Man-Kzin Wars IV

full-paced into a trip wire, since removed. The trip wire was set across the trail of your blood. The stake was buried in the ground and set to pierce anyone unfortunate enough to fall upon it. He missed, but his head was later lifted and rammed down onto the stake. Through the eye.”
“A terrible way to die, your excellency.”
“I’d take you there now, but twilight would overtake us and our prey would escape by virtue of my lenient rules. We’d go hungry. Let’s make it simple. Do you admit that he was murdered?”
“Yes, sir.” Trainer had anguished images of Long-Reach—all of his slaves—being hacked to bits.
“Since Hssin-Liaison was my servitor, I will pass judgment on you. Let’s be clear about the circumstances. Hssin-Liaison widened the circle of the tournament to include you against your will. The rules of the tournament require gloved claws. He neglected that detail—as your wounds testify. He who so broadens the rules cannot complain when his life is forfeit as the consequence of his rules.”
“He was not killed in face-to-face combat,” said Traat-Admiral. “He was murdered.”
“Wait, Traaty. There is a military lesson in this which we should consider. If a force stays to fight, knowing that it will be slaughtered, yes, there is honor in that defeat. But what if the same force retreats and lures the enemy into a trap in which he can be slaughtered? Can we call such a victory, dishonor? I find a contradiction here. If defeat is honor, does it follow that victory is dishonor? Save us all from such logic!”
He thinks I did it! He can’t conceive of slaves murdering kzin. Neither can I.
“I say the tournament was fairly fought and fairly won. Hssin-Liaison made new rules without consulting our Hero here. Trainer-of-Slaves replied with his own unorthodox rules, also without consulting our now dead warrior. I see a balance.”
Truth was always sacred. Trainer-of-Slaves desperately searched for the kind of courage that would allow him to speak the truth.
Ignoring the youth’s sputterings, Chuut-Riit continued with his line of reasoning. “Yes, there is a just balance. However, my young Hero, you have done me harm and owe me recompense. I have lost a warrior for my Fourth Fleet. You have won this unusual tournament fairly and so you must join my service. I will be assigning you to Traat-Admiral who is building for me an elite corps I choose to call the Fifth Fleet.” He nodded to his Admiral. “Doesn’t he have just the qualities we need?”
Long afterward, a dazed Trainer-of-Slaves was still pondering the consequences of Jotoki who murdered kzin, barely able to keep his attention on the hunt. Fortunately the hunt seemed forgotten. Long-Reach was nowhere to be found, hiding probably. Should he execute Long-Reach? Should he bring up the perils of slavery to Chuut-Riit? Yes, that’s what he should do. The coward in him shuddered.
Kasrriss-As appeared from the direction of Burr Crevasse. “The body has been removed. Since there are fewer of us, I suggest an immediate resumption of the chase before twilight overtakes us.”
“Your arm looks bad.” Chuut-Riit’s voice carried a fatherly tone. “No need to follow us. There will be other hunts.”
“This hunt is my responsibility.”
But he couldn’t keep up. They stalked and killed the wounded man-beast first. Before the lights dimmed they had the young one cornered. The animal’s wailing cries of rage turned to screams before Chuut-Riit tore the body apart. Trainer shared in the feast when it was his turn to gnaw and rip at the carcasses. What else could he do? At least the meat was delicious.
He spent half the night wandering in the forest.
Later Trainer-of-Slave’s found his three personal Jotoki cowering in their stalls. How could he talk to them about their crime? Shouldn’t he just destroy them? Shouldn’t he speak to Jotok-Tender? When he remembered the giant musing about the depth of the loyalty found in a Jotok properly adopted, his heart curdled; was that what was meant? Murder? Had Jotok-Tender known all along?
Long-Reach was huddled arms, head hidden by arm stalks, eyes barely peeping out of their armor, silent. As the kzin master of these slaves he had to say something. Yet how could he even mention such a crime? It was too horrible! “I’m angry!” His fangs were bared in a grin. “You disobeyed my instructions! Specifically, I told you to protect the man-beasts, and what were you doing instead?—you were watching over me. The man-slaves were lost! I take care of myself! I’m a warrior! I’m a Hero! Do not violate the wishes of a Hero! Obey!”
The subject was never mentioned again.

CHAPTER 11
(2399–2401 A.D.)
The warships of the Patriarchy were large but cramped. Sub-light supply lines don’t exist in an interstellar empire. Every need of a conquest had to be thought of by the Ordnance-Officer and brought along. The storage took space. Hydrogen took space. Purifiers filled the ship with ducts. The hibernation vaults took space. Machine shops took space. The gravitic drives and their shielding alone took up half the space in the ship.
No savanna-roaming kzin could ever have created, or imagined, such a claustrophobic horror of passageways and pipes and tiny rooms, where even the ceilings had to be used for storage and the doors stayed locked for years. But long ago, as mercenaries, the kzinti had fallen into this hell-in-heaven as penance for their sin of impatience.
Light took two and a half years to travel between the R’hshssira infrared dwarf and the Alpha Centauri binary. Kzin warships spent more than three years on the same journey. Chuut-Riit’s flagship, from the first scent of man-animal rumor, had given seventeen years to this single mission.
The voyages were grueling. Without their hibernation coffins, touchy and argumentative warriors lacked tolerance for the time-gulf between stars. Trainer-of-Slaves would have none of that. He took ship duty for himself. All his life he had been bound to an essentially uninhabitable rock of a rapidly dying star. How could he not stay awake to relish his adventure?
To prepare himself