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

to bathe?" said Telepath. "Or eat a potato? That calms humans."

"It does?" Richard said.

"Well, humans who have run out of potatoes are supposed to be very excitable, so I'm assuming the complement."

"I can do the next one," Gay offered again, and again Richard shook his head.

"It won't work on the others anyway," Telepath said. "First Flyer likes Intelligence novels and would assume a trick, and Second Trooper has adopted concealment."

"I keep thinking of that old joke about the Herrenmann who decided to import some tigers," Richard said weakly. "A zoologist who'd just come from Plateau wanted to be paid for advising him about the habits of big cats."

"What do mountaineers know about big cats?" Telepath wondered.

"I guess he'd read a lot. He advised the Herrenmann to have his people wear little bells on their clothing when dealing with any big cat, so it would hear them approach and not be startled into attacking, and to carry pepper spray in case the cat became hostile. All cats should react pretty much the same way. A few weeks later the Herrenmann sent him back a message that said they'd tried the advice, and the zoologist's information on big cats was incomplete: The droppings of tigers, for example, smelled like ammonia and were smooth, while the droppings of kzinti smelled like pepper and had little bells in them."

The question of whether they were being routinely read was settled at once: Telepath literally fell down laughing.

After they'd watched him roll around for a while, Richard said, "It's all very well for you. You haven't been getting the bell's-eye view."

"We should be able to get the smell out of the ship now," Gay said encouragingly.

That turned out not to be the case.

Not entirely, anyway. The ship's design considered the possibility of boarding, and gas, so the walls were highly resistant to adsorption of volatiles; but a single molecule can be enough to trigger a conditioned response without actually being perceived on a conscious level.

All of which went a long way to explain why, even after all detectable roots had been spaced and the corridors had been through basic decontamination, Telepath kept having sudden fits of the earwiggles.

At least Richard didn't need to wear a pressure suit to keep from getting ill.

And Telepath could function.

First Flyer was gradually getting the idea that something was wrong. The bridge was empty—aside from what looked like a kzintosh's first unsupervised experience with packing foam—and the controls were locked, and nobody else seemed to be around. He was headed blearily back to his quarters to do a remote systems check when he saw Telepath rolling down the corridor.

Telepath was hanging on to a huge hairy sphere, about a third his own volume, and acting like he was trying to gut it.

Aliens!

First Flyer screamed and leapt, wtsai plunging into the sphere in sure, swift strokes.

After fifteen stabs there was still no blood.

Telepath was staring at him over the edge of the sphere. His ears were spread very wide, in a position of astonishment.

The sphere appeared to be wound from some kind of stiff cellulose-based cord.

Incensed, First Flyer knotted his ears.

Telepath immediately leapt to his feet and came to attention.

First Flyer stood, looked at Telepath, looked at the huge toy Telepath had made for himself, and growled, "Go to your quarters."

"Sir!" said Telepath, and leapt away down the corridor.

The hairy thing had loose strands sticking out all over it now.

It did look like fun.

When he got near his own quarters with it he noticed the humans leaning against a wall. Their bodies were together, faces touching. Probably checking one another for parasites or something. They took no notice as he dragged the thing in and sealed the door.

Richard got to the keypad first. "Just one now," he said.

"We can ignore Second Trooper," said Telepath from three feet away, causing them both to leap into the air. He stared at them for a moment, then reached up and actually held onto his ears as he continued, "He'll be staying out of the way."

"Slaverexpert, then," Gay said, breathing hard.

"Are you tired?" said Telepath.

"No."

"Oh." He thought. "Good diversion."

As they got to Slaverexpert's quarters, Richard said, "We shouldn't stand close to him."

"Good idea," said Telepath. "We can move all his stuff onto lower shelves, too."

Richard stopped in his tracks as he tried to figure that out. "How would that make it safer to wake him up?" he finally asked.

"Oh. I thought you wanted him to think the drug had made him taller."

Richard shook his head, said nothing, and walked on.

As he passed, Telepath said mildly, "That wasn't called for."

Slaverexpert heard movement and opened his eyes to see Telepath. "You again," he said in Hero. "I told you to let me sleep."

"That was three days ago," said Telepath.

"Oh." Slaverexpert considered. "Then I really am this hungry." He established a coherent pattern of behavior, rolled off his fooch, scooped the fabric into the recycler, and punched for something not too drippy and a gallon of lager. Then he noticed the humans. "Good day, Richard and Gay Guthlac," he said in Interworld. "On reflection I believe the polymer roots we found should not be admitted into general use."

After perhaps half a minute watching two humans lean against one another laughing insanely, Slaverexpert turned to Telepath and said, "I gather there have been developments."

"Oh yes."

"Describe—are you hungry?"

"In fact, I am."

"Will those two be safe in the corridor?"

"Yes."

"Push them out the door and key something for yourself."

"Thank you," said Telepath, surprised. He got the Guthlacs out, and turned back just as Slaverexpert's haunch and mug came out. "I wonder why humans call it a dial," he said as he made his selection. "Like an instrument dial."

"Some historical reference involving mating, religion, or money," Slaverexpert said, and took a healthy bite.

"Involving how?"

"Who knows? But practically every odd thing humans do does. Tell me what's been happening."

Telepath began to do so, pausing only to get his own meat and hot milk when they came out, and to say, "This is better than Charrgh-Captain's