The Mote in God's Eye

“Thank you. We assume that tribes with Mediators survived better than those without. We have never seen a fertile Mediator, but if ever there were one, she must have acted in her children’s interests rather than the tribe’s.” The Motie shrugged. “That’s all speculation, of course. Our history doesn’t go back that far. As for me, I would like to have children, but I have always known I would not—” The Motie shrugged again. “Still, it is a pity. The sex act is the ultimate in enjoyment. We know this. We empathize all too well with Masters.”

There was more silence. Hardy cleared his throat but said nothing.

“Sally, while we are speaking of Motie problems, there is something else you must know about us.”

You could cut the gloom in here with a knife, Rod thought. Now just why is it so depressing that…

“Compared with your species, ours is short-lived. We three were chosen for our experience and intelligence, not our youth. We have considerably fewer than ten years to live.”

“But— No!” Sally was visibly shaken. “All of you?”

“Yes. I would not raise such a painful topic, but we all think it wise to tell you. Your parades, these formal receptions, all of this baffles us most pleasantly. We anticipate great pleasure in solving the mystery of why you do these things. But we also must establish trade and diplomatic relations with you, and there is a definite time limit—”

“Yes,” said Sally “Yes, of course. Not even ten years!”

Jock shrugged. “Mediators live a total of twenty-five. Win a few, lose a few. You presumably have your own problems,” The alien voice took on a note of grim amusement. “Such as the wars you suffer through lack of Mediators!”

The Motie looked around the conference mom. There was more silence, and blank stares. “I’ve distressed you all. I am sorry, but it had to be said. Let us resume tomorrow, when you’ve had time to think about this.” She uttered a high, sweet note, and Charlie and Ivan followed her through a paneled doorway into the Motie private quarters. The door closed gently behind them.

As they walked to Ivan’s room Charlie twittered to the Master. They entered and closed the door; and although they were certain the room had no spy or listening devices, they spoke in a high grammar rich with poetic allusions. The humans could never decipher it.

The Master’s posture was a demand for explanation.

“There was not time to consult,” Jock cried. “I had to speak at once before they placed too much importance on the question.”

“You told them yes,” Ivan said. “You might have said no. Or maybe. Or some are, and some not…”

Charlie said, “You might have told them we don’t discuss such things. You know humans do not like to speak openly of sexual matters.”

“They can when they want to,” Jock protested. “And their next request would have been that we submit to examination by their xenologists. We have already submitted to their physicians—how could we refuse now?”

Ivan: “Their xenologists would find nothing. A male would show zero sperm count, but you are female.”