Man_Kzin wars V by Larry Niven & Jerry Pournelle & S. M. Stirling & Thomas T. Thomas

Author:Larry Niven & Jerry Pournelle & S. M. Stirling & Thomas T. Thomas [Niven, Larry & Pournelle, Jerry & Stirling, S. M. & Thomas, Thomas T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction, General, Science Fiction And Fantasy, Fiction, Fiction - Science Fiction, Science Fiction - General, High Tech, Science Fiction - High Tech, Science Fiction - Series, Kzin (Imaginary place), Niven; Larry - Prose & Criticism
ISBN: 9780671721374
Publisher: Riverdale, NY : Baen ; c1992.
Published: 1992-09-30T23:00:00+00:00

Spots whimpered, tongue dangling as he panted with envy and despair. “Are you all right?”

Spots blinked. What am I doing lying on the ground? he thought.

The mule had stopped, pulling at the brushes nearby with a dry tearing sound as leathery leaves parted. One limb at a time, the kzin pulled himself up. Heavy, heavy, more heavy than the battle-practice in the old days, when their Sire worked them to exhaustion under kzin-normal gravity in the exercise room of the palace. Something seemed to hold his hands to the dry packed soil, and pains shot up his back as he stood and squinted into the bright daylight. He ran his fingers through the tangled mass of his mane, and hanks and knots of hair came loose, the furnace wind snatched it from him and scattered the long orange hairs on the air, on the dirt, on the scrubby bushes and sparse grass. He stood, dully staring after them.

“Are you all right?” Jonah asked again. Then he recoiled hastily from the vicious snap that nearly ripped open his arm. “If that’s the way you want it,” he said, tight-lipped, and went back to the lead mule.

Bigs’s ears smirked as he came by, his hand on the capsule. He never left it, now. “Soon we will camp for the night,” he jeered. “Won’t it be good to sleep?” More seriously: “It will be for the best, brother.”

“I have no brother,” Spots rasped, and stumbled forward to take the reins of his mule.

Even the scream hardly woke Spots. His eyes were crusted and blurred even when he opened them. The savage discord of metal on metal jarred him to some semblance of consciousness, and the scent of hot fresh-shed blood. He stumbled erect, mumbling, and stepped forward. The raw-scraped tip of his tail fell across the white ash crust that covered the embers of the fire, and he shot half a dozen meters into the air, screeching.

When he came down, he could see. Bigs’s first leap had failed, and Jonah had gotten out of his blankets and erect. Now the two were circling; Jonah had a four-furrowed row of deep scratches across his chest, and the very tip of Bigs’s tail was missing. The w'tsai gleamed in the kzin’s hand, and Jonah had his arm-long cutter-bar whistling in a figure-eight between them. Totally focused, Bigs lunged forward. Density-enhanced steel shrieked against the serrated edges of the bar and Rigs danced back, smooth and fast. There was a ragged notch in the blade of his honor knife, and his snarl grew more shrill. For a moment Spots thought desperately that his brother would walk the narrow path of honor, weapon against weapon.

“Get back,” Bigs flung over his shoulder, reaching for the strakkaker at his waist.

The world stood still for Spots. I owe my life to Jonah-human. I owe my life to the Patriarch. This is my brother That is my— There was no more time for thought.

Spots screamed and leaped. “No!” he howled. His leap carried him onto the larger kzin’s back.