“Jaw built to crack bones. A predator would have teeth to tear open big arteries or an abdomen. The long torso gives him a gut long enough to deal with a difficult meal. The missing brow ridge—well, he could be going out only at night, or maybe he had bushy eyebrows for eyeshades, but—”
Acolyte asked, “Might he be a Night People protector? Distort the skull, expand the joints—”
Louis shook his head. “I saw a Ghoul child at the Weaver village. I saw adults among the Fearless Vampire Slayers, and more adults in the fungus farm under a floating city once upon a time. I would swear they were all the same species, and this isn’t it.
“Look, the Ghouls at the fungus farm were my height and a bit. He’s four inches shorter. No teeth, of course, but look at the hands. Ghoul hands are bigger, thicker, they can tear anything apart. More to the point, Acolyte, the current species is identical across two hundred million miles of distance.”
Acolyte watched, saying nothing. It was rare to see a Kzin so still.
“But it’s obvious,” Bram said patiently. “This is the old one, the species that became the People of the Night.”
Louis said, “Cronus?”
“Precursor god of the Greeks?”
Louis was startled, and showed it. “You’ve been studying.” Tanj, that’s where he learned the music!
“They’re meddlesome, aren’t they, these puppeteers? The Hindmost has a hundred generations of human literature, kzinti oral history, kdatlyno touch-sculpture sequences, even some trinoc vengeance tales. From your nineteenth and twentieth centuries I’ve viewed entertainments based on Bram Stoker’s Dracula, including Fred Saberhagen’s and Anne Rice’s work. But why not reserve the name ‘Cronus’? This individual can’t have been the first, Louis. Shall I make blurry word-pictures for you?
“Eighty thousand falans ago there was a dead Pak protector. He might have been hundreds of falans old already. For all we know, he might have helped build the Arch. Call him Cronus. Archaic Night People came and ate his flesh. If the meat of a protector didn’t bring on the change, then they found yellow roots the protector carried. They became protectors. If there were many, soon there was one.”
Louis slapped the dead protector’s clavicle. Dust puffed. “Bram, this is the oldest protector we’ll ever know anything about. Maybe there were gods before Cronus, that the Greeks didn’t know about—”
Bram nodded. “As you will. Cronus.”
“Stet. Cronus’s species might have been eating carrion for thousands of years after something like the Fist-of-God impact—”
“Must you speak every trivial truth aloud? Ah, you have a student. Acolyte, do you see Louis’s point?”
“In truth, I see something,” Acolyte said. “The numbers are ridiculous unless something was guiding Ghouls in one direction across large, very large distances. One empire. Ghouls must be the same along the entire two hundred million miles. Perhaps everywhere on the ring.”
“Yes! It was Cronus tending his species like a herder. Bram? Doesn’t a protector try to preserve his own genetic pattern?”
The Kzin jumped on it. “Yes! How could Cronus guide his own descendants? Even a good change smells wrong. Wait, what if he chose other, similar carrion eaters? No, they would rule his own breed!”
Acolyte was learning how to solve puzzles.
Bram said, “He was a Ghoul. A carrion eater’s sense of smell is altered by evolution. What to approach, what to touch, what to put in his mouth, each is a conscious choice. A Ghoul may be more free than other protectors. He may guide his kind toward what he sees as perfection.”
They looked at the old skeleton. He had to come, Bram had said. Near seven thousand falans, he’d said. One thousand seven hundred years? And if Louis’s dawning suspicion had any basis in fact, he’d best not ask directly.
Try something indirect. “Your mate, is she still in here?”
“Anne may be dead. When we became aware that the Arch is unstable in its plane, that there must have been motors on the rim, Anne went to fix it. I was able to track her for a time. These others now at work on the rim wall may have killed her.”
“Bram, she would have had to make those other protectors.”
“Anne felt no such urgency when she left me. She would have worked alone. These late-blooming protectors might be the work of the recent one, the Ball People protector—”
“Teela.”
“Teela Brown. Your mate,” Bram said. “The Hindmost has records of her, too.”
“Were you here when Teela came?”
“Yes. It was more difficult to hide from her than from the Hindmost. I watched her learn to use the Meteor Defense. I was sure she intended what a protector must: she would save the Arch from impacting the sun. What was her true intent, Louis?”
“Teela was a protector. I can’t read a protector’s mind.”
Bram asked, “If not hers, then whose?”
“You saw the records. Teela was strange.”
“Two came into the Repair Center,” Bram said. “They ate of the root. One died. The other fell into the coma that leads to the protector state. I had time to hide my presence and set up means to observe her.
“Your Teela wandered the Repair Center. It was a pleasure to watch her. She discovered things I hadn’t noticed, and ultimately came here. She played with the Meteor Defense and the telescope display.
“Then she left. I was able to track her a little as she moved to the rim wall. She used a magnetic transport system on the rim wall, much faster than the system we used, but she had an advanced pressure suit.”
“Timing?”
“Some extrasolar object impacted the sun twenty-two falans past. Storms of subatomic particles threw the Arch off balance. Louis, Teela was in a great hurry.”
Twenty-two falans ago: the Ringworld began sliding off balance about five years before Hot Needle of Inquiry’s return. “She was educated on Earth,” Louis said. “With a protector’s brain and basic physics classes, she must have seen the situation quick enough. She went to fix the attitude jet system. What would she find? Anne?”
“Anne would hide,” Bram said. “She would watch Teela. At the first sign of incompetence, she would kill Teela.”
“Mmm.”
“You knew her—”
“As a woman. Bram, nobody knew Teela. She was a statistical fluke, a woman who was lucky every time luck was called for, up until Nessus drafted her for the Ringworld expedition. Any kind of normal life must have been just out of her reach.”
Acolyte said, “My father speaks of Teela sometimes. He never knew what to make of her. To the puppeteers, she was part of a breeding program, breeding for luck. Chmeee believed they succeeded.”
“No,” Bram said.
Louis said, “She’s dead, Bram. She’s no threat to you.”
“But what might a protector leave behind to shape a future she desired? We plan far ahead. Louis, have you seen what you needed to see?”
“Yeah.”
Bram flicked in, calling, “Hindmost, wake!”
But the Hindmost was awake and dancing in his cabin … dancing with three ghosts, three puppeteers too translucent to hide him. “Bram, I thought of something cute. I made a brief burn an hour ago to put the probe below the rim, out of sight of invading ships.”
“Numbers?”
The Hindmost whistled. Equations wrote rainbow lines.
Bram studied them. It was the first time Louis had seen him freeze up like that, but the equations looked complex, far beyond his own abilities. Then Bram said, “Good. Begin deceleration now.”
The Hindmost chirped. The racing rim wall opened behind him—“Stet?”
“Yes, stet, if it doesn’t hide you from me.”
–rim wall moving at a blur, its edge far above, the tops of the spill mountains far below. The probe must be about three hundred miles up, Louis thought.