Man-Kzin Wars – XIV

THE MARMALADE PROBLEM

by Hal Colebatch

“I think I’ve solved the Marmalade problem,” General Leonie Rykermann told her husband, Nils Rykermann. “The monastery.”

The Marmalade problem had been preoccupying her thoughts for some time. Had Marmalade been reared on Kzin or on any kzin-ruled world, it is very unlikely that he would have survived childhood. However, he was reared on Wunderland, after Liberation, and had lived to be a problem.

What the circumstances of his birth were, no one knew. After the cease-fire there had been many orphans, kzin and human, wandering the scarred surface of the planet. Some formed savage feral gangs. Marmalade had been found, very near death, not far from Circle Bay Monastery. He had been clutching a locket, engraved with a sigil such as were issued by Conservers of the Ancestral Past.

Instead of killing him the farmers had obeyed the abbot’s instructions and handed him over to the monastery’s care. It appeared he had previously been selected for telepath training-so much he could tell them, and the telepath syndrome generally produced smaller and weaker creatures than the huge fighting kzin-but he remembered very little beyond that. He fetched up at length in the orphanage where Leonie Rykermann was trying, in the face of considerable opposition, to turn parentless kittens into Wunderkzin-kzin who might cooperate with the humans on Wunderland.

Leonie was a patient, dedicated woman, and had established understandings-friendships even-with some kzin, not least Rarrgh, the Senechal of Vaemar-Riit, prince of the kzin on liberated Wunderland, while Orlando, Vaemar’s eldest son, regarded her with fierce possessiveness.

Very few humans knew more of kzin psychology (if that was the term for it), and she and Rarrgh had saved one another’s lives-indeed, that was how they had met. But though she was relatively used to dealing with kzin, including young kzin, she found Marmalade a handful.

The problem was not the usual one among young male kzin of wild, reckless bravery and aggression. Marmalade was a coward. Not merely cautious as Vaemar-Riit sometimes was (and as he had tried to teach Orlando to be), but obsessively, unreasoningly fearful. It was probably something to do with his aborted telepath conditioning, allowing him to feel empathy for other creatures’ minds, but not how to control or use this faculty. His mind had been opened for telepath training but not trained further, and fear had run wild in it. It might also be because he had the typical telepath’s physical weakness, which marked him out in the rough-and-tumble of the other kittens’ play and hunts. Some cowardly kzin compensated for their condition with cunning, but Marmalade had no particularly large ration of that.

When he had been taken sailing on Wunderland’s seas, in the boisterous low-gravity waves, he had clung to the boat’s mast with all four limbs, shivering with fear. When the orphanage kits were taken for a brief excursion into sub-orbital space, he had been found trying to hide from the rollcall, and during the flight he had disappeared, to be found crouched under a bunk, flooding the cabin with fear-pheromones.

He was not only afraid of real dangers, like lightning storms and flash floods, or animals like the poison-fanged Beam’s Beasts or tigrepards, or the crocodilians and other carnivores of nearby Grossgeister Swamp such fears would have been more than bad enough in the eyes of a real kzin, even a humble noncombatant, but Marmalade was frightened also of innocuous things like noise, crowds and strangers.

Leonie had soon realized that Marmalade was a problem. He had to be kept separate from the other kittens, who would have made short work of him if they had been given the chance. To turn him out to make his own way on Wunderland would have been an equally certain death sentence. His very “name,” ridiculous and meaningless, would be taken as a deadly insult to a kzin of real Name should he encounter one. Not only were there kzin at large, there were also fanatically anti-kzin humans, survivors of the Occupation, who, peace treaty or not, would attack any kzin they found alone and vulnerable-looking. In the orphanage he was kept in a sort of protective custody, in one of the isolation units, but plainly this state could not go on for ever.

There was no point in Leonie even asking the kzinti she knew well, like Rarrgh or Vaemar, for advice. They, she knew, would simply consider him a disgrace to the Heroes’ species. Vaemar might live as a modern, Wunderkzin prince, but he was not as advanced as all that. Rarrgh and she had an odd bond and a strong one between them, dating back to the day he had received his Name, but he was an old senior sergeant of the Patriarch’s armed forces, and the motto of senior sergeants of all races tended to be: “There are no excuses for anything!”

They might give him a chance to prove his worth in a death-duel, but she would not bet on it, and anyway, weak and slow as he was, he would be bound to lose. Leonie herself could beat him in the practice arena, wearing heavily padded protective clothing, for he did not know how to even try to fight. And it was a rough rule of thumb that in hand-to-hand combat, a real kzin was the equal of about forty humans. That was not a guess. That kill-ratio had actually been achieved many a time, though of course guns tended to equalize things. (Specially trained Jinxians, the heaviest bipeds in known space after the full-grown male kzinti, might do better with long-practiced scientific kicks and blows, but only, it was understood, at the cost of their own lives. They would get in one strike and no more.)

Anyway, Marmalade was neither fighting kzin nor telepath. He had no other special gifts that would justify his continued existence, even in Wunderkzin society, even as a mere noncombatant. His stooped gait, hunched shoulders and scuffling feet proclaimed “weakling” and “victim.” Fortunately for him, “coward” was less easy to recognize, simply because among kzinti of all classes it was so rare. And yet, there was something about him that touched Leonie. Perhaps it was the fact that she had seen him trying to be brave.

“You’re not thinking of making a monk out of a kzin, are you?” Nils asked her. “Even a kzin like Marmalade. The abbot is a kind old man, but I can’t see that he’d stand for it.”

“No,” said Leonie, “not a monk.”

It was reading the old classic Brideshead Revisited that gave her a clue to the solution. “Listen to this,” she told Nils: “Monasteries, it says here, often had a few odd hangers-on who don’t fit into either the monastic order or the world.”

“Yes, I know there are a couple like that at Circle Bay. Old men the Occupation drove crazy, most of them. Drunk half the time.”

“Why not Marmalade? He could be useful without having to take any vows or anything. I know he’s weak for a kzin, but he’s still stronger than any human except maybe a male Jinxian. And he speaks Wunderlander.”

“What could he do?

“Plenty. In the book, the man who can’t do anything else becomes a sort of under-porter. He could do odd jobs.”

Kzin intelligence is baffling to humans. They could solve problems brilliantly, and most of them, if put to it, could be quite inventive mechanically, but they had strange blind spots. It was because of those blind spots that the wars lasted long enough for humans to get the hyperdrive. Having a kzin about the place, especially a kzin as docile as Marmalade, might be quite useful, not to mention the fact that his mere presence would be an effective deterrent to human thieves or outlaws, of which post-war Wunderland had more than its share.

The abbot, when the suggestion was put to him, was happy enough to take him in, providing the government supplied him with kzin infantry rations and other upkeep and he left the monastery’s animals alone, except for herding them if necessary.

One of the monastery’s main efforts was to build human-kzin cooperation, and this looked like a good opportunity to advance it. The abbot, turning the matter over in his mind, foresaw generations of monks going out all over the planet, and beyond, remembering the kzin as a quaint, harmless character who had been part of their novice days. It was perhaps overly optimistic of him, but the abbot was by nature an optimist. Anyway, he was pleased to do a favor to the Rykermanns, two of the greatest heroes of the Resistance, and with a degree of official power. A hut was found for Marmalade and he settled down to an undemanding life: fetching and carrying, placing and changing flowers in the monastery chapel and the Abbot’s study, moving furniture and farming implements, and, when he had overcome his timidity over them, tending the infant Jotok in their breeding ponds. There were even a few lines about it in the news.

Nils Rykermann, as a member of the Legislature, held a weekly “surgery” to hear constituents’ problems. A few days after they had left Marmalade at the monastery, he had two unusual visitors.

There was nothing unusual about their being unusual. There were plenty of odd types on Wunderland, but these were something new to him: a human and a kzin, both old, small and withered-looking, the human with a long white beard, and a wise, kindly face, the kzin with white fur on his muzzle and about his ragged ears. Nils found himself warming to the old man. There was something intrinsically good projected even in the deep, thoughtful timbre of his voice. Otherwise, the white hair at least gave them a curiously similar look. Wunderland had had a long period under the Occupation when geriatric drugs had been available only to high-ranking collaborationists and Resistance leaders like Nils and Leonie, and it was plain that the old man had not been one who had qualified to receive them. They carried a bundle.

The human introduced himself as Pieter von Pelt; the kzin was nameless, and apparently spoke neither English nor the Angdeutsch-like Wunderlander.

They had, von Pelt explained, been prospecting in the Jotun Mountains and had come across a wrecked kzin ship, shot down in the war. The wreckage was much scattered and there was little worth keeping, but they had found the ship’s logbook and, intact, the elaborately sealed metal container of the Patriarch’s urine which every kzin capital ship carried. Like any packages the Rykermanns received, it was X-rayed and found to contain liquid, with a thick, solid top and bottom. It was sealed with an elaborate seal. Leonie pointed to a design on its side. She took it and examined it closely.

“Like Marmalade’s locket.”

“Ask him if he knows what it is?”

The old prospector and the old kzin spoke together in the slaves’ patois. The Rykermanns, who often had to deal with kzin who still considered monkeys’ attempts to use the Heroes’ Tongue a deathly insult, the surrender notwithstanding, could follow it, though there was no reason to betray the fact. It was, they gathered, the sigil of the captain of the ship, scion of an ancient aristocratic kzin family, which had been attracted to Wunderland from a distant planet by rumors of the easy pickings to be had there.

How did the old kzin know this?

He had been one of the ship’s officers and had escaped in a boat, carrying the jar with him, von Pelt explained. He had attached himself to one of the local magnates. He had buried the jar on landing and had retrieved it only lately.

The war had ended shortly afterwards. He had followed the progress of the peace negotiations from a distance, and though it had taken him some time to adjust to the idea of kzin and humans living together in peace, he had adjusted. They had met when prospecting and had joined up. Such alliances were becoming less uncommon and the human authorities welcomed them.

He was also able to throw a little light in the mystery of Marmalade’s origins. Among the Admiral’s kittens there had been a small, weak one which had seemed to exhibit the telepath syndrome. As soon as he could be weaned, admiral had had him isolated to protect him from the other kits. Telepaths in the family were not anything to be proud of, but too rare to be wasted. The ship’s own telepath had been ordered to begin work on him. He was to have been sent for more advanced training when the ship was jumped by a squadron of Dart-class fighters. When the ship’s gravity planers were failing, and it was falling towards the surface, most of the crew dead and the engines about to destabilize, he had been jettisoned in one of the ship’s boats. He could have come down anywhere. When Nils Rykermann told them about the kitten, the old human prospector was moved.

“Poor little chap,” he said. “After my…partner…told me what had happened to him in the battle, I wondered what his fate had been. I was never able to hate the kzin, you know. An old desert-rat like me, living in the back-blocks. I was fortunate, I know. They left me alone and I left them alone…I hardly even saw one until after the war, though I was able to help a few humans, and I’m glad of that…I’m glad he’s been looked after.”

“He’s quite appealing, in a way,” said Leonie. “I know fear makes some creatures into bullies, but he is quite gentle.”

The pair wished to present the precious jar to Vaemar-Riit. Of course, they had been put to considerable expense travelling from the Jotuns, and if anything could be done to recompense them for their outlays, this would be appreciated. Nils Rykermann promised to speak to Vaemar about the matter, and they left, taking the jar with them. The Rykermanns, who were glad of a chance to spend a day out of the city, flew to Vaemar-Riit’s palace the following day and told him the story.

“The seals are unbroken, you say,” he put to them. “Urrr…it would go well on the mantlepiece.” No one said as much, but there was an unspoken thought in all their minds that it would do something to reinforce the legitimacy of his position and help reduce the stigma of “collaborator,” which, among some kzin, he had never entirely lost. “And this…this Marmalade?”

“A kitten,” said Leonie, “a weak kitten. A failed telepath, I think. Or rather, he was separated from other Heroes before the training began.” It was just permissible, given her relationship with Vaemar, to describe the kitten as “weak.” Some, after all, were born so, and could not help it. But for a human to describe one kzin to another, even Vaemar (and she knew Vaemar would die for her if Honor required it) as a coward…!

“It would be useful if he finished his telepath training,” said Vaemar.

“I think he is too old for that.”

“I should like to have a look at him, anyway.”

Leonie was not happy at the prospect of Vaemar-Riit meeting Marmalade, but there was no argument she could put against it. She was unhappily aware that if Marmalade disgraced himself before the greatest kzin on the planet, the consequences could be unfortunate.

The day of the presentation was cool and cloudy. The kzin did not need to wear the hats and sunglasses which sometimes gave them an odd appearance. Vaemar, with his mate Karan, Rarrgh, and other members of his household, were dressed in finery, Rarrgh with his two ear-rings on prominent display. Also present were the Rykermanns, the abbot, and several other human dignitaries. Marmalade was to be presented to Vaemar-Riit.

However, terrified of the gathering crowd, Marmalade was nowhere to be found. Leonie, the abbot and Rarrgh went in search of him while Vaemar and Nils Rykermann took refreshments.

Using Rarrgh’s ziirgrah sense and his artificial eye with its infrared vision, they eventually found Marmalade cowering in the darkest corner of the monastery’s old and disused chicken coop. Rarrgh, shocked, was in favor of tearing him to pieces then and there, as a disgrace to the Heroes’ Race, but Leonie, to whom Rarrgh also was secretly devoted, talked him out of it, saying Marmalade was under her protection. The fact that Marmalade was still young enough to have retained the juvenile spots on his fur may also have inhibited Rarrgh-though mature male kzin sometimes killed kittens, they also developed a protective reflex towards them, and Rarrgh now had new kittens of his own. Still, Rarrgh was boiling with rage and vicarious shame, perhaps, indeed, to the extent that his ziirgrah sense was affected by the effort of keeping his emotions in check.

With somewhat more difficulty, Leonie talked Marmalade out of his hiding place. “Will he hurt me?” he asked, gazing up at Rarrgh with huge, terrified eyes. In all her dealing with kzin, Leonie wore unobtrusive but very strong armor under her clothes. It was just as well, for Marmalade seized her arm for comfort, too frightened to retract his claws, now looking down with fear at a small mouse-like creature that had been eating some spilled grain. Rarrgh seized the arm and threw it off her. Marmalade’s claws had not penetrated Leonie’s shielding or drawn blood, but still Marmalade was closer to death than he had ever been in that moment.

They joined the little crowd. Fortunately, there were a number of other kzin in the gathering, and this made Marmalade a little less conspicuous, at the back of the group and partly hidden from the VIPs on the ceremonial dais by a tree-stump. He was, if anything, even more frightened of telepaths than of ordinary kzinti, and Leonie was relieved to find there were none present. Some drums, an important part of many kzin ceremonies, were produced, and Vaemar’s younger kittens danced on them.

Von Pelt and the nameless kzin brought the jar forward and placed it on a table covered with cloth of gold. Marmalade, Rykermann noticed, looking a little nervously behind him, was staring at them with an unusual intensity. The pair bowed to Vaemar-Riit. Then, with a few well-chosen words from the old man, they stepped modestly back into the crowd. Their aircar was nearby.

The next part of the ceremony called for Nils Rykermann to present the jar to Vaemar on behalf of humanity, an enduring symbol of the respect in which humanity held him. Vaemar would then make a speech of acknowledgement, to be followed by a feast for which two sorts of food had been prepared.

Marmalade’s telepathic sense was dormant and unschooled but not completely absent. Screaming a single word, he burst out of the crowd like a rocket, scattering humans and kzin left and right. He snatched up the jar and ran with it to the edge of the crowd. He threw it to the ground and flung himself upon it to cover it before it exploded, scattering hydrofluoric acid in all directions.

Between the acid and the explosion there was not enough left of Marmalade to place in a shrine. One of Vaemar-Riit’s kittens bears his name.