The two of them were engaged in an effort to collect humans from wherever they were being kept as slaves, for some reason—it might be a religious ritual, if it mattered—and, working to that end, were practicing subtlety and deceit on Warrgh-Churrg. Successfully, so far. Still, they had never encountered such a large human population, and were unprepared to deal with it. The feral Jotoki, however, sneaking little beasts, had worked out plans for all kinds of situations, and had one that could be adapted now. Once he heard it, Trrask-Rarr immediately pointed out, “Warrgh-Churrg doesn't own the ships in orbit outright. He'll need to buy out the other partners before he'll agree—he wouldn't do anything that he thinks benefits them.”
“The Jotoki can provide the gold,” Trader said.
“Not without a reason he'll believe. But if you give me the gold, I can claim I captured it on a raid, and use it to buy land from him.”
“You'd need to do a real raid,” said the monkey—their many faults didn't include stupidity.
“Of course,” Trrask-Rarr said tolerantly. “Have them collect it somewhere and flee at our approach. I buy land, Warrgh-Churrg buys out the ships and starts refitting them, and you take his gold and go off to wherever you go, and bring back what you need to.”
“Aren't you concerned about the possible consequences to the Patriarchy?” said the monkey, then leapt back when he grinned at it. (Not stupid at all.)
“If the Patriarch desires my assistance,” Trrask-Rarr rumbled, “let the Patriarch send an investigator to find how Warrgh-Churrg's Hunt Master managed to get my two best sons killed but bring the foolish ones back alive. Warrgh-Churrg is using kz’eerkti to weaken every clan but his own, which means he's acting against the Patriarchy himself. Anything that keeps him from doing that helps the Patriarch.”
They discussed money. It was going to be expensive to buy back the land that should be his—more than the ships cost. Trrask-Rarr didn't like the idea of Warrgh-Churrg having the surplus, but the monkey said, “If we get you more gold than that, you can spend it on other things after you buy the land, and prices will go up.”
“Why should they do that?” said Trrask-Rarr.
“Inflation. More money in circulation,” said the monkey unhelpfully. Trrask-Rarr puzzled over the images this called up.
“Everybody will want some,” Trader explained.
That was reasonable. “So the ships will cost more,” Trrask-Rarr said, to be certain.
Both agreed. “Parts shouldn't. Refitting will, though,” said the monkey.
“I doubt the slaves will be getting higher pay,” he said ironically.
“Supplies.”
Trrask-Rarr ran the brush along his leg, then turned to the Jotok that had been waiting nearby for a little while and said, “Report.”
“Potent Trrask-Rarr, the adjuncts are removed. Shall we do engine maintenance, so as to provide evidence of why a landing here was necessary?”
“Yes. Good thinking.” As the Jotok left, Trrask-Rarr said, “Marrrkusarrg-tuss was very probably warning you not to go on another hunt when he warned about garlic, Trader. They eat it constantly, and no doubt another group of assassinations is planned.”
“I… don't think Warrgh-Churrg makes direct arrangements with the kz’eerkti,” said Trader doubtfully.
“Of course not. I don't make them either. And yet, arrangements seem to have been made,” Trrask-Rarr said dryly.
“Urr. I see what you mean. I believe the press of business will be too heavy for me to join another hunt in any case.”
“Of course. So: First you propose the plan to Warrgh-Churrg, then I get the gold and buy land. He buys out the ships and sends you for what he needs, and the refit begins… ?”
“While we're gone,” the monkey said.
“Urr. Good.” He was beginning to understand how Trader could put up with it: The monkey tended to be interesting. “When will you get back with the key parts?”
Trader and the monkey looked at one another. “Two hundred days?” Trader hazarded.
“Two hundred!”
“We'll have to go to more than one place,” the monkey said, misunderstanding.
Trader got it. “Trrask-Rarr was expecting it to be longer,” he explained. “It's hard to get used to how fast hyperdrive is.”
“Oh.”
“It occurs to me that the fastest way for the Patriarch to learn of Warrgh-Churrg's folly would be through you,” Trrask-Rarr said. “Have you some means of contacting someone who can reach him?”
“Somebody will have it,” the monkey said confidently.
X
In the circumstances, it was reasonable not to discuss anything in the car on the way back, and Ginger was too busy flying to hold a written conversation. Likewise there was no sense in talking in Warrgh-Churrg's car hangar, nor in the open; so by the time they were back in the ship, there was a certain amount of pressure built up.
As soon as the airlock had cycled, Perpetua burst out, “That Jotok mechanic was a spy for the Romans!”
Ginger, who had his own revelations to make, stopped. “How do you know?”
“It spoke with the same accent as Jinvaretsimok's translator.”
“Are you sure?”
“Ginger, have I ever disputed your sense of smell?”
“Urr.” He thought about it, then added, “No offense was intended.”
“Thank you,” she replied, a little startled. “So now we know how the car got bugged.”
It took Ginger a second. “They all work together!”
“Sure. Trrask-Rarr's Jotoki talked to Warrgh-Churrg's.”
“That'll save us some time,” Ginger said thoughtfully. “The gold-theft ruse is probably being arranged already.”
“Hadn't thought of that… You know, the male population of the original colonists must have been almost completely wiped out.”
“They all smelled about the same on the hunt,” he agreed. “Hunt Master had to use instruments to check for outsiders.” Then he said, “How did you know?”
“They pronounce the 's' at the end of a name. That was out of fashion by the time of Julius Caesar. Most of the first generation must have learned Latin in written form, so that means the Caledonians—and their men had an even higher casualty rate than the Romans.”
“They did, didn't they?” Ginger was a pacifist, but still a kzin. Somebody else's casualty rate had not particularly commended itself to his attention. “Did you notice the floor was warm there, too?”
“Well, it is the tropics—hey,” Perpetua said, frowning.
“ 'Hey' indeed. We were in a tree. Trees are cool.”
“A hypocaust in a forest?”
“If that was a forest, a farm is a meadow. Those trees were planted just where they wanted them,” Ginger said, “and now I know why their industries have never been detected. The foundries are underground, and they use the water from that dam—”
“What dam?”
“The one we walked through,” he said, surprised.
“That was a dam? Where was the water?”
“Underground,” Ginger said. “Where most of the dam was. They must have been a couple of centuries diverting the entire aquifer into that channel. It'd be why there's no offshore trench—the runoff must be spread out to blur the heat signature.”
“You just happened to notice that?” Perpetua said incredulously.
“No, of course not, I was paying very close attention,” he said. “The way you were to the language and culture. It's called perspective. It's why we're a team, Pet. And why it works… their industrial exhaust gases must be cooled and filtered with water, and they probably use slag and ashes to neutralize the acids that makes… Remember what I said about humans and conservation? I was right but I was wrong. Omnivores aren't much motivated to limit their effect on their environment, but humans do turn out to be awfully good at concealing it. If they want to. These do, and they're making more effective use of their resources than any culture I've seen, human or kzinti. Hunt Master couldn't very well say much, but the idea that the humans he was hunting might be making their own firearms worried him. I think they do, and I think they could do a great deal more if they wanted. I think these hunts are used to cull out weak and stupid humans, too—except that the humans are really doing it, not corrupting the system.” His tail lashed once.