The Mote in God's Eye

“What is there to discuss?” the Master demanded. “We need food and land, or we must be left alone with the Cycles. We must conceal the urgency of our needs and their reasons. We have little to trade but ideas; there are no resources to expand. If humans wish durable goods they must bring us the metals to make them from.”

Any drain of resources from the Mote would prolong the next collapse; and that must not be.

“The Navy’s keeping it a big hush-hush, but I can tell you this, they’ve got technology beyond anything the First Empire ever had,” a Commentator on the view screen said. He seemed awed.

“The humans no longer possess much of what they had,” said Jock. “Once, during the period they call the First Empire, they had food-conversion machinery of amazing efficiency. It required only power and organic matter, garbage, weeds, even deceased animals and humans. Poisons were removed or converted.”

“Do you know the principles? Or how widespread was its use? Or why they no longer possess it?” the Master demanded.

“No. The human would not speak of it.”

“I heard,” Charlie added. “He was a rating named Dubcek, and he was attempting to conceal the obvious fact that humans have Cycles. They all do.”

“We know of their Cycles,” Ivan said. “Their oddly erratic Cycles.”

“We know what the midshipmen told us in their last hours. We know what the others have implied. We know they are in awe of the power of their First Empire, but have little admiration of their previous civilizations. Little more. Perhaps with the tri-v I can learn.”

“This food machine. Will others know more of it?”

“Yes. If we had a Brown, and with what the humans know of the principles, it is possible that—”

“Make me joyful beyond dreams,” said Charlie. “Cease to wish we had Browns.”

“I can’t help it. I have only to lie on their couches, or sit in this chair, and somehow my thoughts turn—”

“A Brown would die revealingly. Two Browns would breed and breed and breed and if prevented from breeding would die revealingly. Shut up about Browns.”

“I will. But that one food machine would stave off any new Cycle for half a 144-years.”

“You will learn all you can about the machine,” Ivan directed. “And you will cease to speak of Browns. My couch is as badly designed as yours.”

The grandstand was in front of the Palace gates, and it was filling with humans. More temporary structures stretched in both directions down the roadway, as far as the Moties could see from their place in the front row. Humans swarmed around and into them.