Larry Niven - Man - Kzin Wars 5

MAN-KZIN WARS V

Created by

Larry Niven

with

Jerry Pournelle

S.M. Stirling

&

Thomas T. Thomas

MAN-KZIN WARS V

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in

this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is

purely coincidental.

Copyright ~ 1992, by Larry Niven

portions thereof in any form.

A Baen Books Original

Baen Publishing Enterprises P.O. Box 1403 Riverdale, NY 10471

ISBN: 0-671-72137-2

Cover art by Stephen Hickman

First Printing, October 1992

Printed in the United States of America

Distributed by Simon & Schuster 1230 Avenue of the Americas New York,

NY 10020

CONTENTS

IN THE HALL OF THE MOUNTAIN KING,

Jerry Pournelle & S.M. Stirling 7

HEY DIDDLE DIDDLE, Thomas T. Thomas 203

IN THE HALL OF THE MOUNTAIN KING

Jerry Pournelle

S.M. Sterling

Copyright ~ 1992 by Jerry Pournelle & S.M. Stirling

ù Prologue

Durvash the tnuctipun knew he was dying. The thought did not bother

him overmuch-he was a warrior of a peculiar and desperate kind and had never

expected to survive the War-but the consciousness of failure was far worse

than the wound along his side.

Breath rasped harsh between his fangs. Thin fringed lips drew back

from them, fledged with purple blood from his injured airsac. Unbending will

kept all fourteen digits splayed on the rough rock; the light gravity of this

world helped, as well. Cold wind hooted down from the heights, plucking at

him until he came to a crack that was deep enough for a leg and an arm; the

long flexible fingers on both wound into irregularities, anchoring him. He

turned his head back down into the valley and closed both visible-light eyes,

opening the third in the center of his forehead and straining against the

dark into the depths of the valley. Yes. Multiple heat-sources in the

thrintun-size range, and there were no large endothermic animals on this

world. Nothing but thrintun and their slaves and foodyeast in the oceans and

huge bandersnatch worms to convert it into protein.

Light-headed, Durvash giggled at that. There had been bandersnatch on

this world, until the supposedly nonsentient worms had all turned on their

thrint masters one day. Just as the sunflowers that guarded Slaver estates

had all focused their beams inward. A thousand other surprises had happened

that day; two centuries before Durvash was born, at the beginning of

8

the War. The Slavers had never suspected, never suspected that the

tnuctipun engineers had devised a barrier against their telepathic hypnosis,

never suspected that the tnuctipun fleet that vanished into space when the

Slavers found their homeworld would return one day. Thrint were fewer now.

So are tnu~›un, he thought, sobering; it did not do to depend on

Slaver stupidity anymore. Most of the very stupid ones had died early in the

conflict, along with a dozen thrintun slave species. The survivors were

desperate. The information he had weaseled out ofthe base on this world was

proof of that.

Durvash continued scanning, straining his eye up into the lower

electromagnetic spectra. Over a dozen thrintun were toiling up the slopes

below him. They had slave trackers-a species of borderline sapience but very

sensitive noses-and hand weapons, and a powered sled with limited flight

capabilities. He drew his sidearm, a round ball of energy with a handle, and

whispered to it. The tool writhed and settled into a pistol-shape; he spoke

instructions and an aiming-grid opened out above it. The map of the valley

showed geological fault lines, but he would have to be very careful.

A word marked a spot on the map. "Twenty nanoseconds," he said, and

turned to jam his head against the rock and squeeze all three eyes shut.

Holding the weapon behind him he pulled the trigger. It would fire only for

the specified time, on the specified spot . . . whuump. CRACK Hot air blasted

at him, slamming him back and forth, until broken shards of bone in his

thorax gnawed at the edges of his breathing-sac. Automatic reflex clamped his

nostril shut and made him want to curl into a ball, but tnuctipun had evolved

as arboreal carnivores on a world of very active geology. They had a well-

founded instinct about hanging on tight when the ground shook. Then

THE HALLOF THE MOUNTAIN KING 9

rock groaned all around him, loud enough almost to drown out the

sound of a falling mountainside across the valley, megatons of mass

avalanching down on the river and the thrint hunters.

Total matter-energy conversion is a very active thing, even if only

for twenty nanoseconds in a limited space.

Instinct kept his digits clamped tight on rock and weapon. When he

woke again, he thought it was night for a moment. Then he realized it was

only blackness before his eyes, and the pain began. It came and went in

waves, in time to the thundering in his resonator membranes; his neck hurt

from the loudness of it. Durvash spat blood and phlegm and growled deep in

his throat. He crawled up the rock, crawled and crawled until he left a broad

dark smear on the stone, fresh trail for the thrint hunters that would

follow. He almost missed the cover of his hidehole.

Opening it was more pain, the pain of fill consciousness to tap out

the code sequence. By the time he reached the end of the tunnel bored through

the mountain and sank into the control chamber of the tiny spaceship, he was

whimpering for his mother. He made it, though, and slapped a palm down on the

controls. Medical sensors sedated him and began the process of healing as

best they could; other machines activated remote eyes and prepared to lift

off as soon as practical.

I made it, he knew, as pain lifted and darkness drifted down.

Compensators whined as the ship lifted. We can stop Suicide Night.

Halfway around the planet a single unwinking eye looked down on a

display. A hand like a three-fingered mechanical grab touched controls.

"Launch a Godfist at these coordinates," the thrint officer rasped,

his tendrils clenched tight to his mouth in determination. 10

Manikin V

"Master-" the three-armed slave technician said in agitation. A

Godfist was a heavy bombardment weapon, a small spaceship in itself with a

high-level computer, and well-armed for self-defence. The warhead held nearly

a kilogram of antimatter. After it landed there would be very little left of

the continent.

OBEY; the thrint commanded. The Power clamped down brutally; the

Slaver could feel the technician's acute desire to be elsewhere.

I wish I were elsewhere too, the thrint thought bitterly, watching

the Godfist lift on the remote screens. I wish I were at the racetrack or

with a female. I wish I were canals and teach home with Mother.

"What does it matter?" he said to the air. "We're all going to die

anyway." In about twenty years; the garrison here was to withdraw and leave

only the foodyeast-supervisor quite soon. Dubious if they would make it to

the next thrint-held system, anyway. The Power was of little use in a space

battle against shielded tnuctipun vessels. "At least this powerlosssucking

muctipun spy will die before us."

As it turned out, he was wrong.

CHOW

Mixed crowd tonight, Harold thought, as he watched Suuomalisen's

broad and dissatisfied back push through the crowd and the beaded curtain

over the entrance. Sweat stained the fat man's white linen suit, and a haze

of smoke hung below the ceiling as the fresher system fought overstrain. The

screened booths along the walls and the tables around the sunken dance-floor

were crowded, figures writhing there to the musicomp's Meddlehoffer beat, a

three-deep mob along the long brass-railed bar. Blue uniforms of the United

Nations Space Navy, gray-green of the Free Wunderland forces, gaudy-glitzy

dress of civilian hangers-on and the new civilian elite of ex-guerrillas and

war profiteers grown rich on contracts and confiscated collabo properties.

Drinking, eating, talking, doing business ranging from the romantic to the

economic, or combinations; and most were smoking as well. Some of the

xenosophont customers would be uncomfortable in the extreme; Homo satins

sapiens is almost unique in its ability to tolerate tobacco.

Tough, he decided. Outside the holosign would be floating before the

brick: HAROLD'S TERRAN BAR: A WORLD ON ITS OWN. Below that in lower-case

print: humans only. The fat man had chosen to ignore that m his brief spell

as quasi-owner, and Harold agreed with the decision. The sign had been a

small raised finger to the kzinti during the occupation years; now that

humans ruled the Alpha Centauri system again, anyone who could pay was

welcome. There were even 12 Ma+Kzin Wars V

a depressed-looking pair of kzin in a booth offat the far corner, the

hiss-spit-snarl of the Hero's Tongue coming faintdy through their privacy

screen. That was the only table not crowded, but quarter-ton felinoid

carnivores did not make for brash intrusion.

But it's a human hangout, and if the aliens can't like it, they can

go elsewhere, he decided.

"Glad to see the last of him, boss," the waitress said, laying a

platter and a stein in front of him. "I'd rather work for a kzin."

"Good thing you didn't have to, then," Harold said, a grin creasing

his basset-hound features between the jug ears. Suuomalisen had bought under

the impression-correct-that Harold was on the run from the collaborationist

government, right towards the end of the kzinti occupation. He had also been

under the impression-false-that he was buying a controlling interest; in

fact, the fine print had left real control with a consortium of employees. He

had been glad to resell back to the original owner, and at a tasty profit for

Harold.

Akvavit, beer chaser, and plate of grilled grumblies with dipping

sauce called; he added a cigarette and decided the evening was nearly

complete.

"Completely complete," he murmured, as his wife joined him; he stood

and bowed over a hand.

"What's complete?" she said. Ingrid SchotterYarthkin was tall,

Belter-slim; the strip-cut of her hair looked exotic above the evening gown

she wore to oversee the backroom gambling operation.

"Life, sweetheart."

"At seventy-three?" she said; Wunderland years, slighdy shorter clan

Terran. She had been only two years younger than he when they were growing up

in the old Wunderland before the ratcat invasion. Now, timedilation and

interstellar cold sleep had left her less than half his biological age. "

Middle-aged spread already? ~

THE E1A~OFTHE MOUNTAIN KING 13

"I'm spreading myself thin, personally," Claude Montberrat-Palme

said, sliding in tojoin them.

Harold grunted. The ex-policeman was thin, with the elongated build

and mobile ears of a purebred WunderlandHerrenma#n. He also wore the

asymmetric beard favored by the old aristocracy.

"Seems sort of strange to be back to private life," Harold said

musingly.

Claude shuddered. "Count it lucky we weren't put before a court," he

said.

"Speak for yourself."

Claude winced slightly; he had been police chief of Munchen under the

kzinti occupation. Resister before Wunderland surrendered to the invaders,

then a genuine collaborator; someone had to hold society together, to get

whatever was possible from the kzin. Earth was losing the war. But then-

Then Ingrid came back, with the Belter captain, and Claude's world

came apart His help to the resistance had been effective, and timely enough

to save him from a firing squad. Not timely enough to save hisjob as police

commissioner, of course. Harold was tarred with the edge of the same brush;

anyone who made money under the occupation was suspect in these new

puritanical days, as were the aristocrats who had perforce cooperated with

the alien invaders. There was irony for you-. . . especially considering how

the commons had groveled to the kzin, and worked to keep their war factories

going during the invasions of Sol System. Double irony for Harold, since he

was a Herrenmann's bastard and so never really accepted by his father's

kindred. That might have changed if folk knew exactly what Harold and Ingrid

and that SolBelter Jonah Matthieson had done out in the Serpent Swarm.

It would be too an exageration to say that the three of them-well,

they three plus Jonah Matthieson- Mandolin Ways v

had won the war; but it wouldn't be too large an expan~inn of th`~

troth to c:~v that without them th,~ war

wmilrl h~veheen Inct

"Heroes are not without honor," Claude said. "Save in their own

countries. PerhaDs we should write a book

to tell nils troll ctnrv "

"Sure," Harold said. "That would really make that ARM bastard happy.

Right now he's happy, but-"

Claude's knowing grin stopped him. "Yes, of course. No books." He

shrugged. "So we know. but no one else

Loo "

And at that General Early had been tempted to make all four of them

vanish, no matter their service to the UN. There would have been no trials.

Freedom or a quiet disappearance, and for some reason-perhaps Early really

had some human emotions-they'd been turned loose with their memories more or

less intact.

They all frowned; Harold thoughtfully, looking down at the wineglass

he rolled between his palms.

"I don't like it," Ingrid said. "Oh, I don't miss the fame -more

trouble than it's worth, we'd have to beat off publicity-seekers and

vibrobrains with dubs. I don't like General Bulord Early-remember, I worked

for him back in Sol System"-Ingrid had escaped the original kzin attack

onAlpha Centauri and made the twenty-year trip back to Sol in suspended

animation-"and I don't like the ARM getting a foothold here. What did our

ancestors come herefor, if not to get away from them?"

Both men nodded agreement. In theory, the ARM were the technological

police of the United Nations, charged with keeping track of new developments

and controlling those that menaced social peace. That turned out to be all

new technology, and the ARM had grown until it more-or-less set UN policy.

For three centuries they had kept Sol System locked in pacifistic stasis, to

the point where even the memory of conflict we fading and a minor scuffle got

people sent to the

THE HAL L OF THE MOUNTAIN KING 15

psychists for "repair." That placid changelessness and the growing

sameness of life in the overcrowded, overregulated solar system had been a

strong force behind the interstellar exodus.

The ARM had kept Solar humanity from making ready after the first

kzinti warship attacked a human vessel, right up to the arrival of the First

Fleet from conquered Alpha Centauri. The operators of the big launch-lasers

on Mercury had had to virtuallymut'?'y to fight back, even when the kzin

battlecruisers started beaming asteroid habitats.

"I don't like the way Early's so cozy with the new government,"

Harold growled.

"In the long run, luck goes only to the efficient," Claude said, and

the others nodded again, because it wasn't hard to guess his train of

thought.

The war was ended by pure luck: the weird aliens who sold the faster-

than-light spacedrive to the human colonists on We Made It had really won the

war for Sol. The kzin Fifth Fleet would have crushed all resistance, if there

had been time for it to launch from Alpha Centauri and cover the 4.3 light-

years at .8 c. Chuut-Riit, the last kzin Governor, had been a strategic

genius; even more rare in his species, he never attacked until he was ready.

Fortunately for humanity, that Chunt-Riit hadn't lived to send that fleet.

It had been BuSord Early's idea to send in an assassin team with the

scoopship Yamamoto's raid as a cover. Jonah, and Ingrid, and an intelligent

ship that had gone insane. A mad scheme, one that shouldn't have worked, but

it was all Earth could try-and it had worked. Was General Early a military

genius, or incredibly lucky?

Now the hyperdrive would open the universe to Man. The problem was

that it eliminated the moat of distance; the hypet~ave, the communications

version of the device, gave contact with Earth in mere hours. 16

Ma+Kzin Wars V

Cultures grown alien in centuries of isolation were thrown together .

. . and serious interstellar politics became possible once more, and ARM

General Buford Early was right in the middle of it all.

Ul thoroughly agree," Claude said. "He's got Markham under his thumb,

and a number of others. It's already unwise to cross him."

"AsJonah found out," Ingrid sighed.

Harold felt a prickle of irritation. True, Ingrid had chosen him-when

both Claude and the Sol-Belter were very much available-but he didn't like to

be reminded of it. Even less he didn't want to be reminded that she and Jonah

had been lovers as well as teammates. It hadn't helped that the younger man

refused all help from them, later.

She shook her head. "PoorJonah. He should not have been so . . . so

brusque with General Early. Butord is older than the Long Peace, and he can

tee . . . uncivilised."

CHAPTER Two

Jonah Matthieson belched and settled his back against the granite of

the plinth. The long sunset of Wunderland was well under way. Tall clouds

hung hot-gold nearly to the zenith ofthe pale blue sky, where the dome of

night was darkening. Along the western horizon bands of purple shaded down to

crimson and salmon pink. War had done that, the Yamamoto's raid two years ago

pounding the northern pole with kinetic-energy missiles at near light speed,

then the fighting with the Crashlander armada later, which had included a

fair number of highyield weapons on kzinti holdouts. There was a lot of dust

in the atmosphere. Wunderland is a small planet, half Earth's diameter and

much less dense, a super-Mars; the gravitational gradient was small, and the

air extended proportionately farther out. Hence there was a lotofatmosphere

for it to fill.

And a wonderful sunset for one mustered-out stingship pilot to sit

and saver, particularly if he was drunk enough. Unfortunately the bottle was

empty.

A sudden spasm of rage sent it flying, out to crash among the other

debris along the front ofthe Ritterhaus. The ancient government house had

been a last strongpoint for the kzinti garrison in Munchen. Scaffolding

covered the front of the mellow stone, but the work went slowly while more

essential repairs were attended to. Much Centauran industry had been

converted to war production during the occupation, and what survived was now

producing for the United Nations Space Navy and Wunderland's own growing

forces. 18 Man Kiin Wars V

Jonah lurched erect, mouth working against the foul taste, blinking

gritty eyes. For a moment the sensation reminded him-

"Oh, Single, I hurt."

They had come from Earth,Jonah and IngIid and the artificial

intelligence ship Cats~ne; and the ship's come puter had found something that

shouldn't have been there. A ship that had floated in the Belt for so long

thatit had accreted enough dust to become an asteroid. A ship held unchanging

in stasis, unchanging f or billions of years, untilitwasawakened.

Notjusttheship. The Master.

Jonah shuddered.

That had been one of the times the thrint's mindcontrol had slipped.

It had been busy, keeping control of all the minds of the Free Wunderland

flotilla, trying to find out what had gone on during the several billion

years it had lain in timeless stasis.

Eyes blurb, busing, skm hang ose and Ray and old around the~istsof

bleedinghands, spaced withground-md*t.

Thrint tended to forget to tell their slaves to remember personal

maintenance; they were not a very bright species. What humans would call an

IQ of 80 was about average for Thrintun, and Dnivtopun hadn't been a genius

by Slaver standards. That had been almost the worst ofthe subconscious

humiliation. The Master had been so stupid-and under the Power you couldn't

help but try to change that, to rack your brains for helpful solutions. Help

the Master!

Jonah had been the one to crack the problem of making a new amplifier

helmet to increase the psionic powers of the revenant Slaver. That would have

made Dnivtopun master of the Alpha Centauri system and every human and kzin

living there. Made him ruler of a new Slaver empire, because there had been

fertile thrint females and young in the ship, the ship encased in its stasis

field and the asteroid that had accreted about it over the thousands of

millennia.

IME HAIL OF THE MOUNTAIN KING 19

He moaned and pressed the heels of his hands to his temples. Yes,

he'd broken free for an instant et the end, enough to struggle with Markham.

Ulf ReichsteinMarkham, who had liked the telepathic hypnosis the Slaver

imposed. The psychists had erased Markham's memories of that; now he was a

hero, space-guerrilla kzin-killing Resistance fighter and stalwart of the

Provisional Government. The psychists hadn't been nearly as thorough

withJonah Matthieson, one-time Terran Belter, ex-combat pilot in the UNSN,

assassin of Chuut-Riit. They'd just given him a strong block about the secret

aspects of the affair, and turned him loose. He was supposed to recover fully

in time, too. Not soon enough to have his job back, of course. No one wanted

an unstable combat pilot. They'd give him his rank, but he'd be a paper

shuffler, a useless man in a useless job. So he'd asked to go home. Belter

prospectors were slightly mad anyway. And he learned that a hyperdrive

transport back to Sol was out of the question, and there wasn't even a place

for him in cold sleep aboard a slowship. Shume paper or get lost. Of course

they'd hinted there was one other possibility, one he'd hated even more than

shuffling paper.

He'd been bitter about that. That had led to more trouble . . .

A man was walking by, with the brisk step of someone with a purpose

and somewhere to go.

"Gut Herr, spare some money to feed a veteran?" Jonah asked. He

despised himselfeach time he did this, but it was the price of the oblivion

he craved.

"lieber Heir Gott," the man's voice rasped. Wunderland was like that,

conservative: they even swore by God instead of Finagle. It had been settled

by North European plutocrats uneasy with the way Earth was heading under the

UN and theARM. "You again! This is the third time today!"

Starded, Jonah looked up. The face was unfamiliar, 20

clenched and hostile under a wide-brunrned straw hat. The man's suit

was offensively white and clean, a linen bushjacket. Some well-to-do

outbacker in town on business.

"Sorry, sir," Jonah said, backing up slightly. "Honest -I didn't look

at your face, just your hands and the money. Please, I won't hit on you

again, I promise."

" Here. " A solid gold-alloy coin, anodher Wunderlander

ar~achrorfis~r~ "And here, another. To keep your memory fresh. Do not bother

me again, or the polezi I will call." Frowrung: " How did a combat veteran

come to dais?"

Jonah ground the coins together in his fist, almost tempted to throw

dhem after the retreating back of dhe spindly low-gravity. Because the

bloodyARM is purushmgme! he screamed mentally. Because I spoke out! Not

anything treasonable, no secrets, no attempt to evade dhe blocks in his

mind.Just dhe trudh, chat dhey were still hording beck technological secrets-

had even while Earth faced defeat at kzinti hands-dint dhey were conspiring

to put dhe whole human race back into stasis, tile way they had in dhe dlree

centuries of dhe Long Peace, before dhe kzinti came. That the ARM had secret

links, secret organizations on all the human-settled worlds. Buford Early,

Prehistoric Man, has frozen me out. The ARM general probably thought he was

giving a gentle warning, tugging on his clandestine contacts until every

regular employment was closed to Matthieson. So that Matthieson would come

crawling beck, eventually.

Early was at least two centuries old, probably more. Old enough to

remember when military history was taught in the schools, not forbidden as

pornography. Possibly old enough to have fought against other humans in a

war. He was very patient . . . and he had hinted that Jonah would make a good

recruit for the ARM, if he altered his attitudes. Perhaps even for something

more secret than the ARM, the thing hinted at by the collaboration with the

oyabun crimelords here

Ma+K~ Wars V

THE HAM OFTHE MouNTAIN KING 21

in the alpha Centauri system.Jonah had threatened to reveal that.

Go right ahead, Iieu~nant, Bubord had said, laughing. It creased his

carved-ebony face, gave you some idea of how ancient he really was, how

little was left of humanity in him. Laughter in the gravel voice: It's been

done before. Whole books published about it. Nobody believes the books, and

then theysomehowdon'tgetrepr~nted or coped.

"Finagle eat my eyes if I'll crawl to you, you bleeping tyrant,"Jonah

whispered softly to himself.

He looked down at the coins in his hand; a five-krona and a ten.

Enough to eat on for a couple of weeks, if you didn't mind sleeping outside

in the mild subtropical nights. Of course, that made it more likely someone

would kick your head in and rob you, in the areas where they let vagrants

settle. Another figure was crossing the square, a woman this time, in rough

but serviceable overalls and a heavy strakkaker in a holster on one hip.

"Ma'am?" Jonah asked. USpare some eating money for a veteran down on

his luck?"

She stopped, looking him up and down shrewdly. Stocky and middle-

aged, pushing seventy, with rims of black under her fingernails. Not one of

the tall slim mobile-eared aristocrats of the Nineteen Families, the ones who

had first settled Wunderland. A commoner, with a hint of a nasal accent to

her Wunderlander that suggested the German-Balt-Dutch-Danish hybrid was not

her native tongue.

"Pilot?" she said sceptically.

"I was, yes,"Jonah said, bracing erect. He felt a slight prickle of

surprise when she read off the unit and section tabs still woven into the

grimy synthetic of his underset.

,,TOhfen you llknow systems . . . atmosphere "mining?

"We'll see." The questions stabbed out, quick and knowledgeable. "All

right," she said at last. "I won't give 22

Man Kzin Wars V

you a fennig for a handout, but I could have a job for you."

Hope was more painful than hunger or hangover. "Who do I have to

kill?" he said.

She raised her brows, then showed teeth. "Ach, you joke. Good, spirit

you have."

She held out a belt unit, and he laid a palm on it as hope flickered

out. There would be a trace on it from the net, General Early would have seen

to that. There had been other prospects.

"Hmm," she grunted. "Well, a good record would not have you squatting

in the ruins, smelling . . . " She wrinkled her nose and seemed to consider.

"Here." She pulled out a printer and keyed it, then handed him the sheet it

extruded, together with a credit chip. "I am Heldja Eladsson, project manager

for Skognara Minerals, a Suuomalisen company.

"Ifyou show up at the listed address in two days, there will be work.

I am short several hands; skilled labor is scarce, and my contract will not

wait. The work is hard but the pay is good. There's enough money in the chip

to keep you blind drunk for a week, if that's your problem. And enough for a

backcountry kit, working clothes and such, if you want thejob. Be dhere or

not, as you please."

She turned on her heel and left. Alpha Centauri had set, but the eye-

straining point source that was Beta was still aloft, and the moon.

"I won't spend the chip on booze," he said to himself. "But by

Murphy's ghost, I'm going to celebrate with the coins that smug-faced farmer

gave me."

The question of where to do it remained. Then his eyes nan~owed

defiandy. Somewhere to clean up first, then- yes, then he'd hit Harold's

Terran Bar. It would be good to sit down and order. Damned if he would have

taken Harold Yarthkin's charity, dhough. Not ifhe were staving.

The chances were he'd be the only Terran there, anyway.

CHAPTER THREE

Minister the Honorable Ulf Reichstein-Markham regarded the Terran

with suspicion. The office of the Minister for War ofthe Provisional

Government was as austere as the man himself, a stark stone rectangle on the

top door of the Ritterhaus. Its only luxuries were size and the sweeping view

of the Founder's Memorial and Hans-Jorge Square; for the rest it held a

severely practical desk and retrieval system, a cot for occasional sleep, and

a few knickknacks. The dried ear of a kzin warrior, a picture of Markham's

mother-who had the same bleakly handsome, hatchet-faced Herrenmann looks with

Larry Niven - Man - Kzin Wars 5

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