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

hatch, and was gone well before he reached the ground.

It hadn't been patronizing him, though: It had scratched the combination into the wall before it left. Shleer followed as quickly as he could.

I CAN'T FIND IT! Gnix Shrieked, and slaves howled and fell.

"It may have a shield," Darfoor said.

MY AMPLIFIER CAN GET THROUGH A SHIELD, FOOL! UNLESS YOU MEAN THE KIND YOU WERE MAKING.

Despair added flavor to the spy's thoughts. "I do."

CAN YOU DO SOMETHING ABOUT THAT? Darfoor seemed much too pleased at this question, so Gnix learned why and said, CAN YOU DO IT WITHOUT SHUTTING DOWN THE AMPLIFIER?

"No," Darfoor said miserably.

THEN WAIT A MOMENT. Gnix paused to exclude his immediate group of slaves, then Told the rest of the palace:

GO TO SLEEP.

Then he Told Darfoor, NOW SHUT IT DOWN.

Shleer staggered a bit as his jammer quit, but it wasn't bad—almost everyone in range had gone to sleep.

He got to the Place of Contemplation, which the Thrint had had redone as a TV room, just as Rrao-Chrun-Rrit was stunned asleep by the Protector.

The Thrint had three of the Tnuctipun in front of him in a pyramid, and said something that the Tnuctipun understood to mean, "Drop your weapons." There was a strong Push behind it. It didn't work, and the Thrint raised a variable knife—the Patriarch's, Shleer noted, offended—and pushed the switch.

The glowing red ball fell off the end and rolled away. The Thrint stared after it. Then he looked up.

The Protector shot his eye out with a plain old slug pistol. "Apparently a knife doesn't always work," it said as Gnix fell backward.

Then it blew the three Tnuctipun's brains out too.

It turned to the fourth, Darfoor, who screeched desperately, "Fa la be me en lu ki da so mu nu e ti fa di om sa ti po ka et ri fu . . ." and more of that general nature.

The Protector said, "Glossolalia? . . . Machine code? . . . Hard . . . wire . . . ta . . . lo . . ."

Shleer pulled out one of the Peer's anemones, leapt into the room, and thrust its disk against the Tnuctip's side. As designed, the disk stayed put against the target's skin, while the ultrafine hullmetal wires it bound together passed through it, resuming their original shapes: curves, varying from slight to semicircular. In combination they made up a rather fluffy blossom: an anemone.

They had to pass through the Tnuctip to do it. It fell into two pieces and a good deal of goo.

The Protector shook its immense head in relief and said, "Kid, I owe you a big one."

"You don't either," said Shleer.

"I do. The Tnuctipun created my ancestors, and they clearly hardwired our brains to respond to a programming language this one knew. I was about to become his adoring slave. I owe you big."

"You gave me my father back."

"I wanted him healthy anyway. Give me a minute here." It went to the control panel and looked it over. "Wow, good traps you guys make. Got it." It shut down the acceleration field. Then it opened a belt pouch and got out a disk about the size of a decent snack, pulled a switch, and set it down to inflate into a globe.

"How did you do that with the variable knife?" Shleer said.

"One time-alteration field won't work inside another. The wire was too thin to support the weight of the ball when it wasn't in stasis. Sorry, I'm being rude. I'm Judy Greenberg."

"Who?" said Shleer, utterly surprised.

When he'd come out of it, Larry had abruptly sat up in his rinse tank and said, "Why the hell do kzinti dislike eye contact?"

They were felines, after all. "Good question," said Peace. "That's Judy there. She insisted. She'll be out tomorrow."

"What about the girls?" They had four daughters, Gail, Leslie, Joy, and Carolyn. Carolyn was four. (All had blond hair the young Peace Corben would have given up three fingers for.)

"Old Granny Corben explained everything, and they're all proud of you two." The colonists' children, at least, trusted her, not least because kids usually know a pushover when they see one. (It is a protector's duty to spoil children absolutely rotten.)

Larry had then said, "Oh god damn. Telepath in orbit to be sure the situation is resolved." So Judy had to be the one going in with the amplifier.

"At least she's a precog." So she'd duck before being shot at.

"Thanks." That had helped. Larry picked up a pack of cigarettes, left thoughtfully nearby, and lit one. "Gaahhh!" he bellowed, and threw it into the rinse tank he'd just left. "What did you put in that?"

"Tobacco," Peace said.

He looked her over. "They've always smelled like that to you?"

"Yes, but you seemed to enjoy them."

He spent almost a full second thinking this over. Then he said, "Thanks."

When the globe had inflated, it split open, and another Protector came out. Shleer goggled for a moment, then realized the globe had been a portable transfer booth.

The new Protector looked at the red ball, then at Judy Greenberg, and said, "Aristocrat." Judy snorted.

"What?" said Shleer.

"Sorry, ancient Earth joke," said the new one. "At a gunfight, how do you recognize an aristocrat—that is, a noble who inherited his rank? He's the one with the sword."

Shleer began laughing and found it hard to stop. He'd been through a lot lately. The new arrival got out a brush and did Shleer's back a little, which calmed him down. "Thanks," he said.

"You would have done this yourself if we hadn't shown up, wouldn't you?"

"Not as fast."

"Details. I'm Peace Corben."

"Felix Buckminster told me about you."

"Felix? Hm! He did love gadgets. What's your Name?"

Shleer got self-conscious. "It's a milkname. I'm only four. Shleer." He took a deep breath, and said, "Can you help the harem?"

It was interesting to see that Protectors had claws that came out when they were upset too. Peace looked at Judy and said, "Doc."

"Larry's on it," said Judy, who had begun inflating a bigger receiver.

Peace was shaking her head. "The thing that gets me," she said, "is why the hell someone who can do this didn't just tailor a disease to exterminate the Thrintun?"

"Against their religion,"