More thumping ensued. Renner barked: “Help them!”
Two Boatswain’s mates sprang to action, just as a limp, brown arm flopped from the opening. They half-wrestled, half-dragged a dead weight from the port. The Miner’s body emerged; slid along the capsule skin; thumped to the floor with the mates scrambling down after it.
The crew froze in collective shock. They counted limbs. They counted again. Saw the brown fur. Saw the rictus of a smile, plastered across the alien face, even in death. Did the math. Were stupefied on their first contact with what they saw as a dead Motie Engineer.
But of course, for one of them, this was not a first contact. Ignoring the body, Renner himself went to the capsule; grasped the edge; peered through the hatch. Two shivering shapes, twisted to conform to the narrow confines and entwined nearly as one, their chests heaving, gasped for air. Without thought; without hesitation, on reflex, he reached in and placed a hand gently on the nearest head.
“It’s OK,” he said, without knowing whether they could even understand him. “You made it. You’re here.”
The creatures did not move, save to tremble harder. Their breathing was ragged. Renner tugged, gently, at one arm, but nothing happened. He stood up, and thought a bit. Thought back on everything he knew of Moties, far and near. Thought of Moties on Mote Prime; on Mote Beta; on Mote Gamma. Thought of Base Six and the Treasure Comet and the Trojans. Thought of Ivan and Jock; of the Khanate and Crimeans and even Vermin City. Thought of everywhere he’d been, thanks to Bury and Sinbad. And then had a moment of clarity.
He looked across to the Delegation, and spoke softly. “Ali Baba. Your Excellency. Would you please join me?”
The little Mediator, with the bearing of a prince, grasped its gripping hand with both arms, and did so.
“Your Excellency, please do something for me.” Ali Baba went stiff with diffidence. Renner paused. “I mean, not for me. I want you to do something for—” Renner leaned, and whispered, so that only Ali Baba could hear—“your Grampa Horace.”
Ali Baba made that odd little bow that Moties did instead of a tilt of the head, because they had three jointed bones instead of spines. Renner cupped his hand, and whispered again.
Everyone on deck started as two words boomed across the cargo bay in the authoritative voice of a Horace Bury restored to life and vigorous youth; the compelling Voice of a Great Master who could not be denied: “RUNNERS! REPORT!” Then, they cringed at what they could not hear, but felt, as he repeated the same in the Master’s speech of a Mesolimeran.
As one, the huddled shapes sucked in a lungful of air, rallied in the low ship’s gravity, pulled themselves upright, and climbed out, supported only by Renner’s free hand.
They unfolded to full height, and gripping hands united, grasping hands outstretched, spoke clearly, in unison, in Anglic, in the Protector’s Voice, colors rippling down their arms in the Royal Greeting:
“I am Leica, 10 John, Royal Emissary of Sargon the Hand, Procurator of the Mesolimeris Northern Protectorate, and by Acclaim of the first Constitutional Gathering appointed Protector of Ar and Seer of New Utah. You are hereby notified that you have entered New Utah space, and by extension, the New Utah Protectorate. Any who may hear this message are respectfully requested to hold in current orbit and await the Protector’s Representative, the Excellency Amari Selkirk Alidade Clark Hathaway Quinn.
“Any duly appointed representatives of the True Church of Maxroy’s Purchase who may hear this message are hereby notified that the Excellency is a direct descendent of Quinn of the Six, by right of decent and accomplishment appointed Elder of the Reformed Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints on New Utah, and by acclaim appointed Defender of the Mormon Faith on New Utah. By order of the Defender, the True Church security zone has been demilitarized, the Maxroy’s Purchase paramilitary wing of the True Church Militant in New Utah has been disbanded and disarmed, the urban centers of Saint George and Bonneville are now patrolled and administered by the Protector’s Accountancy, and her Excellency Laurel Courter is co-appointed as Defender and Seer of the Church of Him on New Utah, with spiritual oversight of the non-human populations of the Six Cities.
“Any duly appointed representative of The Empire of Man is hereby notified that, having independently achieved planetary government and sentient space presence, New Utah makes formal application for admission to the Empire of Man as a Classified planet. As proof of commitment to the binding Laws of Empire, the Protector requests permission to remand one Lillith Van Zandt to Imperial custody, as a traitor to New Utah and the Empire of Man, for judgment under His Majesty’s Courts.
“I am Leica, 10 John, Royal Emissary of Sargon, Procurator of Mesolimeris, and by Acclaim of the first Constitutional Gathering Protector and Seer of New Utah. I have undertaken a dangerous journey to further the interests of New Utah and the Empire of Man. I have spoken the full and complete truth, and at the behest of my Lord now request sustenance and medical attention.”
As the hanger broke into complete pandemonium, two limp, bedraggled, slate-grey bodies collapsed onto the deck.
“Help them!” shouted Ali Baba, who stood, rigid, Kevin forgotten, Bury forgotten, staring at a point beyond the messengers’ sagging heads, his own bones aching, ears ringing, hope soaring, riveted by the fading echoes of his Master’s Voice.
Not a soul took any notice whatsoever of Jackson’s blurted expletive.
Even Horvath’s Goon was left speechless.
And then, as medics rushed to the Runners’ aid, Sir Kevin Renner threw back his head, pulled out his pipe, and laughed himself blue in the face.
Epilogue
Bonneville, New Utah, 3051
On Saturday afternoon, the eighteenth of August, Amari Selkirk Alidade Clarke Hathaway Quinn sat down with a silk-smooth pen and a stack of creamy parchment, and stared at five faded, underlined words: Pie, Coffee, People, Different, Fixing.
The view of the city was stunning. Up there, above the urban canyons, it was windy, and the night was turning cool. The soft air and crickets recalled so many other evenings, filled with crickets, or peepers, or cicadas, or all three. It was amazingly soothing to hear late evening traffic in the distance. Fireworks sparkled over some celebration or other further off in the hills. A wedding was going on down below, with attendant laughter, chatter, music, song, arrivals, departures, and fireworks of its own. Finally, as the light faded, a muezzin made the midnight call to prayer.
Wind played through the tamarisk trees. Asach sat on the roof, wolfing down pie and sucking down aromatic draughts of coffee. Watched people making their way through the ancient alleys. Watched the changing light cast the city rooftops in shifting shades of green. Watched curiously as a hefty, three-armed shape made its way down the lane, raised a fist, and pounded on the door below.
Appendix
Map of Inhabited Areas of New Utah
As drawn by John David Swenson, c.2450.
Annotated to indicate major Lines of Communication.