VIDEO SNIPPET TRANSCRIBED IN ITS ENTIRETY
Damien Harahap. You remember him. There were people wondering why I spent so much time with him, in Shadow of Victory. Well, the reason I spent so much time with him is that he ends up on Manticore having a conversation with Honor Harrington. Who is there to evaluate. He was like "I was told I would be talking to a highly trained interrogator." She says "No, just me."
AUDIENCE ERUPTS WITH LAUGHTER
And afterwards, she is evaluating him. For Elizabeth and whatnot. And she comes to the conclusion, that he's an honest craftsman, okay. He didn't really want to go to work for the Alignment. If you go back and look how he wound up working for the Alignment, it was like "Okay, people are trying to kill me and you can keep me alive. Let me think."
AUDIENCE LAUGHTER
He found out he was like eight, or nine when Frontier Security came to his home system. And he got off the planet when he was nineteen, by joining the Gendarmerie. And he's done what he's done ever since because, that's what you do. In a lot of ways he was like Thandi Palane was, before she got hooked up with the Torchese. If you think about it. And Honor is like "You know, we really need to turn him around and get him on our side." So there's this guy, who's interrogating him. With the aid of a treecat. Who's kind of, you know, listening.
****** *
"So what can you tell me about this," the orange-haired man consulted his notes, "Colin Detweiler?" He looked up, his peculiar purple eyes with their vertical pupils showing only mild curiosity. "We're trying to fill in the gaps about the Alignment."
'Fill in the gaps,' Damien Harahap thought sardonically. "What you mean is, you people don't have a clue who Detweiler is and little red ants are eating you alive while you try to figure out what the hell the Alignment is really up to." He leaned back in his own chair pursing his lips with a thoughtful air. He was still far from certain why he hadn't conveniently dropped dead. Conveniently, for his most recent employers, that was. However, the most likely answer remains the Gamma Center's destruction. It seems, assuming there was any truth to the Mesan's claims that he owed Anton Zilwicki and Victor Cachat (fyi: pronounced Ka-sha -cthia) a vote of thanks.
Author goes off script and addresses the audience...
Actually he does, because everybody assumed he'd gotten the nanotech. Which he never did.
Back on track...
Actually he'd like to discuss a few things with Zilwicki and Cachat. He admired professionalism, whoever happened to have it. And the two of them have ripped a lot of scabs off things Isabel Bardasano and Colin Detweiler, among others, had very much (once stated.)? Besides, he'd like to compare notes with them about Green Pines, given his post terror attacks visit to Mendel. Unfortunately, they weren't available. For that matter, he hadn't been able to figure out what their true relationship to their respective star nation's intelligence services really was. It sounded like Zilwicki was essentially a free agent whose primary loyalty was split between the Kingdom of the Torch and the Star Kingdom, now Star Empire, in which he'd been born. And it sounded like Cachat was essentially a loose warhead. Officially in the employee of the Republic of Haven's (sworn?) intelligence service whose directives he followed on the infrequent occasions when they made sense to him.
"I'm afraid I actually only met Detweiler twice, Mr. Joubert," he said, after a moment to his current interrogator.
"So you said earlier." Antwoine Joubert tapped the memo pad on the table between them and smiled. When he did he showed very pointy teeth, the product of the same genetic manipulation which had given his genetic slave grandfather his dark complexion, bright orange—orange, not red or auburn—hair and catlike pupils. "It would seem like both these meetings were rather significant in terms of your employment, though."
"That's a fair assessment," Harahap nodded and glanced at the treecat stretched comfortably across one end of the table. Beside from the angle of their pupils and the fact that they were green not purple, its eyes reminded him a great deal of Joubert's. (BTW, Joubert's treecat name is People's Eyes.) Not least because of how unwaveringly they were focused upon one Damien Harahap. Unless he was mistaken there was more, a lot more, intelligence behind them than he previously assumed.
"There is not a lot I can tell you about him that's what I call concrete," he said. "I never saw any organizational charts, much less one with his name on it. And once I passed muster with him, I never saw him again either. So please understand that anything I tell you can only be conjectural, based on my one time impression of him." He paused, eyebrows raised and Joubert nodded.
"Understood," he said. In the tone of one professional speaking to another one.
"With that proviso then," Harahap continued. "He's smart. Very smart. He's also ruthless and he comes equipped with a lot of focus and I think genuine commitment, to whatever these people are really after. Physically, the cyber sketch your people produced from my description is pretty accurate, but it doesn't capture how much...call it command presence he has. Or the fact that he has command mentality as well." Harahap shrugged, "I'd say he was a man who makes decisions, not one who takes directions."
Joubert glanced at the treecat [slowy ? gloating] yawn, showing teeth. (offscript-That was another point of similarity between them.) "That's an interesting distinction," the Manticoran observed after a moment.
"Well, I guess I should admit it's based at least in part, on Cherneyshev's attitude towards him."
"That would be Rufino Cherneyshev. The fellow that wound up with Bardasano's job?" Joubert asked and Harahap nodded.
He felt a twinge. A tiny one, of regret at having ID'ed Rufino for the Manties, but the Mesan was a fellow professional, he'd understand. That wouldn't prevent him from shooting Harahap right in the head, if opportunity arose but he would understand.
"Yes," he said. "Neither he nor Bardasano ever used the term Mesan Alignment to me, or in my presence. But assuming your people are right about its existence, and if you are that might explain some of the things I find puzzling about their strategies. I'm pretty sure Bardasano was in charge of its covert operations. I don't know anything about its intelligence gathering activities except that from the raw take I studied on the systems they assigned to me, they are tapped into official lead sources that are very high levels. The intel they provided me was better than the Gendarmerie usually comes up with and they obviously had sources outside the official ones as well. How those contacts were established (for management?) was never part of the intel package so as I can't say if she was involved in that side of it. Or if she was only their Director of Operations. From her attitude, from some of the things she said, I'm inclined to think she had executive responsibilities from both sides of their shop. Intelligence and Covert Ops. But, there is no way I could confirm that. The important thing though," he leaned forward "is that whatever her role may have been, Detweiler was her boss. So if you're right about the existence of the Alignment and it really isn't the Consortium of Interstellar Transsellars he and Bardasano tried to sell me, I think he's very probably the shadow government's Minister of Intelligence."
"Interesting possibility," Joubert said "I want to come back to that in a bit, but for now tell me what you can about the shift in Cherneyshev's responsibilities after Green Pines. For example—"
"I wish I thought we really could turn that man into an asset," Patricia Givens said. Almost wistfully. She sat in the secure conference room between Hamish Alexander Harrington and his brother William, who happen to be Baron Grantiville, not to mention Prime Minister of Manticore. At the moment all of them were watching another installment of Damien Harahap's ongoing debrief by (name unintelligible) special intelligence service. Initially, Givens thought O-N-I ought to have the lead role given that it was a naval officer who scooped him up in the first place. OTOH she had more than enough on her own plate, especially in the wake of Hypatia and the reports beginning to come in from the other systems who had been visited by the Solly's goddamn Buccanners. (I guess they don't like Operation Buccaneer).
"He's a trained, skilled intelligence operative, not a scientist sequestered in a think tank or even doing applied research. That means he's already given us at least three or four times more on the operational side than Dr. Simoes was able to. Assuming we can rely on it."
The dappled treecat on White Haven's shoulder produced something that sounded remarkably like a human sigh. And the cat on the back of Given's chair laughed. The admiral looked over her shoulder at her furry bodyguard with a frown, then turned back to the two-legged participants of the conversation in the conference.
"Despite Samantha's and Thought Chasers reactions," she said a bit tartly, "I am not suggesting he's getting any intentional deceptions past Pounces on Leaves." She twitched her head at the treecat participating in the recorded interrogation. "My problem is that I still can't quite convince myself, not fully, that he isn't some kind of a plant. Even if he doesn't know it."
"Oh Pat," the Prime Minister sighed, "I swear you are the most paranoid person I've ever met." He considered a moment. "Well. The most paranoid otherwise sane person, I've ever met."
"Part of my job." She pointed out. "Besides," her expression darkened. "Don't forget how long these bastards have played every intelligence agency in the galaxy. They got away with it because none of us paranoid insane people were paranoid enough, to believe in tooth fairies, Easter Bunnies, honest politicians, no offense Mr. Prime Minister sir, or secret societies of genetic supermen hell bent on galactic domination." She shook her head. "Honestly, most mornings I wake up and have to convince myself all over again that this Alignment really exists. But even though a lot of their successes to date stems from the fact that the entire concept, is so patently absurd, no serious analyst ever thought of looking for it. Nobody keeps anything this broad, this ambitious, hidden for as long as Simoes and McBryde's information suggests these people have been around. Without being very very good. Crazy, megalomaniacal, fanatics who buttfucked crazy couldn't get out of the snow maybe. But good at concealment, misdirection and misinformation. The fact that I can't see any way they could have deliberately planted him on us, doesn't mean they couldn't do it. More to the point it doesn't mean they couldn't deliberately mislead him as a security measure just in case he fell into our hands and decided to get talkative."
"You don't buy Honor's theory about that?" White Haven asked mildly.
"I didn't say that," Givens shook her head. "Actually, I think she well may be right why he's alive. I'm just saying these people believe in defense in-depth. Everything we've seen tells me the Alignment is like one of those Matryoshka dolls Charlie O'Daly gave (Myra ? Moira) last year for her tenth birthday. Every time we take one of them apart there's something else hiding inside it. I don't see any reason to assume they didn't hide something else inside whatever Harahap (Ha-ra-hap) knows about."
"Clearly they did," White Haven said. "Or tried to anyway. Nobody ever said anything to him about genetically enhanced conspirators out to overthrow the League. He figured out on his own that they were really after a lot more than they were telling him about. But they were damn careful he didn't find out what they hadn't told him. In fact, I think the Matryoshka dolls actually are a very good metaphor for their entire operation. That's why I also think Honor's right about how useful he can be. He's at least two or three dolls in from the edge. That gives us a lot better starting point for the next stop. Assuming she's also right about whether or not we can genuinely turn him."
"Turn him again you mean." Givens tone was rather pointed and she snorted when the Earl shrugged. The man's probably getting vertigo by now. "Maybe, but I come back to Pounces on Leaves. He and Nimitz both agree with Honor's evaluation of Harahap's basic personality."
"I know, but, Pat, the decision's been made." Prime Minister Grantville pointed out.
She looked at him and he shrugged. "Her Majesty signs off on it, so does Tom Theisman for Eloise Pritchart, so does Michael Mayhew for Protector Benjamin." He reminded her in a reasonable tone. All of them understand and respect your reservations. But he's way too potentially valuable for us to just park in a holding cell and trot out for occasional interrogations."
"That wasn't precisely all I intended to do with him." Givens said tartly. It was her turn to shrug. "On the other hand, you're right, I know it, I just would really really like some way to be sure he doesn't get a somewhat better offer from someone else down the road, flip again and sell us out, the same way he's selling out the Alignment."
"I wouldn't say that's exactly what he's doing," White Haven observed then chuckled. "Mind you I can see where an, established pattern of behaviour on his part might seem like the grounds for a certain degree of concern to a professionally paranoid woman such as yourself."
"I cannot tell you how relieved I am that you find that amusing. My Lord." Vice Admiral Patricia Givens told the civilian head of her service.
"Oh, I don't find your suspicion or your awareness of the potential risk amusing at all." White Have assured her. "What I find amazing is the thought of Mr. Harahap's response to the...prohylactic measure Honor suggested to prevent anything like that from happening."
"Prophylactic."
"That's how I think of it anyway." He smiled at her. Then his expression turned slightly more serious. "You've met Dame Lisa, Lisa Llorens haven't you?" Givens frowned as she rummaged through her memory, then she nodded. Although, from her expression she wondered where he could possibly be going.
"I wouldn't say I really know Dame Lisa," she said. "I saw her dance before she retired Several times really but to be honest, Simon and [Myra ? Moira] both loved ballet more than I did. I know she and Honor are close too and you're right I did meet her a couple of months ago when Thought Chaser and I were on Sphinx. I'm not really clear what she can contribite to our little problem here though."
Dame Lisa Llorens had risen to the rank of second principal dancer in the World Ballet's company of Sphinx. A position she held to close to twenty five T-years. That quarter T-century is one of the best ballet dancers in the entire Star Kingdom. There was no company of (? 16:08) was that all manner of snarky jokes, had ended with the Yawata Strike, however. She'd been headed toward retirement well before that. Despite the fact, that she remained in high demand as a performer and artist. She and her treecat Grace had been deeply involved in Adelina Arif's quest to teach treecats how to communicate with humans, however. And that had been claiming more and more of her time. She made the two careers work somehow. Yet the strain had mounted as her heart pulled her in opposing directions. It was probable she would have followed her heart into full time with with Dr. Arif under any circumstances. But the Yawata Strike had tipped the balance. The Sphinx company had been scheduled to perform in Yawata Crossing. A third of the company had already arrived to begin rehearsals as the shuttle to deliver Dame Lisa and the rest of the company had been less than thirty minutes out when the tsunami struck and killed every member of the company already on the ground. She and Grace had left the world of dance after the deaths of so many People, human and treecat alike. And not just the members of her company, they've known so well and loved so much. In order to dedicate themselves fully to the rapidly evolving relationship between the cats and their two-legged neighbors.
"But, Honor's put quite a bit of thought into your little problem." Hamish said now. "And I think she's come up with a workable solution. She asked Dr. Arif and her team for a nominee and Dame Lisa and the Memory Singers came up with one. Well they came up with one that I think will work very well. His name is Clean Killer."
Givens stared at him for a moment. Then burst out laughing. "His very own treecat bodyguard?" She demanded
"Well if he's on the up and up, he's definitely somebody the Alignment would move heaven and earth to shut up assuming they figure out he's alive and we got him." White Haven pointed out. "It would make sense to give him a nanotech detector to make that as difficult as possible wouldn't it?"
"Oh of course it would," Givens agreed. Still snickering as she turned back to the recording. "My oh my, remind me to complement your wife the next time I see her." She shook her head. "I do like a woman with a devious mind."
<I do not fully understand why our two-legs are so confused about how to deal with this person.> Clean Killer told Thought Chaser. <Surely if he is a friend to the evil-doers who murdered Black Rock and so many two-legs there is only one thing to do with him>
<True.> Thought Chaser replied, looking across from his place from the back of Crafty Mind's sitting place. (Crafty Mind's. His ah, Givens.) <I have observed two-legs do many things People find hard to understand. And I've also discovered that most often they have good reasons. (next line somewhat unintelligible 19:16) Not always of course. and they are two-legs. If the People have learned anything about two-legs over the last hands of hands of turnings, is that we will never fully understand how their mind works just because we can tate their mindglows.>
Clean Killer mindlaughed in agreement. <No one would fully understand two-legs. That was a given.> But he didn't need to understand them to know that just like the People there were good two-legs and there were evil two-legs. And he knew where his own allegiance lay. His laughter faded as he considered that, thought about why he was here in a huge two-leg nesting place. 'A city they called it,' he thought, forming the mouth noise carefully in his mind.
The strength of so many hands of mindglows pressed in upon him like some powerful invisible wind or perhaps like the heat of the sun in mid summer. It threatened to crush him. But he had tasted the memory songs of others of the People who had gone among the two-legs. That had prepared him for it, although not so well as he had believed it had before he experienced the reality. And so that first day, he had seriously considered fleeing like a kitten newly escaped from its nesting place, but he had overcome the temptation by remembering why he was here.
His older sister, Silver Claw, had made it into the Black Rock clan. She had also died with her mate, her kittens and her entire new clan family when the fire fell from the heavens. Clean Killer had been near the boundary between Black Rock's range and Mossy Tree Climb's. Indeed, he had been mind speaking with her when it happened. And he would never forget that day. Never forget her scream of terror, brief as the time between two breaths, before that beloved mind voice vanished into cold eternal silence. Cut away from him forever, with the sharpness of one of the singing blades the two-leg hunters and scouts used. And then, even as he turned to speed madly through the netwood towards Black Rock's range, the dreadful ball of sun bright fury had roared up before him and the terrible thunder rumble and howling wind had raced over him like a howling storm. The shock had splintered branches all about him, flung him from the netwood like one more broken twig. Indeed, so far as any of the memory singers knew, no one closer to Black Rock's nesting place, as he, had survived. And it had taken him many hands of days to heal from the bones which had been broken, even with the two-leg healer's assistance. It had taken far longer for his mindglow to heal.
Heart Singer, Mossy Tree's mindhealer, had told him he could survive the deep inner wounds of that day. At first Clean Killer had shut his own mind refusing to believe the older person. In the end though, Heart Singer had been right. He had survived it. But he would never be the same again. None of the people would ever be the same. Clean Killer was not the only person who had directly shared that single mindscream from all of Black Rock's people. And by now all of the people, aside from the endless kittens, had tasted the memory songs of that day. The day Black Rock died, murdered by the evil doers from beyond the sky who had killed so many more of the People's two-legs, on that same dreadful day. The Memory Singers had mercifully dimmed the worst of the terror of the agony in their songs, but it was important that all of the People taste them. Know the darkness at their core. Know we have enemies at work and never forget their hatred for the ones who had done it.
Clean Killer needed no memory songs. He carried that darkness with him, everywhere. Thanks to Heart Singer it had not devoured him as it did so many of the other People. Yet he had discovered he could not go back to his everyday life as one of Mossy Tree's scouts. He could no longer roam the netwood and golden leaf, hunting and warding, guarding the clan from Death Fangs and snow hunters. Not when he knew that other far greater threats hid beyond the stars. And so, when the Memory Singers sent forth a summons—seeking volunteers to venture among the two-legs and guard them against the threat they could not taste themselves, the other two-legs, who had evil-doers somehow compelled to slay even their closest friends—Clean Killer, scout of Mossy Tree clan, was among the first to volunteer. And not just because of his need to protect the two-legs as he fought to protect all the People. People and two-legs alike, of his world. No, he volunteered because he hoped that some day, some way, he could come within claws reach of at least one of the evil-doers responsible for such slaughters, so many deaths. And on the day that he did...
He supposed that was why Spinless for Joys(?), Speaks from Silence and Dances on Clouds had considered him as the Protector, for this once upon a time evil-doer who claimed now, to be a friend. Well, Clean Killer would see about that. He had tasted Pounces on Leaves memories of People's Eye's conversations with captured evil-doer. And he knew the evil-doer had never said anything that was not true. But that did not fully reassure Clean Killer. The People had never considered saying a thing which was not so, before having encountered the two-legs and learned to understand their mouth noises. There had been no point since any person knew whether or not the person mindspeaking with him was doing such an outlandish thing. The two-legs were mindblind. All of them except Dances on Clouds and Cloud Dancer's Joy, her kitten. And just a tiny bit, Deep Roots and Laugh Dancer, her parents. Not only could they say things which were not so, they could not always tell when someone else said such things to them, poor creatures. People could deceive or trick other People. Indeed some, like Laugh's Brightly was notorious amongst all the clan for their ability to do that. But they could not do it that easily, not by simply saying false things. They had to find other ways, more creative ways. It's not unreasonable to assume that two-legs have more than one way to deceive their own kind, as well. Clean Killer had observed that some of the most effective deceptions lay not in the saying of untrue things but in saying things that were entirely true and did not mean what the other person believed they meant. He did not expect to enjoy this time protecting the evil-doer. Although the memory song of the two-leg's mindglow Sorrow Singer had relayed to him from Pounces on Leaves was much less distasteful than he had initially expected. Pounces on Leaves had a powerful mindglow for a male. Admittedly, he had been more focused on tasting the truth of the evil-doer's responses to People's Eye's questions than on delving deep into the two-leg's mindglow itself. But the memory he had shared with Sorrow Singer (and through her) with Clean Killer had carried none of the dark, cold evil Clean Killer had always assumed must mark an evil-doer capable of destroying Black Rock clan and so many two-legs. 'Perhaps it was not,' he thought now, grimly as the two-leg flying thing swooped downward towards its destination. But, unlike Pounces on Leaves, I will be a hunter stalking that mindglow, and the evil-doer who now says he is prepared to aid our two-legs will not like what happens if I find treachery within him.
Damien Harahap felt more unsettled than he would have admitted as he followed his escort (The Manties were too polite to call her a guard) down the hall. He supposed it was a good thing they wanted to keep him alive, at least until they decided differently. Had he doubted they were lying about the nanotech assassins. He had no more idea than they did how Bardasano's people made that work. But it sounded exactly like the sort of thing they would make work. So if this treecat they meant to pair him with to keep that sort of unpleasant encounter from claiming the scalp of one Damien Harahap, that was a good thing. He was less comfortable with why his new protector, Clean Killer, a name which suggested a few unpleasant possibilities, would be able to detect a programmed assassin in time to do something about it. There had been rumors about Sphinxian treecat's supposed esoteric abilities for a long time. Although he had never been interested enough to chase them down himself. One thing he had heard about them however, is that they had learned to communicate with humans. If, as Joubert claimed, they were telepaths able to detect lies and assassins, their ability to tell someone about it explained why Joubert had been accompanied by his own treecat partner for every session with Harahap. (And there goes?) the corollary. A treecat that knew someone was lying would make the most effective control over any asset of dubious reliability in the long and murky history of espionage. Harahap might not have minded that, since he entertained no current plans. He felt more confident in treecats' sense of self restraint in the case of any little misunderstanding, or for that matter if he believed treecats were the adorable, silken pets they appeared to be. Unfortunately, he believed nothing of the sort. He might not have made a special study of them, but Honor Alexander Harrington's companion Nimitz, was the most famous teeecat in history, no small part because of how conclusively he demonstrated that, however adorable and silken he might be, he was anything but a harmless pet, when his human was threatened. And then there was that name, Clean Killer.
Patricia Givens tipped back in her chair, rubbing the ears of the treecat spilled warmly across her lap, while the two of them watched the smart wall display showing the interior of their interrogation room just down the hall from where she sat. At the moment, its only occupants were Antwoine Joubert, Pounces on Leaves and Clean Killer and she frowned as she thought about why they were here this morning. It wasn't that she really thought it was a bad idea but Thought Chaser turned his head to look at her and a true hand smacked the fingers which had paused in their rubbing. She twitched slightly, looked down at him, and he smacked her hand again narrowing his eyes. "Sorry." Her frown turned into a smile and she started stroking his ears again. His smile grew into a grin as he closed his eyes and buzzed a contented purr. He and she had formed nothing like the soul deep adoption bond between Honor Alexander Harrington or her husband and their treecats. There were times she wished she had. But she envied those that had been adopted. Other times she hadn't. She knew Nimitz had represented a very real hurdle. Not one that could have derailed Honor Harrington's naval career before it ever began, despite Queen Adrian's rules about treecats and their people. And she wouldn't have liked knowing if something fatal had happened to her, Thought Chaser would almost certainly follow her into death. But if they didn't have that bond he'd still become what was probably the closest, most reliable friend she ever had. And she'd learned to trust his judgement implicitly. At least in most ways. There were human conventions, relationships, societal mechanisms no cat truly understood or probably ever would know. And she (did ? didn't @32:24) have concerns about how the species' intrinsic honesty might affect the judgement of someone navigating the murky, moral waters of the intelligence community. If telempaths couldn't lie to one another then how deep of an appreciation of human style, dishonesty and deceit did they truly possess? And Thought Chaser sat up in her chair as she brought her chair upright.
Harahap followed his keeper into the now familiar interrogation room, then paused just inside the doors and saw the pair of treecats parked right on the table like matching bookends. They weren't identical although they had exactly the same coloring and exactly the same grass green eyes. His was a brain which had been trained to record and file away as much data, even perhaps especially trivial data, as possible in a single glance. So even though it would have been difficult for him to consciously catalog all the differences between the two creatures, he was reasonably confident he'd be able to tell them apart if he ever saw them side by side again, the one on the right, Joubert's partner, Pounces on Leaves he called himself. He found treecat names a bit odd but he supposed a telepathic species' naming conventions would have to be a little strange.
Unsure about following passage inasmuch as when Harahap's musing had stopped, if it had stopped, and Joubert's speaking began...
"So that's Clean Killer on the left. Look at those swirls in his fur are from scars underneath it. It was an interesting question," says Joubert. But at some pains to explain that Clean Killer had survived a treecat mass casualty event during what the Manties called the Yawata strike. It'd also explain how badly the cat had been injured by it. Since Manticore held the Alignment responsible for the attack, Joubert had suggested. Not at all delicately. It might be unwise for Harahap to do, say or even think anything which might lead Clean Killer to associate him with the attack. Sounder advice was never given, Harahap decided. He reminded himself that reading an alien species' body language was likely to yield less than reliable results, but Clean Killer, now that he thought about it, looked to be about twenty percent bigger than Pounces on Leaves, didn't look very happy. 'Hadn't realized that treecats coat could actually bristle,' he thought. 'Alien species are not...I doubt that he's just overjoyed to see me.'
<So this is the evil-doer> Clean Killer said.
<It is the one who used to be an evil doer.> Pounces on Leaves replied. <And you should not allow your fur to stand on end, younger brother. It is discourteous.>
Clean Killer flicked his ears and mingled embarrassment, humor, as he tasted the dry amusement in the older person's mindvoice. Not that Clean Killer was all that concerned about courtesy at the moment. Still, he was supposed to be protecting this two-leg. Not killing it himself. He pulled his claws back into their sheath. The bristling of his coat however, was not a conscious response. He could not make it go away so easily. So instead of trying, he switched his attention to the two-leg. He was not as tall as some of the other male two-legs Clean Killer had seen, since volunteering to help guard the People's two-legs. But Clean Killer saw with his scout's eyes, recognized the way the two-leg moved. The one had escorted him here was armed, yet he was not, yet Clean Killer sensed that he was actually far more dangerous than she. He was poised, balanced in a way that she was not, much as a scout on duty was perpetually attuned to all about him while he flowed through the netwood, every sense alert to any sign of danger. But that was only the two-leg's outer shell. It was not which truly mattered that Clean Killer's eyes narrowed as he reached out to delve deep to test the two-leg's mindglow fully and completely.
"Mr. Harahap," Joubert began, "this is Clean—"
Harahap heard the Manticoran, but his eyes were on the treecat as focused as he ever been on anything in his life. He saw the furry arboreal treecats reminded him of—the fusion between a (Startan Pinterian? and a schimpanzee), or possibly an older bobcat and a lemur—crouch ever so slightly staring at him, closely. He could almost feel the intensity behind those bright green eyes. Clean Killer heard People's eyes mouth noises, but he ignored them for the moment as he dived into the other two-leg's mindglow. There wasn't time enough as he twitched, his eyes went suddenly wide, for an instant the entire world stood still and then he launched himself like a long sensuous projectile straight at the two-leg.
"Oh shit!" Patricia Givens gasped. As Clean Killer hurtled himself at Harahap, both sets of arms open wide. Long deadly fingers crooked.
"Dammit, if he's been lying to us all along we need to know, but even so he's too valuable to let Clean Killer just—"
Damien Harahap saw Clean Killer coming and his arms opened automatically. There was no conscious thought at that moment. There was only awareness and his arms closed again and folded that long, slender, impossibly strong body and cradled him against his chest like the most precious thing in the entire universe.
"Oh shit!" Patricia Givens started all over as she realized what had actually happened. Thought Chaser's obviously decided blinking laughter didn't, help, one, bit.
"So what do you think we should do about it. As I recall this was all your brilliant idea in the first place." The first the Earl of White Haven said from his wife's common. What might not unreasonably be described as a snippy tone.
MUCH LAUGHTER AND CHEERS FROM THE CROWD.
And Honor says to him... ("That's improbable.")?
And he says "Is Samantha ever shy about telling you when she disapproves of something you're doing?
"Well nooo. We got him!"
THE END
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