Man-Kzin Wars XIII-ARC Page 17

  “Da, Admiral. Some of our studies suggested that it might be mildly toxic to him. For kzinti, eating cooked meat would be analogous to us eating a mix of carbonized and denatured meat. Either upsets our stomach. Cooked meat has the equivalent effect upon the kzinti, causing the cub’s projectile vomiting: his system was purging itself of toxins.”

  The admiral and the associate chief executive stared at Pyragy, who shrugged: “This was not known before we tried.”

  “According to the collected reports and testimony, this outcome was suspected.”

  “Suspected, but not known,” Pyragy persisted.

  “Even if we were to concede that possibly specious point, why did you feel that it was important to attempt to get the kzin to eat cooked meat?”

  Pyragy spread his hands wide. “Is it not obvious? To see if he could be weaned away from the taste of the fresh kill.”

  “To what end?”

  “Why, to put distance between himself and his more primal instincts. Admiral, Executive, if we are to successfully pursue our most basic mandate—to raise a kzin with whom we might have meaningful communication—we must ensure that he views us as fellow discussants, not possible entrées. If he retains a taste for raw meat, he will probably retain a taste for our own uncooked flesh, too. An independent board of animal behaviorists validated my concern that our relationship with him will remain forever compromised until and unless that association is broken. He will not see potential food creatures as fully sentient and equal to himself.”

  “And do you agree with this independent review of kzin behavior, Dr. Navarre?”

  “I do not know, Admiral, since I have not seen it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the existence of the external review was not revealed to us until this week.”

  “Very well, so you are not in possession of the particulars of the report. Given that proviso, and speaking off-the-record, Dr. Navarre, do you feel that the ability of the kzinti to conceive of creatures either as persons or as prey is as polarized as Director Pyragy is claiming?”

  Selena shifted awkwardly. “It seems unlikely, Admiral.”

  “Why?”

  “Because there is plentiful evidence that, after defeating a fellow kzin in an honor duel, the victor will consume a least some parts of the loser. Perhaps much more. But honor duels can only be fought between Heroes, between kzin persons. So it seems that the kzinti can operate socially without such an absolute distinction between prey and persons.”

  “I concur, and consider this further evidence that the research project must be careful not to overanthropomorphize the kzinti,” added the associate chief executive with a stern look in Pyragy’s direction.

  Boroshinsky cleared his throat. “In one way, however, we have determined that the kzinti are, unfortunately, similar to us. The biology group can conclusively report that kzin biochemistry is too similar to humans’ for the safe military use of toxins or biological agents. Although some are more injurious to kzin systems than homo sapiens, the margin of difference is completely insufficient for the creation of a tailor-made toxin lethal to kzinti but harmless to humans. Insofar as bacteriological and viral agents are concerned, preliminary tests suggest that our biochemistries are close enough that some pathogens could ‘hop’ species. On the other extreme, if the organisms are dependent upon specific genetic interfaces, then of course the kzinti are immune to all of ours, just as we are immune to theirs. But so far as we can determine, the kzinti have acquired absolute immunity to all the strains we find latent in their system.”

  “Even their own digestive flora?”

  Boroshinsky nodded at the admiral, a faint smile suggesting he appreciated the intelligence of the question. “Even that. The kzin digestive process is far more robust than ours. The first part is almost sharklike in its capacity; the lower portion simply retrieves moisture and desiccates the wastes. Also, their digestive process is more reliant upon glandular secretions than resident bacteria.” He sat back. “I am afraid my group has failed in its primary task.”

  Associate Chief Executive Dennehy shook his head emphatically. “You have not failed, and your labors are not over, Dr. Boroshinsky. In fact, we are glad to learn this so early in the research process. By removing one alternative from our suite of strategic responses, we can focus on the remaining options. And quite frankly, we considered the possibility of finding a kzin-specific bioagent a longshot.”

  “You did?” Boroshinsky and Pyragy were an unintentional chorus in expressing their surprise.

  Dennehy nodded. “Once we learned that the kzinti had already enslaved races possessing advanced technology, it seemed likely that they would have either genetically amplified their resistance to biological weapons, or that, during an earlier conquest, another race taught them this lesson. The hard way. As far as simple toxins are concerned, we presumed that since they can metabolize our flesh, that our biochemistries would prove too close for either of us to remain wholly immune to what was toxic to the other. But there was no way of being sure without your research.”

  Boroshinsky rubbed his pointy jaw. “Then, sirs, I am afraid I do not see what you hope we might yet discover as a weapon against the kzinti.”

  Dennehy smiled. “I wish we could take the credit for the answer to that, but it comes from Dr. Yang. She anticipated all these dead-ends, observing that if there was any weapon to be found in the kzin biochemistry, it would not be something as inelegant as a simple poison or disease. Rather, the key was to find some way we might be able to turn their own natural secretions against them. And since the kzinti have so many more glands than humans, she thought it possible that there might be something resident in the endocrine system that we could exploit. Do you agree, Doctor?”

  But Boroshinsky had not heard the final sentence: he was already scribbling notes on his datapad.

  Dennehy smiled, then returned his face to impassive neutrality. “We trust this will provide appropriate new directions for the Research Project. Dr. Navarre, you are specifically instructed to keep your group focused on establishing the cognitive, behavioral, and social objectives necessary to facilitate positive, long-term communication with your subjects. That is not your primary concern: it is your only concern. Is that clear?”

  “Very much so, sir. However, I must report that I consider only two of my subjects—the surviving female and the youngest cub—to show any probability of willing communication with us. Unfortunately, the female’s mental capacity has been conclusively demonstrated to be very low; she will probably never become more capable than a human child of three years of age. Less, when it comes to language.”

  “We understand. So, aside from the kit named Hap, the other kzinti will provide you with bases of both biological and behavioral comparison. In time, we may also need to use them to generate cell lines—samples for the synthesis of kzin scents, hormones—that might be required by either your group, or the biology group. Before we adjourn, is there anything else?”

  Pyragy made a huffing noise.

  “Yes, Director?”

  “Admiral, Executive, in light of these proceedings, I am uncertain regarding my own role in this project.”

  “What do you mean, Director?”

  “Is it not obvious, Executive? You have apparently made me redundant. My group leaders disagreed with my orders and policies and you have intervened on their behalf, overturning all my directives in a public forum. You could have chosen to do so in a more private venue with me, but you did not. So I must wonder: am I still in charge of this project, or have I been reduced to a mere figurehead?”

  Selena had to hand it to Pyragy: he might be authoritarian, unctuous, and ingenuine, but the bastard had guts.

  The two senior officials exchanged long looks before the executive turned dead eyes upon the Pyragy. “You ask a reasonable question, Director. Here is the response: it depends.”

  “Depends upon what?”

  “It depends upon your ability to follow the
ARM’s mandate for this project at least as well as your group leaders do. And to date, that has not been the case. So let us put it this way, Director: your position on the project is entirely up to you. Does that answer your question?”

  The look on Pyragy’s face said that it did and that he wasn’t at all pleased with it.

  While he was still engaged in his angry staring match with the executive and the admiral, Boroshinsky looked over at Selena slyly, and actually winked. She smiled, nodded faintly in return, and resisted the urge to get up and dance on her desk.

  At last: now we can get some real work done.

  2399 BCE: Subject age—three years

  “This is a funny language, but I like it.” Hap practiced the long, linked vowel strings of another of the Heroes’ Tongue’s compound verbs: in this case, eaooiiasou, or, “to seek-while-leaping.” He looked up at Dieter, blinking in the sun, and made the sound again, almost as if he were singing it: “Eaooiiasou!”

  Dieter smiled back, keeping his lips closed as he did so, as Selena had taught him. If Hap learned the open-mouthed smile of humans, he’d be unintentionally sending a challenge every time he met a kzin he liked or found amusing. “He’s learning very quickly. And very well.”

  Selena nodded, mindfully keeping an extra few inches between herself and Dieter as she drew him away from Hap. No reason to give her group any more reason to gossip than they already had. “Yes. He’s very clever. I just wish we had a better way to teach him the Heroes’ Tongue.”

  “He seems to be doing well enough with what you’ve got.” Dieter listened as the next interactive learning program began, and the cub began getting corrective oral pulses from the biosensor implants when his pronunciation of unfamiliar phonemes veered off.

  “Well, the problem is with what we’ve got of their language: not much, and not the right kind of lexicon.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “All we know about kzin speech is the comm traffic we’ve picked up when they invade, almost all of which is heavily encrypted and non-verbal. We got a bit more from debriefing you Wunderlanders who came in on the slow boats from Centauri. But most of what we have was harvested from the few military wrecks that were intact enough to do us any good. Like that Raker-class small-boat you modified for snatching the kits.”

  “So what’s the problem with the information from the wrecks? Were their computers corrupted?”

  “No, we got very clean data. But it was the wrong data. Normal speech and military comm traffic may overlap, but the latter is really just a word-poor, albeit highly specialized, dialect of the former. We don’t have very much in the way of domestic vocabulary, or terms that describe states of being, or emotional or philosophical concepts. And we won’t have any access to informal idiom until we get Dr. Yang’s first response. If she’s still there.”

  Dieter nodded. “I see. And the kzinti don’t use voice recognition software?”

  “Very little. In place of voice recognition software, they depend upon ocular tracking. And since their physical reflexes are much faster than ours, the differential between their ‘look-and-blink’ systems and our voice command programs is pretty low.”

  With the next lesson over, Hap flopped backward, sprawling in a manner that somehow mixed the boneless repose of early adolescence with “limp as a kitten.” Then his head swiveled slightly, his nose flaring after a peripherally detected scent. His ears shot out to full extension, his shoulders tensed.

  “What’s that?” asked Dieter.

  “That,” Selena explained, feeling a bit of inexplicable melancholy as she did, “is Hap detecting the scent of other kzinti.”

  “Females?”

  “Males. We can’t start with females. Every bit of data we have suggests that once the male cubs are separated from the mothers, they are not allowed further contact. We suspect that the scent of females could—um, confuse them.”

  “How long have you been piping in the scent?”

  “Just today. And just a few whiffs. Nothing very—”

  Hap rose slowly, his head turning, searching. Then he looked at the teaching module and turned his back on it. This left him facing Selena directly. “Where are the others?”

  Damn it, he distinguished it that quickly. At one part per million, he—

  “Where are they?” Hap’s tone, while not quite imperious, was crisp and no-nonsense. “Where are the others like me?”

  Selena kneeled down: he had grown so large that she hardly needed to anymore. “They are in other paddocks, in other spaces.”

  “Why? Why are we not kept together? Why have I not met them?”

  “Well, that’s a long story—”

  Hap promptly sat down; he looked up at her. “Tell me. Please.” He looked at Dieter. “When you come and then go—sometimes for weeks—I start wondering ‘why do I have to stay here? Why can’t I go with Dieter?’ But I know I’ll get the same answer as when I ask to go somewhere else: not yet. Always ‘not yet.’ It doesn’t make sense. All of you—without hair—you go other places. Places beyond the walls, beyond the fence. But I don’t. I stay here. It’s a big space, but I can’t go anywhere else. You don’t let me.” He looked back at Selena. “Why?”

  Selena looked at Dieter and then took a deep breath. Before she could start speaking, Hap leaned forward. “Before you start telling me, I need to know something.”

  Selena blinked. “What?”

  “This language you’re teaching me: that’s my language, isn’t it? I mean, the language that people like me—kzinti?—speak. Right?”

  “That’s right.”

  Hap nodded. “So I’m going to meet some other kzinti soon, right?”

  “Eventually. Why do you think that?”

  “Because with the language and the smells, it’s like you’re getting me ready. That’s it, isn’t it?”

  Selena thought how many ways that was true: getting him ready for the rest of his life, actually. “Yes, that’s it.”

  “I knew it! I knew it! So I’ll meet them soon.”

  “Meet who soon?”

  Hap blinked, surprised. “Why, my mother and my father.” He stared at her expression. “I do have a mother and a father, don’t I?”

  As Dieter moved further off, Selena felt her eyes becoming wet. Hap’s face was suddenly tense as he watched her fighting against the tears. He blinked twice, rapidly: the kzin equivalent of a nervous gulp. “Tell me,” he said. “I can take it.”

  2401 BCE: Subject age—five years

  Selena entered the paddock slowly, carefully. She waited to see if Hap could detect Dieter’s scent, despite her extensive efforts at cleansing.

  “So, Dieter is back for a while?”

  How did he—? “Yes. I know that his scent disturbs you. I tried to—”

  “Oh, I can’t smell him.”

  “Then how did you know—?”

  Hap stood, flexed his prodigiously growing limbs: they were long, rangy, distinctly immature, but already quite deadly. “I knew because you don’t smell like anything, not even yourself. And that’s how you smell, now, when he is back for a visit. Completely without scent.” Hap wrinkled his nose, which was now more angular, less button-like. “It’s not natural.” He tossed the last of his automated chase-toys from paw to paw. “Of course, nothing is natural around here.”

  Selena looked at the toy: it had been a self-powered, semi-autonomous fuzzy quadruped. Originally quite fast and agile, it was now defunct and shredded beyond recognition: one of the rear limbs was missing, the other had been stripped down to the metal servos and armatures. The front limbs had been broken so that they now reached around behind the pseudocreature as easily as they did to its front. Which was consistent with the apparent theme of physiognomic reversal: the neck coupling had been snapped, allowing the creature’s featureless head to stare backward over its shoulder blades. It wasn’t the result of play; it was bloody-minded, fixated destruction. Hap had done the same with the other objects provided for his amuse
ment; in fact, over the past three months, he had systematically reduced all of them to so much junk. Starting with the far simpler, slower “chase-and-chomp” toys that he had played with since he was two, he smashed every play/training ’bot he had been given. And now he had finished by mauling the most sophisticated model available, specially designed to hone hunting and stalking skills during his “training years.” Whatever modest challenges this ’bot had presented to him, he had caught it within two hours. Now, he set its remains aside, carefully putting it on the end of what had come to be known as Death Row: the queue of toys he had methodically destroyed, one after the other.

  And it was Selena’s job to find out why.

  Fortunately, Hap’s next comment provided a convenient way to segué into the topic. “I was wondering when you’d finally ask me about the toys.”

  “Hap, the toys are just part of something larger. I know that.” And how could she not? For the last year and a half, cheery, affectionate Hap had been on an emotional and behavioral roller-coaster ride, more than had been observed in the other two males as they entered the human equivalent of the terrible teens. No surprise there: neither of the other two had experienced the sudden, rude awakening to the peculiarities of their existence as stranded orphans the way Hap had, twenty months ago. It made matters worse when Hap’s introduction to the next oldest male ended with that kzin shunning him suspiciously. The oldest one had been downright hostile. All these events had initially pushed him closer to Selena. He frequently sought the comfort of her patient lap, his eyes wide but seeing inward, and seeing nothing but uncertainty. Uncertainty about his origins, his nature, his future. At first, he spoke about it frequently, then in fits and starts, and finally, not at all. At which point he ceased to seek her lap. That change had been permanent.

  Hap sat at some distance from her now, didn’t even look directly in her eyes. “Yes, it’s more than the toys. It’s so much more than the toys that I don’t really know how to think about it all at once. But the toys seemed like a good place to start.”