Chapter 42 - A Bag of Broken Glass
Chapter 42 - A Bag of Broken Glass
Sally wasn't fuming. She'd exhausted her vocabulary earlier. While Hardy and Horvath and the others merrily explored the alien gifts, she had to be content with holographs and dictated reports.
Now she couldn't concentrate. She found she'd read the same paragraph five times and threw the report across the cabin. Damn Rod Blaine. He had no right to snub her like that. He had no right to get her brooding over him either.
There was a knock at her stateroom door. She opened it quickly. "Yes- Oh. Hello, Mr. Renner."
"Expecting someone else?" Renner asked slyly. "Your face fell a full klick when you saw it was me. Not very flattering."
"I'm sorry. No, I wasn't expecting anyone else. Did you say something?"
"No."
"I thought-Mr. Renner, I thought you said 'extinct.'"
"Getting any work done?" Renner asked. He glanced around her cabin. Her desk, usually orderly, was a litter of paper, diagrams, and computer printouts. One of Horvath's reports lay on the steel deck near a bulkhead. Renner twisted his lips into what might have been a half-smile.
Sally followed his gaze and blushed. "Not much," she admitted. Renner had told her he was going to visit Rod's cabin, and she waited for him to say something. And waited. Finally she gave up. "All right. I'm not getting anything done, and how is he?"
"He's a bag of broken glass."
"Oh." She was taken aback.
"Lost his ship. Of course he's in bad shape. Listen, don't let anyone tell you that losing a ship is like losing your wife. It isn't. It's a lot more like seeing your home planet destroyed."
"Is- Do you think I can do anything?"
Renner stared at her. "Extinct, I tell you. Of course there's something you can do. You can go hold his hand, for God's sake. Or just sit with him. If he can go on staring at the bulkhead with you in the room, he must have got hit in the fire fight."
"Hit? He wasn't wounded -- " -
"Of course not. I mean he must have got- Oh, skip it. Look, just go knock on his door, will you?" Kevin steered her out into the corridor, and without quite knowing how she found herself propelled to its end. When she looked puzzled, Renner indicated the door. "I'm going for a drink."
Well, she thought. Now merchant captains are telling the aristocracy how to be polite to each other...There was no point in standing in the corridor. She knocked.
"Come in."
Sally entered quickly. "Hi," she said. Oh, boy. He looks awful. And that baggy uniform-something's got to be done about that. "Busy?"
"No. I was just thinking about something Mr. Renner said. Did you know that deep down underneath Kevin Renner really believes in the Empire?"
She looked around for a chair. No point in waiting for him to invite her. She took a seat. "He's a Navy officer, isn't he?"
"Oh, yeah, of course he supports the Empire or he wouldn't have taken a commission-but I mean, he really believes we know what we're doing. Amazing."
"Don't we?" she asked uncertainly. "Because if we don't, the whole human race is in big trouble."
"I remember thinking I did," Rod said. Now this was faintly ridiculous. There had to be a long list of subjects to discuss with the only girl in ten parsecs before it got to political theory. "You look nice. How do you do it? You must have lost everything."
"No, I had my travel kit. Clothes I took to the Mote, remember?" Then she couldn't help herself and laughed. "Rod, have you any idea of just how silly you look in Captain Mikhailov's uniform? You two aren't the same size in any dimension. Whoa! Stop it! You will not begin brooding again, Rod Blaine." She made a face.
It took a moment, but she'd won. She knew it when Rod glanced down at the huge pleats he'd tucked in the tunic so that it wouldn't be quite so much like a tent. Slowly he grinned. "I don't suppose I'll be nominated for the Times's list of best-dressed men at Court, will I?"
"No." They sat in silence as she tried to think of something else to say. Now blast it, why is it hard to talk to him? Uncle Ben says I talk too much anyway, and here I can't think of a thing to say. "What was it Mr. Renner said?"
"He reminded me of my duties. I'd forgotten I still had some. But I guess he's right, life goes on, even for a captain who's lost his ship. There was more silence, and the air seemed thick and heavy again.
Now what do I say? "You-you'd been with MacArthur a long time, hadn't you?"
"Three years. Two as exec and a year as skipper. And now she's gone- I better not get started on that. What have you been doing with yourself?"
"You asked me, remember. I've been studying the data from Mote Prime, and the reports on the gift ship-and thinking of what I can say that will convince the Admiral that we have to take the Motie ambassadors back with us, And we must convince him, Rod, we've just got to. I wish there were something else we could talk about, and there will be lots of time after we leave the Motie system." And we'll have a lot of it together, too, now that MacArthur's gone. I wonder. Honestly, am I a little glad my rival's dead? Boy, I better never let him think I even suspect that about myself. "Right now, though, Rod, there's so little time, and I haven't any ideas at all -- "
Blaine fingered the knot on his nose. About time you stopped being the Man of Sorrows and started acting like the future Twelfth Marquis, isn't it?"
"All right, Sally. Let's see what we can come up with. Provided that you let Kelley serve us dinner here."
She smiled broadly. "My lord, you have got yourself a deal."
Chapter 43 - Trader's Lament
Chapter 43 - Trader's Lament
Horace Bury was not a happy man.
If MacArthur's crew had been difficult to deal with, Lenin's was an order of magnitude worse. They were Ekaterinas, Imperial fanatics, and this was a picked crew under an admiral and a captain from their home world. Even the Spartan Brotherhoods would have been easier to influence.
Bury knew all this in advance, but there was this damnable urge to dominate and control his environment under all circumstances; and he had almost nothing to work with.
His status aboard was more ambiguous than before. Captain Mikhailov and the Admiral knew that he was to remain under Blaine's personal control, not charged with any crime, but not allowed freedom either. Mikhailov had solved the problem by assigning Bury Marine servants and putting Blaine's man Kelley in charge of the Marines. Thus, whenever he left his cabin, Bury was followed through the ship.
He tried to talk to Lenin's crewmen. Few would listen. Perhaps they had heard rumors of what he could offer, and were afraid that MacArthur's Marines would report them. Perhaps they suspected him of treason and hated him.
A Trader needs patience, and Bury had more than most. Even so, it was hard to control himself when he could control nothing else; when there was nothing to do but sit and wait, his hair-trigger temper would flare into screaming rages and smashed furniture, but never in public. Outside his cabin Bury was calm, relaxed, a skilled conversationalist, comfortable even with-most especially with- Admiral Kutuzov.
This gave him access to Lenin's officers, but they were very formal, and suddenly busy when he wanted to talk. Bury soon found that there were only three safe subjects: card games, Moties, and tea. If MacArthur had been fueled by coffee, Lenin's drive operated on tea; and tea drinkers are more knowledgeable about the subject than coffee drinkers. Bury's ships traded in tea as they traded in anything else men would pay for, but he was carrying none; and he did not drink it.
Thus Bury spent endless hours at the bridge table; in threes, officers of both Lenin and MacArthur were willing to sit with him in his cabin, which was always less crowded than the wardroom. It was easy to talk to Lenin's officers about Moties, too-always in groups, but they were curious. After ten months in the Mote system, most had never seen a Motie. Everyone wanted to hear about aliens, and Bury was ready to tell them.
The intervals between rubbers stretched as Bury spoke animatedly of the Motie world, the Mediators who could read minds though they said they could not, the zoo, the Castle, the baronial estates with their fortified look-Bury had certainly noticed that. And the conversation would move to the dangers. The Moties had not sold weapons or even shown them, because they planned an attack and would keep its nature a surprise. They had seeded MacArthur with Brownies-it was almost the first act of the first Mode they'd ever encountered-and the insidiously helpful and likable beasts had seized the ship and nearly escaped with all the military secrets of the Empire. Only Admiral Kutuzov's vigilance had prevented total disaster.
And the Moties thought themselves more intelligent than humans. They saw humanity as beasts to be tamed, with gentleness if possible, but tamed, converted into another caste to serve the nearly invisible Masters.
He spoke of Moties and he hated them. Pictures flashed through his mind, sometimes at the mere thought of a Motie, and always at night when he tried to sleep. He had nightmares of a Marine space suit and battle armor. It approached from behind, and three thy pairs of eyes glittered through the faceplate. Sometimes the dream would end in a cloud of spidery six-limbed aliens thrashing, dying in vacuum, flopping around a human head; and Bury would sleep. But sometimes the nightmare ended with Bury mutely screaming at Lenin's guards while the suited figure entered the battleship, and Bury would wake in cold sweat. The Ekaterinas had to be warned.
They listened, but they did not believe. Bury sensed it. They had heard him screaming before he came aboard, and they had heard the screams at night; and they thought he was mad.
More than once Bury thanked Allah for Buckman. The astrophysicist was a strange person, but Bury could talk to him. At first the Marine "honor guard" that stood outside Bury's door had puzzled Buckman, but before long the scientist ignored it as he ignored most inexplicable activities of his fellow men.
Buckman had been going over the Moties' work on Murcheson's Eye and the Coal Sack. "Fine work! There are some things I want to check for myself, and I'm not sure about some of their assumptions...but that damned Kutuzov won't let me have Lenin's telescope facilities."
"Buckman, is it possible that the Moties are more intelligent than we are?"
"Well, the ones I dealt with are brighter than most of the people I know. Take my brother-in-law...But you mean in general, don't you?" Buckman scratched his jaw thinking. "They could be smarter than I am. They've done some damn fine work. But they're more limited than they know. In all their million years, they've had a chance to examine only two stars close up." Buckman's definition of intelligence was a limited one.
Bury early gave up trying to warn Buckman against the Mode threat. Buckman too thought Bury was crazy; but Buckman thought everyone was crazy.
Thank Allah for Buckman.
The other civilian scientists were friendly enough, but with the exception of Buckman they wanted just one thing from Bury: an analysis of trade possibilities with Moties. Bury could give that in six words: Get them before they get us! Even Kutuzov thought that judgment premature.
The Admiral listened politely enough, and Bury thought he had convinced him that the Motie ambassadors should be left behind, that only idiots like Horvath would take an enemy aboard the only ship capable of warning the Empire about the aliens; but even that wasn't certain.
It all made for a splendid opportunity for Horace Bury to practice patience. If his patience ever cracked, only Nabil knew it; and Nabil was beyond surprise.
Chapter 44 - Council of War
Chapter 44 - Council of War
There was a picture of the Emperor in Lenin's wardroom. Leonidas IX stared down the length of the long steel table, and ranked on both sides of his image were Imperial flags and battle banners. Paintings of naval battles from the history of both the First and Second Empire hung on all the bulkheads, and in one corner a candle burned before an icon of St. Katherine. There was even a special ventilation system to keep it burning in zero gee.
David Hardy could never help smiling at that icon. The thought of such an image aboard a ship with that name was amusing; he supposed that either Kutuzov knew nothing of the history of communism-after all, it had been a very long time ago-or his Russian nationalistic sympathies overcame it. Probably the former, since to most Imperials Lenin was the name of a hero from the past, a man known- by legend but not detail. There were many such: Caesar, Ivan the Terrible, Napoleon, Churchill, Stalin, Washington, Jefferson, Trotsky, all more or less contemporaries (except to careful historians). Preatomic history tends to compress when seen from far enough away.
The wardroom began to fill up as the scientists and officers entered and took their places. Marines reserved two seats, the head of the table and the plate immediately to its right, although Horvath had tried to take that seat. The Science Minister shrugged when the Marine objected with a stream of Russian, and went to the other end, where he displaced a biologist, then chased another scientist from the place to his right and invited David Hardy there. If the Admiral wanted to play games of prestige, let him; but Anthony Horvath knew something of that business too.
He watched as the others came in. Cargill, Sinclair, and Renner entered together. Then Sally Fowler, and Captain Blaine-odd, Horvath thought, that Blaine could now enter a crowded room with no ceremonial at all. A Marine indicated places to the left of the head of the table, but Rod and Sally sat in the middle. He can afford to, Horvath thought. He was born to his position. Well, my son will be too. My work on this expedition should be enough to get me on the next honors list.
"Attention!"
The officers stood, as did most of the scientists. Horvath thought for a moment and stood as well, He looked at the door, expecting the Admiral, but Captain Mikhailov was the only one there. So we have to go through this twice, Horvath thought.
The Admiral fooled him. He came in just as Mikhailov reached his seat, and muttered, "Carry on, gentlemen," so quickly that the Marine gunner had no chance to announce him. If anyone wanted to snub Kutuzov, they'd have to find another opportunity.
"Commander Borman will read from the expedition orders," Kutuzov said coldly.
"'Section Twelve. Council of War. Paragraph One. The Vice Admiral Commanding shall seek the advice of the scientific staff and senior officers of MacArthur except when delay would in the Admiral's judgment, and his alone, endanger the safety of the battleship Lenin."
"Paragraph Two. If the senior scientist of this expedition shall disagree with the Vice Admiral Commanding, he may request a formal Council of War to render advice to the Admiral. The senior scientist may-'"
"That will be sufficient, Commander Borman," Kütuzov said. "Pursuant to these orders and upon formal request of Science Minister Horvath, this Council of War is convened to render advice on subject of aliens requesting passage to the Empire. Proceedings will be recorded. Minister Horvath, you may begin as you will."
Oh, wow, Sally thought. The atmosphere in here's like the chancel of St. Peter's during High Mass in New Rome. The formality ought to intimidate anyone who disagreed with Kutuzov.
"Thank you, Admiral," Horvath said politely. "Given that this may be a long session-after all, sir, we are discussing what may be the most important decision any of us will ever reach-I think refreshments might be in order. Could your people provide us with coffee, Captain Mikhailov?"
Kutuzov frowned, but there was no reason to reject the request.
It also lowered the frost level in the compartment. With stewards bustling about, and the smell of coffee and tea in the air, a lot of the frigid formality evaporated, as Horvath had intended.
"Thank you." Horvath beamed. "Now. Ag you know, the Moties have requested that we convey three ambassadors to the Empire. The embassy party will, I am told, have full authority to represent the Mote civilization, sign treaties of friendship and commerce, approve cooperative scientific efforts-I needn't go on. The advantages of presenting them to the Viceroy should be obvious. Are we agreed?"
There was a murmur of assent. Kutuzov sat rigid, his dark eyes narrowed behind craggy brows, the face a mask molded from ruddy clay.
"Yes," Horvath said. "I should think it quite obvious that if there is any way we can do it, we ought to extend every courtesy to the Motie ambassadors. Wouldn't you agree, Admiral Kutuzov?"
Caught in his own trap, Sally thought. This is recorded-he'll have to make sense.
"We have lost MacArthur," Kutuzov said gruffly. "We have only this one vessel. Dr. Horvath, were you not present at conference when Viceroy Merrill planned this expedition?"
"I was not, but I have been told of it. Was it not made plain then that no aliens were to board this vessel? I speak of direct orders of Viceroy himself."
"Well-yes, sir. But the context made it very clear what he meant. There would be no aliens allowed aboard Lenin because it was possible they would prove hostile; thus, no matter what they did, Lenin would be safe. But now we know the Moties are not hostile. In the final expedition orders, His Highness left the decision to you; there's no prohibition like that in the order book."
"But he did leave it to me," Kutuzov said triumphantly. "I fail to see how that is different from oral instructions. Captain Blaine, you were present: Am I mistaken in impression that His Highness said 'under no circumstances' would aliens board Lenin?"
Rod swallowed hard. "Yes, sir, but -- "
"I think this matter is finished," the Admiral said.
"Oh, no," Horvath said smoothly. "Captain Blaine, you were about to continue. Please do so."
The wardroom was still. Will he do it? Sally wondered. What can the Tsar do to him? He can make it tough for him in the Navy, but- "I was only going to say, Admiral, that His Highness was not so much giving orders as laying out guidelines. I think that if he had intended you to be bound by them, he'd not have given you discretion, sir. He'd have put it in the order book."
Good for you, Sally cheered silently.
Kutuzov's eye slits narrowed even further. He gestured to a steward for tea.
"I think you underestimate the confidence His Highness has in your judgment," Horvath said. It sounded insincere and he knew it instantly. The point ought to have been made by someone else-Hardy, or Blaine-but Horvath had been afraid to prime them for this meeting. Both were far too independent.
The Admiral smiled. "Thank you. Perhaps he has more confidence in me than you, Doctor. So. You have demonstrated that I can act against express wishes of Viceroy. Certainly I will not do so lightly, and you have yet to convince me of necessity. Another expedition can bring back ambassadors."
"Will they send any after an insult like that?" Sally blurted. Everyone looked at her. "The Moties haven't asked for much, Admiral. And this request is so reasonable."
"You think they will be offended if we refuse?"
"I-Admiral, I don't know. They could be, yes. Very offended.
Kutuzov nodded, as if he could understand that. "Perhaps it is lesser risk to leave them here, my lady. Commander Cargill. Have you made study I requested of you?"
"Yes, sir." Jack Cargill spoke enthusiastically. "The Admiral asked me to assume the Moties have the secrets of the Drive and Field and estimate their military potential under those circumstances. I've plotted their naval strength -- " He gestured to a petty officer and a graph appeared on the wardroom intercom screen.
Heads turned, and there was a moment of shocked silence. Someone gasped. "That many? -- ""Good God!" -- "But that's bigger than the sector fleet -- "
The curves rose steeply at first, showing conversion of Motie passenger and cargo ships to navy vessels. Then they flattened out, but began rising again.
"You can see the threat is quite high," Cargill said smoothly. "Within two years the Modes could put together a fleet that would be a significant challenge to the entire Imperial Navy."
"This is ridiculous," Horvath protested.
"Oh, no, sir," Cargill answered. "I was quite conservative in my estimate of their industrial capacities. We have the neutrino readings, and a good estimate of their energy generation-number of fusion plants, thermal output- and I assumed efficiencies no greater than our own, although I suspect they're better than that. God knows they've no shortage of skilled workmen."
"Where do they get the metals?" de Vandalia demanded. The geologist sounded puzzled. "They've mined everything on the planet and, if we can believe what they told us, on the asteroids."
"Conversion of existing stuff. Luxury items. Supeerfluous transportation vehicles. Right now every Master has a fleet of cars and trucks that could be consolidated. They'd have to do without some things, but remember-the Moties have all the metals of a whole planetary system already mined out." Cargill was glib, as if he'd expected all this. "A fleet uses a lot of metal, but it's not really very much compared to an entire industrial civilization's resources."
"Oh, all right!" Horvath snapped. "I'll grant you the capability estimates. But how the devil can you call it a threat estimate? The Moties aren't a threat."
Cargill looked annoyed. "It's a technical term. 'Threat' in intelligence work refers to capabilities -- "
"And not intentions. You've told me that before. Admiral, all this means is that we'd better be polite to their ambassadors, so they won't go all out building warships."
"That is not my interpretation," Kutuzov said. He seemed less imperious now; his voice was more smoothly modulated, whether because he wanted to convince the others or because he was more confident was not clear. "It means to me that we take every precaution to prevent Moties from obtaining secret of Langston Field."
There was more silence. Cargill's graphs were frightening in their simplicity. The Mote fleet was potentially larger than those of all the outies and rebels in the sector combined.
"Rod-is he right?" Sally asked.
"The figures are right," Blaine muttered grimly. "But- OK. Here goes." He raised his voice. "Admiral, I'm not certain we can protect the Field in any case."
Kutuzov turned toward him in silence and looked expectant.
"First, sir," Rod said carefully, "there is the risk that the Moties have already obtained that secret. From the Brownies." Pain crossed Rod's face, and he had to make an effort not to finger the bridge of his nose. "I don't believe they did, but it's possible. Second, they may have obtained it from the missing midshipmen. Both Whitbread and Staley knew enough to give them a good start..."
"Aye. Mr. Potter knew more," Sinclair seconded. "He was a verra studious lad, sir."
"Or Potter, then," Rod said. "I don't believe it happened, but it could."
"Ridiculous" -- "As paranoid as the Tsar" -- "They're dead." Several civilians spoke at once. Sally wondered what Rod was doing, but stayed quiet.
"Finally, the Moties know the Field exists. We've all seen what they can do-frictionless surfaces, differential permeabilities, realignment of molecular structures. Look what the Brownies did with Mac's generator! Frankly, Admiral, given that they know the Field is possible, it's only a question of time before their Engineers build one. Therefore, while protection of our technological secrets is important, it can't be the only consideration."
There was more excited chatter around the table, but the Admiral wasn't listening. He seemed to be thinking about what Rod had said.
Horvath took a breath to speak but controlled himself. Blaine had made the first visible impression on the Admiral, and Horvath was realist enough to know that anything he said would be rejected automatically. He nudged Hardy. "David, can't you say something?" he pleaded.
"We can take any precautions you like," Sally announced; "They accept the plague story, whether they believe it or not. They said their ambassadors would expect to be quarantined-surely they can't escape your security people, Admiral. And we won't have them long, you can Jump as soon as they're aboard."
"That is true," Hardy said thoughtfully. "Of course, we may irritate the Moties even more by taking their ambassadors-and never returning them."
"We wouldn't do that!" Horvath protested.
"We might, Anthony. Be realistic. If His Majesty decides that the Moties are dangerous and the Navy decides they know too much, they'll never be allowed to return."
"So there's no risk at all," Sally spoke quickly. "No threat to Lenin from Moties confined to quarantine. Admiral, I'm sure the lesser risk is to take them. That way we don't risk offending them until Prince Merrill-or His Majesty-can make decisions about the future."
"Um." Kutuzov sipped tea. His eyes showed interest. "You are persuasive, my lady. As are you, Captain Blaine." He paused. "Mr. Bury was not invited to this conference. I think it is time to hear from him. Boatswain, you will bring His Excellency to wardroom."
"Da, Admiral!"
They waited. The silence was broken by a dozen muttered conversations around the table.
"Rod, you were brilliant." Sally beamed. She reached under the table and squeezed his hand. "Thanks."
Bury entered, followed by the inevitable Marines. Kutuzov waved dismissal and they retired, leaving the Trader blinking at the end of the room. Cargill stood to give him his place at the table.
Bury listened attentively as Commander Borman summarized the arguments. If Bury was surprised by what he heard, he showed nothing, his expression remaining polite and interested.
"I ask for your advice, Excellency," Kutuzov said when Borman was finished. "I confess I do not want these creatures aboard this ship. Yet. Unless they are threat to safety of Lenin I do not believe I am justified in refusing Minister Horvath's request."
"Ah." Bury stroked his beard as he attempted to marshal his thoughts. "You are aware that in my opinion the Moties can read minds?"
"Ridiculous," snapped Horvath.
"Hardly ridiculous, Doctor," Bury said. His voice was calm and unruffled. "Improbable, perhaps, yet there is evidence of a rather unreliable human ability." Horvath started to say something but Bury continued smoothly, "Not conclusive evidence, of course, but evidence. And by reading minds I do not necessarily imply telepathy. Consider: the Moties' skill in the study of individual humans is such that they can literally play that person's role; play it so -well that his friends cannot detect the difference. Only their appearance betrays them. How often have you seen ratings and Marines automatically obey the orders of a Motie mimicking an officer?"
"Make your point," Horvath said. He could hardly argue with that; what Bury said was common knowledge.
"Therefore: whether they do so by telepathy, or by perfect identification with human beings, they read minds. Thus they are the most persuasive creatures anyone will ever encounter. They know precisely what motivates us, and precisely what arguments to make."
"For God's sake!" Horvath exploded. "Are you saying they'll talk us into giving them Lenin?"
"Can you be certain they can't? Certain, Doctor?"
David Hardy cleared his throat. Everyone turned toward the Chaplain, and Hardy seemed embarrassed. Then he smiled. "I always knew study of the classics would have some practical value. Are any of you familiar with Plato's Republic? No, of course not. Well, on the first page, Socrates, conceded to be the most persuasive man who ever lived, is told by his friends that either Socrates will stay overnight with them, or his friends will compel him to do so by force. Socrates asks reasonably if there is not an alternative-can he not persuade them to let him go home. The reply, of course, is that he won't be able to because his friends won't listen to him."
There was a short silence.
"Oh," said Sally. "Of course. If the Moties never meet Admiral Kutuzov, or Captain Mikhailov-or any of Lenin's crew-how could they talk them into anything? Surely, Mr. Bury, you don't imagine they could persuade MacArthur's crew to mutiny?"
Bury shrugged, "My lady, with all respect, have you thought of what the Moties can offer? More wealth than exists in the Empire. Men have been corrupted by far less -- "
And you've done it, too, Sally thought.
"If they're that good, why haven't they done it already?" Kevin Renner's voice was mocking, just short of Insubordination. With his discharge due as soon as they returned to New Scotland, Renner could afford any action that wouldn't get him formally charged.
"Possibly they have not yet needed to do so," Bury said.
"More likely they can't do it," Renner retorted. "And if they can read minds, they've already got every secret we have. They associated with Sinclair, who knows how to fix everything in the Navy-they had a Fyunch(click) assigned to my Lord Blaine, who's got to know every political secret -- "
"They were never in direct contact with Captain Blaine," Bury reminded him.
"They had Miss Fowler for as long as they needed." Renner chuckled at some interior joke. "She must know more about Empire politics than most of us. Mr. Bury, the Moties are good, but they're not that good, at persuasion, or at mind reading."
"I would be inclined to agree with Mr. Renner," Hardy added. "Although certainly the precautions suggested by Miss Fowler would be in order. Confine contact with the aliens to a select few: myself, for example. I doubt that they could corrupt me, but even if they could, I have no command authority. Mr. Bury, if he'll accept. Not, I suggest, Dr. Horvath or any scientist with access to complex equipment, and no ratings of Marines except under supervision both direct and by intercom. It may be rather hard on the Moties, but I think there could be little danger to Lenin."
"Um. Well, Mr. Bury?" Kutuzov asked.
"But-I tell you, they're dangerous! The technological abilities are beyond belief. Allah the Merciful, who can know what they can construct from harmless items? Weapons, communications equipment, escape gear -- " Bury's calm manner was evaporating and he struggled to contain himself.
"I withdraw the suggestion that Mr. Bury be given access to the Moties," Hardy said carefully. "I doubt if they would survive the experience. My apologies, Your Excellency."
Bury muttered in Arabic. Too late he realized that Hardy was a linguist.
"Oh, surely not," Hardy said with a smile. "I know my ancestry much better than that."
"I can see, Admiral," Bury said, "that I have not been sufficiently persuasive. I'm sorry, because for once I have no motives but the welfare of the Empire. If I were interested only in profits-I am not slow to realize the trade potentials and the wealth to be made from the Moties. But I consider them the greatest danger the human race has ever faced."
"Da." Kutuzov spoke decisively. "On that we may possibly agree, if we add one word: potential danger, Excellency. What we consider here is lesser risk, and unless there is risk to Lenin I am now persuaded that lesser risk is to transport these ambassadors under conditions suggested by Chaplain Hardy. Dr. Horvath: you agree?"
"If that's the only way we can take them, yes. I think it's shameful to treat them this way -- "
"Bah. Captain Blaine. Do you agree?"
Blaine stroked the bridge of his nose. "Yes, sir. Taking them is the lesser risk-if Moties are a threat, we can't prove it, and we may learn something from the ambassadors."
"My lady?"
"I agree with Dr. Horvath -- "
"Thank you." Kutuzov seemed to be sucking lemons. His face puckered into near-agony. "Captain Mikhailov. You will make preparations for confinement of Moties. The fiction is risk of plague, but you will see that they cannot escape. Captain Blaine. You will inform Moties that we will take their ambassadors aboard, but it is possible they will not wish to come once they know conditions we must impose. No tools. No weapons. Baggage to be inspected and sealed, not available to them on voyage. No miniatures or other inferior castes, only ambassadors. Give them what reasons you like, but those conditions are not subject to change." He stood abruptly.
"Admiral, what about the gift ship?" Horvath asked. "Can't we take -- " His voice trailed off, because there-was no one to speak to. The Admiral had stalked out of the wardroom.
Chapter 45 - The Crazy Eddie Jump
Chapter 45 - The Crazy Eddie Jump
Kutuzov called it the Alderson point. MacArthur's refugees tended to call it the Crazy Eddie point, and some of Lenin's crew were catching the habit. It was above the plane of the Mote system, and usually rather hard to find.
It would be no problem this time.
"Just project the path of the Motie ship until it intersects the direct line between the Mote and Murcheson's Eye," -Renner told Captain Mikhailov. "You'll be close enough, sir."
"Motie astrogation is that efficient?" Mikhailov asked incredulously. -
"Yah. It's enough to drive you crazy, but they can do it. Assume constant acceleration."
"There is another ship approaching that point from the Mote," Kutuzov said. He reached past Captain Mikhailov to adjust the bridge screen controls, and vectors flashed in front of them. "It will not arrive until well after we have departed."
"Fuel ship," Renner said positively. "And I'll bet anything you like that the ship carrying the ambassadors is light, transparent, and so obviously harmless that no one could suspect it of anything, sir."
"Not even me, you mean," Kutuzov said. Renner saw no smile to accompany the words. "Thank you, Mr. Renner. You will continue to assist Captain Mikhailov."
They had left the Trojan asteroids behind. Every scientist aboard wanted Lenin's telescopes to examine those asteroids and the Admiral had made no objections. It was not clear whether he feared a last-minute attack from the asteroids, or shared the civilians' wish to know everything about Moties, but Buckman and the others had their chance.
Buckman soon lost interest. The asteroids were thoroughly civilized and their orbits had been shaped. They weren't worth anything at all. The others didn't share that view. They watched the light of Motie fusion drives, measured neutrino fluxes from power stations, saw flecks of light that showed a dark spectrum around the chlorophyll green band, and wondered. Huge plant farms were under domes there-it was the only possible conclusion. And on every rock large enough- to see, there was the characteristic single crater proving conclusively that the asteroid had been moved.
Once Buckman regained his interest. He had been examining the asteroid orbits as a favor to Horvath; suddenly his eyes went blank. Then he feverishly punched codes into the computer and watched the results. "Incredible."
"What's incredible?" Horvath asked patiently.
"The Stone Beehive was dead cold."
"Yes." Horvath had experience drawing information out of Buckman.
"Assume the rest of the asteroids are. I believe it. Those orbits are perfect-project them back or forward as far as you like, they'll never have collisions. Those things could have been up there a long time." Horvath went away talking to himself. Just how old was that asteroid civilization? Buckman thought in stellar lifetimes! No wonder the Stone Beehive had been cold: the Moties made no orbit corrections. They just put them where they wanted them- Well, he thought, time to get back to the gift ship. It won't be long before we have to abandon it-wonder if Blaine's making any progress?
Rod and Sally were at the moment in conference with the Admiral. They met on the bridge: to the best of Rod's knowledge, no one but the Admiral and his steward had ever seen the inside of Kutuzov's cabin. Possibly not even the Admiral, as he seemed always to be on the bridge, watching the screens like any scope dote, perpetually looking for Mode treachery.
"It is pity," Kutuzov was saying. "That ship would be valuable. But we cannot risk it aboard. Mechanisms-who knows what they are for? And with Moties here to take advantage?" Kutuzov shuddered.
"Yes, sir," Rod agreed affably He doubted that the gift ship was any threat, but there were assemblies not even Sinclair could understand. "I was thinking of some of the other artifacts. Small parts. Those statuettes Chaplain Hardy is so fond of. We could seal everything in plastic, then weld it all inside grounded steel containers and strap the whole works on the hull inside the Field. If the Moties have anything that'll hurt us after those precautions, maybe it's better we don't go home."
"Um." The Admiral fingered his beard. "You believe these artifacts valuable?"
"Yes, sir." When, Kutuzov said valuable, he meant something different from what Sally or Horvath implied. "The more we know about Motie technology, the better threat estimates Cargill and I can make, sir."
"Da. Captain, I wish your honest opinion. What do you think of Moties?"
Sally controlled herself with an effort. She wondered what Rod would say. He was proving to be an absolute genius at maneuvering the Admiral.
Rod shrugged. "I can agree with both Dr. Horvath and yourself, sir." When Kutuzov's eyes widened, Rod hastened to add, "They could be the greatest potential danger we have ever faced, or the greatest potential opportunity we've ever found. Or both. Either way, the more we know about them, the better-provided we take precautions against the dangers."
"Uh. Captain, I value your opinion. If I give permission, will you take personal responsibility for neutralization of any threat from Mode artifacts taken from that ship? I want more than obedience. I demand your cooperation, and your word that you will take no risks."
That isn't going to make me popular with Horvath, Rod reflected. At first the Science Minister will be glad to take anything; but it won't be long before he'll want something I can't be sure of. "Yes, sir. I'll go over and see to it myself. Uh-I'll need Miss Fowler."
Kutuzov's eyes narrowed. "Bah. You will be responsible for her safety."
"Of course."
"Very well. Dismissed." As Rod and Sally left the bridge, Commander Borman looked curiously at his Admiral. He wondered if he saw a grin. No, of course not. It simply wasn't possible.
If there had been an officer of higher rank than Blaine present at the time, Kutuzov might have explained, but he would not discuss a captain-and future marquis-with Borman. What he might have said, though, was, "It is worth risk of Miss Fowler to keep Blaine active. When he does not brood, he is good officer." Kutuzov might never leave the bridge, but the morale of his officers was part of his duty; and like all duties he took it seriously.
The conflicts developed immediately, of course. Horvath wanted everything, and assumed that Rod had merely been humoring the Admiral; when he found that Blaine took his promise seriously, the honeymoon was over. He was midway between rage and tears as Blake's crewmen began to disassemble the gift ship, ripping apart delicate assemblies-sometimes cutting at random to prevent the possibility that the Moties had predicted what humans would do-and packing them in plastic containers.
For Rod, it was a period of useful activity again; and this time he had Sally for company. They could talk for hours when they were not working. They could drink brandy, and invite Chaplain Hardy in. Rod began to learn something of anthropology as he listened to Sally and Hardy argue over theoretical niceties of cultural development. -
As they approached the Crazy Eddie point, Horvath became almost frantic. "You're as bad as the Admiral, Blaine," he charged as he watched an artificer use a cutting torch on an assembly that generated the complex field altering molecular structures in another magic coffeepot. "We've already got one of those aboard Lenin. What harm would another do?"
"The one we have wasn't designed by Moties who knew it would go aboard the battleship," Sally answered. "And this one is different."
"Everything the Moties make is different," snapped Horvath. "You're the worst of the lot-more cautious than Blaine, by God. I'd have thought you'd know better."
She smiled demurely and tossed a coin. "Better cut it there too," she told the artificer.
"Yes, miss." The spacer shifted his torch and began again.
"Bah." Horvath stamped out to find David Hardy. The chaplain had assumed the role of peacemaker, and it was just as well; without him communications on the cutter would have ceased within hours.
The spacer finished slicing the assembly and packed it into the waiting box. He poured plastic around it and sealed the lid. "Got a steel crate outside, sir. I'll just go weld it in."
"Good. Carry on," Blaine told him. "I'll inspect it later." When the spacer had left the cabin, he turned to Sally. "You know, I never noticed, but Horvath's right. You are more cautious than I am. Why?"
She shrugged. "Don't worry about it."
"I won't, then."
"There's Buckman's protostar," she said. She flicked off the lights, then took his hand and led him to the viewport. "I never get tired of looking at it."
There were a few moments before their eyes adjusted and the Coal Sack was more than endless blackness. Then the reds began to show, and there was a small whirlpool of red on black.
They stood very close. They did a lot of that lately, and Rod liked it. He ran his fingers up her spine until he was scratching her gently beneath the right ear.
"You'll have to tell the Motie ambassadors pretty soon," she said. "Thought of what you'll say to them?"
"More or less. Might have been better to give them some warning, but-well, the Admiral's way may be safer."
"I doubt if it makes any difference. It will be nice to get back where there are more stars. I wonder- Rod, what do you think the Motie ambassadors will be like?"
"No idea at all. I guess we'll know soon enough. You talk too much."
"That's what Uncle Ben tells me."
They were quiet for a long time.
"Stand by. They're coming aboard."
"OPEN HANGAR DECK HATCHES. LINE CARRIERS AWAY."
"STAND BY WINCHES."
The gig was brought down into Lenin's maw. Another boat stood by with the Moties' baggage; everything, even the pressure suits the Moties had worn aboard the gig, had been transferred over in a separate boat. The passenger gig landed on the steel decks with a clunk.
"Ship's company, ATTENTION."
"Marines, PRESENT ARMS!"
The air lock opened and a full boatswains' chorus sounded the pipes. A brown-and-white face appeared. Then another. When the two Mediators were entirely outside the gig, the third Motie emerged.
It was pure white, with silky tufts at the armpits, and there was gray around the muzzle and dotted through the torso.
"An older Master," Blaine whispered to Sally. Sh6 nodded. Cosmic ray impact on hair follicles had the same effects on Moties as on humans.
Horvath strode forward to the end of the line of Marines and side boys. "Welcome aboard," he said. "I'm very glad to see you-this is a historic moment."
"For both races, we hope," the lead Mediator replied.
"On behalf of the Navy, welcome aboard," Rod said. "I must apologize again for the quarantine precautions, but -- "
"Don't worry about it," one Motie said. "I am called Jock. And this is Charlie." She indicated the other Mediator. "The names are just a convenience; you couldn't pronounce ours." She turned to the white Master and twittered, ending with "Captain Roderick Blaine and Minister Anthony Horvath," then turned back to the humans. "My Lord Minister Horvath, I present the Ambassador. He requests that you call him Ivan."
Rod bowed He had never been face to face with a Motie, and he felt an urgent impulse to reach forward and stroke the fur. A male White
"The honor guard will conduct you to your quarters," Rod said. "I hope they will be large enough; there are two adjacent cabins." And four cursing officers who were displaced from them, too; the ripples of that had run down through the Navy pecking order until a junior lieutenant found himself in the gun room with Lenin's middies.
"One cabin would be sufficient," Charlie said calmly. "We do not need privacy. It is not one of our species' requirements." There was something familiar about Charlie's voice, and it bothered Rod.
The Moties bowed in unison, perfect copies of Court behavior; Rod wondered where they'd learned that. He returned the bow, as did Horvath and the others in hangar deck, then the Marines led them away, another squad falling in at the rear of the procession. Chaplain Hardy would be waiting for them in their cabins.
"A male," Sally mused.
"Interesting. The Mediators called it 'the Ambassador,' yet the Moties implied that the three had equal powers. We were told they have to act in unison to sign treaties -- "
"Maybe the Mediators aren't his Mediators," said Sally. "I'll ask-I'm sure I'll get the chance. Rod, are you sure I can't go up there with them? Now?"
He grinned. "You'll get your shot. Let Hardy have his for the moment." Hangar deck was clearing rapidly now.
There hadn't been a single Lenin crewman there, or in -the boats that met the Motie ship. The baggage gig was winched into place and sealed off.
"NOW HEAR THIS. MAN YOUR JUMP STATIONS, STAND BY FOR ALDERSON DRIVE. MAN YOUR JUMP STATIONS."
"Net wasting -any time, is he?" Sally said.
"Non at all. We'd better hurry." He took her hand and led her toward his cabin as Lenin began slowing her rotation to zero gravity. "I suspect the Moties didn't need the spin;" Rod said as they reached the cabin door. "But that's the Admiral. If you're going to do something, do it right."
"STAND BY FOR ALDER5ON DRIVE. MAN YOUR JUMP STATIONS."
"Come on," Rod urged. "We've just time to get the Motie cabin on the intercom." He turned the controls until the Motie quarters were in view.
Chaplain Hardy was saying, "If you need anything, there will be orderlies outside your door at all times, and that button and switch will connect directly to my cabin. I'm your official host for this trip."
Tones sounded through the ship. Hardy frowned. "1111 go to my cabin now-you'll probably prefer to be alone for the Alderson shift. And I suggest you get in your bunks and stay there until the shift is over." He caught himself before he could say anything else. His instructions were clear: the Moties learned nothing until they were out of their home system.
"Will it take long?" Jock asked.
Hardy smiled thinly. "No. Good-by, then."
"Auf Wiedersehen," said Jock. -
"Auf Wiedersehen." David Hardy left with a puzzled look. Now lust where had they learned that?
The bunks were wrongly proportioned, and too hard, and made no provision for individual differences among the Moties. Jock swiveled her torso and waved her lower right arm, so, indicating displeasure with the situation but surprise that things were not worse. "Obviously copied from something for a Brown." Her tones indicated positive knowledge deduced but not observed directly. The voice changed to conversational mode. "I wish we had been able to bring our own Brown."
Charlie: "I also. But we would not be trusted with a Brown I know". She began a new thought, but the Master spoke.
Ivan. "Was the human Master among those waiting to meet us?"
Jock: "No. Curse! So long I have tried to study him, and still I have not met him nor even heard his voice. For all of me, he may be a committee, or one Master subject to discipline from the humans. I would wager much of my anatomy that he is human."
Ivan spoke. "You will make no attempt to contact the Master of Lenin. Should we meet him, you will not become his Fyunch(click). We know what happens to the Fyunch(click)s of humans."
It was not necessary to speak in response. The Master knew he had been heard, and thus would be obeyed. He went to his bunk and looked with distaste.
Alarms rang, and human speech came through loud-speakers.
"Prepare for Crazy Eddie Drive. Final Warning," one translated. They lay on the bunks. A louder tone sounded through the ship.
Then something horrible happened.
Chapter 46 - Personal and Urgent
Chapter 46 - Personal and Urgent
"Rod! Rod, look at the Moties!"
"Uh?" Blaine struggled for control of his traitor body. Awareness was difficult; concentration was impossible. He looked across to Sally, then followed her gaze to the intercom screen.
The Moties were twitching uncontrollably. They'd drifted free of their bunks, and the Ambassador floated about the cabin in complete disorientation. He caromed off a bulkhead and drifted toward the other side. The two Mediators watched, unable to do anything and in trouble themselves. One cautiously reached for the Master but lost her grip on the fur. All three were drifting helplessly about the compartment.
Jock was the first to anchor herself to a hand hold. She whistled and snorted, then Charlie drifted toward the Master. She caught his fur in the left arm, and Jock, holding the bulkhead with two rights, extended his left until Charlie could grasp it. They painfully worked their way back to the bunks and Jock strapped Ivan in. They lay disconsolately, whistling and clucking.
"Shouldn't we help?" Sally asked.
Rod flexed his limbs and took a square root in his head. Then he tried two integrals and got them right. His mind was recovering enough to pay attention to Sally and the Moties. "No. Nothing we could do anyway-there's no permanent effect ever been observed, barring a few who just go insane and never get back in contact with reality."
"The Moties haven't done that," Sally said positively. "They acted purposefully, but they weren't very good at it. We recovered much quicker than they did."
"Nice to see something we're better at than Moties are. Hardy ought to show up pretty soon-it'll take him a while longer than us, though. He's older,"
"ACCELERATION WARNING. STAND BY FOR ONE GRAVITY. ACCELERATION WARNING." A Mediator twittered -- something, and the Master responded.
Sally watched them awhile. "I guess you're right. They don't seem in too much trouble, but the Master's still a little twitchy."
A tone sounded. Lenin jolted, and weight returned. They were under command and headed home. Rod and Sally looked at each other and smiled. Home.
"What could you do for the Master anyway?" Rod asked.
She shrugged helplessly. "Nothing, I suppose. They're so different. And-Rod, what would you do if you were Imperial Ambassador to another race and they locked you in a little cabin with not one, but two spy eyes in each compartment?"
"I've been waiting for them to smash the damn things. They saw them, of course. We didn't try to hide them. But if they said anything to Hardy we must have missed it."
"I doubt if they did. They don't act as if they care about them. Privacy 'is not one of our species' requirements,' Charlie said." Sally shuddered, "That's really different."
A buzzer sounded and Rod automatically turned toward his cabin door before he realized it had come over the intercom. One of the Moties walked carefully across the cabin and opened her door. Hardy came in.
"Everything all right?" he asked warily.
"You might have warned us about that," Jock said,
There was no accusation in the voice; it was a simple statement of fact. "Does the Crazy Eddie Drive affect humans like that?"
"Like what?" Hardy asked innocently.
"Disorientation. Vertigo. Inability to concentrate. Muscles out of control. Nausea. Death wish."
Hardy looked surprised. Probably he was, Rod thought. The Chaplain wouldn't watch the Moties without telling them he was doing it, even though half a dozen pairs of eyes would be staring at the screens every watch. "There is an effect on humans, yes," came Hardy's voice. "Not so violent as you describe. The Drive causes disorientation and a general inability to concentrate, but the effect passes rapidly. We didn't know how it would affect you, but in all our history there have been few cases of irreversible effects, and those were all, uh, psychological."
"I see," said Charlie. "Dr. Hardy, if you will excuse us, we do not yet feel up to conversation. Perhaps in a few hours. And next time we will take your advice and be in our bunks, strapped down, and asleep, when you turn on your Crazy Eddie machine."
"I'll leave you then," Hardy said. "Could we-is there anything you require? Is the Ambassador all right?"
"He is well enough. Thank you for your concern."
Hardy left, and the Modes went back to their bunks. They twittered and whistled.
"And that," Rod said, "is that. I can think of a lot of more interesting things to do than watch Moties lie around chattering in a language I don't understand."
And there's plenty of time to study the Moties, Sally thought. For a wonder, we don't either one of us have duties right now-and we do have privacy. "So can I," she said demurely. -
Despite the cubic kilometers of yellow-hot flame around her, Lenin was a happy ship. Kutuzov relaxed his vigil and let the crew resume normal watches for the first time since the destruction of MacArthur. Although the ship was deep within a sun, she had fuel, and her problems were in the Book. Navy routine would deal with them. Even the scientists forgot their disappointment at leaving the alien system with unanswered questions: they were going home.
The only woman in ten parsecs would have been a subject for speculation under any circumstances. Fights might have started over either of two questions. What are my/your chances with her? and is she being wasted? But Sally had clearly chosen her man. It made life easier for those who worry over such problems, and for those whose duty it is to stop fist fights.
The first night after the Jump, Kutuzov held a dinner party. It was formal, and most of the guests did not enjoy themselves much; the Admiral's table talk was confined to professional matters. However, he left early, and a much wilder party developed.
Rod and Sally stayed for three hours. Everyone wanted to talk about Modes, and Rod was surprised to find himself discussing them with only a hint of the dull pain that had formerly come over him when he thought of the aliens. Sally's enthusiasm was enough in itself-and besides, she seemed as worried about him as about the aliens. She had even spent hours remaking Mikhailov's extra dress uniform so that it almost fit.
When they left the party, neither Modes nor the Mote were mentioned during the hours they were together before going to their separate cabins.
The ship moved outward. Eventually the yellow beyond the Field turned to orange, then brick-red, and Lenin's probes reported her Field hotter than the photosphere around her. Scientists and crew alike eagerly watched the screen, and when stars appeared against a red-black background everyone had a drink in celebration. Even the Admiral joined them, his features a broad and heavy smile.
Shortly afterward the communications officer established contact with a waiting tanker. There was also a small message sloop, fast, manned by young crewmen in perfect physical condition. Kutuzov dictated his report and sent it with two of his midshipmen, and the sloop accelerated at three gravities, racing for the Alderson point where it would Jump to the New Caledonia System and deliver the report of mankind's first contact with an alien civilization.
The tanker carried mail and nearly a year's worth of news. There had been more revolts in the sector. A former colony had allied with an armed outie system and defied the empire. New Chicago was occupied by the Army, and although the economy was working again much of the population was resentful of Imperial paternalism. The inflation of the crown was under control. Her Imperial Majesty had given birth to a boy, Alexander, and Crown Prince Lysander was no longer the only insurance of the present imperial line. That news was worth another celebration on Lenin, and it got so big that Mikhaiov had to borrow MacArthur crewmen to man his ship.
The sloop returned with more messages masered even before the message ship could rendezvous. The Sector Capital was wild with enthusiasm, and the Viceroy was planning a gala reception for the Mode ambassadors. War Minister Armstrong sent a muted "well done" and a thousand questions.
There was also a message for Rod Blaine. He learned of it when he was summoned to Kutuzov's cabin by the Admiral's Marine orderly.
"This is probably it," Rod told Sally. "Put Blaine under arrest until he can be tried by court-martial,"
"Don't be silly." She smiled encouragement. "I'll wait for you here."
"If they ever let me come back to my cabin." He turned to the Marine. "Lead on, Ivanov."
When he was let into the Admiral's cabin it was a shock. Rod had expected a bare room, functional and cold; instead it was a bewildering variety of colors, oriental carpets, tapestries on the walls, the inevitable icon and portrait of the Emperor but much more. There were even leather-bound books in a shelf above Kutuzov's desk. The Admiral indicated a Spartan rose teak chair. "Will you have tea?" he asked.
"Well-thank you, sir."
"Two glasses tea, Keemun." The steward drew them from a silver thermos shaped like an ancient Russian samovar, and served the tea in crystal cups.
"You may go. Captain Blaine, I have orders concerning you."
"Yes, sir." Rod said. He might at least have waited until I'd enjoyed the tea.
"You will be leaving this ship. As soon as the sloop makes rendezvous you are to go aboard for return to New Caledonia at maximum acceleration flight surgeon will approve."
"Yes, sir-are they that eager to haul me in front of a court-martial?"
Kutuzov looked puzzled. "Court-martial? I do not think so, Captain. There must be formal court of inquiry, certainly. That is in regulations. But I would be surprised if court of inquiry made charges against you."
Kutuzov turned to his elaborately carved desk. There was a message tape on the polished wood surface. "This is for you. It is marked 'personal and urgent' and doubtless it will explain."
Rod took the tape and examined it curiously.
"It is in commanding-officer code, of course," the Admiral said. "My flag secretary will assist you if you like."
"Thank you."
The Admiral used the intercom to summon a lieutenant, who fed decoding tapes into the code machine. It clattered out a thin form.
"Will that be all, Admiral?" the Lieutenant asked.
"Yes. Captain, I leave you to read your message. Good morning." Admiral and lieutenant left the cabin as the code machine continued to chatter. The message flimsy wormed out of the machine's innards.
Rod tore it off and read in growing wonder.
He read it again on his way back to his cabin. Sally stood when he came in. "Rod, that's the strangest look I've ever seen!"
"Got a letter," he said.
"Oh-news from home?'
"Sort of."
She smiled, but her voice was puzzled. "How is everyone? Your father all right?" Rod seemed very nervous and excited, but he was too cheerful to have got bad news. So what was upsetting him? It was as if he had some task to carry out, something he wanted to do but was afraid of- "My family's fine. So is yours-you'll know about that soon enough. Senator Fowler is in New Scotland." She looked at him incredulously. "Uncle Ben is out here? But why?"
"He says he got worried about you. Nobody to take care of you, so he had to -- "
She put her tongue out at him and grabbed for the message blank. Rod dodged nimbly despite the gravity-and-a-half acceleration.
"All right," he told her. He laughed, but it was strained. "The Emperor sent him. As his personal representative, to chair an Imperial Commission to negotiate with the Moties." Rod paused. "We're both appointed to the Commission."
She looked at him blankly. Slow comprehension invaded her eyes. This was professional recognition beyond anything she'd imagined.
"Congratulations, Commissioner," Rod laughed. He caught her wrist in both hands and held her at arm's length. "The Lord President of His Majesty's Commission Extraordinary also asks me when we're getting married. I think it's a pretty fair question."
"But-I-Rod-we -- " She caught her breath.
"By God, I've got you at a loss for words. Just once you're not talking." He took advantage of the opportunity to kiss her. Then again. That lasted a long time.
"I think I'd better read that letter," she said when they parted. "If you please."
"You still haven't answered your uncle's question, and I won't let you read it until you do."
"His question!" Her eyes flashed. "Rod Blaine, if I do marry anyone-if, mind you-he's going to ask me himself!"
"All right. Lady Sandra Liddell Leonovna Bright Fowler, will you marry me?" The banter was gone from his voice, and although he tried to keep his grin he lost that too. He looked like a four-year-old about to sit on Father Christmas' lap for the first time. "When we get back to New Scotland -- "
"Yes, of course I'll marry you-New Scotland? Rod, your father will expect us to be married at Court. All our friends are on Sparta -- "
"I think maybe you'd better read that message, sweetheart. We may not get to Sparta for a while." He handed her the flimsy and perched on the arm of the chair she sank into. "It's this part." He pointed.
FIRST REACTION HERE UNCERTAIN WHETHER TO MAKE YOU HERO OR VILLAIN STOP LOSS OF MACARTHUR NOT GREETED WITH JOY AT ADMIRALTY STOP CRANSTON EXPLODED STOP ARMSTR0NG SAID QUOTE HOW IN HELL CAN ANYONE LOSE A BATTLE CRUISER CLOSE QUOTE STOP
PARAGRAPH KUTUZOV REPORT IN YOUR FAVOR STOP KUTUZOV TAKES FULL RESPONSIBILITY FOR LOSS STOP KUTUZOV REPORTS POSSIBLE SUPERIOR CASTES MOTIES
COULD HAVE CLEARED MACARTHUR OF VERMIN BUT HIS DECISION RISK OF COMPROMISE OF IMPERIAL TECHNOLOGICAL SECRETS TOO GREAT STOP KUTUZOV STILL UNDECIDED EXTENT OF MOTIE THREAT BUT SUGGESTS ADMIRALTY ASSEMBLE LARGE BATTLE FLEET STOP HORVATH
REPORT STATES MOTIES FRIENDLY NO FLEET NEEDED AND MOTIES QUOTE GREATEST OPPORTUNITY IN HISTORY CLOSE QUOTE STOP PROBLEM IN MY LAP STOP
"Ours too," Rod said. "Read on."
PARAGRAPH BY ORDER OF SOVEREIGN I AM NOW LORD PRESIDENT OF IMPERIAL COMMISSION EXTRAORDINARY FOR NEGOTIATING WITH ALIENS STOP BY PERSONAL DIRECTION
OP HIS MAJESTY RODERICK LORD BLAINE DASH THAT IS YOU BUT YOU ALMOST BLEW IT LOSING YOUR SHIP STOP DO NOT MAKE HABIT OF THAT DASH AND LADY SANDRA BRIGHT
APPOINTED COMMISSIONERS STOP COMMISSION HAS FULL AUTHORITY TO ACT IN NAME OF SOVEREIGN STOP COMMISSIONERS WILL REMAIN IN NEW SCOTLAND UNLESS ADVISABLE CONVEY ALIEN REPRESENTATIVES TO SPARTA STOP
PARAGRAPH IF COMMISSION CONCLUDES ALIENS POSE THREAT OR POTENTIAL THREAT TO EMPIRE COMMISSION WILL ACT IN CONCERT WITH VICEROY TRANSCOALSACK TO TAKE SUCH IMMEDIATE MEASURES AS SEEM ADVISABLE STOP ANY SUGGESTIONS INTERROGATIVE PARAGRAPH ROD UNLESS THOSE MOTIES ARE SIMPLE FARMERS AND THIS PROBE MAKES ME SURE THEY AINT YOU AND SALLY ARE GOING TO BE OUT HERE A LONG TIME STOP PRESUME YOU HAVE RETAINED SANITY SO ARE ENGAGED TO SALLY STOP WHEN IS WEDDING INTERROGATIVE YOUR FATHER SENDS BLESSINGS STOP SO DO I STOP MARQUIS EXPECTS YOU TWO WILL BE MARRIED BY NEXT TIME HE SEES YOU STOP IF YOU THINK MARQUIS AND I HAVE ARRANGED THIS YQU AINT SEEN NOTHING YET STOP HIS MAJESTY APPROVES IMMEDIATE WEDDING STOP YOUR MOTHER AND EMPRESS SEND BLESSINGS STOP
"But what if I said no?" Sally demanded. "That's the most arrogant thing I've ever seen!"
"But you didn't say no. You said yes." He leaned down to kiss her hard.
She struggled away and he saw she was genuinely angry. "Damn it." Her voice was very low and clear. "Damn. 'His Majesty approves'-God's teeth! If I.. turned you down now it'd be high treason!"
"I did ask first," he pointed out "And you answered first."
"That was clever. Oh, stop looking like a little boy. Yes, I want to marry you. I don't much like being commanded to do something I wanted to do anyway."
He studied her. "You were out from under for a long time. I never was."
"What?"
"The obligations that go with the titles. First you were en route to study primitive cultures-your own free choice. I went to the Academy for my Wanderjahr. Then you were in the prison camp, but even in that hellhole you weren't under any authority you could respect." He was choosing his words with great care. Sally was red with anger.
"Then MacArthur, as a guest. Under my authority then, remember? And you respected the fact to such an extent -- "
"All right, I Stowed away when we captured the Crazy Eddie probe. You know why."
"Too right. Then New Scotland, where you were practically the highest rank around. You enjoyed that, didn't you? The few people above you weren't interested in making you do anything. And on to Mote Prime, doing exactly what you wanted to do in life. You were out from under for a long time. Now you're back in the box."
"That's what-it-feels like."
Rod flicked the flimsy in her hand. "Arrogant as hell. Right. It jarred me, but not the way it got to you. I've been under orders for a long time. All my life."
"It's the first time you've been ordered to marry any one, I take it." "Yeah. But we've both been expecting something like that, haven't we? Politically, from an Empire standpoint, our marriage is just too good an alliance to pass up. We get the privileges, the property, the titles, and now the bill comes in. Blind luck we love each other, because we owe it to -- "
"To whom?" she demanded.
Rod ginned helplessly. The idea was irresistibly funny. "To Kevin Renner. The Empire exists for the purpose of making it easier for Renner to play tourist. We owe this to Renner, and we're paid well for the privilege, and he's gonna collect."
She was awed. "Does he really think that way? My God, he does! He ordered me to your cabin!"
"What? He what?"
She giggled. "Fantastic. We ought to ask him and see what he does. Let me finish reading this, Rod."
PARAGRAPH I HAVE DISCRETION IN NAMING OTHER MEMBERS OF COMMISSION STOP WILL EXPECT YOUR HELP STOP EVERYBODY IN FIFTY PARSECS WANTS ON COMMISSION
STOP GWEN POWERS HIS MAJESTY DELEGATED TO US DON'T BLAINE THEM STOP YOUR FIRST TASK IS HELPING ME TO FILL OUT COMMISSION STOP SECOND WILL BE ARRANGING
EVIDENCE AND WITNESS LIST STOP
PARAGRAPH ADMIRAL KUTUZOV HAS ORDERS TO PUT YOU ABOARD MESSAGE SLOOP FOR RETURN BEST POSSIBLE SPEED TO NEW SCOTLAND STOP BRING SALLY IF YOU THINK
BEST AND FLIGHT SURGEON APPROVES STOP ADMIRAL WILL ASSUME RESPONSIBILITY FOR HORACE BURY STOP GET MOVING STOP KISS SALLY FOR ME STOP BREAK BREAK REGARDS
BENJAMIN BRIGHT FOWLER COMMA SENATOR OPEN PARENTHESES LORD PRESIDENT IMPERIAL COMMISSION EXTRAORDINARY ACTING FOR HIS MAJESTY LEONIDAS IX CLOSE PARENTHESES BREAK MESSAGE ENDSXX
"Am I going in the message sloop?" she asked.
"That's up to you. You're in condition. Want to?"
"Yes-there are a lot of things to arrange before the Moties get there- My God, we've got to settle things about the Moties, and there's the wedding- Rod, do you realize how big a deal the marriage of Crucis Court and the Fowler heir will be in a provincial capital? I'll need three secretaries, Uncle Ben's not going to be any use, and we've got to arrange for a reception for the Modes and- Oh, all right. Where were we?"
Chapter 47 - Homeward Bound
Chapter 47 - Homeward Bound
Kutuzov and Mikhailov went all out in preparing for Rod and Sally's farewell dinner party. Lenin's cooks worked all day to turn out a traditional Ekaterina banquet: dozens of courses, soups, pastries, roasts, stuffed grape leaves from the hydroponics farm, shish kebab, an endless stream of food; and between courses there were thimble glasses of vodka. It was impossible to talk during the meal, for as soon as one course was finished MacArthur's stewards brought another; or, to give a respite for digestion, Lenin's Marines performed dances transported from the Russian steppes to St. Ekaterina's hills and preserved nine hundred years by fanatics like Kutuzov.
Finally the bandsmen left and the stewards removed the dishes, leaving the guests with tea and more vodka. Lenin's junior midshipman toasted the Emperor, and Captain Mikhailov toasted the Tsarevitch Alexander, while the Admiral beamed.
"He can put on quite a show when he's not scared silly," Renner whispered to Cargill. "Never thought I'd say that- Here it comes. The Tsar himself's going to give a toast. Who's left?"
The Admiral stood and lifted his glass. "I will reserve my toast for one moment," he said thickly. It was possible that the endless glasses of vodka had affected him, but no one could be certain. "Captain Blaine, when next we meet roles will be reversed. Then you must tell me how to deal with Moties. I do not envy you that task."
"What's Horvath scowling about?" Cargill whispered. "He looks like somebody put a frog in his bunk."
"Aye. Is it nae possible he wants a place on yon Commission?" Sinclair asked.
"Bet that's it," Renner put in. "I wouldn't mind being on it myself -- "
"You and everybody else," Cargill said. "Now shut up and listen."
"There is more we must congratulate Lord Blaine about," Kutuzov was saying "and that is why I reserve toast. Chaplain Hardy has announcement."
David Hardy stood. His smile was broad and merry. "Lady Sandra has given me the honor of formally announcing her engagement to Lord Commissioner Blaine," Hardy said. "I've already extended my private congratulations-let me be the first to give, them publicly."
Everyone spoke at once, but the Admiral cut them off. "And now my toast," Kutuzov said. "To the future Marquise of Crucis."
Sally blushed as she sat while the others stood and lifted their glasses. Well, it's official now, she thought. No way to get out of it if I wanted to-not that I do, but it's so inevitable now...
"Also to Lady Commissioner," Kutuzov added. Everyone drank again. "And to Lord Commissioner. Long life and many children. May you protect our Empire when you negotiate with Moties,"
"Our thanks," Rod said. "We'll do our best, and of course I'm the luckiest man alive."
"Perhaps her ladyship will speak," ICutuzov prompted.
She stood but she could think of noting to say. "Thank you all." she blurted and sat.
"Out of words again?" Rod asked wickedly. "And with all these people around-I've lost a rare opportunity!"
After that the formality vanished. Everyone pressed around them. "All the happiness in the world," Cargill said. He pumped Rod's hand vigorously. "I really mean that, sir. And the Empire couldn't have made a better choice for the Commission."
"You will nae be married before we arrive?" Sinclair asked. "Twould nae be fair, to be married in my city wi'out me present."
"We don't quite know when," Sally told him. "But certainly not before Lenin gets in. You're all invited to the wedding, of course." So are the Moties, she added to herself. And I wonder what they'll make of it?
The party dissolved into a kaleidoscope of small groups with Rod and Sally at the focus. The wardroom table was lowered into the deck to give them more room as stewards circulated with coffee and tea.
"You will of course allow me to offer my congratulations," Bury told them smoothly. "And I hope you will not think I am trying to bribe you when I send a wedding gift."
"Why would anyone think that?" Sally asked innocently. "Thank you, Mr. Bury." If her first remark had been ambiguous, her smile was warm enough to cover it. Sally didn't care for Bury's reputation, but he'd been charming enough while she'd known him; if only he'd get over this insane fear of Moties!
Eventually Rod was able to move away from the center of the party. He found Dr. Horvath in a corner of the room. "You've been avoiding me all night, Doctor," Rod said affably. "I'd like to know why."
Horvath tried to smile but realized it was thin. His brows knitted for a moment, then relaxed in decision. "No point in anything but honesty. Blaine, I didn't want you on this expedition. You know why. OK, your man Renner convinced me you couldn't have done anything else about the probe. We've had our differences, but all in all I have to approve of the way you've handled the command. With your rank and experience it was inevitable that you'd be given a place on the Commission."
I hadn't expected it," Rod answered. "In hindsight and from Sparta's viewpoint I suppose you're right. Is that why you're upset with me?"
"No," Horvath said honestly. "As I said, it was inevitable, and I don't let laws of nature upset me. But I expected a place on that Commission, Blaine. I was senior scientist on this expedition. I had to fight for every scrap of information we got. By God, if they're giving two seats to expedition members I've earned a place."
"And Sally hasn't," Rod said coldly.
"She was very useful," Horvath said. "And she's charming and bright, and of course you're hardly going to be objective about her-but honestly, Blaine, do you really equate her competence with mine?"
Rod's frown vanished. He smiled broadly, and almost laughed. Horvath's professional jealousy was neither comic nor pathetic, merely inevitable; as inevitable as his belief that the appointment questioned his competence as a scientist. "Relax, Doctor," Rod said. "Sally isn't on that Commission because of scientific ability any more than I am. The Emperor's not concerned with competence, but interest." He almost said loyalty, but that wouldn't have done at all. "In a way, your not being named immediately," -- Rod emphasized that word -- "is a compliment."
Horvath's brows shot up. "I beg your pardon?"
"You're a scientist, Doctor. Your whole training and really your whole philosophy of life is objectivity, right?"
"More or less," Horvath agreed. "Although since I left the laboratory..."
"You've had to fight for budgets. Even then you've been involved in politics only to help your colleagues do the things you'd do if you were free of administrative duties."
"Well-yes. Thank you. Not many people seem to realize that."
"Consequently, your dealings with Moties would be the same. Objective. Nonpolitical. But that may not be the best course for the Empire. Not that you'd be lacking in loyalty, Doctor, but His Majesty knows Sally and I put the Empire first. We've been indoctrinated that way from the day we were born. We can't even pretend to scientific objectivity where Imperial interests are concerned." And if that doesn't smooth his feathers, the hell with him.
It did, though. Horvath still wasn't happy, and be obviously wasn't going to give up trying for a seat on the Commission; but he smiled-and wished Rod and Sally a happy marriage. Rod excused himself and went back to Sally with a feeling of accomplishment.
"But can't we even say good-by to the Moties?" she was pleading. "Rod, can't you convince him?"
Rod looked helplessly at the Admiral.
"My lady," Kutuzov said heavily. "I do not wish to disappoint you. When Moties arrive in New Scotland they will be your concern, not mine, and you will then tell me what to do about them. Until that time, Moties are my responsibility, and I intend no changes in policies agreed before they- came aboard. Dr. Hardy can deliver any message to them?"
What would he do if Rod and I ordered him to let us see them? she thought. As Commissioners. But that would make a scene, and Rod seems to think the Admiral's a pretty useful man. They could never work together again if we did that. Besides, Rod might not do it even if I ask him to. Don't push.
"It's not as if these Moties were special friends," Hardy reminded her. "They've had so little contact with people I hardly know them myself. I'm sure that will change when we get to New Scotland." Hardy smiled and changed the subject. "I trust you will keep your promise and wait for Lenin before you're married."
"But I insist you marry us," Sally said quickly. "We'll have to wait for you!"
"Thank you." Hardy was going to say something else, but Kelley came purposefully across the wardroom and saluted.
"Cap'n, I've got your gear sent off to Hermes, and Lady Sally's as well, and them orders did say 'soonest.'"
"My conscience," Rod laughed. "But he's right. Sally, we'd better get ready." He groaned. "It's going to be tough facing three gravs after that dinner -- "
"I must leave also," Kutuzov said. "I have dispatches to put aboard Hermes." He smiled awkwardly. "Farewell, my lady. And you also, Captain. Godspeed. You have been good officer."
"Why-Thank you, sir." Rod looked around the wardroom and spotted Bury across the compartment. "Kelley, the Admiral's assuming responsibility for His Excellency -- "
"With your permission I will continue Gunner Kelley in command of Marine guards," Kutuzov said.
"Certainly, sir. Kelley, be damn careful when we get to New Scotland. He may or may not fly to escape. I don't have any idea of what he's got to face when we get there, but the orders are plain enough, we're to keep him in custody. He may try to bribe one of your men -- "
Kelley snorted. "He'd better not."
"Yeah. Well, so long, Kelley. Don't let Nabil put a dagger in your ribs. I'll want you with me on New Scotland."
"Yes, sir, you be careful, Captain. The Marquis will kill me if something happens to you. Told me that before we left Crucis Court."
Kutuzov cleared his throat loudly. "Our guests must leave immediately," he announced. "With our final congratulations."
Rod and Sally left the wardroom to a chorus of shouts, some overloud. The party seemed destined to last a long time.
The message sloop Hermes was a tiny affair. Her living space was no larger than MacArthur's cutter, although overall she was much bigger. Mt of the life-support systems she was tankage and engines and little else but access crawlways. They were hardly aboard before they were under way.
There was little to do in the tiny ship, and the heavy acceleration made real work impossible anyway. The surgeon's mate examined his passengers at eight-hour intervals to be sure they were able to take Hermes' three gees, and approved Rod's request that they get it over with sooner and boost up to 3.5 grays. Under that weight it was better to sleep as much as possible and confine mental activities to light conversation.
Murcheson's Eye was enormous behind them when they reached the Alderson Point. An instant later, the Eye was only a bright redstar against the Coal Sack. It had a small yellow mote.
Chapter 50 - The Art of Negotiation
Chapter 50 - The Art of Negotiation
The little group moved in angry silence. Horowitz' hostility was just short of audible as-he led the way deeper underground. I am the most competent xenologist in Trans-Coalsack, he was thinking. They'll have to go to Sparta to find anyone better. And this goddamn lordling and his half-educated lady doubt my professional word.
And I have to put up with it.
There wasn't much doubt about that, Horowitz reflected. The University President had personally made it clear. "For God's sake, Ziggy, do what they want! This Commission is a big deal. Our whole budget, not to mention your department, is going to be affected by theft reports. What if they say we don't cooperate and ask for a team from Sparta?"
So. At least these young aristocrats knew his time was valuable. He'd told them half a dozen times on the way to the labs.
They were deep underground in the Old University, walking on worn rock floors carved an age before. Murcheson himself had paced these corridors before the terraforming of New Scotland was complete, and legend had it that his ghost could still be seen prowling through the rock-walled passageways: a hooded figure with one smoldering red eye.
And just why is this so damned important anyway? Balaam's ass, why does the girl make such a big deal out of it?
The laboratory was another room quarried from living rock. Horowitz gestured imperiously and two graduate assistants opened a refrigerated container. A long table slid out.
The pilot of the Crazy Eddie probe lay disassembled on the smooth white plastic surface. Its organs were arranged in a semblance to the positions they'd had before dissection, with black lines drawn across the flayed skin to join them to points on the skin and the exploded skeleton. Light red and dark red and grayish green, improbable shapes: the components of a Motie Mediator were all the colors and textures of a man hit by a grenade. Rod felt his belly twist within him and remembered ground actions.
He winced as Sally leaned forward impatiently for a better look. Her face was set and grim-but it had been that way back at Horowitz' office.
"Now!" Horowitz exploded in triumph. His bony finger jabbed at peanut-sized slime-green nodes within the abdomen. "Here. And here. These would have been the testes. The other Motie variants have internal testes too."
"Yes -- " Sally agreed.
"This small?" Horowitz asked contemptuously.
"We don't know." Sally's voice was still very serious. "There were no reproductive organs in the statuettes, and the only Modes the expedition dissected were a Brown and some miniatures. The Brown was female."
"I've seen the miniatures," Horowitz said smugly.
"Well-yes," Sally agreed. "The testes in male miniatures were big enough to see -- "
"Much bigger than this in proportion. But never mind. These could not have produced sperm. I have proved it. That pilot was a mule!" Horowitz slapped the back of his hand against his open palm. "A mule!"
Sally -- studied the exploded Motie. She's really upset, Rod thought.
"Modes start- male, then turn female," Sally mumbled, almost inaudibly. "Couldn't this one have been immature?"
"A pilot?"
"Yes, of course -- " She sighed. "You're right, anyway. It was the height of a full-grown Mediator. Could it have been a freak?"
"Hah! You laughed at me when I suggested it might have been a mutation! Well, it isn't. While you were off on that jaunt we did a bit of work here. I've identified the chromosomes and gene-coding systems responsible for sexual development. This creature was a sterile hybrid of two -other forms which are fertile." Triumph.
"That fits," Rod said. "The Moties told Renner the Mediators were a hybrid -- "
"Look," Horowitz demanded. He activated a lecture screen and punched in codes. Shapes flowed across the screen. Motie chromosomes were close-packed discs connected by thin rods. There were bands and shapes on the discs-and Sally and Horowitz were speaking a language Rod didn't understand. He listened absently, then found a lab assistant making coffee. The girl sympathetically offered a cup, the other assistant joined them, and Rod was pressed for information about Moties. Again.
Half an hour later they left the university. Whatever Horowitz had said, Sally was convinced.
"Why so upset, sweetheart?" he asked. "Horowitz is right. It makes sense for the Mediators to be mules." Rod grimaced at the memory. Horowitz had pointedly added that being mules; the Mediators wouldn't be influenced by nepotism.
"But my Fyunch(click) would have told me. I'm sure she would. We did talk about sex and reproduction and she said -- "
"What?"
"I don't remember exactly." Sally took out her pocket computer and scrawled the symbols for information recall. The gadget hummed, then changed tone to indicate it was using the car's radio system to communicate with the Palace data banks. "And I don't remember just when she said it -- " She scrawled something else. "I should have used a better cross-reference system when I filed the tape."
"You'll find it. Here's the Palace-we've got a conference with the Moties after lunch. Why don't you ask them about it?"
She grinned.
"You're blushing."
Sally giggled. "Remember when the little Moties first coupled? It was the first positive indication we'd had of sex changes in adult Modes, and I went running down to the lounge-Dr. Horvath still thinks I'm some kind of sex maniac!"
"Want me to ask?"
"If I don't. But, Rod, my Fyunch(click) wouldn't lie to me. She just wouldn't have."
They ate in the executive dining room, and Rod ordered another brandy and coffee. He sipped and said thoughtfully, "There was a message with this -- "
"Oh? Have you talked to Mr. Bury?"
"Only to thank him. The Navy's still entertaining him as a guest. No, the message was the gift itself. It told me he could send messages, even before Lenin made orbit."
She looked shocked. "You're right-why didn't we -- "
"Too busy. By the time I thought of it, it didn't seem important enough to report, so I haven't. The question is,
Sally: What other messages did he send, and why did he want me to know he could do it?"
She shook her head. "I'd rather try to analyze the motivations of aliens than of Mr. Bury. He's a very strange man."
"Right. But, not a stupid one." He stood and helped Sally out of her chair. "Time for the conference."
They met in the Mode quarters of the Palace. This was supposed to be a working conference, and Senator Fowler was running political interference elsewhere so that Rod and Sally could ask questions.
"I'm glad you co-opted Mr. Renner for the advisory staff," Sally told Rod as they got off the elevator. "He's got a-well, a different outlook about the Modes."
"Different. That's the word." Rod had also been assigned others from the expedition: Chaplain Hardy, Sinclair, and several scientists. Until Senator Fowler made up his mind about Dr. Horvath's request for Commission membership they couldn't use him, though; the Science Minister might refuse to become a subordinate to the Commissioners.
The Marines outside the Motie quarters snapped to attention as Rod and Sally approached. "See. You worry too much," Rod said as he acknowledged the salutes. "The Moties haven't complained about the guards."
"Complained? Jock told me the Ambassador likes having guards," Sally said. "I guess he's a little afraid of us."
Rod shrugged. "They watch a lot of tri-v. God knows what they think of the human race now." They entered to hear an animated conversation in progress.
"Of course I expected no direct evidence," Chaplain Hardy was insisting. "But although I didn't expect it, I would have been pleasantly surprised to find something concrete: scripture, or a religion similar to ours, something like that. But expect it, no."
"I still wonder what you think you could have found," Charlie said. "Were it my problem 'to prove that humans had souls, I shouldn't know where to begin looking."
Hardy shrugged. "Nor do I. But begin with your own beliefs-you think you possess something like an immortal soul."
"Some do, some don't," Charlie said. "Most Masters believe it. Like humans, Modes do not care to think their lives are purposeless. Or that they can and will be terminated. Hello, Sally. Rod. Please be seated."
"Thanks." Rod nodded greetings to Jock and Ivan. The Ambassador looked like a surrealist rendition of an Angora cat as he lay sprawled on the edge of a couch. The Master flicked the lower right hand, a gesture which Rod had learned meant something similar to "I see you." There were evidently other greetings, but they were reserved for other Masters: equals, not creatures with whom Mediators discussed business.
Rod activated his pocket computer to get the agenda for the day's meeting. The readout was coded to remind him of both the formal items for discussion and the questions Senator Fowler wanted answered without the Modes' knowing the questions had been asked; questions such as why the Modes hadn't ever asked about the fate of -the Crazy Eddie probe. That one needed no code at all; Rod was as puzzled as the Senator. He was also reluctant to get the Modes asking, since he would have to explain what, he'd done to the probe.
"Before we begin," Rod said. "The Foreign Office requests that you attend a reception tonight. For the baronage and some representatives of Parliament."
The Moties twittered. Ivan twittered back. "We will be honored," Jock said formally. There was no expression in the voice.
"OK. So now we're back to the same problems we've always had. Are you a threat to the Empire, and just what will your technology do to- our economy."
"Oddly enough," Jock said, "the same questions concern us. Except in reverse."
"But we never seem to settle anything," Sally protested. "How could we?" Hardy asked reasonably. "Assuming that the threat question is negligible, until we know what our friends will sell the economists can't predict what they'll do to us-and the Moties have the same difficulty."
"They aren't as concerned about them as we are," Renner said impatiently. "I'm with Sally. We talk a lot, but we don't get much done."
"We won't get any of it done if we don't get started." Rod looked at his computer readout "The first item is superconductors. The physics boys are happy enough, but the econ section wants better cost data. I'm supposed to ask -- " He touched the control to let the questions roll across the tiny screen.
"Are you mules?" Sally blurted.
There was silence. Hardy's eyes narrowed slightly; otherwise he didn't react. Renner lifted his left eyebrow. They stared, first at Sally, then at the Moties.
"You mean Mediators," Jock said carefully. "Yes. Of course."
There was more silence. "All of you?" Renner asked.
"Certainly. We are hybrid forms. None of you seem to like that answer. Sally, what is troubling you? Mediators were a late evolutionary development, and evolution is by groups and tribes as often as by individuals-that's true for humans too, isn't it?"
Hardy nodded. "Not only us. Most alien life forms we've found, too."
"Thank you. We assume that tribes with Mediators survived better than those without. We have never seen a fertile Mediator, but if ever there were one, she must have acted in her children's interests rather than the -- tribe's." The Mode shrugged. "That's all speculation, of course. Our history doesn't go back that far. As for me, I would like to have children, but I have always known I would not -- " The Mode shrugged- again. "Still, it is a pity. The sex act is the ultimate in enjoyment We know this We empathize all too well with Masters"
There was more silence. Hardy cleared, hit throat but said nothing.
"Sally, while we are speaking of Motie problems, there is something else you must know about us."
"You could cut the gloom in here with a knife, Rod thought. Now just why is it so depressing that...
"Compared with your species, ours is short-lived. We three were chosen for our experience and intelligence, not our youth. We have considerably fewer than ten years to live."
"But- No!" Sally was visibly shaken. "All of you?"
"Yes. I would not raise such a painful topic, but we all think it wise to tell you. Your parades, these formal receptions, all of this baffles us most pleasantly. We anticipate great pleasure in solving the mystery of why you do these things. But we also must establish trade and diplomatic relations with you, and there is a definite time limit -- "
"Yes," said- Sally "Yes, of course. Not even ten years!"
Jock shrugged. "Mediators live a total of twenty-five. Win a few, lose a few. You presumably have your own problems," The alien voice took on a note of grim amusement. "Such as the wars you suffer through lack of Mediators!"
The Mode looked around the conference mom. There 'was more silence, and blank stares. "I've distressed you all, I am sorry, but it had to be said- Let us resume tomorrow, when you've had time to think about this." She uttered a high, sweet note, and Charlie and Ivan followed her through a paneled -doorway into the Mode private quarters. The door closed gently behind them.
As they walked to Ivan's room Charlie twittered to the Master. They entered and closed the door; and although they were certain the room had no spy or listening devices, they spoke in a high grammar rich with poetic allusions. The humans could never decipher it.
The Master's posture was a demand for explanation.
"There was not time to consult," Jock cried. "I had to speak at once before they placed too much importance on the question."
"You told them yes," Ivan said. "You might have said no. Or maybe. Or some are, and some not...
Charlie said, "You might have told them we don't discuss such things. You know humans do not like to speak openly of sexual matters." -
"They can when they want to," Jock protested. "And their next request would have been that we submit to examination by their xenologists. We have already submitted to their physicians-how could we refuse now?"
Ivan: -- "Their xenologists would find nothing. A male would show zero sperm count, but you are female."
Charlie pantomimed ritual sorrow: Circumstances force me to disagree with you; Master. "Their original examinations were directionless. Can you say they would be less thorough now? That they would not find that all three of us suffer from hormone imbalances?" Charlie's arms moved, so, to indicate apology for reminding the Master of his sterility; moved again to indicate pressing importance. "The same imbalance that they detected in the Brown miner. Imbalances that were not present when they found the miner, but which developed before she died aboard MacArthur."
The others were suddenly quiet. Charlie continued inexorably. "They are not stupid. They may well have connected these disturbances with sexual abstinence. What have they discovered about Watchmakers? They must have had Watchmakers to examine; the miner would have brought them aboard as a matter of course."
"Curse!" Ivan assumed a pose of thought. "Would they cage the Watchmakers separately?"
Both Mediators gestured lack of knowledge. "Jock was right to answer as she did," Charlie said. "They have the body that was aboard the Crazy Eddie probe. There must have been one, and it must have been a Mediator, a young one with a long life so that he could negotiate with whomever the probe might find here."
"But our records show that Mediator would be dead," Jock said. "He must have been; the humans learned nothing from him. Curse! If only the records were complete -- "
"If only the records were complete. If only we had a Brown. If only the humans would tell us what they have done with the probe. If only the humans would tell us why they destroyed MacArthur. You will cease these meaningless phrases. You must have learned them from humans." Ivan commanded with finality. "Speak of what the humans have learned from the pilot of the probe."
Charlie: "They would dissect the pilot. Their biological sciences are as advanced as ours. More advanced. They speak of genetic engineering teohniques not recorded in any museum, and certainly not discovered in this Cycle. Thus we must assume their xenobiologisrs could learn that the pilot was sterile. Renner's Fyunch(click) told him that Mediators were hybrids."
"Crazy Eddie. Even then," Ivan said. "Now she argues incessantly with her Master." He paused, thinking, his arms waving for silence. "You have done well," he told Jock. "They would learn you are sterile in any case. It is crucial that they do not learn how important that is. Does this tell humans that Fyunch(click)s can and do lie to humans?" -
Silence. Finally Jock spoke. "We do not know. Sally's Fyunch(click) spoke to her of sex, but the conversation was aboard the human ship. We have no record, only what was reported to us."
"Reported by a Crazy Eddie," Ivan said.
Jock said, "I did my utmost to distract them."
"But did you succeed?"
"Yes. It was evident in their faces."
Ivan could not read a human face, but he understood the concept: there were muscles around human eyes and mouth used for signaling emotions, like Motie gestures. Mediators could read them. "Go on."
"Direct reference to the sex act to slow their minds. Then the fact of our life spans, delivered as one might admit to having a terminal disease. Now these long-lived creatures will mourn for us."
"Well they might," said Charlie.
"They will pity us for our handicaps. They might even attempt to remedy them."
Ivan turned quickly to Jock. "Do you believe they can do so?"
"Master, no! Am I Crazy Eddie?"
Ivan relaxed. "You will consider this matter carefully. You will discuss the evidence the humans have, and what they may deduce from it. Were there not two Engineers as well as your Master aboard the embassy ship that met MacArthur?"
Jock: "Affirm."
"Curse. And how many Mediator pups when they returned?"
"I had four sisters."
"Curse!" Ivan wanted to say more; but to state the obvious would have lost Jock's loyalty forever; it might even have shocked Charlie into abnormalities. Curse! Mediators identified with Masters. They held the usual Master- emotions about children.
Though sterile from an early age, Ivan was not immune to those emotions; but he knew. The children should have been spaced.
Chapter 51 - After the Ball Is Over
Chapter 51 - After the Ball Is Over
"No point in sitting here," Renner announced.
"Yeah." Rod led the way to the Commission's office suite in the Palace. Sally followed silently.
"Kelley, I think you'd better bring a round of thinks," Rod said when they were seated at the conference table. "Make mine a double."
"Aye aye, my lord." Kelley gave Rod a puzzled look. Was Lady Sally giving him problems already? And them not even married yet?
"Twenty-five years!" Sally exploded. There was bitter anger in her voice. She said it again, this time to Chaplain Hardy. "Twenty-five years?" She waited for him to explain a universe in which there was so much injustice.
"Maybe it's the price they pay for better than human intelligence," Renner said. "It's heavy."
"There are compensations," Hardy said thoughtfully. "Their intelligence. And their love of life. They talk so fast, they probably think fast as well. I expect that Modes pack a lot into their few years."
There was more silence. Kelley returned with a tray. He set down the glasses and left, his face screwed into puzzled disapproval.
Renner glanced at Rod, who was in Thinker position: elbow on chair arm, chin on closed fist, face brooding.
Kevin lifted his glass. "Here's to the wake."
No one responded. Rod left his drink untouched. A man could live a good, useful life in a quarter of a century, he thought. Didn't people live about that long in preatomic days? But it couldn't be complete. I'm twenty-five now, and I haven't raised a family, or lived with a woman I love, or even begun my career in politics. He watched Sally rise and pace the floor What does she think she's doing? Is she going to solve that problem for them? If they can't, how could we?
"This isn't getting us anywhere," Renner said. Ha lifted his glass again. "Look, if it doesn't upset the Mediators that they're short-lived mules, why should we -- " He stopped in mid-sentence. "Mules? Then the pup Mediators on the embassy ship-must have been children of the two Browns and the hidden White."
They all looked at him. Sally stopped her pacing and took her seat again. "There were four pups when we got back to Mote Prime," she said. "Weren't there?"
"Indeed," Hardy said. He swirled brandy in his glass. "That is rather a high birth rate."
"But they've so little time," Sally protested.
"One would be a high birth rate in that ship. On that mission." Renner sounded positive. "Chaplain, what do you think of that as an ethical situation? You're going to meet a strange well-armed race. You're in a fragile toy of an unarmed ship. So you have children all over the place...
"I see your point," said David Hardy. "But I'll want to think about it. Perhaps -- "
He was interrupted by fists slamming on the table. Two fists. Sally's "God's teeth!" She seized the stylus and scribbled symbols on the face of her computer. It hummed and flashed. "We were waiting for the transfer ship. I know I didn't misunderstand. I couldn't have."
Hardy looked puzzlement at Sally. Renner looked a question at Rod. Rod shrugged and watched his girl. "Her Mode never told her they were mules," he explained to the others.
The computer hummed again. Sally nodded and keyed in instructions. A screen on the back wall lit to show Sally Fowler, eight months younger, talking to a brown-and-white alien. The voices were eerily identical.
Motie: But you marry to raise children. Who raises children born without marriage?
Sally: There are charities.
Motie: I take it you've never-
Sally: No, of course not.
The living Sally was almost blushing, but her face remained grim.
Motie: How not? I don't mean why not, I mean how?
Sally: Well-you know that men and women have to have sexual relations to make a baby, the same as you-
I've examined you pretty thoroughly...-
"Perhaps not thoroughly enough," Hardy commented.
"Apparently not," Sally said. "Shh."
Motie: Pills? How do they work? Hormones?
Sally: That's right.
Motie: But a proper woman doesn't use them.
Sally: No.
Motie: When will you get married?
Sally: When I find the right man...I may have found him already.
Someone was chuckling. Sally looked around, to see Rod looking beatifically unconcerned, Hardy smiling gently, and Renner laughing. She looked curses at the Sailing Master, but he obstinately refused to vanish in black smoke.
Motie: Then why don't you many him?
Sally: I don't want to jump into anything. "Marry in haste, repent at leisure." I can get married any time. Well, any time within the next five years. I'll be something of a spinster if I'm not married by then.
Motie: Spinster?
Sally: People would think it odd. What if a Motie doesn't want children? Motie: We don't have sexual relations
There were various clunks, and the screen went blank
"The literal truth," she mused "We don't have sexual relations." They don t either, but not by choice"
"Really?" David Hardy sounded puzzled "The statement in context with the question is highly misleading..."
"She didn't want to talk about it any more," Sally insisted. "And no wonder. I just misunderstood, that's all."
"I never misunderstood my Motie," Renner said. "Sometimes she understood me all too well..."
"Look. Let's drop it." -
"The day we went down to- Mote Prime, You'd known each other for months," Renner mused. "Chaplain, what do you think?"
"If I understand you properly, the same as you."
"Just what are you hinting at, Mr. Rennet? I said let's drop it." The Lady Sandra was incensed. Rod steeled himself for what was coming: ice or explosion, or both.
"I'm not hinting it, Sally," Renner said with sudden decision. "I'm saying it. Your Motie lied to you. Deliberately and with forethought."
"Nonsense. She was embarrassed -- "
Hardy shook his head slightly. It was a tiny motion, but it stopped Sally. She looked at the priest. "I think," David said, "I can recall only one occasion when a Motie was embarrassed. It was at the Museum. And all of them acted the same way there-nothing like your Fyunch(click) did just now, Sally. I'm afraid it's very probable that Kevin is right."
"And for what reason?" Sally insisted. "Just why would my-almost my sister-why would she lie to me? About that?"
There was silence. Sally nodded in satisfaction. She couldn't snap at Chaplain Hardy; not -- that she had that much respect for his office, but for him, Renner was another matter. "You will tell me if you find an answer to that question, Mr. Renner."
"Yah. Sure." Renner's expression made him look oddly like Buckman: Bury would have recognized it at once. He had barely heard her.
They left the glittering ballroom as soon as they could. Behind them a costumed orchestra played waltzes; while the Moties were introduced to a seemingly endless line. There were provincial barons, Parliament leaders, traders, people with friends in the protocol office, and assorted party crashers. Everyone wanted to see the Modes.
Rod took Sally's hand as they walked through deserted Palace cQrridors toward their quarters. An ancient waltz faded hollowly behind them.
"They've so little time to live, and we're wasting it with-that." Sally muttered. "Rod, it's not fair!"
"Part of their mission, sweetheart. What good would it do them to agree with us if we can't hold the baronage? Even with the Throne behind us we're safer playing the political game. And so are they."
"I suppose." She stopped him and leaned against his shoulder. The Hooded Man was fully risen, black against the stars, watching them through the stone arches. A fountain splashed in the courtyard below. They stood that way in the deserted corridor for a long time.
"I do love you," she whispered. "How can you put up with me?"
"That's pretty easy." He bent down to kiss her, desisted when there was no response.
"Rod, I'm so embarrassed...how am I ever going to apologize to Kevin?"
"To Kevin? You're kidding. Have you ever seen Renner apologize to anyone? Just forget it. Talk as if it had never happened next time you see him."
"But he was right-you knew, didn't you? You knew it then!"
He started her walking again. Their footsteps echoed through the corridors. Even in the dim lights the rock walls flashed iridescent colors as they moved. Then a wall blocked the smoldering gaze of the Hooded Man, and they were at the stairs.
"I suspected it then. Just from the reports and the brief relationship I had with my Motie. After you left this afternoon I did some checking. They lied to you."
"But why, Rod? I can't understand it -- " They climbed another flight in silence.
"You aren't going to like the answer," Rod said as they reached their floor. "She was a Mediator. Mediators represent Masters. She was ordered to lie to you."
"But why? What possible reason could they have for concealing that they were mules?"
"I wish I knew." Or that I didn't know, he thought. But there was no point in telling Sally until he was sure. "Don't take it so hard, sweetheart. We lied to them, too."
They reached his door and he put his hand on the identiplate. The door swung open to reveal Kelley, tunic unfastened, sprawled in an easy chair. The Marine leaped to his feet.
"Good God, Kelley. I've told you not to wait up for me. Go to bed."
"Important message, my lord. Senator Fowler will be here later. He asks you to wait for him. Wanted to be sure you got the message, my lord."
"Yeah." Rod's voice was lemon-sour. "OK. I got the message. Thanks."
"I'll stay to serve you."
"No, you won't. No sense in everybody staying up all night. Get out of here." Rod watched the Marine vanish into the corridor. When he was gone Sally giggled loudly. "I don't see what's so damned funny," Rod snapped.
"He was protecting my reputation," Sally laughed. "What if you hadn't got the message and Uncle Ben came chargin' in here and we -- "
"Yeah. Want a drink?"
"With Uncle Ben coming in a few minutes? Waste of good liquor. I'm going to bed." She smiled sweetly. "Don't stay up too late."
"Wench." He took her shoulders and kissed her. Then again. "I could set the door so he can't get in -- "
"Good night, Rod."
He watched until she was inside her own suite across the hall from his, then went back inside to the bar. It had been a long dull evening, with only the thought of leaving the party early to look forward to,
"Damn!" he said aloud. He tossed off a brimming glass of New Aberdeen Highland Cream. "God damn it to hell!"
Senator Fowler and a preoccupied Kevin Renner came in after Rod had poured his second drink. "Sorry about the hour, Rod," Fowler said perfunctorily. "Kevin tells me something interesting happened today -- "
"He did, uh? And he suggested this conference, right?" When Benjamin Fowler nodded, Rod turned to his former sailing master. "I'll fix you for this, you -- "
"We haven't got time for games," Fowler said. "Got any more of that Scotch?"
"Yeah." Rod poured for both of them, tossed off his drink, and poured himself another. "Have a seat, Ben. You too, Mr. Renner. I won't apologize for letting the servants go to bed -- "
"Oh, that's all right," Renner said. He lapsed back into whatever reverie was consuming him, sank into a chair, then grinned in astonishment. He'd never been in a massage chair before, and obviously enjoyed it
"OK," Senator Fowler said. "Tell me what you think happened this afternoon"
"I'll show it to you." Rod manipulated his pocket computer and the wall screen came on. The picture was not good; it had been recorded by a small camera built into a decoration on Rod's tunic, and the viewpoint was limited. The sound was excellent, though.
Fowler watched in silence. "Let's see that again," he said. Rod obligingly ran the conference once more. While Fowler and Renner watched he went to the bar, decided against another Scotch, and poured himself coffee.
"Now just why do you think this was so all-fired important?" Fowler demanded.
Kevin Renner shrugged. "It's the first proof we have that they lie to us. What else haven't they told us?"
"Hell, they haven't told us much of anything;' Fowler said. "And was that a lie?"
"Yeah," Rod said quietly. "By implication, anyway. It wasn't misunderstanding. I've checked on that. We've got too many records of conversations where the Moties implied something false, realized they'd done it from watching our reactions, and corrected themselves. No. That Motie deliberately encouraged Sally to believe something that isn't true."
"But what the hell does it do for us to know Mediators don't have kids?" Fowler demanded.
"It tells us two Browns and a White had four children," Renner said slowly. "On a small ship. In space. Under dangerous conditions. Not to mention crowded."
"Yeah." Ben Fowler stood and removed his dress tunic. The shirt underneath was old, very soft, and carefully patched in three places. "Rod, just what do Moties think of their kids?" Fowler asked. "Maybe they think they're nothing much until they can talk. Expendable."
"Wrong," said Renner.
"The tactful way," Rod said quietly, "the polite way to disagree with the Senator would be to say, 'That turns out not to be the case.'"
Renner's face lit up. "Hey. I like that. Anyway, the Senator's wrong. The Moties think everything of their children. The only religion they ever told me about teaches that theft souls divide to enter their children. They practically worship the little darlings."
"Uh." Fowler held out his glass for a refill. He scowled impatiently. "Could it be they like 'em so much they have kids whenever they get the chance?"
"Possible," Rod said. "And from that the threat is obvious. But -- "
"But exactly," Fowler said. "Then that planet's got to be crowded. Which it was. Which means the Moties have got population pressure problems like we've never had..."
"Presumably they can control them," Rod said carefully. "Because if they can't- They've been cooped up in that system a long time."
"With what results?" Fowler demanded. "What do we know of Motie history?"
"Not a lot," Renner said. "They've been civilized a long time. Really long. They were moving asteroids in bunches at least ten thousand years ago. I'm almost afraid to think how much history they've had." Kevin wriggled in the chair to get the full effects of the massage. "So they've had plenty of time to solve their population problems. Just from the time they launched that Crazy Eddie probe to now they could have filled up the planet. They didn't, so they can control population..."
"But they don't want to," Ben announced. "And what does that mean? If they get out here into the Empire, how long before they outnumber us?" Senator Fowler toyed thoughtfully with a worn spot on his shirt. "Maybe that's what they're trying to bide. High birth rate and a lack of desire to do anything about it." He stood in sudden decision, no longer pensive. "Rod, get your people looking into this. I want, everything we've got about Motie history"
"Yes, sir," Rod said unhappily And what is this going to do to Sally when we get it? Because-
"You sound like the prosecutor in a murder trial," Renner said. "Good Lord, Senator, they've got a long history. Of course they've solved the population pressure problem."
"Fine. How?" Fowler snapped.
"I don't know. Ask 'em," said Renner.
"I intend to. But since we know they can and do lie to us- Now just why would that surprise a politician?" Ben wondered. "Anyway. Now that we know that, I want to have my ducks in a row before I go in there and confront the Moties."
"The opportunities for trade are fabulous," Jock announced. The arms indicated excitement. "These humans are indescribably inefficient in the use of their resources. They have no instinct for complex tools."
"None?" demanded Ivan.
"None that I have seen." Jock indicated the tri-v. "They must train their young in every trade. Many of the programs on this set are for that purpose."
"They have time to learn," Charlie reflected. "They live very long. Longer than any Master."
"Yes, but what a waste. They have no Browns, and no Watchmakers -- "
Ivan interrupted. "You are certain they have no Watchmakers?"
"Yes We saw no signs on the ships, nor have there been any on the tri-v, nor are there the expected products of Watchmakers. There are no individualized personal items -- "
"I have seen such. The guards who attended us on Lenin carried such and many wore such footgear."
"Made by our own Watchmakers -- "
"Precisely," said Ivan. "Now we know why they destroyed MacArthur. And why they fear us."
The Mediators jabbered excitedly until Ivan cut them off again. "You agree?" He asked in the tone commanding information to be confirmed,
"Yes!" they said in unison. Charlie spoke rapidly, drowning Jock out. "The Brown miner they took aboard would have carried a breeding pair of Watchmakers. The humans know nothing of Watchmakers and would have allowed them to escape. And given free run of the ship and much time to adapt to it -- "
"Yet we were told they have Watchmakers," Ivan said. Jock took a pose indicating memory recall. After a second he said, "No. Sally allowed us to assume that they have them. When her Fyunch(click) suggested that human Watchmakers were large, Sally agreed."
"And the midshipmen seemed startled when we spoke of them regarding construction of their lifeboats," Charlie said flatly. "Yes. You are certainly correct."
There was silence. Ivan thought. Then he said, "They know we have a prolific subspecies. You will reflect on this."
"They fear that we deliberately caused the destruction of MacArthur," Charlie said. "Curse! If only they had told us. We could have told them of the dangers, and the humans would have nothing to fear. Curse! Why did the universe arrange that the first Motie they met was a Brown?"
"They said MacArthur was infested with plague," Jock mused. "And so it was, although we did not believe them. A plague of Watchmakers. Yet. If they truly believe we deliberately destroyed their ship, or allowed it to be destroyed, why have they not said so? Why did they not ask?"
"They conceal their vulnerabilities," said Charlie. "And they never admit defeat. Even in their final minutes the midshipmen refused to surrender."
There was silence. -- Ivan spoke. "The humans did not wish us to know there were Watchmakers aboard until they had killed them. They were certain they could do that. Then, after, they did not wish us to know Watchmakers could destroy their ships."
"Fools!" Charlie shouted. "Watchmakers given time to adapt can destroy any ship. They contribute greatly to a collapse. If they were not so useful we would have them exterminated."
"That's been done," Jock said. He gestured dry humor. "With the usual result. Another Master kept hers -- "
"Silence," Ivan demanded. "They fear us. Speak of that."
"Do you know of what the humans call 'fiction'?" Charlie asked. "Deliberately constructed legends. Both those who hear and those who tell them know they are false."
Ivan and Jock indicated they were familiar with the concept.
"There was a tri-v program last evening. It was fiction as are many of the broadcasts. This one was called 'Istvan Dies.' When it was completed the commentator spoke as if the major action of the story were true."
"I did not see," Jock said. "Viceroy Merrill wished me to meet some Traders before the reception for the Barons. Curse! These endless formalities consume our time and we learn nothing from them."
"I did not tell you of this program," Charlie said. "The principal actor portrayed a man obviously intended to be Admiral Kutuzov."
Jock signaled astonishment and lament for lost opportunities.
"You have a point?" Ivan demanded.
"Yes. The story was one of conflicting motives. The admiral in command did not wish to do what he did. There was war between humans: between the Empire and those outies they fear so greatly."
"Could we not come to terms with the outies?" Jock demanded
"How?" Ivan said. "They control all access to us. If they suspect we would ever do so, they would do anything to prevent it. Do not even think of such things. Tell me of your program."
"In this war there was revolt of a planet. Other planets would soon revolt. What was a small war could become a very large war, with many planets involved. The admiral detected a way to prevent that, and decided it was his duty. With five ships like Lenin he killed all life on a planet inhabited by ten millions of humans."
There was long silence.
"They are able to do this?" Ivan demanded.
"I believe so," Charlie answered. "I am not a Brown to be certain, but -- "
"You will reflect on this. Remember that they fear us. Recall that they now know we have a prolific subspecies. Recall also that from study of the probe they placed this man in charge of the expedition to our system. Fear for your Masters and your sisters." Ivan went to his chamber. After a long time the Mediators began to speak rapidly, but very softly.
Chapter 54 - Out of the Bottle
Chapter 54 - Out of the Bottle
"It is close," Jock reported. "Almost the Senator agrees. Sally already has."
"And Blaine?" Ivan demanded.
"He will do as the Senator wishes, although he would rather agree with Sally. He likes us, and he sees an advantage for the Navy. It is unfortunate that his Fyunch(click) went insane; she would be of great use here."
"Can it work?" Charlie asked. "Jock, how can it work? Before the new colonies are established, the Imperials will see us as we are. They will visit our system, and they will know. And then?"
"They will never know," Jock said. "Their own Navy will prevent it. There will be visits by unarmed ships, but they will risk no more naval vessels. Can we not deceive a few ships full of humans? They can never speak our language. We will have time to prepare for them. We will never let them see Warriors. How will they learn? Meanwhile the colonies will be established. The humans can have no conception of how quickly we can establish colonies, or how quickly they will be able to build ships. We will be in a much better bargaining position then, in contact with many humans-and we can offer them anything they want. We will have allies, and we will be spread far enough that not even the Empire could exterminate us. If they cannot do it with ~certainty they will not attempt it. That is how these humans think."
The Marine brought them the drink humans called chocolate, and they drank with pleasure. Humans were omnivores like Moties, but the flavors humans preferred were generally tasteless. Chocolate, though: that was excellent, and with extra hydrocarbons to simulate the waters of the home world, it was incomparable.
"What alternatives have we?" Jock demanded. "What would they do if we told them everything? Would they not dispatch their fleet to destroy us all and save their descendants from our threat?"
"I approve this agreement," Ivan said. "Your Master will also."
"Perhaps," Charlie said. She thought, falling into a pose that excluded the world around her, She was the Master- "I can agree," she said. "It is better than I had hoped.
"But the danger!"
"There has been danger since the humans first came to the Mote system," Jock said. "It is less now than before."
Ivan observed carefully. The Mediators were excited. The strain had been great, and despite their outward control they were close to the edge. It was not part of his nature to wish for what could not be, but he hoped that the efforts to breed a more stable Mediator would succeed; it was difficult to work with creatures who might suddenly see an unreal universe and make judgments based on it. The pattern was always the same. First they wished for the impossible. Then they worked toward it, still knowing it to be impossible. Finally they acted as if the impossible could be achieved, and let that unreality influence every act. It was more common with Mediators than any other class, but it happened to Masters also.
These Mediators were close to the edge, but they would last. The Race would be preserved. It must be.
"A thousand crowns for your thoughts." Sally said. Her eyes twinkled with happiness-and relief.
Rod turned from the window to grin at her. The room was large, and the others were gathered near the bar, except for Hardy, who sat near the Moties listening to their chatter as if he might understand a word or two. Rod and Sally were effectively alone. "You're very generous," he said.
"I can afford it. I'll pay you just after the wedding...
"With the income from Crucis Court. I haven't got it yet, don't be so anxious to kill Dad off. We may be living on his generosity for years."
"What were you thinking about? You look so serious."
"How I'm going to vote on this if the Senator won't agree."
She nodded soberly. "I thought so -- "
"I could lose you over this, couldn't I?"
"I don't know, Rod. I guess it would depend on why you rejected their offer. And what you agreed to ± in its place. But you aren't going to reject it, are you? What's wrong with what they propose?"
Rod stared at the drink in his hand. It was some kind of nonalcoholic gup Kelley had brought; the meeting was too important for Scotch. "Nothing wrong, maybe. It's the maybe, Sally. Look out there." He pointed to New Scotland's streets.
There were few people at this hour. Theater and dinner goers. Sightseers come to view the Palace after dark. Sailors with their girls. Covenanter guardsmen in kilts and bearskins standing rigidly at the sentry box near the driveway entrance. "If we're wrong, their kids are dead."
"If we're wrong, the Navy takes it on the chin," Sally said slowly. "Rod, what if the Moties come out, and in twenty years they've settled a dozen planets. Built ships. Threaten the Empire? The Navy can still handle them-you won't have to, but it could be done."
"Sure about that? I'm not. I'm not sure we could defeat them now. Exterminate them, yeah, but whip them? And twenty years from now? What would the butcher's bill be? New Scotland for sure. It's in their way. What other worlds would go?"
"What have we got for choices?" she asked. "I- Rod, I worry about our kids too. But what can we do? You can't make war on the Moties because they might be a threat someday!"
"No, of course not~ Here's dinner. And I'm sorry I spoiled your happy mood."
They were all laughing before the dinner ended. The Moties put on a show: imitations of New Scotland's most famous tri-v personalities. In minutes they had everyone at the table gasping helplessly.
"How do you do it?" David Hardy asked between fits of laughter.
"We have been studying your humor," Charlie answered. "We subtly exaggerate certain characteristics. The cumulative effect should be amusing if our theory was correct; apparently it was."
Horvath said, "You can make a fortune as entertainers no matter what else you have to trade."
"That, at least, will have little effect on your economy. We will require your aid in scheduling release of our technology, however."
Horvath nodded gravely. "I'm glad you appreciate the problem. If we just dump everything you have on the market, it would make chaos out of the market -- "
"Believe me, Doctor, we have no desire to make problems for you. If you see us as an opportunity, think of how we see you! To be free of the Mote system after all these centuries! Out of the bottle! Our gratitude is unbounded."
"Just how old are you?" David Hardy asked.
The Motie shrugged. "We have fragments of records that indicate times a hundred thousand years ago, Dr. Hardy. The asteroids were already in place then. Others may be older, but we can't read them. Our real history starts perhaps ten thousand years ago."
"And you've had collapses of civilization since then?" Hardy asked.
"Certainly. Entrapped in that system? How could it be otherwise?"
"Do you have records of the asteroid war?" Renner asked.
Jock frowned. Her face wasn't suited for it, but the gesture conveyed distaste. "Legends only. We have- They are much like your songs, or epic poems. Linguistic devices to make memorization easier. I do not think they are translatable, but -- " The Motie paused for a moment. It was as if she were frozen into the position she'd happened to be in when she decided to think. Then:
"It is cold and the food is gone, the demons rove the land.
Our sisters die and the waters boil, for the demons make the skies fall,"
The alien paused grimly. "I'm afraid that's not very good, but it's all I can do."
"It's good enough," Hardy said. "We have such poetry too. Stories of lost civilizations, disasters in our prehistory. We can trace most of them to a volcanic explosion about forty-five hundred years ago. As a matter of fact, that seems to be when men got the idea that God might intervene in their affairs. Directly, as opposed to creating cycles and seasons and such."
"An interesting theory-but doesn't it upset your religious beliefs?"
"No, why should it? Can't God as easily arrange a natural event to produce a desirable effect as He could upset the laws of nature? In fact, which is the more miraculous, a tidal wave just when it is needed, or a super- ± natural once-only event? But I don't think you have time to discuss theology with me. Senator Fowler seems to have finished his dinner. So if you'll excuse me, I'll be away a few minutes, and I think we'll get started again -- "
Ben Fowler took Rod and Sally to a small office behind the conference room. "Well?" he demanded.
"I'm on record," Sally said.
"Yeah. Rod?"
"We've got to do something, Senator. The pressure's getting out of hand."
"Yeah," Ben said. "Damn it, I need a drink. Rod?"
"Thanks, I pass."
"Well, if I can't think straight with a good belt of Scotch in me the Empire's already collapsed." He fumbled through the desk until he found a bottle, sneered at the brand, and poured a stiff drink into a used coffee cup. "One thing puzzles me. Why isn't the ITA making more trouble? I expected them to give us the most pressure, and they're quiet. Thank God for what favors we have." He tossed off half the cup and sighed.
"What harm does it do to agree now?" Sally asked.
"We can change our minds if we find out anything new -- "
"Like hell, kitten," Ben said. "Once something specific is in the works, the sharp boys'll think how to make a crown out of it, and after they've got money invested-I thought you learned more about elementary politics than that. What do they teach in the university nowadays? Rod, I'm still waiting for something out of you."
Rod fingered his bent nose. "Ben, we can't stall much longer. The Moties must know that-they may even cut theft offer once they see just how ± much pressure we're under. I say let's do it."
"You do, huh. You'll make your wife happy anyway."
"He's not doing it for me!" Sally insisted. "You stop teasing him."
"Yeah." The Senator scratched his bald spot for a moment. Then he drained his cup and set it down. "Got to check one or two things. Probably be okay. If they are- I guess the Modes have a deal. Let's go in."
Jock gestured rapture and excitement. "They are ready to agree! We are saved!"
Ivan eyed the Mediator coldly. "You will restrain yourself. There is much to do yet."
"I know. But we are saved. Charlie, is it not so?"
Charlie studied the humans. The faces, the postures-."Yes. But the Senator remains unconvinced, and Blaine is afraid, and-Jock, study Renner."
"You are so cold! Can you not rejoice with me? We are saved!"
"Study Renner."
"Yes...I know that look. He wears it playing poker, when his down card is an unexpected one. It does not help us. But he has no power, Charlie! A wanderer with no sense of reponsibility!"
"Perhaps. We juggle priceless eggs in variable gravity. I am afraid. I will taste fear until I die."
Chapter 55 - Renner's Hole Card
Chapter 55 - Renner's Hole Card
Senator Fowler sat heavily and looked around the table. The look was enough to still the chatter and get everyone's attention. "I guess we know what we are all after," he said. "Now comes haggling over the price. Let's get the principles set, uh? First and foremost. You agree not to arm your colonies and to let us inspect 'em to be sure they aren't armed?"
"Yes," Jock said positively. She twittered to the Master. "The Ambassador agrees. Provided that the Empire will, for a price, protect our colonies from your enemies."
"We'll certainly do that. Next. You agree to restrict trade to companies chartered by the Imperium?"
"Yes."
"Well, that's the main points," Fowler announced. "We're ready for the small stuff. Who's first?"
"Can I ask what kind of colony they'll set up?" said Renner.
"Eh? Sure."
"Thank you. Will you be bringing representatives of all your classes?"
"Yes..." Jock hesitated. "All that are relevant to the conditions, Mr. Renner. We'd hardly take Farmers to a nonterraformed rock until the Engineers had built a dome."
"Yeah. Well, I was wondering, because of this." He fumbled with his pocket computer and the screens lit. They showed an oddly distorted New Cal, a brilliant flash, then darkness. "Woops. Wrong place. That was when the probe fired on Captain Blaine's ship."
"Ah?" Jock said. He twittered to the others. They answered. "We had wondered what was the fate of the probe. Frankly, we believed you had destroyed it, and thus we did not wish to ask -- "
"You're close," Renner said. More images flashed on the screen. The light sail was rippling. "This is just before they shot at us."
"But the probe would not have fired on you," Jock protested.
"It did. Thought we were a meteor, I guess," Rod answered. "Anyway -- "
Black shapes flowed across the screen. The sail rippled, flashed, and they were gone. Renner backed the tape until the silhouettes were stark against the light, then stopped the film.
"I must warn you," Jock said. "We know little about the probe. It is not our specialty, and we had no chance to study the records before we left Mote Prime."
Senator Fowler frowned. "Just what are you getting at, Mr. Renner?"
"Well, sir, I wondered about the images." Renner took a light pointer from a recess in the table. "These are various Motie classes, aren't they?"
Jock seemed hesitant. "They appear to be."
"Sure they are. That's a Brown, right? And a Doctor."
"Right." The light pointer moved. "Runner," Jock said. "And a Master..."
"There's a Watchmaker." Rod almost spat it. He couldn't hide his distaste. "The next one looks like a Farmer. Hard to tell from a Brown but -- " His voice went suddenly uneasy. "Renner, I don't recognize that next one."
There was silence. The pointer hovered over a misshapen shadow, longer and leaner than a Brown, with what seemed to be thorns at the knees and heels and elbows.
"We saw them once before," Renner said. His voice was almost automatic now. Like a man walking through a graveyard on a bet. Or the point man advancing Over the hill into enemy territory. Emotionless, determined, rigidly under control. It wasn't like Renner at all.
The screen divided, and another image appeared: the time-machine sculpture from the museum in Castle City. What looked like a junk-art sculpture of electronic parts was surrounded by things bearing weapons.
At his first sight of Ivan, Rod had felt an embarrassingly strong urge to stroke the Ambassador's silky fur. His impulse now was equally strong: he wanted to be in karate stance. The sculpted things showed in far too much detail. They grew daggers at every point, they looked hard as steel and stood like coiled springs, and any one of them would have left a Marine combat instructor looking as if he'd been dropped into a mowing machine. And what was that under the big left arm, like a broad-bladed knife half concealed?
"Ah," said Jock, "a demon. I suppose they must have been dolls representing our species. Like the statuettes, to make it easier for the Mediator to talk about us."
"All of those?" Rod's voice was pure wonder. "A shipload of full-sized mockups?"
"We don't know they were full-sized, do we?" asked Jock.
"Fine. Assume they were mockups," Renner said. He went on relentlessly. "They were still models of living Motie classes. Except this one. Why would that one be in the group? Why bring a demon with the rest?"
There was no answer.
"Thank you, Kevin," Rod said slowly. He didn't dare look at Sally. "Jock, is this or is it not a Motie class?"
"There's more, Captain," Renner said. "Look real close at the Farmer. Now that we know what to look for."
The image wasn't very clear, little more than a fuzzy edged silhouette; but the bulge was unmistakable on the full profile view.
"She's pregnant," Sally exclaimed. "Why didn't I think of that! A pregnant statuette? But- Jock, what does this me an?"
"Yeah," Rod asked coldly.
But it was impossible to get Jock's attention.
"Stop! Say no more!" Ivan commanded.
"What would I say?" Jock wailed. "The idiots took a Warrior! We are finished, finished, when moments ago we had the universe in our hand!" The Motie's powerful left hand closed crushingly on air.
"Silence. Control yourself. Now. Charlie, tell me what you know of the probe. How was it built?"
Charlie gestured contempt interrupted by respect. "It should be obvious. The probe builders knew an alien species inhabited this star. They knew nothing more. Thus they must have assumed the species resembled ours, if not in appearance, then in the essentials."
"Cycles. They must have assumed Cycles," Ivan mused. "We had yet to know that all races are not condemned to the Cycles."
"Precisely," said Charlie. "The hypothetical species had survived. It was intelligent. They would have no more control of their breeding than we, since such control is not a survival characteristic. Thus the probe was launched in the belief that this star's people would be in collapse when the probe arrived."
"So." Ivan thought for a moment. "The Crazy Eddies put pregnant females of every class aboard. Idiots!"
"Give them credit. They did their best," said Charlie. "The probe must have been rigged to dump the passengers into the sun the instant it was hailed by a space-traveling civilization. If the hypothetical aliens were that advanced, they would find, not an attempt to take over their planet with the light sail as a weapon, but a Mediator sent on a peaceful errand." Charlie paused for thought. "An accidentally dead Mediator. The probe would have been set to kill her, so the aliens would learn as little as possible. You are a Master: is this not what you would do?"
"Am I also Crazy Eddie, to launch the probe at all? The strategy did not work. Now we must tell these humans something."
"I say tell them all," Charlie said. "What else can we do? We are caught in our own lies."
"Wait," Ivan commanded. Only seconds had passed, but Jock was normal again. The humans were staring curiously. "We must say something momentous. Hardy knows we are excited. True?"
"Yes," Charlie gestured.
"What discovery could so have excited us?"
"Trust me," Jock said quickly. "We may yet be saved.
Demon worshipers! We told you we have no racial enemies, and this is true; but there is a religious faction, secret, which makes gods of the time demons. They are vicious, and very dangerous. They must have seized the probe before it left the asteroid belt. Secretly, perhaps -- "
"Then the passengers and crew were alive?" Rod asked. Charlie shrugged. "I believe so. They must have committed suicide. Who knows why? Possibly they thought we had developed a faster-than-light drive and were waiting for them. What did you do when you approached them?"
"Sent messages in most human languages," Rod answered. "You're sure they were alive?"
"How would we know?" Jock asked. "Do not be concerned about them." The voice was filled with contempt. ~~They were not proper representatives of our race. Their rituals include sacrifice of sentient classes."
"Just how many of these demon worshipers are there?" Hardy asked. "I was never told of them."
"We are not proud of their existence," Jock answered. "Did you tell us of outies? Of the excesses of Sauron System? Are you pleased that we know humans are capable of such things?"
There were embarrassed murmurs.
"Damn," Rod said quietly. "They were alive after all- after all that distance," The thought was bitter.
"You are distressed," Jock said. "We are pleased that you did not speak to them before you met us. Your expedition would have been of quite a different character if you had -- "
She stopped, watching curiously. Dr. Sigmund Horowitz had risen from his seat and was bent against the screen, examining the time-machine picture. He fingered the screen controls to enlarge one of the demon statuettes. The silhouette from the probe faded, leaving half the screen blank, then another picture came on and grew and grew-a sharp-fanged, rat-faced creature squatting on a pile of rubble.
"Aim!" Horowitz shouted in triumph. "I wondered what the ancestry of the rats could be! Degenerate forms of this He turned to the Moties. There was nothing in his manner but curiosity, as if he'd paid no attention to the conversation before. "What do you use this caste for?" he asked. "Soldiers, aren't they? Have to be. What else would they be good for?"
"No. They are only myths."
"Balderdash. Demons with weapons? Father Hardy, can you imagine devils carrying blast rifles?" Horowitz fingered the controls again and the probe silhouette appeared. "Abraham's Beard! That's no statue. Come now, this is a Mode subspecies. Why do you hide it? Fascinating- I've never seen anything so well adapted for..." Horowitz' voice trailed off.
"A Warrior caste," Ben Fowler said slowly. "I don't wonder that you hid it from us. Dr. Horowitz, would you suppose that-creature -- is as prolific as we know the other Moties can be?"
"Why not?'
"But I tell you the demons are legendary," Jock insisted. "The poem. Dr. Hardy, you recall the poem? These are the creatures who made the skies fall."
"I believe that," Hardy said. "I'm not sure I believe they're extinct. You keep their feral descendants in zoos. Anthony, I put a hypothetical question to you: If the Moties have a very prolific caste devoted to warfare; their Masters have pride in independence similar to terran lions; they have had several disastrous wars; and they are hopelessly trapped in a single planetary system: what is the most reasonable projection of their history?"
Horvath shuddered. So did the others. "Like-MacArthur," Horvath answered sadly. "Cooperation among Masters must break down when population pressures become severe enough...if that's really a current caste, David."
"But I tell you again, they ate legendary demons," Jock protested.
"I'm afraid we don't believe everything you tell us," Hardy said. There was deep sadness in his voice. "Not that I ever accepted everything you said. Priests hear a lot of lies. But I always did wonder what you were hiding.
It would have been better if you'd shown us some kind of military or police forces. But you couldn't, could you?
They were -- " he gestured at the screen. "Those."
"Rod," Senator Fowler said. "You look pretty grim."
"Yes, sir. I was thinking what it would be like to fight a race that's bred Warriors for ten thousand years. Those things must be adapted to space warfare too. Give the Moties Field technology, and-Ben, I don't think we could beat them! It'd be like trying to fight millions of Sauron cyborgs! Hell, the couple of thousand they had were enough to keep the war going for years!"
Sally listened helplessly. "But what if Jock's telling the truth? Couldn't she be right? There was a Warrior caste, it's extinct now, and outlaw Modes-want to bring them back."
"Easy enough to find out," Fowler muttered. "And best done fast, before the Motie Browns build a fleet that could stop us."
"If they haven't already," Rod muttered. "They work so fast. They rebuilt the embassy ship while it was on its way to MacArthur. A complete overhaul, with two Browns and some Watchmakers. I think Commander Cargill's threat estimate may be a bit conservative, Senator."
"Even if it isn't," said Renner, "we still have to picture every ship captained and crewed by Admiral Kutuzov."
"Right. Okay, Jock. You see our situation," said the Senator.
"Not really." The Mode was crouched forward and looked very alien.
"I'll spell it out. We don't have the resources to fight a million critters evolved for warfare. Maybe we'd win, may be not. If you keep those things around, it's because you need 'em; your system's too crowded to keep useless mouths. If you need 'em, you fight wars."
"I see," Jock said carefully.
"No; you don't," the Senator growled. "You know something about Sauron System, but not enough. Jock, if you Moties breed Warrior castes, our people are goin' to identify you with Saurons, and I don't think you appreciate just how much the Empire hated them and their superman ideas."
"What will you do?" Jock asked.
"Take a look at your system. A real look."
"And if you find Warriors?"
"We don't need to look, do we?" Senator Fowler demanded. "You know we'll find 'em." He sighed heavily. His pause for thought was very short-no more than a second. Then he stood and went to the view screen, walking slowly, like a juggernaut-.
"What will we do? Can we not stop him?" Jock wailed. Ivan remained calm. "It would do no good, and you could not do it. That Marine is no Warrior, but he is armed and his hand is on his weapon. He fears us."
"But -- "
"Listen."
"Conference call," Fowler told the Palace operator. "I want Prince Merrill and War Minister Armstrong. Personally, and I don't give a damn where they are. I want 'em now."
"Yes, Senator." The girl was young, and frightened by the Senator's manner. She fumbled with her equipment, and the room was still for a time.
Minister Armstrong was in his office. His tunic was missing and his shirt unbuttoned. Papers littered his desk. He looked up in irritation, saw who was calling, and muttered, "Aye?"
"A moment," Fowler said brusquely. "I'm getting the Viceroy on a conference circuit," There was another long wait.
His Highness came on; the screen showed his face only. Ha seemed breathless. "Yes, Senator?"
"Your Highness, you have seen my Commission from the Emperor?"
"Yes."
"You accept my authority in all matters having to do with the aliens?"
"Of course."
"As representative of His Imperial Majesty I order you to assemble the sector battle fleet as quickly as possible. You will place Admiral Kutuzov in command to await my orders."
There was more silence on the screens. An irritating babble filled the conference room. Ben gestured imperiously for silence and it cut off.
"As a matter of form, Senator," Merrill said carefully, "I will require confirmation of that order from another member of the Commission."
"Yeah. Rod."
And here it is, Rod thought. He didn't dare look at Sally. A race of Warriors? Independent Masters? We can't let them get out into human space. We wouldn't last a century.
The Moties are frozen stiff. They know what we'll find. Unrestricted breeding and demons. Every nightmare every kid ever had...but I like Moties. No. I like the Mediators. I've never known any of the others. And the Mediators don't control the Mote civilization, Carefully he looked down at Sally. She was as unmoving as the Moties. Rod drew in a deep breath.
"Your Highness, I approve."
Chapter 57 - All the Skills of Treason
Chapter 57 - All the Skills of Treason
They stood for a long time on the balcony outside, Rod's suite. Faint sounds of a city after dark floated up to them. The Hooded Man rose high in the sky, his baleful red eye watching them with indifference: two human lovers, who would send squadrons of ships into the Eye itself and keep them there, until they too passed away...
"It doesn't look very big," Sally murmured. She moved her head against his shoulder and felt his arms tighten around her. "Just a fleck of yellow in Murcheson's Eye. Rod, will it work?"
"The blockade? Sure. We worked out the plan at Fleet Battle Ops. Jack Cargill set it up: a squadron inside the Eye itself to take advantage of the Jump shock. The Moties don't know about that, and their ships won't be under command for minutes at best. If they try to send them through on automatic it just makes it worse."
She shivered against him. "That wasn't really what I meant. The whole plan-will it work?"
"What choices have we?"
"None. And I'm glad you agree. I couldn't live with you if- I couldn't, that's all."
"Yeah." And that makes me grateful to the Moties for thinking up this, scheme, because we can't let the Moties get out. A galactic plague-and there are only two remedies for that kind of plague. Quarantine and extermination. At least we've got a choice.
"They're -- " She stopped and looked up at him. "I'm afraid to talk to you about it. Rod, I couldn't live with myself if we had to-if the blockade won't work."
He didn't say anything. There was a shouted laugh from somewhere beyond the Palace grounds. It sounded like children.
"They'll get past that squadron in the star," Sally said. Her voice was tightly controlled.
"Sure. And past the mines Sandy Sinclair's designing too. But where can they go, Sally? There's only one exit from the Eye system, they don't know where it is, and there'll be a battle group waiting for them when they find it. Meanwhile they've been inside a star. No place to dissipate energy. Probably damaged. There's nothing you can think of that we haven't considered. That blockade's tight. I wouldn't approve it otherwise."
She relaxed again and leaned against his chest His arms encircled her. They watched the Hooded Man and his imperfect eye.
"They won't come out," Rod said.
"And they're still trapped. After a million years what will we be like in a million years?" she wondered. "Like them? There's something basic we don't understand about Moties. A fatalistic streak I can't even comprehend. After a few failures they may even just-give up."
He shrugged. "We'll keep the blockade anyway. Then, in about fifty years, we'll go in and see what things are like. If they've collapsed as thoroughly as Charlie predicts, we can take them into the Empire."
"And then what?"
"I don't know. We'll have to think of something."
"Yes." She drew away from him and turned excitedly. "I know! Rod, we have to really look at the problem. For the Moties. We can help them."
He looked at her wonderingly. "I think the best brains in the Empire are likely to be working on it."
"Yes, but for the Empire. Not for the Modes. We need-an Institute. Something controlled by people who know the Moties. Something outside of politics. And we can do it. We're rich enough...
"Eh?"
"We can't spend half of what we have between us." She dashed past him and into his suite, then through it and across the corridor to her own. Rod followed to see her burrowing among the stacks of wedding gifts that littered the large rose-teak table in her entry hail. She grunted in satisfaction when she found her pocket computer.
Now should I be irritated? Rod thought. I think I'd better learn to be happy when she's -like this. I'll have a long time to do it. "The Modes have been working -- on their problem awhile," he reminded her.
She looked up with faint irritation. "Pooh. They don't see things the way we do. Fatalism, remember? And they've had nobody to force them into adopting any solutions they do think up." She went back to scribbling notes. "We'll need Horowitz, of course. And he says there's a good man on Sparta, we'll have to send for him. Dr. Hardy. We'll want him."
He regarded her with awe and wonder. "When you get going, you move." And I better move with you if I'm going to have you around all my life. Wonder what it's like to live with a whirlwind? "You'll have Father Hardy if you want him. The Cardinal's assigned him to the Mote problem-and I think His Eminence has something bigger in store. Hardy could have been a bishop long ago but he doesn't have the -- normal share of miterosis. Now I don't think he's got much choice: First apostolic delegate to an alien race, or something."
"Then the Board will be you and me, Dr. Horvath, Father Hardy-and Ivan."
"Ivan?" But why not? And as long as we're doing this, we may as well do it right. W&I1 need a good executive director, Sally's no use as an administrator, and I won't have time. Horvath, maybe. "Sally, do you know just how much we're up against? The biology problem: how to turn a female to male without pregnancy or permanent sterility. But even if you find something, how do we get the Moties to use it?"
She wasn't really listening. "We'll find a way. We're pretty good at governing -- "
"We can hardly govern a human empire!"
"But we do, don't we? Somehow." She pushed a stack of gaily wrapped packages aside to make more room. A large box almost fell and Rod had to catch it as Sally continued to scrawl notes into her computer's memory bank. "Now just what's the code for Imperial Men and Women of Science?" she asked. "There's a man on Meiji who's done some really good work in genetic engineering, and I can't remember his name."
Rod sighed heavily. "I'll look him up for you. But there's one condition."
"What's that?" She looked up in curiosity,
"You finish this up by next week, because, Sally, if you take that pocket computer on our honeymoon, I'll throw the goddamn thing into the mass converter!"
She laughed, but Rod didn't feel reassured at all. Oh Well. The computers weren't expensive. He could buy her a-new one when they got back. In fact, maybe he ought to make a deal with Bury; he might need the things in shipload lots if they were ever going to have a family...
Horace Bury followed the Marine guards through the Palace, pointedly ignoring the other Marines who'd fallen in behind him. His face was calm, and only a close study of his eyes could show the despair that bored through him.
As Allah wills, he sighed, and wondered that he no longer resented the thought. Perhaps there would be comfort in submission...there was little else to console him. The Marines had brought his servant and all his baggage down on the landing ship, and then separated him from Nabil at the Palace roof. Before they did, Nabil had whispered his message: Jonas Stone's confession was even now reaching the Palace.
Stone was still on New Chicago, but whatever he had told Naval Intelligence was important enough to be put on a message sloop. Nabil's informant didn't know what the rebel leader had said, but Bury did, as surely as if he could read the coded tapes. The message would be brief, and it would contain death by hanging for Horace Bury.
So this is the end of it all. The Empire acts swiftly against treason: a few days, a few weeks. No more. There is no chance to escape. The Marines are polite, but very alert. They have been warned, and there are many of them, too many. One might accept a bribe, but not when his comrades are watching.
As Allah wills. But it is a pity. Had I not been so concerned with the aliens, had I not done the Empire's work with the Traders, I would long since have escaped. Levant is large. But I would have had to leave New Scotland, and it is here the decisions will be made-what point to escape when the aliens may destroy us all?
The Marine Sergeant conducted him to an ornate conference room and held open the door until Bury went inside. Then, incredibly, the guards retired. There were only two men in the room with him.
"Good morning, my lord," Bury said to Rod Elaine. His words were even and smooth, but his mouth felt dry, and there was a sharp taste in the back of his throat as he bowed to the other man. "I have not been introduced to Senator Fowler, but of course his face is known to everyone in the Empire. Good morning, Senator."
Fowler nodded without rising from his seat at the big conference table. "Good morning, Excellency. Good of you to come. Have a seat, won't you?" He waved to a place opposite his
"Thank you" Bury took the indicated chair Then more astonishment, as Blaine brought coffee. Bury sniffed carefully and recognized it as a blend he had sent to the Palace chef for Blaine's use.
In the Name of Allah. They are playing games with me, but to what end? He felt rage mingled with fear, but no hope at all. And a wild, bubbling laugh rose in his throat.
"Just so we know where we stand, Excellency," Fowler said. He waved, and Blame activated a wall screen. The bulky features of Jonas Stone loomed out into the ornately paneled room. There was sweat on the brow and along the cheekbones, and Stone's voice alternately boomed and pleaded.
Bury listened impassively, his lip curled in contempt for Stone's weakness. There was no doubt at all: the Navy had more than enough evidence to send him to a traitor's death. Still the smile did not fade from Bury lips. He would give them no satisfaction. He would not plead.
Eventually the tape ended. Fowler waved again and the rebel leader's image vanished. "Nobody's seen that but the three of us, Excellency," Fowler said carefully.
But no. What do they want? Is there hope after all?
"I don't know that it needs discussing," the Senator continued. "Me, I'd rather talk about Moties."
"Ah," said Bury. The tiny sound almost stuck in his throat. And do you wish to deal, or do you taunt me with the final horror? He swallowed coffee to moisten his tongue before he spoke. "I am sure that the Senator is aware of my views. I consider Modes the greatest threat humans have ever faced." He looked at the two men opposite him, but there was nothing to be read in their faces.
"We agree," Blame said.
Quickly, while hope rose. in Bury's eyes, Fowler added, "There's not much question about it. They're locked into a permanent state of population explosion followed by total war. If they ever get out of their system- Bury, they've got a soldier subspecies that puts the Saurons to shame. Hell, you've seen them."
Blaine did things to his pocket computer and another picture appeared: the time-machine sculpture.
"Those? But my Motie said they -- " Bury stopped himself in realization. Then he laughed: the laugh of a man who has nothing more to lose.
"My Motie."
"Precisely." The Senator smiled faintly. "I can't say we have much trust in your Motie. Bury, even, if it were only the miniatures that got loose, we could lose whole worlds. They breed like bacteria. Nothing big enough to see breeds like that. But you know."
"Yes." Bury gathered himself with difficulty. His face smoothed, but behind his eyes was a myriad of glittering tiny eyes. Splendor of Allah I almost brought them out myself! Praise and glory to the One who is merciful...
"Dammit, stop shivering," Fowler commanded.
"My apologies. You will doubtless have heard of my encounter with miniatures." He glanced at Blaine and envied his external calm. Miniatures could be no less unpleasant to the commander of MacArthur. "I am pleased to hear that the Empire recognizes the dangers."
"Yeah. We're going to blockade the Modes. Bottle 'em up in their own system."
"Would it not be better to exterminate them while we can?" Bury asked quietly. The voice was calm, but his dark eyes blazed.
"How?"
Bury nodded. "There would be political difficulties, of course. But I could find men to take an expedition to Mote Prime,and given the proper orders -- "
Fowler gestured dismissal "I've got my own agents provocateurs if I need 'em."
"Mine would be considerably less valuable. Bury looked pointedly at Blaine.
"Yeah" Fowler said nothing more for a moment, and Blaine stiffened visibly Then the Senator continued: "Better or worse, Trader, we've decided on the blockade, Government's shaky enough without being accused of genocide. Besides, I don't know as I like the idea of unprovoked attack on intelligent beings. We'll do it this way."
"But the threat!" Bury leaned forward, unmindful of the fanatical gleam in his eyes. He knew he was close-to
That story made me realize at last just how alien you humans are."
There was an embarrassed silence. As the elevator stopped Jock asked, "How goes your Institute?"
"Fine.. We've already sent for some of the department heads." She laughed, embarrassed. "I have to work fast: Rod won't let me think about the Institute after the wedding. You are coming, aren't you?"
The Mediators shrugged in unison, and one looked at the Marines. "We will be delighted if we are allowed to attend," Jock answered. "But we have no gifts for you. There is no Brown to make them."
"We'll get along without," Rod said. The elevator door stood open, but they waited for two of the Marines to inspect the corridor.
"Thank you for allowing me to meet Admiral Kutuzov," Jock said. "I have waited to speak with him since our embassy ship arrived alongside MacArthur."
Rod looked at the aliens in wonder. Jock's conversation with Kutuzov had been brief, and one of the most important questions the Motie had asked was "Do you like lemon in tea?"
They're so damned civilized and likable, and because of That they're going to spend the few years they've got left under guard while the Information Office blackguards them and their race. We've even hired a writer to script a play on the last hours of my midshipmen.
"It was little enough to do," Rod said. "We -- "
"Yes. You can't let us go home." Charlie's voice changed to that of a New Scot youth. "We know aye more about humans than is safe." She gestured smoothly to the Marines. Two walked ahead into the hail, and the Moties followed. The other guards closed behind, and the procession marched through the corridor until they reached the Motie quarters. The elevator door closed softly.
Epilogue
Defiant lay nearly motionless in space at the outer fringes of the Murcheson System. There were other ships grouped around her in battle formation, and off to starboard hung Lenin like a swollen black egg. At least half the main battle fleet was in readiness at all times, and somewhere down in the red hell of the Eye other ships circled and waited. Defiant had just completed a tour with the Crazy Eddie Squadron.
That term was very nearly official. The men tended to use a lot of Mote terms. When a man won a big hand at poker he was likely to shout "Fyunch(click) !" And yet, Captain Herb Colvin mused, most of us have never seen a Motie. We hardly see their ships: just targets, helpless after transition.
A few had made it out of the Eye, but every one had been so badly damaged that it was hardly spaceworthy.
There was always plenty of time to warn the ships outside the Eye that another Mode was on the way-if the Eye hadn't killed them first.
The last few ships had emerged from the Crazy Eddie point at initial velocities up to a thousand km per second. How the hell could the Moties hit a Jump point at such speeds? Ships within the Eye couldn't catch them. They didn't need to, with the Mode crews-and autopilots-helpless in Jump shock and unable to decelerate. The fleeing black blobs had run up through the rainbow and exploded every time. Where the Modes used their unique expanding fields, they exploded sooner, picking up heat faster from the yellow-hot photosphere.
Herb Colvin laid down the latest report on Motie tricks and technology. He'd written a lot of it himself, and it all added up to hopeless odds against the -- Modes. They couldn't beat ships that didn't have to carry an Alderson
Drive, ships on station and waiting for Modes who still feel sorry for them.
Colvin took a bottle from the cabinet on the bulkhead of his patrol cabin and poured expertly despite the Coriolis forces. He carried his glass to his chair and sank into it. A packet of mail lay on his desk, the most recent letter from -his wife already ripped open so that he could be sure there was nothing wrong at home. Now he could read the letters in order. He raised his glass to Grace's picture on the desk.
She hadn't heard much from New Chicago, but things were all right there the last time her sister had written. Mail service to New Scotland was slow. The house she'd found was outside the New Scot defensive system, but she wouldn't won)' because Herb had told her the Moties couldn't get through. She'd -taken a lease for the whole three years they'd be out here.
Herb nodded in agreement. That would save money- three years on this blockade, then home, where he'd be Commodore of New Chicago's Home Fleet. Put the Aldemon engines back in Defiant: she'd be flagship when he took her home. A few years on blockade service was a small price to pay for the concessions the Empire offered.
It took the Moties to do it, Herb thought. Without them we'd still be fighting. There were still worlds outside the Empire and always would be, but in Trans-Coalsack unification was proceeding smoothly and there was more jawboning than fighting. The Moties did that for us, anyway.
A name caught Herb Colvin's eye. Lord Roderick Blaine, Chairman of the Imperial Commission Extraordinary- Colvin looked up at the bulkhead to see the familiar spot where Defiant had been patched following her battle with MacArthur. Blame's prize crew had done that, and a pretty good job it was. He's a competent man, Colvin admitted reluctantly. But heredity's still a hell of a way to choose leaders. The rebel democracy in New Chicago hadn't done too well either. He went back to Grace's letter.
My Lord Blaine had a new heir, his second. And Grace was helping out at this Institute Lady Blaine had set up.
His wife was excited because she often talked with Lady Sally and had even been invited out to the manor house to see the children.
The letter went on, and Colvin dutifully read it, but it was an effort. Would she never get tired of gushing about the aristocracy? We'll never agree on politics, he decided and looked up fondly at her picture again. Lord, I miss you- Chimes sounded through the ship and Herb stuffed the letters into his desk. It was time to go to work; tomorrow Commodore Cargill would come aboard for Fleet inspection. Herb rubbed his hands in anticipation. This time he'd show the Imperials just how a ship ought to be run. The winner of this inspection would get extra time ashore next leave, and he intended to have that for his crew.
As he stood a small yellow point of light flashed through the view port. One of these days, Herb thought. Someday we're going in there. With all the talent the Empire's got working on the problem we'll find a way to govern the Moties.
And what will we call ourselves then? he wondered. The Empire of Man and Motie? He grinned and went out to inspect his ship.
Blaine Manor was large, with sheltered gardens overhung with trees to protect their eyes from the bright sun.
Their quarters were very comfortable, and the Mediators had become accustomed to the ever present Marine guards. Ivan, as always, treated them as he would his own Warriors.
There was work. They had daily conferences with the Institute scientists, and for the Mediators there were the Blaine children. The oldest could speak a few words of Language and could read gestures as well as a young Master.
They were comfortable, but still it was a cage; and at nights they saw the brilliant red Eye and its tiny Mote. The Coal Sack was high in the night sky. It looked like a hooded Master blind in one eye.
"I fear," said Jock. "For my family, my civilization, my species, and my world."
"That's right, think large thoughts," said Charlie. "Why waste your mighty brain on little things? Look you -- " Her voice and posture changed; she would speak of serious matters. "We've done what we can. This Institute of Sally's is a trivial fiasco, but we continue to cooperate. We show how friendly and harmless and honest we are. And meanwhile the blockade works and it will always work. There's not a hole in it."
"There is," said Jock. "No human seems to consider that the Masters might reach the Empire through normal space."
"There is no hole," Charlie repeated. She shifted two arms for emphasis. "No breach before the next collapse. Curse! Who could build another Crazy Eddie probe before the famines begin? And where would they send it? Here, into their fleets?" She signaled contempt. "Perhaps into the Coal Sack, toward the heart of the Empire? Have you thought of the launching lasers-far greater to compensate for the dust in the Coal Sack? No. We have done what we can, and the Cycles have begun again."
"Then what can we anticipate?" Jock's right arms were folded, her left extended and open: ready for attack, and thus projecting rhetorical mercilessness. "There may be unsuccessful attempts to penetrate the blockade. Wasted effort. The collapse will be hastened. Then, a long period in which the spire can half forget that we exist.
"New technologies rise, warlike as rising technologies are always. They would know of humanity. Perhaps they can preserve or reinvent the Field. When they reach the height of their power, before the decline, they wilt breed Warriors and come forth conquering everything: Mote Prime, asteroids, all. And on to the Empire."
Charlie listened after a hurried glance at the Master. Ivan lay impassive, listening to the chatter of the Mediators as Masters often did, and it was impossible to know what he thought.
"Conquest," Jock said. "But the more progress they make against the Empire, the more thoroughly will the Empire retaliate. They have numbers. For all their talk of limiting populations, they have numbers and all of space. Until we can escape human space entirely and breed, they will always have the numbers. They bottle us up until we overbreed, and then collapse. And with the next collapse-extermination!"
Charlie's knees were against her belly, right arms pulled tight against her chest, left arm protecting her head. An infant about to be born into a cruel world. Her voice was muffled. "If you had better ideas, you should have raised them."
"No. There are no better ideas."
"We bought time. Hundreds of years of time. Sally and her silly institute will have hundreds of years to study the problem we raise for humans. Who knows, perhaps the horse will learn to sing hymns."
"Would you bet on it?"
Charlie looked out of the curve of her arm. "At these odds? Curse, yes!"
"Crazy Eddie!"
"Yes. A Crazy Eddie solution. What else is there? One way or another, the Cycles end now. Crazy Eddie has won his eternal war against the Cycles."
Jock looked to Ivan and met a shrug. Charlie had gone Crazy Eddie. It hardly mattered now; it was, in fact, a fine and enviable madness, this delusion that all questions have answers, and nothing is beyond the reach of a strong left arm.
They would never know. They would not live that long. But they had bought time; the Blaines knew what they must find, and their children would grow up to know Moties as more than a legend. Two generations of power would not hate Moties.
If anyone could teach a horse to sing hymns, it would be a trained Mediator.
The End