The Mote in God's Eye

Jock: “If that is her parent carrying her away, then she is a proto-Engineer. Except that she is a small female and they have few female Engineers, and that Master’s car stopped to avoid striking her, to the detriment of the Master. Now I understand why their Fyunch(click)s go mad.”

The stand was nearly full, and Hardy returned to his place beside them. Charlie asked, “Can you explain again what is to happen here? We did not understand, and you had little time.”

Hardy thought about it. Every kid knew what a parade was, but nobody ever told children; you took them to one instead. Children liked them because there were strange and wonderful things to watch. Adults—well, adults had other reasons.

He said, “A lot of men are going to walk past us in regular patterns. Some will play musical instruments. There will be vehicles carrying displays of handiwork and agriculture and art. There will be more men walking, and groups of them will be identically dressed.”

“And the purpose?”

Hardy laughed. “To do you honor, and to honor each other and themselves. To display their skills.” And maybe to show their power… “We’ve been having parades since history began, and there’s no sign we’re about to give them up.”

“And this is one of those ‘formal’ events you spoke of?”

“Yes, but it’s supposed to be fun too.” Hardy smiled benevolently at his charges. They did look funny in their brown-and-white fur and their bulbous black goggles, held on by straps because they had no noses to support ordinary glasses. The goggles gave them an unnaturally solemn look.

Hardy glanced at a rustle behind him. The Admiralty staff were taking their places. Hardy recognized Admiral Kutuzov with fleet Admiral Cranston.

And the Moties were chattering among themselves, their voices warbling up and down the scales, their arms flickering…

“It is he! It is Lenin’s Master!” Jock stood upright and stared. The arms indicated surprise, joy, wonder.

Charlie studied the attitudes of the humans as they moved in the broken space of the grandstand. Who deferred to whom? In what fashion? The similarly dressed ones reacted predictably, and designs on their clothing gave their exact status. Blaine had once worn such clothing and while he did he fitted into the place theory would assign him. Now he did not wear it, and the patterns were different for him. Even Kutuzov had bowed to him. And yet: Charlie observed the actions of the others, and the facial attitudes, and said, “You are correct. Be cautious.”

“Are you certain?” the White demanded.

“Yes! He is the one I have studied for so long, from so far away, solely from the behavior of those who took his orders. Look, the broad stripe on his sleeve, the ringed planet symbol on his chest, the deference of Lenin’s Marine guards—certainly it is he. I was correct from the first, one being, and human!”

“You will cease to study him. Turn your eyes front.”

“No! We must know of this type of human! This is the class they choose to command their ships of war!”

“Turn around.”

“You are a Master but you are not my Master.”

“Obey,” said Ivan. Ivan was not good at argument.