The Mote in God's Eye

Ben Fowler scowled at his niece. “Hell, we don’t even let humans wander around the universe until they’ve got planetary governments. Can’t you just see some Motie colony deciding to help a faction back home on Mote Prime?” He looked around the table and scowled again. “Damn it, don’t all of you look at me like that. You’d think I wanted to shoot Father Christmas! I want trade with the Moties, but let’s not forget the Prime Directive of the Empire.”

“We need more time,” Horvath protested. “You can’t decide anything right now.”

“We don’t have the time,” Rod said quietly. “You must be aware of the pressures, Doctor. You helped create them. Every interest group m this sector is demanding immediate action.” Rod had been getting daily calls from the Humanity League, and he was certain that Minister Horvath had been feeding information to the group.

“What’s bothering you is the potential birth rate,” Horvath said. “I’m sure you realize that they must be able to control their population. They’d not have survived this long if they couldn’t.”

“But they may not want to,” Fowler said. “Could we make them do it? Rod, has your Commander Cargill done any more work on that threat estimate?”

“Refinements only, Senator. His original calculations hold up pretty well.”

“So it’d take a big fleet operation to compel the Moties—and that’s with their present resources. What kind of problems are we handing our grandchildren if we help ‘em get colonies?”

“You can’t prevent them from getting out now,” Horvath protested. “Capt—My Lord Blaine’s analysis proved that. They’ll eventually get the Langston Field, and they’ll come out. We must have friendly relations with them before then. I say let’s start trading with them right now and work out our problems as they come up. We can’t solve everything at once.”

“That’s your recommendation?” Fowler asked.

“Yes, sir. Mine, the Humanity League’s, the Imperial Traders—”

“Not all of ‘em,” Rod interrupted. “Their local council’s divided. A sizable minority wants nothing to do with Moties.”

“So they’re in industries that will be ruined by Motie technology,” Horvath said with a shrug. “We can handle that problem. Senator, the Moties will inevitably develop something that gets them out of their system. We should get them so bound to the Empire that their interests are ours before it happens.”

“Or take ‘em into the Empire and be done with it,” Fowler muttered. “I thought of that one last night. If they can’t control their population, we can do it for them—”

“But we know they can,” Horvath protested. “We’ve proved they’ve been civilized a long time in one system. They’ve learned—” He stopped for a moment, then continued excitedly. “Has it occurred to you that they may have population allotments? The Moties on that expedition ship may have been required to have their children at a certain time, or not at all. So they had them aboard ship.”

“Hmm,” Fowler said. His scowl vanished. “Maybe you’ve got something there. We’ll—I’ll—ask the Moties when they come in. Dr. Hardy, you’ve been sitting there like a man about to be hanged in low gravity. What’s got you upset?”

“Rats,” the Chaplain said carefully.

Horvath looked around quickly, then nodded in submission. “They disturbed you also, David?”

“Of course. Can you find the file, or must I?”

“I have it,” Horvath sighed. He scrawled numbers on the face of his pocket computer. It hummed and the wall screens lit… a Motie city, struck by disaster. Cars overturned and rusted through littered broken streets. Crashed aircraft were imbedded in the ruins of fire-scorched buildings. Weeds grew from cracks in the pavement. In the center of the picture was a sloping mound of rubble, and a hundred small black shapes darted and swarmed over it.

“It’s not what it looks like. It’s one floor of the Motie zoo,” Horvath explained. He touched his controls and the image zoomed closer to focus on a single black shape which grew until the outlines were fuzzy: a pointed, ratlike face, with wicked teeth. But it was not a rat.

It had one membranous ear, and five limbs. The foremost limb on the right side was not a fifth paw; it was a long and agile arm, tipped with claws like hooked daggers.

“Ah,” Horowitz exclaimed. He looked accusingly at Horvath. “You didn’t show me this one… more wars, eh? One of the wars must have wiped out so much life that ecological niches were left empty. But this— Did you get a specimen?”

“Unfortunately no.”

“What did it degenerate from?” Horowitz asked wonderingly. “A long step from the intelligent Motie to—to that. Is there a Motie caste you have not shown me? Something similar to that?”

“No, of course not,” Sally said.

“No one would breed selectively for those things,” Horowitz mused. “It must have been natural selection—” He smiled in satisfaction. “More proof, if it were needed. One of their wars almost depopulated their planet. And for a very long time, too.”