Man-Kzin Wars XIII-ARC by Larry Niven Read Free Book Online Page B

After ascertaining that, he next isolated the sounds of several devices and tried to guess what they did.
    When he shifted, he heard one device begin to beep more rapidly. This was the sound he had heard when he had attempted to kill himself upon waking. A monitor of some sort. Likely he would have company soon.
    The kzin flared his nostrils. Most of the scents meant nothing to him, registering as vaguely “medical.” He sought the scents of urine and feces, for both would tell him something about his condition. He caught neither. This indicated that he was probably being fed via tubes, the nutrients carefully calculated so that his waste production was minimal.
    That was interesting. He had not thought humans knew enough about kzinti biology to devise such formulas. Perhaps they had been able to analyze what was contained in his vac suit. That wasn’t good. He wondered what else they had captured.
    To divert himself from this uncomfortable train of thought, the kzin analyzed his own body. He didn’t feel a great deal of pain, but then again he didn’t feel a great deal of anything, especially below the waist. He suspected a spinal block or some similar technique.
    The alternative was too horrible to contemplate. It would mean his limbs had been amputated. How could he escape then? Could he even kill himself? Was he fated to spend the rest of his life, long or short, as a captive torso impaled upon the claws of the enemy?
    The sound of a door sliding open, the feeling of fresh air moving against the fur of his face, interrupted this unhappy train of thought.
    A human voice—male, the kzin thought, although in the higher registers—spoke quickly, with great animation. “We thought we should wake you, Dr. Anixter. The monitors seemed to indicate that the captive had come conscious at last.”
    A sound the kzin recognized as a human yawn. A scent, vaguely floral, mingled with that of several humans. Less distinctly, a rank odor he associated with weapons and those who carried them.
    “You did right, Roscoe,” came a voice, human female, heavy with drowsiness that did not completely mask a note of authority. This then was someone accustomed to being in charge. “I’ll review the tapes in a minute. Let’s take a look at the patient.”
    Fingers touched the kzin at various pulse points. As these points were different on a kzin than on a human, the assurance with which they were located told the kzin that this Dr. Anixter knew something of kzinti physiology.
    The sensation of being touched helped the kzin to focus on his body in a way he had not been able to manage before. The body tends to neutralize sensations that are not being actively stimulated, otherwise no creature could do anything other than feel.
    He decided that other than the possible spinal block (or amputation?) he was not receiving any pain-controlling medication. This made sense, since most of these caused drowsiness. The “at last” included in Roscoe’s initial speech would seem to indicate that the humans wanted him conscious.
    “Is he awake?” Roscoe asked. “The readings from the monitors are conflicting.”
    “I think he is, but probably he is disoriented,” Dr. Anixter replied. “Let’s stimulate his senses.”
    The kzin fought not to tense his muscles. He knew what sort of stimulation the interrogation officers at a kzinti base would employ. None of them would be in the least pleasant. Torture was dishonorable, but it was astonishing how far the definition “stimulation” could be stretched.
    Braced against pain, the kzin was surprised when instead he heard the rush of water interwoven with the sound of the wind sighing through tall grass and the flapping of leaves. Involuntarily, his ears twitched, so did his tail.
    “Ah . . .” said Dr. Anixter. She sounded pleased. “There’s been a shift in brain activity.”
    “I saw his ears move, too,” said Roscoe helpfully.
    “Yes. But we’ve seen that before,” Dr. Anixter said, not