"It would be bad manners-and theft-for anyone else to eat you, unless I get into a duel and lose. Then my property becomes my conqueror's. But we may have to take off in a hurry. By the way, I take it you've noticed these." He pointed to dots of orange light circling the hologram of the planet.
"Orbiting spaceships."
"Yes, they still have a couple of battle wagons, though they look dead. My guess is they're either laid up or have small maintenance crews on board."
"Two ships aren't enough to do much."
"They're big enough to be carriers. And even if not, if they've got weapons systems functioning-and these are kzinti ships we're talking about, so they will have if they're alive at all-they could make any takeoff hairy. If you do have to lift on your own, keep well away from them."
"The alarms are set. All the cloaking devices are ready. And the missiles are armed."
"Good. But I don't think trespassers will be a problem. Now that I've been pissed on I'm formally Warrgh-Churrg's guest…though he might send agents to check if I'm telling the truth about the hyperdrive."
"That's a cheery thought. So I'm to wait here tonight listening for the pad of little cat feet while you're partying?"
"Yes. It goes with the territory. Keep your eyes on the sensors and lock yourself in the furthest possible cabin if anything gets in. At discretion, you are to take off. That is an order, by the way, and I'm formally recording it as such. You have your suicide pill if need be. It's unfortunate that buildings here are much closer together than they usually are on kzinti worlds, but you've got a clear field of vision round the ship… I wonder why the architecture is different?"
"Yes, now that you mention it, it looks different even to me."
"But if you think I'm dead, or it seems I can't get back to you, take off fast. I gather they have too few deep-space ships left now to keep many simply sitting around on standby, but the fact we've seen none docked doesn't mean there aren't any-from what he said, they have a few at least-and there are aircraft that could pursue, not to mention beams and missiles, plus whatever war satellites they may have put up in the past. I'm nearly sure those ships they've got in parking orbit are empty, or have only maintenance crews at most." The kzin wrinkled his ears thoughtfully. "But if we do have to run, they will wonder why we affected so much interest in the kz’eerkti here."
"But they won't know. The kz’eerkti will be no worse off than they are already."
"That's probably plenty bad enough, Perpetua. I think he'll let me join a hunt. Don't talk to me in English anymore. From now on I've got to think in the Heroes' Tongue."
"Good luck, Ginger."
"A Hero does not need luck. Snarr' grarrch."
"Urr."
III
Sunset had deepened into night. The gravity vehicles halted near a small observation tower.
Ginger, known to these kzinti as Trader, disembarked from the car which Warrgh-Churrg had lent him, and joined Hunt Master, Estate Manager, and the other local gentry, including one with the accouterments of a full-Named noble, grim-eyed, his jaws set in a permanent snarl. A couple of eights of kzinti youngsters, proudly bedecked with the time-honored weapons of the hunt and with minor, kittenish trophies, frolicked around them. A small squad of guards with modern weapons deployed around the vehicles.
Hunt Master gestured to the others to follow him in single file to the crest of the slope. Trader spat a command in the slaves' patois to the human squatting in the shadow of his car. It prostrated itself and crept back into the vehicle.
Silently, the felinoids moved through the tall grass up the ridge. Three moons, small but with brilliant albedo, cast a bright light and confused patterns of shadow. From the crest there was a panoramic view across a wide valley and plain, to a distant slope dark with vegetation. Instinctively, they had gone down on all fours, crawling forward with bellies to the ground, tails twitching.
"Kz’eerkti country," Hunt Master said. He touched a stud on his helmet and vision-enhancers slid over eyes already far better than those of any human. The other kzinti copied him. "See there!"
The beam of his laser, set to illuminate rather than burn, touched what the others recognized as a scatter of brown, weathered bones on the other side of the river that ran below. It jumped to light other such jumbled heaps nearby. Here and there round, small-toothed skulls stared back at them-convincingly human.
"You recognize the bones of kz’eerkti? Indeed. But it is my duty to point out to you that not all the bones that lie under the sky were owned by monkeys." His laser touched upon what was plainly a kzinti skull, broken and weathered. There was a stir and growl among the youngsters who had been following his pointer. A respected warrior who died in battle might expect his bones to be recovered by his companions or sons for installation in an ancestral shrine. An unblooded kit who perished in his first action far from home often left his bones where they fell.
"Kz’eerkti killed a Hero on Kzrral?" asked one kit, in a tone of outrage that provoked a ripple of amusement from some of the elder kzinti.
"Kz’eerkti have killed many Heroes," Hunt Master replied. "And even more kits. And they have killed not only on Kzrral. Look and you will see. And at present we are but at the marches of one planet's Monkeydom. Look, cubs, and be wise. You too, offworlder. I do not know if the kz’eerkti of this planet will make the slaves you desire."
"When do we see them, Respected Hunt Master?" asked a cub, jumping and rolling on the ground with excitement.
"Probably soon after we cross the valley and climb the next slope into the trees. Be sure, youngster, that they watch for us. You see how short the grass is on the slopes beyond the river? The monkeys burn it to deny approaching Heroes cover. Now arm and armor yourselves as I have shown you." The hunting kzinti's rifles were powerful and accurate repeaters, but antiques for all that: solid-bullet projectors with chemical propellants, rifles in the literal sense, not beam-weapons. The kits were given a few scraps of leather "armor."
"By the standards I am used to, these indeed seem fierce kz’eerkti, Respected Hunt Master," Trader remarked. He passed Hunt Master a generous flask of shrimp-flavored bourbon, part of his stock. "But surely they are no match for modern weaponry," he continued. "I wonder you do not simply wipe them out."
"If we use modern science in the hunt-real body armor, overly enhanced heat and other sensors, beam-weapons-where is the sport in that, Trader?" Hunt Master replied, disposing of the bourbon in a single, gracious swig. "Where the training of kits? We might as well simply missile them from the air or from space. Besides, we have come to realize that exterminating a cunning and warlike species would deprive us permanently of both a valuable training asset and a rewarding game. The world would be duller with no kz’eerkti."
"I have heard some of our ancestors regarded the Sol monkeys so. Until they deployed relativistic weapons and acquired the hyperdrive."
"These aren't like that. I have studied them. Indeed to conserve the species, I have often allowed young ones and pregnant females to live when, hunting alone, I came across them."
"Do they ever cross this valley?"
"They go as far as the river, but they never cross it in force. If they did, I suppose it would become a matter of exterminating them. They would be a menace to other game. Rogues or single scouts do cross though. I've found monkey droppings this side of the river a few times. I also found individuals, including that one." He pointed to a weathered skeleton scattered in the grass nearby. "Old villain! He got careless. But when they cross they don't usually attack or draw attention to themselves. I think they spy out the land, with a little thieving. As it is, they occupy only some fringe wooded country here and roam south into the hot savannah and deserts beyond.
"I do have some supplies of special body armor," Hunt Master continued. He could not ask Trader if he wished to avail himself of this without implying an insult to his courage. Kzinti had dueled to the death for saying less.