The wardroom began to fill up as the scientists and officers entered and took their places. Marines reserved two seats, the head of the table and the plate immediately to its right, although Horvath had tried to take that seat. The Science Minister shrugged when the Marine objected with a stream of Russian, and went to the other end, where he displaced a biologist, then chased another scientist from the place to his right and invited David Hardy there. If the Admiral wanted to play games of prestige, let him; but Anthony Horvath knew something of that business too.
He watched as the others came in. Cargill, Sinclair, and Renner entered together. Then Sally Fowler, and Captain Blaine—odd, Horvath thought, that Blaine could now enter a crowded room with no ceremony at all. A Marine indicated places to the left of the head of the table, but Rod and Sally sat in the middle. He can afford to, Horvath thought. He was born to his position. Well, my son will be too. My work on this expedition should be enough to get me on the next honors list.
“Attention!”
The officers stood, as did most of the scientists. Horvath thought for a moment and stood as well. He looked at the door, expecting the Admiral, but Captain Mikhailov was the only one there. So we have to go through this twice, Horvath thought.
The Admiral fooled him. He came in just as Mikhailov reached his seat, and muttered, “Carry on, gentlemen,” so quickly that the Marine gunner had no chance to announce him. If anyone wanted to snub Kutuzov, they’d have to find another opportunity.
“Commander Borman will read from the expedition orders,” Kutuzov said coldly.
“ ‘Section Twelve. Council of War. Paragraph One. The Vice Admiral Commanding shall seek the advice of the scientific staff and senior officers of MacArthur except when delay would in the Admiral’s judgment, and his alone, endanger the safety of the battleship Lenin.
“Paragraph Two. If the senior scientist of this expedition shall disagree with the Vice Admiral Commanding, he may request a formal Council of War to render advice to the Admiral. The senior scientist may—’ ”
“That will be sufficient, Commander Borman,” Kütuzov said. “Pursuant to these orders and upon formal request of Science Minister Horvath, this Council of War is convened to render advice on subject of aliens requesting passage to the Empire. Proceedings will be recorded. Minister Horvath, you may begin as you will.”
Oh, wow, Sally thought. The atmosphere in here’s like the chancel of St. Peter’s during High Mass in New Rome. The formality ought to intimidate anyone who disagreed with Kutuzov.
“Thank you, Admiral,” Horvath said politely. “Given that this may be a long session—after all, sir, we are discussing what may be the most important decision any of us will ever reach—I think refreshments might be in order. Could your people provide us with coffee, Captain Mikhailov?”
Kutuzov frowned, but there was no reason to reject the request.
It also lowered the frost level in the compartment. With stewards bustling about, and the smell of coffee and tea in the air, a lot of the frigid formality evaporated, as Horvath had intended.
“Thank you.” Horvath beamed. “Now. As you know, the Moties have requested that we convey three ambassadors to the Empire. The embassy party will, I am told, have full authority to represent the Mote civilization, sign treaties of friendship and commerce, approve cooperative scientific efforts—I needn’t go on. The advantages of presenting them to the Viceroy should be obvious. Are we agreed?”
There was a murmur of assent. Kutuzov sat rigid, his dark eyes narrowed behind craggy brows, the face a mask molded from ruddy clay.
“Yes,” Horvath said. “I should think it quite obvious that if there is any way we can do it, we ought to extend every courtesy to the Motie ambassadors. Wouldn’t you agree, Admiral Kutuzov?”
Caught in his own trap, Sally thought. This is recorded—he’ll have to make sense.
“We have lost MacArthur,” Kutuzov said gruffly. “We have only this one vessel. Dr. Horvath, were you not present at conference when Viceroy Merrill planned this expedition?”
“I was not, but I have been told of it.”
“Was it not made plain then that no aliens were to board this vessel? I speak of direct orders of Viceroy himself.”
“Well—yes, sir. But the context made it very clear what he meant. There would be no aliens allowed aboard Lenin because it was possible they would prove hostile; thus, no matter what they did, Lenin would be safe. But now we know the Moties are not hostile. In the final expedition orders, His Highness left the decision to you; there’s no prohibition like that in the order book.”
“But he did leave it to me,” Kutuzov said triumphantly. “I fail to see how that is different from oral instructions. Captain Blaine, you were present: Am I mistaken in impression that His Highness said ‘under no circumstances’ would aliens board Lenin?”
Rod swallowed hard. “Yes, sir, but—”
“I think this matter is finished,” the Admiral said.
“Oh, no,” Horvath said smoothly. “Captain Blaine, you were about to continue. Please do so.”
The wardroom was still. Will he do it? Sally wondered. What can the Tsar do to him? He can make it tough for him in the Navy, but— “I was only going to say, Admiral, that His Highness was not so much giving orders as laying out guidelines. I think that if he had intended you to be bound by them, he’d not have given you discretion, sir. He’d have put it in the order book.”
Good for you, Sally cheered silently.
Kutuzov’s eye slits narrowed even further. He gestured to a steward for tea.
“I think you underestimate the confidence His Highness has in your judgment,” Horvath said. It sounded insincere and he knew it instantly. The point ought to have been made by someone else—Hardy, or Blaine—but Horvath had been afraid to prime them for this meeting. Both were far too independent.
The Admiral smiled. “Thank you. Perhaps he has more confidence in me than you, Doctor. So. You have demonstrated that I can act against express wishes of Viceroy. Certainly I will not do so lightly, and you have yet to convince me of necessity. Another expedition can bring back ambassadors.”
“Will they send any after an insult like that?” Sally blurted. Everyone looked at her. “The Moties haven’t asked for much, Admiral. And this request is so reasonable.”
“You think they will be offended if we refuse?”
“I—Admiral, I don’t know. They could be, yes. Very offended.”
Kutuzov nodded, as if he could understand that. “Perhaps it is lesser risk to leave them here, my lady. Commander Cargill. Have you made study I requested of you?”
“Yes, sir.” Jack Cargill spoke enthusiastically. “The Admiral asked me to assume the Moties have the secrets of the Drive and Field and estimate their military potential under those circumstances. I’ve plotted their naval strength—” He gestured to a petty officer and a graph appeared on the wardroom intercom screen.
Heads turned, and there was a moment of shocked silence. Someone gasped. “That many?”—“Good God!”—“But that’s bigger than the sector fleet—”