“
D
on't nag," he replied. He blew on blistered palms and lay full-length on their grassy bower.
“
W
e have to get that airboat working right away," he said, and patted the grass beside him. She curled up in her usual way. After a few moments he placed a hand on her shoulder
.
“
T
hank you, Rockear, she murmured, and fell asleep. He lay awake for another hour, gnawing the ribs of two sciences. The engineering of the airboat would be largely trial and error. So would the ethology of a relationship between a man and a kzin female, with all those nuances he was beginning to sense. How, for example, did a kzin make love? Not that he intended to
–
unless, a vagrant thought nudged him, I'm doing some of it already. .
.
Two more days and a near-disastrous capsizing later, Locklear found the right combination of ballast and sail. He found that Kit could sprint for short distances faster than he could urge the airboat, but over long distances he had a clear edge. Alone, tacking higher, he found stronger winds that bore him far across the sky of Kzersatz, and once he found himself drifting in cross-currents high above that frost line that curved visibly, now, tracing the edge of the force cylinder that was their cage. He returned after a two-hour absence to find Kit weaving more mats, more cordage, for furnishings. She approached the airboat warily, mistrusting its magical properties but relieved to see him.
“
Y
ou'll
be using this thing yourself, pretty soon, Kit," he confided.
“
C
an you make us some decent ink and paper?"
In a day, yes, she said, if she found a scroll-leaf palm, to soak, pound, and dry its fronds. Ink was no problem. Then bop aboard, he said, and they'd go cruising for the palm. That was a problem; she was plainly terrified of flight in any form. Kzinti were fearless, he reminded her. Females were not, she said, adding that the sight of him dwindling in the sky to a scudding dot bad "drawn up her tail"-a fear reaction, be learned. He ordered her, at least, to mount the raft, sitting in tandem behind him. She found the position
somehow
obscene, but she did it. Evidently it was highly acceptable for a male to crowd close behind a female, but not the reverse. Then Locklear recalled how cats mated, and he understood.
“
N
obody will see us, Kit. Hang on to these cords and pull only when I tell you." With that, he levitated the airboat a meter, and stayed low for a time-until he felt the flexure of her foot talons relax at his thighs. In another hour they were quartering the sky above the jungles and
sava
n
nahs
of Kzersatz, Kit enjoying the ride too much to retain her fears. They landed in a clearing near the unexplored end of the lake, Kit scrambling up a thick palm to return with young rolled fronds.
“
T
he sap stings when fresh," she said, indicating a familiar white substance.
“
B
ut when dried and reheated it makes excellent glue." She also gathered fruit like purple leather melons, with flesh that smelled faintly of seafood, and stowed them for dinner
.
The return trip was longer. He taught her how to tack upwind and later, watching her soak fronds that night inside the cave, exulted because soon they
would have maps of this curious country. In only one particular was he evasive.
“
R
ockear, what is that thing I felt on your back under your clothing," she asked
.
“
I
t's, uh, just a thing your warriors do to captives. I have to keep it there," he said, and quickly changed the subject.
In another few days, they had crude air maps and several candidate sites for the manor. Locklear agreed to Kit's choice as they hovered above it, a gentle slope beneath a cliff overhang where a
kzinrett
could sun herself half the day. Fast-growing hardwoods nearby would provide timber and firewood, and the stream burbling in the throat of the ravine was the same stream where he had found that first waterfall down near the lake, and had conjectured on the age of Kzersatz. She rubbed her cheek against his neck when he accepted her decision
.
He steered toward the hardwood grove, feeling a faint dampness on his neck.
“
W
hat does that mean?
”
'Why, m
arking you, of course. It is a display of affection." He pursued it. The ritual transferred a pheromone from her furry cheeks to his flesh. He could not smell it, but she maintained that any kzin would recognize her marker until the scent evaporated in a few hours. It was like a lipstick mark, he decided-
”
O
r a hickey with your initials," he told her, and then had to explain himself. She admitted he had not guessed far off the mark.
“
B
ut hold on, Kit. Could a kzin warrior track me by my scent?"
“
C
ertainly. How else does one follow a spoor?
”
He thought about that awhile.
“
I
f we come to the manor and leave it always by air, would that make it harder to find?
”
Of course, she said. Trackers needed a scent trail; that's why she intended them to walk in the nearby stream, even if splashing in water was unpleasant.
“
B
ut if they are determined to find you, Rockear, they will." He sighed, letting the airboat settle near a stand of pole-straight trees, and as he hacked with the dulled
w
'tsai
, told her of the new weaponry: projectiles, beamers, energy fields, bombs.
“
W
hen they do find us, we've got to trap them somehow; get their weapons. Could you kill your own kind?"
“
T
hey executed me," she reminded him and added after a moment,
“
K
zinrett
weapons might be best. Leave it to me." She did not elaborate. Well, women's weapons had their uses
.
He slung several logs under the airboat and left Kit stone-sharpening the long blade as he slowly tacked his way back to their ravine. Releasing the hitches was the work of a moment, thick poles thudding onto yellow-green grass, and soon he was back with Kit. By the time the sun faded, the
w
'tsai
was biting like a handaxe and Kit had prepared them a thick grassy pallet between the cliff face and their big foundation logs. It was the coldest night Locklear had spent on Kzersatz, but Kit's fur made it endurable. Days later, she ate the last of the kzin rations as he chewed a fishnut and sketched in the dirt with a stick.
“
W
e'll run the shamboo plumbing out here from the kitchen," he said, "and dig our escape tunnel out from our sleep room parallel with the cliff. We'll need help, Kit. It's time." She vented a long purring sigh. I know. Things will be different, Rockear. Not as simple as our life has been.
”
He laughed at that, reminding her of the complications they had already faced, and then they re
sumed notching logs, raising the walls beyond window height. Their own work packed the earthen floors, but the roofing would require more hands than their own. That night, Kit kindled their first fire in the central room's hearth, and they fell asleep while she tutored him on the ways of ancient kzin females.
Leaning against the airboat alone near the cave, Locklear felt new misgivings. Kit had argued that his presence at the awakenings would be a Bad Idea. Let them grow used to him slowly, she'd said. Stand tall, give orders gently, and above all don't smile until they understand his show of teeth. No fear of that, he thought, shifting nervously a half-hour after Kit disappeared inside. I don't
feel like smiling
.
He heard a shuffling just out of sight; realized he was being viewed covertly; threw out his chest and flexed his pectorals. Not much by kzin standards, but he'd developed a lot of sinew during the past weeks. He felt silly as hell, and those other
kzinrett
had not made him any promises. The
w
'tsai
felt good at his belt
.
Then Kit was striding into the open, with an expression of strained patience. Standing beside him, she muttered,
“
M
ark me." Then, seeing his frown:
“
Y
our cheek against my neck, Rockear. Quickly.
”
He did so. She bowed before him, offering the tip of her tail in both hands, and he stroked it when she told him to. Then he saw a lithe movement of orange at the cave and raised both hands in a universal weaponless gesture as the second
kzinrett
emerged, watching him closely. She was much larger than Kit, with transverse stripes of darker orange and a banded tail. Close on her heels came a third, more reluctantly but staying close behind as if for protection, with facial markings that reminded Locklear of an
ocelot and very dark fur at hands and feet. They were admirable creatures, but their ear umbrellas lay flat and they were not yet his friends. Kit moved to the first, urging her forward to Locklear. After a few
tentative sniffs the big
kzinrett
said, in that curious ancient dialect,
“
I
am (something truly unpronounceable), prret in service of Rockear.
”
She bent toward him, her stance defensive, and he marked her as Kit had
said he must, then stroked her tabby-banded tail. She moved away and the
third
kzinrett
approached, and Locklear's eyes widened as he performed
the greeting ritual. She was either potbellied, or carrying a litter!
Both of their names being beyond him, he dubbed the larger one Puss; the
pregnant one, Boots. They accepted their new names as proof that they
were members of a very different kind of household than any they had
known. Both wore aprons of woven mat, Kit's deft work, and she offered
them water from bowls
.
As they stood eyeing one another speculatively, Kit surprised them all
.
“
I
t is time to release the animals," she said.
“
M
y lord
Rockear-the-magician, we are excellent herders, and from your flying boat
you can observe our work. The larger beasts might also distract the
kzintosh, and we will soon need meat. Is it not so?
”
She knew he couldn't afford an argument now
and besides, she was right
.
He had no desire to try herding some of those big critters outside
anyhow, and kzinti had been doing it from time immemorial. Damned clever
tactic, Kit; Puss and Boots will get a chance to work off their nerves,
and so will I. He swept a permissive arm outward and sat down in the
airboat as the three kzin females moved into the cave
.
The next two hours were a crash course in zoology for Locklear, safe at fifty meter height as he watched herds, coveys, throngs and volleys of creatures as they crawled, flapped, hopped and galumphed off across the yellow prairie. A batowl found a perch atop his mast, trading foolish blinks with him until it whispered away after another of its kind. One huge ruminant with the bulk of a rhino and murderous spikes on its thick tail sat down to watch him, raising its bull's muzzle to issue a call like a wolf. An answering howl sent it lumbering off again, and Locklear wondered whether they were to be butchered, ridden, or simply avoided. He liked the last option best
.
When at last Kit came loping out with shrill screams of false fury at the heels of a collie-sized, furry tyrannosaur, the operation was complete. He'd half
expected to see a troop of more kzinti bounding outside, but Kit was as good as her word. None of them recognized any of the other stasi
s
ed kzinti, and all seemed content to let the strangers stay as they were. The airboat did not have room for them all, but by now Kit could operate the polarizer levers. She sat ahead of Locklear for decorum's sake, making a show of her pairing with him, and let Puss and Boots follow beneath as the airboat slid ahead of a good breeze toward their tacky, unfinished little manor.
“
T
hey will be nicely exhausted," she said to him, "by the time we reach home.
”
Home. My God, it may be my home for the rest of my life, he thought, watching the muscular Puss bound along behind them with Boots in arrears. Three kzin courtesans for company; a sure 'nough cathouse! Is that much better than having those effing warriors to return? And if they don't, is there any
way I could get across to my own turf, to Newduvai? The gravity polarizer could get him to orbit, but he would need propulsion, and a woven sail wasn't exactly de rigueur for travel in vacuum, and how the hell could he build an airtight cockpit anyhow? Too many questions, too few answers, and two more kzin females who might be more hindrance than help, hurtling along in the yellow sward behind him. One of them pregnant
.