The Mote in God's Eye

Hardy shook his head slightly. It was a tiny motion, but it stopped Sally. She looked at the priest. “I think,” David said, “I can recall only one occasion when a Motie was embarrassed. It was at the Museum. And all of them acted the same way there—nothing like your Fyunch(click) did just now, Sally. I’m afraid it’s very probable that Kevin is right.”

“And for what reason?” Sally insisted. “Just why would my—almost my sister—why would she lie to me? About that?”

There was silence. Sally nodded in satisfaction. She couldn’t snap at Chaplain Hardy; not that she had that much respect for his office, but for him. Renner was another matter. “You will tell me if you find an answer to that question, Mr. Renner.”

“Yah. Sure.” Renner’s expression made him look oddly like Buckman: Bury would have recognized it at once. He had barely heard her.

They left the glittering ballroom as soon as they could. Behind them a costumed orchestra played waltzes, while the Moties were introduced to a seemingly endless line. There were provincial barons, Parliament leaders, traders, people with friends in the protocol office, and assorted party crashers. Everyone wanted to see the Moties.

Rod took Sally’s hand as they walked through deserted Palace corridors toward their quarters. An ancient waltz faded hollowly behind them.

“They’ve so little time to live, and we’re wasting it with—that,” Sally muttered. “Rod, it’s not fair!”

“Part of their mission, sweetheart. What good would it do them to agree with us if we can’t hold the baronage? Even with the Throne behind us we’re safer playing the political game. And so are they.”

“I suppose.” She stopped him and leaned against his shoulder. The Hooded Man was fully risen, black against the stars, watching them through the stone arches. A fountain splashed in the courtyard below. They stood that way in the deserted corridor for a long time.

“I do love you,” she whispered. “How can you put up with me?”

“That’s pretty easy.” He bent down to kiss her, desisted when there was no response.

“Rod, I’m so embarrassed… how am I ever going to apologize to Kevin?”

“To Kevin? You’re kidding. Have you ever seen Renner apologize to anyone? Just forget it. Talk as if it had never happened next time you see him.”

“But he was right—you knew, didn’t you? You knew it then!”

He started her walking again. Their footsteps echoed through the corridors. Even in the dim lights the rock walls flashed iridescent colors as they moved. Then a wall blocked the smoldering gaze of the Hooded Man, and they were at the stairs.

“I suspected it then. Just from the reports and the brief relationship I had with my Motie. After you left this afternoon I did some checking. They lied to you.”

“But why, Rod? I can’t understand it—” They climbed another flight in silence.

“You aren’t going to like the answer,” Rod said as they reached their floor. “She was a Mediator. Mediators represent Masters. She was ordered to lie to you.”

“But why? What possible reason could they have for concealing that they were mules?”

“I wish I knew.” Or that I didn’t know, he thought. But there was no point in telling Sally until he was sure. “Don’t take it so hard, sweetheart. We lied to them, too.”

They reached his door and he put his hand on the identiplate. The door swung open to reveal Kelley, tunic unfastened, sprawled in an easy chair. The Marine leaped to his feet.

“Good God, Kelley. I’ve told you not to wait up for me. Go to bed.”

“Important message, my lord. Senator Fowler will be here later. He asks you to wait for him. Wanted to be sure you got the message, my lord.”

“Yeah.” Rod’s voice was lemon-sour. “OK. I got the message. Thanks.”

“I’ll stay to serve you.”

“No, you won’t. No sense in everybody staying up all night. Get out of here.” Rod watched the Marine vanish into the corridor. When he was gone Sally giggled loudly. “I don’t see what’s so damned funny,” Rod snapped.

“He was protecting my reputation,” Sally laughed. “What if you hadn’t got the message and Uncle Ben came chargin’ in here and we—”

“Yeah. Want a drink?”

“With Uncle Ben coming in a few minutes? Waste of good liquor. I’m going to bed.” She smiled sweetly. “Don’t stay up too late.”

“Wench.” He took her shoulders and kissed her. Then again. “I could set the door so he can’t get in—”

“Good night, Rod.”

He watched until she was inside her own suite across the hall from his, then went back inside to the bar. It had been a long dull evening, with only the thought of leaving the party early to look forward to.

“Damn!” he said aloud. He tossed off a brimming glass of New Aberdeen Highland Cream. “God damn it to hell!”

Senator Fowler and a preoccupied Kevin Renner came in after Rod had poured his second drink. “Sorry about the hour, Rod,” Fowler said perfunctorily. “Kevin tells me something interesting happened today—”

“He did, uh? And he suggested this conference, right?” When Benjamin Fowler nodded, Rod turned to his former sailing master. “I’ll fix you for this, you—”