If only the engineers had miniaturized hyperwave transmitters enough that a ship could hold one, Saxtorph thought, not for the first time. Then: What'd have been the use? I'd've gotten the bad news sooner, that's all.

“In der Tat,” Nordbo went on, briefly reverting to Wunderland's chief language, “I saw at once that the ISC would forbid you to go, and forestalled them by offering to cancel the contract myself. It was the responsible thing to do, anyway.”

“Are you sure?” Saxtorph challenged almost involuntarily.

“Yes. You will be too, once you've swallowed your disappointment.” Nordbo sighed. “Robert, we agreed when I became your partner, Rover will steer clear of any volume of space where there's a significant chance of your encountering kzinti. You destroyed their base at the ancient star and uncovered the secret that they now have the hyperdrive. You killed a naval crew of theirs at the black hole—”

“Self-defense,” Saxtorph snapped. “Both times, it was them or us, and we didn't start the fracas. The second time, it was Tyra also.”

“You needn't tell me.”

Saxtorph's massive shoulders slumped a bit. “Sorry. I got carried away… Yah. Aside from the few of them amongst us, probably every kzin alive would cheerfully die to collect my scalp.” He straightened. “But, hey, do they have to know it's Rover? Change the ID code, disguise the body lines, give her a new paint job.”

Nordbo smiled wryly. “Forever the optimist, aren't you? No, much too risky. We'd certainly lose our insurance.”

“Uh-huh,” Saxtorph must agree. “Seeing as how they'd be in a tiny danger of having to pay up.”

“The danger would not be tiny, and it would be to you and yours, Robert.”