The Mote in God's Eye

“What?” Rod stood at his seat, and the chair fell backward to crash to the floor. “When?”

“Just before they were killed by Warriors,” Charlie said. “Attacking me will gain you no information, my lord; and it was not my Master’s Warriors who killed them. Those who did were ordered to take them alive, but the midshipmen would not surrender.”

Rod carefully retrieved his chair and sat. “No. Horst wouldn’t,” he muttered.

“Nor would Whitbread. Nor Potter. You may be as proud of them as you wish, Lord Blaine. Their last moments were in the finest traditions of the Imperial Service.” There was no trace of irony in the alien voice.

“And just why did you murder those boys?” Sally demanded. “Rod, I’m sorry. I—I’m sorry, that’s all.”

“It wasn’t your fault. The lady asked you a question, Charlie.”

“They had discovered the truth about us. Their landing boats took them to a museum. Not one of the places of amusement that we allowed you to visit. This one has a more serious purpose.” Charlie spoke on, in a low voice. She described the museum and the battle there; the flight across Mote Prime, the beginning of the war between Motie factions, and the landing in the street outside the Castle. She told of the final battle.

“My own Warriors lost,” she finished. “Had they won, King Peter would have sent the midshipmen back to you. But once they were dead—it seemed better to attempt to deceive you.”

“Lord God,” Rod whispered. “So that’s your secret. And we had all the clues, but—”

Someone was murmuring across the room. Chaplain Hardy. “Requiem aeternam donum est, Domine, et lux perpetuae…”

“Just how the hell do you think telling us this will help you?” Senator Fowler asked.

Charlie shrugged. “If you’re going to exterminate us, you may as well know why. I’m trying to explain that the Masters will not surrender. King Peter might, but he doesn’t control Mote Prime, much less the asteroid civilization. Someone will fight.”

“As I predicted, my lords,” Kutuzov said heavily. “And men and ships sent to accept surrender will be doomed. Perhaps Fleet as well. If we enter Mote System, it must be in full attack.”

“Oh, boy,” Senator Fowler muttered. “Yeah. I see your plan. You think we can’t order an unprovoked attack, and maybe we won’t send in a suicide mission first. Well, you read us wrong, Charlie. It’ll mean my head, maybe, but all you’ve convinced me of is to give the Admiral his way. Sorry, Father, but that’s the way I see it.”

The Senator’s voice crackled across the room. “Admiral Kutuzov. You will hold your fleet in readiness, and it will accept no communications from any source without my prior approval. And I mean any source. Understood?”

“Aye aye, Senator.” Kutuzov raised a communicator to his lips. “Mikhailov. Da.” He spoke fluid syllables. “It is done, Senator.”

“I have not finished,” Charlie said. “You have another alternative.”

“And what’s that?” Fowler demanded.

“Blockade.”

57. All The Skills of Treason

They stood for a long time on the balcony outside Rod’s suite. Faint sounds of a city after dark floated up to them. The Hooded Man rose high in the sky, his baleful red eye watching them with indifference: two human lovers, who would send squadrons of ships into the Eye itself and keep them there, until they too passed away…

“It doesn’t look very big,” Sally murmured. She moved her head against his shoulder and felt his arms tighten around her. “Just a fleck of yellow in Murcheson’s Eye. Rod, will it work?”

“The blockade? Sure. We worked out the plan at Fleet Battle Ops. Jack Cargill set it up: a squadron inside the Eye itself to take advantage of the Jump shock. The Moties don’t know about that, and their ships won’t be under command for minutes at best. If they try to send them through on automatic it just makes it worse.”

She shivered against him. “That wasn’t really what I meant. The whole plan—will it work?”

“What choices have we?”

“None. And I’m glad you agree. I couldn’t live with you if— I couldn’t, that’s all.”

“Yeah.” And that makes me grateful to the Moties for thinking up this scheme, because we can’t let the Moties get out. A galactic plague—and there are only two remedies for that kind of plague. Quarantine and extermination. At least we’ve got a choice.

“They’re—” She stopped and looked up at him. “I’m afraid to talk to you about it. Rod, I couldn’t live with myself if we had to—if the blockade won’t work.”

He didn’t say anything. There was a shouted laugh from somewhere beyond the Palace grounds. It sounded like children.

“They’ll get past that squadron in the star,” Sally said. Her voice was tightly controlled.