-- Egyptian inscription from the rule of Amenemhet IV of the Twelfth dynasty of the Middle Kingdom

Kefan Brasseur smiled to himself. The House of Victory was huge and ancient, framed in black, dense grained timbers a metre on a side with walls of cut and dressed boulders taller than he was. The furniture in the human delegation's apartment was exquisitely carved, the walls of their rooms covered in pelts and heads and weapons. Kdatlyno touch sculpture, vases from the dynasty of the mighty Si-Rrit, exquisite ply-murals crafted by the legendary Pkrr-Pkrr while humans were still scrawling on cave walls, the opulence was endless. At least ten thousand years of Patriarchal history was laid out on display. Their rooms were high up in the structure, the view through the huge windows showing all the varied architectures of the Middle and Outer Fortresses, and beyond them the sweeping vista of the Plain of Stgrat. He could spend the rest of his career in the House of Victory and never stop learning.

Even the normally impassive Tskombe was impressed, examining ancient weapons and suits of armor with fascination. Only Cherenkova seemed indifferent, her attention focused on her beltcomp. She had grown progressively more withdrawn on the voyage to Kzin, and now that their audience with the Patriarch was about to begin she had lapsed into brooding silence.

“You don't like being here, do you?”

She looked up. “Since you ask, no, this wasn't my choice of assignment.”

Brasseur raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“I don't believe there's any point to negotiating with the kzinti.”

“I have to ask again, why not?”

“You might as well negotiate with a polar bear. It isn't that they aren't intelligent, it isn't that they don't have a role to play in the arctic ecosystem. It's just in their nature. Polar bears are the top predator in the food chain. If one gets hungry, it'll eat you. That's what polar bears do.”

“You think that's what kzinti do?”

“I know it is. I've seen it.” Unbidden the images burned into her brain at Midling research station came into her mind's eye and her jaw clenched as she looked away, not wanting him to see her expression.

“You hate them.”

“They think we're animals. I think they're animals.” Cherenkova spoke with more intensity than she'd meant to.

“Both views are correct. It's a human conceit that we're somehow better than anything else in the galaxy. The kzinti have had a spacefaring civilization for fifteen thousand years at least, maybe fifty thousand. We have a tremendous amount to learn from them. Just consider…”

Cherenkova cut him off. “Have you ever studied ruins, professor? Buried cities, anything like that?”

“Of course. I was an anthropologist before I switched to studying the kzinti.”

“Did you learn a lot from them?”

“Yes…” Brasseur's answer was hesitant, he was unsure where she was leading.

“Well maybe their civilization needs ruining.” There was venom in her voice. “Just think what you could learn.”

The academic just looked at her and Ayla looked away. I've said too much, let my emotions interfere with my judgement. The silence dragged out to an awkward length. It was relieved by the heavy door swinging ponderously open. Yiao-Rrit came through, halted and gave a claw rake salute. “I present my brother, Meerz-Rrit, Patriarch of Kzin.”

Behind him another kzin entered, this one wearing a deep blue cloak with a scarlet sash bearing the sigil of the Patriarchy. Yiao-Rrit stepped aside to allow his brother forward. Behind him was a third Kzin, this one dressed in Conserver's robes. Brasseur came to attention and returned the salute. “I am Kefan Brasseur of Plateau, representative of humanity.”

Yiao-Rrit made a gesture and half a dozen slaves bustled into the room, carrying trays laden with delicacies. Brasseur recognized three Jotoki and two Kdatlyno, but the sixth was completely alien to him. It was a six limbed cross between a turtle and a rhinoceros beetle, perhaps a metre high with long eyestalks, flying clumsily on buzzing, translucent wings. It seemed to be in charge, directing the other slaves in their tasks. It must be a Whrloo. He had heard them described in passing, but had never seen so much as a holo of one. He knew they were both rare and prized as slaves and nothing else about them. He watched its heavy, bumbling flight with fascination. It had to wear a gravbelt to help it fly, its homeworld had to have low gravity in order to allow a creature so heavy to hover, as it was clearly designed to do. Its delicate structure implied the same thing. The gravity was a third more than he was used to on Plateau, not an unbearable strain but his feet were tired at the end of the day. It can't be happy here on Kzinhome. His distraction was short-lived. Meerz-Rrit padded to an immense skin rug by the room's enormous fireplace and reclined, completely relaxed. No human could be in the company of any kzin without being awed by their lethal grace and power, but the Patriarch stood out even among his peers. He had presence.

“Sire, I present the Emissaries of Earth.” Yiao-Rrit spoke in the formal tense, indicating each of the humans in turn. “Kefan-Brasseur-Leader-of-Negotiations, Cherenkova-Captain of the UNSN, and Tskombe-Major, representing the UNF.”

Brasseur went to a prrstet and tried to emulate the Patriarch's quiet, powerful confidence. He was less than successful, the room was too large and the interpersonal distances too great for human social comfort. He glanced at Tskombe and Cherenkova and saw they weren't completely at home either. They had all grown used to kzinti scale furnishings aboard Fanged Victory on the flight from the edge of the singularity, but those were cramped and utilitarian by kzinti standards. The House of Victory was built to be grandiose. I had forgotten this from my time on W'kkai. He would do well to remember quickly.

Meerz-Rrit spoke, his voice a calm rumble. “The situation our races face is dire, Kefan Brasseur. Worlds may die if war occurs again.”

Brasseur collected himself, very aware he was representing all of humanity in these vital negotiations. “The decision to fight is not ours, Patriarch.”

The Patriarch made a dismissive gesture. “We do not besiege your planet as you besiege W'kkai.”

“Your incursions into our space continue. Ships destroyed. People kidnapped and enslaved.”

“The MacDonald-Rishshi treaty allows this.”

Across the room Cherenkova flushed. “It does not! It specifically states humans may not be enslaved by kzinti!” There was anger in her voice.

Brasseur looked up at her sharply. Clearly something had touched a nerve in her, but top-level diplomatic negotiations were not the place for personal emotions. “My colleague is correct. kzin violations of the treaty have been constant. War is inevitable if these are not stopped immediately.”

“You question my honor…” The Patriarch's tone was halfway between question and statement. He was giving Brasseur the chance to back away from a breach in protocol.

Brasseur chose his words carefully. To insult the Patriarch would be diplomatically disastrous, if not personally lethal. At the same time, he had to convey the seriousness of the human position, or the negotiations would fail. “Your honor is beyond question Patriarch. Unfortunately the incidents we have documented are also beyond question. We must find a way to prevent them from recurring.”

“The Passenger liner Freedom...” Cherenkova was reading from her beltcomp, ignoring the ongoing conversation. “…captured by the kzinti cruiser Long Leap. The Hercules deep space research base, raided by an unknown kzinti warship with its personnel enslaved on W'kkai. Belt Resources mining station on the asteroid Persephone at Farstar, raided and pillaged by forces from the attack carrier Chosen of the Fanged God…”

The Patriarch held up a paw and interrupted. “Rrit-Conserver, please clarify the relevant provisions of the MacDonald-Rishshi treaty.”

The robed kzin stood and spoke. “Provision twice-eight-and-five of the MacDonald-Rishshi treaty forbids the use of armed force between the forces of the Patriarch and those of the United Nations. Provision thrice-eight-and-one forbids the enslavement of any legal entity by the forces of the Patriarchy, legal entities defined as follows...”

The Patriarch made a gesture and Rrit-Conserver fell into silence. “As you can see there is no relationship between the provisions of the treaty and the incidents referred to here.”

Cherenkova stood up, anger in her voice. “All of these incidents are documented, Patriarch. We have statements from survivors, investigator's reports, damage assessments...”

“I am sure your research is thorough, Cherenkova-Captain.” Meerz-Rrit leaned forward, muscles unconsciously tensing to pounce. The time to back away from protocol breaches was rapidly passing.

“If you do not dispute the facts then you must admit your responsibility, Patriarch.”

“Hrrrr. You suggest I dishonor myself. That has no merit.” Meerz-Rrit's lips twitched over his fangs, and Brasseur felt his stomach muscles tightened. The Patriarch was angry, and these negotiations were too important to risk that outcome. He shot a warning glance at Cherenkova, but her own face was flushed, her expression grimly triumphant, and she wasn't looking at him. He held up a hand to speak.

“Perhaps if you could explain your understanding of the treaty, Patriarch.”

The big kzin's eyes bored into Brasseur's. “The intent of the treaty and its wording are both clear. My implementation of it, and that of my warriors has been comprehensive. There is no meat in leveling these accusations at me.”

“And yet these incursions continue.” Tskombe broke in, his voice flat.

“These are Heroes on conquest, the name-seekers of Stkaa Pride, perhaps even Cvail Pride. They are not the forces of the Patriarchy.”

The tall soldier shrugged elabourately, a gesture almost certainly lost on the kzinti. “They scream and leap in your name.”

“Of course they do. I am Patriarch. This does not imply they act on my commands.”

“The distinction is lost on the UN, Patriarch.”

Meerz-Rrit waved a paw, palm down. “The treaty was forged at the insistence of the UN, and its provisions were written by humans to meet the requirements of humans. Now humans have come to quibble over the words that they wrote.” The Patriarch's tail twitched in annoyance. “Of what use are words written on paper? If you have faith in my honor you do not require written words. If you have no faith in my honor then no words will change that.”

“The issue is not your honor, Patriarch.” Again Brasseur chose his words carefully. “The issue is the prevention of another war. The words are simply a tool. Written or spoken, their purpose is to convey meaning and build understanding. If the words fail at their task they must be exchanged for words that succeed. That is the purpose of this conference.”

“Hrrr. I will overlook the insults implied by your presentation here today. I will not hear any further accusations.” The Patriarch's lips twitched over his fangs, and his claws extended of their own accord. He was deeply angered, Brasseur could tell. Best not to push him further.

“I abase myself Patriarch.” Brasseur made the gesture. “No insult was intended.”

“We may now turn to the issue of human honor.” Meerz-Rrit's fanged smile relaxed, but his eyes remained fixed on Brasseur, making him feel like a prey animal. “The UN has taken the colony world Ch'Aakin, in flagrant violation of the treaty. There is no room for misinterpretation here. Military action against W'kkai and its subject worlds must cease immediately.”

Cherenkova answered before Brasseur could. “This action was taken because the Patriarchy has not acted to prevent Heroes from screaming and leaping in its name.” Her repressed anger came out as sarcasm. “Ch'Aakin was identified as the base for many of these attacks.”

“The treaty does not require the Patriarchy to do any such thing.” The Patriarch's tail lashed as he spoke. “However it does require the UN to respect kzinti worlds. The actions of the UN, Cherenkova-Captain, are contrary to both the letter and the spirit of the treaty. If humans value words so highly then humans should let their actions follow their voices.” The Patriarch's lips twitched over his fangs again. Brasseur felt a thrill of real fear go through him as he saw the negotiations foundering on the Patriarch's hair trigger honor and Cherenkova's ill-repressed hostility.

“If I may interject.” Rrit-Conserver had raised a paw. “The issue is simple. War is imminent, it has in fact already begun in the destruction of Ch'Aakin and the siege of W'kkai, though we characterize these as skirmishes to avoid the larger implications. If we in this room cannot find a solution the toll in death and destruction to both our species will be immeasurable. We cannot alter the past, we might yet alter the future.”

For long moment there was silence. Cherenkova looked down again, studying her beltcomp intently. Meerz-Rrit's eyes narrowed, and he leaned back in his prrstet. He looked over the humans dispassionately. Finally he spoke. “My adviser speaks wisely. This is a negotiation. What is it precisely the UN wishes to negotiate for?”

Brasseur took a deep breath. “Our position is simple, Patriarch. Kzinti raids against humanity must stop. It does not matter who is responsible, it only matters that they cease.”

Meerz-Rrit nodded slowly. “And what does the UN offer in return for this forbearance?”

Brasseur carefully kept himself from smiling. When a kzin asked for an offer there was room for bargaining. “What does the Patriarchy demand?” Let the Patriarch put something on the table.

“Hrrr. The return of all of our colony worlds from Ch'Aakin all the way back to Hssin, the cessation of the siege of W'kkai, an agreement limiting the sphere of expansion of human space, an agreement limiting the number of warships deployed by the UN, a program of reparations to redress the atrocities committed by human forces, these are the primary requirements. Yiao-Rrit will provide you with a detailed list.”

Tskombe's eyes widened. “I can tell you now, Patriarch, the UN will not the able to meet that list.”

Meerz-Rrit switched his gaze to Tskombe from Brasseur. “Why is that?”

Tskombe shrugged. “It will not be politically possible.”

The Patriarch growled, a deep rumbling sound. “It is necessary. What you are asking requires that I restrict the freedom of the Great Pride of Stkaa, and by extension of all the Great Prides. This they will not accept easily. Tomorrow the Great Pride Circle meets, and there are pressures building within the Patriarchy. If I cannot show them quarry wrested from the enemy they may not follow where I lead.”

Brasseur's eyebrows went up. The Patriarch was as good as admitting he did not have complete control over his Great Prides. The pressures must be great indeed. That meant danger. “If they do not follow you to peace, they will lead us all to destruction.”

“Then you must give me the tools to ensure they follow.”

“The UN will not do that. The populace will see it as paying ransom. If the General Assembly agrees, even against their own feelings, they will be voted out of office. The Secretary General will not countenance it, regardless of his personal views on the matter.”

“You must understand. My great-grandsire negotiated the MacDonald-Rishshi treaty with care to ensure he could keep the promises he made.” Meerz-Rrit leaned forward. “You are now asking me to overstep the traditional limits of Patriarchal power. I can in principle decree what I like. In practice...” the Patriarch twitched his tail. “... space is vast. My Great Prides control worlds of their own, and they have their own imperatives to follow. To deny them hunt-conquest against your species I must offer them rich game elsewhere.”

“You say the Great Pride Circle convenes tomorrow?”

“It does. You were invited here so we could resolve these issues prior to its meeting.”

“Patriarch! It will take hours to get a message to our ship at the edge of the singularity. The meeting will be over before it can be relayed to Earth, let alone answered. And that answer will not come so quickly. It will take weeks, months of discussion before the General Assembly comes to any conclusion, let alone an agreement.”

“You're not empowered to speak on behalf of your race?” Meerz-Rrit's ears swiveled up and forward, his voice mingling anger and incredulity in equal measure. He turned to face Yiao-Rrit. “Brother, why is my time so wasted? If the monkey lords wish to insult me to war they are succeeding.”

“Sire!” Yiao-Rrit raked his own claws across his nose. “I abase myself, the fault is mine. Simply arranging with the UN for these representatives to accompany me took far longer than I anticipated. I specifically stated that those chosen be empowered to speak on behalf of their government. I should have verified this was true. It did not occur to me that the monkeys would not deign to comply.”

The Patriarch turned his gaze on Brasseur, tail lashing angrily. “Why then have my emissary's stated requirements not been met? Does Earth not consider the Patriarchy worthy of this respect?”

“There has been a miscommunication, Patriarch.” Brasseur felt himself sweating. The situation was spinning rapidly out of control. “We are empowered to speak, and to negotiate. We are not empowered to make binding decisions on behalf of our government. Not even the Secretary General can make that decision; he can only put forward his recommendation. The General Assembly reserves the prerogative of decision for itself.”

“Your masters expect me to negotiate with emasculated lackeys.” Meerz-Rrit slashed the air with his claws, and Brasseur prayed he would not choose to scream and leap.

“Patriarch, I assure there is no insult intended here. The General Assembly does not possess the power to delegate its decision making in the kzinti style. I might add that Secretary General Desjardins is undertaking considerable political risk in undertaking negotiations at all. There are those in the General Assembly who see war as the only solution, and call negotiation appeasement. We must give them a better option.”

“A negotiator who cannot bind his government has no goods to trade.” Rrit-Conserver's tones were even, but even he showed annoyance.

Meerz-Rrit laid his ears flat and returned his attention to Brasseur. “Advise me then, human. What will you have me present to my Pride-Patriarchs tomorrow morning?”

“We must negotiate the terms under which our species can live in peace. Give them those terms and tell them the UN intends to ratify them. They need only accept them provisionally. The agreement can be formally accepted at the next Great Pride Circle.”

Brasseur was not prepared for what happened next. All three kzin rippled their ears, the kzinti equivalent of laughter. “And when you think that will be, human?” Meerz-Rrit's anger seemed to have evaporated. “My son will be Patriarch before the Great Pride Circle convenes again.”

Brasseur felt himself flushing red. The kzinti were laughing at him and both Cherenkova and Tskombe were looking at him intently. He was supposed to be the expert on kzin affairs, and this critical negotiation was about to fail because of his lack of understanding. At least the tension had dissolved.

“Does the Patriarchy desire peace with humanity?”

There was a long pause. Meerz-Rrit had not expected the question, and the answer circumstances required him to give was not the answer he felt in his liver. He lashed his tail unconsciously. “Of course.”

“Our species are on the way to war precisely because of the misunderstandings we are experiencing today. If you wish peace you must do whatever is necessary to prevent your Pride-Patriarchs from acting against humanity in any way. There may be nothing we can do here to support you in that, save assure you that our species also wants only peace.” Meerz-Rrit's ears moved to relaxed attention, and Brasseur spoke quickly, needing to get his point across before communication broke down again. “There are those on my world who do not believe the kzinti capable of peace and who therefore advocate preemptive conquest.” Brasseur took a deep breath. “I know you also have to contend with forces that drive your species to conflict. Any fool can run at the front of a mob following the road to war and justify every step as simple prudence. It takes a leader to take the risks required to obtain peace.”

Meerz-Rrit snarled. “Do you imply I am a fool, Kefan-Brasseur, or simply that I am not a leader?”

“I imply nothing. I merely state facts. I find no fault in principle with the Patriarchy's requirements. I will pledge my honor to do my utmost to see them adopted by the General Assembly. I cannot promise any result, but the most powerful tool you can give me is a cessation of kzinti initiated hostility. Peace requires the will for peace. If we do not have that here in this room then our races are doomed to war.”

The Patriarch growled deep in his throat. “What you ask is difficult, it will require drastic measures. It may in fact be impossible.” He paused, his eyes far away for a moment as he thought. “I will consider what can be done.”

Brasseur breathed out, only then realizing how tense he had been. “It is our only way back from the brink of oblivion.”