Man-Kzin Wars XII, Larry Niven [readnow .TXT] 📗

One hand upraised in a peculiar gesture, Perpetua walked toward the dark, rectangular apertures in the stone wall.

At first everything seemed deserted. Then, cautiously, a small group of men appeared. Ginger, watching from above, saw them exchange a complex pattern of arm movements, and, gathered round Perpetua, move back into the structure. He waited. In ancient reflex his fur rose and fell to compensate for the movement of his breathing. Then Perpetua's face appeared on the communicator.

"Come down," she said. "Their leaders are here, and I think I've convinced them you're foederati—an ally. They seem prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt for the moment. Bring no weapons but your wtsai. They expect that. Keep your communicator on. Tread carefully. We are being met by none other than Marcus Augustus himself."

VI

They were led by two humans, one introduced as Marcus Augustus, in white robes bordered with purple strips. Others followed, carrying long knives, and other things, hidden under clothes, that were plainly weapons. "What is that?" Ginger asked Marcus Augustus, pointing at the statue.

"Why, your Feline god of course. We promised to give him worship in our Pantheon in return for certain favors."

"Fair enough," Ginger mused. "There are kdaptists who have become Christians. And did he actually grant those favors?"

"Obviously. We are here and alive."

"How did you know the Fanged God looked like that?"

"Some of our slaves make statues of him for kzinti nobles."

"I see. . . . I think," said Ginger, "that perhaps I am beginning to understand a little more."

Marcus Augustus nodded and moved ahead.

"I see at least three classes of humans here," said Ginger to Perpetua.

"Classes?"

"Yes. A concept we got to know fairly well on Wunderland. We haven't exactly been top dogs—top cats?—the whole time, you know. You get to recognize these things. The humans in white and purple are the bosses, of course. The ones with the checkered trousers and the funny hair seem an intermediate class. And there are slaves."

"Slaves?"

They were led out the far side of the building, which proved startlingly small. Now they were moving though a mass of closely spaced trees, the needle foliage obscuring the sky. It was a tight fit for Ginger in spots.

"Yes. Look at their clothes. More importantly, look at their gait. I may know more about some aspects of human society than you, and I would say this is not one of your democracies. And if they're fighting a war against modern kzinti with the odd patchwork of technology we've seen so far, I'm not surprised. You don't fight a species war with majority resolutions.

"But slave societies are always looking for more slaves," he continued. "They may see us in that category. Not me, perhaps. If they know anything about kzinti they'd know we don't make slaves. But you . . . who knows? And by human standards of beauty you are attractive. A good prize. Keep your weapon handy."

"By human standards of beauty? I suppose that's a compliment?"

"Personally I like long whiskers, and fur with a pleasing alternation of orange and yellow stripes, among other things. Four nicely shaped teats help, too, and muscular haunches, not to mention the right smell. But be alert."

Marcus Augustus halted them, glanced at the sky, took a step to the side, and disappeared.

Ginger's ears opened like Chinese parasols. The man had walked inside a tree.

No; a colony of trees, grown together.

It was a really tight fit getting in. Warrgh-Churrg very likely didn't know about this; an uninvited kzin entering here would not be seen again, except possibly as a rug.

"We kept records," Marcus Augustus said, "and the Jotoki gave us better books than scrolls and wooden boards for writing on. Our ancestors were the Ninth Legion, the Hispania. You don't seem surprised."

"I guessed it might be that," said Perpetua. "The legion that marched north into Scotland—ah, Caledonia—from Hadrian's Wall and was never seen again."

"You know that!" Marcus Augustus jumped forward, clasping Perpetua's arms with both hands. "But . . . with time-dilation effects . . . from Earth's point of view . . . I'm not sure, but it must have been thousands of years ago!"

"About two thousand five hundred years, almost."

"Then—Does Rome still stand? Our battles were not in vain? We led the felines away?"

"She is still a great city, but much has changed."

"Was Rome conquered?"

"Not by the kzinti. Only by other humans. And the Human Empire in space that defeated the kzinti is the heir of the empire of Rome. You see I know your language."

"I suppose Earth has got old."

"Old enough to build spaceships of her own. We come from a colony at Earth's nearest star."

"That is good to hear. And the felines?"

"We fought long wars. We won. Now some, like my companion here, are foederati. Didn't your people recruit Germans? But you spoke of time dilation. You know how time is related to the speed of light?"

"Of course. The Jotoki taught our ancestors. . . . How could you have traveled so far?"

"We travel faster than light."

"It cannot be done!"

"It is how we beat the kzinti. They were a great empire when the leading edge of their wave of conquest reached Earth and its colony worlds and attacked them. We almost perished. Then the hyperdrive came to us."

"I cannot think you are lying. If you were but a kzinti puppet you would not know so much about us."

"So what happened?"

"Do you wish to hear the story firsthand?"

"Firsthand?"

"I told you. We—and the Jotoki—have good records."

He led them to another room in the underground complex, inviting Perpetua to recline on a human-sized couch. Other couches were pushed together for Ginger. Somehow well-used libraries have something of the same atmosphere in every culture. He touched a panel and a screen came to life.

"Behold Maximus Gaius Pontus of senatorial rank, strategos of the Hispania."

A man with an aquiline nose, a peculiar mark burnt between his eyebrows, sat in a carved wooden chair, speaking into a camera.

VII

This record is for posterity. Wherever that may be. At least I need not fuss with scribe and scroll, or fear that mouse or termite shall devour this disk. I will begin when I traveled north with