Speaker-to-Machines smoothed his fur down for the sixteenth time in the last octet of minutes, nervously awaiting his meeting with the Patriarch.  He did not know what he had done to merit the attention of the Patriarchy's supreme ruler.  A nameless technician such as himself, what would the Patriarch want from him?  Was this simply a prelude to execution for some mis-step in protocol?  Speaker-to-Machines had always been more comfortable dealing with his computers than with the belligerent warriors of the Homeworld.  Statistical analysis of military production trends might be seen as cowardly and ignoble by the warriors, but Speaker-to-Machines noticed that very few statistical analysts were killed in screaming honor duels.

    A trooper in impact armor, a heavy beam rifle held at port arms, came out of the inner office and snarled at him that his time had come.  Speaker-to-Machines rose from the beancouch he'd lolled on while waiting and followed into the inner sanctum of the Patriarch.

    What had he expected?  He wasn't really sure.  A vast echoing chamber, dozens of purring Kzinrrets seductively swaying their tails as they awaited the Patriarch's pleasure?  Instead he found a sparsely furnished office with a stunning view out over the hunting park of the Palace, green and orange vegetation swaying in the afternoon breeze.  Another pair of troopers flanked a large desk, but after Speaker-to-Machines cleared the security scanners built into the door, they saluted smartly and left him alone with the Patriarch of Kzin.

    Ch'arr-Riit sat in a powerchair behind the wide desk.  Orange eyes flecked with gold examined Speaker-to-Machines while a wide paw gestured for the technician to sit on the small couch before the desk.  The Patriarch was not quite old, as the Kzin measured their age, still a formidable warrior prepared to meet a leadership challenge from one of his sons with the polished wtsai at his belt.  It would have been a sign of weakness for the guards to remain while the Patriarch spoke with a lowly technician, and so they'd been dismissed.

    "Speaker-to-Machines," the Patriarch hissed and spat in the language of the Kzinti.  "You don't know why you're here, because if you did someone would have been flapping their tongue without my leave and we'd be having an execution today.  So I'm going to tell you why you're here."

    "I am grateful, Lord," Speaker-to-Machines tried to answer calmly, forcing his tail to stillness as it tried to twitch and writhe in anxiety.

    Ch'arr-Riit waggled his whiskers in displeasure.  Technicians were offensive things, puny non-warriors a ten-year kit could slaughter.  They barely acknowledged the code of honor that the Patriarch and his warriors lived and breathed, preoccupied with their bits and bytes ... but that was the heart of the matter today, and like it or not the Patriarch would face this foe as he faced all others.

    "Tell me ... why is the Patriarchy not at war today," he asked simply.

    Speaker-to-Machines felt his stomach tighten.  What answer to this question would not have him as prey in the Hunting Park by nightfall?  "I ... would say that we are currently fighting no battles, Lord ... but that does not mean we are not at war."

    Ch'arr-Riit raised a brow.  Perhaps the technician was not so ignorant after all.  "Go on."

    "The Patriarchy expanded for millenia in the Long Hunt, sire.  Then we confronted Men, and fought three campaigns in our war against them.  Your ancestors fought nobly, but met defeat in each campaign."

    "No flattery of the dead, technician," Ch'arr-Riit growled.  "My noble predecesors, in two generations, lost half of the empire that it took millenia to build.  What we hold, we hold only because Men are strange beyond reckoning, and have chosen not to take it from us.  So again, as you put it, why do we fight no battles today?"

    "We fight only battles against each other within the Patriarchy, sire.  Leadership challenges, Great Houses warring over resource planets.  If we try to expand our borders, we tread into the space of Men and face the possibility of another defeat ... perhaps convincing them that we must be eliminated, despite their odd reluctance to do so."

    "Just so," the Patriarch's ears twitched in agreement.  "To fight Men is to die and lose planets, that is the lesson we have learned at great cost.  And why?  Because Men are clever monkeys.  They do not fight for honor and the glory of the battle.  They plot and plan and sneak and pounce from the high grass, and they are patient -- patient where we are not.

    "So as you say, we only make war upon each other now.  And we grow no better at preparing for the next battle with Men, which we know will come.  So we must find a way to solve both problems ... to be Kzin we must make war, but to make war as we do now either weakens us as we fight one another, or risks another disaster with Men.  Every Kzin dreams of being Patriarch, or at least the ruler of a Great House.  But most will never be ... and those that become frustrated with waiting risk a catastrophe with renegade attacks outside the Patriarchy."

    "I understand, sire," Speaker-to-Machines nodded.  He found the Patriarch's line of thought fascinating, for it was the kind of thing you'd expect to hear from technicians as they theorized over bulbs of bourbon and cream late at night.

    "So, to make war without making war .... what do you know of Men's computer 'games'?"

    Speaker-to-Machines' eyes widened in surprise.  "I ... I have researched many of them, sire.  It is a hobby.  Many theorize that the tactical advantage enjoyed by Men is a result of the games their kits play during development ... that their understanding of the Long Hunt and cooperation with potential rivals during battle is superior because of these things."

    "I have read such research," the Patriarch said.  "And there is a new game that Men are playing.  In this game, every participant is a potential Patriarch, building their nation and girding for war.  Of course it's all just in a computer, there are no real weapons, no real troops.  But it seems to be one of these tools which you speak of that educates kits on the virtues of patience in the Long Hunt."

    "You wish me to investigate the game, sire?"

    "I wish you to play it.  The Black Pride has infiltrated UN-NET in several places, so that a computer here on the Homeworld can connect via hyperwave and participate in such a game.  You will take the role of a Man, build your false nation, and observe the process of negotiation between Men as the game progresses.  How do they avoid making war on each other every day?  How do they cooperate?  Most importantly .... is this a tool we could use?  Could Kzinti make real war upon each other less often, but satisfy their thirst for conquest through such a game?"

    "Of course, sire!" Speaker-to-Machines could barely contain his pleasure.  To be given access to UN-NET, and asked to play a game of Men against Men themselves, it was all he could ask for.

    "As I understand it, this 'CyberNations' game is not time consuming.  You will keep your current duties, but no other new duties will be assigned to you.  The assignment is open-ended, you may be finished in a few octets of days, or it may take the rest of your life.  Your task is to learn, to observe ... oh, and of course, your nation should prosper and be strong.  If it should ever be made public that a Kzin played a game of war and conquest and LOST .... such a thing would not please me, I assure you."

    "Of course sire .... I will do my utmost to learn the tactics of Men in the Long Hunt and adapt to them.  Do I have permission to engage them in war within this game?"

    "It is expected," the Patriarch's ears slowly wagged in amusement.  "Within such games, Men make war on each other with the savagery of a Kzin.  You can do no less."

    Speaker-to-Machines found himself dismissed and returned to the Datacenter, where his terminal was already glowing with the unfamiliar log-in screen of UN-NET, evidence of the Black Pride's success at compromising the most secure network of Men.  He tapped in commands, and soon found himself staring at a screen declaring "CyberNations, A Nation Simulation Game ...."