The Man-Kzin Wars 02 by Larry Niven

Author:Larry Niven
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: kzin
ISBN: 9780671720360
Publisher: Baen
Published: 1989-08-15T03:00:00+00:00

"I knew it," he muttered. "It wasn't logical, they didn't do as much damage as they could have." The kzin had thought otherwise, but then, they had predator's reflexes. They just did not think in terms of mass destruction; their approach to warfare was too pragmatic for that. Which was why their armament was lacking in planet-busting weapons: the thought of destroying valuable real estate did not occur to them. Montferrat had run his own projections, and with weapons like that rarnship you could destabilize stars. "And humans do think that way."

So there must have been some other point to the raid, and not merely to get an effective ship to the Free Wunderlanders. Nothing overt, which left something clandestine. Intelligence work. Perhaps elsewhere in the system, pray God elsewhere in the system, not in his backyard. But it would be just as well ...

He crossed to the desk. "Axelrod-Bauergartner," he said.

A holo of his second-in-command formed, seated at her desk. The meter-high image put down its coffee-cup and straightened. "Yes, Chief?" I want redoubled surveillance on all entry-exit movements in the Greater München area. Everything, top priority. Activate all our contacts, call in favors, lean on everybody we can lean on. I'll be sending you some data on deep-hook threads I've been developing among the hardcore ferals." He saw her look of surprise; that was one of the hole-cards he used to keep his subordinates in order. Poor Axelrod-Bauergartner, he thought. You want this job so much, and would do it so badly. I've held it for twenty years because I've got a sense of proportion; you'd be monkeymeat inside six months.

"Zum befehl, Chief."

"Our esteemed superiors also wish evidence of our zeal. Get them some monkeymeat for the next hunt, nobody too crucial." "I'll round up the usual suspects, Chief

The door retracted, and a white-coated steward came in with a covered wheeled tray. Montferrat looked up, checking... yes, the chilled Bloemvin 2337, the heart-of-palm salad, the pâté ...

"And for now, send in the exit-visa applicant, the one who was having the problems with the paperwork. "

The projected figure grinned wickedly. "Oh, her. Right away, Chief." Montferrat flicked the transmission out of existence and rose, smoothing down his uniform jacket and flicking his mustache into shape with a deft forefinger. This job isn't all grief, he mused happily.

"Recode Till Eulenspiegel," Yarthkin said, leaning back. "Interesting speculation, Claude, old kamerat," he mused. The bucket chair creaked as he leaned back, putting his feet up on the cluttered desk. The remains of a cheese-and-mustard sandwich perched waveringly on a stack of printout at his elbow. The office around him was a similar clutter, bookcases and safe and a single glowlight, a narrow cubicle at the alley-wall of the bar. Shabby and rundown and smelling of beer and old socks, except for the extremely up-to-date infosystem built into the archaic wooden desk; one of the reasons the office was so shabby was that nobody but Yarthkin was allowed in, and he was an indifferent housekeeper at best.

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