Man-Kzin Wars XIV (30 page)

“Thanks and—how do you even know how to fly this thing?”

“Autopilot.” He waved his paws in the air. “I just like moving the wheel. It makes me feel better.” His ears fluttered, but his demeanor was somewhat distant.

Then Dan realized that he couldn’t feel their psychic link any longer and he missed it terribly. It was like having a stranger sitting next to him with the voice and scent of his son. “Hey, are we okay?”

“No.” His son looked at him for a long second, then returned to his senseless driving. “Not yet, anyway. I understand what you did and why you did it, but it still feels shameful to be a copy of someone so disgusting.”

“Try having him burrowing in your head.”

They said nothing for a while. Dan heard that odd organic bang again.

“You know, I was thinking about what the grogs were saying, that there’s a feedback loop between us, you’ve got a little bit of
Manslaughter
’s telepath in your soul, and I’m, genetically,
Manslaughter
’s telepath with a little bit of you in mine. I think we need to live in our own heads for a while.”

“Fair enough.” Dan wanted to dig his fingers in that orange coat and give him a rough shake, but didn’t. “Where are we going now?”

“Back to Shrawl’ta. I also gathered the genetic samples of the three grogs. I’m thinking three exact clones and three produced by fusing the same sex gametes of two different ones. That should give us six baby female grogs in total. They said they’ll make sure the biotech people don’t ask too many questions.”

“That worries me. Who’s to stop them from subtly herding the unsuspecting people of Sheathclaws like cattle once we increase their numbers? We’re allied now, but what happens once our goals change, or conflict?”

“They won’t. Their reach will become greater and greater as their numbers increase, but they won’t control us because they value our minds, our ideas and concepts. They need us to be free to create in order to enjoy us. That said, they might steer someone particularly interesting to their island and immerse themselves in their mind for a while, but they’ve agreed to not let any visitors waste away. Ultimately, according to Fraaf’kur’s memories, the humans of the planet Down have learned to work with their local grogs, and we will as well.”

“You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”

“I do. The grogs gave me the information I needed for this specific task. I’m going to finish the year at the créche—actually looking forward to confronting the little sons of
prreti
that made my life so miserable—then I’m going back to the island with the cloned grog spawn.”

“By yourself?” This was too much for Dan; his head spun from the injuries and the pain killers.

“Yes, that is the arrangement I made with them. I will learn how to make the most of my
ziirgrah
without the need for the
sthondat
stimulant, and perhaps teach the little clones a thing or two about making a Name for onesself.”

This opened up a lingering wound. “Listen, Schro, about your Name—”

“Don’t worry about it, father. The grogs have given me a new kzinchao Name. I am now Trainer-of-Telepaths.”

“That’s a good Name.” Dan closed his eyes and said, “You know, I hoped I would get at least a year with my little kit, but you’ve matured into a fine kzintosh . . . You kzin grow up too damned fast.” He wanted to drift off to sleep. The autodoc was demanding he rest, but the banging outside the gravcar persisted. “What is that noise?”

“That’s the skull of the ketosaurus. After I got you on the autodoc, I went back and beheaded the beast.”

Dan half-opened his eyes and looked at his son, “I thought you said you didn’t need it?”

Trainer-of-Telepaths’ ears twitched roguishly. “I said I was a little bit human, but not
so
human that I would abandon such a spectacular and hard-earned trophy.”

Dan grabbed a handful of fur and gave him a shove. “There’s hope for you yet.”