The Mote in God's Eye

Charlie was. As Jock twitched and stammered in internal conflict, Charlie switched to an ancient, half-forgotten language, less for concealment than to remind Jock how much they had to conceal. “If we had many Mediators the risk would be tolerable; but if you should go mad now, policy would be decided by Ivan and me alone. Your Master would not be represented.”

“But the dangers that threaten our world—”

“Consider the record of your sisters. Sally Fowler’s Mediator now goes about telling Masters that the world could be made perfect if they would exercise restraint in their breeding. Horace Bury’s Mediator—”

“If we could learn—”

“—cannot be found. He sends letters to the most powerful Masters asking for offers should he change allegiance, and pointing out the value of information he alone possesses. Jonathon Whitbread’s Mediator betrayed her Master and killed her own Fyunch(click)!” Charlie’s eyes flickered to Ivan. The Master was watching but he would not understand.

Charlie changed to the common tongue. “Captain my Lord Roderick Blaine’s Mediator went Crazy Eddie. You were present. Gavin Potter’s Mediator is Crazy Eddie. Sinclair’s Mediator is useful in society, but quite mad.”

“This is true,” said the White. “We have placed her in charge of a project to develop force shielding such as the humans possess. She works startlingly well with Browns and uses tools herself. But with her Master and her sister Mediators she talks as if her parietal lobe were damaged.”

Jock sat down suddenly, eyes front.

“Consider the record,” Charlie continued. “Only Horst Staley’s Mediator is sane by any rational standard. You must not identify with any human. Certainly this should pose no hardship. There cannot be any evolved instinct in us to identify with humans!”

Jock changed back to Trailing Trojans Recent. “But we are alone out here. What, then, should I be Fyunch(click) to, Ivan?”

“You will be no human’s Fyunch(click),” Ivan stated. He had heard only the concealing language change. Charlie made no answer.

Glad that’s over, whatever it was, Hardy thought. The Motie conversation had lasted only half a minute, but there must have been a lot of information exchanged—and the emotional content was high. David was certain of that although he could as yet recognize only a few phrases of any Motie tongue. He had only recently become certain that there were many still in current use.

“Here come the Viceroy and the Commissioners,” Hardy said. “And the bands are starting. Now you’ll know what a parade is like.”

It seemed to Rod that the very rock of the Palace trembled from the sound. A hundred drummers paced by in thunder, and behind them a brass band blared some march ancient in CoDominium times. The leader raised his mace and the group countermarched before the reviewing stand to polite applause. Batons swirled as girls tossed them high in the air.

“The Ambassador asks if these are Warriors,” Charlie shouted.