and knew that his world had ended.
Perhaps his somewhat ambiguous heritage and upbringing had been to blame for his lack of military prowess. His Sire had been a soldier in his day, but had been regarded as a mediocre one until he had saved a senior officer's life, receiving honorably incapacitating wounds in the process. He had been rewarded with a set of battle drums and also with the gift of a mate who had grown too old to be sufficiently attractive or fertile to remain in the senior officer's harem, though not quite beyond breeding, and had settled down to a life of trade, selling medicines which healers recommended. He had had a small shop in the town near the governor's palace and indeed had numbered some kzinti from the palace among his customers. Trooper Number Eight had been his only son.
Despite his spurt of valor, there had been a streak of mildness in Sire, and he had treated his kitten kindly. His mother, too, had been, for a kzinrett, of gentle disposition. Trooper Number Eight's earliest days had been sunny. Indeed, he had been somewhat indulged and, by kzin standards, spoilt.