“Boats report no trace of our midshipmen, my Admiral” Captain Mikhailov’s tone was both apologetic and defensive; few officers wanted to report failure to Kutuzov. The burly Admiral sat impassively in his command chair on Lenin’s bridge. He lifted his glass of tea and sipped, his only acknowledgment a brief grunt.
Kutuzov turned to the others grouped around him at staff posts. -Rod Blaine still occupied the flag Lieutenant’s chair; he was senior to Commander Borman, and Kutuzov was punctilious about such matters.
“Eight scientists,” Kutuzov said. “Eight scientists, five officers, fourteen spacers and Marines. All killed by Moties.”
“Moties!” Dr. Horvath swiveled his command chair toward Kutuzov. “Admiral, nearly all those men were aboard MacArthur when you destroyed her. Some might still have been alive. As for the midshipmen, if they were foolish enough to try to land with lifeboats... His voice, trailed off as Rod turned dead eyes toward him. “Sorry, Captain. I didn’t mean it that way. Truly, I am sorry. I liked those boys too. But you can’t blame the Moties for what happened! The Moties have tried to help, and they can do so much for us- Admiral, -when can we get back to the embassy ship?”
Kutuzov’s explosive sound might have been a laugh. “Hah! Doctor, we are going home as soon as boats are secured. I thought I had made that clear.”
The Science Minister pressed his lips tightly against his wide teeth. “I was hoping that you had regained your sanity.” His voice was a cold, feral snarl. “Admiral, you are ruining the best hopes mankind ever had. The technology we can buy-that they’ll give us!-is orders of magnitude above anything we could expect for centuries. The Moties have gone to enormous expense to make us welcome. If you hadn’t forbidden us to tell them about the escaped miniatures I’m sure they’d have helped. But you had to keep your damned secrets-and because of your stupid xenophobia we lost the survey ship and most of our instruments. Now you antagonize them by going home when they planned more conferences- My God, man, if they were warlike nothing could provoke them as you have!”
”You are finished?” Kutuzov asked contemptuously.
“I’m finished for now. I won’t be finished when we get back.”
Kutuzov touched a button on the arm of his chair. “Captain Mikhailov, please make ready for departure to the Alderson entry point. One and one-half gravities, Captain.”
”Aye aye, sir.”
”You are determined to be a damn fool, then,” Horvath protested. “Blaine, can’t you reason with him?”
“I am determined to carry out my orders, Doctor,” Kutuzov said heavily. If Horvath’s threats meant anything to him, he didn’t show it. The Admiral turned to Rod. “Captain, I will welcome your advice. But I will do nothing to compromise safety of this ship, and I cannot allow further personal contact with Moties. Have you suggestions, Captain Lord Blaine?”
Rod had listened to the conversation without interest, his thoughts a confused blur. What could I have done? He asked himself endlessly. There was nothing else to concern him. The Admiral might ask his advice, but that was courtesy. Rod had no command and no duties. His ship was lost; his career finished- Brooding in self-pity wasn’t doing any good, though. “I do think, sir, that we should try to keep the Moties’ friendship. We shouldn’t make the Government’s decisions...”
”You are saying I do that?” Kutuzov demanded.
“No, sir. But it is likely the Empire will want to trade with the Mote. As Dr. Horvath says, they have done nothing hostile.”
“What of your midshipmen?”
Rod swallowed hard. “I don’t know, sir. Possibly Potter or Whitbread weren’t able to control their lifeboats and Staley tried a rescue. It would be like him-“
Kutuzov scowled. “Three lifeboats, Captain. All three reenter, and all three burn.” He examined the displays around him. A boat was being winched into Lenin’s hangar deck, where Marines would flood it with poison gas. No aliens would get loose in his flagship! “What would you like to say to Moties, Doctor?”
“I won’t tell them what I’d like to say, Admiral,” Horvath said pointedly. “I will stay with your story of plague. It’s almost true, isn’t it? A plague of miniatures. But, Admiral, we must leave open the possibility of a returning expedition.”
“They will know you lie to them,” Kutuzov said flatly. “Blaine, what of that? Is better Moties hear explanations they do not- believe?”
Damn it, doesn’t he know I don’t want to think about Moties? Or anything else? What good is my advice? Advice front a man who lost his ship- “Admiral, I don’t see what harm it would do to let Minister Horvath speak to the Moties,” Rod emphasized “Minister”; not only was Horvath a ranking Council Minister, but he had powerful connections with the Humanity League, and influence in the Imperial Traders’ Association as well. That combination had nearly as much clout as the Navy. “Somebody ought to talk to them, it doesn’t matter much who. There’s not a man aboard who can lie to his Fyunch(dick).”
“Very well. Da. Captain Mikhailov, please have communications call Mote embassy ship. Dr. Horvath will speak to them.”
The screens lit to show a brown-and-white half-smiling face. Rod grimaced, then glanced up quickly to confirm that his own image pickup wasn’t on.
The Motie looked at Horvath. “Fyunch(click).”
“Ah. I was hoping to speak to you. We are leaving now. We must.”
The Motie’s expression didn’t change. “That seemed obvious, but we are very distressed, Anthony. We have much more to discuss, trade agreements, rental of bases in your Empire-“
“Yes, yes, but we haven’t the authority to sign treaties or trade agreements,” Horvath protested. “Really, we did accomplish a lot, and now we have to go. There was plague on MacArthur, something new to our doctors, and we don’t know the focal infection center or the vector. And since this ship is our only way home, the Ad-our decision makers think it best we leave while there is a full astrogation crew. We’ll be back!”
“Will you come yourself?” the Motie asked.
“If at all possible. I’d love to.” He had no trouble sounding sincere about that.
“You will be welcome. All humans will be welcome. We have great hopes for trade between our races, Anthony. There is much we can learn from each other. We have gifts as well-can you not take them on your ship?”
“Why, thank you-I-“ Horvath looked at Kutuzov. The Admiral was about to explode. He shook his head violently.
“It would not be wise,” Horvath said sadly. “Until we know what caused the plague, it is best we add nothing we have not already been exposed to. I’m very sorry.”
“So am I, Anthony. We have noted that your engineers are-how can I put this delicately? Are not so advanced as ours in many ways. Underspecialized, perhaps. We have thought partially to remedy this with our gifts.”
“I-excuse me a moment,” Horvath said. He turned to Kutuzov after switching off the sound pickup. “Admiral, you cannot refuse such an opportunity! This may be the most significant event in the history of the Empire!”
The Admiral nodded slowly. His dark eyes narrowed. “It is also true that Moties in possession of Langston Field and Alderson Drive may be most significant threat in history of human race, Minister Horvath.”
“I’m aware of it,” Horvath snapped. He turned the sound pickup on. “I am afraid that-“
The Motie interrupted. “Anthony, can you not inspect our gifts? You may take pictures of them, learn them well enough to duplicate them later. Surely that would be no danger to persons who have been on the Mote planet itself?”
Horvath thought furiously. He had to have those! The pickup was switched off, and Horvath smiled thinly at the Admiral. “He’s right, you know. Can’t we put them in the cutter?”
Kutuzov seemed to taste sour milk. Then he nodded. Horvath turned back to the Mode in relief. “Thank you. If you will place the gifts in the cutter, we will study them on the way out and you may retrieve both the gifts and the cutter, our gift to you, at the Crazy Eddie point in two and a half weeks.” -
“Excellent,” the Motie said warmly. “But you will not need the cutter. One of our gifts is a space craft with controls suitable for human hands and minds. The others will be aboard it.”
Kutuzov looked surprised and nodded quickly. Horvath caught it with an inward smile. “That’s wonderful. We will bring gifts for you on our return. We want very much to repay your hospitality-“
Admiral Kutuzov was saying something. Horvath leaned away from the screen pickup to listen. “Ask about the midshipmen,” the Admiral commanded.
Horvath gulped and said, “Is there any other word about our midshipmen?”
The Mode’s voice took on a pained note. “How could there be, Anthony? They were killed attempting reentry, and their craft burned away completely. We have sent you pictures, did you not receive them?”
“Uh-I didn’t see them, Horvath replied. Which was true, but it didn’t make saying it any easier. The damned Admiral didn’t believe anything! What did he think, that the boys were captured somewhere and being tortured for information? “I’m sorry, I was instructed to ask.”
“We understand. Humans are very concerned about their young decision makers. So are Moties. Our races do have much in common. It has been good to speak with you again, Anthony. We hope you will return soon.”
An alarm flashed on the bridge consoles. Admiral Kutuzov frowned and listened attentively to something Horvath couldn’t hear. Simultaneously a speaker announced the quartermaster’s report. “Ship’s boats secure, sir. Ready to depart.”
The Motie had evidently overheard. She said, “The gift ship is quite capable of catching up with you, provided you do not accelerate at more than”-there was a pause as the Mode listened to something-“three of your gravities.”
Horvath shot an inquiring eye at the Admiral. The officer was brooding heavily, evidently about to say something. Instead he nodded to Horvath. “One and a half of our gees for this trip,” Horvath told the Motie.
”Our gifts will join you in five hours’” the Motie said. The screens flashed and Horvath’s pickup went dead.
Admiral Kutuzov’s voice grated in the Minister’s ear. “I am informed that a ship has left Mote Prime and is traveling toward Alderson point at one point seven four of our gravities. Two Mote gravities. You will please have them explain what that ship is doing.” The Admiral’s voice was calm enough, but the tone was imperative.
Horvath gulped and turned back to the Motie. His screen came active again. He asked hesitantly, afraid to offend them. “Do you know?” he finished.
“Certainly,” the Motie replied smoothly. “I have only just learned of it myself. The Masters have sent our ambassadors to the Empire to rendezvous with you. There will be three of them, and we request that you convey them to your Imperial capital where they will represent our race. They have full authority to negotiate for us.”
Kutuzov took a deep breath. He seemed about to scream, and his face was almost purple with effort, but he only said, very quietly so that the Motie could not hear, “Tell them we must discuss this. Captain Mikhailov, accelerate when convenient.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“We’re leaving now,” Horvath told the Motie. “I-we-must discuss the question of ambassadors. This is a surprise-I would have hoped that you would come yourself. Will there be any of our Fyunch(click) s sent as ambassadors?” He spoke rapidly as the warning tones sounded behind him.
“There will be time for any discussions needed,” the Motie assured him. “And no, no Mode ambassador could identify with any individual human; all must represent our race, surely you can understand that? The three have been selected to represent all views, and unanimously acting they can commit all Modes to an agreement. Given the plague menace, they would expect to be quarantined until you are certain they are no threat to your health-“ A loud tone sounded through Lenin. “Farewell, Anthony. To all of you. And return soon.”
The final warning horns blared and Lenin surged forward. Horvath -stared at the blank screen as behind him the others broke into astonished chatter.
His Imperial Majesty’s President Class battleship Lenin was packed, crammed to capacity and beyond with MacArthur’s crew and the scientists who had been aboard her. Able spacers shared hammocks in rotation with their duties. Marines slept in corridors, and officers were stuffed three and more into staterooms meant for one. There were Mode artifacts salvaged from MacArthur in her hangar deck, which Kutuzov insisted be kept in vacuum, constantly under guard, with inspections. There was no place aboard where the ship’s company could be assembled.
If there had been an assembly point it would not have been used. Lenin would remain at battle stations until she left the Mote system, even during the funeral services, conducted by David Hardy and Lenin’s chaplain, George Alexis. It was not an unusual situation for either; although it was traditional for the ship’s company to assemble when possible, burial services were often conducted with the ship at battle stations. As he put on a black stole and turned to the missal a rating held open for him, David Hardy reflected that he had probably conducted more requiems this way than before an assembly.
A trumpet note sounded through Lenin. “Ship’s company, at ease,” the Chief Boatswain ordered quietly.
“Eternal rest grant them, 0 Lord,” Hardy intoned.
“And let light perpetual shine upon them,” Alexis answered. Every verse and response was familiar to anyone who had been in the Navy long enough to be part of Lenin’s crew.
“I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord. Whosoever believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.”
The service went on, with the spacers responding from their duty stations, a low murmur through the ship.
”I heard a voice from Heaven saying unto me, Write. From henceforth blessed are the dead who die in the Lord: even so saith the Spirit; for they rest from their labors.”
Rest, Rod thought. There’s that, anyway, rest for the kids. He shivered. I’ve seen plenty of ships lost, and plenty of men under my command have bought it a hundred parsecs from home. Why is this one getting to me? He took a deep breath but the tightness in his chest remained unchanged.
Lights dimmed throughout Lenin, and the recorded voices of the Imperial Navy choir chanted a hymn in which the crewmen joined. “Day of wrath, and doom impending, David’s words with Sybil’s blending: Heavens and worlds in ashes ending.
Sybil? Rod thought. God, that must be ancient. The hymn went on and on, ending in a burst of male voices.
Do I believe any of this? Rod wondered. Hardy does, look at his face. And Kelley, ready to launch his comrades out the torpedo tubes. Why can’t I believe as they do? But I do, don’t I? I always thought I did, there’s got to be some purpose in this universe. Look at Bury. This isn’t even his religion, but it’s getting to him. Wonder what he’s thinking?
Horace Bury stared intently at the torpedo tubes. Four bodies and a head! The head of a Marine the Brownies had used for a Trojan horse. Bury had seen it only once, spinning through space in a cloud of fog and shattered glass and kicking, thrashing, dying Brownies. He remembered a square jaw, a wide, slack mouth, glittering dead eyes. Allah be merciful to them, and may His legions descend on the Mote...
Sally’s taking it better than I am, Rod thought, and she’s a civilian. We both liked those boys. Why don’t I worry about the others? Five Marines killed getting the civilians out. It wouldn’t be so bad if the middies had been killed in action. I expected losses when I sent the rescue party in with the cutter. I wasn’t sure the kids would ever get out of Mac at all. But they did, they were safe!
“Unto Almighty God we commend the souls of our brothers departed, and we commit their bodies to the deeps of space; in sure and certain hope of the resurrection unto eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ; at whose coming in glorious majesty to judge the worlds, the seas shall yield their dead, and the deeps give forth their burdens.
Kelley pressed the keys and there was a soft whoosh, another-three, four, five. Only four bodies and a head recovered out of twenty-seven dead and missing.
“Ship’s Company, atten-shut!”
“Shoot!”
And what will the Moties make of that? Rod wondered. Three broadsides fired off into space at nothing-except the third, which would vaporize the bodies launched a moment ago. The Admiral had insisted, and no one had argued.
Contralto trumpet notes died away as Lenin’s-trumpeter and MacArthur’s ended taps in duet. The ship was still for a moment.
“Ship’s company, dismissed!”
The officers moved silently away from the torpedo room. Lights brightened in the corridors and men hurried back to their action stations or their crowded rest areas. Navy routine continues, Rod thought. Funeral services are part of the Book too. There is a regulation for everything: birth aboard ship, registration of; burial, with or without bodies; and one for captains who lose their ships. The Book demands a court-martial for that one.
“Rod. Wait a minute, Rod. Please.”
He stopped at Sally’s call. They stood in the corridor while the other officers and crew split around them. Rod wanted to join them, to get back to the solitude of his cabin where no one would ask him what happened aboard MacArthur. Yet here was Sally, and something way inside wanted to talk to her, or just be close to her- “Rod, Dr. Horvath says the Modes have sent ambassadors to meet us at the Crazy Eddie point, but Admiral Kutuzov won’t let them aboard! Is that right?”
Damn! he thought. Moties again, Moties- “It’s right.” He turned away.
”Rod, wait! We’ve got to do something! Rod, where are you going?” She stared at his back as he walked rapidly away. Now what did I do? she wondered.
Blaine’s door was closed but the telltale showed that it wasn’t locked. Kevin Renner hesitated, then knocked. Nothing happened. He waited a moment, then knocked again.
”Come in.”
Renner opened the door. It seemed strange to walk directly into Blaine’s cabin: no Marine sentry on duty, none of the mysterious aura of command that surrounds a captain. “Hi, Captain. Mind if I join you?”
“No. Can I get you anything?” Blaine clearly didn’t care one way or another. He didn’t look at Renner, and Kevin wondered what would happen if he took the polite offer seriously. He could ask for a drink...
No. Not time to push. Not just yet. Renner took a seat and looked around.
Blaine’s cabin was big. It would have been a tower room if Lenin had been designed with a tower. There were only four men and one woman who rated cabins to themselves, and Blaine wasn’t using the precious room; he booked to have been sitting in that chair for hours, probably ever since the funeral services. Certainly he hadn’t changed. He’d had to borrow one of Mikhailov’s dress uniforms and it didn’t fit at all.
They sat silently, with Blaine staring into some internal space-time that excluded his visitor.
“I’ve been going over Buckman’s work,” Renner said at random. He had to start somewhere, and it probably shouldn’t be with Moties.
“Oh? How goes it?” Blaine asked politely.
“Way over my head. He says he can prove there’s a protostar forming in the Coal Sack. In a thousand years it’ll be shining by its own light. Well, he can’t prove it to me, because I don’t have the math.”
”Um.”
“How are you making out?” Renner showed -no indication of leaving. “Enjoying your vacation from duties?”
Blaine finally lifted haunted eyes. “Kevin, why did the kids try to do a reentry?”
“God’s eyes, Captain, that’s plain silly. They wouldn’t have tried anything of the kind.” Jesus, he’s not even thinking straight. This is going to be tougher than I thought.
“Then you tell me what happened.”
Renner looked puzzled, but obviously Blaine meant it. “Captain, the ship was lousy with Brownies-everywhere nobody was looking. They must have got to the lifeboat storage area pretty early. If you were a Motie, how would you redesign an escape craft?”
“Superbly.” Blaine actually smiled. “Even a dead man couldn’t pass up a straight line like that.”
“You had me wondering.” Renner grinned, then turned serious. “No, what I mean is, they’d redesign for every new situation. In deep space the boat would decelerate and scream for rescue. Near a gas giant it would-orbit. Always automatic, mind, because the passengers could be hurt or unconscious. Near a habitable world the boat would reenter.”
“Eh?” Blaine frowned. There was a spark of life in his eyes. Renner held his breath,
“Yeah, but Kevin, what went wrong? If the Brownies got to the boats they’d have designed them right. Besides, there’d be controls; they wouldn’t make you reenter.”
Renner shrugged. “Can you figure Out Motie control panels at a glance? I can’t, and I doubt that the middies could. But the Brownies would expect them to. Captain, maybe the boats weren’t finished, or got damaged in a fire fight.”
“Maybe-“
“Maybe a lot of things. Maybe they were designed for Brownies. The kids would have had to crowd in, rip out a dozen fifteen-centimeter Motie crash couches or something. There wasn’t much time, with the torpedoes due to go in three minutes.”
“Those goddamn torpedoes! The casings were probably full of Brownies and a rat ranch, if anyone had looked!”
Renner nodded. “But who’d know to look?”
“I should have.”
“Why?” Renner asked it seriously. “Skipper, there’s-“
“I’m not a skipper.”
Aha! Renner thought. “Yes, sir. There’s still not a man in the Navy who’d have looked. Nobody. I didn’t think of it. The Tsar was satisfied with your decontamination procedure, wasn’t he? Everybody was. What bloody good does it do to blame yourself for a mistake we all made?’
Blaine looked up at Renner and wondered. The Sailing Master’s face was slightly red. Now why’s he so stirred up? “There’s another thing,” Rod said. “Suppose the lifeboats were properly designed. Suppose the kids made a perfect reentry, and the Moties lied.”
“I thought of that,” said Renner. “Do you believe it?”
“No, but I wish I could be sure.”
“You would be if you knew Moties as well as I do. Convince yourself. Study the data. We’ve got plenty aboard this ship, and you’ve got the time. You’ve got to learn about Moties, you’re the Navy’s heaviest expert on them.”
“Me?” Rod laughed. “Kevin, I’m not an expert on anything. The first thing I’ve got to do when we get back is convince a court-martial-“
“Oh, rape the court-martial,” Renner said impatiently. “Really, Captain, are you sitting here brooding over that formality? God’s teeth!”
“And what do you suggest I brood over, Lieutenant Renner?”
Kevin grinned. Better Blaine irritated than the way he’d been. “Oh, about why Sally’s so glum this afternoon-I think she’s hurt because you’re mad at her. About what you’re going to say when Kutuzov and Horvath have it out over the Motie ambassadors. About revolts and secessions in the colony worlds, or the price of iridium, or inflation of the crown-“ -
“Renner, for God’s sake shut up!”
Kevin’s grin broadened. “-or how to get me out of your cabin. Captain, look at it this way. Suppose a court finds you guilty of negligence. Certainly nothing worse. You didn’t surrender the ship to an enemy or anything. So suppose they seriously want your scalp and they hang that on you. Worse thing they could do would be ground you. They wouldn’t even cashier you. So they ground you, and you resign-you’re still going to be Twelfth Marquis of Crucis.”
“Yeah. So what?”
“So what?” Renner was suddenly angry. His brows knitted, and one fist clenched. “So what? Look, Captain, I’m just a merchant skipper. All my family’s ever been, and all we ever want to be. I put in a hitch in the Navy because we all do-maybe back home we’re not so thick on Imperialism as you are in the Capital, but part of that’s because we trust you aristocrats to run the show. We do our part, and we expect you characters with all the privileges to do yours!”
“Well-“ Blaine looked sheepish, and a little embarrassed by Renner’s outburst. “And just what do you see as my part?”
“What do you think? You’re the only aristocrat in the Empire who knows a bloody thing about Moties, and you’re asking me what to do? Captain, I expect you to put your arse in gear, that’s what. Sir. The Empire’s got to develop a sensible policy about Moties, and the Navy’s influence is big- You can’t let the Navy get its views from Kutuzov! You can start by thinking about those Motie ambassadors the Admiral wants to leave stranded here,”
“I’ll be damned. You really are worked up about this, aren’t you?”
Renner grinned. “Well, maybe a little. Look, you’ve got time. Talk to Sally about the Moties. Go over the reports we sent up from Mote Prime. Learn about them so when the Admiral asks your advice you’ll have some sensible arguments to give him. We’ve got to take those ambassadors back with us-“
Rod grimaced. Moties aboard another ship! Good Lord-
“And stop thinking like that,” Renner said. “They won’t get loose and multiply all over Lenin. They wouldn’t have time, for that matter. Use your head, sir. The Admiral will listen to you. He’s got it in for Horvath, anything Doc suggests the Tsar’s going to turn down, but he’ll listen to you...”
Rod shook his head impatiently. “You’re acting as if my judgment were worth something. The evidence is against that.”
“Good Lord. You’re really down in the dumps, aren’t you? Do you know what your officers and men think of you? Have you any idea? Hell, Captain, it’s because of guys like you that I can accept the aristocracy-“ Kevin stopped, embarrassed at having said more than he intended. “Look, the Tsar’s got to ask your opinion. He doesn’t have to take your advice, or Horvath’s, but he does have to ask both of you. That’s in the expedition orders-“
“How the devil do you know that?”
“Captain, my division had the job of rescuing the logs and order books from MacArthur, remember? They weren’t marked SECRET.”
“The hell they weren’t.”
“Well, maybe the light was bad and I didn’t see the security stamps. Besides, I had to be sure they had the right books, didn’t I? Anyway, Dr. Horvath knows all about that regulation. He’s going to insist on a council of war before Kutuzov makes, a final decision on the ambassador question.”
“I see.” Rod fingered the bridge of his nose. “Kevin, just who put you up to coming in here? Horvath?”
“Of course not. I thought of it myself.” Renner hesitated. “1 did have some encouragement, Captain.” He waited for Blaine to respond, but got only a blank stare. Renner snorted. “I sometimes wonder why the aristocracy isn’t extinct, the lot of you seem so stupid sometimes. Why don’t you give Sally a call? She’s sitting in her cabin with a bleak look and a lot of notes and books she can’t get interested in right now-“ Renner stood abruptly. “She could use some cheering up.”
“Sally? Worried about-“
“Jee-sus Christ,” Rennet muttered. He turned and strode out.
Lenin moved toward the Crazy Eddie point at one and a half gees. So did the gift ship.
The gift ship was a streamlined cylinder, swollen at the many-windowed nose, like a minaret riding a fusion flame. Sally Fowler and Chaplain Hardy were highly amused. Nobody else had noticed the clumsy phallicism - or would admit to it.
Kutuzov hated the gift ship. The Motie ambassadors could be dealt with simply by following orders, but the gift ship was something else again. It had caught up with Lenin, taken station three kilometers away, and broadcast, a cheery message, while Lenin’s gunners tracked it helplessly. Kutuzov had told himself it couldn’t carry a large enough weapon to penetrate Lenin’s Field.
There was a better reason to hate that ship. It was tempting Kutuzov to violate his orders. The MacArthur crewmen volunteers who went over to test it were enthusiastic about everything on it. The controls resembled a Navy cutter, but the drive was a standard Motie fusion drive, long, slender stinger guiding a plasma flow at enormous efficiencies. There were other details, all of them valuable; Admiral Lavrenti Kutuzov wanted to take that ship home.
And he was afraid to let it get near his command.
After the naval officers tested it, the civilians had to go aboard. All this traffic made nonsense of the thin fiction of plague aboard MacArthur, and Kutuzov knew it; but at least he wouldn’t have to explain it to any Motie. He didn’t intend to communicate with them. Let Horvath read him the expedition orders and demand his council of war. There would be no aliens aboard Lenin while Kutuzov lived. That ship, though- He looked at it floating in his screens as scientific personnel were ferried to it. They’d come to Lenin for the requiem services, and now hurried back to resume their studies of their new toy.
Every report showed that it was filled with marvels of enormous value to the Empire, yet how did he dare take it aboard? It was no good seeking advice. Captain Blaine might have been of help, but no, he was a broken man, doomed to sink deeper into his own failures, useless just when his advice might be needed. Horvath had blind faith in the good intentions of everything Motie. Then there was Bury, with equally blind hatred, despite all the evidence showing that the Moties were friendly and harmless.
“Probably they are,” Kutuzov said aloud. Horace Bury looked up in surprise. He had been drinking tea with the Admiral on the bridge while they watched the Motie gift ship. The Trader shot an inquiring look at the Admiral.
“Probably the Moties are friendly. Harmless,” Kutuzov repeated.
“You can’t believe that!” Bury protested.
Kutuzov shrugged. “As I have told the others, what I believe is of no importance. Is my task to maximize information brought back to Government. With only this ship, any chance of loss means loss of all information. But that Motie space craft would be very valuable, would it not, Your Excellency? What would you pay to the Navy for license to produce ships with that drive?”
“I would pay much more to see the Motie threat ended forever,” Bury said earnestly.
“Um.” The Admiral was inclined to agree. There were enough problems in the Trans-Coalsack Sector. God only knew how many colonies were revolting, how many of the outies had made common cause against the Empire; aliens were a complexity the Navy did not need; “But still- the technology. The trade possibilities. I should think you would be interested.”
“We can’t trust them,” Bury said. He was very careful to speak calmly. The Admiral was not impressed with men unable to control their emotions. Bury understood him very well-his own father had been the same way.
“Admiral? They have killed our midshipmen. Surely you do not believe that fable about reentry? And they released those monsters on MacArthur, and almost succeeded in getting them aboard Lenin.” The Trader shuddered imperceptibly. Tiny glowing eyes. It had been that close- “Surely you will not allow these aliens into the Empire. You will not let them board your ship.” Mind-reading monsters. Telepathic or not, they read minds. Bury fought to control his desperation: if even Admiral Kutuzov was beginning to believe the alien lies, what chance had the Empire? The new technology would excite the Imperial Traders Association as nothing ever had, and only the Navy had enough influence to overcome the demands for commerce the ITA would make. Beard of the Prophet, something had to be done! “I wonder if you are not being unduly influenced by Dr. Horvath?” Bury asked politely.
The Admiral scowled, and Horace Bury smiled behind his face. Horvath. That was the key, play Horvath against the Admiral. Someone had to...
Anthony Horvath was at that moment feeling very pleased and comfortable despite the 1.5 gee acceleration. The gift ship was roomy, and it had studied touches of luxury among its endless marvels. There was the shower, with half a dozen adjustable heads set at different angles, and a molecular sieve to reclaim the water. There were stocks of prefrozen Motie dinners which needed only the microwave ovens to make a variety of meals. Even the culinary failures were...interesting. There was coffee, synthetic but good, and a well-stocked wine locker.
To add to his ease, Lenin and Kutuzov were comfortably distant. Aboard the battleship everyone was stuffed together like cargo pods in a merchantman, crowded into cabins and sleeping in corridors, while here Horvath lolled at his ease. He drew the microphone closer and resumed dictating with another sigh of contentment. All was well with the worlds-
“Much of what the Moties construct has multiple purposes,” he told his computer box. “This ship is an intelligence test per se, whether or not so intended. The Moties will lean much about our abilities by observing how long it takes our crew to control the drive properly. Their own Browns, I suspect, would have had it working perfectly in an hour, but to be fair, a Brown would have no difficulty concentrating on the telltales for days at a stretch. Humans intelligent enough for such tasks find them excruciatingly boring, and it is our own custom to have crewmen stand watches while their officers remain on call to deal with any problems. We thus respond more slowly, and require more personnel, to perform tasks that individual Moties find exceedingly simple.
“The Moties have also told us a great deal about themselves. For example, we employ humans as a backup to automatic systems, although we will often omit the automation in order to give constant employment to humans needed for emergencies but otherwise superfluous. The Moties appear deficient in computer technology, and seldom automate anything. Instead, they employ one or more subspecies as biological computers, and they seem to have an adequate supply of them. This is hardly an option left open for human use.” He paused for thought and looked around the cabin.
“Ah. Then there are the statuettes.” Horvath lifted one and smiled. He had them arrayed like toy soldiers on the table before him: a dozen Motie figurines of transparent plastic. Internal organs showed, through in vivid color and detail. He looked at them again contentedly, then grimaced slightly. These had to be brought back.
Actually, he admitted to himself, they didn’t. There was nothing special about the plastic, and the statuettes were recorded in every detail; any good plastic former could be programmed to turn out thousands an hour, the same way these probably were made in the first place. But they were alien, and they were gifts, and he wanted them for his desk, or for the New Scotland Museum. Let Sparta have copies for a change!
He could identify most of the forms at a glance: Engineer, Mediator, Master; the huge Porter form; an overmuscled Engineer with broad, stubby-fingered hands and big splayed feet, probably a Farmer. A tiny Watchmaker (damn the Brownies! twice damn the Admiral who wouldn’t let the Moties help with their extermination). There was a small-headed long-fingered Physician. Next to it was the spindly Runner who seemed to be all legs. Horvath spoke to his computer box again.
“The Runner’s head is small, but there is a distinctly bulging forehead. It is my belief that the Runner is nonsentient but has the verbal capacity to memorize and deliver messages. It can probably carry out simple instructions. The Runner may have evolved as a specialized message carrier before civilization reached the telephone stage, and is now kept for traditional functions rather than utility. From the brain structure it becomes fairly clear that the Brownie or Watchmaker could never have memorized or delivered messages The parietal lobe is quite undeveloped.” That for Kutuzov.
“These statuettes are extremely detailed. They disassemble like puzzles to reveal internal details. Although we do not yet know the function of most internal organs, we may be sure they divide differently from those of human organs, and it is possible that the Moties’ conscious design philosophy of overlapping multiple functions is duplicated in their gross anatomy as well. We have identified the heart and lungs, the latter consisting of two distinct lobes of unequal size.”
Chaplain Hardy braced himself in the doorway when the ship’s acceleration dropped, then surged. After the engineers had steadied it he came into the lounge and sat quietly without speaking. Horvath waved and continued his dictation.
“The only area where the statuettes are vague and undifferentiated is in the reproductive organs.” Horvath smiled and winked at the Chaplain. He really did feel contented. “The Moties have always been reticent about sex. “These statuettes may be educational toys for children; certainly they were mass produced. If this is the case-we really must ask the Moties if we get a chance-it implies that the Mote culture shares some similarities with that of humans.” Horvath frowned. Sex education for the young was a periodic thing among humanity. Sometimes it was quite explicit and widespread, and at other periods of history it was nonexistent. In the civilized portions of the Empire such things were left to books at present, but there were plenty of newly discovered planets where the whole topic was forbidden knowledge to subadolescents.
“Of course, it may be simple efficiency,” Horvath continued. “Statuettes made to differentiate the sex organs would require three times as many figurines, a set for the male, another for the female, and a third for the reproductive phase itself. I note that there is a single developed mammary gland on all the forms, and I believe we were told that all Moties can suckle young.” He stopped dictating and punched in codes on his computer. Words flowed across the screen. “Yes. And the single working teat is always on the right side, or at least on the side opposite the single heavy-work arm. Thus the pups may be held with the strong arm, while the right arms are available for petting and grooming; this is very logical, given the ultrasensitivity and dense sensory nerve endings in the right hands.” He cleared his throat and reached for the brandy snifter, waving at Hardy to help himself.
“The single teat on the higher forms argues strongly that multiple birth must be extremely rare among the upper-caste Moties. However, litters must be common with the Watchmaker caste, at least this must be the case after the creature has produced several offspring. We can be sure that the vestigial teats down the right side of the miniature develop into working organs at some stage of their development; otherwise their numbers could not have increased so rapidly aboard MacArthur.” He set the box down. “How goes it, David?”
“Fairly well. That Motie toy has me fascinated. It’s a game of logic, no question about it, and a very good one at that. One player selects some rule to sort the various objects into categories, and the other players attempt to deduce the rule and prove it. Very interesting.”
“Ah. Perhaps Mr. Bury will want to market it.”
Hardy shrugged. “The Church might buy a few-to train graduate theologians. I doubt if there’d be much mass popular interest. Too tough.” He looked at the statuettes and frowned. “There seems to be at least one missing form, did you notice?”
Horvath nodded. “The nonsentient beast we saw in the zoo. The Moties wouldn’t talk about it at all while we were there.”
“Or afterward either,” Hardy added. “I asked my Fyunch(click) but she kept changing the subject.”
“Another mystery for future investigation,” Horvath said. “Although we might do well to avoid the subject in the presence of Moties. We wouldn’t want to ask their ambassadors, for example.” He paused invitingly.
David Hardy smiled softly but didn’t take the invitation.
“Well,” Horvath “You know there aren’t many things the Moties didn’t want to talk about. I wonder why they’re so shy about that caste? I’m fairly sure the thing wasn’t an ancestor of the other Motie forms-not an ape or monkey, so to speak.”
Hardy sipped his brandy. It was very good, and he wondered where the Moties had obtained a supply for a model. This was undoubtedly a synthetic, and Hardy thought he could detect the difference, but he had to strain. “Very thoughtful of them to put this aboard.” He sipped again.
“Too bad we’ll have to leave all this,” Horvath said. “We’re doing all right with the recording, though. Holograms, x-rays, mass densities, radon emissions, and anything that comes apart we take apart and holo the contents. Commander Sinclair has been very helpful-the Navy can be very helpful sometimes. I wish it were always so.”
Hardy shrugged. “Have you thought about the problem from the Navy’s view? If you guess wrong, you’ve lost some information. If they guess wrong, they’ve endangered the race.”
“Bosh. One planetful of Moties? No matter how advanced they are, there just aren’t enough Moties to threaten the Empire. You know that, David.”
“I suppose, Anthony. I don’t think the Moties are a threat either. On the other’ hand, I can’t believe they’re quite as simple and open as you seem to think. Of course I’ve had more time to think about them than you have.”
“Eh?” Horvath prompted. He liked Chaplain Hardy. The clergyman always had interesting stories and ideas. Of course he’d be easy to talk to, his profession demanded it, but he wasn’t a typical priest-or a typical Navy blockhead either.
Hardy smiled. “I can’t perform any of my regular jobs, you know. Linguistic archeology? I’ll never even learn the Motie language. As to the commission the Church gave me, I doubt if there’s enough evidence to decide anything. Ship’s chaplain isn’t that time-consuming-what’s left but to think about Moties?” He grinned again. “And contemplate the problems the missionaries will have on the next expedition-“
“Think the Church will send a mission?”
“Why not? Certainly no theological objections I can raise. Probably useless, though.” Hardy chuckled. “I recall a story about missionaries in Heaven. They were discussing their former work, and one told of the thousands he’d converted. Another boasted of a whole planet of the fallen whom he had brought back to the Church. Finally they turned to this little chap at the end of the table and asked him how many souls he’d saved. ‘One.’ Now that story Is supposed to illustrate a moral principle, but I can’t help thinking that the missions to Mote Prime may produce it in, uh, real life. .
“David,” Horvath said. There was a note of urgency in his voice, “The Church is going to be an important influence on Imperial policy regarding Moties. And I’m sure you know that the Cardinal will give great weight to your opinions when he reports to New Rome. Do you realize that what you conclude about Moties will be as influential as- Damn it, more influential. More influential than the scientific report, or perhaps even the Navy’s.”
“I’m aware of it.” Hardy was serious. “It’s influence I didn’t ask for, Anthony. But I’m aware of the situation.”
“All right.” Horvath wasn’t a pusher either. Or tried not to be, although sometimes he got carried away. Since he’d gone into scientific administration he’d had to learn to fight for his budgets, though. He sighed deeply and changed tactics. “I wish you’d help me with something right now. I’d like to take these statuettes back with us.”
“Why not wish for the whole ship?” Hardy asked. “I do.” He sipped his brandy again and cleared his throat. It was much easier to talk about Moties than about Imperial policies. “I noticed you were giving rather a lot of attention to the blank areas on the figures,” he said mischievously.
Horvath frowned. “I did? Well, perhaps. Perhaps I did.”
“You must have spent considerable time thinking about it. Didn’t it strike you as odd that that’s another area of Motie reticence?”
“Not really.”
“It did me. It puzzles me.”
Horvath shrugged, then leaned forward to pour more brandy for both of them. No point in saving it to be abandoned later. “They probably think theft sex lives are none of our business. How much detail did we give them?”
“Quite a lot. I had a long and happy married life,” said Chaplain Hardy. “I may not be an expert on what makes a happy love life, but I know enough to teach Moties all they’ll ever need to know. I didn’t conceal anything, and I gather Sally Fowler didn’t either. After all, they’re aliens-we’re scarcely tempting them with prurient desire.” Hardy grinned.
Horvath did too. “You have a point, Doctor.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Tell me, David-why did the Admiral insist on blasting the bodies after the funeral?”
“Why, I should have thought that-ah. Yes. And no one protested. We didn’t want aliens dissecting our comrades.”
“Precisely. Nothing to hide, just squeamish about aliens dissecting dead men. One thing the Tsar and I could agree on. Now, David, could the Moties feel the same way about reproductions of themselves?”
Hardy thought about that for a moment. “Not impossible, as well you know. Plenty of human societies have felt the same way about, say, photographs. Many still do.” He sipped the brandy again. “Anthony, I just don’t believe it. I don’t have anything better to offer, but I don’t believe you’ve put your finger on it. What we need is a long conference with an anthropologist.”
“The damned Admiral wouldn’t let her come aboard,” Horvath growled, but he let the anger pass quickly. “I’ll bet she’s still fuming.”
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.”
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.
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. Superfluous 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.
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.
“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 Mikhailov 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?”
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 red star against the Coal Sack. It had a small yellow mote.