The Mote in God's Eye

Cargill ignored him. “Sorry to miss the wedding, Sally. I intend to claim a guest’s privilege, though.” He leaned forward to brush Sally’s cheek with his lips. “If you get tired of him, there are other captains in the Navy.”

“Aye,” Sinclar agreed. “And my commission was signed two minutes before Cargill’s. You will no’ forget that, Jack.”

“How can I? You just remember that Patton’s my ship. We’d best be off, Skipper. The rendezvous’ going to be tricky as it is. Good-bye, Jock. Charlie.” Cargill hesitated, then saluted awkwardly.

“Farewell,” Charlie answered. Ivan twittered, and Jock added, “The Ambassador wishes you Godspeed and good luck.”

“I wish I could be sure you meant that,” Cargill said.

“Of course we mean it,” said Charlie. “We want you to feel safe.”

Cargill turned away looking thoughtful. He climbed aboard the boat. Sinclair followed and the ratings closed the entryway. Engines whined, and humans and Moties retreated into a shelter. They watched in silence as the boat lifted from the roof and vanished into the bright skies.

“It will work,” Jock said.

“You do read minds, don’t you?” Rod asked. He stared off into the sky but there was nothing to see but clouds.

“Of course it’s going to work,” Sally said. Her voice was emphatic.

“I think I understand you humans at last,” Charlie told them. “Have you ever read your ancient histories?”

Rod and Sally looked blankly at the Motie. “No.”

“Dr. Hardy showed us a key passage,” Charlie said. He waited as the elevator arrived. Two Marines entered, and after the humans and Moties were inside, the others followed. Charlie continued the story as if the armed guards were not present. “One of your most ancient writers, a historian named Herodotus, tells of a thief who was to be executed. As he was taken away he made a bargain with the king: in one year he would teach the king’s favorite horse to sing hymns.”

“Yes?” Sally prompted. She seemed puzzled and looked anxiously at Charlie. He seemed calm enough, but Dr. Hardy said he was worried about the aliens…

“The other prisoners watched the thief singing to the horse and laughed. ‘You will not succeed,’ they told him. ‘No one can.’ To which the thief replied, ‘I have a year, and who knows what might happen in that time. The king might die. The horse might die. I might die. And perhaps the horse will learn to sing.’ ”

There was polite laughter. “I didn’t tell it very well,” Charlie said. “I wasn’t trying to be humorous anyway. That story made me realize at last just how alien you humans are.”

There was an embarrassed silence. As the elevator stopped Jock asked, “How goes your Institute?”

“Fine. We’ve already sent for some of the department heads.” She laughed, embarrassed. “I have to work fast: Rod won’t let me think about the Institute after the wedding. You are coming, aren’t you?”

The Mediators shrugged in unison, and one looked at the Marines. “We will be delighted if we are allowed to attend,” Jock answered. “But we have no gifts for you. There is no Brown to make them.”

“We’ll get along without,” Rod said. The elevator door stood open, but they waited for two of the Marines to inspect the corridor.

“Thank you for allowing me to meet Admiral Kutuzov,” Jock said. “I have waited to speak with him since our embassy ship arrived alongside MacArthur.”

Rod looked at the aliens in wonder. Jock’s conversation with Kutuzov had been brief, and one of the most important questions the Motie had asked was “Do you like lemon in tea?”

They’re so damned civilized and likable, and because of that they’re going to spend the few years they’ve got left under guard while the Information Office blackguards them and their race. We’ve even hired a writer to script a play on the last hours of my midshipmen.

“It was little enough to do,” Rod said. “We—”

“Yes. You can’t let us go home.” Charlie’s voice changed to that of a New Scot youth. “We know aye more about humans than is safe.” She gestured smoothly to the Marines. Two walked ahead into the hall, and the Moties followed. The other guards closed behind, and the procession marched through the corridor until they reached the Motie quarters. The elevator door closed softly.

Epilogue

Defiant lay nearly motionless in space at the outer fringes of the Murcheson System. There were other ships grouped around her in battle formation, and off to starboard hung Lenin like a swollen black egg. At least half the main battle fleet was in readiness at all times, and somewhere down in the red hell of the Eye other ships circled and waited. Defiant had just completed a tour with the Crazy Eddie Squadron.

That term was very nearly official. The men tended to use a lot of Mote terms. When a man won a big hand at poker he was likely to shout “Fyunch(click)!” And yet, Captain Herb Colvin mused, most of us have never seen a Motie. We hardly see their ships: just targets, helpless after transition.