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

quarter-ton of unconscious carnivore on the expensive carpet. I nodded slowly. Yes. I had walked into the lion's den and I was getting exactly what I deserved.

He smiled wide, the predator in victory. "Good. Now tell me what you know."

I shook my head. "Believe me, I don't know anything at all."

His smile disappeared. "You don't expect me to believe that."

I could feel the fear creeping into my expression. I was in way over my head. "I've had a brain blank. They've accused me of killing Opal Stone. I know I didn't do it." I shrugged, hoping that would be enough for him.

"And you think I did?"

"You have a motive . . ." I trailed off. I didn't want to antagonize him.

He smirked. "A brain blank. She's a smart woman, but now I know what she's hiding." He looked away, his eyes distant for a moment, and when they came back to me they were flint hard. He made a gesture. A holo popped into existence, showing Bodyguard and me clambering through the sliced-open airlock door. He'd been watching us since we'd gotten in, maybe from before that. I was so busted.

"I could turn you over to the Goldskins now, but I think I have a better use for you." His voice was smug. Another gesture and pinpricks stitched across my back. I was vaguely aware of the floor coming up to smack me as darkness fell.

I woke up looking at stars. For a moment I thought I was in Elektra's cockpit, and then I thought I was in the Constellation, but as I looked around I saw not my familiar command console or the bar's laser-cut furnishings but exotic flowering plants. The air was humid and rich with the scent of their flowers. There was a throbbing in my temples as the anesthetic in the mercy needles wore off. My extremities tingled and I had a little trouble getting my feet. Bodyguard was watching me.

"Where are we?" The low gravity told me I was still on Ceres, somewhere.

"Hrrr. We are in Reston Jameson's garden dome. I have been here before with Dr. Stone."

"Scream and leap." I couldn't contain my frustration any longer. "See where it's gotten us." I half-expected Bodyguard to scream and leap at me for saying it.

Instead he just twitched his whiskers. "It has gotten us here, obviously." He had taken my sarcasm for confusion.

"It is getting us killed," I said bitterly.

"Then we will have deaths of honor." He seemed unperturbed. I gave up. It isn't that kzinti don't fear death, it's just that they never let it stop them. "I owe you apology and honor debt, Captain Thurmond. You are innocent, as you stated."

"Never mind. We need to get out of here while we still can." I started looking around and noticed that my beltcomp was gone.

"There is no way out."

"There has to be." The dome was perhaps a hundred feet around, full of lush vegetation.

"He has taken all my tools, and the airlock is depressurized."

I had to see for myself. I found the airlock; evidently the dome was its own pressure zone. As I said it's illegal to lock an airlock, if that phrase makes any sense. There was no lock on this one, but the cycle light glowed amber. Jameson had sealed us in through the simple expedient of pumping down the airlock chamber. It was a cargo lock, three meters on a side. The door opened upward and outward, so though I could open and close the latching bar easily enough the door itself was sealed shut with tons of air pressure. It might as well have been welded. I punched the cycle button to pressurize it but nothing happened, Jameson had disconnected it.

Bodyguard had followed me, and I turned back to him. "Now what?"

He shrugged, a gesture I'm sure he learned in order to communicate with humans. "Now we wait."

I wasn't satisfied with waiting, and so I made a fool of myself exploring the garden trying to find something I could use on the airlock door. Bodyguard watched me with amicable amusement.

"I have already searched for tools."

Nevertheless I persisted in looking. There was nothing else to do, and I hadn't liked the way Jameson said he had a better use for me than turning me in to the Goldskins. Better for him was not likely better for me. Nevertheless it slowly became clear that Bodyguard had been thorough in his assessment. There were a few gardening tools of extruded plastic, some bags of concentrated plant nutrient, a few light metal hangers and the aluminum trusses that supported the twining vines. None of it was sturdy enough to assault the airlock door, and though I vaguely recalled that it was possible to turn fertilizer into some kind of explosive I didn't know how. I couldn't even guess if what was in the bags was the right kind of fertilizer. Even if it was I suspected it would take more than dirt and water to make it explode, and those were all the ingredients I had to hand.

The garden itself was beautiful, and in other circumstances I would have greatly enjoyed exploring it. I'm no expert on flowers, but these were lush and lavish. Some had huge blossoms a foot across, others ornate and intricate folds, everywhere they exploded in a riot of color, climbing on impossibly slender stalks in the low gravity. In the center of the dome there was a respectable telescope, perhaps sixty centimeters. The garden was also an observatory. I'd heard Reston Jameson was an amateur astronomer, though patiently observing the heavens didn't seem to square with the rest of his personality. It had a horseshoe-shaped workbench surrounding it, with a data panel to control its tracking motors. I pointed the panel on, but it didn't respond. I tried manually, but the power had been switched off from somewhere else—so much for getting help over the network. The workbench had drawers underneath it, and I slid one open to reveal an array of lenses